still to the light

Thalassa

After her last week, Thal is desperate for something simple and mindless, something that doesn't require her to confront any complicated emotions or argue about the intricacies of ethics. It's the perfect excuse to finish the last task of her quest - a hunt. Even when she isn't in the throes of bloodlust, a violent, bloody hunt has always proven to be the perfect way to clear her mind, like a mood stabilizer on steroids coated in the sweetest sugar. Maea's judgement of such pleasures just makes her all the more determined to enjoy the afternoon. Spite is a powerful thing after all. 

It's easy to tell when they've reached the Feverlands. Some might think it's the bogs and patches of quicksand that hide behind the dark shadows of the reeds - an eeriness suggesting the plants might follow behind when they're no looking. Others might think it's the yellowish fog thickening around them, starting at their feet and slowly creeping up like the lapping of the tide - if a tide smelled like rancid sewer rat boiled, frozen, then left to rot in a vat of acid sizzling in the sweltering sunlight. Because the putrid smell is what gives away the Feverlands, and Thal tries to talk to disguise the subtle scrunch of her nose. "The lamplighter should be hiding in the darkest section. Its singing should be a dead giveaway. Then we can kill it so I can collect the scales."

She runs her hands absently down her sides to ensure all her daggers are in their rightful places, her obsidian ones resting against her hips. It's habit when she knows there's fighting on the horizon, not that she ever goes without them anyways, but just like her usual outfit of black pants and a black long-sleeve, Thal's not one to change something that's never failed her yet. 

Looking up at Vesper, she gives him a cocky grin that already hums with the thrill of the hunt. "Feel free to actually pull your weight this time, unless you just came along to watch?" Her eyebrow raises in playful challenge, wondering if he might prove to be more useful than their first meeting.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

Vesper is already ankle-deep in the stink when Thal’s voice cuts through the haze. His hood is drawn low, scarf wrapped tight across his face to blunt the reek, but it doesn’t help much—not when the Feverlands are practically fermenting around them. His shadows, usually slick and smooth, twitch with unease across the sludge, recoiling from puddles that might just be breathing.

"I am watching," he replies dryly, scanning the gloom. "For something trying to crawl up your leg."

But the glint in his eyes—visible even through the fog—is sharp, alert, unmistakably focused. At her jab, his smirk twitches, not quite a smile but close. "Still think I'm just a pretty face, huh?" 
He gestures vaguely to the tendrils of smoke coiling along the ground like hounds on a scent, before tilting his head, the star-flecked freckles across his face catching what little light seeps through the rotting canopy. "These things are meant to sing, right?"

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

She tries not to make it too obvious when her body stiffens at his casual comment, hoping very much that she's not about to make an absolute fool of herself by finding an eight-legged demon on her leg. Thal nearly holds her breath as she slows her steps, her heartrate spiking at the possibility. But when she subtly glances down to find nothing other than the sickly yellow fog and the straps of her daggers, she releases half of the tension as nonchalantly as she can, disguising the roll of her shoulders in the motion she makes towards Vesper: a middle finger flying high. 

It's not her best move, and she might find a witty response later when she's certain there aren't any s p i d e r s nearby. For now, it will have to do as she stalks past him through the muddy swampland, head held high despite her new hyperawareness of the ground. Trying very much to dismiss the concern, she pulls a dagger from its sheath and flips it in a practiced motion to catch it by the tip of the blade, handle, tip of the blade, handle. 

Casting a coy look over her shoulder, Thal's eyes glitter like sapphires in the dark lighting. "Who said anything about 'pretty'?" It's an empty tease considering the other adjectives that run through her mind when she sees his features peeking from behind his make-shift mask. Handsome, mysterious, sexy. But she won't admit such things aloud, and she still finds strength to be the most attractive thing about a man, so she turns forward again, her tail flicking idly behind her as she scans their surrounds. 

