“Why are you dressed so heavily?” Gwyn asked, tilting her head to peer up at her brother. He wore no armor, claiming to prefer saving weight– so it was odd seeing him dress so warmly, considering his apparent immunity to the cold.

“My eyes already stand out,” he answered, reaching up to adjust the hood of the thick winter cloak he wore. “I don’t want to give them another reason to remember me.”

It was somewhat ironic, then, that his eyes were one of the few parts that peeked out from underneath the clothing he wore. Everything else; his arms, legs, and flesh– save for his hands– were hidden by the thick cloak he wore.

Strands of bone-white hair, the same color as her own, cut his violet eyes into many smaller pieces. Another ploy to avoid standing out, no doubt.

“Have you seen any convoys?”

Gwyn shook her head. “None.” She knew that worried her brother; brought his many fears closer to the surface, but even if there was something wrong, the ability to do something about it was distinctly out of their reach. “We should just go.”

They stood atop the city wall, overlooking one of the reception areas. This was already their third day watching– and waiting. Not a single convoy had yet to arrive. That in itself was no real reason for concern, but when taking everything into account…

“Mmh.” Selerim made an odd, noncommittal sound, and she feared for a moment that he would call off their hunt. Even if he spoke no more of it, she could feel his many anxieties. It would have been stranger for her not to notice.

Instead, he headed for the nearby ladder. Instead of taking every rung on the way down, he stopped halfway– and then hopped off. A small cloud of dust rose from the impact, settling only a moment later.

Gwyn considered doing the same– and immediately thought better of it. Even if she had since adjusted to wearing the thick leather armor, doing something like that with so much extra weight seemed a bad idea.

She wore the same outfit her brother had picked for her; leather armor atop comfortable undergarments and beneath a thick winter jacket stuffed with fleece.

Maybe I should be the one worried about drawing attention.

“Slowpoke.”

Gwyn nudged Selerim playfully with one shoulder. “If you wanted me to move faster, maybe you shouldn’t have bundled me up with so many layers.”

“You'll be grateful for the warmth.”

“I already am.” It was true– winter’s cold had bloomed fully over the past few days, and though perhaps not as harsh as winters in Cress, its stinging bite was still to be feared. And it would only be worse in the dark of Umbra.

“We can wait until it's warm again.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re trying to teach me, right? This is something I have to learn. What if we have to leave during winter?”

“I can always carry you,” Selerim said with a grin.

Gwyn laughed. “And do all the fighting? Please. I want to carry my own weight,” she said firmly. “Even if it’s not as great as yours.”

“Alright,” he responded, and she knew he would question it no further. I wonder how things would have gone if we were still in Cress. The thought was sobering.

She’d realized, at some point, why Selerim gave her so many opportunities to turn back: he was deathly afraid of seeing her in harm’s way. In some ways, of course, that had always been true, but the nature of that fear had changed in the year they spent apart.

Before, that fear had just been an effect of their life in Umbra; a bundle of shapeless fears and worries. Now, though, it took the shape of whatever horrors he saw the night Cress was destroyed.

Gwyn could see a hint of that fear every time he looked at them; could see how he struggled to overcome it.

But in the end, he’d said it himself: I don’t want to stop you from doing the things you want to. And so here she was.

I have to do this right, she thought, breathing into her hands to warm them. So that he’s not afraid anymore.

“Hold!” One of the guards– a woman– cried out as they approached. “What business do you have beyond the walls?” Her expression twitched as Selerim lowered his hood.

“We were injured,” he explained, raising the hem of his tunic to reveal a tangle of scars. “We stayed behind a whole longer to rest and heal. But it's time we head back.”

The guard nodded, wincing at the sight. “If you want to leave, that's of no real concern,” the soldier responded, wincing at the sight. “But are you sure you'll be able to find your wat? It's cold. And dark.”

Selerim nodded wordlessly.

The guard shrugged. “Suit yourself. HEY!” She shouted, no doubt to some unseen guard manning the gate. “Two hollows want out!”

The large wooden gate swung open moments after her words settled in the cold gloom.

“Be careful out there,” the guard said, genuine worry clear on her face. “Your people may be accustomed to the dark, but winter is brutal.”

“We'll be fine,” Selerim responded coolly.

She shrugged again. “No one leaves thinking this will be their time.”

“... Thank you for bringing me,” Gwyn said quietly. Those words were born from an understanding of her brother's fears, now that they stood on the edge of the great dark.

Was it always so… large?

Large seemed too simple a word to properly describe Umbra. It was a yawning, all-encompassing gorge that shrouded everything in a dark violet haze.

That's not right. Gwyn rubbed her eyes, and when she pulled her hand away, she could see faint outlines shrouded within the abyss. Has it been too long?

“How are your eyes?” Selerim asked, as if having read her mind.

