Astraea

I close the door to Cerya’s chamber long after everyone within falls asleep. Snapdragon never returned, but I got the sense she trusted me to keep watch.

Knowing that I can be so quickly trusted with the safety of Cerya is no small gesture, even if it is a test.

I carry the weight of such trust with pride long enough that I am content knowing everyone is well and truly asleep.

But it would not do to neglect my own needs.

Curiously, Theriya’s door remains open, her flower bedchamber empty.

Pale moonlight reaches through an open doorway from across the ritual chamber, its grasp reaching the center. Twelve equidistant stones lay inert within the moon’s light.

What vile words do those stones carry? Divorced from the context of harmonious intent and expression such rituals usually require, I shudder to think at the unpleasantness any such ritual circle might bring about.

Taking care to stay beyond the reach of moonlight, I make my way to the side of the open door.

Circling the room on my way there gives me a glimpse of what lies beyond. Silvered plantlife leaves little doubt to the nature of the Moonlight Garden exposed to the open night sky.

These Lunarians take their name seriously.

I tense up before projecting my voice into the room beyond.

“Theriya?”

No response.

I permit myself a sigh of relief. There is no need to subdue a lover-to-be who has exposed herself to unfiltered moonlight.

I retreat from the ritual chamber and make for the stairs.

Down I descend into the depths of the tree.

Layered spirals in the darkness mark the wings and antennae of the second Seed Seer, Theriya. The only source of light is a blue topaz necklace being used to illuminate a scattering of open books. Her lower hands busy themselves with trimming unwanted growths from a misshapen wooden implement that has spent too much time in moonlight.

Between the gemstones and wood both receiving raw moonlight treatment, I find myself frowning at the tools being crafted in this place.

Theriya seizes that moment to turn, catching my visible disapproval. “I will not submit to a routine that keeps me safely under guard. Mine is a task entrusted to no other. As such, the hours remain mine to keep.” She turns back to her work, her voice turning dismissive. “You may find a petal and sleep if you wish.”

It is enough to get a harmless laugh out of me. “I would not ask you to, fair Seed Seer.” I motion to join her, not expecting her to care overly much.

She does not until I disregard the seating in favor of sitting on the table itself. This gets a grin out of her. “You’re no creature of order, are you?”

My laugh becomes a cackle. “Order? There is no order in the empire that the Castellan maintains. Only manipulations passed off as such. But, these are familiar enough waters for me to carve out my own little crew.”

Theriya’s eyes narrow as she makes connections laid out for her. “What is a pirate doing this far inland? And serving someone like Ayre?”

Such a clever girl. A good fit, for what will soon be arrayed against them.

I reign in the laughter, giving it to her plainly. “I’ve no love for sailing. Not anymore. Not under this moon of yours.”

It takes her a moment to contemplate my words. The expanse of time I am suggesting is enough that she turns away from her task to regard me in full.

From this direction, I can see that her lower hands wear gloves and she does not set the unshaped implement aside. Such unpleasant things, but I must reserve judgment for now.

There was a reason I wanted to have this conversation as informally as possible.

Theriya crosses her upper arms as her antennae twitch. “Okay. Let’s assume that I believe you can claim what you say. My question stands. What interest do you have in any of us? Either my sister or your little Prince-thing?”

“I do make it a point to not call them as such. Whether you come to care for them or not, I hope you will at least come to recognize what harms them.”

Theriya holds my stare for a while longer before giving a disapproving click of the tongue. “I take it Wyrmsbane was not enough for you? What’s next? Felling an empire? The moon itself?”

I smile, before reaching for a bowl of fruit, picking out something red with a rough exterior. “I like to think of myself as a protector first and foremost.”

“Okay. I am back to focusing on Ayre. Why the fourteenth broodling? What makes them… stand out?” She narrows her eyes, coming so close that I might as well give her an answer.

“I have long operated by anchoring myself to those I take an interest in. Let’s just say that Ayre has no reason to be as they are, but in a familiar way. They remind me of how I used to be. One must wonder how either of us turned out to be redeemable considering the kind of tyrants and monsters who raised us.”

A slight change in posture, regarding me with interest now. “I see.”

I feign disinterest, looking over the fruit in hand.

She holds my gaze, not returning to her craft.

I make a show of dexterously stripping the fruit’s hide before sinking my teeth into exposed flesh. Only then do my eyes search for hers. “I really hope you do. Cerya and Snapdragon are already beginning to influence them.”

Theriya knits her brows in a moment of quiet contemplation. And then she goes unnaturally still. “We have been handed an appetizer intended to lower our guard. The poisoned gift is yet to come.”

Satisfied, I make it a point to eye the room around me. “Where has the dutiful little Snapdragon gone, I wonder?”

“She’s returned to her duties. We are nearing a full moon.” Theriya draws out the words, realization setting in.

No Watcher can be spared, of course.

A thought comes to mind. It is perhaps a touch manipulative, but that just means it should come from Amari and not me.

I can plant the seed, at least. “A shame, that. I cannot protect Ayre and the gates both.”

Theriya is uncertain what to make of that. When I offer her nothing further, her eyes turn back to the books arranged before her. “Ayre seemed uncertain of themselves. Are they not aware that Lunarians and Vylians have a history of being uniquely compatible in our circumstances?” She looks up, searching for a response or expression that will provide some reassurance.

“I’m just a pirate turned Sworn Blade, remember?” I say, offering what is surely a frustrating non-answer.

Theriya bites at a nail, her brows furrowing again. “I will… make some arrangements. Just to be sure.”

Having achieved everything I could have wanted, I leave Theriya with parting words to dwell on. “In my experience, tyrannical parents have an annoying tendency to reassert control once they realize something valuable no longer responds to how they have conditioned it.”

Theriya lets out a dismissive huff. “The Castellan’s Blood Hunger that is shared by her children is well documented. We know what we are getting into.” Her lower hands return to the task of carving away unwanted growths with her knife.

Satisfied, I leap from the table and onto my feet. “Right. I’ll intrude on your time no longer. Ayre shall remain in your care for tonight.”

“It’s no trouble. If anything, I’m the-” Theriya’s words die in her throat as she realizes I am headed downstairs.

Towards the exit.

Theriya makes a frustrated noise before rising from her seat with purpose.

Her feet descend the stairs in the darkness with a familiarity that I lack.

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

Unfortunately for her, I am intending to walk where she cannot follow.

Theirya catches up to me as I reach the bottom floor.

“Where are you…” Her words turn into a shout. “Stop! What are you doing?”

I throw open the door, opening the room’s interior to direct moonlight. Just before stepping into the light, I turn to give the princess a smile. “I need to see a fox before she convinces herself to flee at morning’s light.”

One step into the light and Theriya’s protests are immediately drowned out by the moon attempting to curry my favor.

It would be effortless to spill the princess’s blood. I would need only to turn and…

I feel my goddess tap into the bond we share, spanning an unknown distance to caress her champion’s cheek. With my mind freed from unwanted suggestions, I cup my hand to hers as I am redeemed.

All of this, dangerously within view of Theriya. Something to deal with in the morning, I suppose.

The moon beckons as I make my way towards the empty streets, but I have served my divine muse time and again for far too long for her to even consider letting me slip from her grasp.

What is a distant moon’s whispers to one whose worship has earned her the lasting love of her divine patron?

I have been so many things, to so many different people.

A monster beloved by my cruel parents.

Captain of the Chimaera’s Mirage.

Lady Wyrmsbane.

Midnight’s Herald for my divine lover of outcasts.

And now, Sworn Blade to the precious young Ayre.

I arrive at my destination and shake off my divine lover’s embrace, but not before expressing my favor with a show of intimate affection. I press my lips to the divine hands that remade me.

To openly court the old gods in this day and age is to invite ruination by Vylian and Lunarian alike.

Fingers cast in a nostalgic shade of violet motion to caress my cheek. I lean into her touch, unable to resist wondering how few of my lover’s worshippers remain.

I cannot hold her gaze for long. Not when any number of Lunarians could stand on the other side of this door.

With her presence dismissed, the moon redoubles its efforts to tempt me with how much suspicion a little massacre would erase from Ayre and I.

I punch a hole through a wooden door, reach through, and unbar it from the outside.

Lunarians are replaceable. The Vylians would…

It takes a concerted effort of will to shake off the outside influence without the divine protection extended by my goddess, but I have long since tempered my will to harm only those who provoke me.

It helps that my new body no longer craves consuming the meat and blood of living creatures.

Why should the moon, which has been reduced to a dead thing, be allowed to succeed where entire pantheons of deities have failed?

Lady Midnight alone has earned the command over the very breath from my lungs.

Stepping out of the moonlight, I find time to gather myself and prove to everyone within that I am not about to mindlessly shed blood at the moon’s command.

Everywhere I look, Lunarians adorned with gemstone implements consider leveling them at me before deciding I lack the feral aggression of someone who has succumbed to the moon’s bloodlust.

That they would even think to level such unimaginative weapons at me gets under my skin.

How much further will this world stray from divine acts of creation and passion? Proper workings should require a relationship with a divine that inspires an invoker to bring a creation into being through an imaginative interpretation of expression!

Art is meant to challenge and change us. Emotions are meant to be celebrated in the resonance we feel in experiencing them. They should be allowed to change us freely and often.

Emotional resonance is not meant to be counted by the hundreds and jammed into unchanging stones capable only of singular outputs defined by the cutting of the gem and shape of the implement. Any who use gemstone implements should aspire to more than being limited to a mono color of expression averaging out entire spectrums of vibrant emotions contained within.

The room is silent for how many Lunarians have turned their attention to me. But none of these blank slates mean anything to me.

Why should I care for people who replaced their divine muse with a dead thing that inflicts upon the world a droning refrain calling for blood without any meaning?

What the Lunarians have done is a senseless debasement of everything that came before. But I should probably not so readily condemn children to parents with such a limited vision for the future.

All of this is neither here nor there. I have come seeking a member of a race still recognizable to me. Those who kin beasts have had enough sense to maintain a relationship with their divine muse.

The day that Vylians or Lunarians set sail will be the day I take up piracy once more.

My eyes search the crowd.

Amari draws my attention with shouted words from afar. “Astraea! You can’t go around startling us like that!” The fox kin’s fur has turned a luxurious white after what must have been a refreshing bath. She raises a flask of red liquid in my direction.

“Good evening, Amari.” I say, making my way to her table.

“You could have warned me that you intended to show up! I could have convinced them to leave the door unlocked.” She muses aloud, much to the grumbling of a number of Lunarians.

I offer Amari a warm and tender smile that I reserve for few. “We both know you would have fled town had you known I could reach you under the light of a nearly full moon. No. I can only pull this trick once.”

Amari tries to sell me with a relaxed expression, but her tail remains tense and motionless “What could you possibly want with little ole me?”

“Oh, nothing major.” I say. “Not for someone as well connected as you. All I ask is that when you decide to move on, that you pass on word from home.” My serious expression communicates what is not fit for Lunarian ears.

I want Amari to give me advance warning of the Castellan making any moves in our direction.

The vulpine girl narrows her eyes. “For how long? My services don’t come cheap.”

Unimpressed, I give her a flat look. “As indefinitely as it is feasible to do so. I’ll pay from my own coffers.”

A pause. “I seem to have left my parchment in my room.”

“It’s okay.” I say, producing a contract that I began to prepare the moment I learned of the Castellan’s plans to barter Ayre away. “I came prepared.”

Amari’s tail twitches.

I had her concern before.

But now I have her curiosity.

“It only needs your signature, a form of payment, and an amount of your choosing. You’ll be able to take that to any branch run by one of my old flames and they will ensure you are compensated in full.”

Amari snatches the contract to confirm what I have outlined. She is even kind enough to only mouth the final words so that they are not overheard by an undesirable party.

Princess Astraea Bonefist of the Fevir Sea Trading Company

I will never understand why Sosima kept me on the books under my old family name and station. Nostalgia never maintained a grip on me and I would never respect anyone who relies on familial recognition alone to get their point across.

Amari does not clarify if her asking price is reasonable and I do not check.

Stressing over the details can be someone else’s heartache. I have someone that needs to be protected.

To that end, there are no lengths I will not go to.

There is no one I will not use or break to achieve my desired ends.

This is not a healthy way to spend one’s long years. I realize this, but I have made my peace with how recklessly I shall continue to live my life.

Hopefully young Ayre learns from my words and not the actions I take under the cover of night.

“I will see it done.” Amari says, all prim and proper-like now that she realizes I have been generous to make up for my alarming appearance. “Is there anything else you would ask of me?”

“To allow me to make up for startling you.” I say, placing further coin on the table.

All it takes is a few dozen drinks and Amari’s tail resumes its carefree swaying.

Meanwhile I use that time attempting to drown my own concerns in Lunarian spirits.

I have my own needs. But my cravings for the desire of others need not interfere with Ayre’s delicately forming relationships.

It would be better if Ayre is given the time they need to relearn how to form and navigate intimate bonds with others. Their dolls mean well, but there is a guiding influence on all of their development that was clearly taken from them.

I don’t know who Ayre lost in their formative years, but I recognize the shape of its grip on them in quiet moments when they doubt what they are capable of.

The details of the Castellan’s parasitic plot might elude me, but I already have my suspicions about which divine muse it taps into.

If I am right, Ayre is capable of becoming so much more than they know.

Not a day passes that I do not mourn the loss of being able to heal with a touch and a breath of divine life.

In place of a divine muse that held the domain of healing, a revolving pantheon of twenty life-drinking monsters and their god slayer of a brood mother feed at others’ expense.

Before I can discover how many drinks it takes to drown my sorrow, I allow Amari to guide me into her room for the night.

She proves to be a more inexperienced lover than expected.

As a creature that feeds on desire, it is always disappointing to expect experience and find someone wanting.

Lately I have taken to turning such nights into opportunities to teach lessons on the subject, even if I rarely get to see the fruits of my labor flourish.

Maybe I should never have doubted. Amari surprises me by proving to me that she can be a dedicated student.

Our bouts of intimate explorations reach a point that I am relieved my armor can be ported away at the touch of a keystone. Each piece of Onyx armor is transported to a vault lined with the ground down remains of each keystone’s sister gem.

It is a shame that the emotional resonance feeding current day keystones could not be anything other than despair and longing for those who will never come back to us.

Engaging with such a gross harvesting of the harm Vylia inflicts in order to avoid drawing attention to myself is… frustrating, to say the least. But with each worshiper of the old faith that perishes, the world of divine inspiration and artistic expression makes way for uniform expressions that serve as imperial tools.

Amari expressing visible delight at the convenience of my armor disappearing with the touch of a stone makes me hesitant to answer any questions she might have.

“Ooooh, hammer space.” Amari practically barks with amusement, choosing a colloquial term.

I grunt as I massage muscles long confined by a day of wearing the armor. “I’m never going to call it that.” Although the commentary on the purpose of my gemstones is noted.

Amari giggles, getting to take in the body crafted for me by my goddess.

Ditching my armor reveals the tail I keep hidden.

Freshly freed from being wrapped around my thigh, I return a kind of affection that Amari confessed to rarely receiving herself. My tail coils around Amari’s leg before leveraging it to draw her close. Only then does my spade shaped tip playfully rub at her inner thigh.

It is enough to reduce her to titters all over again.

Whenever Amari needs space, she fends me off with a playful bat of her luxuriously fluffy tail.

She and I continue the back and forth of her studies long into the night, with Amari beginning to very clearly communicate her consent and desire to take over the pace.

Unlike Ayre, my feeding only leaves my partners more exhausted than normal. Amari does not break convention by expressing discontent with this.

Her whispers already confess a longing to sleep in until the moon’s influence fades from the world.

For my part, I come away satisfied as my partner has displayed healthier ways to negotiate intimacy.

Amari also proves to be a notable delight to cuddle with once our play comes to an end.

It is hard to complain. When was the last time I slept with a lover with whom we could each sleep wrapped in the other’s tails?

Too long.

I sleep knowing that I must continue to disappoint my remaining bound beloved in favor of reaffirming my goddess’s continued existence.

I arrived too late to save some Vylian outcast named Lenore. But I have convinced my muse that Ayre can yet be redeemed in her place.

But how do I ask Ayre about the nightly terrors that come for them in the night and not be pushed away?

How do I convince someone who sees hope as a weakness that there is salvation to be found in following a diminishing pantheon of deities. One their Castellan is dedicated to slaying?

I can do miracles.

But how do I stop a world from crumbling out from beneath me?