"Maybe those ears are only there for decoration, because I'm pretty sure I just said that they sing." It's sharp in a playfully annoyed tone as she rolls her eyes. Her crew knows she isn't someone who likes to repeat herself, but Vesper's lucky she's too engrossed in the task's success to risk him getting caught unawares in the lamplighter's trap. Her words are soft enough so she can listen for other sounds as she says, "They sing and emit a light that lurs people." Which is why her senses become more alert as the trees thicken around them, casting longer and deeper shadows over everything.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

Vesper tracks her movements with a lazy sort of precision, reading more in the twitch of her tail and the flick of her fingers than she probably intended to show. He catches the flash of her middle finger and the stiff roll of her shoulders, and it draws a low, soundless laugh that vibrates in his chest. He doesn't push further though. Not when the swamp is thickening around them, the yellow fog rising higher, the world sludging into a haze of distorted trees and grasping roots. His shadows move wider now, long tendrils slipping ahead of them like feelers through the muck, disturbing the oily surface of the bog with tiny ripples.

ooops "Maybe I just wanted you to say it again," he murmurs, too low to carry far, his voice a slanting smirk in the dark. But then he falls quiet, letting her words settle into the dense air between them.

His boots squelch softly as he shifts to the side, widening their formation without needing to say it aloud. Better coverage. More angles to react if the thing tried to circle them. Vesper's eyes narrow against the fog as he lets his awareness stretch outward, not with his mind—not yet—but with the delicate web of shadows that feels out the world ahead. A sharp flicker of something—a glint, a sound that wasn't a sound—pricks against the edge of his senses.

"There," he says, a breath, a thread of sound slipping between them. His hand rises, a single finger pointing toward a thicker clot of mist ahead, where the dark seems to ripple wrong. "You hear that?"

And if she listens carefully, just past the sluggish gurgle of the swamp, she might catch it too: a distant, lilting hum, weaving like silver thread through the stench and fog. Not a song made of words, but a melody built from memory—familiar and strange all at once, like the echo of a childhood lullaby warped by time.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

Flashing him a teasing raise of her eyebrow, she speaks quietly enough for only Vesper to hear. "Well, how about we try not talking so we can hear the singing." 

Evidently though, it doesn't take long for the sound to appear, Thal's body becoming more alert as his words confirm what her ears detect. Her head nods discretely in confirmation, distracted by the familiar tune that coils around her heart. It's the same one that she'd heard faintly in dreams, the one Hadama sang for her, the one that feels like it should hold some deeper meaning that she can't recall. It's a lullaby that sings of laughter and peace, safety and security. 

She steals a glance at Vesper, wondering if he hears the same song, or if it's something only for her, forged on lost memories and forgotten moments. Either way, she creeps forward, her dagger now firmly in her hand as she watches the shifting fog, waiting for something tangible to peek out.

A glowing light slowly filters through the haze of darkness, a beacon of hope that suggests they might find an escape from the dingy, smelly environment. It tempts her like the promise of 'home' and 'comfort,' cuddled against a large soothing form. Whether it's a distant memory or a wish, who knows as she slams her eyes shut to clear her mind of the hallucination. She takes a deep, clarifying breath as she summons her flames, pushing them forward to clear the fog so they might spot the target, only a sliver of her blue eyes visible as she crouches, ready to attack.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

The shift in her tightness—shoulders rising, breath held—tells Vesper everything before her flames even begin to lick through the fog. He feels the memory-song too, though not the same one. Not hers. His own. A voice like Safrin's, low and warm and careful. Laughter spilling through wooden beams. A lullaby ingrained in his skin, threading through his bones like a tether he doesn’t remember tying.

It’s not real.

And he knows it’s not real.

But it doesn’t stop his hands from trembling for a second before he snarls low in his throat and shoves the sensation away. His shadows react instantly, contracting in sharp lines around him like blades being drawn, slicing through the murk with sudden, surgical focus.
The glow ahead of them pulses—gentle, beckoning—and in the part of his mind that isn’t snarled around fury and flame, he wonders how many have died chasing that warmth. He sidesteps closer to Thal, close enough that his shoulder brushes her crouch, but not close enough to throw her off balance. His voice is low, stripped of all teasing.

"You see it yet?"

And sure enough, the shape begins to form—submerged just enough that its form could still be mistaken for shadow, or vine, or fog-thick water. But the light burns from beneath the surface, a pulse like a lighthouse beckoning a ship onto the rocks. Above the glimmer, just barely visible, a mouth parts—filled not with teeth, but with song.

Vesper lifts a hand, shadows poised like spears, and doesn’t look at Thalassa when he says, "I’ll drive it up, you burn it down?" He waits, though, knowing she had more experience at this sort of thing than he did.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

The brush of his form against her makes it easier to keep from getting lost in the gentle tug of light and song, anchoring her in place as she squints through the mustard miasma that his shadows and her flames cut through. She can just make out the expanse of its mouth and the outline of its massive form that other might mistaken for a low hanging of branches with a guiding lantern. But lanterns don't sing, and Thal narrows her eyes to see it better. 

"Mhm. Dead north, a few feet up." Her breath is controlled and strained in a whisper as she focuses on anything other than the warm glow of light that encourages her to trust and follow. Glancing at their surroundings so she doesn't get caught in a ditch or cornered by trees, her head nods to confirm the plan. "Works for me." 

With an easy flick of her wrist, the fire races forward, parting the fog like a comet through a cloudy night sky. It coils above the lamplighter and falls down around its head and back in a deadly shower of flaming orbs. Each one that hits its back sizzles and burns, drawing its attention towards them as the song increases to a heavy pressure on her mind. 

It's faster than she thought it would be, moving towards them in a dive that makes the fog look more like water around its fins, splitting in currents that wrap around its body. Through the smothering music in her head, she gauges the distance with strategic ease, her eyes flitting just before its gaping maw as she plans the moment for her dodge. Unplanned she finds herself suddenly a foot closer to the creature and a foot away from Vesper, the time for her dodge cutting dangerously short. 

"Sh-" Her curse is swallowed in her grunted breath as her back hits the ground in an instinctual roll that lands her under the belly of the beast. It's not her most graceful moment, but she manages to miss the snap of its mouth where she'd just been, and as she comes back to a crouch, she stabs her dagger up into the scaled underside of the lamplighter.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

The song thickens the air like syrup, tugging at Vesper’s mind even as he watches Thal’s blade flash up into the lamplighter’s belly. Its lantern whips back toward her, jaws yawning to snap again. "Thal—left!" he shouts, shadows surging from his hands before the warning has fully left his lips. A black ribbon lashes out and hooks the glowing lure itself, yanking sideways so hard the monster’s head slews off-line. The bite crashes harmlessly into a curtain of fog instead of her shoulder.

Another tendril snakes low, wrapping the broad tail. Vesper can’t pin it—too much thrashing muscle—but the drag slows the sweep just enough for Thal to hopefully roll clear of the mud-splattering smack.

He misty-steps onto a half-submerged log, boots skidding. With a sharp kick he blasts a sheet of filthy water up into the lamplighter’s face; the lure sizzles under the muck, its light hiccupping, and the melody stutters into a discordant rasp. "Keep under its gut!" Vesper calls, voice fraying with strain. He flings both arms wide, and his shadows fan out. The lamplighter tries to rise, tail beating a froth behind it, but Vesper hauls on the shadow caught around the lure, dragging its head down until the pale scales of its belly hover barely waist-high.

Every muscle in his shoulders knots with the effort of holding the tether. The monster’s song worms inside his skull—shards of half-remembered lullabies—but he grits his teeth, forcing the tune out. The fish hisses, lantern flickering, tail freed again and lashing furiously. Vesper braces, shadows anchoring like tarred ropes in the mire, buying her seconds—only seconds—to line up another blow. He can feel the strain in the tether, feel the lure’s glow pulsing against the pull of his magic. If he can keep it grounded, she can finish the cut.

For now that’s all he does: wrestle the light, hold the head low, and trust Thal’s dagger to turn the wobbling song into a dying note.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

Deciding in the moment to trust Vesper, Thal does exactly as he says, darting hastily left as she feels the air shift where her shoulder had been a millisecond ago. The disorienting movement makes her sway enough that she crouches low against the ground to avoid taking a stray hit as the lamplighter gets yanked around by tendrils of shadow like a leash on its lure, slicing her blade through the scales while it's distracted. 

