CW:

TRETION POV WOW! Um... talk of kidnapping and talk with an abusive cunt and worries about children being abused.

The sand is still wet when we enter the building the trail ends at.

Moving slowly and carefully to track Lyra was torturous. But… important. We’d all had to move and contend with weariness while also being so very prepared for an ambush from Fae or Godling.

Knowing a single feather slipped past our defenses or wards could get us subdued and captured or… or worse. And then Lyra could be in danger from trying to seek us out, or without allies to perform a rescue.

But the Fae were already scattered, so we’d mostly had to keep watch for the more expected monsters of Theradas. Things easily hidden from by Awnya’s songs or scared off by our Everflame in full blaze.

Our trinkets used to track her gave out a minute ago. Forced us to search by smell and song and sight.

Leading us here.

Everything is mildly damp, despite the dry heat of this city. Even the corpse. A short woman with no discernable or unique features. Long dead from her skin's color and state but… preserved.

One of Ukalon’s puppets. Taken from someone she slew but found their form an either amusing or useful prize to claim and knit into a new vessel for the Godling to venture forth in.

“Can you find us the song?” I murmur carefully as I look about.

Trying to understand all the odd disturbances in the sandstone. Seeking signs of wounds or struggles.

“There’s… No. Even Lyra’s Shift that she used to get here is gone.” She murmurs, lost in focus. “Not even Blight smells. And this isn't normal water. It’s Spring woven. Like what you have our girl weave back at the Manor. If I had to guess, she dredged up Rot at the cunt and needed to twist it into something soft as to not ruin the Rift.”

Ah, that would be a potent and useful weapon against this Godling's puppets. And especially her feathers. Which... of course Lyra would possibly have been stung by and then used her Blights to remove.

I nod at my Beloved’s quick and well-honed observations of all this. “But this amount seems excessive. More than she’d ever do in a single session back home.” I add. “She’s probably exhausted. Both from the day, the fight, and this. Terribly so.”

“Enough to keep her from Shifting to us?” Raska asks. Voice back to her gentler raspy tone but… Still filled with fury and barely steady aggression.

“No.” I reply, not even hiding my anger and writhing of headstalks. “She was probably too weak to fight, and… and taken.”

Need to start looking. Now. Before it’s too late.

“Naw, girl who could bleed Blight like this would melt any cunts coming for her before trying to save this Rift.” Raska rejects my words. “She probably just… found a place to rest. She mentioned during our walk back that she was having trouble Riftwalking.”

But Awnya only stares down at the corpse. Thinking… much as I am.

She’d have come to us before leaving this place. Never wanting to chance us being alone on this Rift. But if Ukalon already lost more than one puppet and was driven away... Only one could have subdued her. And I will not lay out their name before all safer culprits are disregarded.

“Beloved?” I prompt softly.

Hoping so much she finds a trail or marking or... or scent that leads us to our Beloved.

“Ukalon tried to avoid a fight for a reason. Even warned the Fae if they were the type to listen.” She replies while rising, looking about for… something. “Lyra wouldn’t stop fighting. Would think maybe she Riftwalked away but… the smell would still be here.”

“So… Where is she?” Raska presses.

Awnya doesn’t answer but… walks over to a new and seemingly meaningless space. Kneeling down to examine something.

A pause, and I can't help but still and wait for the answers we all hope for.

“Dreamer’s blighted tits and cunt.” She hisses after a moment, but with such… pain as her eyes widen and turn to look up at me. “I think… yeah. She’d been taken.”

My everything splits between cold fury and burning fear as I ask. “How long do we have to find her?”

“A few hours.” She rises. “More if she’s awake and kicking back, which she should be.”

Not long before they drag her away to unweave and set whatever is left of our beloved to blaze in misery for another’s desire for a new Fae Wood.

Raska winces, already understanding who is the most likely being to defeat and snatch away our Beloved. “Dreadweave?”

“Yeah. Some marks here match the kinda stuff I’ve seen them leave. Thin razor-like slices that seem odd and wrong.” Awnya replies without even looking at our Everflame. Spinning a song of Shifting.

“We… Okay so… take us to where they’ll do it.” Raska growls, spark kicking up to dribble fury. “They wanna turn her to kindling? We’ll burn they’re Woods to nothing but ashes for this.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“They won’t be in the Fae Wood.” Awnya murmurs into her song. “They’ll have a new Rift picked out. Barely tilled. That’s where they’ll do this.”

“Okay. Where?” Our Everflame presses.

“I don’t know, and our trinkets can’t track her beyond a few connected Rifts.” My beloved replies as she finishes her weary song and tugs us through to a different part of Theradas. “And unless I can find Uldra and get her to sing the spot to us in time… we’ll be too late. Only feel it after it’s done.”

Raska looks about in confusion. Not recognizing the manor we stand outside of. “I… So let’s go. Why are we still here?”

“Because I know a cunt who might have the answers we need.” My Beloved spits and glares at the doors.

Things old and worn and all too familiar. A passage I only think on in my worst muses.

“Raska…” I say as I consider my Beloved’s scheme and intentions. “This is Lyra’s old… old home. Here in Theradas.”

The place she still sometimes weeps to return to. A home filled with all kinds of torments and abuses and… and such alluringly wretched certainties for a girl who desired a place to feel valued and wanted. No matter the pain she had to exchange for that.

The Everflame jerks to look between us. Spark spitting fury and surprise and anger. But… she pauses. Like an unseen voice tugs her to listen and consider something.

“What makes you think she can help?” Our duenna whispers. “Or even knows where to go? Would help us and not just try to kill and eat us?”

“That cunt has been in and out of the Fae Wood, Dead Dreamers Wood, and everywhere else she shouldn’t even know about. She also has oaths of neutrality with me.” Awnya replies, then whispers so gently. “And If she betrays us. Or doesn’t help, and we lose Lyra again I… I’m going to kill her.”

And even though I struggle to understand the deeper motions of my Beloved’s soul… something within her shifts at that. Dims for a moment.

And I worry for the Dream’s End such an act would mean for my lover as Jellyfish nuzzle and continue to snuggle soft calm into our souls. Ever more and more aware of their mother's needs and worries.

Raska thinks on that, then nods. “Sure. Alright. I can keep from burning the cunt if she’ll point us in the right direction.”

“She’s also dangerous, her skills will be invaluable if Ukalon or their elder arrive to aid.” I murmur.

Raska so plainly wants to argue but… quiets. Nods again. Trusting Awnya’s fury to lead us forward.

I step up and take my Beloved’s hand. “Let’s go then. Lyra may not have time for us to hesitate.”

She squeezes me back, then rolls forward. Jerks the doors open and strides inside. Opposite hand on her dagger as the scaled parts sway to her steps.

Inside… The brood sits in the main chamber.

I’d never laid eyes on any but Thendra. And… the eyestalks on faces I barely recognize unsteady me more than I expect.

The ravaged parts of my family displayed as… as these wretched grim mockerys to my eyeless stalks. Apparently, if Awnya’s recollections and beliefs are accurate, literally a claim from my late cousin and a ring bearing Watcher Brewing techniques.

A few jerk to look at us, souls and eyes filled with curiosity and hungers. The weight of the Amwella smothering probably quite uncomfortable to Awnya and Raska who do not bear my immunities to such things. The leader of this brood sits unworried. It even takes a heartbeat for those Jade eyes to slowly turn and regard us.

“Awnya of the Fae, Everflame Raska, and…” The fowl woman greets. Expression is one of melancholy with little hints of mirth but…

Eyes never turn to our souls and the little ones within.

“Matron Tretion.” She finishes with a purr, even inclining her head at my title.

“There’s no time for this.” Awnya spits. “Dreadweave snatched up Lyra. Is dragging her off to a Rift so the Fae can unweave and burn her soul into a new Fae Wood.”

Thendra quirks an eyebrow but says nothing.

“It’ll be something recently tilled a bit. Hundreds of possible Rifts of a stupid number of sizes.” My Beloved presses. “But you already knew that. You know where this is. Have been tracking the Fae’s movements since Lyra killed Furthonois.”

I expect Thendra to deny or deflect or mock but…

“What would you offer for such knowledge?” She only murmurs.

My Awnya, who might normally snort and haggle or threaten, just pauses. Then answers steadily. “Nothing.”

The room goes still.

“You won’t let this happen to her.” She snaps at the Reaver. “You were already planning to go there, but haven't. Are sitting here. Because you knew I'd come demand this.”

Thendra lets the side of her mouth quirk in an almost little smile.

“Then why didn’t you already help her?” Raska hisses. “Here. Now. When we got jumped by the Fae and Ukalon and Dreadweave?”

Thendra ignores her question though, eyes remaining focused on Awnya. “And… Why would I bring you with me to recover my Lyra?”

“No idea. But you’re going to. And make sure we all get out safe.” Awnya growls, but keeps her voice low.

The Reaver goes still as her clutch seems to lean away from her. But only for a heartbeat. Then the big woman grins at my Beloved. “I will not refuse the chance to face foes with you again, Awnya of the Fae. Especially a hunt so… familiar to our past battles.”

My Beloved goes ridged with barely contained fury that sparks me to understand the insult.

Their first time fighting together was against Awnya’s father and Lyra’s sibling. Family. And while Thendra did protect them and even allowed the attackers to leave unharmed… she also did not to quiet the conflict before it would brew. Even sparked the first blows when she tilted her manor to blind everyone.

The Reaver stands, slow and with the weight of this brood stirring with her but not rising. “Then let us make this Oath. I will lead you to my Lyra, aid you in any conflicts against the Fae or Godlings, and ensure you’re able to return to a place of your choosing. Will only seek conflict with you and yours if violence is offered to us first.”

Awnya hesitates, glances back at me.

“As for afterwards?” I ask Thendra.

“All my previous Oaths will remain. With you and your Fae.” She replies easily.

To remain away from the Manor unless I call, and neutrality with Awnya and those she claims. Which includes myself and Lyra and our children now. So…

Where is the trap? And how quickly would she shatter this Oath?

We need to know this.

“And… The little ones?” I ask very quietly.

Everything goes still at those last two words.

Thendra herself, the Reavers, even the manor.

Jade eyes regard me with…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Empty of emotion like a cursed night devoid of stars.

“They will remain with us.” I state bluntly at that pitched stare, gripping my stave tighter as Amwella once again refills it under the looming wroth I sense aimed in our direction.

It feels like an eternity passes before Thendra purrs gently. Voice… strange. Quiet but heavy and filled with a weight I’ve never before felt in her tone. “Until such a time that they might drift. Yes.”

Wretched. Something we will devote our everything to prevent them doing. Warn them of the woman who hurt their mother. But…

I tear eyes away to regard my Beloved, nod my agreement. Awnya then turns to Raska, eyebrow raised in question.

“I hate this. Hate that…” Our Everflame growls openly but… tails off. Then hisses past Awnya to Thendra, “And just you. No other Reavers trailing behind or with us. They stay here. And… if you break this Oath, or try and crack its letter to strangle the spirit, you’re gonna burn Reaver.”

Thendra’s eyes glimmer, turning to regard Raska for the first time, but she nods.

“We agree.” Awnya turns back and growls. “Take us to Lyra, help us save her so we can all go home. Then you can go back to being the horrid cunt you are. Away from all of us.”

Thendra’s grinning as she replies, all strangeness from before got between blinks. “Come. The best pathway lies within the Rorliras at an old Watcher’s manor.”

I don’t bother restraining my Headstalks motions of worry and confliction at that.

Hoping so much it is simply the road to our Beloved and… and not enthralled to the Fae’s whims.

Or worse.

A Victim in their schemes.

But… I only nod. And let this monster lead us along the path to our Beloved.