Lenore

We survive.

For everyone we care for and who cares for us in turn.

For the ever deeper understanding of who we are becoming.

And for my little sister’s fledgling hopes.

None of it matters if we perish here.

You’ve got us this far.

Allow me to push us through this night.

No matter how this plays out…

…Remember that you are not to blame.

Not for this.

Not for my death at our brother’s hands.

Not for having to take care of Selescia in my stead.

Nothing arrayed against us has ever been your fault.

I know you still blame yourself.

You can’t hide it from me.

And you won’t be able to hide it from those who care.

Not forever.

Remember that none of this is fair.

I wish I could communicate how much it hurts to have a one sided conversation.

To not have you here, sharing in our choice of thoughts.

To feel our words take new shape as they pass between the two of us.

To settle for having to act without you.

To not share in the despair you are drowning in, just out of my reach.

Please.

No matter how this night ends.

Don’t let anything hold you back.

Not even me.

If I am to be anything.

Let me claim the monstrous role made for us.

Call me the wretch for once.

Spare me no end to the blame you would lay at my hands.

Better this than I remain someone who hurt you.

I feel an answer to the thoughts I offer to the sibling I share a body and heart with.

It is a soundless scream coming from the other side of a door.

A door I cannot open.

Not as the division between us must be put from my mind as the drake turns its attention upon me.

Its tail sweeps in a wide arc intending to catch Astraea and I in its path.

With an exhaled breath, Astraea leaps into the air.

Meanwhile I flash my fangs and embrace what comes.

The tail catches me square in the chest, an intensity of pain beyond what I expected catching me off guard.

I hold on tight, allowing the tail to take me off my feet. As soon as the momentum eases, I reach for the nearest cluster of gemstones, grip until it hurts, and tear it free.

I am made to feel small.

So young, insignificant in the face of those as old as the land itself.

Am I so foolish to think I could resolve anything alone?

To think I could understand everything in a single night?

Or that this night’s trials would end after a single drake?

The stone is cast from my hands, blighted derision lingering long after the tourmaline absorbs what it can.

It only takes me a moment to collect my thoughts.

I may not have gotten what Ayre wanted, but what we needed is clear enough.

My shout is loud and clear for the Thorned Watchers to hear. “The Drake is a distraction! Thorns! Cover the other wall!”

Letting go of the tail causes me to go tumbling into silvered underbrush. Thorns and sharp leaves slice at my hands and cheeks. Thankfully the rest of me is covered in padded clothing.

Armor will not do in this situation. Against something like this? I need to rely on my speed, strength, and capacity to mend my wounds.

“Ayre!” Astraea calls out, her words falling on ears deaf to her concerns.

I am already lunging for the next blighted gemstone.

Before too much blood is shed, I need to know if the stones are united in their unwillingness to negotiate.

The drake aims to seize my head between its jaws, demanding I throw myself underneath the beast. Which is fine enough, there are at least two blighted stones jammed into the drake’s legs.

It takes rolling out from underneath either leg that rises with intent to crush or claw at me. But I manage to rise to my feet and pry another blighted gemstone loose.

Blood drenches my fingers as doing so reopens a wretched wound.

The time of what is ended might as well be immeasurable.

All to grant a transient being another chance at life.

We are but specks, and I am a flawed one at that.

Cannot even grow without fracturing from my intended purpose.

Pressure builds in my hands as I express my displeasure.

Heat contained within the blighted stone rises to match, earning the Cinder part of their name. I hurl the blighted stone against another, dislodging yet a third stone from the drake’s wing.

Its cries take on desperation as it tries to put distance between Astraea and I.

Both of us put trees between us and the next salvo of quills.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Astraea calls out.

I spare her a drop of my anger. “What need have I for a blade to know my purpose?”

She darts out from behind her tree first, smacking the third gemstone with the haft of her spear from where it landed on the ground.

The blighted thing thuds against my tree and I seize it with impatience.

This time I will Ayre’s concerns into a pointed question. What is worth the losses sustained by attacking the fortifications of those who would destroy and subvert your purpose to their own ends?

Their resonating answer comes in the form of a blinding brilliance that forces me to avert my gaze in the present.

A lodestone worth protecting.

A crystalline spire lost to the light.

Now banished into darkness.

One of the caves then?

The stone grows hot, burning to the touch as it resonates in ways I am not meant to understand.

I am left to grapple with the implications of knowing that they are capable of communicating. But they are choosing not to explain everything.

Which is an answer in and of itself.

“Militant stone.” I say with bitter harshness as I discard my third foe.

It takes a moment of focus to dedicate blood towards regrowing flesh and restoring nerves in my fingers. Delicate work, but it is almost instinctual, needing only my guidance and will.

And blood of course.

As evidenced by my softening of Ayre’s chest, I’m not always consistent in my work. This time the healing appears to have resulted in sharpened claws and thicker bones.

I am still not sure where the instincts are coming from. But for now it is enough to exist as a source of strength and healing for Ayre.

Thankfully Fia is not far off. I suspect I will need to feed once this is done.

She’ll need to be hidden away, afterwards. We can’t afford her being vulnerable in view of our siblings.

The world around me darkens as the light of the moon begins to fade.

All eyes turn upwards as a cloud begins to block it from view.

I becomes we.

Our whole body trembles as Ayre’s fears and doubts finally secure an outlet.

Ayre

This isn’t enough.

We should be doing more.

Astraea’s name dies in our throat.

Can’t say it.

Won’t.

Not forgiving her.

Not until we know Cerya is okay.

How will we know if we don’t ask her?

Our head shakes in refusal.

Okay.

But will we continue to accept her help in fighting the drake?

Thoughts spiral in our mind as we busy our hands. We scramble to slot the rest of our gemstones into implements, freeing the pouch at our belt to hold a Cinder Blighted stone.

“We don’t want the drake dead. Free it from the stones.”

We’ll figure out what to do with them later.

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If we don’t tear them apart first.

Calm, sister.

We have to focus.

The drake is distracted.

“Of course you would ask this of me.” Astraea says before turning to dislodge another blighted stone with a casual throw of a spear.

The drake turns, shielding its other blighted stones even though we lack anything to throw and dislodge what we cannot reach.

“Thorns! We need one of you to be ready!” We shout as we run wide, intending to give any thorns who can take a shot a clear angle.

The drake is heedless to our intent, lashing a tail at us as it turns and backs away.

Just a little more.

“Now!”

Two bolts are fired.

Two blighted stones fall from the drake’s flesh.

A bolt punches through a leathery wing, burying a fourth stone mere strides away from where we stand.

From the tower, Fia’s voice cries in triumph. “I helped Master Ayre!”

That you did little Fia.

Good girl.

With a pained cry, the drake’s head snaps in the direction of Fia’s voice.

We disregard the fallen stone and rush forward. Putting all my weight atop the midpoint of the beast’s tail.

It is not enough.

Four quills fly in the direction of the tower.

The first falls far short with the second going wide.

The third strikes stone.

But the fourth provokes a scream of pain and cries of distress.

No.

No no no no no.

Not Fia.

Anything but…

Fine.

If the moon wants blood.

It can have it!

Just not Fia’s.

We bite into scales.

Enraged, we hammer down blows until the scales bend under the strength of everyone who has put their lives in our hands.

Bloody fingers dig underneath, prying them loose.

And then we bite.

We bite and we tear chunks of meat free until the drake bleeds.

We pay no heed to the rest of the fight.

Our only concern is clinging to the tail and drinking our fill.

We find clarity where we least expect it.

In the blood of a fellow predator.

We were right in the worst possible ways.

The Cinder Blights are desperate.

There are voices of reason to be found in stone. The drake’s own memories and resonance with its captors confirm this. But it is not voices of reason who lay siege to Lunarian walls and bind other living creatures to their will.

Not that waiting around for naturally occurring corpses could ever be enough to sustain a war effort.

We withdraw our fangs in revulsion as the taste of stone mixes in with blood. Our mouth and heart burn with an intensity that outpaces the volume consumed.

Immediately our gaze is drawn to Astraea. In defiance of its movements, she stands atop the moving drake, delicately retrieving a spear lodged in a wing in place of a blighted stone. She spares us a confident grin before leaping off the side to dislodge yet another stone from the drake’s other leg.

It collapses to the ground under all its weight and accrued wounds. Even the drake’s pained cries begin to sound weak.

At her feet, Astraea drops a number of other stones dislodged while we fed.

We’ll get no better opportunity than this.

By our count, all that remains is a gemstone jammed into its neck.

Astraea’s head turns to the side, her confident grin replaced with an empty stare. “Now that the threat to your life has been dealt with, and it seems all eyes are turned elsewhere…” She raises her spear in my direction. “...You and I have unfinished business.”

Beads of sweat actually drip from her forehead. Her breathing isn’t as calm as it typically is. Between confronting Cerya and this drake, this is the first time we’ve seen Astraea meaningfully exert herself.

Both of us are covered in drake blood.

Her heart races with unreadable emotions.

Meanwhile ours has never felt so alive. We’re practically thrumming with newfound energy and the thrill of resonating with the drake’s many airborne hunts.

Oh if we had wings of our own to soar, there would not be a thing Astraea could do to stop us from taking what we want.

We take a deep breath, willing our heart to slow as we set aside any thought that assumes Astraea stands no chance against us. The drake’s blood is too eager, and its blighted stones too arrogant. Regardless of cloud coverage, no moon holds sway over our actions here.

All that stands between us and fulfilling our promise to Snapdragon is to confront our guardian and her goddess.

She does not approach, choosing to confront us with words. “Ayre. Please. I can make all of this stop.”

We stride forward, paying no heed to anything she has to say.

Her voice hardens. “You will never be more Ayre or Lenore than you are right now.”

It’s already too late for that, we think.

Our nostrils flare as our expression becomes one of contempt. Her words ring to us of a demand to lessen ourselves.

Astraea lowers her spear the moment it becomes clear we have no intent of slowing our pace. “Please. Just. Listen! You never have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

No.

The moment we pass Astraea by, a hand grips our shoulder. Nails dig into flesh, heedless to the physical barrier that our quilted layers of clothing present.

It is not Astraea’s hand, but something that can barely be perceived.

Her goddess’s touch burns hotter than any blighted stone or open flame.

It hurts like nothing we could imagine.

And we have been through… So. Much.

There are moments of weakness expressed only in our journal and magnified in our dreams where we become aware of parts of our body that we no longer have.

Somehow this is worse.

It is like both bodies are attempting to reassert their existence despite sharing the same space.

The pain, discomfort, and sense of wrongness is intense enough that there is almost no room for thought.

We are, however, so very well versed in pain, discomfort, and our wretched existence that it does not take much to recall how to respond to the intervention of gods.

Entities of faith must adhere to belief.

And it is with an ironclad certainty that we want nothing to do with a goddess seeking to reach for what binds our shared body together.

Our fangs sink deep into our lips as we exert ourselves. We reach for hands more real than our own, despite how less than tangible they might at first seem.

We will not be fooled.

They are very real. And the kind of harm they are capable of inflicting through the slightest of doubts leaves no room for error.

For as much as we will never forgive our broodmother for subjecting us to the Depths and the merciless siblings of ours, it was done knowing that the gods would do far worse to us given the slightest opportunity.

Did she think we wouldn’t look for reasons why our life was so cruel?

Did she think because we are young we wouldn’t find answers?

Surely not every sibling of ours faced the same cruelties as us. None of them were stitched together from the remains of their own sister!

How many of the Castellan’s children were taken in the early days as punishment for slaying a god?

Nevermind twenty positions.

The record of the Castellan’s many children spans a number of pages that might as well have been penned in blood.

Must we become a monster to ensure our own existence?

Leave it to an outsider who doesn’t know better to prove my mother right.

We wanted to rely on others.

Our questions become pointed accusations.

Had we the stones to spare, we would stab them into the goddess’s hands.

Like Cerya already did in our defense.

A snap of bone.

Every step forward is just going to cost us more and more isn’t it?

One finger snaps backwards.

At least we know that our worth is known by more than just our Dolls.

A second.

Of all those who claim to want to help us…

Must we really discard our protector?

Our Sworn Blade?

The confidant we trusted despite being surrounded by vile siblings.

Who even now we might have trusted had it not been for the machinations of some cruel god thing.

Her grip is broken.

But not before white hot pain shoots through our left shoulder.

We open our mouth to scream, but the pain subsides as Lenore is the one to recoil away.

I am left with urges to lash out with limbs I don’t have. A quilled tail, wings that would carry me far from this place, and my own hands in place of Lenore’s.

Astraea at last closes the distance.

She is far too late to be of any help to either side in a contest of wills and thoughts.

“To the very depths with whatever you would offer in exchange!” I shout, pulling my miserable excuse for a body away from Astraea’s reach.

I can still flex Lenore’s hand, but the feelings are numb. I want to clench my fists, but I quickly realize that any movements come at the delay of an extra heartbeat or two for the arm connected to my left shoulder.

Even Astraea’s words register slower than watching her lips call out some plea I cannot connect with.

“Ayre.”

Astraea holds herself at a distance, eyes and hands stretched wide in a placative manner.

It takes me a moment to recognize Astraea’s expression as horrified.

A heartbeat.

She’s not going to touch me.

I can breathe a little easier.

Lenore’s hand tightens belatedly into a fist.

Astraea’s voice becomes a desperate plea. “This isn’t how I wanted this to play out!”

I bare my fangs, voice deepening as I say words that do not echo how I feel. “Enlighten me then.”

Until she finally says something that should resonate with us. “She was never supposed to touch you!”

My eyes narrow. “It is too late for that now. Isn’t it?”

Astraea shoves away at something we can barely see over her shoulder, denying her own divine comforts. “How long have I struggled to figure out what hurts you so that I can avoid causing you harm?”

Her words cause me to ache in the same ways that the moon’s exposure claws and stabs at my ability to focus. I throw my head back, fighting back the urge to express impatience, exasperation, or just… Raw hatred. Against my better judgment, I humor her. “For as long as you’ve served me.”

What else could she want me to say?

Is there any version of me that would still be willing to listen?

“She should know better.” Astraea growls, a warning I take as not intended for me. “Neither of us can redeem you if we do not care. I made it clear that this wasn’t the way to approach you. But you’re not listening to me either! She-” She must not like my reaction to her fishing for an excuse, as she quickly reaches for a more pleading tone. “You don’t have to suffer anymore! All of this can stop. Right here. Right now. If you’ll just-”

“It serves her right.” I say with a snarl, still more focused on trying to time the flexing of Lenore’s hand in heartbeats. The delay is getting shorter, but something still feels off. Am I really back to it not feeling like my hand? “Whatever Cerya threw at you, I hope it hurt.”

When I turn to meet Astraea’s gaze, I find everything I expected to find. Guilt, pain, maybe even a hint of remorse.

And I would be lying if I didn’t derive some satisfaction from that fact.

Astraea speaks with faltering conviction now, choosing to protect her Goddess’s actions instead of me. “Mine is the only Goddess willing to redeem you! This was… Is your only chance.”

"Redemption?” I let the blood drip carelessly from my mouth now. Too angry to care. “As If I chose the depths! As if I chose to be the one who survived them! No you inconsiderate cunt, the only choices I have been allowed to make was how I care for my Dolls after my family made me into… This! Wretched! Thing!”

My chest heaves with a need to force more air into my lungs.

All to support a body I don’t have.

Forcing out yet more words limits me to pained gasps. “To think I exposed my throat to you. And these Seed Seers. Rather than bare fangs! Risked you or them tearing me apart. Because I just wanted…” I turn away, my last gasps no longer intended for her. “A part of me wanted to trust again."

Enough to risk trusting someone I shouldn’t.

And then I feel it. Something like the weight of an embrace bearing down against my heart. I can almost imagine the words Lenore would reach for.

That I’m worth it. Please believe that I am worth everything I have suffered and more.

Never have I been willing to believe those words more than after breaking a goddess’s hand.

It is a deep and profound shame it doesn’t feel like enough.

By the time I feel like I can turn on Astraea, my words expel a newfound heat and intensity. "No wonder my mother and siblings hate your gods. You would wait until others have already torn us apart and left us to bleed before claiming we need redemption to be worth saving. Of course you waited until you earned my trust before cornering me with the idea that I belong on my knees. Does your redemption demand I finally start to believe there is a future where I am happy in this body? You and your vile god thing can keep whatever passes for redemption. We’re not interested.”

At that, I turn my back on my would-be protector. “I'll tend to my own scars rather than let her pluck at my wounds like a piece of carrion she can fashion into a trophy."

By the time I close the distance with the dying drake, I know without needing to feed or commune that there is no saving this creature.

I could try, but the drake and final blighted stone would both fight me in the attempt.

So I decide to grant it one last exchange. Referring to the note handed to me by Theriya, I reach for the blood red garnet slotted into a sharpened implement.

The drake’s jaws open wide as I thrust a clawed hand deep into the soft tissues of the creature’s upper mouth.

Its death is swift.

Any remaining pain is absorbed and numbed by the garnet. It is the least of what I feel like I can do. The blood of the Quill-tailed Drake is mine to claim.

Our urge to drink the essence of another feels different now.

Like I have earned this.

A kill should not go to waste. I need nourishment to live, afterall.

It is my strength that will define how much we can change our circumstances.

To that end, is it not worth becoming absolutely everything I can?

If Lenore wants to think of herself as a monster.

I should accommodate her as well.

So I drink enough for the two of us.

And the last cinder blighted stone is broken off before being added to our pouch.

We turn to find Astraea backing away from us.

“Don’t come after us unless Cerya is with you.” We say, our voice unwilling to spare her any emotion.

Where we now go, Astraea shows no intent to follow.

The clouds pass on our way back, demanding Lenore take over.

I am left once more to drown in the bloody depths of my own thoughts.

In contrast to earlier in the night, it is not my thoughts that demand I act upon them, but those of the drake I just bled dry.

Why should I need a moon to convince me to shed blood when I am among the apex predators of these lands?

Whether it is true as a Quill-Tailed Drake or the Fourteenth of her Unholy Brood, I feel how easy it should be to force my own ends through a violence I would be unopposed in.

Everyone else is lessened by violence.

But me? I could be elevated by it.

All I would need to do is discard my flimsy reasons for holding myself back and feed.

If not on those I love and care for, then on all who would threaten them!

The moment I am back under the shelter of the walls, Lenore leaves me to take all the time I need to regain a sense of myself.

I am not my most unkind thoughts.

I am allowed to just… not be fine.

It is not long before I find Snapdragon frantically trying to squeeze poison from a quill freshly removed from Fia’s shoulder.

First Thorn casts a furious gaze at me, revealing a wound that cuts along the side of her head. By my estimation, someone came close to driving a spear through her skull.

I show no reaction even as I drink in the naked contempt that informs me I will be sharing in the blame. Regardless of what happened, I make a mental note to make it up for not being here to support Snapdragon directly.

The First Thorn turns back to an open hatch, braces her bolt thrower against it, and fires off another bolt without a word.

Depths.

My life is never going to get easier, is it?

There will need to be a discussion about how best to remove Snapdragon from the Thorned Watchers. But that will have to be a problem for later.

Turning to Fia, I gesture for Snapdragon to give me space. “Her poison is my responsibility.” I say with the weight of certainty I should not feel.

Something feels off. But there is no time to interrogate it.

So I drink from my doll.

It is not a pleasant thing.

Snapdragon revealed much in her confrontation with her siblings.

Much like Astraea, the First Thorn reached for some other explanation or context beyond what was right in front of her.

Like me, Snapdragon took issue with that.

Circumstances escalated into brief and sudden violence.

But Snapdragon asserted her truth.

Out of everyone to not believe her, Fia siding with Snapdragon’s siblings hurts me the most.

I withdraw my fangs from Fia’s flesh with tears in my eyes, quietly swallowing the poison I feel responsible for.

And with it, a deeper understanding of my blood doll.

Calling us Master comes from a need for our dynamic not to change anymore than it already has. Fia feels more out of place and helpless here in the Lunarian Grove than she ever did in the Vylian courts.

We were constantly in danger, but we were nearly inseparable.

Here? Fia worries I am becoming a stranger.

And depths, she might be right to worry.

How little time have I made for her while trying to secure our position in this grove?

I look up from my most cherished doll to the sound of a door opening.

The only response I can muster to Cerya meeting my gaze, whole and unharmed, while Astraea averts hers…

…Is to smile a sad smile.

It is a pained expression that only communicates a deep relief in spite of a profound weariness of the heart and body.

Cerya’s smile matches my own.

Everyone is alive.

That will simply have to be enough.