In the corner of her eye, she sees another shadow reach for its tail, her body moving to avoid the flick that shoves mud and fog alike through the air. As she comes back up in a crouch, she drags another wound into the creature's underbelly. It's like a dance of dodges and strikes set to the fluctuating music, focusing on not getting slapped around or crushed while she slashes her dagger up with each movement. The obsidian flares and sizzles along the scales with each hit, and by the time Vesper calls out again, flames are licking up her arms, trailing every swipe of her dagger. She can hear the strain in his voice as she feels the lamplighter struggle above her. Whatever he's doing, she doesn't have long to capitalize on it. 

Thal doesn't hesitate, darting towards its dipping head - about where the throat should be. She pushes both daggers deep into the exposed section, spreading her arms apart to split the scales wide. Blood sprays down on her head while she shoves her fire through the gap, scorching the internal structures in a loud boil that filters into the singing like a gurgle. If she wasn't so concentrated, she might have smiled at the chaos, but instead, her face twists in a grimace at the expenditure of magic that sears a path upwards, making the glow of its mouth turn red with flames.

In a final surge, the warbling song turns into a low keen and the lamplighter shudders a dying note. It's a relief that has her fire winking out and her arms falling to her side - but she's still very much under the beast, and when it starts to fall from the sky, Thal has the briefest survival instinct to move. 

Gasping a shallow breath, she darts and dives as it plummets into the muddy ground. Exhausted, her efforts aren't quite enough this time, and Thal feels the weight of the jaw slam onto the back of her calves. The oily mud absorbs some of the possible damage with a squelch, but there's still a flash of pain as the lamplighter carcass pins her. She clenches her jaw as she sucks in a breath, stunned for a moment in the aftermath of everything. Her eyes blink to clear the mud and blood and chaos from her vision, slowly propping her arms under her upper body as she gathers her strength, already analyzing how she's going to free herself.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

A wet crack of bone-on-scale rings out as the lamplighter drops: in its last spasm the creature’s tail scythes sideways, catching Vesper square in the ribs and flinging him onto his back. The breath leaves him in a ragged grunt; stars pulse across his vision, and for a moment the world is nothing but mud, cold water and the metallic taste of his own blood where a tooth cuts his lip.

But Thal’s pain in his mind is sharper than the throb blooming across his side. He rolls, half-staggering to hands and knees, shadows twitching around him like startled birds. What he sees yanks him fully upright: the lamplighter’s head has crashed onto her calves, pinning her in the sucking mire.

Every breath is a stab, but he’s already moving. A mist-step jars his bruised ribs mercilessly yet puts him beside the monstrous jaw. Up close the translucent fangs glisten—each as long as his forearm—and they’re crushing her legs knee-down. He kneels, one arm clamped against his own side to keep everything where it belongs, the other reaching to her. She’s conscious, eyes fierce even in pain.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. From his palms the shadows uncoil, thicker than before—broad tar-black straps that slide beneath the lamplighter’s lower jaw. He braces his shoulder against the corpse, grimacing as injured ribs protest, then hauls for all he's worth. The jaw rises—six inches—mud sloughing off in clumps, but it'll have to do.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

She hears Vesper's curse, assuming she looks worse than she feels; breathing quick from exertion, eyes glazed with shock, hair stuck to her face in blood that's not hers, clothes coated in thick mud, legs firmly pinned. She must make quite the sorry image. But Thal doesn't have much time to think about it as he comes to her aide, the weight slowly lifting enough for her to feel that her legs are free. In a crawling, twisting combination, she rolls clear of the lamptlighter, flopping on her back with a small huffing groan that sounds a lot like "Thanks."

Ah, but then there's her warm blood trickling down her leg, where she can now feel the sharp absence of a fang that had extended below the jaw into the side of her calf. The black of her clothes makes it hard to spot, and she sucks in a breath to clear the red at the edge of her vision, not really wanting to draw attention to the injury. It's something she can handle on her own later. 

Glancing at where Vesper grips his side, she gives him a cursory scan for other wounds, disguising the worry with a narrowing of her eyes. Other than a split lip, she doesn't see any blood on him, but she still asks, "You okay?" She associates the accompanying concern with one of selfish desires not to have her mistake be the reason they'd ended up injured, the pang in her chest being guilt more than anything.

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

Vesper’s shadows settle back into the muck, quivering like spent bowstrings. He exhales through clenched teeth, tasting copper, then pushes to his feet with deliberate care. Every flex of his torso sends lightning through the rib he’s certain is cracked, but he pieces his composure together anyway—ragged breath, wry smile, the usual armour.

