#its right before they toss him onto the arc when hes duking it out with knives

[gatoszn]

#trigun #trigun maximum #trimax #vash the stampede #my art #gatart #uh i couldnt think of a silly caption #its a redraw from chapter i think 45? i cant remember lols #its right before they toss him onto the arc when hes duking it out with knives #pretty sick chapter!! theres so many other panels ill probably redraw in the future but i thought this one was cool as hell #love when his face gets feathers!! yass bitch lose control of your thin veener of humanity while facing down its greatest threat!! #a mirror image of YOU!! #everytime i redraw a panel just xpect it to be some color practice bc idk how to color anything!!! #enough of my dissertation in the tags

[kyndaris]

A Hero Lies in You

On April Fool’s Day 2019, a video was released showing the latest game in the Yakuza franchise. Many thought it was a prank. The reason why? The sudden change in combat. Gone was the brawler beat-em-up that was associated with the series. In its stead was a turn-based system reminiscent of role-playing games. Characters waiting for their turns before utilising special skills? In a franchise known for its hard gritty storylines about gangs duking it out in the streets of Japan? ‘Haha Ryu Ga Gotoku. You thought you could fool us, but we see right through you. This isn’t our first rodeo and you’re not Square Enix,’ was many a thought when the footage had been viewed by thousands online.

What gamers did not know was that this was no gag. Fast forward several months to August 2019 and it was confirmed that Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon, starring new protagonist Kasuga Ichiban, would actually incorporate turn-based battles. There would even be JOBS! 

As I had just finished playing through Kiryu’s story, as well as Judgment, in 2020 I was eager to see what new protagonist Kasuga Ichiban would bring to the table. From trailers, I could already see how much livelier Ichiban would be in comparison to the more stoic Kiryu. And, in contrast to Yagami, he was definitely more of an idiot. A lovable idiot, to be sure, but an idiot nonetheless.

Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon released in a huge week for video games. While I would have preferred to play it earlier, I had other huge titans to wrestle into submission first. Once I had managed to satiate my Ubisoft open-world needs with Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, I dived head first onto the streets of Yokohama, ready to bust some heads.

The game opens on a play. For a moment, I thought I had somehow purchased the wrong game. But as the lengthy prologue progressed, it was very clear that this was most definitely a Yakuza game. It just needed to set up a little bit of the tale, starting with Arakawa Masumi - father figure and role-model for our erstwhile hero. It isn’t long before players are introduced to Kasuga Ichiban with his trademark ‘punch perm.’ Born in a soapland and raised by those that lived on the fringes of society, Ichiban, rather than being hardened by his experience, is empathetic and not afraid to show emotion. Tasked with collection, he interprets his orders in a way to benefit those that are struggling. His goofball attitude immediately makes him a character one can connect to. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a bit of a nerd, having played Dragon Quest during his childhood and likening many of the people around him to things in the game.

It’s not long before the plot escalates and Ichiban volunteers to give himself up to the police. Sentenced to fifteen years in prison, he inadvertently extends his sentence when his Patriarch is insulted by one of the fellow inmates. After nearly two decades spent in prison for a crime that he did not commit, Ichiban is released with little fanfare and no waiting convoy. Disappointed, he takes it in stride. The first thing on his order of business: to get his signature punch perm and reconnect with his second father-figure and Patriarch of the Arakawa family.

Along the way, he is dogged by a former policeman: Adachi. At first, it isn’t made clear why Adachi seeks Ichiban for help. After all, Ichiban had supposedly killed another yakuza in Kamurocho, Tokyo. Adachi, on the other hand, was a detective in Yokohama. Why would he have any interest in uncovering the truth behind what had put Ichiban behind bars?

After a few shenanigans are had in and around Kamurocho, our protagonist is shot and left for dead - waking up in a homeless shelter in the heart of Isezaki Ijincho. Climbing his way from rock bottom, Ichiban embarks on a journey to uncover the truth, stumbling upon a series of events and unearthing a vast conspiracy in which he was to serve as a pawn.

Many of the earlier chapters felt a little contrived. In particular was the death of Nonomiya. While it served to move the narrative forward, it was most assuredly a means to an end that didn’t highlight any significant character growth. Poor Nonomiya was fridged just to bring Ichiban into conflict with the Liumang branch of the Ijin Three.

It was only in the later chapters that the story picked up steam - with the confrontations with Bleach Japan and the encroachment by the Omi Alliance. Joined by a menagerie of characters like Zhao, Saeko, Han Joon-Gi, Nanba and Eri, there was a lot to keep track on as the plot barrelled forward at a breakneck pace, connecting Ichiban’s past with his current present and all the while setting up a juicy conflict between two men that could have been brothers. And honestly, the ending with Arakawa Masato and Ichiban got to me. I loved how that Ichiban was finally able to reach his old charge by being vulnerable and finally letting out a little of his resentment at the life Masato led, despite the fact that he could not use his legs.

The characters were superbly written and their motivations were a good reflection of the human condition. The themes of family and finding a home were evident, right from the start, even though a lot of it was glossed over by Ichiban’s desire to be a hero in a video game.

(I also really liked Seong-hui and would love to see her be an actual playable character in possible future instalments. On a side note, Arakawa...you cannot simply say: ‘See you tomorrow, Ichi,’ and expect to walk away. You basically wrote your own name into the Death Note with that line!)

As far as aping Japanese role-playing games go, however, Yakuza: Like a Dragon falls woefully short. While the Tendo twist was a good one - it was pulled a little too early. Worse, there was no world-ending threat. Everyone knows that a Japanese role-playing game MUST HAVE A VILLAIN/ EVIL GOD FIGURE THAT INTENDS TO DESTROY THE WORLD. Yakuza: Like a Dragon was too focused on old childhood rivalries to extend it further afield. I mean, yes, Aoki Ryo hoped to pull the strings of the Japanese government as chair of the CLP, but WHERE WAS THE METEOR HURTLING TOWARDS EARTH? 

Honestly, 1/10 for holding true to Japanese role-playing games.

Other than that, the summons with Pound Mates was amusing. As were the side stories. Honestly, there can never be enough side stories to flesh out the wacky world of the Yakuza franchise. So many old favourites made their return. From Pocket Fighter (now dubbed Dragon Fighter) and Gondawara Susumu with his baby fetish.

Also, I didn’t think I’d be so obsessed with it, but I think they cracked property management this time round. Ichiban Confections, later known as Ichiban Holdings, was a blast to manage and accrue juicy money for.

The bartender of Survive also looked very familiar. I mean...what with the huge scar across his face. My suspicions were confirmed when I searched up Kashiwagi up on the Yakuza wiki page and was awarded with the fact that HE MANAGED TO SURVIVE THE ASSAULT HELICOPTER FROM YAKUZA 3!!

Other than that, my few other gripes involved the implementation of the levelling system and the way area of effect skills were handled. In particular, the pathing for how characters moved around the battlefield proved, at least to me, a bit of a frustration. Often, characters would be blocked by a knee-high fence or a corner. Sometimes they would be able to go around, but other times the game (after several seconds of watching them fail to walk through a solid building) warp to the enemy that I had targeted to launch their attack.

And even though the combat is turn-based, most of the enemies tend to walk around the battlefield - either clumping together or distancing themselves from each other. What truly annoyed me was when there were moves that could be used as an area of effect, with the MP cost to go along with it, but were limited by their effectiveness when the enemy combatants were too far away. Yes, it makes sense, but golly gosh, how much of a pixel measurement does it have to be for it to not hit?

Besides that, the levelling was also a bit of a tedious chore. Were it not for the invested vagrants, I feel like I might have put the game down with how much grinding there was - particularly when it came to the various jobs. The biggest hill to climb was from 20-30. Without the exp (experience point) boosting items, it would have been a torturous slog. I know that in the original Japanese release of the game, the cap for jobs was level 30, but if you change it to 99, please, for the sanity of all the gamers out there, tweak the requirements to make it easier. And maybe give normal trash mobs a bit more experience points for the playable characters to munch on. 

Goodness, imagine having to grind on level 55 Ornery Yakuza and receiving a paltry 1000xp for each battle (when, in order to level up a job, you needed almost a million).

Yakuza: Like a Dragon is a break from the traditional formula that’s been a staple of the franchise for many years. Much like Ichiban, it’s a bit of fresh air to liven up the experience that might have gone a bit stale after I slogged through the whole Kiryu arc last year. With a few tweaks, and a few more Persona 5 CD soundtracks, I’m eager to see how the story evolves and whatever contrivances Ichiban will somehow force him into.

Although, to be fair, is it still appropriate to call this franchise Yakuza when the game literally saw the dismantling of the two biggest clans? Then again, Civilian: Like a Dragon 2 just doesn’t have the same ring to it. In any case, I hope the next one comes soon and we’ll be able to have Seong-hui in our party. I feel like she’d be wielding a gunblade.

(Did I just use a lyric from Mariah Carey? You bet I did! I had been tossing up the idea between this line and ‘I need a hero.’ Why? Well, I think that would be self-explanatory after knowing Ichiban’s proclivities. And it fits so, so, so well!) 

#yakuza 7: like a dragon #yakuza #video games #i need a hero

[the--highlanders]

5. Sparkle

on ao3.

The Doctor sighed. “Such a pity that the observation deck was booked out.”

Ducking his head, Jamie struggled to suppress a smile. The Doctor had been huffing and moping about since they had been turned away from the entrance to the deck, and he had no doubt that it was quite pointed. “Such a pity,” he agreed, for what must have been the tenth time. “I know ye wanted tae see the meteor shower.”

“It wasn’t really at capacity, you know,” the Doctor said wistfully. “They only said it was so his Grace the Duke –” he spat out the name with disgust – “wouldn’t have to brush up against too many ordinary people and risk getting the hem of his cape dirty.”

It was oddly charming, Jamie thought, that of all the distasteful people they ran into – corrupt businessmen and mad scientists and plotting politicians – that the Doctor’s most disdainful tone was reserved for people who refused to get their clothes messed up. “Aye, well. He’s that sort, isn’t he?” The soft huff of laughter that pushed its way past his lips was more full of scorn than amusement, and the Doctor laughed too, tossing Jamie a delighted smile at their shared irritation. “Thinks he’s too good for the rest of us.” He jerked his head towards the high brick fence running along the road beside them. “Doesnae even let people look at his land.”

“Mm.” The Doctor pressed his hands into fists, glowering at the wall as if he was imagining pulling it apart brick by brick. “Something of an unpleasant chap, I think. I’d rather like to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Maybe tomorrow, after he’s signed those papers tae get Ben an’ Polly out of jail, eh?” Grinning, Jamie ducked beneath a thick tree limb that hung over the path. He reached up to it as he passed, running his fingers over the bark – for all that it was coloured deep purple, the texture was comfortingly familiar – then stopped, lifting his other hand to pull on it experimentally. It did not bend or shake beneath his weight, and he stepped back, following the line of it as it curved over the wall to join with the trunk of a tree on the other side.

Ahead of him, the Doctor had realised he was still standing beneath the bough, and turned to see what he was doing. “Jamie, what -”

“Ye said ye wanted tae see the meteor shower, right?” Try as he might, it was too high for Jamie to lever himself onto. He dropped to the ground again, puffing and rubbing his reddened hands against his kilt. “Give us a leg up, won’t ye?” The Doctor hurried over obligingly, bending down so Jamie could push off him and scramble up into the tree. He lay there for a moment, pressed against the bark, then sat up and reached out to pull the Doctor after him. “Oof. You’re no’ half heavy.”

“The Duke isn’t at home,” the Doctor pointed out. “So unless you’re planning on vandalism -”

“I’m no’,” Jamie interrupted. “I’m plannin’ on us seeing the meteor shower.” He edged his way further along the bough until he had crossed over the fence. “It’s a big tree. If we climb tae the top, we’re bound tae get a good view – an’ somewhere comfortable to sit, which is better than on that deck.”

“Oh!” The Doctor clapped his hands together in excitement, but quickly pressed them back against the bark when he wobbled slightly. “Jamie, you are clever.”

Jamie snorted. “No’ really. I’m sure ye had somethin’ up your sleeve.”

“Well, of course – but I was only thinking along the lines of breaking and entering. Stargazing from the top of one of the Duke’s trees is so much more – romantic.”

“If that’s what ye think is romantic -” Jamie paused, putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the branches in front of him. Picking out a sturdy-looking one, he hauled himself up onto it, grumbling as the impact of his stomach against the branch pushed the air out of him. “If that’s what ye think is romantic, then I’m a wee bit worried.”

“Don’t be silly.” The Doctor followed him up with uncharacteristic grace, his eyes gleaming with anticipation in the half-light. “There’s nothing more romantic than a little bit of, ah – harmless flouting of the rules. I haven’t been this silly since -”

“Last week, when ye told that ambassador he had – he had an undiscovered particle for a brain, I think ye said.”

“And I thought we agreed never to speak of that.” The Doctor’s scowl softened into a satisfied smirk. “He was being idiotically obtuse, though.”

Shaking his head, Jamie clambered onto another branch. This one gave way to a pleasant enough crook in the trunk of the tree, and he tucked himself into it, throwing his legs over the branch and folding his arms behind his head. “In here, look.” Something flickered at the corner of his vision, and he looked up to see a streak of fire darting across the sky. It was gone before he could get a proper look at it, but there was only one thing it could have been. “Hey, it’s started!”

“Ah!” The Doctor scrambled into the hollow after him. “Wait for me!” he exclaimed, as if the sky would stay still until he had gotten himself comfortable. “Good gracious – a little ahead of schedule, isn’t it?”

“Dunno.” Another meteor arced its way across the sky, leaving a trail of blazing embers behind it. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, throwing out a backdrop of dusky pink that gave way to deep blue, broken only by the gold of the rings that surrounded the planet. It was a breathtaking sight, and Jamie found himself almost as enraptured as the Doctor looked to be.

“It only happens every couple of years,” he was saying softly. “There’s nothing quite like it on this side of the galaxy. Not with so many meteors, or such big ones.” Another was sailing along in the wake of its companions, sparkling as it went. “Or so close to us.”

The meteors were coming in groups now, filling the sky with reds and oranges and yellows. Some of them burnt up before they reached the horizon, leaving larger scatters of embers behind them. Once or twice, a truly huge chunk of stone hurtled past, faster and brighter than the others, occasionally knocking into them and sending them careening off course. The distant sound of cheering and music floated through the air, and Jamie could only imagine that it had come from the deck they had left behind, but he could not bring himself to feel even a little disappointed. Instead he simply reached over to gently unfold the Doctor’s fingers, pressing his hand into his own.

“Is it what ye thought it’d be?” he murmured.

The Doctor’s rapt silence said all he needed to hear.

They lay there watching the dusk turn slowly to night, until the plucked and pruned splendour of the Duke’s gardens were made wild by a thick darkness, and the burbling of fountains and landscaped streams was interspersed with the cries of wild animals outside the walls. The meteors carried on falling, gradually growing smaller and slower, only a few of them reaching the skyline.

“Jamie?” the Doctor murmured.

“Aye?”

“Thank you.”

Jamie squeezed his hand, twisting around a little to smile at him. He found them pressed together nose-to-nose, the Doctor already smiling back. “You’re welcome.”

Quiet fell over them for another few minutes, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind through the trees until the Doctor spoke again. “Jamie?”

“Mm?”

The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking around them nervously. He shuffled away to peer over the edge of the hollow they were curled in, but quickly retreated back to Jamie’s side, pressing himself back down. “Well – you see -” He swallowed thickly. “It’s a little silly, you see.”

“It’s no’.” Rubbing his arm, Jamie tried to scrape together the most comforting expression he could muster. “We’ve had a lovely night, an’ Ben and Polly will be let out in the morning, an’ then we’ll go back tae the TARDIS.” He grinned. “Or maybe even teach that Duke a lesson first.”

“It’s not any of that.” The Doctor was squirming now, biting his lip as if he were physically holding the words inside himself. “It’s -”

“Aye?”

“I don’t know if I can get down.”

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing #sketchtober 2020

[mighty-ant]

DWD, Gizmoduck, and Duck Avenger crossover with 9?

Being Darkwing Duck means expecting a certain amount of weirdness in his life, but this goes beyond the pale. 

There’s fighting your former idol turned megalomaniacal supervillain, for starters, and run of the mill thugs angling for stardom with an off-putting clown gimmick. He’s fought half a dozen mad scientists armed with weather control  technology, and seriously, what is up with that? He’s called in to join forces with Launchpad’s family and Gizmoduck, who’s just as insufferable as Drake expected, against an assemblage of Duckburg’s worst villains, duking it out on the beach in a blaze of chaotic glory. 

But that battle isn’t even over before something worse, something weirder, comes along in the form of an alien invasion. 

Gold ships descend from the heavens and blue, stony-skinned beings flood the beach, wielding guns that fire paralyzing blasts of electricity. They attack indiscriminately, targeting hero and villain alike. Drake knocks out a handful of invaders, just in time to watch Ma Beagle and some of her ilk struck by an errant blast. 

Drake hears Launchpad cry out and he whirls around, searching desperately for his partner amidst the chaos of the beach. He spots Launchpad defending Dr. Gearloose’s unconscious body against an invader. The scientist’s little lightbulb invention is trying and failing to drag him to safety. 

Launchpad is holding his own against the lone invader, but there are more encroaching on him and Drake knows he’s too far away to be of any help. He runs anyway, slipping on the cold sand, tossing smoke bombs as he goes to give others cover and a chance to escape. Drake is still too far away when Gizmoduck appears, speeding out in front of Launchpad and taking the full brunt of a blast that was intended for him. 

While others simply drop, immobilized, when they’re hit, the blast does something to the suit. Electricity arcs across it, the joins sparking, and Gizmoduck convulses. His beak opens in a strangled scream and Drake feels genuine fear. He sprints toward them, decking one invader and knocking the feet out from under another, but he doesn’t make it to Gizmoduck and Launchpad before he’s struck right between his shoulder blades and he knows nothing more. 

Drake walks up alone in a holding cell of some sort, though he has no idea where. The walls are cinder block, doorless and windowless, and the white lights are buzzing and harsh. He tamps down the initial fears of alien abduction when he recognizes air vents and coffee stains on the floor, but for all he knows he’s could be in Duckburg or Timbuktu. 

Some unknown amount of time later, he doesn’t exactly have a watch, the wall across from him simply ceases to exist. The space left behind is cookie cutter in its perfect square shape, and the hallway beyond is dark. Drake jumps to his feet and runs for the hole in the wall, but he’s nearly bowled over by the body that’s tossed in. Drake stumbles to catch them, taking in their brown feathers and gangly frame at a glance, before jerking his gaze back to their only way out. 

For a brief moment he catches a glimpse of a pair of stony-skinned invaders. The one who threw the duck into Drake’s cell is portly and short, his expression one of forced indifference that does little to hide the fear, uncertainty, and shame that hover just beneath. In contrast, the invader beside him is gargantuan in stature and presence, the top half of his face cast into shadow by his helmet’s visor. He meets Drake’s gaze and smiles, his own strange, dark eyes glittering in the darkness with a malice he doesn’t try to conceal. 

The invaders vanish in an instant as the wall reappears, as real and solid as it was seconds ago. 

The stranger in Drake’s arms groans, perhaps not as unconscious as he appears. 

Drake sets him down in the recovery position, but holds onto his shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. The last thing he needs, on top of being trapped by aliens in an inescapable room, is a panicking civilian on his hands. 

Now that Drake actually has time to look at the guy, he recognizes him as Dr. Gearloose’s assistant, and Launchpad’s friend. Drake had only seen him briefly amidst the tumult that was the mansion as they planned for the confrontation on the beach that turned into so much more. He’d been a bundle of shaky nerves then, following in Dr. Gearloose’s wake as the scientist ranted at him about modifications to the Gizmosuit. Drake thinks his name is Fergus, or Ferdinand something.

He’s very still now, a disconcerting contrast to when Drake last saw him. Bruises decorate his body in a colorful mosaic, not that Drake looks any better, but there are burn marks too, strange symmetrical lines of raised skin, like someone who’s been hit by lightning. Coupled with the hair that hangs limply on his forehead, he looks very young and it twists Drake up inside. Why they would incapacitate someone to this extent, especially one so clearly harmless, is beyond him. 

Drake shakes Federico’s shoulder, because if he wants to get out of a high tech alien prison he could probably use the help of someone who knows high tech stuff. 

Francisco, it’s definitely Francisco, groans again.

“Cinco minutos más, M’ma,” he mutters plaintively. 

“Sorry, sonny, I don’t think that’s gonna fly,” Drake replies wryly, pulling his hand away.

Felipe’s eyes blink open, and he squints in the harshness of the bright room. “What the..?” he mumbles. “Where are—Darkwing Duck?”

“In the flesh,” Drake grimaces, falling out of his crouch to plop down on the ground. “Wish we could’ve met again under better circumstances, Fred—Floy—”

Franco turns so he ends up lying on his back, faceup. The look he fixes Drake with is far too incredulous for a guy who was unconscious a few seconds ago. 

“Fenton,” he says. 

“Right,” Drake replies. 

There’s a strange humming sound coming from where the wall vanished, faint enough that it could be easy to ignore, or impossible to do so. It’s not unlike the sound of a gnat, droning vaguely in the distance, but considering where he is, he knows how unlikely that is. At this rate, it’s probably the sound of whatever hidden forcefield put the wall back in place. 

“So,” Drake says, “aliens, huh?”

Fenton chuckles weakly. “I have to admit, it’s not where I saw the night going.”

“You’re telling me,” Drake grunts, heaving himself to his feet. He walks over to where the wall vanished and reappeared, laying his hands flat across it. He feels along the stone, looking for a hidden mechanism or clasp, but the cinder block is solid and cool beneath his fingers just like the real thing. But there’s a faint tingling sensation that makes his feathers stand on end, along like there’s electricity running through the wall. 

“Hey, you’re a scientist,” Drake comments over his shoulder, “what you make of a magical sci-fi door?”

“Well, is it magical or is it sci-fi?” Fenton replies, but he sounds off, sluggish, almost like he’s drunk. 

Drake whirls back around to see that Fenton hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor, but his eyes are at half mast and he looks on the brink of falling asleep. He rushes back over to his side. 

 “You can’t sleep yet, kid, I need you to stay awake,” Drake says sternly, slipping into what Launchpad calls his ‘hero voice.’ 

Fenton snorts. “How old do you think I am?” he retorts dully. 

“Old enough to know you probably have a head injury and shouldn’t be falling asleep,” Drake counters. 

Fenton groans, but is already in the process of trying to claw himself into a seated position. Drake steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. 

Somehow he looks even worse now, dark bruises under his eyes giving the impression of someone who’s been punched repeatedly in the face. In addition to his burns, even his yellow dress shirt is slightly singed, and his tie is missing entirely. 

“Did they do this to you?” Drake asks quietly, as rage simmers low and hot in his gut. Fenton looks like he could barely withstand a stiff breeze, even before he was beaten within an inch of his life, and they didn’t even touch Drake. 

“Huh?” Fenton says, as if barely noticing the state he’s in. “Oh, no! No, I was-I was wearing a piece of-of experimental tech Dr. Gearloose and I have been working on, and it overloaded when the aliens shot me.” 

His eyes widen, and Drake stiffens in alarm. Fenton doesn’t seem to notice as he presses his palm against his forehead. “Aliens exist. There’s an alien invasion going on.”

“Thanks for tuning in,” Drake says. “Now do you want to help me figure out how to open this secret alien door?”

The wall behind Drake disappears. 

He jerks around with a yelp, clumsy in his shock. 

“You work quick,” he says numbly. 

“Thanks,” Fenton replies, sounding equally shocked. 

“What’re you waiting for? An invitation?” a new voice demands, and a duck steps into view on the other side of the wall that neither Drake nor anybody else has seen in over a decade. He’s not particularly tall, but his red, blue, and black suit and cape create powerful lines that height cannot hinder. His expression is screwed up in a scowl, and his mask is missing, but his identity is unmistakable. 

“Duck Avenger?” Drake gapes. 

“Donald Duck?” Fenton exclaims, aghast. 

“Who?” 

“Mr. McDuck’s nephew,” Fenton gasps, even as the Duck Avenger’s scowl deepens. Fenton struggles to his feet, and Drake helps him up with an arm around his waist. “You’ve been missing for months. He had me searching for you, but I was never able to find—”

An invader steps out from behind the Duck Avenger, and Drake forgets about the living legend for a moment to reach for a gas gun he doesn’t have. 

The Duck Avenger, noticing Drake’s alarm, follows his line of sight and glances behind him. His lack of reaction at the invader, easily double any of them in height, muscular and decked in gold, is more telling than his next words. 

“Oh, don’t worry she’s with me.”

The invader sneers at them, before turning to the Duck Avenger with her expression barely tamed. “We found the heroes like you wanted, Avenger. We need to hurry if we want to have even the slimmest chance of stopping the general.”

“Sorry, heroes?” Drake repeats, “plural?”

The Duck Avenger looks at Fenton expectantly, amusement curling his beak. 

Fenton sags against Drake’s side, looking dismayed. “Oh, come on!” he insists, “just let me have this.”

The Duck Avenger shrugs. “Fair’s fair.” 

“You aren’t even wearing a mask!”

The invader groans, a long, drawn-out sound that lasts a handful of seconds. “You are infuriating. Here, Robot Duck,” she says, tossing Fenton one of the gold ray guns. He scrambles to catch it one handed. 

“You look awful,” she continues. “At least now you won’t be so useless.” 

“Thanks?” 

She turns back to the Duck Avenger. “I’ll be at the ship. You have five keltons before I leave you all behind.”

“You got it, Bright Eyes,” he replies as she stomps away. 

“Robot Duck?” Drake mutters, “what did she…” 

Fenton is giving him an apologetic grin when he meets his eyes. “I was hoping to make a better first impression this time around,” he says. 

Drake blinks. Something in his mind clicks into place, a sense of rightness settling over him. 

 “Gizmoduck,” he says, his tone colorless with shock. 

There is an alien armada hanging over their heads. The Duck Avenger is back for the first time in a decade. He has no idea what happened to Launchpad or his family. 

Still, Drake has his priorities. 

He drops Gizmoduck, allowing him to sprawl backward on the ground. 

#ant writes #prompt fic #darkwing duck #duck avenger #gizmoduck #ducktales 2017 #penumbra #paperinik #crossover #speculation for season 2 finale

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire.11.Arc-1-end.

Cloaked bodies huddle in the dark, in the time before sunrise. In the middle of an empty parking lot in a part of the city that no one goes to in any regularity, the meeting was clandestine and secure. From a corner covered in shadows, a man wearing a three piece suit and a tophat emerges, brandishing a cane. He looks quite pleased with himself, overlooking the group.

“I assume,” the man spoke with smug satisfaction, “all is ready for the big event?” 

“Yes, Lord Emesh.” A voice came from one of the taller cloaked people, a dry gravely tongue. One by one they all took off their hoods, revealing themselves. A teenaged boy with golden hair, three huge lizards, and a simple old man with spectacles. The old man spoke, in a southern drawl reminiscent of a slave owner, “Although we are very confused as to why you are not appearing in person. Is this not the perfect time to unveil yourself to the world, Lord Emesh?”

Emesh clicked his tongue and slowly tilted his head towards the old man, who quickly bowed his head. “ Phantom, now is in fact not the time for me to appear. My precious has not finished growing, and I fear that a premature opening would bring unwanted attention from abroad. I do not want both Omegaman and All-Might attacking me, do I? It's not a fight even I could win.”

The mention of Omegaman shuddered the three lizard people, and the old man now known as Phantom bowed his head deeper. “My deepest apologies, Lord.” Emesh gave a single hmph before turning to the boy with the golden hair. “Now, you are the lynchpin of this operation. The others will run interference along with the other nobodies I recruited to distract the other heroes. But you? You will carry out the job.”

The boy bowed his head. When he looked up, he wore a smile upon his face.

“I will not disappoint you, father.”

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Jade was not expecting the venue for his tournament to be as large as it was.

“WELLLLLCOME EVERYBODY TO THE SOUTH-EAST HERO CONFERENCE!” A voice roared from loudspeakers placed all around the largest stadium Jade has ever set foot in and thousands of voices screamed from packed seats. There were people wearing jerseys, people wearing hero merch, music blaring from speakers all over the place. Confetti was being shot into the air as three heroes flew at sonic speeds over the stadium, creating a huge boom. The crowd only got larger.

And Jade stood there dumbfounded. Riley walked up to her, and put her hands up to her eyes to see better. “Damn, turnouts a bit big this year. Was only about 90% this last year. Must be a champ coming.” A marching band was on the field playing a tune that was loud and inspiring, and acrobats were jumping into flaming hoops made by pyromancers below. It was an experience completely foreign to Jade. “Why..Why are there so many?!” “You don’t know?”

The students were standing in a box room above the rest of the stadium with a huge glass window looking down at the rings and fields below. Ricardo had just walked in on RIley and Jade talking and had overheard Jade’s plea for help.“This is one of the three hero conferences before the championships. It's like a college football game, but bigger. Scouts from all over the country come here to recruit people they see from the games, and the games only get more intense when you get out of the highschool circuit and into the college. Some people even go professional and go onto the HCL and play the sport as a living.” Jade was gobsmacked; she did not know of this beforehand. “Most people don’t watch the Highschool circuit, except for one bit.” And just as he speaking-

“ATTENTION AUDIENCE! IT IS TIME FOR THE FIRST EVENT OF THE HIGHSCHOOL CIRCUIT!” A voice sounded off from the loudspeakers and the crowd roared, screaming and cheering. The band on the field started peeling out, the acrobats following suit. The crowds started to chant, “Coaches! Coaches! Coaches!” The loudspeaker rang out once more, “Can the coaches of the highschool circuit please take the field.” The crowd cheered, and from a distance Jade could see five people walk out of a corridor. The announcer started reading off the names, “Representing New Orleans High, it’s Bayou Queen! From Nashville Academy it is Bluegrass! From Chattanooga Academy its Lakeside! From..” as the names were read off, sections of the stadium would cheer accordingly. The biggest cheers thus far came for the Little Rock High coach, Jungle King. However everyone was starting to notice something. “Where is Reverse?” Jade started to ask, but was once again interrupted by the loudspeaker. “AND! Making their first appearance in the circuit it is the Atlanta Hero Academy with their coach,” and as he spoke a streak of blue and white whizzed into the stadium creating a huge boom. Dust clouds flew everywhere, and when cleared the crowd saw standing in the middle..”REVERRRRRRRRRRSE!” The stadium exploded. Cheers and chants carried throughout all sections of the crowd. Reverse was dressed in bright white, red, and gold. He looked like a titan carved of marble, and his posing did nothing to dissuade the notion.“That’s right ladies and Gentlemen, Reverse! Savior of the President’s Daughter, the Knight of Mt. St. Helens, the defender of Boston!” The crowd was chanting his name and only died down when Reverse did a motion towards them. “Folks, this coach fight is going to be a doozy! Now, for any newcomers out there, let me explain the rules.”

The coaches started to go into seperate corners of the stadium, each doing small stretches. Reverse was just leaning against the wall. “To decide which school goes first in choosing the brackets, the coaches must duke it out! In order of who goes down last to first is how it goes. Normally, the games are set before they even begin but this time it's anyone's bet. We only have one returning coach from last year in Lakeside, so we need to see how well he holds up!”

The coaches were all eyeing each other.  Ricardo continued explaining,”It is no secret that coaches for the school must be trained in hand to hand combat on a professional level before they can coach. It's so the school does not lose face in the ring. So they hire coaches more for punching other coaches than teaching the kids proper. However, the AHA decided that Reverse needed no supplementary coach for this part of the match.” Ricardo chuckles. “The coaches are now in place, and are waiting for the mark to go!” Jade and the rest of the AHA crew, even Emily, were pressing their face to the glass in anticipation. Then, a loud buzzer sounded and the coaches were off. Reverse did not move however. What’s his game plan? Jade thought.

Lakeside rushed in and summoned a large stream of water from the grates on the stadium floor and shot it at Bluegrass. Bluegrass ducked and weaved away from the blast and punched the earth, causing ripples of vines and plants to follow in a jagged pattern to the feet of Lakeside. The vines shot from the floor and lashed at Lakeside, who fell over. He sent another splash of water at Bluegrass who thought he could take it. But the water had small rocks in them and went at high speeds all around his face and neck, causing small but oozing cuts everywhere. Meanwhile, Bayou Queen and Jungle King had just finished their fight. Jungle King had jumped over a beam of darkness shot from the Queen’s hands and delivered a strong hook into her jaw, causing her to crumble to the ground like a wet paper bag. Jungle King’s gaze turned towards Reverse, who was still leaning against the wall. He shook his head at Jungle King, who made no advances towards him. The king was instead blindsided by the coach from Birmingham PowerSchool, Kintay. She grappled onto him like a child riding a bear, bolts of electricity jolting out of her and going into the King. He jumped in the air and fell on his back, nearly crushing the coach had she not jumped off at the last second. The King turned to fight her only to be hit in the face with a stream of water, temporarily blinding him. With the combined water and electricity now, King was being electrocuted. That is, he would have had Kintay not also shot a bolt of electricity at Lakeside and gotten him too, making him out for the count. His body fell to the side of Bluegrass, who he had taken care of earlier. King, now no longer being soaked, leveled his shoulder and charged Kintay, who was unfortunately not lucky enough to dodge him this time. She was thrown against the wall and fell to the ground unconscious. Which left only Jungle King and Reverse in the stadium. 

Reverse walked forward, and took off the helmet of his coach uniform, letting his face and short cut hair show to the whole crowd. Jungle King gave a low chuckle and readied himself against Reverse. “Never thought I’d get a chance to fight you again, after you put me away six years ago.” Reverse’s face was stone, making no reaction. “I’m surprised,'' he said as he tossed his helmet to the ground, “they hire convicts as teachers in the state of Arkansas. Especially convicts who’ve killed.” The crowd was so loud, not a soul could hear what they were talking about to each other. All they could see were the two men circling each other. Jungle King was a huge, 7 foot 3 inches 360 pound man of muscle in a wife beater. His skin was a golden bronze and his hair was in a mohawk. One could describe his face as a wild boar with no tusks’.

“Well, it was easy for me when it happened then, now there should be no different this time.” Jungle King charged Reverse and delivered a mighty left hook into his body which .. did nothing. Reverse stood there, unmoved. The crowd went silent. Even Jungle King took a step back, in surprise. 

“You just don’t learn.” Reverse simply walked forward and within a second delivered an uppercut to the behemoth’s body and he went flying into the air and outside the stadium walls. The crowd once again exploded.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! NOT SINCE THE DAYS OF OMEGAMAN HAD WE SEEN SUCH POWER IN THE SPORT!” The band was now in the stands and was now playing a tune to hype the crowd up as Reverse retrieved his helmet, turned around to face the cameras all along the stadium edge, and gave a little wink. And as the stadium was cheering he walked into the corridor he came out of. Jade stood still in their room, speechless as the rest of them. “He went so easy on us in practice…” John muttered under his breath. Not even two seconds later, the man himself appeared in the room.

“Man, that was some fight. I'm pooped yall. I ran here from the hotel after sleeping in jeeeeez.” Reverse sauntered over to a couch in the box room and crashed down on it, putting his feet on the armrest on the other side. Riley walked up to him, sat in a chair next to the couch and put her hands on her knees. “So, who’s gonna go first?” Reverse yawned and scratched his face. “Jade. She’s gonna fight this telekinetic kid. So uh, good luck kid. All of you go change into your gear.” In just a few seconds, Reverse had shaken Jade twice.

A few minutes later, Jade was down in a corridor leading out into the field, facing another corridor across the way from her. Standing with her was Reverse, who stood rather mightily. “All you have to do is throw fire at em, he can’t concentrate on more than one thing. Just don’t get caught in his grasp and you should be good.” Jade was shaking a small amount, the nervousness getting to her. She had already vomited in a nearby trash can, her nerves running rampant. “Don’t worry, you won’t get hurt too much. If anything, this is great practice for you. “ Jade gave a sideways look at Reverse. “That doesn't help my nerves.” “Well, don’t say I didn’t try.” A buzzer sounded from outside the corridor , and it called for the contestants to take the field. Jade gulped and Reverse pushed her out of the corridor, to the sound of screaming and cheering.

There would be three fights this round, so that they can get through the fights faster. Jade saw three giant concrete platforms on the field, with their contestants approaching them. Jade didn’t pay much attention to the other contestants, instead focusing on the boy approaching her. He was slim, smug faced, and jauntily walking teenager with a short dollop of golden hair on his head. He was dressed in the purple and green on black suit of the New Orleans School, with a popped collar. “CONTESTANTS! TAKE THE PLATFORM!” Jade stepped up to the platform, and was now mere yards away from her opponent. The boy is about her height, and his hands are in his pocket. His face is plain, spotless and essentially featureless aside from his golden yellow hair atop his head. His teeth were a shining pearly-white. Reverse was looking at the large screens around the stadium, and was hit with a hint of familiarity when looking at the boy. His hair, why does it look so familiar?

“CONTESTANTS! ON YOUR MARK!” The competitors took their fighting stances, except for Jade and the golden haired boy. Jade was far too taken aback by his non-chalantness to take form. What did Reverse say about his power? Her mind was racing, trying her hardest to remember his words. Only pulling up memories of the bus ride with Riley and coach fight.

“GET SET!” The golden haired boy spoke, in a voice that sounded like a love song.”Don’t worry, you won’t have to fight very long.” Jade’s blood ran cold. “GO!”

Then the stadium exploded. This time not with the cheers and screaming of joy, but with shrapnel and cries for help. The contestants run for cover, save for Jade, who just stands there in shock. Reverse sees this and starts to run towards her, him realizing what's going on. 

But he was too late. The golden boy raised his hand at him and, miles away he was still only a few yards away, was forced into the ground by an unseeable force. Jade started to run towards him, her arms glowing with the sun energy within her, but soon found herself wrapped in the same bands that held Reverse.

“Oh no, that's not going to happen. You’re going to stay for the show. And I'm leaving with the girl.” Reverse was livid, his body heaving with anger and the energy within him. Jade was dripping puddles of burning energy and could only watch in anger and desperation as all around her explosions happened. The box rooms were on fire, the stands were frantic with other explosions. The heroes who were on guard are seen being easily bested by huge lizard people. An old man is seen floating in the middle of everything, pointing at locations and explosions happening. Heroes would rush in only for another lizard man to appear out of  nowhere. The crowds were halted from leaving the stadium by the fallen rubble collapsing the exits.

Then, a voice echoed throughout the whole stadium. “IT'S BEEN FAR TOO LONG, REVERSE!”

The large sports casting screen at the end of the stadium lit up, baring the face of a man in a suit and tophat, smiling cruelly. He sported several scars across his face, with a notable dent in the right side of his head. His evil grin was accented by disgusting yellow teeth and his eyes with heavy bags under them shone with red evil fury. A strand of dirty blonde hair dangled down his crooked nose, between his eyes. The whole stadium was held still by an invisible force. “I would not try to escape civilians. You will find yourself cubed, No, no I do not come here today to kill. Although, I might make an exception.” While he was speaking, the boy in golden hair walked up to Jade, grabbed her arms , and started pulling her like a balloon at a state fair, away from Reverse. He was seething with hatred, a faint light coming off of him now. “Emesh…” Reverse muttered underneath his breath. The man on the TV gave a hearty laugh, as by driving the civilians who were in his clutch began to pull from their stopping points, now circling above in the air in varying poses of escape. “Reverse, I thought you finally bit it in Boston, after I let loose that plant beast. But no, you always had a penchant for survival. Did you run away again?” The faint light around Reverse was now growing brighter. “I am frankly surprised you are knowledgeable of my new name. You never were the smartest of the group.” Jade and the golden boy were out of his sight. He would have to deal with that later.. He has to save all these people now. “I think a punishment is in order. For daring to live after I tried to kill you, I will now drop all these people from the sky. A fitting exchange, isn't it?” He started to cackle, as the people began to slowly stop spinning and then.. Fall.

Then an earth shattering explosion was heard, causing a huge dust cloud to appear in the middle of the field. “Phantom! Did you kill him?! THAT WAS FOR ME!” The old man was whipped in front of the screen, and was babbling. “Nonono-no. I did not do that!” “I did it.”

The dust was split down the half as a cyclone of air shot from its origin, a bright light standing tall. Around the light were the thousands of people who were in the air, and the unconscious bodies of the lizard men. In the four seconds after the explosions, Reverse grabbed all the people out of the air and took out the lizard men. And was still raring to go, the bright white light still beaming out of him. “Where are you Emesh? Are you too afraid of being beaten twice? Of being broken and humiliated within the decade?” Emesh screamed into the screen, causing earthquakes.”hHOW?!” The beam of light that was Reverse stood there, stalwart against the man on the screen. The ground around Reverse was slowly decaying, turning grass into dust. 

“I could always break your chains, Emesh. When you were still Planeteer. You were never stronger than me.” Emesh laughed. “ Oh really? Care to wager?” Suddenly the stadium started to shake and the giant screen caved in, creating condensed points of iron and television screens. The old man floating nearby was also sucked in, screaming that he was suddenly silenced as he was crushed in the mess of mass until the ball exploded.

In its place was a floating man with a three piece suit, a tophat, and a cane.

“Would you wish to put your life on the line?”

Reverse leapt from the stadium at lightning speeds and delivered a punch into the face of Emesh, traveling hundreds of feet in the air doing so. Emesh flew backwards and slammed into a concrete wall of the stadium. Reverse landed on an exposed girder from the scoreboard, standing resolute still. “I have ten years of regret in me, ten years of what ifs. Because of you. I would put my life on the line if it meant you don’t get to have yours.” Emesh shot from the hole he was thrown into, and launched a part of the stadium with him. Entire rows of seats and concrete chunks slammed against Reverse, only causing him to glow brighter.

Emesh was floating still, a look of fear creeping across his face. He knew he could not win against Reverse.. Why had he let his ego bring him out here? A drive to wipe away those we wronged him? Whatever it was, he could not die now. He was so far away from his goal.

Emesh spread his hands wide and the ground shook, creating a great tear in the earth where pillars of molten rock started to pour out. “Look familiar?” The cries for help reached Reverse’s ears as he remembered the tons of civilians down at the stadium floor. He was torn. End Emesh and cause  thousands to be killed, or let him go and allow millions to die. Just as he was about to decide, a voice came from the field. “Don’t worry! We got this!” He turned to see Riley and his class carrying people to the corridors in the stadium side,along with other competitors and the coaches moving rubble to carry to injured and moving people out.

Emesh hated the community that he had to fight. While Reverse was distracted, he launched a pillar of lava at him from the crack in the ground, hitting him straight in the back. “Just like Victor! The same trick carries such great merit!” He began to cackle, but was stopped when a bright white glowing fist struck him in the chest. Emesh was thrown hundreds of feet into the air before righting himself. Standing atop the wall where Emesh was floating was Reverse, still glowing bright white. The space around his body was dark because of his presence,he illuminated so much light. “This ends today, Emesh.” The sky begins to turn red and dark clouds start to roll in from nowhere. “I would have no other way, you mistake!” 

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Jade ws being pulled down a series of hallways in the stadium, each one echoing with the sounds of explosions and shakes. The golden boy was holding her arm and moving through the labyrinth of tunnels. I need to get out of here, and fast! Jade had been struggling the entire time in their mental grasp of the golden boy. She had been unable to get out, but she noticed something. His brow was becoming more and more tense, and the sweat was pouring off of him.  His concentration is waning.. If I can surprise him I bet I can break his will! Jade began to concentrate on her right arm, the arm that the golden boy was holding, and tried to focus all her power on it. She steadied her hasty breathing , then -

“FUCK!” the golden boy yelled as his hand caught fire with solar energy and he let go of Jade, her hitting the floor. He turned to look at her with vitriol in his eyes. “You burnt my hand you BITCH!” He pointed at her and the pipes on the wall of the utility corridor he was pulling her down began to bend and pull from their place. Jade, however, tapped into something. In her concentration and desperation to escape, a latent power clicked. Her eyes glazed over in gold and she lashed her arms as if whipping someone, a beam of light shooting from her hand and creating a rope. The rope went around the golden boy and he screamed in pain as the rope began to burn his clothing. He jerked his head to the side and a pipe flew from the wall, steam pouring out. Jade let go of her rope in surprise, and had to dodge another pipe being thrown at her head. She raised her hand again and shot a bolt of light from it, its radiance illuminating the steam as it sailed down the hallway. And also giving away the position of the golden boy. The golden boy lunged at her, scratching her face. He punched Jade in the gut and she fell to the ground. Jade turned over and grabbed his head in both of her hands, and summoned her flaming arms. He began to cry out in pain as the sides of his head burned. He shoved her off and stumbled away. He turned to her.

“You’re not worth it… my face.. My hair! I don’t care if my dad wants you for his dumb plan! It’ll work anyways. Just you see!” Jade raised her hand to shoot another bolt of light but was halted when the boy raised his hand and collapsed the ceiling in front of her, separating them. He then turned tail and ran, his hands still clutching his face. Jade was about to pursue, but the shuddering corridor reminded her of Reverse and Jade started running the opposite way to try and find a way back to him. 

It took her a while, but she came back to the corridor that led into the stadium, and was shown a devastating picture. Competitors were guiding people out of the stadium which was now a huge tear in the ground with gushing lava pouring out of it. And in the air, a glowing ball of energy was fighting an increasingly erratic moving flying man. Jade was watching a fight for the ages.

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Reverse lunged at Emesh and finally made contact. He grappled onto his legs and started climbing up the three piece suit. Emesh raised his cane to smack him, but as it got close to Reverse’s body it disintegrated. Reverse raised his right fist and punched Emesh into the ground. His body went flying towards the Earth, Reverse not too far behind. As he was falling, Reverse raised his arm in the air. Emesh hit the ground, and was struggling to stand when he looked up. He saw the rapidly approaching Reverse and raised both his hands to stop him in the air. Reverse’s descent did not cease, only slow. Flames started to form around his forward fist, like a meteor entering the atmosphere. “Must...not….let.you..win!” Emesh shouted as blood started to pour out of his eyes and nose. 

“This is for Victor.” 

Reverse kicked his legs into the other and a force propelled him into Emesh, who screamed in fear as he approached.

Hikers along the Appalachian trail would report seeing a bright light appear on the distance. The people of Charleston would say they thought a nuke dropped. But what happened was that Reverse delivered one kiloton of energy into the body of Emesh. The explosion was immaculate, the stadium now gone entirely. A crater now stood where it once stood.

And at the center of the crater was Reverse, on his stomach, unmoving.

End Arc 1.

#FoF:og #creative writing #creativewriting #creative #original #original writing #original story #originalwriting #orignal female character #superhero #superhero story

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Painted Lord

The firmament of aether of the lay lines were well familiar to him, he had walked these paths for much of his life in dream realms. He had seen great things upon the lines, other worlds and hidden places few ever had the chance to see. Crystal gardens, icy gorges, islands in the clouds, but right now he desired only to see his favorite of all the places one could reach by walking the lines: Tir Aesclinn. He had only gotten a few glimpses of this place, and had always desired to see more.

Now he stood at the crossroads, the burning tree that stood as the marker to the border to Tir Aesclinn. He was too afraid to advance further, for standing at the burning tree was the Elven King Oberon. While he had long ago learned to mask his presence in the aether, he doubted even this would hide him from the Elven King’s eyes. Oberon’s green eyes blazed as he glared out into the aether looking impatient.

The aether stirred, the colors darkening and dulling, he knew the signs and wrapped himself tighter in his cloak of aether. On the lines there were often many things hidden in the mist, and what walked through them now was one of the most dangerous. The Crippled One, a soul eater. The creature stopped before the light of the burning tree touched it, its dead white eyes unreadable.

“Well?” Oberon asked.

“She escaped me,” the Crippled One answered.

“No matter,” Oberon said, sounding almost relieved. “You shall lead us on then.”

“I will not lead you anywhere,” the Crippled One answered darkly. “You promised Aoife to me; until I have her I will not lead you through the lines.”

“That is not the deal we made,” Oberon shouted. “I gave my word as promised, just because you failed to capture her does not mean our deal is void.”

“It was not my fault!” the Crippled One shouted, his tail lashing. “The Color Weaver interfered by sending her lover the Oracle to protect Aoife.”

“The Color Weaver?” Oberon said surprised. “What does Arke have to do with this?”

“I do not know, but it seems Enfys is meddling in your affairs Oberon,” the Crippled One said snidely. “Perhaps you should take this up with him. Who knows when the song will fade? You and your kin will not march without my aid. Find Aoife and deliver her to me or I will not lead you.”

Oberon looked ready to argue, but the Crippled One turned and left before he could. Oberon turned away angrily towards Tir Aesclinn and he took a step to follow when a light in his eyes woke him. Kaden Val Odell woke to the sun streaming in from the open curtains, squinting against the light as he sat up.

“Good morning master,” Basil, his apprentice, said cheerily. Kaden groaned in response, rubbing his eyes until they were clear. He looked around, still squinting against the light. Basil was busy drawing the curtains from the glass ornate windows, which lined the walls of the pod like home. The varnished oak wood gleamed in the morning light, the ceiling a dome above them. The room was round and open, about the size of a cottage room.

Despite the size of the room it seemed smaller than it was with the clutter in the room. Canvas, both rolled and stretched over frames, easels, a cabinet full of jars of paints, a bookcase with books and sketchbooks, tables with papers and other tools, all vied for space in the room. All this was neatly organized, but not by Kaden’s hand.

Already Basil was in the small kitchen preparing the morning tea. An ingenious system of copper pipes provided water for the residence, and it didn’t even need pumps since it came from above not below. Tanks of rain water throughout the city provided water indoor running water for all the homes. Kaden knew that undines were used to help the flow of water; otherwise this system wouldn’t be possible. Industrious as always Basil the young Aldan man was humming a tune under his breath.

“I still bemoan the day you were pressed into my service Basil,” Kaden said as he rose out of bed. Basil answered by turning his humming into whistling. Kaden groaned and stripped off his night shirt, tossing it aside onto the round nest like bed which remained unmade.

Kaden turned to the dresser which had a set of clothes already out neatly folded. The Aldan tended to wear earth tones in muted shades, usually colors to match the season. Given it was autumn now most wore shades of browns, oranges, reds, and yellows. Kaden pulled on a burnt orange tunic, a pair of brown pants, and a mahogany over robe. A pair of soft leather boots and a few belts completed the outfit. Kaden usually wore paint stained clothes that were usually wrinkled, until Basil had come along of course.

He yawned as he walked over to the table; poor Basil had tried his best to get the paint stains out of the oak but had failed. He sat and Basil swooped in with breakfast, setting the table before him. A flakey peach and almond pastry, fresh strawberries in yogurt and of course tea made up today’s breakfast. This was maybe the only thing that Kaden was appreciative of, before Basil he had eaten nothing but bread and water.  

Kaden looked over at Basil who was eating his own share with relish. The young man had just entered his twenties and looked like most Alden. His long fair face was handsome, indigo eyes that were blue rather than purple, pointed ears, and long silver hair. Kaden was just as fair in his looks though his eyes had more purple than blue and hair was platinum blonde rather than silver. Although he was twelve years older than Basil, Kaden still looked like he was in his twenties as well. The Alden only aged when they were reaching the end of their lives.

Kaden hadn’t bothered to comb his hair either, leaving it messy from bed. Basil had his neatly combed and braided into a tidy style. Basil looked up at Kaden catching him staring.

“What?” Basil asked.

“Nothing,” Kaden answered. “Just lost in thought.”

“You often are master,” Basil answered.

“You really don’t need to call me master,” Kaden said. “I know you don’t want to be a painter. Grandfather only sent you here to take care of me after all.”

Their grandfather was the Duke of Odell, making them nobles of the house of Odell. He had sent them here to be their house representatives in the Court of Dreams.

“We are cousins,” Basil answered. “Grandfather did not force me to come to Alma.”

“Well any young man would be thrilled to live in Alma rather than out in the woods,” Kaden said. “But you can’t find doing all my chores for me pleasant.”

“I don’t, but I believe your work is worth the task,” Basil said, his eyes going over to the other side of the room. Kaden looked as well, though he knew the image by heart. A painting sat on the easel there waiting for his brush. The painting was of an indigo sky full of stars, moons, and suns of varying colors. As much as Kaden had tried though he still felt it didn’t meet up to the real thing.

“Well I’m glad at least someone appreciates my work,” Kaden said turning back to his meal. Basil laughed at that shaking his head.

“You’re the greatest painter in Alda,” Basil said. “And I know you know it. The queen herself commissioned several paintings from you, and her Isra’s Night mask.”

He waved over to another table where several masks rested. The Aldan celebrated Isra’s night like the rest of the kingdoms, with masks. Theirs were often made of wood, carved and painted to resemble the leaves of plants. One stood out the most and not just because it sat on a silk pillow. This one was painted with ivy leaves, vines twining elegantly and leaves brought out with silver paint. Kaden hadn’t carven these masks, but he had painted them.

“Fine I won’t be modest, I am the greatest painter in Alda,” Kaden said and Basil laughed. “But even the greatest painter has to see these masks delivered.”

“Right,” Basil said with a sigh. They both knew who would be delivering the majority of the masks, only Kaden would deliver the Queen’s.

They finished their breakfast and Basil began to clean up. While Basil went about his chores Kaden went over to his canvas and papers. He sat down to do some sketches, just to pass the time. Sitting at his table he worked on sketching leaves, having a collection before him to draw from. The sound of graphite over paper filled the room as Basil went about cleaning up.

Basil tapped him on the shoulder and Kaden realized hours had passed as he drew. He sighed and put his sketchbook down standing to find Basil had already wrapped all the masks in boxes. The queen’s was easiest to find, hers in a white box of birch wood.

“I have something to discuss with the queen,” Kaden said. “So do not wait up for me, go on to the celebration without me.”

“Yes master,” Basil said as he took the other boxes which were all lashed together. They stepped out the door, Basil locking it behind him. Basil hurried off to make his deliveries, but Kaden paused to look out over the city of Alma, the City in the Pines.

The oldest city in the kingdoms it had been around since the Phay walked Miread. Most of the city also rested among the trees rather than on the ground. The Aldan built their houses upon dead tree trunks in pod like structures high up over the ground. The pillars were all from ancient forest giants known as sequoias, which still grew around them as well.

The nicest and largest homes, like his, rested on the very top of the pillars, some as high as twenty five stories over the ground. These larger homes were often made of multiple pods together, supported by many beams along the pillar. Along the pillars of wood, looking like knots or lumps were smaller homes, none were built lower than five stories off the ground. The homes were all made of lumber of course, the wood carven in organic lines that made the homes seem almost part of the ancient tree on which they were built. Moss and lichen grew over the roofs, and all had at least one window box full of herbs and other plants. None of the houses were built in a living tree; it would only harm the tree.

The trees were all mostly the sequoias this high up, below were the smaller deciduous trees spreading out like a carpet of oranges and yellows given the changing season. Platforms and walkways were built around the houses, stairs going down or up along the sides of the pillars to connect homes. Great bridges made of strangler fig trees and other vines connected pillars and living trees in a vast tangle and network of foliage. These bridges were so strong they could support even flagstones to be laid on them for a smoother walking surface.

Kaden breathed in the earth forest smell and turned on his way. Light was easy to find up here, shining in through the branches of the sequoias whose spiny leaves did not capture the sun like other broad leaves. The bridges he walked over didn’t even move they were as stable as the ground. It had taken centuries to grow these bridges and the trees on which the houses were built. The combination of this foliage was only due to the Aldan’s skill in growing things.

As he walked down through the bridges and steps Kaden passed a woman tending to the vines of the bridge. She was Aldan, dressed in more functional robes of brown dyed cotton. She didn’t look up from her work as Kaden passed her, and he only spared her a glance. He didn’t need to look at her closely to know her fingers were stained green from her work.

The Aldan had a skill in growing things; they called it the green touch because of the way their fingers and feet turned green from the power. Not everyone had this talent, but neither was it rare. It was usually discovered in early childhood by the tint of green under the child’s finger nails. Their skill even allowed them to grow and care for plants that did not grow in this area. It was a skill that was in high demand though, not just for the maintenance of bridges. The growing of trees was very important to Alda’s wealth since their main export was lumber. Someone with the green touch could grow a hard wood tree to maturity in a matter of decades rather than centuries.

Little parks and gardens even grew in nest like structures between the trees. It was hard sometimes to tell where the ground was in the maze of trees and bridges of the city. These little gardens were often gathering places for poetry readings, philosophical discussions, or any other public meeting. Lovers often used these spots to meet or wait to meet; Kaden had seen many sitting under the small trees writing love poems.

Kaden moved lower through the city, passing others who nodded or gave a soft word of greeting. The lower he went the houses became shops and work places for craftsmen and artists. Foot traffic increased as he entered the more deciduous trees of the city. Here light became dimer through the leaves, but still warm in color from the changing leaves. Lamps of sunstones, an old Phay device, lit the bridges here making a bit of an earie light. Sunstones were another reason the Aldan could grow plants so well, since they cast a light just like sunlight.

The paths over the vine bridges became mixed with paths built over the great thick branches of oak trees. Kaden though kept going lower, he could have reached the palace from the higher bridges, but he wanted to see the ground today. He reached the lowest levels of the city, yet still stood well off the ground. Looking down Kaden could see the farms of the city. Here it looked like the crops had been brought in, the fields empty.

Hanging from the branches were more sunstones, these ones the size of a man’s head or larger. If not for these sunstones the crops would never get enough sun to grow in the shade of the trees. Without these crops the city would starve since most of an Aldan’s diet consisted of vegetation. Walking along above the fields he could see the aqueducts, artificial rivers winding through the fields and trees. Some emptied out into mini lakes where the Aldan raised fish for food. The water all came from the Verde Sea, a lake the size of a sea that lay only a few leagues away from Alma.

The Aldan had been industrious and centuries of trial and error had allowed them to work out a perfect arrangement of their city. Seeing it all made Kaden feel a bit better, though a worry was still with him. Alda’s greatest problem could not be seen here in the heart of their woods, only when one left did they see what Alda had become. Kaden knew if he were to travel the forest roads he would come across ghost towns.

The Aldan were fading, fewer born each year, and as time went on more and more moved to Alma to seek safety. Many villages and towns through the forest now lay abandoned. Only those along the borders remained populated, and that was to keep Alda’s borders safe and closed. Not an easy task, but made at least easier by the trees and few roads that crossed into their territory.

The people he passed though all seemed young and strong, their movements graceful. They were not the only ones to live here as well, birds and forest animals moved freely and unafraid of the people. It was no wonder given the bird feeders and squirrel feeders all over the place. Kaden knew many people liked to keep forest animals as pets, squirrels, small deer, rabbits, rodents, and many others. The Aldan often had a way with animals, though Kaden thought these pets were often spoiled.

Kaden moved on over the bridges and lower realms of the city towards the center of the trees. He had to move up again if he were to reach the palace. He saw it before he reached it and stopped on a terrace to look out at the magnificent view of the palace of Alma. Standing on great pillars the palace seemed to have grown from the ground rather than have been built. The spires were elegant and twining like trees reaching for the sun. A great dome rested between them, smaller pods surrounding it. Many bridges and walkways led to and from the palace, these choked with people as they hurried to prepare for the coming festival.

Kaden joined the crowds, and took his time walking towards the palace. At the great entry a number of guards stood, checking each person as they entered the palace. Some that had no reason to be there were turned away, but a great many all had business like he did. When Kaden reached the guard the man took one look at him and bowed, waving him through without question.

Inside the palace was just a beautiful as outside. The ceiling was ornately painted in the image of the forest canopy, so detailed and lifelike it felt like he was still outside. Great wood pillars lined the walls, arched entrances leading off to other parts of the palace. Kaden walked through the great round hall, his footsteps echoing with everyone’s over the wood floor. A statue stood in the center of the hall, Terrian IV Alvar the last Aldan King stood immortalized in deep green marble. It was masterful work, the statue looked alive enough to step down from its pedestal and take up the rule of the kingdoms again. The dead king was crowned with oak leaves, and held a staff in his hands before him at rest.

Kaden walked past the statue, glancing up and remembering the man himself. He had been young when the last Aldan King had died, so he only remembered meeting him once. He remembered a kind man who was always smiling. The statue showed him grim and resolute.

Kaden continued on past the statue and towards the east wing. He had been told to deliver the mask directly to the Queen in her quarters. Walking past more guards and other servants through hallways and stairwells Kaden passed the wealth of the palace. Little had been salvaged from the Palace of Versae when it fell; the art and statues here were from other collections. Many were new; Kaden even passed a few of his own paintings.

He at last reached the Queen’s solar at the end of the east wing. Here was another dome, this time of glass which was steamed up from the heat of the room. The room was full of rare exotic plants, flowers from the Xinian oasis, plants from the southern jungles of Lir, and plants found only in the Deep Woods of Alda. Kaden walked through the foliage suddenly alone, heading for the center of the garden following the sound of humming.

He found Queen Alora Tira-Dora tending to a Winter’s Tear plant that rested in a pot on a table. Her long fingers were touched with green, but despite her power the plant she tended to was dying. The leaves wilted and the tiny bell shaped white flowers were falling from the stems. She did not look up at his approach so Kaden felt free to admire her.

She looked only in her early twenties, but Kaden knew she was well past her seventh decade. Her long pale blonde hair fell in a smooth silk like curtain past her knees unbound. She wore a fine silk dress of pale yellow in the Aldan fashion, no ornaments but finely sewn to fit. Her only regalia was a delicate silver tiara resting just above her brow.

Kaden stepped forward and set his box on the table across from where the queen worked. She looked up at him then, her eyes an indigo so rich in color they almost seemed to glow. Her fair white skin was unmarked by even a freckle. She had full gorgeous lips and a straight nose, her features serine. Her delicate pointed ears only added to the strange beauty she held about her.

“Your mask your majesty,” Kaden said with a bow. Alora did not look at the box but rather back at the plant she tended.

“The Winter’s Tear cannot be cultivated in a hot house,” Alora said and Kaden nodded. All the Aldan knew this, despite their powers the rare cure all flower could not be grown in captivity. That was why the flower before Alora was dying. “I had this one brought here from the wild however; it was like this when it arrived.”

“You mean that the flowers are dying in the wild?” Kaden said fearfully.

“The plant still lives, but the flowers fall from the stems,” Alora said.

“Winter’s Tears will fall. It is one of the omens.”

“You alone have heard the song Kaden,” Alora said looking up at him with burning eyes. “We have heard it only on the lips of the dead as they leave this world. Can you tell when our kin will march? Have you had any new dreams?”

“Only one,” Kaden said wearily and related his dream to Alora. She was the only one he had ever confided his talent to, not even his parents knew about it. Alora listened intently and when he finished she shook her head.

“This tells us little,” Alora said disappointed. “Only that now it seems the Phay will argue among themselves. What do you know of this Crippled One?”

“He is feared on the lines by those who walk them,” Kaden answered. “He is a soul eater. But as to his origins I do not know. I just know he grows in power daily, such a creature cannot have good intentions for our kin.”

“No, can you warn them in anyway?” Alora asked.

“Even if I had the power to I am sure Oberon is well aware of what he deals with,” Kaden said. “Maybe not fully, but he knows what the Crippled One is and that it might mean him and his children harm. I know no more about the Crippled One than Oberon does.”

“If things change you will tell me,” Alora said gravely. “There is another matter though that I wished to discuss.”

Kaden suppressed a weary sigh and turned away to look into the foliage of the garden. He knew what she wanted to talk about. Alora reached out and took his hand, hers warm and still covered in rich loamy soil.

“Kaden you must marry,” Alora said her grip strong. “You know that fewer Aldan are born each year. Your talent of walking the lines must be passed on. I already have plenty of women who would be a fine match for you.”

Kaden could not meet her eyes. When Alora had taken the throne after the King’s Wars she had closed Alda’s borders. Many Aldan had died in the wars and Alora had set out to repopulate Alda by playing match maker. She had paired couples who were the most likely to bear children and those who were of noble blood. Her matches were often fruitful; many children had been born thanks to her. Yet it still seemed like only a drop in an ocean for all the good it did.

“I am sure you have Alora but I still have to refuse,” Kaden said. “I know you will never understand but I have no desire to be married. Man or woman, or even a pureling from Hyria, I have no interest in any of those. I simply wish to be left alone to my art.”

Alora sighed and looked away, taking her hand from his. When he had refused at first Alora had thought he had been in love with another. Then she had thought he loved only men, or that his own gender might be of a female. At one time she even thought he was in love with her. She had sought any reason she could to explain Kaden’s lack of interest in marriage and children, but she could never understand that he simply wished to be alone.

She looked down at the box on the table and opened it. She looked down at the mask he had crafted and smiled, though she did not lift it. Kaden took that as an honor that she did not want to stain his work with the dirt that was still on her hands.

“Very impressive,” Alora said. “Your attention to detail is superb Kaden.”

“Thank you majesty,” Kaden said pleased. “I will take my leave now majesty, I have need to get ready for the festival.”

“Of course, you are dismissed,” Alora said. “But you will consider my words Kaden.”

“Yes majesty,” Kaden said, knowing a command when he heard it. He bowed once more to her and left her to her garden.

As he walked back through the halls of the palace and into the main hall he saw a group of people gathered around one of the alcoves. He paused, mildly curious until he examined the crowd closely. It was a crowd of women, meaning there could only be one person in the middle of them. Sure enough Kaden heard a poem being recited, knowing the author well.

“And the heart was like liquid gold, so serine it glowed in the sun,” Lord Ashel Roth Ai stood in the center of a gaggle of his admirers. Another relative of a duke, the Lord Ashel had slept his way around all of the Court of Dreams; women seemed to leap into his bed gleefully despite his reputation. His reputation as a lover got him further than his poetry, which Kaden thought overly flowery and contrived.

He stopped mid poem spotting him and Kaden tried to escape but Ashel quickly caught him, slinging his arm over Kaden’s shoulder.

“Ah the Lord Kaden the other infamous bachelor of court,” Ashel said. “I take it our dear queen has been talking your ear off as well about marriage.”

“She has Lord Ashel but I can suffer in silence,” Kaden answered as he shrugged Ashel’s arm off.

“Well I don’t understand why she is after me,” Ashel said with all self-pity. “I’m just doing what she wants her subjects to do, make babies.”

“First of all Ashel Alora wants families not bastards,” Kaden said. “A child is more likely to be a helpful member of society when it has two parents. Second, has your method produced any children?”

“You’re a real stick in the mud Kaden,” Ashel said. Kaden ignored him and walked away. “Tell Alora I’m not interested in marriage for me Kaden!” Ashel shouted after him. Kaden sighed, walking away. As always after such a confrontation he thought of the perfect witty reply that would have put Ashel in his place. He put it behind him, knowing that turning back would be a mistake.

He left the palace and continued to walk through the city. There never seemed to be any order to Alma, it was both stifling and liberating at the same time. As he walked he saw a few foresters leaping across bridges and climbing up trees with the ease of squirrels. Spikes in their shoes and hooked tools let them be free of the bridges and streets those on foot were confined to.

Kaden did not envy them, he preferred to take his time going places, it let one find the little details of a place. He eventually reached his home late in the evening, nearing the twilight hour. He found Basil was already gone, a covered dish resting on the table with a note. Smiling Kaden went over and picked up the note.

It read: I knew you would have forgotten to eat; your costume is ready and on your bed.

He hadn’t signed it but Kaden was already familiar with Basil’s handwriting. He put the note aside to lift the crockery lid over the dish. He was pleased to find a vegetable puree soup, a spinach puff pastry, and to the side a fresh pear and cheese. Kaden sat to have his meal alone, glad of the reprieve.

Already he was starting to feel tired from the day’s interactions with so many people, even Basil. His nerves were frayed, and he felt like his heart weighed in his chest. He had heard many people say that they felt energized after talking to others, that they felt happier. He only felt tired and slow after dealing with people, even those he cared about. Kaden wondered sometimes if there was something wrong with him.

He sighed and finished his meal, leaving the dishes on the table he looked to the bed. There lay a wood mask he had painted a few years ago, oak leaves painted over the wood it was a common design. There was also a crown of oak leaves and an orange and red cloak embroidered with the oak leaves. He felt nothing but tired looking at the costume and knowing he had to go out and socialize.

Kaden looked over at his paintings, the desire to stay and paint a soothing balm. It wouldn’t hurt to paint for a few hours and then join the celebration; after all the festival went on all night and many liked to be fashionably late. Smiling to himself Kaden lit a few lamps and sat at the canvas.

He continued to work on the background to a portrait of a noble lady he had been commissioned to paint. His family sent him a monthly allowance that was enough to take care of him; often it was more than he needed. But Kaden liked to make his own money, and so let Basil spend the money as he pleased. So he took commissions from nobles, sometimes just to give him motivation to work on something new.

He sat painting for hours, losing himself in the sound of his brush against canvas. The colors of the paint began to blur, his eye grew heavy. Kaden was long familiar with this feeling, often his spirit would wander when he painted and it was Isra’s night after all. He had enough presence of mind to move away from his work, half his mind already peeling away from his body. He had enough strength to get his body slumped over in a chair at the table before he was on the lines again.

Kaden walked wondering what he would find on the lines on Isra’s Night. If he were expecting the restful dead come to rise and wander again he was disappointed. The lines were the same as always, hidden secrets behind a veil of aether. Kaden though did not want to miss this chance to walk the lines on such an auspicious night, he never had before.

He walked through the mist, not knowing where he was going until he got there. The mist thinned and Kaden got a view of a still swath of water before him. Standing alone in the water was a tower, no island or even land under the tower, the water went right up around the base. Kaden braved the water, finding it cool and a slight current despite how still the water was. He walked carefully, but the river bed was stable river rocks.

He reached the tower and began to climb; going up towards the single window he could see. He pulled himself up through the opening and into the room beyond. The room was open to the sky, nine pillars standing like forgotten sentinels carven in the image of hazel trees. The floor was covered in a tangle of colorful threads, and in the center of this tangle was a woman. She bent over something in the center of the floor, her long fingers working to weave and knot the strings into intricate patterns.

“So you have come,” she said not turning from her work. Her hair was ash blonde, and from here he could see her long pointed ears and round curve of her face. Kaden knew he stood in the presence of one of the Elder Kin.

“So I have,” Kaden said shaken. “Where is this?”

“One of the lost places,” she answered. “Astolat, the Keep of the Lonely Watch. I am its keeper, Arke the Color Weaver, Daughter of the Rainbow.”

Kaden felt a shiver as the Phay gave him her true name and he knew there was only one answer he could give her.

“My name is Kaden Val Odell,” he said softly and she nodded.

“You mortals are unlike us, your true name changes with your lives and so does not hold the same power over you as ours does,” Arke said. “Still I am honored you would give me your name.”

“Do you know why I was drawn here?” Kaden asked. She still had not turned from her mirror and he ached to see her face. He was sure she was beautiful and the desire to draw her in the place was great. He was already calculating what pigments and paints he would use to capture all the colors of the threads around her.

“I do not,” Arke said. “You are not one of my chosen; I did not pull you here.”

“Chosen?”

She lifted her hand and he saw she had threads tied to her fingers, all of various colors. She quickly moved her hand back to continue her knotting before he could count them all.

“One thread has broken,” she said sadly. “I did not mean for him to die.”

“These threads are linked to people,” Kaden said catching on to the symbolism. Often the Elder Magic had to be put into symbols to work, a tool for the wielder to visualize their powers and the working. “You hold their fates.”

“Fate is an ending, it is order, it is control,” Arke said. “I do not control fate, I control luck; the unknown, the chance, the wild card. Luck is never ending; luck follows a person from one life to the next.”

Kaden moved closer then and saw what she gazed into. A still pool of water rested like a well before her, so still it reflected like a mirror.

“The Mirror of Segais,” Arke said softly. “The waters of wisdom allow me to see into Miread so that I may influence the luck of my charges.”

“To what end?” Kaden asked her.

“Our kin must march, we need their aid,” Arke answered.

“Do they know what you do?” Kaden asked.

“Some do,” Arke answered. “I do not control their wills; some have made mistakes I have tried to prevent.”

“I know,” Kaden said, knowing that to tie her spirit to these souls must have been difficult. They would be almost like her children; the bond actually would be even stronger than that. She would feel as they felt, and would be experiencing all they did at once. She had died with the one that had died, experienced his death.

He marveled at her, because he himself could never tie his spirit to another to that extent. He could see what it had cost her, not just power but emotionally as well. He was moved by her struggle and felt the desire to help her. Yet the fear of tying himself to another like that made his stomach turn. The pressure of having another person dependent on him was suffocating.

He looked to her mirror and saw that the stone work around it was molded in the shape of leaping salmon. They swam and leapt in the oval around the well, seeming almost life like. He felt a spur of inspiration, a painting image coming to him of this very room so vivid he felt his fingers twitch. Inspiration: an artist ecstasy of an idea that moves them to their very core of their being. The spirit becomes centered and for a moment the person feels complete.

Kaden felt that now, and as he did he realized that it was this place and this woman that had moved him so. People inspired each other, they kindled the spark of inspiration in each other in a cycle of life that drove them to reach for something more. What right did he have to shy away from aiding another?

“You have lost one of your charges,” Kaden said. “Do you need another to take his place?”

“None could take his place,” she said past tears and he saw her finger caress where a forest green thread rested on her finger, the trailing end broken and frayed.

“I know,” Kaden said kindly. “But I have powers and skills that may aid you. I wish to see our kin march and return to Miread.”

She was silent, gazing into her mirror. Kaden raised his head as he heard the rustle of trees and turned to see the stone hazels were still, yet he felt like the tower now hummed. Arke leaned towards the water of the mirror, her eyes intent on what she saw there. Kaden shivered as he realized the mirror showed her not only the present but the future as well. Her threads shifted and moved of their own accord, before settling once more.

“Very well,” Arke said as she straitened. “Come here.”

Kaden knelt next to her, now afraid to look directly into her mirror. She reached out to him, still keeping her eyes on the mirror. Her hand went to his belly over his navel and through him. Kaden gasped at the feeling of letting another into his very soul. He felt her twist something in him, a slight twinge of pain but as she withdrew her hand he felt better. The thread she drew out of him was the green of forest shadows, twinging around her middle finger over the broken thread. He didn’t feel like she was drawing something out of him, but rather adding her own power to his.

“So we are bound. I will guide your luck to see that the Phay will march. Search for the song, it must be found.”

“The March of the Phay?” Kaden asked. “The flute that is the song?”

“Yes, I cannot see where it lies, you must find it,” Arke said. “Without it the Phay cannot march. Go, I have used much power in this working.”

Kaden nodded and paused, seeing her bowed over her mirror. He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek, her skin cool under his lips. She saw her blush and cover her cheek.

“I am sorry,” she said. “But my heart belongs to another.”

“And mine belongs to myself,” Kaden answered. “I did not do this out of lust Arke, but out of love for my kin. You are my kin, and I aid you as I can.”

“I thank you then,” Arke said weakly.

“You are welcome,” Kaden said kindly. “Rest now, I can return on my own.”

“Safe path to you,” Arke said. “My Painted Lord.”

Kaden felt a shiver as he stood and woke, feeling the title reverberate through him. It was more than a name he knew that, and knew to keep it secret. A true name, though he was mortal. It gave him both power and vulnerability.

He sat up, feeling a painful crick in his neck. He had been asleep on the table at an awkward angle as he had fallen. He turned to the window and saw it was dark, yet heard music playing out in the city and torches and lamps lighting the night. It was still Isra’s Night, and maybe only hours had passed. That was odd given time between Miread and the lines were often warped, a short time there meant a long time here. He had once traveled the lines for what felt like only a few hours to return and find he had been asleep for nearly a whole day.

He wondered if Arke had interfered and then discounted it. Even she did not have power over time. Then he remembered it was Isra’s Night and realized what was special about this night. Time must not have been as warped as it normally was. Not that time was completely normal between the two; he had seen Arke for only a few moments yet hours had passed here.

He stood and went to his bed where his mask and cloak rested. He dressed in the costume and left in search of the Queen, feeling the need to tell her what he had done.

Walking through the forested city Kaden immediately saw the change in the city life during Isra’s night. People were about everywhere, drinking, singing, and dancing. The public squares were formed on platforms made of the fig vines around tree trunks or even in the branches of the lesser trees.

Ghostly lamps lit the night illuminating the masks people wore. Some were made of wood and painted like his, while others were made of fallen leaves sewn together into a crude mask. There was a constant rustle of leaves as people had incorporated leaves into their costumes in crowns or cloaks. No one noticed him as he walked through the city; he was just another masked face among many.

He passed many feasts of roast chicken, poached fish, roasted vegetables, and pastries of every kind. The smells made his mouth water, but he walked on having little desire to eat. The Aldan were more reserved in their celebrations than others, there was less dancing and more songs and poems traded in the night. People talked and sang in little groups or gatherings, many people drifting from one group to the next looking for a spot that suited their taste.

The twists and turns of the paths of the trees were many and Kaden quickly found himself in a darker quiet road among the trees. He didn’t let this dissuade him, in fact now he felt comfortable free of the murmur of voices and sounds of song. He felt it then, a little twist that had inspired him to walk this way. Arke had just influenced his luck. It was a strange feeling, Kaden supposed he wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for his gift in the Elder Magic.

He walked slowly, wondering what Arke was guiding him to. He heard someone gasping and hurried then afraid someone was in trouble. He turned the corner to see one of the little gardens lit by only moonlight. A young man and woman lay together, naked skin gleaming in the moonlight. Glad that he wore a mask Kaden quickly turned away, cursing Arke under his breath. Must all the women in his life insist he needed to marry?

“Kaden,” the woman gasped his name and he turned surprised. Her partner gasped as well, withdrawing from her embrace enough for Kaden to recognize his cousin.

“Kaden?” Basil said angrily and Kaden stepped into the shadows more.

“I’m sorry Basil,” the girl said. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

“You said my cousin’s name Laryn,” Basil said sitting back on his heels and glaring at the girl. “In the middle of love making, I hardly think that’s a slip of the tongue.”

“I’m sorry Basil,” Laryn answered blushing as she pulled her cloak over her breasts. “I really didn’t mean to say his name.”

“You’re just mooning after him and decided I was second best,” Basil said sulking.

“No! I know Kaden isn’t interested in me,” Laryn said. “He doesn’t even know I exist. But you’re so sweet Basil.”

She was right, Kaden didn’t even recognize her. She could have been any number of people he came in contact with, and never even spared a second thought to. Was this what Arke wanted to show him? That he was an arrogant jackass? He already knew that.

“You still said his name,” Basil said.

“Then blame me but not him,” Laryn said. “I’d hate for you to be sent home if you displeased him because you’re angry with him.”

“I’m not angry with him Laryn,” Basil answered. “Why would I be? You mooning after him so much that you decide to sleep with his cousin instead is hardly Kaden’s fault.”

“Basil!” Laryn said hotly. but he turned away from her. He started to pull his clothes on, Laryn doing the same. “Fine, have it your way!” Laryn said grabbing the rest of her clothes and hurrying off out of the park. Muttering to himself Basil finished dressing, pulling his mask back on. He started to walk towards Kaden and he realized there was no where he could escape to. Basil stopped when he saw Kaden as he had tried to climb out over one of the bridges. His face was unreadable under his mask but his body language spoke of surprise.

“How long were you there?” Basil asked as Kaden turned to him.

“Long enough,” Kaden answered. “I’m sorry.”

“As I said, it’s hardly your fault,” Basil said as he shrugged.

“I’m sorrier that I stumbled onto you two,” Kaden answered, glad that he was wearing a mask. Basil laughed at that seeming suddenly sheepish.

“Well we did choose a rather public place,” he said. “It was a kind of dare though.”

“Dare?” Kaden asked puzzled.

“This is where Absalom’s Stone is,” Basil said and Kaden turned to the garden surprised. Where his cousin and his lover had laid a stone stood embraced by a birch tree. He hurried over to the stone, realizing then that this was what Arke had drawn him to, his cousin just happened to be in the way.

Not many people visited this stone, it was said Absalom used to sit on this stone and could be found here often. There were actually many places like this over all of Alda, Absalom’s Tree or Absalom’s Stump. Many probably weren’t actually related to Absalom, and many people argued over which stone was actually his or not.

Putting his hand on the mossy stone Kaden suddenly felt that this was a place Absalom had sat, and dreamed. He felt his spirit swell and felt his vision change. He didn’t walk the lines, but he felt his spirit reach out then to another. He looked through another’s eyes and into the throne room of the Court of Whispers. He saw the guards were all dead, a man in black standing over them all. He witnessed the King and Emperor speak and then the man in black kill the king and queen. The Emperor claimed the throne, and then the Emperor turned to him. His vision withdrew in terror of those dark eyes and Kaden gasped as he came back to himself.

“What happened?” Basil asked startled, his arm holding Kaden up. “Are you alright?”

“No, nothing is alright,” Kaden said weakly. “Come with me, I need to see the Queen.”

He staggered at first, always having a hard time coordinating his movements once his spirit returned to his body. He got his feet shortly and shook off Basil’s support, walking quickly now towards the palace. They arrived at the palace to find the building lit with many lanterns. Inside the great hall was full of people now, all visiting nobles or those in residence. Kaden was glad he wore a mask so he didn’t have to stop and give meaningless greetings or platitudes. Basil almost stopped, but he hurried to stay at Kaden’s side.

Queen Alora sat on her throne, a dais with seven steps raising her up over the crowd. She sat alone, all her family was dead. Many wondered who she would choose as her successor, but there was little pressure given how long the Aldan could live for. Even if Alora was seventy years old she could live to twice that without aging a year.

Kaden approached the throne and bowed. The queen looked magnificent behind the mask had had made her, dressed in a fine pale silver gown. She wore a crown of ivy and holly, but her face was unreadable behind her mask.

“Lord Kaden,” she said smoothly. “I’m surprised that you actually managed to make it here. You shun social gatherings like this as I recall.”

Kaden ignored that remark, Alora made it all in good fun, but he was in no joking mood.

“May I approach your majesty?” Kaden asked, this was not something he could speak openly. Alora nodded and he climbed the steps to her side. He leaned down to whisper in her ear so that even the guards could no hear. “The King of Lir is dead, assassinated by Feng Loe who now holds the throne and seeks to claim the Nine.”

He knew Alora well enough to know that even if she had not been wearing a mask no one could have seen the news across her face.

“I do not need to guess how you got this news,” she said lowly. “But are you sure?”

“Yes majesty,” Kaden said. Alora lowered her head and he sensed genuine sorrow in her.

“Son was a good friend,” she said at last. “And a good King.” Lir had sided with Alda in the King’s wars; Alora had known the royal family of Rue well. “I will see preparations made, but not this night.”

“Preparations?” Kaden asked, but he already knew the answer.

“The eastern border must be fortified and the Verde Sea guarded,” Alora answered. “We have neglected it since Lir has been an ally of late.”

“You will not ride to war?” Kaden asked.

“No, I will leave it to the High King.” The title had a bitter twist on her tongue; Alora almost spat the title out as if it disgusted her. “And I will turn away his messengers if he is so bold to even send them.”

“He will Alora,” Kaden said, but he knew there would be nothing Drasir could do if Alora refused to send aid. He would have his hands full with taming Lir and putting his nephew on the throne. And afterwards he wouldn’t have the energy to try and punish Alda; it was too tough a nut to crack especially after a war.

Kaden turned and looked out over the Court of Dreams, his people milling around and talking like birds. They would stay here hidden as the world tore itself apart, and slowly they would care less and less about it. They only cared for those they called kin. And what of the Phay, had they not done the same thing when they marched all those years ago? The similarity struck him so hard then that Kaden almost turned back to Alora to tell her this revelation. He stopped though, she would hear him but would not listen she was set in her course.

“Go and enjoy the festival Kaden,” Alora said. “I can introduce you to…”

“Thank you your majesty,” Kaden said hastily cutting Alora off. “But I have to decline. I’m not in the mood for revelry, not after what I witnessed.”

“That is not fair Kaden,” Alora said frostily. “I cannot just call of the festival.”

“I did not expect you to majesty,” Kaden said, regretful of his sharp words. “It is Isra’s Night and we honor the dead even those who have died this night. I just cannot bring myself to be civil right now.”

“You are right,” Alora said apologetically. “Go and rest, I am sorry Kaden.”

“So am I majesty,” Kaden said softly. He bowed to her and walked back down the steps, Basil joining him.

“So are you going to tell me what just happened?” Basil asked.

“When we get home,” Kaden said. “Unless you feel like finding Laryn?”

“I’d rather go home,” Basil said dryly. “You know I’m starting to think you have the right idea all along, being alone.”

“We are never truly alone,” Kaden said, his hand going to his belly where he could faintly see a green thread leading out into the aether.

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