Completed The Cut That Always Bleeds

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Okay. Now she had to roll her eyes, huffing for a moment before pouting. Everyone always thought they could kill her, and frankly sometimes she wondered if her magic manifested itself to make her hair and eyes purple just to give them a reminder that she was actually dangerous. She fretted over trying to access her magic, partially because there was a part of her that was worried if she tried, she couldn’t use it, just like on the pirate ship.

“Yeah, yeah, Zael, whatever you say.” Everleigh said, yet her hands were still above her head. “I’m going to reach down and grab your hand.” She explained, looking down at the armored hand before her. She slowly brought one hand down, grabbing Zael’s wrist. She blinked for a second, briefly comparing the size of his hand with hers.

“Your hands are a lot bigger than mine,” she murmured, a bit in amazement and also with a hint of analysis. “You’re going to need to point and keep your middle and index finger together, fold the rest, like this.” She showed Zael what she wanted on her free hand that was still above her head. With him sitting up and her still perpendicular, Everleigh then led Zael’s hand to behind her.

She took a deep breath. Everleigh hadn’t checked to see if it was still there. And if it wasn’t there then she needed to brace herself because she was certain she’d get a fire punch straight to the face.

“There’s a pocket, right underneath my ass cheek.” The poison eater continued to explain, as she slid his hand down over the profound curve, his palm held against roundest part of her. If the situation wasn’t so dire perhaps she would have blushed, it almost felt like some sort of caress; but, of course, she was more focused on making sure Zael’s fingers could slide into the small pouch.

His hand had gone over so many other hidden nooks and crannies, Everleigh pondered if his armor completely nullified his sense of touch as he grazed over other small pockets and pouches carrying small needles, vials, even the pair of throwing spikes resting diagonally at the small of her back.

Everleigh’s clothing on missions had always been skin-tight, whether it was because she filled out her garments, the academy being too cheap to hire an actual seamstress to take her measurements or because it left more room for sewn in pockets and pouches— most likely a culmination of all three. But these hidden crevices were made for her: many of the pouches openings were small, and Everleigh had long, thin fingers.

But Zael was a man. His fingers bigger and wider and wouldn’t slide in easily with that armor on. And the initiate was right as she tried to make his two fingers slip inside that pouch that rested underneath her left cheek. She felt the metal of the armor catch along the stitching that separated the fabric from her rump and thigh, but it did seem like two fingers were too wide for such a small fit. However…. At least she knew it was there still, thank Kress.

“Okay, just try it with one finger then, you can kinda feel the opening, right? Little bit of a tight squeeze but I’m sure you can fit it in this time.” Everleigh said, easily missing over the connotation of her words. She was right when she felt Zael’s single finger slide inside, prodding at the golden coin, the one from before with the empty square in the middle, the blood still on it. “Pull it out you blonde knucklehead.”

Everleigh looked into Zael’s eyes with her signature smug look, her almond eyes narrowing up to look like two horizontal crescent moons, her lips spread into a wide, smug-as-all-hell smirk. Really, nothing screamed Everleigh Ebersol more than that look.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

When Everleigh (or "Everleigh," he'd yet to figure it out) grabbed Zael's wrist, he swung his sword around with a frightening speed and brought it to a halt just as suddenly. The hand which gripped the sword was pressed to his cheek, and he glared down the blade. The tip pointed right between Everleigh's eyes.

"Nice and slow," Zael said.

Nevertheless, he did as she wanted, folding his left hand into a fist save for the middle and forefinger. In just about any other context, Zael would've had some kind of sly remark for the situation, some tongue-in-cheek cursing of the armor encasing his fingers, or at least a naughty smirk when she'd said ass cheek. None of these happened. In his face and in his eyes a deadly focus. A Dreadlord's focus.

His armor did mute his sense of touch to a significant degree, but the tactile sensation of light pressure, of something pushing against his armor and the fingers beneath, still existed. Ghostly, indistinct shapes of what lay inside the pocket were available to the imagination.

One finger. Whatever was inside the pocket, yeah, he couldn't get it with his two fingers. Again Everleigh's wording, ripe for some usual mirth, was ignored. Zael focused on keeping his blade steady and his arm tensed for a thrust if any one little thing happened. With his other hand, the single finger slipped into her back pocket. Something round. He clawed it out with that forefinger with a couple scooping motions. Caught it in his palm as it came free.

A coin. Maybe that coin, maybe another just like it.

Everleigh's smug look was met with relief as Zael breathed out. As he allowed the tip of his blade to fall just a little. Just a little.

"Fuckin hell Ever. You had me all worked up. Here I was thinkin you might explode like the...what was that ship called? Yeah, the Phaedra," Zael said, purposefully getting the name wrong. It was such a minor detail, but one begging to be corrected. The sinking of the Pasiphae and the little "vacation" in Cerak which followed was Zael and Everleigh's first big mission together.

A botched imitation might just let it slide since Zael already provided the "answer." But Ever? Naw, she was too smart for that. Remembered things.

The next few seconds would see if his sword got blood on it or not.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Zael having her at swordpoint was rather exciting. Everleigh could feel a giddy frisson that overtook her, her grin never disappearing. There was just something about staring death in the eye that always got her hot and bothered. She just couldn’t place a finger on how or why, but there were signs. Such as her beginning to salivate much more extensively, her muscles twitching in anticipation, the way her voice always seemed to reach a higher pitch—

“Pasiphae.” Everleigh corrected, swallowing before she spoke, raising a brow, not yet seeing it as a test. But. She blinked, then why the lingering sword still so close to her face? Everleigh flushed, looking at Zael with a minimal glower coming from her gray eyes. “Zael, get that fucking sword out of my face or I swear to Kress.” She growled, the hand that had been above her head now coming down as fast as she wanted— screw ‘nice and slow’— to slap the flat of the blade out and away from her.

Everleigh leaned back and looked up at the sky, jutting out her chin in defiance to the situation they were in

“Not that… I blame you for being wary.” She said slowly. “I’m on edge, too.” Everleigh then brought her face back down and examined her broken finger. Another breeze went by, bringing that smell of the tannery. She then finally looked around them. They were on a hill, behind them a forest, but… not where they had entered at least. She looked down past the hill and frowned.

The town below wasn’t Arnim. But first thing’s first, the more important thing:

“Zael?” Everleigh asked, looking back over at him, a soft frown forming. “You look exhausted. Did you get hurt anywhere?”

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Pasiphae.

That one word wasn't some kind of unique identifying token or anything, but it was the topper to a series of cues and clues that, together, did the job. This time, the wave of relief which washed over his expression wasn't tactically feigned, but wholly genuine. Even the way she smacked his sword away (and he let it happen with a tangible gladness) screamed Everleigh. This wasn't a trick. It was her.

I'm on edge, too.

"Yeah, no kiddin." With the joy of relief came the extinguishing of his anger which had, in devastating fashion, brought him here. It opened him up to this little unveiling of vulnerability. Honesty, really, to admit along with Everleigh that, yeah, he felt a bit anxious. No bravado and cocksure quip to cover it up this time.

"No. I'm good. I'm not hurt." How much of his magic would be available, if they needed it, was another story. He could feel that in his bones, the ache of arcane fatigue, as if the marrow itself quivered with it.

He eyed her broken finger. Hard to miss when she'd taken a good hard look at it herself. "We should splint that."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Everleigh said, her chest rising up and then falling ever so slowly as she took a very deep breath, slowly breathing out with half lidded eyes. Everleigh glanced down at her finger once again, but this time, she began to try and twist it back into place. She winced, another deep breath, much like before, and then she went back to messing with it.

“I can’t. You’ve felt how tight my pockets are, I don’t want to risk anything by not being able to reach in there.” She said. “I mean, yeah, I’m ambidextrous but two hands are better than one, especially with my magic. Can’t just brute force my way everywhere.” She was constantly throwing things, even when she had a sword in one hand it was so easy to help lead a fight the way she wanted if she also had her opponent dodging whatever she could be throwing. Everleigh sighed, shrugging her shoulders and then standing up.

She reached out her good hand to help Zael up, Everleigh wanted to get moving. Sitting down was making her antsy, and she couldn’t help that needling at the back of her head, that feeling of being watched there was a large creature behind just waiting to pounce.

“Sorry for shoving you earlier.” She said, finding it a bit ironic how she had pushed him down only to now pick him up. A bit of melancholy could be seen in Everleigh’s features and she looked away, looking back at the town beneath them. “That’s not Arnim.” She said, finally saying it out loud and not liking it a single bit.

Partially because that meant they were completely on their own, partially because they had fucked up if that were the case, but more importantly because now Zael was going to miss dinner and Miklan was going to be disappointed.

“Wanna head down there and figure out where we are?” Everleigh said, still looking at the town. While Everleigh wouldn’t recognize the small town, Zael would, at least, the only thing he wouldn’t be able to recognize was the new mill that was situated not far from where they stood.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Trying for an attempt at humor after Everleigh (probably wisely, now that she laid out the reasons against it) turned down the splint suggestion, Zael said, "I can kiss it and that might make it better."

Heh. That'd go how that'd go.

Zael reached up and took her hand. With his own weight, the weight of his armor, and the force with which he flexed his own arm to assist in the combined effort, he almost toppled Everleigh over and had 'em both back down on the ground in a bona fide mess. She held her ground though. Must be those legs of hers--she prided herself on them and damn well she oughta.

Back up on his feet, Zael cast a more comprehensive look about his current surroundings. Not that there was all that much to look at, though, that became clear pretty quick. The fog wasn't so thick to hide an outstretched hand from one's eyes, but past a certain point in the distance everything washed out to gray. But yeah, there was a town down there.

Sorry for shoving you earlier.

"You can shove me anytime," Zael said, grinning. "Just know that's the universal sign for a fight. And you know me, I'm always--"

That's not Arnim.

"Didn't quite look the same to me neither. And yeah, might as well head on down. Not like--"

And it was right then that Zael's words caught in his throat. His grin disintegrated from his expression like a dry scrap of parchment tossed into a hearthfire. He was staring at something down there in the village. His lips were parted ever so slightly in a chilled awe, his eyes pinpricks of focused intensity.

His voice had a stunned breathlessness to it. And he couldn't stop staring.

"I know that mill."

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Empathy. Maybe dreadlords was lacking in it. The academy made sure to beat it out of them, there was no reason to have weapons feel for their opponents. It was supposed to, in theory, hinder them. But Everleigh had long ago taken that idea and questioned it, instead, phrasing it differently: if a wolf were to feel pain every time it killed a rabbit, would it stop hunting? And see, hunger surpassed pain, at least for Everleigh. Besides, it was through empathy that allowed her to read her opponents better, whether at a gambling table or on the battlefield, allowing her to assume their next moves based on the moves she planned on doing.

It was also how she alone seemed to be able to befriend the most antisocial initiate: Tinker Smithe. She was prone to noticing every little thing, and yes, she did a lot of testing that resulted in trial and error, but from those interactions she understood micro expressions like they were the back of her hand.

So while Zael had seemed to go back to normal with his humor— that Everleigh would have teasingly held her finger in front of his mouth while she grinned— and his comment about being ready to fight, it was all the more noticeable when he stopped speaking.

It was like when one stopped hearing the canary bird in a mine.

“Hey. Zael?” Everleigh said softly, and placed her hand onto his pauldron. “Isn’t it a good thing you recognize it?” It may have been a strange question to ask of someone when Everleigh felt his distress as if it were completely palpable. But it was something she needed to ask because if Zael recognized it and she didn’t then that meant—

For a second the world in front of Everleigh’s eyes shifted and stretched, flaring into a moment of fizzy static that disoriented her and had her stomach flip as she witnessed vertigo, her head spinning. Her pupils dilated and Everleigh out of reflex using both hands to hold onto Zael’s shoulder as she took a step back to only then have her head feel so incredibly heavy and dip forward.

“Oww.” Everleigh groaned as her forehead smacked the metal pauldron. The fissure that seemed to have erupted from the back of her eyes and attacked her soft, mushy brain relieved itself in that moment, but the dizziness remained for a few seconds more as a whisper echoed around her.

“There’s something funky about that mill.” Everleigh said, lifting her forehead up and rubbing the red lump that was most definitely going to form. “Just looking at it is giving me goosebumps.” She added, purposely moving past her dizzy spell.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Isn't it a good thing you recognize it?

"Yeah," Zael said. This an attempt at steadiness. This an attempt to smooth over that breathlessness, that chilled awe. "Maybe it is."

He could put forth all kinds of arguments in support of this. Something about familiarity, likely, a devil you know and a devil you don't kind of justification. But the fact of the matter was, Zael thought he would never see that mill again. Rebuilt or otherwise.

And he didn't know what to make of it. And it pissed him off and scared him cold in equal measure that he didn't know.

Zael felt a tug and he glanced and saw Everleigh grasping onto his pauldrons, and likewise saw her head smack onto the metal. Given where they were, with all the unnatural magic run amok, was it a cause for alarm? Hell yes, it was a cause for alarm.

Zael lifted a hand toward her from across his chest, concerned. Said, "Hey, are you--?"

She seemed to recover quickly, righting herself. Zael let his hand drift back down to his side.

"Goosebumps. You seem to have gotten a little more than just goosebumps from that, Ever," he said, referring to the dizzy spell. Zael didn't feel dizzy or lightheaded from looking at the mill, no. But he sure felt enough, without any supernatural intrusion.

And yes. Fear was there.

Fear of what he might do if he saw his father, real or illusion, down there.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh looked at Zael for a second, something flickering in her gray eyes before Everleigh grinned, bending over a bit so to really look up into Zael’s green eyes, a hand going up her forehead to hold her black bangs back from her face.

“Maybe I just wanted to take you up on your offer to kiss it and make it better?” She teased. She was still for a moment, as if waiting to see if Zael would lean down and take her jest seriously, but whether he had or not, she moved her hand away, letting her bangs messily fall back into place. Everleigh proffered a small smile to Zael as she stood up straight. “I’m okay. Nothing like pain to make you focus again, right?” Everleigh said, finally stepping away from Zael.

“I’m stronger than I look,” she added and playfully patted her stomach and then slapped the side of her thigh. “When we get back to the academy we’re going straight in a sparring ring and I’ll remind you of that fact. Best two out of three rounds.” The poison eater said just as she started to head down the hill.

Everleigh knew exactly what she was saying, all of Zael’s favorite things. The joking, the offer to spar, even mentioning the number three. Despite her anxiety and confusion she felt, she couldn’t help but to look at Zael and comprehend that something wasn’t right. So as they walked, every now and then Everleigh would purposefully knock her shoulder into his or let her hand brush against his armored one as a reminder that she was at his side.

He wasn’t Tinker, he didn’t need to be protected, to have Everleigh take the heavier load when it came to interactions. Zael was incredibly capable and it was one of the many things that drew Everleigh toward him. Everleigh’s intuition was hardly ever wrong and she knew whether she was there or not, Zael would always be okay. His independence matched her own, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t support him or try to put him at ease.

As they stepped closer to the mill, the fog began to dissipate more and more, as if clearing a path just for the initiates. The mill seemed to be empty but Everleigh could hear the tell-tale sign of operation, the sound of flowing water, the sound of the gears meshing, even the whisper-soft sound of milled flour— or was it grain?— going through the chutes. The smell was unlike any other scent in a rural area, a mixture of the various powdery flours mixing with the fresh scent of the water moving through the wheels while there was the sticky after-scent of oil.

They came up to the Dutch doors, a bell on the outside. Everleigh heard a shout inside, something about going up the stairs or maybe downstairs? She also heard the word “gear tooth.” Perhaps the miller instructing their apprentice? Everleigh looked up at the large building and then looked over at Zael and pointed to the bell.

“I’ll ring it,” she said, her hand reaching out to grab the piece of rope connected to the tongue of the bell. She wiggled her wrist around, a clear sound cutting through the noises of the mill. Another shout. Moments later, a man— who must have been the miller considering his apron was covered in the dust of rye and cornmeal— opened the door.

“Fucking proctor p in a tutu and crown.” Everleigh mumbled to herself, gray eyes wide.

---

Proctor Palahniuk sneeze, a loud obnoxious sound despite him using his hands to cover his face. Kelly paused for a moment and looked over at him as she stirred whatever was in her pot.

“Sneezin’ means someone talkin’ ‘bout yew!” Miklan exclaimed, setting utensils on white linen napkins that were already laid out on the large wooden table.

“Yes, well,” Proctor Palahniuk grumbled, “I’m sure it’s those lovely initiates of mine.” He then sighed exasperated, wiping his hands on his trousers before shaking his head. “They always think they’re so smart, especially the purple one.” He frowned. He hadn’t been able to prove it yet but he knew it was Everleigh that had ruined his new sudoku book he had just purchased and filled it all out.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Any other time and any other place, Zael would've called that bluff and kissed that finger.

Nothing like pain to make you focus again. If that were the case, Zael would've welcomed back all the Proctors who had beaten him with rods of ice, who had submerged him in arctic water until his skin felt as though every pore was punctuated with a butcher's knife, who had plunged his extremities into boxes of snow until the flesh turned black. And still he didn't know if any of these tortures could've brought him back to true focus. A reserve chunk of his mind was carved out for fear, shock, and anxiousness, and, so long as he remained in his ghostly recreation of Tarrow, it refused to be banished.

"Best two out of three," Zael said. Repeated, rather. It took him a second to get his head in order, and then he added, "You can let me in on the secrets for tonin those legs of yours."

Another attempt, at least, to be in his usual frame of mind. Cool and collected. Cavalier and confident. Fuck, how was Ever doing it? Yeah, yeah, wasn't her town of birth, wasn't some place chock-full of bad memories for her, but she was still injured and they were both still in a supernatural realm. She always had a level head on her shoulders. She wasn't stupidly aloof like Chasmine, wasn't a boiling pot of foaming rage like Ralene, wasn't a jumbled and stressed mess like Kristen, wasn't a pompous, killjoy prick like Noel, and wasn't a festering cunt like Liliana. Everleigh had them all beat.

If Zael could've chosen anybody in the Academy to get into this shit with, anybody at all, he wouldn't have changed a thing. If there was one thing he'd learned in recent times, especially after the sinking of the Pasiphae and the arenas of the Black Bay, it was that Ever was both smart and dependable.

And fun.

This last thought brought a smile to his face as they approached the mill's familiar doors, easing some of the tension that had stiffened his muscles and tightened his grip on his sword.

Which was for the best, because after Ever rang the bell and the door was opened, Zael narrowed his brow at whom he saw.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh had fond memories of her parents, at least the few that remained. She could remember that her father was mostly absent due to his work, her mother was kind and well-liked by everyone, and that when her father was home, she knew a bliss that she would never experience again.

Before the revolution, these blurry images were well hidden within her mask of muted malice that she donned at the academy. Outside of the academy, she chose to instead carry on a facade of demure indifference. To her fellow initiates, she must have seemed like a mirthful, mischievous devil. But these sides were all acceptable to show others— proctors, initiates, other dreadlords all found it to be acceptable.

After the revolution, things did change. Somewhat. There was Kristen Pirian who joined who had such a different way of living compared to all of them. Even Liliana Lorel had suffered much like they all had and was wise enough to not brag about the relationship she had with her parents. Perseus was very similar in that regard as well despite joining at a later date. It was some sort of unspoken rule that whoever talked about their family back home would somehow always end up dead.

And while that may have been because it was seen as some sort of twisted envy, Everleigh always assumed it was for an entirely different reasoning. They were dreadlords. How many of them would even live past graduation much less the age of thirty? They were weapons, and therefore, they were denied any sort of ideal of their future that wasn’t one full of bloodshed. Now, they could imagine other things and think of their futures.

After all, look at how people had begun to pair off thanks to that Solstice Ball, it seemed that the dance partners were all giving each other those yearning looks as if they had some right to think their future were theirs.

Everleigh didn’t have much of an idea for her future. Maybe, as a joke of course, being a proctor at the academy and get the “strong” initiates to start using their heads was something she might pursue. She wasn’t sure what Zael had in mind for his future, although he was so full of energy, of life, of tenacity, of heat— he had to want to do something impressive, surely? He was like the sun, and Everleigh would be lying to not admit that if her sun didn’t rise one day that there would be a part of her perpetually stuck in eternal, chilling darkness.

The same could almost be said if her sun were somehow dimmed, forever stuck behind a layer of clouds.

Because the miller who had opened the door was most definitely Zael and at the same time not Zael. Her gray eyes went over his features, the same ones she had studied on Zael when he had rested his head on her lap on that pirate ship. The curve of his lips, the way his brows set over his green eyes, even that one lone, faded freckle on the bridge of his nose that Zael himself probably didn’t even know about.

But this man had lines on his face, slight creases near his mouth, on his forehead, even at the edges of his eyes. His blonde hair was much lighter due to the gray hair that was now woven throughout his short crop of golden locks. His green eyes were dulled, no longer having that gleam of fun and excitement. This man’s shoulders sagged forward, whether from work or other means, and while it did seem that he was taller than the real Zael beside Everleigh, and it didn’t seem like there was much difference in muscle mass, something about the older Zael seemed deflated.

“What’dya want?” He said, and Everleigh breathed out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Small footsteps could be heard clamoring down stairs and by leaning to the side, Everleigh caught sight of a young boy with strawberry blonde hair holding a new wooden gear tooth in his small hands. The strawberry blonde hair reminded her of Liza. Her stomach dropped at that realization, a frown quickly appearing, but it wasn’t dwelled on. Not yet.

Everleigh took a step back, getting into one of her favorite stances and raised her leg up high. It was a common tell for a axe kick. She was about ready to crash her heel down onto the man’s shoulder but he moved forward, tackling Everleigh down to the ground with reflexes that could only belong to a dreadlord. His forearm rested on her neck and while his green eyes glared down at her.

“Academy gone soft on y’all after the revolution,” he spat, his free hand shooting out to Zael to deliver a blast of flame in his direction.

It was that moment that Everleigh witnessed the sun’s rays peek out from the bleak wall of clouds and despite it not making sense, this man on her was Zael. Somehow. Someway.

“Boy, get out of here!” Behind him, Everleigh heard the young boy drop the gear tooth and start running.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael couldn't believe his eyes. True shock, rare as the sight of a shooting star when you desperately needed a wish, marred his expression.

There was no way.

There was no fucking way.

He could not have possibly returned to Tarrow, returned to the very mill where his own father left him to die. He could not have possibly followed in his wake to the goddamn letter. There was no force on Arethil which could have made him do this. Zael was better than his father. In every way, he was better. He was stronger physically, commanded a gift of magic that neither his father nor his mother had. He saw the world better, had a better outlook on life. He was going to do something with himself! Not rot here! Not dig his own grave of mediocrity in Tarrow!

Zael was still standing petrified when the flame blast rolled over him. His hair rustled, and not a strand of it burned, nor did any inch of his skin, even as his armor heated up from the spell.

Then, when he saw this older man who both was and was not him atop Ever, pinning her with a forearm to the neck, the rage returned and his face twisted terribly with it. HE WAS NOT THAT MAN.

Zael dropped his sword and stepped forward and swiped both hands down onto the old man's collar, wrenching him up with all his might and throwing him to the ground. Zael fell on top of him. Straddled him. And an armored fist crashed down into the old man's face.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" A fist from his other hand rocketing down, devoid of mercy. "WHO!?"

Yet he feared what the old man, through his shattered face, might say.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh could breathe again when Zael pulled that doppelgänger off of her. She stood up, ready to launch herself into action to grab the child that was running away until she looked over at Zael.

It’s not that violence bothered Everleigh. She had seen violence at the impressional age of five. She had been subjected to such extreme violence and torture from the ones she was supposed to serve.

But this was different.

The way he shouted. Everleigh had never witnessed Zael sound like that before.

The way his fist slammed down on a face that was so like his own. The blood that smeared on Zael’s fists from the older man’s nose, why did this feel like the first time she had seen blood split from another human? Shouldn’t she be immune to this?

Dear Kress, why was she so horrified right now?

“I’m.” The man coughed, wheezing to only have more blood drip from his nose. “My.” Everleigh took a step forward. “Name.” Another step. “Is.” Two steps. Hurry! Quick! “Za—“

“It’s not you!“ Everleigh shouted and knelt down only to wrap her arms around Zael’s neck, pressing the side of his head firmly into her chest, one hand covering his exposed ear. She was prepared to be burned. She was sure of it. Zael would activate his fire helm. Or throw her off. He was bigger than her. Stronger than her. Heck the proctors would classify his magic as better than hers.

Against her training, she closed her eyes tightly, her whole body tense, ready for the pain, but she didn’t let go of Zael.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Get off of me!"

Zael in that hammerstrike of a moment had almost entirely forgotten Everleigh's presence, clouded as his mind was with the red fury at the old man who wore his face. For a second his torso twisted in resistance. He wrenched his body hard to his left, an attempt to extricate himself from the grasping arms about his neck and to position himself to swing a blind fist around at whomever it was. And he would have done it.

If not for Everleigh's words finally reaching him. If not for the vague awareness of something warmer than the cold, killing vengeance chilling his heart and something softer than his bloodied, armor-plated fists gracing his cheek, his temple, his ear. Distantly he had an awareness of her, somewhere beneath the anger.

Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, Zael's eyes never left the bloody work his hands had done. He stared fixatedly at the old man even as Everleigh held him, stared with that mix of simmering anger and slow, marching horror catching up to it, ready to overtake it.

"You keep that name out of your mouth!" Zael said, his voice hoarse with exertion. "I'll never...fuck!...you're not me, and I'll never be you. You're not..."

And his expression became nothing but a hard grimace, eyes pinched shut.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Oh Kress, Zael was strong. Strong enough that as he lurched, Everleigh had to use all her strength to hold him still and that still didn’t work, causing her to knock into him until he decided to breathe. His rapid breath, the way his entire body seemed to move every time he took a breath, caused Everleigh to try and be as still as possible. She removed the hand that had been covering his ear.

“It’s alright, you’re safe,” she cooed despite the fact that her mouth had grown dry from expecting Zael to hurt her. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. Her gut instinct would have been to throw whoever had draped themselves around her off too. “You’re safe, that thing isn’t you. I know it’s not you, you know it’s not you.”

Cool hands and fingertips would move across his brow, wiping his blonde hair from forehead as she spoke.

“I’m here. I got you. Look at me.” The hand at his brow moved to his jaw and Everleigh leaned back, loosening her grip around him so that she could force his head towards her. “I know who you are. I know you. You’re so much more, you’ve always been so much more. This isn’t real—“

Everleigh howled curses the moment the the flames enveloped her head from Not-Zael’s fiery punch. His face may have been beat and bloody but much like Zael he had activated his fire helm and fire was coursing through his veins. He brought his hands onto Zael’s shoulders and as he began to sit up he pulled Zael down so that he could crash his forehead right into Zael’s.

“Yeah I ain’t you ‘cause I’m not afraid to get mah hands dirty.” It sounded like Not-Zael but there was a tinny echo that sounded it belonged to a petulant girl rather than some old man and it rang in for a moment, a second delay after Not-Zael had spoken. Flames erupted from his back and he twisted and turned to get Zael off of him.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

How quickly it had all spiraled down.

Only a few hours ago, as they had been riding into Arnim, all was fine. As fine as it could be. His head was level, his demeanor steady. Zael was in control of himself. But sometimes certain emotions waited, long and patient, for the right moment to be released. Years in the making. Years spent traveling, nestled in the heart, festering, growing in the dark. Never were they more than three small steps away from bursting violently to the surface. Miklan and the Kesselrings, the taking of Everleigh, and here now with the taunting of the fog, showing him this vision of what could be.

How quickly it had all spiraled down.

And how quickly a good friend could make all the difference, like a desperate, slim shelter found in the midst of a torrential storm.

Everleigh's reassurances brought a measure of stability to Zael. A measure of familiarity. Thoughts of better times. The Academy was horrendous, but it was all Zael had. And some of the Initiates there were the only family he had ever truly known. They were to him the best people in the whole world.

Everleigh turned his head around, turned it so that he could look at her. His was a wretched face torn apart by stress and sorrow and horror and anger. But as she spoke, as she said he was more than the lie before them, more than the illusion of a failed dream to escape Tarrow, the tiniest recovery was made to his brow, his lips, his eyes, hazarding forth a minute smile. In that moment he could have—

A flame-wreathed fist rocketed past him and slammed into Everleigh's face. And that rage dominated once again.

"You son of a—"

Not-Zael slammed his Fire-Helmed head into Zael's own, the heat nothing to him but the swirling intensity of the Helm, great enough to deflect blades, whipped Zael's head to one side fiercely. It felt like he'd caught a right hook from an ogre and it left him reeling.

Then Not-Zael (with a boost from Zael's own niche technique) flung Zael clean off of him. Zael flew through the air upside down and his back crashed into the outside wall of the mill. He slid down, landing on his head and shoulders and collapsing over himself in a clattering, clanking heap.

For the moment, he was dazed. Even as anger simmered.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh had let go of Zael to instinctively have her hands cover her face as if Not-Zael was stupid enough to try the same thing twice. Of course that was too good to be true as he focused his attention on Zael. Vertigo struck her again, a ringing in her ears, and for a moment, Everleigh felt her conscious was split. Memories were entering into her mind as if she were in a pool of blood, memories of misshapen humanoids dragging her out of the pool, through the fog. When the pain ebbed away, her mind could focus on the now, or at least, her current situation.

Logically, she knew she should have let Zael pummel this strange older version of himself and gone after the kid and used him as leverage. That’s what they were trained to do, after all. Of course, it was hard to beat herself over something like that considering that brief, faint smile from the fire warrior. It was a image that fueled her, that had her fight through the pain of having the skin on her face blistering to only pop into melty, fleshy pulps.

Her eyes were watering profusely, blurring her vision, and so she only caught sight of Not-Zael flinging Zael against the wall. Saw him slide down in slow motion as she herself began to feel her cool demeanor crack.

How dare he. No. How dare they. Whoever was targeting Zael, how dare they hurt one of the few people that Everleigh felt a bond with.

“Leave him alone already!” She shouted, standing up, pulling out her flat blades. She focused on her magic, wondering if she could access it. “Whoever you are, you dare try anything with him again and I swear I’ll make your stupid little game look like child’s play!” Everleigh didn’t understand his past, had no idea what the mill represented, had no idea about his parents or his inner turmoil. But that didn’t matter, all she knew was that whatever was going on, it was completely directed at Zael and tearing him down.

Her eyes weren’t glowing, her magic inaccessible. Didn’t matter, whether she had poison or not, she’d go after Not-Zael, and whoever else created this nightmare for Zael. She lunged, flinging a few of her flat blades at Not-Zael, a distraction to help her hopefully get in close so she could slice away at his gut.

If not for her blurry vision, she probably would have succeeded, but she was off kilter and when she got in close, she was sluggish, unbeknownst to her. It felt like she was moving fast, after all, the world around her seemed to be spinning so much. A knee smashed into her nose and sent Everleigh toppling back.

That ringing in her ears, the split of consciousness could be felt. She wasn’t here, she was elsewhere, she—

“Pain.” She spat out blood. “Zael you need to—“ as if someone had a needle and thread, Everleigh felt her lips clamp down together, and when she tried to open her mouth she couldn’t. A hand went to where her lips should have been and she found nothing but blood and smooth skin. A sick, twisted joke.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

As Zael lay in his heap, memories of the Academy sparked to life in his mind. Little things, signifying nothing. Because he was nothing. His mother had been right, his father had been right: what worth was an unwanted child? He—

No.

NO. This was just the fog talking, muddying up his mind with doubt and despair. It was like Ever had said, just trying to get into his head, a trick, some sickly sweet enchantment to indulge the worst impulses within him. He wasn't anything like the old apparition that so happened to have his face. Hell no. He was going to be a better man than his father ever was. He had some ideas about what he wanted from life, and he knew damn well none of them led him back to Tarrow.

Not-Zael smashed his knee into Ever's face and she went back. He'd heard the interruption, but was yet to see what strange thing had happened to her mouth.

Zael pushed himself back up onto his feet, all but threw himself off of the mill's outside wall (would have launched himself with a Fire Jump, if only his magic weren't so depleted), and swung a plated uppercut at Not-Zael's chin.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Zael’s hit was perfectly executed against Not-Zael. The fist crashed into his chin, causing the imitation to stagger back while his brain was knocked around. Everleigh had just caught sight of the critical hit, and quickly got up and on her feet, shaky at first with her hands out to steady her. Blood was still dribbling down her nose in crimson rivulets that fell down from her chin like raindrops fell from a house’s shingles.

Not-Zael was still.

Everleigh, still unable to speak, looked at Zael, her gray eyes more expressive than they ever had been without the use of words. She pulled out more flat blades, took a step towards Not-Zael. Kill him then her and Zael could figure out how to get out of her. Everleigh was certain pain was a component. Maybe if she and Zael headbutted each other then they could—

“That’s mah boy.” Appearing from seemingly nowhere, a man was behind Zael. He placed a hand on Zael’s shoulder. “Yer turning’ out to be just like yer old man.” Everleigh didn’t hesitate to throw her flat blades at the man behind Zael. She already figured it was some sort of apparition much like Not-Zael. Zael’s father this time, and once again she felt a sense of rage at the fact that Zael was still being targeted.

The apparition flickered, phasing through the blades much like how Chasmine could phase through walls.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Always, always, there was that visceral satisfaction of landing a solid blow in a fight. The sudden explosion of recoil from the impact, felt even through his armor, that tremor reverberating in his bones and coursing all up his arm. The way his opponent's head (the best hits were always to the head) gave way against the undeniable force of his fist, turning with it, in fact, as if this were part of a brutal and ritualistic dance that spoke to something primal within Zael. And it did. It did speak to something.

Fighting was how he worked out the harder emotions within him.

Fighting was a release.

And as he stood above the fallen apparition that wore an older version of his face, he just brought his fist down and looked at it. A savage, snarling smile crossed his expression. It was like punching those trees when he was younger, punching them as a Proctor oversaw and as that same Proctor didn't even need to force him to keep going until his hands shattered to fleshy bags of broken bone. Some of his anger had been vented out through that uppercut, through the smile which followed.

He caught sight of Everleigh. Of the disappearance of her mouth. And a flash of shock and horror washed away some of that triumph.

"Ev—?"

That's mah boy.

Zael stiffened. Froze. He knew that voice.

Ever's blades phased through the new apparition and he flickered and Zael, slowly turning his head, didn't see the flickering.

His eyes intensely focused, staring back over his shoulder at the man behind him. His father.

"I was never yer boy," Zael said, his voice a taut whisper, as he slipped just a bit back into a thicker Tarrow accent reminiscent of his childhood.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

The doppelgänger of Zael’s father only smiled at Zael. He raised his arms out wide and high, that small smile not leaving his face. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled up. A breeze swept past the four carrying the scent of the mill to swirl all around them.

“Can’t yew give yer dad a hug?” It asked. “Turn around. I’ve missed yew. Haven’t seen mah boy in years. Look how big yew are.” It coaxed.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael stood still as a stone. Only his eyes moved, watching with all the tension of a frayed rope with a load too heavy as the arms of his father swept out wide. The anger was a given, but there was also a hurt betrayal, and such a feeling could not exist if not for at least of modicum of caring. And he did still care. Through it all, he still did. There was within Zael a small part of him which desperately wanted his relationship with his dad to untwist itself from torment, a small part of him which had yearned all his life for a father.

But he couldn't indulge that feeling. He had to put it down. Put it down as if taking a beloved dog, suffering from some terminal affliction, out to a quiet and peaceful place and ending its misery—quick and definitive and lamenting to any god kind enough to listen that it needed to be done.

"No. I won't. And no, you haven't," Zael said.

He flicked his eyes toward Everleigh. Back up to the apparition of his father. And he raised his voice back up to its normal level and spoke with a icy edge, "You better fix that."

He nodded his head ever so subtly toward Ever's modified face, the absence of her mouth.

"I don't give a damn if you did it or not, you better fix it."

And then a grin like brilliant white knives came through on his face, and his eyes were devoid of anything good.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

The silence and tension was palpable, a fizzle in the air between Zael and the strange imitation of his father. The smile slowly began to turn down into a tight, thin line of disapproval. Disappointment was clear in the man’s eyes.

“Things could’ve been different this time.” It was at that moment that Not-Zael began to move, gangly with jerky movements as if it were some sort of wind-up toy. He rushed at Zael, circling his arms heavily around Zael’s waist as the flames shooting out from his feet and back. With great speed and strength he forced Zael to hit the wall of the mill, going through the transparent father. Somehow, someway, Everleigh watched in horror as Zael was forced through the mill wall for only the mill begin to go up in flames. It happened in mere seconds, the fire reaching all along the wall as if the stone were gasoline instead of solid rock. The imitation of Zael’s father was gone.

Zael would find himself on the ground, Not-Zael pinning him there with large, heavy beams also being on top of them as black, billowing smoke and rancid heat filled the claustrophobic mill. Appearing at the doorway out of thin air was Zael’s father, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down into Zael’s eye.

“My only regret is that I didn’t make sure you would actually die.” He said in a ice cold voice. “But this time, things will be different.”

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

The tackle came as a surprise even though it shouldn't have. But he'd been thrown off of the fundamentals (which was to say, making damn sure you're opponent was done before you took your eyes off of him) by the intrusion of his father's apparition, and before that by the rage which Ever had to soothe to make him functional.

Well not again. He couldn't let it happen again. He had to get a hold of himself. Those wildfires of anger had burned bright when he was younger. The Proctors and their ice tortures hadn't changed him; Zael had changed himself, all that torture just some nudges and nothing more. He had found his way to bear it, it, this and the Academy and everything. He needed to find his way again.

The dust and clamor of being forced through the wall settled. Those familiar flames, echoing into the nightmares he never dared to tell anyone about, roared to life, and all in that crushing moment he was back in the place which he had thought would be his tomb. The place where the deepest wound he'd ever suffered had been driven into his heart.

But this time, things will be different.

"Yeah," Zael said in a low growl. "I'm not a boy anymore."

He reached and grabbed Not-Zael's collar, twisting fistfuls of fabric into his grip.

"And I ain't your son!"

There wasn't much room to move, with Not-Zael pinning him and the beams tented on them both. But Zael had enough space to wrench Not-Zael's head down and jerk his own up. One headbutt followed by another, and another. He was determined to take the older version of himself out of the fight, to get free of the debris, and to have a final "chat" with the illusion of his father.

Because it wasn't just about him and his bullshit from the past. He and Ever were on a mission. And it was time to get to work. The real work.

Everleigh Ebersol

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh was prickled with anxiety and uncertainty, seeing the mill on fire. On one hand, she knew that Zael was fire resistant, so why the mill was on fire? She only assumed it was to keep her out. But the issue was, Everleigh felt the need to go inside there and to help Zael, even if it meant that she would feel pain. But there was that keyword again. Pain.

Everleigh blinked. A sinking feeling in her gut.

A big wager. A big risk. One for her and Zael. She ran into the mill, a strange sight before her:

Zael was head-butting Not-Zael into unconsciousness, she could tell by how Not-Zael’s head seemed to have gone flack. Somehow, beams and debris were solidly placed onto the two of them. Standing before them was that doppelgänger parading around as Zael’s father, shouting and laughing hysterically at them.

“YOU’RE THE ACCIDENT THAT RUINED EVERYTHING. HOW’S THE ACADEMY TREATING YOU, HUH?! ARE YOU FUCKING UP THERE? ARE YOU MAKING OTHERS MISERABLE?” He continued to rant and rave but he did nothing to stop Zael, just continued to speak. “WHEN YOU LEFT I FINALLY HAD A CHANCE TO—“ Everleigh dashed through the illusion, closing her eyes, expecting impact, but feeling nothing but a wash of cool air that aided her against the roaring heat of the flames.

Unable to speak, Everleigh pulled out a flat blade from behind her. Her eyes were red as if she were about to cry, but the smoke and flames dried up any tears she could have produced. She knelt down in front of Zael. Without her mouth she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even mouth any sort of words to her fellow initiate. She grabbed hold of his hand that had held onto Not-Zael’s collar, and gave it a squeeze.

Behind her, the doppelgänger was still spewing venom, saying any hateful and hurtful thing anyone could come up with. But it did nothing. It allowed Everleigh to be near Zael, it allowed her to hold her flat blade against the soft skin along Zael’s throat. Another squeeze of Zael’s hand and Everleigh closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before her hand unleashed a killing blow.

Soon after, she brought the blade to her own neck. A stab and she was out. Falling on top of Zael.

A shrill, tinny laughter from a child swirling with the roar of frustration from someone much older could be heard. Both sounded unmistakably female.

---

Zael and Everleigh would wake up on the edge of the small wood that they had entered previously. Both covered in blood, both supine on their backs. Neither were harmed. The blood was from somewhere else, from something else.

Everleigh awoke with a gasp, sitting straight up, hands immediately going to grab at her neck, certain the blade was still there. Her hands then went up to touch her mouth, and she opened it gingerly. She wiped the blood from her mouth, nose and eyes and stared down at her hands. Then she looked over at Zael, her shoulders sagging, her fingers shaking as she reached over to touch his throat. There was no cut. Just unblemished skin. A shaky exhale of relief came out from her lips, harsh and rushed and full of disbelief.

The poison eater was trembling.

Zael Castomir