From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
The journey from there to here wasn't one he ever wanted to experience again. To be travelling to a place that was so closely associated with her - he could hardly process all the thoughts that cascaded through him. She's gone she's gone she's gone seemed to be the most prevalent, though he'd managed to swallow down the tears so that he wasn't sobbing as he travelled alongside Deimos.
Tears still came every now and then, they still fell, but in silent waves, in small streams that could be wiped away. He didn't necessarily hide the fact that his eyes kept summoning the salty drops, but he was also so focussed on the current task at hand that he was able to function almost like a normal human being again.
"Is Amalia alright?" he asked of the man, hoping beyond hope that she was unharmed and safe - also hoping that just because Kia, who had made their friendship something more, was gone, their friendship didn't have to end. He held a lot of respect for the Sword, and by extension, the Shield too - and he genuinely cared about them, and would have, he knew, even if he'd never known Kia.
They were coming up to the Sanctuary now - soon all their focus would be on mustering the strength and conviction just to approach her house, to enter, to hope that Auni was still there, waiting, like he had been, waiting.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Moving forward on long strides, on pinnacles of precision, was a honed, welcome respite from the all-consuming cataclysms following, chasing him down. He could feel the bedlam, the menace, the anguish, rising along his heels, gnarled bones wrapping around shins and walls, threatening to tear them all down, rend them apart. If he merely continued onward, if he sought a goal, if he thought there was something beyond those clinging, clawing intervals, he’d have a chance of escaping, of thwarting, of not being damned and consigned.
But it was difficult, when everything was a reminder of those he’d cherished and loved, gone in the sanctity of months and moments – the sun, radiant like Rexanna, the flames in his heart, like cinders and embers of Kiada, the rolling terrain of ghosts ricocheting across his head, his brows, the shape of his motions. If he ceased, if he stopped, it would all come tumbling down around him again, agonizing, pulling along his heart until even that decrepit, nefarious entity was distorted beyond repair.
He couldn’t listen to Chulane’s sobs. He couldn’t bear the weight of those melancholies. He couldn’t hold his shoulders so rigidly, so tautly now, afraid if he bent or swayed he’d go toppling to the ground. It was a walk through portals instead, from the glacial expanse and back to the hollowed adornments, requiring no thought, no energy, no muscle save for the memory lodged in his mind –
And Chulane’s inquiry nearly made the Sword stop entirely.
He was going to be swallowed, devoured –
“Physically, yes.” Restraint in his words, as they sought to unravel, as his whole world yearned to come crashing down around him. When was it enough? When had he suffered enough? When did it end?
“She wanted space, so-,” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and he choked it back against his throat. Deimos had enough ways to culminate the phrase without voicing it out loud; each one sharper and more painful than the next. So I am alone again. So I am lost. So I do not know what to do.
Chulane would be free to fill in the gaps on his own – they’d arrived at the house. Familiar, clean on the outside, as if nothing was the matter, no worse for wear. Ready for the Harpy’s return, for maelstroms and feathers, for belligerence and mischief. He steeled himself, forged a breath, shifting his gaze to Chulane, before clasping the door knob, and twisting it as he always had, barging in as if she’d be there, waiting for them in the wings.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
He was ignorant of the true depth of the Sword's grief, unaware that more things had occurred when Amalia had returned home with the news. So swept up in just that news, Chulane couldn't fathom being told anything more, anything else that would alter his rapidly changing outlook on Caido. Deimos and Amalia had seemed so right, whenever Kia spoke of them, one name was hardly ever mentioned without the other soon following.
So when the Sword spoke of her asking for space, Chulane felt his stomach drop, felt the world shift beneath him again, as he stumbled a step in surprise. He looked to the monolith of a man, looked and saw, understood more, and wanted to do something but--
But what could he do when they were approaching the steps of Kiada's house, hoping to find Auni alive, hoping to be able to look after him. What could he do, when Deimos went forth and pushed the door open, as if she would be there waiting for him, with a smirk on her lips and a wink fluttering along her eyelids. "We'll talk more, later," he promised softly as the doorway opened, as his focus was pulled away, as he wished he was stronger, more able to carry the hurts and concerns of those he considered his friends (but he was hurting too much himself in this moment).
He stepped through the threshold, heart aching as he looked at the scene that could've been so normal, if it weren't for the notable absence of life within.
