through the clear and the cloudy skies

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

The skyship cuts its slow descent over the Hollowed Grounds, drifting in silence save for the faint creak of its hull and the rustle of summer wind. Below, a broken ring of islands rises from the dense underbrush—shaggy with wild growth and thick with brambles, the terrain looks more like something clawed back from wilderness than a place people once lived. The ruins Remi remembers are long swallowed by green, but still he searches for their ghosts.

He'd opted to take a skyship with Theea rather than fly her himself so that they could chat over the duration; as a winged beast the journey would have been comfortable for her but Remi wouldn't have been able to talk, and had he held his niece in his arms, the closeness might have been a touch overwhelming given that they were just getting to know one another.

He steps lightly from the ship once it touches down, boots meeting soft moss and half-buried stone. The air is warm and humid, clinging to his skin like a second layer; a far cry from the salt-slick breezes of Torchline, but no less relentless. "This all used to be streets and buildings," Remi murmurs, half to himself and half to Theea as he ducks under a low-hanging branch. "Cracked cobblestone, flickering lanterns...you could hear someone fighting off a boggart three streets over if you listened hard enough."

He glances back to make sure she’s following, brushing aside a curtain of thorned vines with his forearm. "The Monster Hunter’s Guild sat on the edge of the ruins, near the treeline back then. Rustic place. Always smelled like smoke and wet fur." The faintest smile touches his lips, though it flickers with a kind of distant, sun-faded affection.

Pushing forward through a thick knot of undergrowth, he pauses at what might’ve once been a stone foundation, now half-buried and furred over with moss. "And now…" Remi exhales, placing a hand on one of the worn stones, sea-glass eyes scanning the green-choked island. "Now it looks like its all been reclaimed."

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

The air wraps around me like damp cloth as I follow Remi. It’s warm in a way that clings — not the open, salt-bitten warmth of Torchline, but thick and green and still. I inhale slowly, the scent of wet bark and something gently sweet, maybe berries crushed underfoot. I’m already sweating lightly at the back of my neck, but I don’t mind.

I follow Remi down a half-swallowed path, ducking instinctively beneath a branch as it drags after him. I grab for my bag, so it doesn’t get caught, and it’s disorienting when it isn’t there. I’m still not use to not carrying everything I own. Instead, my fingertips trail a vine that’s overtaken what might’ve once been a fence, or maybe a wall, or maybe nothing at all. It’s impossible to tell now — everything is softened at the edges, blurred into the brambles and low trees.

“Mom never brought me out here.” My voice is low, not quite a whisper, but it feels wrong to speak too loud. ”It didn’t realize it had all been so swallowed up.”

The idea of cobbled streets and glowing lanterns here feels like something out of an old dream, and maybe it is — the kind of broken nostalgia that lives in my mother’s voice when she talks about this place. I catch up just as Remi brushes aside a curtain of thorns and I duck after him, until finally we break through the densest of underbrush.

The foundation is hardly more than moss-covered stone, but it tugs at me. Like bones remembered by the earth. My boots crunch softly in the moss as I step closer, gaze sweeping the fallen structure. I can almost see it—wooden beams, a hearth smoldering, damp furs drying by firelight. Maybe a muddy set of boot prints leading in. Pawprints even, from my mom coming to bug them.

“This was it?” I ask, even though I know the answer. My voice pitches up, soft but amazed. “The Monster Hunter’s Guild?”

My heart flutters. Something about the name always felt like a dare.

“I met Deimos,” I add after a beat, brushing a thorn away from my sleeve. “He lead a hunt in Halo — void-luxere. I kind of... crashed it.” A dry smile curls at the corner of my mouth, hand instinctively rubbing at my right hip, where the bruises still bloom beneath my clothes. “He asked if I’d be interested in joining. The Guild, I mean.”

I look back toward Remi, his hand on the stone, his gaze turned inward even though he’s facing out. The way people do when memory takes over. I feel a soft pull in my chest — the hush that comes when you know you’re standing in a place someone loved.

“Thank you,” I murmur, meaning it more than I know how to say. “For bringing me here.” A breath passes. The breeze rattles the thorns gently, and a sparrow flits between branches overhead. “What is it you’re looking for?” I ask, voice small in the wide green stillness.

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi’s hand lingers on the moss-covered stone, his fingers brushing absently over a crack as if memory might rise like mist from the fracture. At Theea’s question, he exhales softly and glances over his shoulder, a warm, wry curve to his mouth. "Mmm? I'm not surprised. We were trapped beneath the barrier for years. Ashe likely didn’t have the fondest memories of this place." His sea-glass eyes sweep the green-choked remnants, gaze steady. "For a while, it felt like no matter how much we built, it would always end in loss."

He steps back, shifting slightly to face her, his arms folding loosely as his expression softens. "But yes—this was it." There’s something wistful in the way he says it. "Downstairs was all warm woods and mismatched chairs. We had a massive kitchen with a hearth, and there was always something cooking. People came and went, brought in pelts, stories, teeth from something they’d just killed." His brow quirks faintly. "Ronin and Vanya lived on the second floor, before..." Pauising, Remi swallows. "..before she died. And then Ronin died, and.."

The moment passes like a breeze through leaves, rustling but not lingering, leaving the Bastion sighing softly.

Hearing Deimos’s name draws a genuine grin. "He’s a good man. Bit quiet, but reliable." He raises an eyebrow at her. "Crashed it, did you? You thinking about joining?" His smile is crooked now, boyish. "It’s not a bad way to see Caido. Plenty of trouble to get into, even more to learn. I'm sure Ronin would happily tag along."

When she thanks him, his gaze softens again, and he dips his head slightly. "Of course," he murmurs, feeling something in his chest both loosen and lock up all at once. "I’m glad you’re here."

Then, at her final question, his expression shifts—quiet and a little conspiratorial. He glances sidelong at her, the green light filtering through the canopy casting shifting patterns over his skin. "Can you keep a secret?" he asks, voice low. "I need a piece of the guild. Just a small one." He taps his fingers gently against the stone. "For something I’m planning for Ronin." A pause, and then, teasingly: "So if you tell him, I’ll have to throw you into a boggart’s den. Very gently, of course."

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

I step up beside the old stone, fingers splayed over the moss the way he did. It’s cool to the touch, ridged with old fractures and time-worn grooves, and I wonder if someone once leaned here just like this—bracing a hand after coming home, soaked in blood or rain or both.

“Mom said death followed people like shadows in the barrier,” I murmur, my gaze tracing the line where roots have split the stone. “But it wasn’t the same thing as a curse. It just meant you were still trying, even after.”

There’s something about the way he talks—his accent is gentle and unhurried, but every so often you can hear it: the weight beneath the words. The past pressing against the back of his throat. When he mentions Vanya, then Ronin, and the way both of those stories end, I find myself looking at the moss again, not because it’s particularly interesting, but because it feels wrong to stare when someone says something like that. Ronin was brought back by my mom, sure, but I know the memory is a hard one. I’ve only heard the story twice, and... Vanya died giving birth to a child he and Ronin lost. I don't ask for that part of the story to continue.

My voice dips, quieter than the breeze rattling through the brambles. “I wish I could remember it as more than this.” There’s reverence in it and not sadness—maybe not for the ruins themselves, but for what they meant. For what was lost here, and what managed to survive anyway. I think of Vanya, and of Aoife, who I never got to meet. Of Ronin, and Remi, who are somehow still here after everything. Of my mother, and what she carried away from this place.

Then the attention tilts back to the modern-day Monster Hunter's Guild, and my lips curve up. The grin lingers a little longer when I straighten and dust off my hands. “Yeah, I accepted his offer. I want to see what it’s like. What I can be in it.” I shrug lightly, but there’s something earnest beneath the motion, something steadier than bravado. “If I can learn to fight monsters well enough, maybe I can be good enough to really help people.” I bite my lip, as if to temper the over-eager childishness. "You really think Ronin would go?"

When Remi warns me, that wry little threat, I tilt my head at him like I’m considering it seriously.

“Mmm. I won’t tell,” I say, squinting as if I’m weighing the oath. “But the boggarts might find me too charming to eat anyways.” A beat. My eyes flick to his hands still resting on the stone, then up to his face, curious. “So? What are you planning for him, exactly? I promise not to ruin the surprise. Cross my heart, hope to—get mildly mauled by some boggarts.” Another beat, a nervous glace over my shoulder. ”Are they frequent out here or something, those things? That’s the second time you mentioned one and I wouldn’t exactly call myself a ‘monster hunter’ yet.”

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi’s smile fades, not with discomfort but with memory. His hand shifts over the stone once more, gentle and sure, like he’s trying to smooth time back into place. "It was worse than shadows," he says quietly, the travelling tongue wrapping warm and lyrical around the words despite their weight. "In the Grounds...death could knock on your door and call out your name. In the voice of someone you loved." He glances at Theea then, expression grave but not hollow. "That was what made it so cruel. It didn’t just take from us—it made us want to open the door, because the hope and guilt of what might be on the other side was too strong to ignore."

But when she wishes she could remember this place as more than ruin, something softens in the set of his mouth. He ruffles a hand through his curls, shaking his head fondly. "When Ronin came back from the dead," he says, quieter now, "the first time I saw him again was right there." He nods toward what’s left of the doorway. "I didn't believe it was him. Wouldn't even let him hold his daughter," he adds with a chuckle. "The first time we kissed again? Right here in the kitchen. I nearly passed out with the surprise of it."

He chuckles under his breath. "After a while, there was laughter again. The trophies we hung up—they weren’t reminders of LongNight anymore. They were keepsakes from hunts with friends, expeditions into the wilds, things we survived together." His voice drifts as if remembering the sound of it—mugs clinking, boots stomping, the crash of someone falling asleep on a pile of furs by the fire. "We had good times here too."

At her answer about joining the guild, Remi grins wide, eyes creasing fondly. "Mmhmm," he hums, her eagerness striking a perfect chord between Vai and Ashe: Wanting to help people and having no fear about how to do it. He nods, emphatic now. "Ronin would love it. I've never seen him happier than when he was just a hunter, honestly."

As for the boggarts, Remi snorts softly. "Too charming, are you? Maybe." His eyes flick around the dense green. "I’ve only seen them in the Hollowed Grounds. Especially in the Labyrinth. But then again, knowing how they are, I suppose I could have seen them elsewhere too and not known." There’s no true fear in his tone, but a quiet respect.

Then, finally, he exhales, gaze tipping back to her with a warmer glint. "As for the secret..." He presses his palm flat to the stone once more. "I started putting together a guest list for our anniversary party..." He glances away briefly. "But the list kept coming up short."

Remi’s voice softens. "So I asked Mort—just for one night—if he’d leave the gates open. So our friends could come. The ones we lost." He glances at her now, more directly. "To make that happen, I need a piece of each place we lived in over the years."

His smile is quiet, proud as he turns to Theea. "Which means once I am done all of this, your grandmother will be there too." And Vanya, if you'll write her <3

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

I go quiet as he speaks—not just politely, but the kind of quiet that means I’m listening with every part of me. It’s different, hearing it from someone else. From someone who was there. The stories Mom told were already heavy, already thick with things she didn’t say, but this… this makes it real in a way that lodges under my ribs and doesn’t move.

There’s a part of me—some awful, morbid part—that wants to understand it better, to feel the weight of what they went through, to know it like they did. But then I think of what that would cost, and the thought makes my stomach twist. I don’t want to open a door like that. I know I don’t want to endure anything like that.

When he nods toward the ruined doorway and tells me about Ronin—about not believing it was really him, about the kiss—I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. It’s the kind of grin I try to hide behind my hand, but don’t quite succeed. “That’s so romantic it sounds fake,” I say, delighted.

It’s sweet. It’s soft. It’s the kind of story I’ll tuck away like a treasure.

As he talks more about the Guild—the warmth, the noise, the laughter—I feel something steady settle in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or maybe just… comfort. “I hope it still feels like that,” I murmur, brushing a bit of brush out of the way to look more clearly at the half-buried stones. “If there’s even a little of that left, I think I made the right choice.”

His words about boggarts, though—they do make me shiver, just a little. The thought of something that could be any frightening thing out here… I don’t like that. But I look at Remi, calm and steady and smiling faintly, and I do feel safe. I imagine being out here alone would be different. But I’m with Remi Taliesin. Boggarts shouldn’t be frightening.

And then—

Mort.

He says it like it’s normal. Like it’s a thing you can just do—ask the god of death to leave a door open. My eyes widen as he speaks, something like awe pressing behind my ribs. My mom met Mort, and he’d taken her immortality—she could never fully describe the experience to me. But I know even she spoke of it with awe.

The moment it sinks in—what it means, what he’s doing—my breath catches. “I’m going to meet her? Vai? Like really meet her.” I ask, blinking, the words so soft they barely make sound.

It hits me like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. I’ve spent so long wondering what she’d be like. What she’d say. If she’d like me. And now I’ll get to see her, for real, and just the idea of it makes my eyes sting. I open my mouth to blurt out every question all at once, but just as quickly, that brightness dims at the edges. The thought creeps in before I can stop it.

“Do you think…do you think my mom would show up? For something like that, at least?”

It slips out, quiet. And for the first time since we stepped into this place, I feel small. I miss her so suddenly it aches. My mom has been hiding from everything... Would she hide from a chance to make things right with her own mom?

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi laughs, low and warm, the sound carried off on the lazy hush of wind through the trees. "Not fake," he promises, boyish and fond. "Very much real. I was a good deal more awkward back then. In fact, he was concussed when I proposed to him, you know—" His smile twitches wider, caught somewhere between sheepish and proud. "Came home from fighting something in the Spire, all scraped up and wide-eyed. I panicked and asked him to marry me in the middle of the kitchen." Remi shrugs like the memory is a favourite shirt he’s worn through at the seams. "Romance."

At her wondering about the guild, he nods. "I haven’t seen the one Deimos built, but...he’s not the sort to let something meaningful slip away. If anyone could keep the thread alive, it’s him."

But it’s the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen, that has Remi softening all over again. The awe in her voice tugs something loose in his chest, and he chuckles gently at her astonishment. "It’s been so long since Mort was anything but a friend to me, I forget sometimes what it means for others," he murmurs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, the bashfulness plain in his lopsided smile. "But yes. You’ll meet her. Properly. And I know she’ll love you. You’re as sharp as your mother, and twice as charming." He grins. "But please don't tell Ashe I said that. I'm sure she still has one hell of a punch."

But her next question dims the light just slightly. Theea’s voice turns quiet, and the ache beneath it is enough to stop Remi’s teasing cold. He doesn’t rush to answer. Instead, he steps forward, arms opening as gently as the forest light, and draws her in close with a tenderness that speaks not just of comfort, but understanding. "If there’s a way to reach her," he says softly, voice thick with all the years and grief wrapped around that name. He tucks his chin lightly atop her head, one hand stroking her back. "If there's a way to reach her, we'd love nothing more than to see her again." He exhales, steady and sure. "But we both know how hard it can be to...to come back."

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

I giggle, quietly at first, then a little brighter, like I can’t help it. “You proposed to all bloodied?” I blink up at him, grinning. “In the kitchen?” My laugh slips out, soft and warm. “That’s either the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, or the most chaotic. Maybe both. Honestly, very fitting for the family right?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, a little sheepish myself now. “My parents’ proposal story is… well. Convoluted. They didn’t even tell anyone. Just a promise and a decision. I think it was all just too dangerous back then, in your guys’ old old world, for anything else.” My voice softens as I glance at the stones again, but there’s a flicker of amusement still on my lips. “But they were wildly in love. So I guess that counts for something.”

I smile at him when he says Vai will love me, but it trembles just a little. “Mom always says she’s the charming one,” I murmur with a quiet, sad laugh. “Usually right after she does something incredibly rude and immediately deflects it with sarcasm.” I glance up at him, wiping under one eye though it doesn’t need it yet. “But yeah. She definitely does still have a good swing. My dad could’ve confirmed that for you. He never stood a chance.”

And then, just as the weight of missing them is becoming too much—he hugs me.

Really hugs me.

It’s not a polite squeeze or a half-armed lean-in. It’s the kind of hug that folds you in like you're made to fit. The kind that says I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. For a second I just stand there, frozen in it. Something clenches deep in my chest—tight and aching—and before I know it, my arms are wrapping around him, my face tucked into his chest like it’s the only safe place in the world.

It feels like a hug from my dad. Or… as close as I’ll ever get again. My throat tightens instantly, and I blink hard. The tears come anyway—quiet and hot and wobbling my vision—but I hold them in, breathe through them, try not to let that spill.

Damn. I didn't realize how much I needed a hug like this one.

“I’ve been leaving notes,” I say after a moment, my voice soft and muffled against him. “Little ones. In places I thought she might find. They keep disappearing, so… I think she gets them.”

I swallow, my fingers curling slightly in the back of his shirt.

“And sometimes… I see a hummingbird. A little blue one. Never stays long.” It’s always nice when I think I’ve seen her. I’m never totally sure. “I want her to come back. To make it all right. But… she’s so afraid. Of what leaving meant. Of what it still means.” My lips press together, and I shake my head just slightly. “And since losing Dad, she's been so broken.”

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi’s grin turns sheepish, a breath of laughter slipping through his nose as he nods. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he murmurs, the memory clearly still dear despite its chaos. "He came home scraped up and smiling like a man who didn’t know which way was up, and I panicked. I’d been so afraid he’d get himself killed again without knowing how much I loved him, so..." His voice trails, his expression soft. "So I asked. Right there. Bloodied boots and soup on the stove."

Hearing about Kalt and Ashe draws a quieter smile, warm and respectful. "I didn’t know him well," Remi admits, "but any man who managed to win Ashe’s heart?" He shakes his head, fond and a little awed. "That’s no small feat." Then Theea says could’ve. And Remi stills, the corner of his mouth twitching down as he lifts his brows gently. "Could’ve?" he echoes, voice soft, the question unmistakable.

As she curls into him, Remi says nothing at first. He lets the hush between them stretch, lets the quiet of the wood hold space for her ache. Normally he’d keep his magic in check, keep that barrier between himself and others—but this time, he lets it fall. Where his fingers brush her skin, a subtle warmth begins to bloom. Not heat, exactly. Not joy. Just the steady, unshakable feeling of being loved.

He lets her feel it the way he feels it: I’m here. I’m yours. I won’t leave.

His affection floods into the ache he senses in her—soft golden threads weaving into the frayed edges of her sorrow. She can feel the grief in him too, muted but familiar, something tempered and shaped by time. But his love is louder. Fierce. Protective. Immovable.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I didn’t know." His voice hitches slightly, and with a subtle shift of his shoulder blades, he unfurls his wings. The feathers are warm from the sun, and they wrap around her like curtains of protection, cocooning them both in dappled light.

"I don’t know what Ashe is going through," he says, voice low and steady. "But after the war, Ronin and I went up into the Cordillera. We stayed there for a year. And I didn’t say more than a few sentences the entire time."

One hand strokes gently over her back.

"Coming back..." he sighs, his head tilting down until his brow rests lightly against her hair. "It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done." A breath passes and he sighs. "But we did. And when she’s ready...I hope your mom will too."

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

The moment Remi’s wings fold around me, something in the world goes quiet. Not the birdsong or the rustle of wind through leaves—those things stay—but the noise inside me. The restless hum I carry everywhere, the dull throb of ache I pretend isn’t there. All of it stills. It’s warm. The feathers are soft and sunlit, and they cocoon us in a hush that feels older than either of us. Like this place remembers how to hold sorrow gently. Like he does.

And then his magic touches me.

It’s not loud. Not insistent. Just there, slipping into the places I didn’t even know were hurting. The hollow where my father’s laugh used to echo. The aching space my mother left behind when she chose to stay in hiding. I always say I’m fine. That I’m used to it. But here—wrapped in this quiet, golden sanctuary—I can feel the lie of it stretch thin.

And still, I don’t cry. I press my face into his shoulder and breathe deep. I let myself feel loved, and it nearly undoes me.

“I’m glad you both came back,” I whisper, voice unsteady, like it’s made of glass and breath. “I don’t know how often people say that to you. But it matters. It means something—to know the world didn’t break you. That you still chose it, after everything.”

I shift slightly, enough to look up at him through the filtered light. My voice is quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.

“How did you decide?” I ask. “After hiding. After hurting. What made you come back?”

There’s something desperate and hopeful tangled in the question. Because I want to believe there’s a path back for her, too. I want to understand what that looks like. What it takes.

“Can I try to invite her?” I ask, barely louder than a breath. “To the party. I’ll write it carefully. Just a note, like the others. Just... a door left open.” I pause, blinking fast, and tuck back into the shelter of his arms. “I want her to see what’s waiting. I want her to remember that there’s still something good left.” Another breath. A little steadier now. “I want her to know she’s still allowed to come home.”

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

The slow smile that climbs Remi’s face is warm, but shadowed at the edges. "Not many people did," he admits softly, his fingers brushing over the curve of Theea’s back in slow, grounding circles. "Not at first,"" he huffs a quiet breath, not quite bitter, but something close, though it's a good deal softer than it might once have been. "Most were too busy wondering why we left in the first place. What we were trying to prove, or maybe why we felt like we'd been hurt so much worse than they had that we had to go away for a time."

His head tilts slightly, wings twitching gently around her like they might pull the forest in tighter. "But Ronin—" A quiet laugh slips free, boyish and fond. "Ronin never left my side. Not once. And worse, I suppose, he never told me to snap out of it or pull my head out of my ass when he probably should have. So when I finally looked up and saw what it was doing to him, to be alone up there on that mountain...I couldn’t let it keep happening."

He shifts, pulling back just enough to glance down at her, eyes lined with something that isn’t regret, exactly, but carries the same weight. "My whole right arm was damaged during the war. I couldn't do much alchemy, couldn’t even write with it. I told myself that was the reason I stayed up there. That it was practical. But really..." He shakes his head, rueful. "I was just hiding. It was easier to be broken up in the clouds than to come down and see what had cracked apart while we were gone."

Then, as she asks—so quiet, so brave—about her mother, Remi softens again. He reaches out and gently tips her chin up so he can see her properly, not just curled into him, but facing him fully. His voice is warm and certain when he answers. "Of course you can," he says, then a flicker of mischief warms his tone. "And I’ll give you one of my feathers to tuck into it, so she knows she’s not just welcome by her daughter, but by someone who’d fly halfway across the world if it meant seeing her again." His thumb brushes gently beneath her eye. "She deserves to know that, even if she isn't ready."

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

you lose yourself when the wind flows through your hair
you taste freedom as you fill your lungs with air

He smiles in that warm way of his as his hand smooths in circles over my back, an anchor from the heaviness of memory and longing. What he’s describing is exactly what my mother has been afraid of. The why did you leave and the you’re a coward or how could you not come back, even when your mother died? That one always wrecked her. I overheard it sometimes, when she and dad would talk.

I listen as he goes on, and imagine them in isolation is a strange thing. But imagining the way Ronin stick by him is easy, their love for each so vivid it aches even for a bystander. ”I used to call that kind of romance gross with mom and dad. But I missed seeing it. The implication is there; it’s such a joy to see it in them.

Remi’s admission—that he was hiding—softens something in me. I know at her core, that’s what she’s doing. I told her as much, and she even knows, I think. It wasn’t just about my safety.

He tips up my chin, and my brows pull up at the center. ”Of course you can,” he says, and my chest wrenches tight, even at the glint of mischief in his eye. One of his feathers is bound to convince her, it has to. A tear slips free, frustratingly, but he thumbs it away with a soft brush under my eye.

”Thank you,” I manage with a wobbly smile, all my usual dry humor and attempts at charm to hide this somehow turned to dust under the cover of Remi’s wings, in the safety of a fatherly embrace. I take a shaky, but steadying breath. ”Not just for helping me invite her.” I don’t elaborate, but I’m sure he understands. Where I normally can’t shut up, it seems like I’ve lost all my words.

I give him a steadier smile, stronger. ”We came here for Ronin, not for me.” Though I’m so damn grateful for this. For feeling so much closer to her, to them, in being brought here. ”What about a brick from where the kitchen was? Would you be able to pin-point it?”

the time has stopped, your mind has set sail
the road is home, the stars will light the trail

the bastion

Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi’s smile shifts into something a touch more boyish at her thanks, though his eyes stay steady on hers—gentle, unwavering, filled with the kind of warmth that doesn’t ask for explanation. He understands. She doesn’t have to spell it out. With the way she crumpled and rebuilt herself all in one breath, she’s said more than enough.

When she mentions the brick, he chuckles softly, nodding. "That’s a great idea," he says, dusting off his pants out of habit even if the monster hunter’s guild is already a ruin of what it once was. Together they pick their way over scorched beams and half-toppled walls, the skeleton of the guild casting long shadows in the dusk light that slips through what’s left of the roof. Moss creeps up between the floorboards. Ferns curl where floor meets stone. But eventually, there—tucked near the edge of what might once have been a storage cupboard—is the fireplace. Half the hearth’s been caved in, but enough remains.

"Here we go," Remi murmurs, crouching down. With careful fingers he pries loose one of the bricks. It crumbles a bit at the edges, soot-stained and weatherworn, but it holds. He turns and offers it to Theea with a wink.

Dusting his hands on his thighs, he straightens, then tilts his head toward her with a faint grin. "Anything else you want to do while we’re here? I make a pretty good chaperone." There’s lightness in his voice now—gentle teasing, a breeze cutting through the ache they’ve unearthed. But if not, he’ll simply guide her back out into the gathering dark, wings half-spread behind them both like a final shield against the ghosts they’ve stirred.


~FIN

Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!