but I don't wanna hear anymore

Liam

Widows and orphans aren't hard to find
They're home missing daddy who's saving the abandoned tonight

Liam had ended up in Torchline by happenstance, and he couldn't say he was glad of the trip. It was hot here - not as blistering as the Climb, perhaps, but certainly not pleasant in the way he was used to Torchline being. Muttering curses under his breath, he prowled the streets of Haulani before settling on a cafe that appeared to be selling shaved ice. While it wasn't the stiff drink he so desperately craved (but had thus far resisted), it was better than nothing.

Standing in line, he cast his gaze out over the crowded streets. It was strange being here, where clothing was more a suggestion than a requirement; he was dressed like he normally would in the Greatwood, and he was regretting it more by the minute. If that wasn't enough to make him stand out like a sore thumb, he looked... off, somehow, as though he were being followed by a shadow that just wouldn't leave him alone. It was something about his eyes, something gaunt and hollow that didn't quite match with the rest of him.

Once he'd procured the shaved ice, he wandered on, not really sure what he was looking for, but needing to be moving.

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you
Sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora moves through Haulani like she belongs to it, like the heat rises to meet her rather than press her down, black bikini top tied snug at her back and cutoff shorts slung low on her hips, gold catching and flashing at her throat and wrists and fingers whenever the sun finds her. Her curls are piled high and loose in a way that suggests effort while insisting there was none, and Spice glides in lazy loops at her shoulder, the small white dragon exhaling a thin ribbon of frost across Flora’s collarbone whenever the warmth grows too bold.

Flora posts Liam almost immediately, if only because Torchline does not dress men like that unless they are lost or new or both, and Liam is neither, and yet there he is moving through the street in forest-y layers that cling to him like regret. He stands out in the way tall trees do and Flora cannot help the small, delighted snort that escapes her as she angles toward him. She quickens her pace, sandalled feet whispering over stone, hips swaying with theatrical exaggeration because she is not above being dramatic when handed the opportunity, and she jogs up alongside him with a grin already blooming, teeth bright, aqua eyes wicked. "Liam, if you faint in this heat I am not carrying you—" The words falter, not because she has forgotten the punchline, but because she is close enough now to see him properly.

The laughter drains from her mouth as if someone has pulled a stopper from it. The darkened crescents beneath his eyes are not shadow cast by the sun but something deeper, something that clings to him in the way damp clings to fabric, and there is a hollowness there that does not belong to a man merely overheated. It is in his gaze, in the way it does not quite rest on anything even as he moves, as though he is listening for something behind the noise of the street.

She steps closer, close enough that her arm almost brushes his, and the teasing tilt of her head gentles into something steadier, searching. Spice settles briefly at her shoulder, frost curling faintly in the air between them before dissipating. "Hey," she says again, but it lands differently this time, quieter, the brightness tempered rather than extinguished. "Are you okay?"

Liam

Widows and orphans aren't hard to find
They're home missing daddy who's saving the abandoned tonight

A bright, familiar voice bloomed over Liam's shoulder, and he turned to find Flora faltering as she looked him over, the laugh that had been so easy a moment before drying up like a flower in the brutal heat. He didn't have to ask what was wrong - he already knew he looked like shit - but he winced slightly all the same, suddenly a bit self-conscious. He hadn't anticipated running into anyone he knew, and the reality was that he wasn't sure he was ready for the questions that would no doubt come from anyone who knew him every moderately well.

He thought about trying to muster a smile, force a laugh, ignore the pain that had brought him here instead of back home to the Greatwood, but then Flora was searching his expression for something real, and he couldn't find it in himself to shake off her concern so callously. "Hey," he said, reaching up to run a hand through sweaty hair. "I - I don't know." It was honest - what was he supposed to say, when the life he'd worked so hard to rebuild had been so entirely upended by one chance encounter? - but still distant, as though the words came from somewhere far away.