"Shit," the word was whispered as Chulane took stock of the room, as he was almost overwhelmed again by the normalness of it, but also the stillness of it all. He took a steadying breath, and then he saw -
Before the fireplace that had long since burned out (the Grounds wasn't Halo after all, fire wasn't a necessity for life here), there was the pile of blankets, made in Halo and stuffed full of soft ningo feathers - the luxere's favourite spot. And upon it, was a very still luxere. Chuy motioned quickly, crossing the room in long, rushed strides, coming to a sliding kneel beside him, hands outstretched to touch, to feel, to discern whether life still beat in the beast's chest.
"Auni," his voice was louder than he thought he was capable of right now - but he was Chuy the Vet in this moment, taking charge, doing what he did best (if he couldn't save Kia's life, he could at least save Auni's). "Fuck," under his breath, the expletive rolled off his tongue with practised ease.
Then, a motion, a breath, a hint of a bleat from the luxere. "Yes! Auni!" His hand was roving through the creature's fur, feeling the warmth of life, feeling the heartbeat, the breathing. He looked to Deimos, his tone sure, sharp, directive: "Water." From his pocket, he fetched an ever-present treat, ready to proffer to the luxere, but the mystical deerling would need water first.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He didn’t really want to talk about it – more inclined to sit and simmer, brew and brood, in the consternation of his failures, in the way the world had shifted underneath him. He only gave a nod, not craving to think any further on it, saving the pain for another segment of time. A clench of his jaw, feathering through muscles forged in iron and steel and rusting from the inside out.
Besides, attention and focus was required for the upcoming task – and crossing over the threshold, bombarded with memories, with reminders, with everything that had been Kiada amidst intangible parameters, crushed against his heart. A mighty, stoic breath inhaled, exhaled, and he tried to parse through the surrounding, impending void, sharpened eyes taking in the scene, listening for any notions, any noise –
Chulane found the luxere first, before the hearth, dying embers saying far more than anything they could signify. With the man’s expertise in animals, he’d likely be able to ascertain what was required, necessary, than Deimos – who dealt with death, who couldn’t ever heal on his own.
The notions that the luxere could be gone, just like the soul bonded to him, rasped painfully along the edges of his throat, until the Halo inhabitant seemed to find life within, and the monolith could do something other than standing there, biding moments away. A shortened nod, and Deimos was crouched there, extending a bowl hastened from creation incantations, rapidly filled with water, enchanted just the same. “I can bring Zuriel in too.” If there was a need for healing – the uncertainty and unknown continually grasping, pulling, and tearing.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
C'mon Auni, his mind pleaded, praying to unknown gods he wasn't sure he believed in, as if his willpower alone could stir life in the little luxere, could convince him to take another breath, another step, another heartbeat, without his soulmate to tether him to this world anymore. But he poured his will into the call anyway, reaching out with gentle strokes to feel for any injuries that were physical upon his form - finding none, and counting that as a blessing in itself.
Water formed, and Chuy nodded in silent gratitude to the man (who he fully intended on drawing more words from after this present crisis had passed). Easing one hand beneath the shoulder of the beast, he rocked Auni's front so that he could reach the water with ease, cradling his head with the other until the luxere found strength of his own to hold himself upright. "Drink, little bud," he encouraged, having placed the biscuits on the cushion before the deerling, where he could reach them when he had wet his throat with the water first.
'You can do it Auni,' his thoughts beamed out, and had he more skill with the attuned bond, perhaps Deimos would've heard it. As it was, a surprising sensation seemed to echo his thoughts - a hopeless sense of longing, a deep sense of loss and grief, helplessness; chased by a swelling of love, of familiarity, of resilience and solidarity. And finally, a sense of determination, of mourning, of acceptance - and it almost knocked Chulane over, such was its power.
Auni began to drink, slowly at first, but he found his strength grew with every sip.
"Deimos I… I think I can feel him?" he questioned, his eyes blinking away a fresh wave of tears (they were happier this time, even if grief was still so fresh). "Is it possible? For a companion to bond to another?" Oh, but he wanted to hope, to hold onto Auni, this last fragment of Kiada he never intended on letting go of again.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Watching, waiting, he was an otherwise useless enterprise and entity within this world. He could feel himself drowning on the edges, eyes urging, wanting, to peel away from the here and now and focus on the walls, the rooms, the things she’d left behind – everything empty, distorted, incapable of escaping the brimming, the brewing, of grief clenching over his jaw.
But then Auni drank, and a breath slowly eased from everything else carving against his bones, fibers, muscle, and tissue, some segment of relief that the luxere, at least, wasn’t amongst the lost and gone. He didn’t expect Chulane’s inquiry to follow, and he tilted his head, furrowing his brow. “What does he say?” How did it feel? Like echoes and reverberations? Like another being immersed within one’s soul?
He hadn’t heard of the possibility before – those in Helovia, who’d perished before their companions, had found the marked and shared bonds meant death for the other as well. “I have not seen it. But that does not mean it cannot happen.” Perhaps the closeness, the entanglements, from Kiada to Chulane, had ordained and benefitted more than just themselves. Another tether, another line, another anchor, left behind by the Harpy.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
It was a sensation like no other. A sense of otherness, of awareness of a part of him that had always been there but never been brought to his attention before - was it his soul? The scientist-minded vet, who was very much an atheist wasn't sure how to take it, almost shying away from it instinctively - but then, Caido was not Earth. Caido was unlike anything he'd ever known, and this was just another aspect of that unknown-ness, that peculiarity that he would come to know and grow with.
Chulane leaned into it, physically and metaphysically, embracing the luxere as he reached out to him, feeling the bond form between their hearts and souls in a way that felt so familiar and right as well as new and daunting. Through his dampened vision, he breathed a shadow of a smile to his lips, looking to Deimos. "I… He feels so weak, so heartbroken, but now he's relieved, and tired, but determined." How could he sufficiently describe everything he felt?
Leaning his forehead forward, he took a deep breath, one that was matched with one the luxere took in between sips of drink. From there, the luxere seems able to carry the weight of his own head without assistance, and nosed around after the treats that Chulane had left for him on the bedding. "I think… I think we got here just in time. I think he's going to.." He couldn't quite bring himself to say be alright, because he couldn't quite grasp that any of them were going to 'be alright' after all of this.
"..he's going to live." He finished after the moment of indecision. Leaning back in his kneel, he gave the luxere some space, feeling a need to catch his breath. A few moments, and everything settled some - his gaze scarcely left the luxere's, watching carefully as the little beastling summoned strength and life and vitality into his movements once again. Then, Chulane looked to Deimos. "So.. What happened? You and Amalia..?" He may as well ask it now, may as well see what he could do, while he had moments of focus in between the tormenting waves of grief that would no doubt rise again soon.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Companions had been common-place in Helovia and Isilme; the inner workings and factions had trickled down in sagacity, education, and experiences. While he hadn’t acquired any soul connected to him along Basin lines, here he’d managed to snag Zuriel, and all the bizarre intervals that came along with it. Sometimes wonderful. Sometimes painstakingly raw. Sometimes everything was the same, and they flooded and collided, breathed in unison, clambered together to make reality tangible, corporeal, and livable. Chulane had worlds to encompass and embody now, and it might be a different notion altogether, where Auni had already lived amidst Kiada’s ichor and thoughts and soul.
So he watched, listened, the relief centering him, the pathworks of the Harpy still alive and well; within the luxure, within pieces and portions that he could recall and reclaim, that Chulane would be able to see, know, and understand. “Good.” For breathing, for determination, for the fire still lingering in the bones of the little beast. “Did Kiada ever tell you how she acquired him?” Because that was a tale itself.
The conversation shifted back to him though, and his brows furrowed; an immediate notion of fumbling, clawing backwards, yearning to slide behind walls and fortifications, brilliant, blistering barricades, to hide, to scatter away, away, away.
Because it was painful, torturous, to continue reliving.
He did manage to wander further off, into the kitchen, along the table, where his eyes fell upon the final scene of Kiada’s imminent departure, only a few things laid out. “Said she needed to learn who she was. And be okay with it.” His body nearly shrugged, as if it was nothing, when it burned down the inside of his heart and crushed it underneath shields. “Just not with me there.” It’d been a jumble of emotions, and it sunk and simmered now, his mind still trying to process being alone again.
