The restful oblivion left Sol the idea that she had not, perhaps, died yet. It was rather inconvenient for her if that was the truth. Why would it be any other way? Maybe this was just the endless sea before she was taken away, a sort of… processing period before Mother was ready to take her away. It wasn’t as if she was the one who handled their deaths after all, her place was the sky. She merely received of them. Thinking about it Sol wasn’t sure who it was that she was waiting on. She saw a flicker of light, turned towards it for a moment, and then away. Nestling into the velvety void that she found herself in.

“Begone,” She said softly. “I don’t need company while I die.”

The strange voice spoke softly in its abyssal cadence “It's not your turn to die, wake up.”

Sol opened her eyes and she was in a room. Someone had put her on a rather comfortable bed. Furrowing her brows she glanced around. Trying to move, but each time fire traveled up her back. Staying here wasn’t an option, at least not until she knew where she was. Gritting her teeth Sol managed to get onto her side just slightly and push herself up.

“Hey now,” That obsidian tone called into the room. “None of that, you’re far too hurt to be moving like that.”

Her gaze fell upon the woman and her blood ran cold. She had a stocky build, muscles hard won through a life of work and effort, but with the way that her features had already been torn from the soft femininity of their peers. The sharpness of her jaw, the way her hands were nearly already paws. She was afflicted, but why wasn’t she already a lycan? Was she holding it off somehow? It was the only thing that made sense, through force of will overpowering the magic that twisted and cursed their bodies. She tried to move quickly but each jerky motion sent a scattering of stars throughout her vision with a cry of pain.

“Hey hey hey,” The voice said hurriedly, pushing her back down onto the bed. “None of that. You’re going to rip your stitches.”

“Don’t touch me.” Sol hissed. “Don’t you dare touch me.” Sol may have been barely able to see, her eyes refusing to focus again, but she wasn’t going to give in. Not with a half-turned beat looming over her.

“None of that.” The voice was slightly exasperated. Tired. “Come now I have food, you need to eat.” Sol had the presence of mind to look at the proffered food and managed to swing her arm at the bowl and both watched as it shattered on the floor. The exasperated look hardened and she looked at Sol with no shortage of anger. “Listen,” The woman said through gritted teeth. “We could’a left you to die out there-“

“And you should of.” Sol spat. “I will not be afflicted, better to join the Mother’s embrace than suffer her rage.”

Sitting upright took most of her core strength. Her body wanted nothing else but to lay down, but she couldn’t bring herself to give in to the urge just yet. The woman took in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her fists. Trying to smother the rage that was building in her chest. Her sharp gaze landed onto Sol and a snarl hardly kept at bay as she spoke.

“I’ll come check on you next time then.” Her voice ground against steel.

Sol watched her leave. The woman was likely to come back to clean up the mess, and as that thought settled into her Sol felt a pang of guilt. Flopping onto the bed, groaning as pain ripped through her. Hopefully she didn’t rip any of her stitches. Looking around the room at her new vantage point she saw her gear. Her leathers were ruined but present, the sword safely in its scabbard and lantern burning away on the table. They didn’t intend to steal from her at least, or alternatively what she did have wasn’t worth stealing. Thinking about it, it wasn’t that hard to take a hunter’s gear. All one had to do was wait till they were dead and then go rob the woman of her weapons and anything else that might have survived. It wasn’t common, but it happened often enough that the church did know people were doing it.

She sighed, looking at the mess of food on the floor and her stomach lurched. Wasteful. Maybe someone who was afflicted could of eaten it, maybe the woman herself, but no she had to do this. Sol laid there, watching the moon go across the sky. After a time the door opened again, this time she was greeted with a small mousey girl. She couldn’t have been any older than twelve.

“Uh hi,” She said, before abruptly standing up straighter and giving Sol a little curtsy. “I-I mean, it's an honor to meet you honored huntress. No, wait I-“

“Your effort is appreciated sister,” Sol said softly, only now realizing how dry her throat was. “Such manner isn’t required outside the hallowed halls.”

The girl blinked but beamed at her, bringing in a small rag and a dustpan, rushing over to start cleaning up the mess. “Sorry about Father.” She said softly, glancing over her shoulder as if she would be heard.

“It is not her fault that she has been afflicted.” Sol filed away the title for later. “Though, perhaps I could have not acted in such a manner.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The girl looked at the mess and then to Sol her expression inscrutable. They fell into silence as she cleaned the glass and spilled broth.

“What is your name sister?”

“Rose.”

“Well met, Rose,” Sol stumbled over her words, “I am Sol Hayward.”

Rose looked up at her, the mess largely cleaned up now, staring at her. She nodded and stood with the trash and her rag. “Um, well met? I’ll, come back with something to eat.” And she scurried away.

Silence once again bathed the room, smothering everything else in its fragile blanket. She couldn’t help but wonder what sort of position entitled someone “Father”, she would have to ask when the woman returned. Rose had promise, if she could only get her to the church then maybe she could be raised into a fine nun, or she could be taught some manner of craft if she had the talent for it. She lay there for what seemed like hours. Breathing slowly, taking in the starry sky. A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.

“Alright, I’ve had time to make you up another bowl and Rose done told me your apology.” She pulled a chair over and sat down, this time keeping the tray out of Sol’s reach. She started to reach for Sol, pausing as if she was going to bite her. “Gonna help you sit up, so you can feed yourself.” With a nod from Sol she hefted her into place. She grit her teeth throughout the whole ordeal, but now in an upright position the woman placed the tray directly onto Sol’s lap. “There, and iffin it makes you feel better, Rose made this. Not me.”

Sol glanced at her from the corner of her eye. A bald faced lie if she’s ever heard one. While yes a girl Rose’s age could make a simple soup like this, make one so quickly? Free of contamination? She sighed internally and ate quietly. The broth was thick and rich, the aroma made her think of her mother’s cooking. Bits of what seemed like mushrooms but held the distinct flavor of chicken. Her body relaxed as she ate, her strange afflicted caregiver watching her the whole time. So that’s how it felt to be on the other side of this, Sol noted that she was going to adjust how she cared for the girl in the infirmary.

“So, Father-“ Sol was interrupted by her caregiver choking, giving her an odd look. “Is that not the correct title?”

“Guh, uh, no?” She said incredulously. “I ain’t your father.”

The two stared at each other in silence for a heartbeat before Sol worked up the nerves to speak again. “Perhaps I could have your name?”

“Magnus.”

“Sol.” She managed some semblance of formality in her tone, though couldn’t stop the way her stomach twisted at the clear misstep. Names exchanged, she could continue without fear. “Magnus, what is an afflicted woman doing caring for a young girl such as Rose?”

“What do you mean?” There was something in her eyes, something that as she watched her she couldn’t help but think that Magnus already knew the answer to her own question.

Sol gestured vaguely to her. “You’ve clearly been afflicted though how you’ve gone this long without transforming is beyond me, some blessing of the Mother?”

She snorted at her, which only made Sol furrow her brow, “Listen… when you get old enough to get out of this district, you’ll find that most people don’t look like them statues of women out there.” She lazily pointed out the window. “I ain’t like this cause I’ve been bit,” She put her hand over her chest. “I’m like this, cause I’m a man.”

Sol looked her up and down, watching where she had put her hand and then stared expectantly at her. That this classification meant something to her was obvious. They sat in silence for a while. This part was easy. She would not break. Magnus sighed, seemingly bracing herself as exhaustion took to her features.

“It ain’t important for now, just, get some rest. Yea?”

Without waiting for Sol to respond she got up to leave. Taking away the empty dish and tray. Whatever that was about, it seemed as if Magnus simply decided that it wasn’t worth explaining to her. Given the condition that Sol was in when they picked her up off the street, she found it difficult to be particularly upset with her. Dealing with a troubled patient, then who becomes something approaching belligerent, loathe as she was to admit that she was being anything other than virtuous, and then one who is evidently ignorant. Had she been in Magnus’ shoes she would be rather exasperated too.

Left in her upright position Sol didn’t foresee her getting any sleep soon, and so she turned to stare out of the window once more. Retreating into her thoughts once more.

----------------------------------------

Margaux paced. She stared at the door where her love was supposed to be. Where she should be stripping off her gear and turning it in for repair. Where she should be turning in any of her trophies. Already in her casual clothes Margaux’s patience widdled down further and further with each step. Her boots echoing off the stone with gentle click. Where is she? Sol was dedicated to her craft but she always made it back on time.

“You’re going to worry a new path into the floor.” A wizened voice chuckled from behind her.

Turning to face the woman that frankly had the audacity to interrupt her brooding Margaux paused. “Oh, evening Keeley.” Margaux nodded and turned back to face the door, now simply tapping her foot.

“She isn’t going to return because you will it.” The huntress said as she came closer to Margaux, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Whoever it is you are waiting on, either suit back up and go hunting for her or trust in her strength and let her return.”

Margaux sighed, looking to her with naked anxiety. “That’s the problem Sister. Sol’s not had a night like this before.”

The elder huntress rolled her eyes and playfully shoved Margaux, “And what, you think she will never? Ha! These nights are not always easy girl and you would do best to remember that.” Keeley pointed her finger in her face. “Didn’t your mother teach you right? Come on, what is our purpose?”

“We hunt the afflicted, to protect our sisters and return what was stolen from the Mother.” Margaux intoned blandly, continuing when she saw the older huntress’ stare. “And bring back the dawn.”

Seemingly satisfied Keeley nodded, “If she isn’t strong enough to make it back, then pray that she bleeds out before she turns.” She ignored the fire in Margaux’s eyes, the way that she caught herself before throwing a punch and starting a fight that she’d never win. “And a word of advice girl?” She said softly, compassion suddenly in her tone. “Keep your heart to yourself. It's too easy for everything that matters to us in the darkness to be dredged out into the light.”

She left Margaux alone, alone with her thoughts, and a still closed door outside.