Chapter Text
9/11/375 - 9/12/375
Cassian opened the door sooner than she’d expected. He stared up at her with groggy eyes. “You’re early,” he stated simply. His voice was rough with sleep, and his hair was sticking up in odd places. He was still in his pajamas. She felt a small twinge of guilt for waking him, until she remembered that it was 2 in the afternoon.
“I missed you,” she smiled, “And I’m perfectly on time.”
“A million hours early isn’t on time,” he grumbled, leaning on the doorframe.
She looked around unconvincingly. Her eyes landed on the climbing roses making their way onto the porch from the side of the house. “I was in the area.”
“I was going to meet you and walk you through the woods.”
“I don’t need an escort, Cass.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that.”
“Really?” she asked with exasperated disbelief, “You’re never worried that I’ll run into Admete or stumble over the corpse of my past life? You just walk with me because you want to?” She raised an eyebrow at him. It was hard not to be amused by his scowl deepening.
“Multiple things can be true at once.” He said, running a hand through his messy brown hair. His fingers snagged on a few curls, but he paid them no mind. After another couple of seconds of studying her cheerful expression, he pushed off the door frame and marched back into the house. “Come inside,” he said over his shoulder, like just walking away should have been enough of an invitation.
“So gentlemanly,” Miruna rolled her eyes, following him in. She set her bag down on the new couch. It was a plush dusty blue instead of the usual brown leather ones he liked to get. It was still in the same place he always liked it, pretty much everything was. She believed that maybe his days would feel less repetitive if he changed the layout every few decades. It’d been the same for centuries. “I’d say it looks like you did something different, but I’d be lying,” she called to him from the living room as he moved around in the kitchen.
“I like things like this,” he called back, “easier not to lose anything when it’s been in the same spot for centuries.”
“And yet you still lose everything.”
“I’ll meet you in the sewing room,” he told her. It was his way of saying that this would be a quick meeting today. And that he didn’t have a good response to her comment.
She shook her head as she walked off into his sewing room. She couldn’t stop smiling. Something about the way the sunlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves on the trees always put her in a good mood. That, and Cassian’s grumpy demeanor in the face of his “morning” being interrupted. His sleeping habits were the only thing about him that was still unpredictable, even after so much time.
The sewing room seemed smaller than the last time she was in it. He was definitely hoarding a lot more materials than he reasonably needed. That was probably how he was randomly sending her dresses and clothes every couple of months. She enjoyed the support and the surprise of it, but she was never sure what to do for him in return. He never ran low on anything, and when he did, he kept a lot of mundane issues like that to himself. Now that she was in his house again, she thought picking a day to help him organize couldn’t hurt.
He had two different sketchbooks open on his work desk, though one had more notes and incomprehensible scribbles than it had sketches. From what she could tell(his handwriting was difficult to read outside of his letters), they were notes about which colors suited her the best, as well as what image she might want to portray.
His designs had… variety. Her personal favorite was the one that showed no skin at all, but she knew she probably couldn’t get away with that this time. Whatever the threat was, Cassian always felt it was more powerful to display her golden scars rather than hide them. He said that her survival was nothing to feel ashamed of. She disagreed.
After a few minutes, he came in with two mugs in hand and plates balancing on his forearms. Her plate was an assortment of various sliced-up fruits and berries, blackberries being the most prominent as always. She could smell the honey coming from the mug of tea as he set it down in front of her. He pulled two stools over from the corner for them, and they ended up sitting so their knees were pressed together.
Without saying anything, he lifted one of the sketchbooks to grab the invitation that was beneath it. He slid it over to her, and she read it as she chewed on an apple slice. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, she had her own invitation in her bag.
“They didn’t exactly give us a lot of notice, did they?” She slid the invitation back over to him.
“No, they did not. Whoever ‘they’ are, anyway.”
“Do you think it's a trap?”
“Absolutely. I’m thinking about going with design three,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly locked on his paper as he sketched something out. “Blue sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“Design three doesn’t look very much like what I had in mind.” She leaned over his shoulder to get a look at what he was doing. He glanced back at her when she got close, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“I could use the arm drapes and the neck piece from design two. It could look a little weird, though. I won’t have time to make many improvements, or to add a lot of details.” His voice was quieter, as the proximity called for.
“That’s fine,” she nodded. “The corset from design 4, too.”
“So you do want a corset?”
“I don’t see why not. If I’m showing off, I might as well go all out.”
He finally cracked a smile, but shook his head at the thought. “Did you hit your head on the way in here?”
“I’d like to be disarming,” she explained, “less focus on my face would be better for this, I believe.”
“You have quite the face, ‘Runa, it's hard not to notice.” He was quickly making notes, circling a few words, crossing out others. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll provide.”
She had to force herself to ignore that comment about her face. “You expected me to ask for something simple, didn’t you?”
“You always do. I was more prepared for that.”
“Are you going to need my measurements again?”
“Well,” he finally looked back up at her, fully turning his head. He shamelessly looked her over a few times before he met her eyes again. “You’ve been working out since the last time I saw you.”
“So, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want me here for long.”
“That’s never true. I always want you here.”
Miruna was almost always caught off guard by how casually he could say things like that. He was always going to be a little bit in love with her, he’d been honest about that when they cut off their “arrangement” a few years ago. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt the same that kept them apart; it was that she didn’t believe that she could give herself up like that again. She barely could the first time around, it took decades of stolen glances and conversations and mounted tension to convince her of it. She was content with what they had now.
Not to mention Primm. She felt like she was dishonoring his memory by being with his husband. Even though he’d told her otherwise himself in his letters towards the end of his life. She respected him greatly, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to completely fulfill that last wish of his.
After a while of endlessly scribbling and glancing at her to try to gauge a reaction, Cassian got up and just started measuring her. He silently lifted one of her arms, then moved to the other after writing down the number. She wished she could hear the internal freak-out that he was probably having as he did it. He always tried to be cool in these moments, but he was constantly second-guessing things.
“Cass,” she prompted, standing so he could measure her legs next. “I’m fine with this, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, kneeling so he could see what he was doing. “Yeah, I know.”
“So can you look me in the eyes then?”
He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Really, ‘Runa?”
“I just wanted to see your face. Sorry,” she giggled, which got another smile out of him as he went back to work.
“Hazard is gonna be there, too,” he said, trying to change the subject. He didn’t like to linger long on the fact of their relationship.
“What’s he wearing?” she asked, deciding to oblige him.
“That all black outfit, I’m assuming. I think it’s his favorite.” Cassian stood up and started writing down some numbers.
“He’s going to be upset that he’s not matching us.”
He briefly glanced at her before crossing something out and hiding it beneath some piece of scrap fabric. “How did you know I was going to match you?”
“One of your notes said 'red would be too on the nose’.”
“I’ll make him a bracelet,” he replied. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Are you going to be able to do all of this in 24 hours?”
“I’m sure I can.”
Her eyes caught his as sunlight rained in from the window. His were dazzling, almost shimmering with various shades of red as they swiftly darted all across her face. His eyes could never rest, not these days. He was always studying, trying to memorize whoever he was looking at. She felt a sense of calm, of connection. The single shard of yellow in the red shone at her, taunting her with how intertwined they’d once been. After a few seconds too long, Miruna had to pry her gaze away and back towards her food.
“Did the twins’ agents come through yet?” she asked him, her tone far too wistful as she popped a blackberry into her mouth.
“They did,” he replied, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “Just yesterday, actually. They were an interesting bunch.”
“Bunch?”
“Well, there were the two agents, as expected, but they had friends. The bird stole my scrap fabric.” He gestured to the area across the table where a few randomly placed scraps of fabric in various colors and textiles sat, suspiciously devoid of any blue.
“So it’s one of those things, then.”
“I mean, the whole goal was to get them to make friends, wasn’t it?”
“You still don’t believe that sword is real?”
“Not really, no.”
“Oliver talks so gravely about it.”
“Oliver talks gravely about a lot of things,” he grumbled between bites of his pastry.
The Endellion Blade was something she hadn’t ever heard about outside of Oliver’s stories. He claimed to have found the very small chunk of meteor that it was supposedly forged from, and that it’d been stolen from him in the dead of night. According to him, getting stabbed with it was worse than a death sentence. Your soul, your very essence, would be sucked out of your body and into the blade as it was pulled out of you. You wouldn’t bleed from the wound, which would become blackened, and your body wouldn’t rot. Nothing would change. Miruna never once received a straight answer whenever she asked how Oliver knew any of that.
“You’re upset because there might be something out there that could really kill you,” she teased.
“I don’t care about that,” Cassian replied, sounding more serious than before, “Your soul, ‘Runa, is the one at risk with that thing.”
“The light cycle has already continued. It’s not an issue.”
“But it is meant for you.”
“Cass. Stop that.”
He wasn’t wrong, but he worried too much. She was sure it probably had been crafted with sunsols in mind, but Miruna in particular wasn’t at any more risk than anyone else. She’d briefly drowned a little over 200 years ago, so the light-cycle was able to carry on. Cassian, being the man who could never stay dead, was a far more likely target for a sword that was guaranteed to make sure something stayed down for good.
“One of that group was invited to the ball, as well. Apparently, he’s ‘well acquainted’ with the son of the man hosting.”
“Oh?”
Cassian looked far too proud of himself. “I got him to explain it. Old rivals from school, hooked up a bit after. He said that they lived together for a while.”
“Do you think he’s involved in this trap?”
“I do. It feels like too big a coincidence. You’ll stay close to me, won’t you?”
“Not a chance, Hollow Man. I’ll be mingling, you might not see me the whole night.”
He held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You’ll make me dance with someone else?”
“You enjoy dancing,” she pointed out, wrapping her hands around her mug of tea. “Dance with one of the agents, we can only be certain about trusting them.”
Cassian gave a brief nod in response.
She let the silence linger for about twenty seconds before she spoke again. “At the first sign of trouble, we need to get out of there. But we couldn’t leave all at once. I’d want to get the agents out first.”
He finally turned away from his work to face her again. “Don’t ask me to leave without you.”
“I’m not,” she said, softer than she intended, “I know you wouldn’t listen.”
He gave her a light smile at that. “So what’s your plan?”
“Once we can get everyone else out, we’ll stick together. But don’t worry too much. Don’t get touchy. Don’t stand too close to me. Don’t do that guard dog thing that you do.”
“Guard dog?” he scoffed, “Really? I can’t be protective anymore? We’re hurling insults?”
“I don’t mean it as an insult. But you glare at people you don’t like. And in fights that you feel people are threatening to your friends- to me in particular, let’s be honest- you get vicious. Like a guard dog.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s absolutely not true.”
“Cass. I’ve watched you tear men apart for me.”
“We both know they deserved it, that’s not a good defense.”
“Simply killing them would have been enough.”
He just started laughing. At least he found some humor in it. Really, she didn’t see anything wrong with it. It was comforting to know he’d go to such lengths for her without thinking much of it.
“What if there’s a fight?” he asked as he finally calmed down.
“We can handle it,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.
“What if we’re wrong?”
“Then we’re wrong, Cass.”
But they were so rarely wrong about the things lurking in the shadows. She watched him work in silence for a few hours while she finished her tea and tried to come up with an actual plan. He made the bracelet first. It took him all of three minutes. The rest looked a bit more technical, she didn’t fully understand what exactly he was doing, but watching him work was always nice.
When they did finally speak again, it was about lunch. Or dinner, as more civilized people than Cassian would call it. After dinner kept talking while he kept working. It was about nothing exciting, they often spoke about nothing. Those were the conversations that Miruna found most enjoyable. Neither of them noticed when it got dark outside. Cassian insisted on her staying, practically started begging her to when she picked up her bag from the couch. She laughed at him, but agreed. There was no need to tempt fate when she was already somewhere safe.
The guest room was the same as the last time she saw it, just the mattress was softer than she remembered, and the sheets were a light green instead of the red that she was more familiar with. Cassian said he’d sleep, but in the morning she found him still in his sewing room with a nearly finished dress, sipping on the same mug of blood from the day before. He never actually touched it while he was working.
It stuck to his lips and teeth when he smiled at her. He liked to do that to freak her out, but she was never really phased. The morning was pleasant. Cassian finally did go upstairs to shower and change while Miruna made actual breakfast and got him a fresh mug of blood to drink instead of the old one. She ended up cutting her finger while slicing some apples, and took the opportunity to give him a few drops of her golden blood too. Her golden blood was overtaken by the red of the squirrel blood with little protest, the shimmer of it dissipating within seconds. Just a little bit, she couldn’t have an open wound for long, or he’d notice. And he did notice, of course, after thirty seconds she heard his footsteps from upstairs pause before hurriedly walking towards the stairs.
He appeared in the kitchen almost as soon as she finished bandaging the small wound. “You okay?” he asked, giving her a skeptical look as he eyed the bandage.
“Fine,” she said, passing him the mug. “Just a cut.”
When he drank it, he gave her a look of disapproval, but he didn’t say anything. Sunsol blood made him stronger, he’d need it if they really were walking into a trap.
The dress fit perfectly, as expected. Once it was on, he kept fiddling with the drapery and fussed over whether the collar would end up choking her. Considering it was merely fabric, she assured him that it was fine.
“Are you sure everything fits okay?” he asked while he helped her lace up her corset. She braced herself against the table. He never pulled as tight as it could go, but with his strength, it was good to be prepared.
“It’s perfect, Cass. Worry more about what you’re wearing,” she breathed, looking at him from over her shoulder.
“It’s a suit in my closet. Not much to worry about,” he said simply, tugging at the strings.
“You’re normally so much more fashionable.”
“Not much I can do with such short notice.”
“I could have worn an older dress.”
“The last time you wore a dress was decades ago.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t re-wear my wedding dress to a ball,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. He paused his movements. She could imagine him wincing.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“No need.”
It was still a fresh wound; the bleeding had slowed, but had never quite stopped. She didn’t think it would, not unless she was allowed to see her son’s face again. Cassian had been at her wedding, 75 years ago now. Of course, her wife hadn’t known their connection, but that in and of itself was a touchy subject between them at the time. He never got to meet her son, Hill. She didn’t think he would have been comfortable with her child calling him “Uncle Cass”.
“Stay close to me today?” he asked one more time.
“Maybe,” she relented, but they both knew her answer wasn’t really going to change.
The party was loud. Cassian had, in fact, found someone to dance with while she mingled. She caught many eyes watching her, she suspected that they weren’t really trying to hide it. The “bunch” that Cassian has referred to made themselves obvious. She avoided them until she couldn’t anymore, just to see what they would do on their own. Hazard got to talking to a nice-looking tiefling woman. Cassandra, her name might have been? Miruna only caught it while listening from afar.
And the party was exactly what they expected. A trap. And Cassian had been stupid enough in his panic to use her last name out loud. To be fair to him, he was never known for thinking all that clearly whenever they found themselves in the heart of the lion’s den.
Luckily for them, Hazard didn’t put up much of an argument about leaving with the two agents and their friends. Miruna was pretty sure one of them had told a son of Void about their mission. Which meant that he himself was a son of Void, or simply way too trusting. Or in love. She wasn’t sure which option was worse.
She watched them go, Cassian stood behind her. When she reached back to take his hand in hers, he didn’t notice immediately. When their fingers did intertwine, he squeezed her hand once and then pulled her towards the dance floor so that they could speak somewhat privately.
“You okay?” he asked her for the second time that day as one of his hands found her waist. It was just a little lower than usual.
“No, Hollow Man. I am far from fine.” She scoffed. He nearly mis-stepped at one point, and she watched him readjust his footing for the briefest of moments. She tilted her head, studied his face as he watched his own feet. The scar across the bridge of his nose was a bit too long on the right side of his face. He wasn’t wearing Primm’s black earring. “Where’s your earring?”
“I had to take it out,” he said, glancing around the room, “it was starting to bother me.” She felt her own grip tighten on his shoulder, as if to keep him in place.
“Does this remind you of anything?” she asked suddenly, not giving herself time to think about what she was going to do next.
“Which thing?” he replied, looking back up at her.
“That night in Kadence, twelve years ago?” She was smarter than this. She was more careful than this. She had been a trained assassin. She had been a tactician, for the sake of the stars. She didn’t have to do whatever it was that she was about to do.
But then, they started it, didn’t they? They started it 348 years ago, with Circe as their hand. They could have left well enough alone, but they’ve been destroying her life since the day she was born.
“Oh yes,” he smiled, “you were dazzling.”
She moved a hand to his neck and felt her power begin to sing. Not the warmth, not the usual light that she knew, but the darker, equally familiar song of war. “There was never a night in Kadence,” she said coolly. His face dropped immediately. He began to pull away, but she held firm. “We haven’t danced since 355. Tell me: Where is he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wraith.” He tried to laugh, but the sound fell flat.
“He prefers to call me ‘Wanderer’ these days,” she smiled, as if it were a joke.
“What are you—”
“I ask that you forgive me. I’m sure you were ordered to do this.”
She gave him the proper respect of memorizing the look of fear in his eyes, wild and suddenly blue when they’d been moon red before, as she summoned her spear through his neck.
She pulled it out quickly, watched the sphere and the jagged edges on the end serve to sever his head from his body. His blood went everywhere, plain red when normally there would be the odd bit of blue. Not his blood. Not Cassian.
She caught the body, held it firm by the shirt with her free hand. Shocked gasps and screams erupted as she spun around. She was sure that where she stood, covered in the blood of a man who’d had to deceive her, that she was something out of their nightmares, the monster from every fairytale they’d ever been told. “Where is he?” she yelled, “Where the hell is he?”
“Great Lady Wraith,” someone called from within the crowd. It was the voice of an older man, one who was pleased. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
She threw her spear in his general direction. It ended up missing the mark, lodged into the wall by a boy’s head. The same one who knew about the blade. She didn’t want to kill him; he looked too young and so, so terrified of her. His bodyguard pulled him away after, but she didn’t linger long enough to see where they went.
A dagger flew next, this time towards her. She used the body she was holding as a shield. All hell broke out after that. She put up a good fight, but not good enough. She was overwhelmed and ill-prepared. Starting a fight was reckless and stupid, but that’s always how the night was going to end. It wasn’t long before she was on the ground. She felt piercing, horrific pain shoot up her side as someone stabbed her with something dull. When she tried to reach to pull it out, someone stomped down on her hand and someone else wretched the thing out of her skin. She heard her own pained yell. She caught a glimpse of a butter knife. They’d stabbed her with a butter knife.
Her vision frayed at the edges. As if it were a joke, someone laughed off in the distance. That same old man. Laughing. She should tear it from his throat.
The next thing she knew she was regaining consciousness. The room was dark, she was facing a door. She was tied to a chair by her wrists and ankles. Thankfully she was still in her dress, torn as it was. As far as she could tell, she was alone with her pounding head and the distant dripping water from the ceiling. She took the opportunity to whisper his name. It didn’t work. She remained alone.
Where had he gone? How badly had he been killed? How long would it take him to come back? How long until someone came for them? Stars, what if they didn’t? What if those people were working with Void, too? What if Hazard was dead, killed by the hand of new players in the game that she hadn’t looked closely enough into? He was still new himself, he wouldn’t last long.
Someone had healed the butter knife-inflicted stab wound in her side. It still hurt, but it felt more like a day-old bruise. The door creaked open after a while, and a tall figure slipped in. That boy, the one from before. He smiled warmly at her.
“Good,” he said, “you’re awake!”
She stayed quiet, didn’t let her face change.
“Everyone is gone,” he explained, taking a tentative step towards her, “You’ve been placed in my father’s care. They didn’t want to move you. They said you were too dangerous.”
She reeked of blood, could feel it dried and crusted to her face.
He took another step. “My father is asleep.” When she tested her bounds he jumped back, his back hit the door with a hard thud. The ropes were tight, digging deep into her skin. The boy took a breath. “So is my bodyguard.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to get him to get to his point.
He tried again to smile. “I’m going to help you escape.”
She did not believe him. His smile faltered again at the lack of any reaction from her.
“They’re going to send someone to torture you if I don’t.” He took three steps forward this time. Really, the room wasn’t big enough to call for such theatrics about how close he did or didn’t get.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Well, you murdered a man and—”
“No. Why would you help me?”
He didn’t stop to think about it. “Because one way or another, I have to make a decision. When I was in it for my father, that was one thing. Keeping a woman in my basement is another thing.”
“You know who I am,” she said flatly, “You know what I’ve done.”
“I know what I’ve been told. Maybe they’re right, and you’ll kill me as soon as you’re free.” He moved behind her, she felt his long, boney fingers trail deftly over her wrists, to the rope keeping her there. “Maybe I should leave. But what you did tonight, when you realized your friend was gone? I don’t know if I would have done it any differently.”
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t be older than 25, max. His hair was dark and long, cascading over his shoulders and down his back; the soft purple sheen that it had at the party was lost to the darkness of the small room. He looked sure of his actions, despite the hesitation in his words.
“You’re too young to know that,” she replied, turning back to the door.
“I’m not a child,” he scoffed. The ropes felt looser. “I have witnessed love, I’ve seen devotion.”
“I’m not in love with him.” The rope fell away. She immediately brought her arms back in front of her, rubbed at the raw skin of her wrists before she reached down to start uniting her ankles. The boy stood next to her. She could feel his skeptical, studying gaze. Of course he doubted her. She would too.
“That’s not what I was suggesting. But my point still stands,” he said, offering her a hand. He was tall, but not freakishly so. Someone was only freakishly tall if they were taller than Laurel, and this boy was just short of that. He smiled at her, soft and sweet. His eyes were kind, but something rang hollow.
“Thank you,” she whispered, standing on her own. “Just tell me where to go, and we’ll part ways.”
“Oh, I’m coming with you!” he announced.
“Absolutely not.”
“I already decided.”
She wanted to laugh. “You want to leave your life of luxury behind to go on the run? For what?”
“I have my reasons.”
“You’re a child of Void,” she reminded him. “They’ll come at you hard. They already know where all your weak points are.”
“I can handle myself perfectly fine,” he insisted, “I have training.”
“You’ll be a liability that I can’t afford.”
“So you can teleport yourself out, then?” She furrowed her brow at him, to which he produced a piece of white chalk from the pocket of his long jacket. “A teleportation circle, Lady Wraith.”
Before Miruna could get another word out, he kneeled down and started drawing on the floor. “It’s chalk, so it’ll fade away after we use it. A one-time deal, so to speak.”
“You really don’t have too—”
“I want to.”
Normally, Miruna would say something else. She would try to convince him not to throw his life away. Maybe it was because his life was with Void that she wasn’t.
“Take us to Cridran,” she instructed, “I have a few safe places there.”
“Cridran? That’s a whole continent away.” He finished drawing his giant circle on the floor and moved onto the symbols inside it.
“We don’t have more than a few hours before someone realizes we’re both gone. I’d like to get somewhat far.”
The boy nodded, placed two more lines before standing. “Okay, there. Just think about where exactly in Cridran you want to go.” He held out his hand, expecting her to take it. She did this time. The words he chanted were ancient, far older than either of them. The symbol on the ground started to glow a dim green before it flashed to blinding.
In one single instant, they were gone.