Vesper staggers upright, one hand pressed to his ribs, breath whistling through grit-stained teeth. "Guess I ain’t built to catch tail-swipes," he mutters, words drawling together like slow honey. Blood still beads on his lip, but he wipes it with the back of his wrist and shoots Thal a crooked grin.

Thalassa’s own façade is thinner than she realizes. Beneath the grit and swagger, he can feel the sharp backlash of pain where that missing fang tore her calf, but pride curls around the hurt like armour plate. He clocks the dark ribbon of red on her calf and, without comment, hooks two fingers through the tear in his sleeve. A swift tug frees a strip of linen, edges fraying like sea-foam. He tosses it to her. "Wrap that tight. Hate to see you leavin’ a trail of blood all over this fine swamp."

The lamplighter’s corpse glows faint, scales flickering like oil on water. Vesper steps back, shadows restless around his boots, and gestures with a lazy sweep. "All yours." While she works, he angles his head, listening for slither or wing. The swamp answers with nothing but wind through reeds and the low fizz of bioluminescence dying. He settles into a guard’s stance, shadows coiling like watchful hounds while Thal claims her hard-won prize.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Thalassa

Although she catches every wince and tight breath, she's relieved to see his bloody grin, to hear there's nothing worse hiding from her eyes. Ribs may be slow to heal, but they're better than a head injury. Smirking through her own pain, she lets out a breathy laugh. "Guess not." The lamplighter had certainly been a more formidable opponent than she'd originally expected, and she's secretly determined not to face another anytime soon.

Propping up on her hands, Thal watches curiously as he tears a piece of cloth from his shirt. She doesn't realize it's for her until he tosses it nonchalantly in her direction. Snagging it from the air, she hides the embarrassment at having been caught in an amused smile. "You're right. I'd hate to ruin the beautiful scenery."

With quick movements and hidden grimaces in the tension of her jaw, Thal rolls her pant leg above the wound, watching as a slow ooze of blood leaks from the hole. It throbs as she wraps the cloth tightly, barely breathing as she ties it off to staunch the bleeding. 

Making sure Vesper isn't looking, she staggers to her feet, careful to avoid too much weight on her leg. It still earns her a dull stab of red pain, but it eases as she leans against the carcass to pull a dagger from her side. Practiced precision makes quick work of the scales, and before long Thal has a strip of bloody glowing scales in her hands. Almost instantly, the light begins to fade, the source of its magic being severed, leaving her with a shiny patch of tan scales. 

Licking her dagger clean of the coppery coating, she sheaths it and pushes to stand. She stubbornly walks through the ache, doing her best not to limp as she flashes Vesper a fanged grin. "As fun as that was, I'd very much like to get out of this hell hole. You ready?"

Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

The lamplighter’s corpse gives one last guttering shimmer, then sags into true darkness. Mud sucks at Vesper’s boots as he straightens, breathing around the hot stitch in his ribs. He flicks a glance at the strip of dull scales in Thal’s fist—mission accomplished—then nudges a half-submerged log with his toe to test its steadiness.

"Trail’s west," he says, voice slipping back into its lazy purr. He gestures her ahead, shadows spilling out to map a surer path across the mire. Thal steps onto the log, refusing to favour her wounded leg, and Vesper falls in behind her—one hand hovering near, ready but unoffered. The night closes around them: frogs trill, distant wings beat, reeds whisper where nothing moves.

They walk until the ground rises underfoot and mud gives way to moss-slick stone. A crooked cedar crowns the ridge, its roots clawing the earth like shipwreck timbers. Vesper slumps against the trunk with a hissed breath, tugging a small silver flask from his coat and passing it over. "Toast to survivin’," he drawls, rolling his shoulder as if that could jar the ache loose. "And to furtherin' your quest, whatever it is."

Shadows coil close while the Feverlands mutter below, the lamplighter’s glow already a rumour among the reeds. Up here, the air is clearer, the stars sharp. Vesper tips his head back to find his own small constellation freckled across the night, then lets his eyelids drift half-shut, savouring the fragile hush amidst the hiss of pain from his bones.

~FIN

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //