CW:

Snatching up slaves for freedom. Talk of implied threats of depersonalization and sort of detransitioning.

It took one the bigger and scarier Fae souls to notice me when I was snatching up our 232nd slave. Small and fuzzy and coming my way sort of… like my mom’s brumble wasps do when she brings a new flower to her garden.

We’d kept to the outer Rifts and lowest levels of this place first. The tunnels and pathways beneath Theradas. Places where we could use the tight space to let the walls block and muffle any songs. Awnya weaving melodies of hiding and calm and sleep while I focus my Riftwalking to bounce all about and snatch up slaves like I used to do for Furthonois, then bring them back to her and Raska.

It’s… been easy. Actually. Except when it's time to leave. But even that’s only a little nibble at my mind now.

Smells like… No.

Not home.

But it does though!?!

Ever since Thendra brought me here I’ve always enjoyed the Spiced scent of this city.

We… Well, I don’t like to think about what that means.

I’m shrouded in my own heavy song of hiding and sleep for the bug in my arms. But… my Amwella is so big and not all of it fits when I need to carry another soul through my Riftwalk like this, so I know the Fae sees something as I shift to my second target.

And… While Awnya told me that the spice in the air tends to cover up my smelly Riftwalks, that’s only if someone isn’t looking for it or too near.

This Fae is, and as I’m pulling my third and final person close. I feel them slipping quietly through a Rift of their own.

Stupid. Amwella all burning with interest and so sure that I don’t feel it lurking behind. Not necessarily going to pounce on me but… thinking about it. As they sense Awnya’s little songs and probably smell all the Riftwalks I’ve done and maybe even Raska, that changes. They start to turn. Planning on running. Stepping back through their Riftwalk to go sing about us to the others.

And… we all agreed on what to do if this happens.

Naranggas slips from the song of misdirections and shadows and hidden scary things like a brumble of snakes. Twisting about the Fae’s Amwella before they can even flinch. Caught and ready to be killed before even realizing that they were not the hunter.

Warm soul so soft and squishy and easy to prick and bite as they squirm, falling to knees and whimpering out a wordless little songless thing of growing terror. So surprised that going melty just… doesn’t work. My soul creates a net all about their Amwella that tightens the more this Fae squirms.

Such a neat and fun trick I’d been perfecting in little play squabbles with the Fuzzy Spirit.

“Out.” I spit. More… a guttural thing than a word. But it makes Awnya and Raska know exactly what we need to do.

Gather up those we’ve saved. Get ready to leave. Right now. No hesitations.

I’m growling my Riftwalk to swirl about them both and the now freed slaves and this new Fae captive. Melody of Blight Weaving on my lips just in case our bubble in the middle Rifts have dribbled or popped.

They haven’t, of course. My Blight shapings keep to the forms I ask for, and within a few quick hops and tuggings at the bubbles to close behind us we’re back at Getrik’s home.

“Matron, we got a Fae.” Raska hisses before we’ve barely touched the wooden floor.

Everything is a buzz of motion around us. Getrik and helpers from the manor waiting to greet and calm and help the newly freed adjust and understand. An entire song with nearly a decade of work behind it!

All to try and help save others like me. The girl they thought they lost.

“Heya.” Awnya says. First to move over and kneel before the Fae I still grip tight in my Naranggas.

They wriggle a bit, eyes seeming to finally calm as they look about the room though.

“Hey!” I give them another poke to still them. “P– pay at– atten– atten– attention!”

That makes them still.

Awnya raises a hand to me, soul bubbling a request to let her do the talking. “My name's Awnya, One of Ganzorig’s kids. Can’t say I recognize you. Can I get your name?”

Their fur bristles, but they do murmur. “Heklis.”

“Neat. So. First tunes first.” Our Fae nods with her honest smirk to them. “We’re not gonna kill ya. Just… give you a new home for a bit.”

The Fae’s deep blue-green eyes narrow at that, but they do not say anything else.

“No torture either. Lyra here will poke ya if you try to sing. Shake ya a bit till ya quiet down. But nothing permanent.” Awnya adds. “We’ll have questions later. But for now we’d like to make sure all these folks get where they're going. Can you do yourself a favor and keep your fuzzy tits calm till we do that? We’ll get you some good food and a soft place to sit till then.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A pause, then the Fae looks between Awnya and me. I’m still wearing my spooky goose head wrappings and know they can’t see my glare. So I squeeze them a bit more and they nod.

Awnya winces, Amwella dribbling with memories of…

No. This… I mean… She…

“Hey.” She sighs and moves to pull me into a hug. “Dreamer’s Tits. This is nothing like then. Just… she was the only other one I’d seen do that.”

Me and Thendra grabbing and keeping her soul squeezed so tight she couldn’t sing.

Deep breath. Nod. “Oke.”

The next hour is a bustle of everyone doing things while I sit with the Fae captive off in the corner. Raska stands at my side. Core all writhing in angry ways.

We gave the Fae some food, which they poke at but didn’t even nibble on. Nor do they speak. Just… watching. Feeling. Every bit or so testing at the tendrils wrapped about them but not like… trying to go melty or run off.

Then, after everyone’s been shuffled through Awnya’s Riftwalk to the Manor, and been taken off to their new communities, Tretion returns and nods at us as Awnya comes back.

Our Fae steps up and tells our captive to follow. Heklis doesn’t struggle, but I feel their soul all a whirl in worry and confusion as they obey and follow. Let us lead them to a door and nudge them into a room.

“Greetings, Heklis of the Fae.” Our Watcher greets. “My name is Matron Tretion, Watcher and keeper of this Manor.”

They glance between her and Awnya and Raska and me as I pull more of the ugly clothes off my face.

“What is to be my end?” They ask.

“Not a clue.” Awnya smirks, “But… Your future is pretty simple. We’re going to keep you here until we finish snatching up all the slaves of Theradas and her sister Rifts. Safe and probably pretty bored. Then we’ll decide together what Promise songs we can squeeze from ya.”

Raska’s core and all her Sparks growl at that. But… she doesn’t show it outwardly.

There is a reason we need to avoid killing this Fae, at least right now.

“Why?” They hiss.

Amwella all but screams what they think the answer might be.

I sigh and nudge their soul. “No. N– not g– going t– to do that.”

They jerk to a halt. Seem to already understand how easy it is for me to read their thoughts. Look me up and down and consider all they see. Eyes that previously disregarded our Jellyfish as just more dangerous parts of me turning more curious.

“Do what?” Awnya asks.

Tretion chuckles mirthlessly, easily understanding. “You thought our Beloved would… what? Eat them? Is just gathering thousands of otherwise helpless souls for consumption? No, Heklis, we seek to save them. Both from their former abusers and the Rift as it sinks.”

They consider that. Look me over. Amwella roiling in confusions and conflictions.

“There… is a lot going on here.” They begin slowly. “Songs you're attempting to weave, and melodies beneath and behind. Things you don't hear or understand, perhaps?”

“Yeah.” Awnya agrees. “Look, Heklis, we’ve never met and I stopped talking with other Fae almost ten years back because of how the elders treated Lyra. But I don’t recognize you, and they’d not trust some young Fae to travel to Theradas. Much less to try and track someone they think is a spooky goose.”

They smirk and bubble a bit at Awnya’s final words, then nod. “No. I am older than any elder you’ve likely met. Although… I normally keep to the deepest and more cruel places of the forests. But you are correct.”

“Guessing the Tiger Huntress we’ve met was the same?”

They nod.

“That’s… She seemed pretty… different. Could shift her form all about quick as she likes and smelled of blood.” Awnya presses. “Is that… your melody too?”

A shrug.

Awnya sighs. “Look, Heklis. This Manor can house all of these saved people. Every single soul. And after that we mean to seal up and ignore the wider Rifts for decades. If not longer.”

They eye her in disbelief. “A Fae trapped within these halls will struggle to handle the songless echoes for long. Will yearn for the forest or go quiet eventually.”

“Which is why we’ve had this place freely growing Groves tended to by Fae.”

They jerk up at that.

“Yup.” Awnya smirks. “Kinda like a little Rift in a bottle. Cramped at times, but cozy.”

“You’ve enticed this beast to…” They stop. Ear’s twitching and eyes darting all about the little room. “Even Watcher’s and all their observations would do nothing but let you know how to keep this thing placated.”

But their focus is already on me. On what they worry I’ve done to control this wonderful Manor. The curses they think could ever stick to such a slippery friend.

“My family, and I for many years, did barely that.” Our Watcher nods and offers carefully. “It was a stronghold for a brood of monsters. But then Lyra captured its affections, and Awnya followed and gifted it her songs. Now it holds close and adores thousands of freed slaves and weaves them safe homes.”

“Fire stolen from the Dream, to burn anew elseways.” The Fae shakes their head.

“That’s one way to take it. But… Look, we're guessing you know about where Lyra swam here from?”

“Outside the Dream.” They whisper. Such an odd mix of emotions at that. Fear and hope. Disbelief and curiosity. Other things too. Mostly bad and kinda… predator wiggling. “And… The Fae see opportunity in this.”

“The Huntress almost said something like that.” Awnya nods. “What was she on about?”

“Plans to put this new flame to use, without wasting or risking the old.” Heklis shrugs. “Removal of her godling's mantle, then an attempt to have her flame be cultivated into a new Fae Wood.”

We all go still at that. And such a… a whirlwind of emotions bubbles from my lovers.

Any curiosity from Awnya quickly popped and dribbling anger and our Watcher is openly glaring.

And… well Raska finally whispers so softly. “What.”

But the Fae is too stupid to see that her cold stare is barely controlling the blaze catching in her soul. Keeps talking like their words should make everything better. “The Dream is fading, but with this new Amwella purged of her Blight… through it we could see a new age of Cultivated life. Your songs here seem woven from good intentions, but those you're bringing here still bear the infection of the Rot and Ruin. More than others even. This place will become a mirror of Theradas eventually. But if the Blight Weaver surrenders or is captured, they can re-knit her Amwella into–”

I’m not really sure what all that means. But from everyone's reactions I can’t help but let a bundle of bile and sick bubble in my tummy. How much it reminds me of when other Fae talked about taking away my songs and form.

Raska rolls forward a step, hissing spicy sounding words that cut off Heklis’ babble. But I flinch pretty hard and she stops, eyes me with a twisty expression all wribbled with pain and guilt at something she sees in my eyes.

Before I can think about it I’m across the room and wrapping fingers through hers and tendril tight about this Everflame’s soul. Squeezing in hopefully calm ways while she freezes and Core mupples out. Guilt all mucky and dribbling to smother her anger into new shapes. Especially as I lean into her and she basically can’t stop herself from wrapping an arm around me.

She eventually manages to rasp out a painful, “Sorry.” As the room stills.

“So… No.” Awnya growls to the Fae at our feet, soul boiling with her own angers. “To all of that. Ever. Dreamer’s Tits. But it’s good to know the shape of their plans so we can be sure to avoid the Fae all the more now.”