Hazel eyes swept down to meet Flora's gaze. "Is there a word for how you are after seeing a ghost come back to life?" he asked her, a corner of his mouth attempting to lift as though it were some kind of sick joke. Except it wasn't, and the resulting grimace fell quickly from his face, hollow eyes searching for anything that he could cling to, anything to keep him from being swept away by the tide of grief.

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you
Sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth

marked me like a bloodstain

The words land between them like something fragile dropped from too high, and Flora doesn’t laugh this time, doesn’t try to stitch brightness over the seam. Instead, she steps into him properly, lifting her hand without hesitation to rest it against his shoulder, palm warm from the sun, fingers cool at the tips where Spice’s breath has lingered. She gives him a small squeeze, grounding rather than dramatic, as though reminding him that the street is solid beneath his boots and he is not about to drift clean out of it.

Up close the hollow in his eyes feels sharper, and her aqua gaze searches his face with a softness that does not flinch away from what she sees there, and when he asks his question her brows draw inward in a small, instinctive crease. "A ghost?" she repeats, quiet, head tilting the slightest bit as if trying to line the shape of his words up with something she recognizes. "Well…" she begins, and there’s the faintest wince at the corner of her smile because she knows already her answer won’t match his. "I guess it depends?"

Her thumb shifts against his shoulder, an absent stroke more than a movement, and she shakes her head once, a subtle, almost apologetic motion. "When my twin came back from the dead, I was—" She exhales through her nose, the memory flashing bright and sharp and incandescent all at once. "I was happy. Stupidly, stupidly happy." The words are simple, but something luminous flickers behind them, something that once burned hot enough to blister.

Her gaze steadies on him again, softer now, the ocean-bright of her eyes gentled by sympathy, because clearly that wasn't Liam's reaction to whatever had happened. She studies the way his mouth tries to lift and fails, the way his expression seems to be fighting a current he cannot quite see. "What happened?"

A sharp flutter of wings announces itself far too close overhead, followed by the scrape of talons and the unmistakable sense that something has landed where it absolutely should not have. A Hel perches nearby, head cocked, eyes bright and calculating as it sizes up the scene.

It hops closer with a series of quick, impatient movements, letting out a short, grating call that sounds suspiciously like a demand, right down to the way it cranes its neck toward packs, baskets, or anything that might reasonably contain food. If ignored, it only grows bolder, wings flicking open as it makes a half-hearted lunge toward anything unattended.

When shooed away, the Hel takes to the air in an indignant spiral, only to settle again moments later a short distance off, clearly unimpressed and entirely unconvinced that the matter is settled. It watches with unwavering focus, occasionally edging closer, testing boundaries with the persistence of a creature that knows it doesn’t need to be threatening to get exactly what it wants.

---

Hels Areas Found: Torchline — Common Hels look vaguely like a species of seagull, but are quite friendly. Should one sit on your shoulder, you will find yourself suddenly able to walk on water! Be careful though, these birds are easily bored. Should they abandon you during an ocean-stroll, you will find yourself sinking into the water potentially hundreds of feet from the shore! Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 38 | To Hit: +26 | Dmg: 9 Movement: Fly 60 ft.; Walk 10 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Waterwalk Bond: While perched, grants the bearer the ability to walk on water; Boredom Curse: If the hel leaves its perch during waterwalking, the bearer immediately loses buoyancy and begins to sink

TRAITS Friendly Companion: Inclined to approach and perch on willing shoulders; Light as a Feather: Nearly weightless, they do not hinder movement or balance; Ocean’s Familiarity: Innate understanding of currents, tides, and sea weather ACTIONS Peck: A quick tap with its beak, used more in play than aggression

Liam

Widows and orphans aren't hard to find
They're home missing daddy who's saving the abandoned tonight

Perhaps Liam should have shrugged her off, given that the last time they'd been this close, she'd kissed him; but he couldn't quite bring himself to flee the grounding touch she provided. It wasn't intimate, exactly, but it was solid, and steady, and in a world that hadn't stopped reeling in the days since the Climb, it was a welcome strength that did more to chase away his shadows than most things he'd tried.

She spoke of her twin - apparently back from the dead, which registers as enough of a surprise to show on Liam's face - and of her happiness, which he supposed made sense. And maybe he should be happy, given that he was rather convinced that his daughter was alive... but all he could manage to summon was a bone-deep, aching guilt that he couldn't quite shake. That and the heart-rending pain that had come from her lack of recognition. Guilt he could handle, could try to fix - but a lost memory? What use was he against that?

Movement drew his gaze to a nearby hel, which he watched as it landed, pestering passersby until it was shooed away, landing on a nearby roof to survey the scene for its next target. It was easier to speak if he didn't look at Flora, he found, so his hazel eyes stayed trained on the hel - or perhaps a distant scene that only he was privy to - as he spoke. "The festival in the Climb," he said. "I saw... I think my daughter is alive." A shaky inhale. "But... either she doesn't remember me, or I'm wrong and it's not her. But I can't shake the feeling... she looked just like my wife." But she had his eyes.

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you
Sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth

marked me like a bloodstain

The hel’s wings cut the air too close for comfort, and Flora’s head snaps up with an irritated hiss, aqua eyes narrowing as the creature hops nearer with its greedy little tilt of beak and expectation. Spice flares her wings in warning, a cold puff chasing the hel back a step, but the thing lingers in that insolent way creatures do when they know the world rarely denies them. Flora exhales through her nose, unimpressed, then makes a decision.

Without asking, she slides her arm through Liam’s and curls her hand around his forearm in a hold that is warm, firm, and entirely non-negotiable. "Come on, this way," she says, already tugging him sideways through the crowd before he can protest, steering him out of the press of sunburnt shoulders and jangling coin purses and into a narrower lane that opens toward the shore. She keeps him close as they walk, hip brushing his side now and again, the contact steady and deliberate, as though she’s anchoring him by sheer insistence.

The sand greets them with a softer hush than the market stones, and she doesn’t let go until they’ve stepped far enough from the noise that the sea can be heard breathing in and out against the tide. Only then does her grip loosen slightly, though her arm remains threaded through his, her body angled toward him in quiet solidarity unless he chooses to pull away.

She listens as he explains, her steps slowing across the sand. When he finishes, she turns her head to look at him properly, raising her brows in an emphatic arc that borders on incredulous. "Okay," she says carefully, and then winces faintly. "Sorry if I’m being an idiot here, but... isn’t the fact that she might be alive a good thing?" The question isn’t careless; it’s earnest, even if it lands blunt. She searches his face as though trying to understand where the logic splintered. "I mean, it’s way easier to get someone’s memories back than to bring them back from the dead," she continues, a touch more heat entering her tone, not anger but conviction. "Trust me, I've done both now," she adds under her breath, the words edged with something personal and lived-in.

She shifts her weight in the sand, curls catching the breeze, and her gaze turns thoughtful. "You should talk to Remi," she says after a moment. "He can see if she’s in Mort’s realm, if that’s what you’re worried about. And if this is memory loss...well, I mean, he’s had his wiped more times than I can count. If anyone knows what that looks like—or how to fix it—it’s him."

Liam

Widows and orphans aren't hard to find
They're home missing daddy who's saving the abandoned tonight

Maybe Liam would have protested being manhandled by the much smaller blonde woman, but he knew her well enough to know that, one, it wouldn't do any good and two, she was stronger and more creative than he was anyway, and she would get her way in one way or another. Besides, he wasn't in any mood to argue, so he allowed himself to be steered through the crowd and out towards the tide. It wasn't until the soft breathing of the ocean was the only sound left that he spoke. His voice sounded too loud against the sudden quiet, hoarse and hesitant in a way that was entirely unlike him. But Flora listened quietly, and having the solid presence of someone who finally seemed to believe him was a balm to his frayed nerves.