Always seemed to be that way, in the end, the circumstances altered and changed, and intermingling the same.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
"She did," he recalled, their first meeting, vegetables on the street, Auni trotting alongside them, he still so naïve and fresh to this world, and she so kind, patient and welcoming. "It was during LongNight, her first one - one of the monsters had possessed him?" He poorly summed up what he remembered, knowing he missed details, knowing that someone had died during the whole ordeal. But she had bonded to Auni throughout it all - bonded out of an intense, intimate need, one that now he and Auni shared. The little luxere bleated softly, nosing around, knowing he was being spoken about.
Chulane left his hand resting on him, fingers running through his fur, as the conversation shifted to the next distressing topic. He listened, he watched, concern creasing deep lines across his face as he hoped Deimos wouldn't flee the building at the question. The monolith did put distance between them, but managed to linger, to share more details on what had occurred.
And Chulane didn't quite know what to do when he did get an answer, when he heard more of what happened. He'd had relationships, he'd 'broken up' with girls before - but this was different, worlds away from what he'd known. "I'm so sorry, Deimos." Sorry he couldn't do anything to help, except be present, offer support, try his best to hold things together even when everything felt like it was falling apart. "It… it sounds like you and she need to talk… after some time." He didn't know what else to offer, what else to propose - who was he, to offer or to propose anything? He sighed, bowing his head slightly. "What do you want?" What did Deimos need? What was he going to do with himself, after this?
He was asking for himself, as much as he was for the General.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
So Kiada hadn’t left out that secret, and in some part the Sword was proud of her, wherever her soul might be – that she drew honesty into the fathoms of these new tidings, for however long it had tragically lasted. Nothing left out, bones bleached, a luxere possessed, a world tossed and turned over again and again. “Yes. I believe he accidentally killed another. Isla.” Eventually, the same calamity would come full circle – the soul of the healer put into a unicorn, and then that unicorn rendered gone. Always somehow leading into death and demolition; and gods, he was so damn tired of it.
For a distraction, one hand went to Auni; habitual, routine, to scratch at the luxere’s skull, around the antlers, while the subject grated back to him. The apologies made him grate, made him scowl, made him want to bury his head, his form, straight back into hell, where it no longer hurt. Where it no longer pulsed, madly, wildly, in extremes. “It is not your fault.” Nor Chulane’s burden to bear, his alone across shoulders again, pressing down on their makeshift nooses until it ultimately, finally, strangled him whole. He shrugged, half in agreement, half in confusion, remaining along the unknown.
What do you want? A question she’d once asked him so many times before, and it’d only ever been her - just to know what it was like to be cherished and loved and craved. He blinked away the sorrows, backing away from Auni, marching around the table, staring at walls, not seeing them for what they were – not at the moment. “I do not know.” Too fresh, too raw, too maddening; he shook his head, wondered what it would be like to not feel. To not care. “I feel like the earth has been pulled out from under me.” Every season, another gone and removed, until all the familial units, all the roots he’d had in place, had been torn and disassembled, shorn in a sea of tempests, grief, and anguish. “Over and over again. I do not have many of my own left anymore.” Save for Hotaru; and he could only imagine how she must’ve been feeling.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Chulane nodded - he was aware of the death, and perhaps he should've appreciated it more when she'd told him then, just how much death and destruction she'd experienced here, just how prevalent loss was in a world where deities threw their power around with little regard for the mortalness of those around them. Perhaps, if he'd paid more attention then, he could've been more prepared, could've been stronger, better, able to go with her, to make a difference--
But he hadn't taken heed, hadn't gotten strong enough, hadn't--
Another bleat from Auni, and he was back to the present moment, back to blinking the tears from his eyes, back to swallowing the waves of grief as they tried to pull him under. He'd apologised, and Deimos pointed out the fault did not lie with him - it wasn't what he was apologising for, but he did not correct the man, did not wish to stir the ire of a broken, grieving Sword when he himself was also broken, also barely holding it together.
He could relate, gods, couldn't he relate? His world had been changed too, ripped away from him, irrevocably shifted into something new, outside of his choice or control - but Deimos had some control, some choice; Amalia was not dead (but he could understand how it felt the same), and he wanted to cling to some hope that they might come back together again, that this was merely a temporary ripple in the grand scheme of things.
"You have me," he offered, knowing it wasn't what the Sword wanted or needed, knowing it was entirely insufficient in the face of the loss he had suffered on all fronts. "You… you can do this, Deimos. You can get there." Wherever, whatever 'there' was, Chulane had confidence in the man, confidence he couldn't bring himself to feel about himself.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword took the nod for understanding, comprehension of the situation, of the way LongNight had a particular way of twisting everything around. Of torture. Of devastation. Of reminding them they were merely mortal, and the monsters knew how to prey upon their minds. His eyes lifted to the walls, to things hung with care for décor, for ramparts and ramifications she wouldn’t be seeing any longer. He spoke to them as much as Chulane, a heavy sigh wrapped around his chest as his mind pierced over his upcoming statement, the modicum of thought. “I have considered going to Ludo when it gets closer to Deepfrost.” He hadn’t wanted to do this again – to suffer in the blinding torture for a fourth time, not when there were other options. Other worlds. There was the press of demonic traces where the Ascended were concerned too – if they were going to march into battle their brethren, or if the rest of them would be left to it. “To ask if I can complete her quest.” For Ru’in’s soul. So she wouldn’t be alone.
The beast waited for a reaction, and failed to presume the one orchestrated thereafter. Beneath the weight in his ribs, in his shoulders, he understood – Chulane likely felt alone too, adrift, uncertain, one of the first damned moments here, and it bled and it scorched and it burned. Deimos had assumed he’d be welcoming the man into the family at some point; just not quite like this – his eyes widened briefly, before returning to their impassive, grieving wake, a muffled snort churning through his nares. “Thank you.” You might regret it coiled through him, pondering if he was a beacon for this wealth of loss and misfortune, or if it was just biding its time until it wrapped around his throat. “It is draining.” Loss after loss, season after season, the once, solid fortifications falling, crumbling, down around him. “But we will survive.” Whether or not as empty, broken vessels, or another recovering force, was yet to be determined.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
Talk of her quest stirred him from the depths of the spiral his mind had taken, caused him to lift his gaze, to seek out Deimos with his focus, to agree wholeheartedly. "Yes, absolutely, I-" the words stumbled over each other, and he took a steadying breath. "She told me, about Ru'in. About his soul. I was going to train, to be stronger, to help her, next LongNight." They discussed it, he'd promised (gods, but he'd promised) to help, to assist, and they were determined to succeed, to release Ru'in's soul from the grips of the monsters, to return it to Mort.
Was that where Kia was, now? Wandering Mort's halls, alone (did souls wander?), without a familiar face (did souls have faces?) to anchor her, to steady her, to ensure that even in the afterlife, she was safe, whole, waiting for them to join her. "If it's at all possible, if Ludo would consider it… I want to be a part of it." He was earnest in his declaration, knowing what it meant - his commitment in Halo, to set them up throughout Deepfrost, would have to survive without him. And he was confident that it would.
He was somewhat surprised at Deimos' gratitude, feeling insufficient, inadequate, and otherwise utterly unworthy of it. He deserved none of it, when all he had to offer was himself - his weak, incapable self.
Another bleat from Auni, another nudge. Sorry, he thought to the creature, grateful as ever for the luxere's ability to tug him from his spirals, apologetic that he kept entering the swirling whirlpool of dark thoughts again and again after what the beast had just endured. "We will survive." An echo, a resonant and determined declaration, a promise made - they would survive, they would endure, through the heartache, the loss, the grief.
All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
More honesty, more raw, brutal veracity in the chokehold of this decaying void; and he’d seemingly been prepared for it. But by how much? Did he understand the degrees, the depths, of what he was longing to do? The cruelty, the knives, the nooses slipped around throats, tricking minds, playing games with memories, with abilities, until the torture was the only reality to face. “Did she tell you what LongNight was like?” Torment, physical agony, yearning for an entire week to be over, the night crawling into senses and oblivion, the void careening and screeching, nails and claws and screams through walls. “I am not certain if anyone is ever fully prepared.” Because he’d tried, year after year – and still, others died.
Some because of his plans.
They’d have to see what Ludo would permit, allow, before anything else. More seasons until another bountiful misery, locked within the hold of shelter, modest, minute sanctuary, and then sliding out into the hollowed hell; willingly volunteering to become tributes to the slaughter.
Would either of them be strong enough, when it came down to it?
And he could only nod at the last statement, because survival had come to mean so many different things – and he was afraid that he’d become a husk, a vessel, a machine once more, destined to roam the earth with nothing in his soul, except for the depraved Reaper beacons, the Sword lost and forgotten.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