“I can't see as well as I used to.” She rubbed her other eye, grimacing when nothing improved. “What about you?”

“I'm fine.”

“What about in the city?”

“It still hurts a bit,” he admitted. “It's not a big deal.” Selerim turned back to face her. “We should keep moving.”

“Alright.”

Gwyn pushed past her trepidation and followed close behind. There was no gradually fading light, no sign of the impending darkness. It was simply bright one moment and dark the next.

Umbra's haze also brought with it the world's crushing pressure. She'd experienced it before, during their first trek to the city, but never again.

And it hurt. It wasn't the sharp pain of being cut or struck, but a dull, rhythmic ache that reached from head to toe.

She could feel the essence pushing its way into her body, forcing its way deeper and deeper into her veins with every step.

Is this what they feel like? Every time?

But despite Gwyn's many misgivings, she still found the dark comforting, in a sense.

She had no love for it– not the same way her brother did– but there was something soothing about being back in its cool embrace.

“Here. Like this.” Selerim reached behind her back, adjusting her staff so that it hung horizontally at her waist. “Keep it within reach.” His own weapon was now visible at his hip.

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Gwyn felt her face redden despite the cold, but there was no rebuke in his voice. “Alright,” she murmured.

She took it in both hands; its cold length seemed almost warm amidst the bitter winter chill, and though perhaps a poor choice of weapon, its presence still brought her comfort.

Is this what he felt like the first time? Before she could push the question past her lips, Selerim whistled– and Nyx landed on his outstretched hand in a flurry of shadow. There was not a blemish on her dusky violet plumage.

Gwyn had it seen on many occasions before, but this time, Selerim turned, hand outstretched.

It took her a moment to realize what he meant by that. “You want me to… take her?”

He nodded.

“Just… like this?” She reached out tentatively.

Another nod. “She won't bite,” her brother said quietly. “She knows you. She's seen you almost as much as she's seen me.”

Gwyn bit her lip before extending her hand further. She'd always harbored a tiny bit of uncertainty about Nyx. Not for any real fear; she was a hollow, after all, but for the raw intelligence held in those dark eyes– the same eyes now fixed on hers.

“What should I…?” The question frozen on her lips as Nyx's form flickered, only to reappear in her hand.

She nearly yelped at the sensation of Nyx's sharp talons.

“Here.” Selerim reached out fearlessly to ruffle the duskwing's head. “I'll teach you the whistles later. It might… take a bit. For now, just ask her to watch over you.”

Gwyn blinked. “Watch me?”

Nyx's weight disappeared from her hand. She didn't even see the Reaver vanish.

Her brother laughed. “Just like that.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

“Nalos.”

He raised his head at the sound of his name. “Yes?”

Voja placed his paper back in the stack before continuing. “How is the pain?”

Nalos clenched his hand experimentally, causing pain to ripple through his fingers and out into his arms. He refused to let the discomfort show on his face. “I can manage.”

“Good.”

“... Does this mean I should expect something in the near future?”

Voja picked up another sheet of paper, different from the he previously held. “You should always expect something,” he said vaguely. “That's the line we tread on. But yes,” he sighed, “something soon.”

“The next part of your grand plan?”

The Warden nodded– and then hesitated. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

Nalos’ blood ran cold. “What for?”

Voja shook his head. “Nothing like that.” He hesitated again; an odd gesture for him. “I offer you an apology because I've been thinking.”

“That's your job, isn't it? You do the thinking, I do the dirty work?”

The golden-eyed Warden sighed. “I suppose you're not wrong.”

“So why the apology?”

He set the paper down, expression unreadable. “I fear I've gotten you mixed up in a feud that's not your own.”

“Do you have some quarrel with the royal family that I've been blissfully unaware of?” Their actions were treason, after all.

“No. Yes. I…” Voja frowned. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Nalos shrugged. He rather enjoyed having the Warden off-balance; it was easy to forget that he was the older one between then. “If you want to talk, I'm all ears. If not, that's fine too.” He sighed. “I thought I made it clear by now. I'm in this for good.”

“You have.” Voja leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Before I continue, I would like to know: are you doing this for your children?”

“... That's an odd question.”

“Perhaps. But one I expect an answer to all the same.”

Nalos raised one hand to his face, turning it slowly to inspect his scars. He'd grown used to them– and more than once, by now, but his children never questioned them.

“... I suppose.”

“It was a yes or no question.”

He snorted. “If only there were such a simple answer.” The Spellweaver raised his hand, watching the uneven light filter through his scarred fingers.

“The answer to your question is yes… I think.”

“You think?”

“It's complicated.” Nalos let his hand fall. “I'm doing this for them,” he said firmly. That belief still rang true– even if it wasn't his only motivation.

“But that's not the only reason.” He sighed. “I might just be using them as justification.”

“Justification?

“Maybe justification isn't the right word.” Nalos took a deep breath, using the moment to settle his thoughts. “I never really understood the big picture.”

“Do you understand mine?”

“No,” he admitted. “And now I'm not sure you do, either

“I do,” Voja said, leaning forward again. “I have my plans anyways.”

“So all that about a feud was just…?”

“No,” he responded, laughing. “That is true enough. I told you of my… heritage, correct?”

Nalos nodded.

“That has some part to do with it, I fear.”

“A way of hitting back?”

“Something like that.”

“Just let me know before this big next step happens.”

“Of course.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

By the time they finished, Gwyn was tired. Not quite exhausted, but tired. The mental fatigue was almost as bad as the physical; each and every step she took was a conscious decision, made many times over with each minute that passed.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gratefully accepting the steaming mug that Selerim handed her. “I never pictured you as a tea drinker.”

They were seated in a clearing of sorts

Her brother smiled, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “You're right. Senri was always the one who carried it.”

“Ah.” Gwyn mentally kicked herself. Not even a full night into their hunt, and she was already dredging up painful memories. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Selerim chastised, scooping up a handful of snow and using it to clean the bowls they'd used.

She'd feared that their meals would consist solely of ration bars, but he'd cooked instead– a simple meal, no doubt, but still preferable.

“Then why won't you talk to me?”

He paused, then resumed scrubbing. “I do talk to you.”

“That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I mean.”

“... I don't know what you want me to say.”

“Because you're not even trying!” Gwyn exclaimed. For a moment, she wasn't sure who was more surprised between them– her or Selerim– but she pushed on anyways.

“You don't talk to me. Not like you used to. Why not?”

She watched as her brother placed their bowls by the fire to dry. There was no need to badger or push him to answer: he would speak when ready.

“I don't think it'll do any good,” Selerim finally answered.

“Why not?”

He added another piece of firewood to their campfire. “What's done is done.” His voice was flat. “There's no point in sharing. It'll only give you nightmares.”

“But it's giving you nightmares. I can tell.”

Selerim threw another piece of firewood this time, kicking up a flurry of embers. They danced with the falling snow; specks of calm blue and angry orange. “So what?”

Gwyn bristled. “What do you mean so what?” So talk to me! Let me help! I–”

“You can't help,” he interjected, voice unusually harsh. “Not unless you bring them back to life.” For a moment, the expression of rage, hatred, and grief made her brother look like a stranger.

It was gone the next.

“I'm sorry,” Selerim said, his voice barely audible. “I didn't mean that.”

Gwyn pulled her cloak close. “I know you didn't,” she whispered, “but it still hurts. I can feel you pulling away. I know you're trying to protect me, but feeling that, it… it hurts more than whatever it is you're trying to protect me from.”

“Gwyn…”

“No.” She shook her head. “Just… just listen. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm your sister.” The tears she'd been stifling for so long spilled forth now. “I want to carry some of that burden with you. Is that so wrong?”

“Is that what all this is about?” Selerim asked, avoiding her eyes. That– more than anything else– hurt.

She shook her head again. “No… not exactly.” Gwyn wiped the tears from her eyes. “Even back home, in… in Cress. You always tried to handle everything in your own. But things are different now. You're different now. And– and I understand that. I really, really do. But why does our relationship have to change?”

She sighed, trying to make sense of her own fractured thoughts. “I'm just worried about you. It feels like you're slipping away.” In the end, that's what it all boiled down to. “I want to help. So let me.”

For a time, the silence was broken only by the sound of their crackling fire– and then by the sound of footsteps as Selerim stood.

Gwyn fixed her eyes on the fire's flickering light, unwilling to look at him–

– and then let out a stifled yelp as he picked her up with both hands. Before she could react, he took her seat, holding her firmly in his lap.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice earnest. “You're right our relationship doesn't– shouldn't– change.”

She felt him take a deep breath.

“I thought I was protecting you. But that was wrong of me. I'm sorry.”

“... No, I was wrong too. I'm pushing you when you're not ready.”

Selerim fell silent. That was an answer in itself.

“You don't need to tell everything. Not right now. Just… promise me. That you'll tell me when I'm ready.”

“I promise.”

That was more than enough; he had never broken a promise to her.

They stayed there for a while longer, watching the fire in silence–

– and then the next thing Gwyn knew, she was laying underneath a thick blanket. Selerim sat cross-legged by her head, sword resting on his knees.

“... You're awake?” He asked, seeing her open eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I didn't mean to…”

Her brother smiled gently. “It's okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No.” He reached out to tousle her hair. “Burden or no, I'm still your big brother.” His voice was gentle and teasing; something she hadn't heard in a long time. “Let me do at least this much.”

“... Alright.”

Gwyn closed her eyes, ready to drift off to sleep again. “Don't forget what you promised me,” she murmured.

“I never do."