Cerya

“I’m not going to hurt you, Seed Seer Cerya.” Says the horned girl with the forked tongue while dressed in Vylian trappings.

There is no comfort to be found in Astraea’s words.

Redeemable.

She embitters what should taste sweet and right.

To think she would not lighten our burden, but take away any opportunity for Ayre or I to make our own fate.

Ayre is right.

The circumstances Ayre and I survived up until this point have always been cruel. But in spite of all the misery caused by the Castellan and Mel’Viora, what Astraea offers is worse.

There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind.

And she can’t even see it.

What Astraea is demanding is that Ayre perform a role that they find intolerable. And if Ayre won’t do that, they don’t get to be Ayre at all.

All my indignation alights a topaz in bitter blue radiance as I level a pointed implement at Astraea.

“Ayre.” I snap, my voice as cool as the shards of ice beginning to manifest. “If you value your life, I need you to run.”

“And leave you to face her alone?” Ayre says, in defiance of the danger.

But I need them to get away from Astraea. Her goddess can only manifest in the presence of belief. There is no time for a logical argument, not without knowing for sure how much Ayre knows about how deities work.

What should I reach for instead?

It is too soon to reach for hope. Neither Ayre or I have done much more than recently come around to accepting such notions. Nevermind nurturing or putting stock in them.

For too long I’ve externalized my hope into allowing Snapdragon to define her needs.

My framing of hope cannot be trusted. Not where it matters, no.

“Without you and Astraea, Snapdragon and Fia stand no chance guarding the walls. Go. Keep them safe.” I say, reaching instead to stoke Ayre’s desperation.

I’ll happily accept if the motivation to protect Fia and Snapdragon takes priority over me.

Even if I’m pushing Ayre away, I just need it to work.

And it does.

My princess turns to flee, provoking Astraea to respond in kind.

Ayre is fast, but Astraea is faster.

At my invocation, a bolt of frost darts in the latter’s direction.

No hands intervene. Not when Astraea effortlessly readjusts her momentum.

I furrow my brow in irritation.

Two this time.

Three the next.

Is breaking the anger I feel down into pointed shards of my malice made manifest suddenly unworthy of her goddess’s attention?

By the fourth salvo, a part of me no longer cares about hurting Astraea.

Such is the cost of wielding these gemstone implements that the Castellan craves. Each use comes at a cost. A knot in the wood here. A moment of discarding any hesitations there.

Something stirs in the air that is not of my doing. At first it takes on an unnatural weight, and then it becomes a current.

My shards of malice are redirected harmlessly to the side, allowing Astraea to prioritize the most direct path to Ayre.

I change my approach. “Princess. The Tourmaline!”

There is no hesitation on Ayre’s behalf. A tourmaline slotted implement is retrieved and extended. As the stone alights, Mel’Viora’s Reach rises from the grove’s soil in the form of a root that wraps around and entangles the unworthy.

It delays Astraea for only a few precious moments, and mostly because it takes her by surprise.

To think Ayre raised a gemstone cut to the shape and standard of Mel’Viora’s own design and expected it to have a lasting effect

Then again, Ayre probably didn’t know any better.

I lower my Shards of Malice, discarding the Topaz in favor of a Garnet gifted to me by Eluned. This one is much heavier with the weight of pains my sister expects me capable of withstanding. Nevermind what Theriya would be comfortable subjecting Ayre to.

No implement will be necessary this time.

Not when I intend to channel the well of resonance contained within the stone instead invoking it for its crafted purpose. Besides, it wouldn’t be right to spare myself, not when being able to share in the experience will tell me what kind of pain Astraea reacts to.

Ayre’s would-be protector clutches at her arm as the fresh experience under my sister’s care removes the memory of Cinder Blight embedded in my arm.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The moment of me willingly jamming the still living gemstone entity into my flesh follows soon after.

From there it is a deluge of every injury the Thorned Watchers have received in the past week.

None of that stops Astraea.

Not until the stone reaches for what should be the weaker resonances.

The pain of Selescia and I picking dried blood from Ayre’s hair.

The long expected anguish of subjecting myself to being fed upon by another of the Castellan’s brood is but a paltry sensation.

Next comes every instance of Ayre subjecting themselves to harm in my presence. Every nail in the palm, every tooth to the lip, and every hesitation at the cusp of deciding whether or not the insight of their sister was needed.

Whether they knew she was there or not rings most clearly in the echoing ache felt upon imparting to Selescia all that Ayre has experienced.

Even something as subtle as me squeezing Ayre too tight to be comfortable is stored within this stone.

Astraea experiences all of that and more.

From her belt, a spaded tail reveals itself to coil around a lustrous black keystone.

Astraea jams it into place, manifesting onyx armored plating that displaces the root binding her leg faster than it would take to untangle herself or break free.

One gauntleted hand quickly poises to throw something in my direction.

A held breath is exhaled.

From her grasp erupts a howling gale centered around the vague idea of a spear to tear through the space between us.

There is no dodging what takes my feet out from under me. I lack even the time to comprehend the kind of invocation that could manage such force from a mere breath.

To say nothing of what kind of change invoking without a stone would subject one’s own body to. The presence of a goddess and willingness to cast without a focus would certainly explain Astraea’s rather unique bodily features.

Bodies like hers do not occur naturally, but are shaped over time.

Astraea finishes pivoting, redirecting her momentum to knock implements and gemstones alike from my hands before catching me by the collar. All of this, before my head can crack against the stone road.

I can’t help but feel giddy at the audacity of Astraea choosing to spare me the time and care it would take to ensure I come away from this confrontation uninjured.

Ayre was right to suspect that Astraea might be the more capable of the two in a fight.

Still.

The kind of power Astraea is throwing around without a visible focus or reserve means there is a limit to how much she can exert herself.

Vylian nobility on the other hand thrive at stripping others of their senses and life’s blood. I can count on Ayre to endure provided they are willing and able to feed.

And I can think of no one more willing to shed the sense of her undesired role than Snapdragon.

Astraea lifts me until I am at eye level, her voice falls to a low and dangerous growl. "Why are you so insistent on stopping me? You have scarcely known Ayre for more than a day!"

If all I need to do is stress her for time and energy, I’ve got options.

Especially if she is willing to fight without harming me.

My hands reach for the spare implements at my belted waist, knowing Astraea will be faster.

Words will suffice for my next jab in this dance between us. “True. But I’ve known Snapdragon for long enough to know you’re making a mistake with Ayre.”

Astraea strips me of my belt before tossing it to the side. It’s enough that her attention is diverted from the Rose Quartz earrings that pierce my ears.

Before I subject Astraea to the sense of loss contained within, I spend my final words on giving her reason to doubt. “You and I have been changed by the power we wield.”

Her eyes begin to trail back upwards, her gaze narrowing at my words.

Bright pink light begins to shine as I attempt to drown her in another cascade of raw emotional resonance. Before we are both lost in the current, I channel every bitter moment of convincing myself that there could be no mending the relationship between Snapdragon and I.

It is the kind of resonance that makes one’s voice weak. “But our skin deep changes are nothing compared to the transition they are going through.”

The weight of loss brings us both low.

Four other Seed Seers used to share the spire with Theriya and I, their rooms now empty of reminders that they ever existed at all. So it goes.

I am merely the sister Theriya has left. I am the one she would sooner attempt to kill the entire grove than risk burying.

And yet I welcomed Ayre and Astraea into our spire instead of allowing her to take precautions that would preemptively sour any chance at forming a positive connection.

Recognition of a willingness to do much the same burns in Astraea’s eyes as she pushes through an emotion she knows all too well.

The faces of every buried Seedling and mounting guilt over every Gemstone shaped into a weapon make for an exhausting experience.

Each Rose Quartz burns with a blinding radiance as Astraea sets her jaw and begins to pry them both from my ears.

But in that final moment of contact, Astraea’s own losses join the stream of emotional resonance.

I am treated to the faces of a ship’s crew. Astraea’s crew, I realize, as I identify the reverence and deference paid to her in the fleeting memories.

Numbers dwindle as each loss is felt and given to the sea. Each iteration of the same ritual plays out, one after another, until only eight remain.

The long procession of Astraea’s losses ends not with a burial at sea but with a pair of shadows cast over a wood carved box consigned to a pit in the soil.

A stone marks the grave: Farah Shahir Wyrmsbane

My blurry vision of a memory is dragged back to the present.

The intensity of Astraea’s gaze finds mine, her determination wavering as the aftermath of the stones’ resonance is felt.

Her mask slips, revealing to me someone who is haunted by what she has lost.

We are both breathing hard now, although I suspect for very different reasons.

I must let my willingness to continue this contest show.

Can I really be blamed?

She’s given me everything I could ever need to chip away at her core with words alone.

“No.” Astraea’s voice is deep and commanding. “That’s enough.”

But my ears and heart sense a hollowness in her voice.

It is the kind of sense that thinks an embrace would be more appropriate than pushing her any further than I already have.

Would she harm me if I used her emotions against her?

Do I care?

Should I?

Do I even need to?

How much time has passed?

Will I even get a choice in the matter?

The light of the moon does not sway my thoughts towards a bitter conclusion.

There is time yet then, if I wish to relent.

“Tie me up.” I say, wishing these were any other circumstances. “If you’re not going to hurt me-”

“Alright.” Astraea says, agreeing to a solution that will prevent the moon from demanding this conflict of ours end in bloodshed.

In this moment, I have succeeded in the only thing that matters, securing Ayre time.

All around us, it begins to get brighter as the moon begins to crest the horizon.

With time only for one last exchange, Astraea’s words turn bitter. “Do you honestly think what you have done here is right? Do you have any idea what you have risked?” Astraea gives me a withering look as she begins to bind my hands and feet. The first is done with a length of rope. The latter is secured with my own belt.

Between witnessing the bitter fury over what I have subjected her to and the possibility of failing her goddess’s demand, I’m not sure what she expects from me.

Not after everything that has passed between Ayre and us.

I bite my tongue until I find the words I’m looking for.

Something both honest and cruel.

She should harvest what she sows.

“For all I know, I have succeeded only in sending Ayre to their death.” My words make it a meek admission.

How could I not?

She’s not the only one who has had the intensity of countless emotions eating away at her resolve and focus.

It would be better if I shut them out while I still can. Instead I allow myself to wonder what Ayre must feel like when they are hungry and feel lessened.

She lifts me under one of her arms, seeming intent to carry me to the grove’s wall. “You better hope you’re wrong, Lunarian Seer.” Astraea’s bitterness manages to fend off any sense of resignation.

I am left to think back to Astraea’s question. It weighs in my mind as I compare what I have learned of Ayre against what I see in Snapdragon. Eventually I settle for offering Astraea an answer that is as bitter as it is comforting. “It doesn’t matter what I think is right. I just know that for the likes of Snapdragon and Ayre, the likes of you and I don’t get to decide the outcome.”