"No, of course it is -" he hastened to agree. "But... if she's alive, that means that I left her when she needed me most. That I moved on without her. It's... I failed her in so many ways that I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't want to remember me." It wasn't the fact that Wren lived that had him in knots; it was being faced with the reality of what he'd done - or not done - that had shattered him.

Flora went on to talk about Remi, and her earnest attempt to help - so much kinder and softer than Thalassa's tough love - landed in a way that had Liam nodding, somehow standing straighter and more resolutely for the information. "Would he talk to me?" he wanted to know. "I've met him, but I don't know him well. This is... a lot to ask of someone I don't know."

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you
Sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth

marked me like a bloodstain

She listens without interrupting, even when the words twist sharp and self-accusing in his mouth, even when they land heavy enough that she feels the instinct to shake him just a little and tell him to stop carving himself up with ghosts. Flora exhales, glancing out over the water for a moment as if measuring her response against the tide before looking back at him with a small, tight wince that doesn’t pretend prettiness. She gives one shoulder a faint shrug. "Maybe you did," she says, not cruel, not softening it either. Her brows lift almost immediately, though, cutting off the space where that thought might fester. "But that doesn’t mean it’s permanent."

She turns fully toward him now, sand warm beneath her feet, curls shifting against her neck as the breeze teases loose strands free. "My mother drugged and kidnapped me," she says plainly, as though discussing weather. "My fathers either left or couldn’t stand the sight of me for a while. I grew up thinking I was the wrong piece in someone else’s story." Her mouth tilts, not bitter, just factual. "And I still managed to get past it. So did they." Her aqua gaze sharpens, not unkindly. "You don’t get to decide she’s already written you off. That’s her choice, not yours, but if you stay away from her, then you're making it for her." The words are firm, but there’s no accusation in them, just a refusal to let him drown in a narrative he’s built without his daughter's consent.

When he asks about Remi, something brighter flickers back into her expression, a grin blooming with familiar, mischievous confidence. "It’s basically his demigod duty." She waves a hand as if this settles the matter entirely. "Yes. He’ll help."

Her nose wrinkles faintly as she considers the timing, though. "We’re going into Leafchange, and that’s usually when Ronin gets a bit..." She gestures vaguely, searching for the diplomatic word and failing. "Protective. Which is a very polite way of saying rude to anyone who breathes too close to Remi. And they’re expecting twins soon, so things are gonna be a bit chaotic for them." She reaches up with her free hand and squeezes Liam’s shoulder again, this time more deliberately, her grip warm and steady. "But he’ll make time," she says, and there’s no hesitation in it. No maybe. No probably. "And if he tries not to, I’ll make him."

Liam

Widows and orphans aren't hard to find
They're home missing daddy who's saving the abandoned tonight

Flora's words landed hard, like physical blows raining down on Liam's shoulders. He'd never intended to take away Wren's choice in the matter, to decide for her what she should feel and how their prospective future would go. And yet, here he was. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... hadn't thought of it like that." But now that he had, a fragile seed of hope sprouted in his aching heart. Maybe all wasn't lost, after all.

The various bits of news about Remi had Liam raising his brows. A protective demigod husband, twins on the way... it was enough to make the ex-soldier think twice about bothering him. Having raised two children of his own - and those only single babies at a time - he couldn't imagine the insanity that awaited the two men in the very near future.

But still... he had to know. And that meant asking Remi for his help, circumstances be damned.

"Thank you, Flora," he said, and he meant it. Looking perhaps a little brighter than he had a few moments before, he placed a hand briefly over Flora's on his shoulder. "I mean it. I've been thinking about all of this from my perspective, and letting worst case scenarios about Wren's perspective run away with me. But that's not fair to her, and I won't let it stop me from trying to fix this." If, in fact, there was a 'this' to fix. In the meantime, though, he had a letter to write. "I hope that next time I see you, I'll have good news."

And after an exchange of goodbyes, Liam was on his way, shoulders squared and chin held higher than it had been in days.

fin

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you
Sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth