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syndianites · 4 years

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The After; The Athar: Chapter One

Chapter 1/?

Chapter 1 [Here] - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. The crew finally land back into the world after the events of Ruxomar. That should be a good thing, right? But Wag is feeling the burden of everything that has happened to him, and he didn’t even get his magic back to boot.

It’s hard to be happy when life has been so shitty.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: I’ve been working on this since September? of 2019! I have 5 chapters done and still going. I wanted to wait to post this until I was done with it, but my impatience has gotten the better of me.

@the-moon-pal I’m coming for your crown king >:)

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They’d made it home a couple weeks ago, to the land of Mianite. It’d been such a relief. They got to meet the rest of the alts, got to watch Dianite meet the other gods- and cringe at the tension that crackled between them- got to find all their homes again. For once, in the past-however-long, there was peace. They could relax.

So why did Wag feel like utter shit?

Right. Because he literally got the worst part of the deal.

He thought his powers would come back when they got home. And they did, for a few hours. Not the full range, but a lot of it. It felt good to be full of magic again. It felt like he was himself.

But then things started to fall apart. Martha grew distant. His powers fell away in fits and bursts. He realized that the rest of FyreUK had moved on after they made amends in Ruxomar. They found their way on. Without him.

Nothing was the same, he realized, as he spent more time around the place they had called ‘home.’

Spark had done what he did best: built a city. Well, more like a village. What had once been a place of buildings thrown about at random and mostly open plains was now sparsely populated. Neatly arranged shops and a few houses took up the space next to the beach. New people had even begun to show up.

Everything was changing around him, yet he was stuck holding onto the past. Holding onto his wizardhood, to his brotherhood, to a partner that was farther now than ever, and- worst of all- he was still holding onto the hope that everything would just… go back. To how it was.

To when he was important.

Well, like fuck is he was going to sit around and loathe his existence. He could at least try to do something. Swear to Athar, he wasn’t going to turn into a lump of depression just because he couldn’t handle change! He’d rather be a walking mass of depression! That way he could at least pretend he was being productive.

Potions or spellbooks? A question as old as time. Potions were a staple in his life. If there was one thing that would never leave him, it was his ability to make fucking potions. Like, fucking make potions. Not potions to help people fuck. On the other hand, the more he poured through spellbooks, the more likely he was to get closer to finding out how to get his powers back.

Maybe his powers left when FyreUK left, taking all the glory of Athar with it. But that was too terrible of a thought, so that got chucked in the ‘not-today-bitch’ bin. Which was a handy dandy mental bin that stored all of his worst problems.

He never could fit himself in it, though.

So potions it was.

Now that he was out of the business of magic, most of his money came from his potion making. He had made yet another little wizard- alchemist? Potion master?- tower. Plopped some advertisements in el Pueblo de Spark and took orders to pass the time. He had to fund his botany experiments somehow. Someone had to introduce weed into this world, that might as well be him.

If he was going down in history for something, that wasn’t ‘Word Renowned Wizard Extraordinaire’, then ‘The Guy who Made Weed’ would sure as hell work.

Wag pulled up his log of orders. Luck, luck, dexterity, healing, luck, love- yeah, those didn’t really work but he’d make it anyways-, strength, luck, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lots of luck. He could probably get away with making a batch or two of luck potions, then work through the rest.

He spared a glance outside. Spark’s little hut-square town was beginning to develop into a pleasant little fishing hole. Surprisingly- or not, given how deep the waters were nearby- the place was actually a fairly hot place for single fish to mingle. Warm waters, nice and deep, lots of cover, and not much human interference. Until now, anyway.

Either the fishermen were starting to get a fair amount of revenue going or they really needed help. Luck potions were among his most expensive. The ingredients were hard to acquire regardless of how you made it.

Rabbit’s foot? Morally and physically hard to get a hold of. Rainbow trout? Terribly rare. ‘Star-light Fruit’? Not even confirmed to exist.

His method was a little more straightforward. A butt load of four-leaf clovers, a tiny bit of alcohol, and a fuckton of glitter. Clovers for the magic, glitter for the look, and alcohol for the feeling of being lucky.

It was a very bullshit potion.

It took forever to find the clovers, let alone collect them.

Athar give him strength.

Giving one last look outside, he tucked his log book in his cloak. Then he went and rummaged through his chests.

Monotony here he comes.

~~~

Wag was halfway through his second batch of luck potions when a distant knock came from his door, followed by the sound of bells. If not for the bells he’d have ignored the knocking. With a stretch, he putzed down the stairs. The many flights of stairs.

He missed being able to make elevators.

Opening the door revealed one Mr. Sparklez, hair tousled but otherwise neatly groomed. He was relaxed, if not a little winded from his trek up the hill Wag claimed as his own.

Wag smiled. “Hey Sparklez, what brings you up to my tower of terror today? Here for a chat or a swanky danky potion?”

He gestured for Jordan to head inside and get comfortable, but the man waved him off. “Actually,” Jordan started, “I was wondering if you’d seen Martha? I needed to ask her something and I haven’t seen her all day. Figured she’d be with you.”

Ah, so Jordan wanted to find Martha.

Ouch.

Doing his best to ignore the squeeze in his chest, Wag kept his smile firmly in place. “No, I don’t think I have. She, uh.” He paused, going for a nonchalant shrug. “She doesn’t come around the tower all that often. I’d ask Spark instead. She tends to hang around him more. Her good ole pops and all, y’know. They do have a lot to catch up on.” Wag tried to ignore how weak his words sounded. He didn’t want it to sound weird that Martha wouldn’t come around, but instead he just sounded pathetic.

Great.

Jordan gave Wag an awkward smile, seemingly uncomfortable with the sad display. “Ah, alright. I’ll ask around for Spark.”

He turned to leave but caught himself before he was fully turned away. Jordan chewed on his words. “Are you-” His eyes swept over Wag. “How have you been? We don’t see you as much anymore. Other than Tom, I guess, but it's hard to get rid of Tom once he decides you’re friends, y’know?”

“I’ve been,” Wag wanted to laugh, but pushed through the sentence, “swell, thank you. I would get out more, but I’m always so busy potion making. Gotta pay the bills somehow.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t the exact truth, but he did spend a lot of time on potions.

Letting his shoulders settle, Jordan gave a small laugh. “Who would press a wizard to pay bills? Someone who wants to catch on fire, I’m sure.” He opted for a friendly smile. “If you ever want to hang out or something, let me know. I’ve been getting kind of bored between Spark telling me how to be a better champion of Ianite and living in an actual, peaceful society.”

Wag waved after Jordan as he began his descent. Yeah, a wizard. A frown tugged at his face while he shut the door.

A real fucking wizard.

~~~

Making potions was rather methodical. Each step took a certain amount of time, each item had certain effects, meshed certain ways with other items. It was like following a recipe, but with bigger consequences for messing up. Cooler results, though.

Wag had just finished melting down the clovers he’d gathered and extracting the essence- which is to say he lit it on fire after sprinkling a generous amount of blaze powder on it- when Jordan had stopped by. Which was convenient, since he needed to wait for the weird half-liquid half-slime to cool off enough to move it. The awkward potions, glitter, and alcohol were already prepped. Now all he needed to do was mix shit together.

Oh joy.

At the very least, it was satisfying to roll the clover essence into little balls to plop into an awkward potion and then watch them dissolve. The clover gave the essence a natural, healthy green color while the blaze powder, which clung to even the most thoroughly washed slime, gave it something of a yellow highlight. Golden glitter gets dumped in to make it feel like you were about to drink something special. Yes, the glitter was edible. No, most people didn’t realize he put glitter in this shit. Then the alcohol was for that background buzz. It was meant to dull the senses just enough to trick people into believing, wholeheartedly, in whatever god-forsaken abomination he just made.

Sorry. What ever divinely crafted, totally safe potion he’d just made.

Sure, he didn’t test it himself, but it seemed to work well enough for the people he gave it to. So where was the harm?

It was fine.

The next part was perhaps the most boring. And he’d spent all day yesterday crawling on the ground looking for four-leaf clovers.

Tagging and packaging. Writing names on slips of paper, tying them to the potion, putting it in a small, padded box to prevent any breaks. Rinse, repeat. It was annoying, wasted money, all that jazz, but it helped the look. Who wants to be handed a regular old potion, by hand, when you can get it in some majestic looking box to really add some sparkle to your magic?

Maybe Ruxomar rubbed off on him in a bad way.

In any case, the look was important, and by Athar was he going to make it look fucking fantastic.

Unfortunately, this task was also terribly, horribly monotonous. Worse yet, it left room for thinking. And thinking was Wag’s least favorite pastime since floating in the Void. Especially since floating in the Void.

It lead to him thinking deeply about himself and Athar knows that most of his life problems could be traced right back to that. His mistakes, his fuck ups, his shortcomings, all of it came back to him thinking way too hard about himself.

Gross.

Instead, he tried to run over potion recipes in his mind. Or any recipe, really. All the different ways to make a fire resistance potion when you don’t have magma cream. Counting how many potions used lemongrass. Figuring out what potions would make it more likely to catch fish. Literally anything. As long as it was potions, it was fine.

Not about himself, not about Athar, not about wizards, and not about… Martha.

Yeah, that last one would be a one hit k-o.

But now that his mind had touched on the subject, it dug in. Sunk it's claws into the delicate stability of his mind. Dramatic, he knows, but that’s how it felt. It was like the more he tried to get the thought out of his mind, the further it burrowed into him. Awful, painful, and not even worth the effort.

Martha… clearly didn’t care about him anymore. Or, well. He winced at the thought. She didn’t love him like she used to. If she, uh. Did in the first place. But this was old news. This was something he pondered after she seemed to avoid him like the plague, seemed to grimace when she looked over and saw him and not him.

Steve.

The name sat heavy in his head. They hadn’t meshed well, ‘specially where Martha was concerned. But they managed, for her, because they loved her.

Wag felt guilty, looking back on it now. For stealing their time together, for messing with their relationship. They hadn’t gotten to be together enough, had lost too much time before-

Yeah, he didn’t like thinking about Steve more than he didn’t like thinking about Martha. Wag didn’t feel like he deserved to think the name, let alone put himself up against his image. Steve was a hero. He rebelled against Helgrind in a cunning, intelligent way, he was selfless in more aspects than any of the heroes that appeared in Ruxomar, and he was the one to sacrifice the most. To sacrifice it all.

Where did Wag stand against that?

Honestly, it was no wonder Martha couldn’t stand to look at him. He was just a reminder of Steve, a reminder that she didn’t have Steve. That she had him instead.

Had she ever loved him?

That wasn’t the point. The point was that Martha was hurting, trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind in Ruxomar. What she had lost. And Wag wasn’t doing anything to help. He was stuck up in his tower, making potions, trying to forget about everything that he wasn’t.

He should try to look for her.

But the last time he did, he got turned away. She was “catching up with her father.” She was “busy settling into the new world.” She was “trying to get a grip on her new goddesshood.”

Wag was persistent, but even he could get the hint.

By Athar, he got the hint. “I don’t want to see you.” “Don’t come near me.” “You can’t help me.”

He wondered if Spark was doing anything to help her or if he was also caught up in everything that had happened. From what he had learned about the man in Ruxomar, he was devoted to his wife. No, he gave everything for his wife. Learning she was dead after working up everything to see her again?

He had played it well. When he heard the news, Spark kept strong, only letting his tears show. If he had gone home later after parting with Martha, who had her own grief and guilt, crumbling on the inside no one would know. And if he had locked himself away and let everything loose, let himself break, none would be the wiser. But they could guess, they could give him a passing glance, a thoughtful frown.

Wag wondered if he still carried that grief around with him.

Spark had taken to trying to discipline Jordan to be a better champion of Ianite. It had made the man uncomfortable with getting told he could be a better follower and all. Or rather, having it implied that he wasn’t the best follower. Spark was stubborn in ‘training’ the champion of Ianite to be a full fledged follower.

Still, Jordan didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

Wag understood. Having the husband of the very goddess you watched die get on your case about being a better follower? When the crushing weight of guilt hadn’t fully let off your shoulders? He wondered if Spark hadn’t taken to coaching Jordan to make himself feel better, to remind himself that he would have kept Ianite safe, that he would have fixed the world before it broke out from under them.

It sounded like torture.

But it helped settle Wag. Call him selfish, but he felt better knowing other people had real problems, real grief, to deal with. Sure, Wag had his hang up with Martha. Yeah, he had his issues with being-a-wizard-yet-not. But he wasn’t as close to neck deep as Spark was. Like Martha was.

He wished belittling his problems made them feel less suffocating.

Martha. Martha was still pushing him away. And he was letting her. What did that say about him? About their relationship?

A sigh heaved out of his chest. It was like someone stuck a large rock right in his rib cage, tucked neatly between his lungs. Hard, heavy, and an all around burden. Potions. He needed to think about potions.

His hands betrayed him with a subtle shake. How many names did he have left to write? How many boxes did he have left to pack? Fuck if he knew. He had to keep counting, to find a way to wrap up all his issues, his panic, his fear, into a nice little package and tuck it away like a forgotten gift.

Athar help me, Wag tried to control his thoughts, I might drive myself insane by the end of the year.

As if on cue, another knock at his door broke his thoughts. He tried not to feel relieved to rush away from his potion packaging. He was fine, cool as a cucumber.

Throwing open the door, he came face to face with his second visitor of the day. Tom.

Tom was standing in front of his door almost uncertainly, like he wasn’t quite sure why or how he got there. He took one sweep over Wag’s unhidden face and a determined, focus look set in on his own.

“We,” Tom looped his arm around Wag’s in a sudden movement, “are going out somewhere. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Wag let himself be dragged from his house with an aborted motion to close the door behind him. He mournfully watched his door stay ajar. Hopefully no one else ventured up the hill today, otherwise he might be down a few potions.

“Why?” Wag turned his attention back to Tom, who was resolute in his intention of pulling Wag away to Athar knows where.

A grin was shot in his direction. “You look like you need to get out of the house. Also, I’m real fuckin’ bored and you’re clearly in need of some company.”

A wry smile snuck on Wag’s face. “Oh lucky me. We should get some tea, live up to our trademark.”

Tom nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s hit town. Fuck it up. Flaunt our hero-ness and get shit faced.”

“Let’s not get shit faced, and especially not get kicked out of town for making a ruckus.” Wag fondly rolled his eyes. “I do quite like living here and it’d be a shame to have to follow you around to make sure you don’t die.”

Tom gave a mocked offended gasp, free hand coming up to his forehead as he leaned away. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’d never die if I didn’t live in a community. I’m a rogue, don’t you know.” He sniffed. “I can easily hold my own in the dangerous wilds.”

“Without anyone to pester and annoy?”

“I can pester anything!”

Wag bit his lip to stop a laugh. Tom always brought such energy with him. It was refreshing. Maybe he was right, he just needed some company.

He wouldn’t say that to his face, though.

“I suppose so,” Wag continued, “You are rather persistent. I bet you could annoy the sun into setting early.”

“Nah, I’d blow that fucker up instead.” Tom winked, snuggled back up to Wag, effectively trapping his arm. “I still think we should get shit faced. Drink our sorrows into the drain, throw them up another day.”

Wag mock gagged. “I’d rather keep them down the drain, thank you. Besides, what a waste of alcohol. If I’m drinking, I’m drinking to keep it down. Not!” He quickly cut Tom off, “That I want to go out drinking.” He eyed the sky, giving a disapproving look to Tom when he saw that it was still early afternoon. “No one should be getting drunk before the sun touches the horizon.”

With a pout, Tom leaned into Wag’s side. “Lame. I suppose,” he drew out the word, “we could go get some good old fashioned tea. Call it a pre-game without the game.”

Wag rolled his eyes. He wasn’t looking to out game his issues. That wasn’t a solution. It’d just make him turn into a sad drunk and give him a headache in the morning.

This is why he needed weed back.

But also, he didn’t want to develop another problem. Gotta keep it clean. For now.

Tom still had his own plans, alcohol or no alcohol. “I find when I’m feeling down that doing something batshit stupid makes me feel better. We should go fishing with our bare hands- no, with only our teeth- and no shirt on. Attract ladies and gents to us alike. Are they looking at our finely chiseled chests or our daring courage? Who’s to say.”

“You are far from chiseled my friend. Try soft.” Wag poked Tom in the stomach jokingly. “And who said that I’m feeling down?”

“Hey!” Tom swatted his hand away. “I’ll have you know I’m more ripped than you’ll ever be!” He huffed, squeezing Wag’s arm. They walked in silence for a moment, now upon the town. After wandering the street for a second, Tom spoke again, quieter. “I had this feeling.” Wag eyes him. “It was weird. My gut was telling me to check in on you. And then when you opened the door it was written on your face. Even I’m not dumb enough to miss that.”

Wag heard the unspoken I was worried carried in Tom’s words. Talk about soft. He squeezed Tom’s arm back. “Oh wow, a gut feeling?” He teased lightly, “I think it was just you missing my magical presence. It is hard to go too long without seeing me.” If only that were true. “But I’m here now, and we can go do something absolutely stupid, just for you.”

They share a smile, a quiet thank you floating between them.

Tom gets a glint in his eyes. “Does this mean we can go catch fish with our bare hands?”

“I suppose so.” Wag drawled. “How else are we going to show off our toned figures?”

That got him a laugh, one concerningly maniacal, and he was dragged between houses.

Yeah, he might regret this.

Tom turned and gave him a smile that was all teeth and no common sense. He paused next to the shore, a little ways off from the docks. Shucking his clothes, one Tom Syndicate stood proudly in his underwear, unconcerned about the effect of sunlight on zombified skin. People gave them a look of distaste.

Oh, he was definitely going to regret this.

~~~

Soggy was one way to describe how Wag felt. Wet as shit was another. All in all, he was rather pleased with himself and the rather large, shiny fish sitting in his lap. The fish which so happened to be a fair amount larger than Tom’s.

“Oh fuck you.” Tom spluttered around a mouthful of fish, laying down an arm’s length away. He had gathered quite an amount of fish, a solid number for catching something with your mouth alone. None of them were that large. In fact, most were an average, if not slightly below, size.

Wag eyed the pile smugly. He may have only caught two, but damn if he didn’t go big.

“Well, it seems that I’ve caught myself a winner.” He tried not to look too pleased. The look on Tom’s face told him he failed.

Tom scoffed, letting the fish fall to the sandy floor with a wet fwop. “You got lucky! Clearly, quantity wins the game here. Sure, you caught one big, old, dumb motherfucker, but I caught a dozen other dumbass fish! I should get the win.”

“Wasn’t size the goal here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before Tom could fire back, a voice from behind interrupted him. “I think the two fools sitting in their underwear soaked to the bone are both losers.”

Wag tilted his head back to see Tucker standing with his hands in his pockets, back slouched, and an easy smile on his face, standing just where the sand turned to grass. Next to him was one lovely fox lady, Sonja herself, and one Sparkle butt, Jordan.

Nice to see the gang all here.

Tom sat up. “How dare you! I’ll have you know we are the best fishers on the island!”

Tucker raised a single eyebrow. “Really now? Are all the other fishers out at sea today?”

“Well excuse you, Mr. Boner. I’ll have you know we caught all of this,” Tom sweeps his arm across their score. “And I think that’s quite the haul.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Fuck you.”

Tucker snickered, moving closer to poke his foot into Tom’s side. “That’s what I thought.”

Wag, meanwhile, was carefully moving his prize to the side so he could stand up. Brushing the sand off himself, he exchanged a smile with Sonja and a nod with Jordan. Sonja gave him a good natured headshake. “And here I thought you were smarter than this.”

Jordan’s eyes trailed down Wag’s chest before flittering away. “Right down to your boxers? Tom must have gotten you good.”

“Well, I was fairly set on getting a nice cup of tea and walking across the beach, hand in hand like real lovers, but Tom was far more intent to go all macho and catch fish with his mouth alone.” Wag leaned in with a hand against his mouth to give a stage whisper. “Between you and me, I think he’s trying to step up his oral game.” He winked.

Jordan groaned, giving Wag what he thought to be a rather dramatic eye roll. That wasn’t even the worst he had to offer, and he’d given him such an easy setup! Sonja waggled her eyebrows and giggled when Tom butted in. “It’ll never be as good as yours dear.” He batted his eyelashes mock innocently.

The group burst into laughter. Tucker stepped closer, swinging an arm around his vaguely damp shoulders. “Hey, it’s nice to see you out and about man. It’s been a hot second. Almost thought you’d drank the wrong potion and kicked it or something.”

Wag nodded seriously. “Quite the real possibility. Why, just yesterday I almost drank real glitter! The kind you’re not supposed to eat.”

“Been there,” Sonja added, “I thought I was going to die when I did. Just gave me a very colorful trip to the bathroom.”

Tom grinned as he moved to elbow Jordan in the side. “I bet our good ole Captain here wouldn’t know the difference. How else did he get his namesake, right Mr. Sparkley Butt?”

“Hardy har,” Jordan gave Tom a fondly disgusted look. “The name’s Captain Sparklez, that ‘namesake’ came from you giving me a stupid nickname.”

They fell into more chatter, giving Tom and Wag the time to put their clothes back on, Tom not caring that he was still wet as he put his suit back on, while Wag just slung his cloak over himself. No point in putting pants on over wet underwear.

The group, all now clothed to some extent, began to wander back towards town. Wag was more than content to listen to Tom ramble on. He would get interrupted by Tucker when he said something ‘incredibly stupid’ and, more rarely, by Jordan, who would correct some technical thing that Tom clearly did not give a shit about.

Sonja drifted next to him, giving Wag a conspiratorial smile. “You’re looking mighty fine in just a robe and boxers. Is this the bedroom Wag special? Or is that sans boxers?”

“The bedroom Wag special is whatever you want it to be.” He winked. “It’s magic all around.”

They exchanged a laugh, falling silent again.

Wag knew that wasn’t what Sonja really wanted to talk about.

She looked back at him, a warm look in her eyes. “It’s nice. To see you out. Been a while, y’know?” Sonja stretched her arms out in front of her. “It really has been a bit since we’ve talked. And since you’ve left the house. But honestly?” Her tail swishes behind her. “I could have made a few more treks up that damn mountain myself.”

Shaking his head, Wag elbowed her side lightly. “It is a fairly tall hill, but I think mountain is a bit of an overstatement.” It was, in fact, a bitch of a climb, but Wag didn’t think it was that bad. He’d put the tower just on the other side of the Glowstone Forest, across from the Priest’s house. (What was it called again? Forest of the Void? Abyss Forest? Obsidian Trees? Yeah, he didn’t know or care).

Left unsaid was a ‘That’s okay, you don’t have to go out of your way’.

He received an eye roll. “Please, the only trek worse than that is up to where Tucker’s first house was. I was so happy when we moved it down the mountain. Well, into.”

It’s no trouble, her words left hanging, I don’t mind.

Wag huffed. How dare she be considerate. “You know what’s worse than a trek up a mountain? A trek up a mountain to get some rare flower, only to be spited by the universe and have not a single flower growing up there. Honestly, I could use some help from someone so used to climbing mountains.” A smirk pulled at his face. “Or maybe just send someone up there for me.”

We could always hang out when I’m playing master botanist. If you’d like.

Sonja smiled at him, but couldn’t resist getting a dig in. “Aw, did you skip leg day? Have some chicken legs over there? That’s alright, I’m sure someone,” she tilts her head, eyes sweeping past the buildings around them, “would be willing. Get a nice little lackey so you can rest your old bones at home and complain about how the cold makes your joints stiff.”

“How dare you,” Wag sniffed, hand held up to his heart. “I’ll have you know, my joints are just fine in the cold! Some of us just aren’t made of the cold, little miss fox.”

Sonja, ever so mature, stuck her tongue out at him.

They kept up some conversation, occasionally stopping to listen in to whatever Tom was saying. Wag, for a moment, realized that he had missed this. Missed them. That even though he wanted to avoid all the new things in this world, he’d always have his friends.

A quiet, hopeless voice asked if they’d leave him too.

~~~

There was nothing quite like hiking up a hill, in only your boxers, a little buzzed, during the night time. The pure amount of skeletons that had sniffed around looking for a cheap shot alone was bad enough, but the fact that his legs already hurt from struggling to fish with just his mouth without drowning? Yeah, it felt more like he was climbing up a mountain that was near vertical.

Fuck gravity.

A pit of warmth had settled in his chest a couple hours ago. Whether it was the alcohol that Tucker, of all people, had got the group into drinking or just the effect of being with friends for a while, Wag felt content. Not a common feeling in recent times. It was nice.

Really nice.

Upon reaching his door, his mind scrambled to figure out why it was left slightly open. He shrugged. As long as nothing was missing or stolen, he didn’t really care.

He made his way inside- making sure to actually close the door behind him- and wandered over to the stairs. Ah, his mortal enemy. Between being a wizard way back when and the magic rampant in Ruxomar, he had gotten way too used to avoiding stairs. Now it was a chore to move up and down the tower. But his bed was upstairs and he was not sleeping on the crappy couch he shoved into the lobby for guests or customers again.

So stairs it was.

By the time he got halfway up the stairs, he wanted to quit. Why, in Athar’s name, did he put his room on the third highest level? Stupidity, that’s why. The view was so not worth it.

When he actually made it up to the correct floor, he pushed the door to his room open, chucked his clothes to one side, and collapsed in bed. Now this, this was worth it. Soft, plush, warm, and very much without skeletons.

The less arrows being shot at him the better.

A soft chuckle caught his attention. Or rather, killed the peace he had wrapped around himself mere hours earlier.

He didn’t move. Not because he was scared. No, he knew who was in his room. He just wanted to pretend, for a moment, like this was something he was used to.

Like coming home to his lover being home wouldn’t surprise him.

The bed dipped beside him and his robed and boxer-ed glory. A hand ran through his hair. Wag tried not to tense.

“Seems like you had a good night out.” Her voice was like silk, soft and pleasant on his ears. “Hopefully they didn’t hassle you too much.”

Wag breathed. His chest was tight, emotion punching at his ribs. “Yeah,” he said, “It was nice to have some time with them again.”

All of this felt so forgein, now. To have her here. Was she here? Or did he drink more than he had originally thought. Shit.

Martha scratched his head. “I do have to say, I’m surprised that you actually left the tower. You’ve been holed up here for so long I thought I’d have to drag you out.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Or maybe he was imagining it. His head was a mess and he wasn’t quite sure what he was making up and what was real.

It was kind of pathetic.

He laughed. “Yeah, Tom showed up and dragged me out. Not complaining though, I had a lot of fun. It was nice to take off from work. Making potions gets boring.”

So did sitting in your own depressing thoughts, but that was more exhausting than boring.

“Oh,” Wag turned his head to face Martha, looking up at her. The darkness made her hair stand out. It looked like a halo around her face, bringing out her lovely lilac eyes. She was just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. But there was something heavy in her eyes that she tried to wipe away when his own reached her. “Jordan was looking for you earlier. Did he ever find you?”

Martha blinked and the heaviness was gone. Ish. He knew it was there. Somewhere.

“Ah, no.” She frowned. “I’ll have to see what he needs tomorrow.”

He nodded. To be honest, Wag wasn’t convinced Martha was actually sitting here with him. Which was kind of sad. Very sad.

“I can come with, if you’d like,” Wag rushed out, trying not to sound desperate. “We haven’t had much time together, which is understandable with your dad being around and all the stuff you need to do. And, y’know, it’d be nice to walk with you for a bit.”

Oh, he sounded so desperate.

Yikes.

A smile graced Martha’s lips. “Sure, I’d love that.” Wag let out a breath. “We’ll take a stroll, get a nice scenic view of the beach as we go, call it a date-” She cut off. The heaviness came back to her eyes. Wag knew what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

It hurt.

“I’m going to go take a shower before getting ready for bed. You can go ahead and sleep, if you’d like. I know you’ve had a long day and you’re probably tired. Don’t force yourself for me.” Martha stood as she said this, fingers trailing in his hair. Then she left.

Reluctantly, Wag got up to do just that. Changed his boxers and hung up his cloak. Buried himself back into bed, under the covers.

Yeah. It’d be a date.

~~~

Martha didn’t like to get up early. Neither did Wag. Normally, this lead to them sleepily cuddling until one felt so inspired as to get up. Normally.

Ever since the group returned to the land of Mianite, Martha didn’t sleep as well. Between nightmares, being a fledgling goddess, and the… absence of certain people, she found herself waking earlier and earlier.

Wag had his fair share of sleep troubles. Where sleep troubles stopped Martha from sleeping as much, it led to Wag sleeping more. The less he slept the more exhausted he was. The more exhausted he was the more he slept. It was a vicious cycle and actually the reason Wag didn’t leave the house as much.

Nonetheless, both found themselves getting ready to leave just after dawn. Martha moved like last night didn’t end awkward and uncomfortable. Bright, cheerful, and painfully affectionate with Wag. Like she hadn’t been avoiding him for the better part of their stay here.

The worst part was that this wasn’t the first time she came back like nothing was wrong. It was almost like she could tell when he was starting to doubt their relationship. Except, he was constantly doubting their relationship. Even when things had been going well. But this time, it was like she knew when he was thinking about how much of a relationship they didn’t have.

Which was concerning if she actually knew what he thought.

Wag, on the other hand, moved like a zombie. Tired, groggy, and barely awake. The picture of early morning beauty. It wasn’t far off from how he used to act, but now it was like someone had chained weights to his feet.

Damn, he was tired as shit.

Martha had set about making some breakfast from the little food he had. Some eggs, some- thankfully not spoiled- fruit, and milk. Wag was pretty sure he didn’t have milk, but he wasn’t going to question it. She was the more magical of the two, now, so it was within reason that she could get milk in the few minutes he’d lagged behind her in getting out of bed.

He, on the other hand, was on the task of making coffee. Coffee was something of a luxury here, since it was so new to the land. It wasn’t grown naturally on the island and Wag wasn’t sure if it was imported from some far off place or if it had been introduced by the earlier dimension hoppers that still hung around. Spark, for sure, seemed to run on the stuff.

That didn’t really matter to Wag, though. He had a plant of it in his garden, for ease of access, but more importantly to see if it could be used to help crossbreed weed into existence. No far off land had procured the plant yet, so he would still strive to be the maker of weed.

Not the best plan in the world, but that wouldn’t matter once he actually made the plant.

He really shouldn’t be encouraging substance abuse.

Surely, coffee would wake him up. Then he could go on a walk with Martha and do that thing they seemed to do where they avoided those topics and pretended like everything was fine. And maybe, just maybe, they’d enjoy the conversation. Maybe they’d feel something again, feel whole for the brief moment where they let themselves forget about the person who was missing, the person that clearly held more place in Martha’s heart for it to have torn so much when he-

Maybe Wag would get his shit together and let things die between them.

Maybe he’d decide that fighting an uphill battle wasn’t worth it.

For now, though, he was content to pretend things were the same. It was better than being entirely, wholly alone. And, deep in his heart, he still loved her. So, so much.

Enough that he knew it would hurt no matter what he did.

They chatted over the food Martha cooked. She complemented his coffee, the beans from the plant he owned, and he told her that the cooking is just as good as it’d always been.

Neither mentioned that it was usually Steve, not either of them, that did the cooking.

They tossed little affections at each other with ease. Like it was second nature. A brush of hands, a quick smile, a peck on the cheek. It was like a dance. As though they were trying to make a show of how much they still cared, how much nothing had changed despite the fact that everything had changed.

Hands loosely held together, they left the house as a unit, holding up a conversation with ease. If either of them tripped up in their speech as they avoided that topic or this word, neither called each other out for it. For all that everything was off and wrong, they made it work. They found a way to shove a cube into a round hole.

Whether it was because they wanted it to work so bad or because the hole was a giant chasm with space for miles was up to debate.

The beach was calm in the early morning. Fishers were stocking up their ships to start up on their daily trip, tightening a rope here, making space there. Few people walked about the town, the kids either asleep or getting hassled to eat breakfast. With so few people out, it felt like they were on the outskirts of life, just the two of them. Like viewing the world through a painting.

That illusion was helped by the sheer height of Jordan’s tree. It was still there, despite the damage it had received when Tom got to it. If he looked closely, Wag could see the remains of burn marks and grooves held in the thick bark. He had heard that, after the heroes had left, Ianite had nursed the tree back to life in honor of her lost champion.

He ignored the fact that Ianite had sent them into the void in the first place.

Wag himself had left before that, called on to help the heroes that he had watched over as a distant wizard. Even now, he wondered if it had been worth it. To lose everything because he was asked to. In his weakest moments, he wondered if it hadn’t been the gods’ way of throwing him out.

That thought hurt the most out of everything in his life and he never let it linger.

It wasn’t long before they made it to the base of the hill that Jordan’s tree- sorry, Jerry’s Tree- sat beside. They weren’t that close to getting inside yet, but it was a milestone.

As they climbed the hill, massive roots stretching out below them, Wag started up some conversation about the different species of trees. He never once mentioned apple trees. It was part of his botany, after all, and important to keep track of. The types of trees, not apple trees. Apple trees were just one of those topics and therefore something they made an unspoken agreement not to talk about.

He pondered, during his ramble, that Martha could have just flown up the tree. She could do that, after all. Wag couldn’t. Not anymore. The worst part was that he’d help build this tree, or, well, make it. Way back then. That was a sore spot to think about, but even still he was in awe of the tree. Not because of the fact that he's contributed to it- no, he had felt a sense of pride for that a long time ago. Rather, because of how it’d regrown.

Ianite’s gentle hand had turned it from merely a large, enchanting tree to a behemoth of divine wonder. Its branches had spread further, with more room between them and the tips reaching towards the heavens. The leaves had shaped up and gotten fuller, surely the size of a full-grown adult by now. Fireflies could be seen lazily hovering about clusters of leaves, giving the tree a pleasant, natural lighting.

Many more platforms and walkways had been built, new buildings having been added on top of that. They stretched from one end to the other. The most daring teased the edge of a branch, hung firmly along the length of it. The walkways were either long rope bridges made of braided vines that shimmered a faint purple or ramps made and reinforced by the same wood the tree was made of, the bottom featuring fancy swirls alongside the support beams.

Other vines, flora, and bushes lined the branches and platforms. Though they looked like they were leeching off the tree at first, a closer inspection- granted you were on the tree to get an inspection- showed they were delicately wrapped around the branches and sneakily planted in hidden pots for a more natural look. The flowers ranged from all sorts of purples- fitting. Buddleias enclosed doorways, Hyacinthus were wound along lanterns strung along pathways, and an abundance of Jacaranda could be found wherever space was made for flora.

The more he looked the more nature there was to see, the more connecting walkways there were strung along, the more everything there was. It felt like the whole world was home under the canopy.

The tree had gone from the house of a solitary man to a city of nature.

It didn’t feel like the same tree.

Wag pushed aside the nagging thought that it was better than anything he could have ever made. Ianite was a full fledged goddess, Wag was- had been- a mere wizard with the idea of godhood in his head. What he made had been incredible for mortal standards, and was still incredible for the standards he had held himself to. It would do no good to compare himself to Ianite, especially when all she had done was repair what was already there.

As they made their way up to the crest of the hill, following the path from the town to the tree as it curled around Jordan’s old home, Wag spared a glance at the birch and quartz house. It was simple, sleek and minimal. It suited Jordan. Of course, Jordan himself had made it, so why wouldn’t it?

Compared to Jerry’s Tree, though, it seemed rather dull and insignificant.

Actually.

Wag spared a closer look at the smaller home. It looked lived in. A frown pulled at his lips. Was someone living there? Who else, other than Jordan, would?

Martha had picked up the conversation now, adding in details about trees that she had seen in her travels long ago, ones he’d never have had the chance to see. There were many interesting species, some magical in the same sense as Silverwoods, some as plain as a simple oak tree, but all more than enough to satiate Wag’s desire to know more. His mind kept getting pulled back to the Casa de Sparklez, though.

A thought struck him, one he’d had just moments before.

Jerry’s Tree looked and felt so different, now that Ianite had tended to it. Like it was a different tree. Did Jordan think the same? Did it feel less like home, after being away for so long and having watched it burn?

Was Jordan living in his older house because the tree felt so forgein?

Martha was going on about a beautiful tree known for the lights its seeds shone, especially during the night hours. It really sounded like a sight to behold. More than that, the gentle, awed look on Martha’s face pulled at Wag’s heart.

Take care of her.

There was a sour taste in his mouth. Wag decided not to mention what he had just noticed. That was Jordan’s business, not his.

Martha was looking at him now, a small, shy smile on her lips. Wag felt like if he said the wrong thing it’d disappear in an instant. Like Martha was used to having her interests pushed aside, or used to pushing them aside herself when people didn’t seem to care about what she was saying.

Take care of her.

He offered a smile back, a genuine one. He really did love her. More than anything, he wanted to keep loving her. But something told him it wouldn’t work. That what they had had started to decay sometime around the end of Ruxomar, around when he left.

No, around when Martha almost became Mrs. a instead of a Ms.

Bitterness clutched at Wag’s heart. For all the love he held for her, he wondered, again and again, if she held the same. If she ever held the same, if she even held something close to the same.

Take care of her.

Looking up at Jerry’s Tree, Wag remembered what it used to be. He remembered watching it burn, the pain he had felt in seeing his hard work get tarnished, in seeing a friend’s home wither away.

Now, though, it was different. Not quite a home, anymore, but reborn. Alive. And maybe, in the future, it’d be a home again, or maybe not. Maybe it needed to burn for it to become what it was now. Jordan would have never built it up to this, but Ianite had.

Maybe that was the secret, Wag pondered. Maybe you had to let things burn to be able to build them up stronger.

He looked at Martha again, at the softness in her face and the hardness in her eyes. His heart pulled in so many directions. Love, anguish, love, despair, love, hurt, love love love.

Yeah, he was going to have to let this relationship burn.

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syndianites · 4 years

Text

The After; The Athar: Chapter Two

Chapter 2/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 [Here] - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. Wag escorts Martha to Jordan's house and decides to have a day out with Sonja.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: The stuff about the Cult of Athar in here is canon! It was written by the Wizards, but never delved into. I did my best to represent it as accurately as possible.

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The duo had just started into Jerry’s Tree when they heard a call behind them. They turned to see Jordan hustling forward, an awkward smile on his face. Wag shared a look with Martha. Seems his suspicions had been correct.

He’d have to ask Jordan about that.

Jordan, meanwhile, had shuffled to a stop right in front of them. “Hey guys, glad I caught you.” He glanced between them. “What brings you to my abode?”

“You were looking for me yesterday, right?” Martha starts. “Well, I do have some free time now, I figured I’d stop by to see what you needed.”

He stopped for a moment. Hummed. “Oh!” Jordan jumped back in. “I wanted to talk to you about some godly related stuff. Spark’s been- uh, well, he’s been drilling in ‘how to be a perfect Ianite follower’ for-” Wag was amazed that neither of them reacted to the name anymore. Different goddess, of course, but that was still a festering wound. “- whatever reason, and I haven’t been able to escape him long enough to avoid the lecture. I honestly just want to talk to someone that’s more in the know-how that’s,” Jordan waved his hands, “not him. Give me another week of this and I might just turn from champion to missionary.”

Martha huffed, but a smile snuck up onto her lips. “He’s not that bad, I’m sure. But yes, I do have some time to talk about ‘godly stuff’.” She turned to Wag, hesitating a moment. “I’ll see you later then, Wag.” She reached out a hand to delicately stroke a cheek.

He gave what he hoped was a solid smile back. “Until then, love.” Wag took her hand, thumb stroking the back of it before he placed a parting kiss upon it. Reluctantly, he started to trail away, keeping her hand in his for as long as he could. When he was far enough, he offered Jordan a wave goodbye. Then he turned to walk back down the hill.

Shit. Now he had to figure out how to break up with Martha.

Yeah, these next few days aren’t going to be fun.

But what to do now? The day had only just started and there wasn’t much use in going back to being a shut in when the sun had hardly started up the sky. Well, hanging with Jordan, or Martha, was out. Maybe Tom? Or Sonja or Tucker? It was fairly hard to keep track of Tom nowadays, though.

Things were odd with Tom. Not between him and Tom, but with Tom in general. It felt like he was trying to balance who he was in this world and who he was in Ruxomar and not finding either. Like he was feeling pressured to merge the distant past with the recent past and come to terms with Dianite- both Dianites- and Mot.

What was up with them, anyway? Last Wag had checked, Tom and Mot were fairly buddy buddy and Tom and Dianite were pretty chill, despite the bit of tension when Mot showed up and when Tom’s penchant dumbassery was making its rounds. Now, it seemed like Tom was trying to keep a good distance from them.

Here he was getting distracted again. But damn if everyone didn’t have some issues skulking around. He wondered if Sonja or Tucker had something. What did they feel about the other Mianite? And his death?

Ok, ok, not the point. What should he do now?

Damn, did he really have no life outside of his tower that he was drawing such hard blanks?

Fuck it, he’d swing around Sonja’s and ask if she wanted to go flower picking with him. Sorry, gather floral ingredients for potions. With how many people were ordering luck potions, he was going to be stuck finding four leaf clovers in all his free time.

It seemed a pleasant stroll through town was in order, then. Maybe he’d pick up a muffin on the way. Perhaps a chocolate one. He would indulge in some more tea but he was looking for more of an on-the-go thing.

He nodded to himself, making his way through the streets of the town to the quaint little bakery settled just past the docks. The baker was a kind, younger lady who had told him that her dream was to open a bakery, and an island with few inhabitants that barely anyone had ever been to was free real estate. To be fair, she wasn’t wrong. No one else had tried to make any competition and no one was complaining about her being here. In fact, there would probably be a lot of hooting and hollering if she left.

When he wandered in the smell of warm bread welcomed him. Gretchen called a greeting from behind the counter, back turned to him as she kneaded a batch of dough. She was short, Wag towering over her, but she could take him out if she so pleased. Not just because she was finely muscled- she could give any seaman a run for their money- but also because a mere breeze could knock Wag and his gangly awkwardness over.

“How do you do today, dearest Gretchen?” Wag surveyed the items currently on display. The croissants looked heavenly, and next to them sat three eclairs. They appeared to have been recently chilled as their chocolate icing had drops of condensation beading along the top. There was a colorful display of macarons on the rack besides those, as well as a row of various muffins.

“Oh, I’m doing as well as one can when they wake at the crack of dawn,” Gretchen said over her shoulder, giving him a quick smile.

“So feeling shitty and barely functional?” Wag mused over the muffins, trying to spy a chocolate one. Unfortunately, though he was quite awake, his brain was struggling to spot the difference between what could be a chocolate muffin or a blueberry muffin. Or a morning glory. He wrinkled his nose. Why would anyone put raisins in a muffin?

Gretchen laughed. “Perhaps for a shut in, but I am feeling quite fine. It’s nice to watch the sunrise, y’know. Getting up early? Not so much. If not for the bakery I’d much prefer to sleep in.”

Wag scoffed playfully. “Me, a shut in? Preposterous. I’ll have you know I am, at worst, a friendly, magical hermit. At best, I am a magnificent wizard that lives in a tower nearby that oh so graciously helps out the townsfolk.”

“For a fee.” Gretchen was layering the dough now. If there weren't croissants sitting in front of him, Wag might say she was making those. Perhaps she was making danish pastries? It had been a while since he’d seen them on her display. It’d also been a while since he’d visited.

“A wizard’s got to make a living somehow.” Wag picked up a muffin, closely inspecting it. It looked like it was chocolate. He hoped it was chocolate. But if it was blueberry he would live. Both were good, especially from here.

“That he does.” She paused from her dough magic to take a look at him. “Blueberry muffin? Anything else?”

Wag clicked his tongue. “Was hoping this was chocolate. But yes, just one muffin to go. I wasn’t really anticipating being awake so early, but Martha was home and she likes to get up early, and Jordan wanted to talk to her, and I,” he waved his hands, “wanted to spend some time with her? So I walked her to his house. Now, I’m standing here. Then heading to Sonja’s.”

Yeah, it felt like he’d just recounted his entire life story to her. No, he was not going to acknowledge how painful that part of the conversation was to participate in.

Gretchen raised an eyebrow, plucking the muffin from his hand, replacing it on the rack and grabbing one from farther back in the line. This one, now that he saw it, looked much more like a chocolate muffin than the other. Nice.

“Funny you should mention Jordan.” It was Wag’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “He asked about you, oh, yesterday? The day before? About how you were doing. Seemed fairly concerned ‘bout ya. Asked me how you were doing when he came in for a treat.” She lifted a hand before Wag could interrupt. “He came here for the treat, but I guess he had you on the mind. This used to be one of your favorite places, I suppose it reminded him of you.”

Well if that didn’t make Wag feel warm on the inside, what would? It was nice to feel remembered. But wait, was that why Jordan had come over yesterday, then? Except he had been looking for Martha.

That put a frown back on his face. “He did swing by yesterday, but he asked for Martha. Are you sure he was concerned about me?”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Yes. It was very obvious even if he tried to hide it. I did tell him that Martha would know more about how you were doing than I would, so that could be why he asked for her.” She held out her hand and Wag dutifully placed some copper coins in it. “Mr. Sparklez doesn’t seem like the best with confronting people about their feelings, so it wouldn’t surprise me that he’d see you and balk at the idea of bringing up his concerns with you directly. Going to Martha would be way easier for him than going to you. If he actually ever asks Martha about you at all.”

Wag hummed in thought, ignoring the little ‘wuss’ Gretchen mutters under her breath in relation to Jordan. That much was true, Jordan was not much of a feelings guy. The dorky puns and trying hard to be the smart one guy? Yes. Feelings? You’d have better luck with Tom.

Actually, Tom was pretty easy on the feelings side. Kind of. You’d have better luck with Tucker than Jordan. And Tucker was not the most emotional sort of man. There we go.

“Well, when I left Martha with Jordan, he said he wanted to ask her about ‘godly stuff’. Do you think they’re actually talking about me?” Wag pulled a sliver off the top of his muffin and nibbled on it.

Gretched leaned on the counter with a shrug, dropping the coins into her apron pocket. “Maybe. Who’s to say?” She eyed him up and down, a contemplative look coming into her eyes. “Didn’t you say you were heading to Sonja’s? That’s good, you could use more time out of the house. If you weren’t naturally gray I’d say you were getting pale. Hard to tell like this, but you are getting more of the ‘I’m your friendly neighborhood ghost’ type look than ‘I’m your charming, possibly demonic, friendly wizard’ type look. Take one for the road,” Gretchen reached over to pluck another muffin off the rack, passing it to Wag.

“What if I just eat both myself?” Wag joked, taking the muffin in his other hand.

Gretchen tsked. “Sorry, I only give freebies to the pretty ladies. You sir, are no pretty lady.”

Wag gasped, “How dare you! My mother said I could be anything I wanted to be! If I want to be a pretty lady to get a free muffin, I’ll be a pretty lady!”

She pushed his shoulder with a guffaw. “Oh sure, princess. If you ever come in dressed to the nines as the most gorgeous lady I’ve seen, I’ll give you a pretty muffin. Be warned,” Gretchen bat her eyelashes. “I have seen quite the stunning women before.”

Wag rolled his eyes fondly, making for the door. “Just you watch, I’ll come blow your socks off!”

With a wave, he departed. He twirled the other muffin in his hand. Free muffin for a pretty lady, huh?

Wait, was Gretchen hitting on Sonja?

~~~

Wag didn’t end up making it to Sonja and Tucker’s house. Rather, he found Sonja sitting near the shore just in front of it, staring up at Mianite’s temple. He didn’t take Sonja for much of a morning person, but it seemed like the temple would have a nice view during sunrise.

Settling down next to her without a comment, he offered her the muffin. Sonja was surprised to see him, her eyes searching his face, but wordlessly took the muffin. They ate them in silence.

The temple had changed a lot, but that was to be expected. It had been razed to the ocean floor, after all. But from what he had heard there had been a big effort in rebuilding it. Though the work would have taken years, it apparently had taken mere months.

Mianite, according to word of mouth, hadn’t helped rebuild it at all. Rather, he didn’t expect anyone else to move to the island. Hell, neither did Dec, who had been making plans to move elsewhere. It made Wag wonder why the gods, why the priest himself, had shown up here. Why had the wizards? He drummed his fingers against his leg, dismissing the thought for another time.

The wizards, before the heroes had even left, had refused to help. Wag remembered this well. They hadn’t wanted to step on Mianite’s toes, so to say, as it was a gift he had sent the world and had been crafted by the god’s own hand.

Actually- again- Ianite had played a part in rebuilding it. It was almost strange to think about, the Goddess of Balance rebuilding the temple of another god. Except, it made sense. She didn’t rebuild it of her own power. Rather, she encouraged the common folk to rebuild it and helped a great deal along the way. She invited people from far off lands to come restore the temple and, with the assistance of Spark, set up the town that had been cultivated as a solid landmark. Ianite used the restoration of the temple as a way of connecting the island to the rest of the world.

Though, when asked why she had chosen to help rebuild the temple, Ianite had responded, “It’s my way of thanking Mianite and his champions for helping to save me. It is the least I could do for such a tremendous task.”

Maybe that’s why she rebuilt Jerry’s Tree, too. To thank Jordan. Or to honor him.

Wag’s favorite part of this story- as it was only a story to him, he’d never had any real confirmation on this- was what Ianite had said: Mianite and his champions. Plural. That meant Ianite acknowledged Sonja as Mianite’s loyal follower and champion just as much as Tucker. Sonja deserved it for all the effort she had put into this world and the last. She deserved a lot more than she got.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Wag startled at the sound of Sonja’s voice. He turned to her, but she was looking at the temple still. She inclined her head towards it, saying nothing more.

He had been looking at the temple without seeing it, he realized. Thinking too hard.

She was right. The sun was still low in the sky, giving it a faintly fiery hue. It couldn't have been too long since sunrise, yet the color of dawn still remained. Perhaps that was just the effect of the ocean.

But the effect made the temple light up. The eagle, standing mighty and proud once more, was burning in the light, smoldering and strong, wings raised up to the sky with an open, shrieking cry. It was the symbol of strength and sureness, of justice. The sun was a halo around it, blindingly bright.

That’s how the future felt: burning and bright, impossible to grasp. But it was there.

The rest of the temple held much of the same vigor. The majority of the original details were kept, but they were also exaggerated. The pillars had been built double the size, a subtle comment of ‘no matter how many times you knock us down we will return stronger’, the garden fuller and more organized, filled to the brim with blooming blossoms. The walls were filled with more gold than before, and more detail. Each column was carefully carved to perfection, but at this distance he couldn’t make all the details out. From what he remembered they ranged from majestic creatures running amok, to people dancing in celebration, to the retelling of great battles. The arches that served as the entrance had been decorated to the fullest, lavish silks and jewels hanging from their edges along the dutifully crafted gold lining.

The best part were the guardians. They stood tall and proud, just as regal as before but now with more life, more color. Rather than the same straight white they had been they were adorned with golds and blues. Shimmering prismarine and lapis lazuli. Their swords were colored to appear like the finest, purest gold- though Wag knew that they weren’t made of real gold, as that would have been more than expensive. To top it all off, each featured a set of wings raised high to the sky, like the very eagle that sat in the middle of the temple.

Another important detail was the fact that the back of the temple was open as well, likely for passing boats to see. On the other side stood dual lighthouses that burned bright in the night with mystical fire that would neither go out or be moved from their place. The area to drop prayers had been moved to the eagle’s feet and the hidden room supposedly not implemented. Supposedly.

It was truly stunning. Where the change in Jerry’s Tree felt like a rebirth, this felt like getting beaten down only to get up again. Like healing. Growing.

“It is.” He’d left her in silence long enough. “I still remember when it first appeared. It was glorious. Now?” Wag turns to her, maybe trying to make a point, maybe trying to say something deep, or just maybe just thinking out loud. “After being destroyed? It’s come back better.”

Damn, who the hell turned on the philosophy today? Next thing you know he’ll be wondering aloud what existence is and if there is a purpose to life.

Fuck that shit.

Isn’t this the exact thing that had been haunting him as he stowed away in his tower? His thoughts falling over themselves to derive meaning out of every little thing that’s changed? To make sense of it? The temple looks better because it's not a pile of rubble. Jerry’s Tree is different because it was practically a pile of ash before. Why does this all need meaning?

Sonja seemed to share his sentiment. She laughed at him. “Hey now, that’s trying to be too deep for so early in the morning. Come back better? Ha. It's just,” she pauses, giving it a wistful glance before shaking her head. “Different.”

Wag nods. “It is. It all is. Feels like everything’s changing, like we got plopped in a world just adjacent to ours.”

“Too deep!” Sonja decreed. Standing up, she brushed the back of her legs free of stray grass and sand. “Things are going to change and that’s that. I wasn’t expecting the world to wait on us, and it didn’t. That just means we have to catch up or get left in the dust.”

“Who’s too deep?” Wag chuckled to himself, taking the hand Sonja offered him.

“Alright, enough sitting around.” She sent a sly smile over to him after she jammed the rest of her muffin in her mouth. Wag watched in amusement as she chewed hastily, tried not to choke, and spluttered a little as some went down the wrong hatch.

Recovering fast, she gives him a pained grin. “What brings Mr. Tower Wizard out of the lair today? Something good, I hope.” She poked him in the ribs teasingly.

“Well,” Wag starts, ignoring the dig, “Martha happened to be home last night and I had the pleasure of walking her over to Jordan’s to chat about something. Which is why I am both awake before lunch and currently standing outside. I figured it’d been a while since I bothered you, so here I am, bothering you.” He finished with a wink.

Sonja frowned for a moment, focusing on something he said, before deciding to let it go. For now, at least. Knowing her, she’d find a way to bring it up later. Wag wasn’t quite looking forward to whatever she had latched onto.

Filling the silence, Wag added, “I was thinking we could go plant hunting. Specifically for four leaf clovers, but also for any other potentially useful plants. You know, for potions.”

He tried for a smile while Sonja looked him over. Her eyebrows rose. “You go plant hunting in that? Your typical robes and all? It’s, like, the middle of spring.”

Wag shrugged. “It’s not that big of a difference. Just gets the cloak a bit dirty.”

She scoffed. “Just gets the cloak a bit dirty,” Sonja muttered. “I bet you don’t even bring any food or water with you, do you?”

He looked to the side. “Of course I do!” That wasn’t a lie. He always brought at least a snack and a water skin. He wasn’t that stupid.

“I’ll believe you, for now.” She assessed her own outfit. Her typical hoodie over a white t-shirt, some lounge pants, and bare feet. “I, for one, need to get dressed. I would recommend,” she drew out the last word, giving him a look, “That you change into something more suitable for romping around the countryside. I won't force you to, but I won't be helping you if you get hot and sweaty and pass out like an idiot.”

He wanted to retort that he wouldn’t. That he was a wizard with powers that came close to the gods’ themselves. That weather was no issue for him.

But it had been in Ruxomar. The trip to Urulu had been sweltering. The Nether felt like it had been trying to slowly boil him alive. Whenever he’d come out of water, clothes damp as a rain shower, he’d felt frigid.

It still felt like he was in Ruxomar, powerless and startlingly mortal.

He bit his tongue.

Instead he shook his head, and started to wander back to his tower. He stopped as Sonja called after him. “Meet right here after you get dressed. I’ll round up some food and shit and then we can leave.” She turned to head back into her house. “If you thought I was going to trek up to your tower up in the sky you were wrong!” Then she shuffled up the hill with a laugh.

~~~

They convened later at the shore as told. Sonja looked at Wag with a little glee, having convinced him to actually change.

Athar knows how long it’d been since he’d changed.

… why did he swear on Athar’s name anyway? He helped kill him. Shouldn’t he swear on his own name? Wag shrugged mentally to himself. Better to swear on a dead guy's name than his own.

Anyway. Sidetrack.

Wag, instead of his usual cloak, was in surprisingly adventure-ready getup. Long sleeve hooded shirt- Sonja rolled her eyes at the hood- thick, but breathable, pants, and hiking boots. Actual hiking boots. That spoke volumes about how much Wag had tried to look like he knew what he was doing. Oh, and he had one of those handy dandy belt satchels? Utility belts? A belt that had neat pouches on it for carrying flowers and clovers. Hell yeah.

Sonja, on the other hand, had dressed much more like her usual outfit. To be fair, though, her usual outfit was both light and what she fought literal battles in. However, instead of short-shorts she had knee-length shorts. Her socks fit nicely underneath. Somewhere along the line she’d found black, fingerless gloves as well. Wag had a sneaking suspicion that she’d stolen them from Tucker.

“Alright, now that we’re all ready to go-” Sonja made a point of jostling the backpack she had slung over her shoulders, likely filled with food and drinks she had raided from her own kitchen,”-we can commence our dainty flower picking session. If you don’t find me the biggest, bluest flower the world has ever seen to leave for Mianite then this trip is a failure.”

Wag nods sagely. “It will be the most magical of flowers ever seen.” With a sweep of his arm, he motions for Sonja to lead the charge into the wilderness. Which wilderness? The Wilderness.

Basically they were going to go wander around out past the old FyreUK Castle. Why there? Where Wag has to look at the castle and remember everything that used to be? Easy: there’s a lingering magic that lurks about the castle that makes it more likely for magical flora to sprout and grow. Also because no one goes over there.

Mostly because no one goes over there.

It took them roughly a half hour of trailing up and down hills, through dry grass and loose dirt, and a few quick hops through water to get to the Castle. Good old FyreUK HQ. Still standing.

They were on the bridge, stopping to take a rest. Wag took a sweeping glance of the Castle and then looked away. Sonja tactfully didn’t ask about it. Instead, she waited while Wag poked around the trees sitting in the circle part of the bridge, watching him prod at the vines and undergrowth that had gathered there over the years. At one point he took out a pair of clippers, untangled a flowering vine from one of the tree’s branches, and politely snipped part of it off and curled it into a pocket.

Then they were off again, back down the bridge and further into the country. Not too much further, actually. The end of the bridge was just a hop, skip, and jump away from an oak forest, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the endless savanna and desert motif of the island. It was also right next to a nice little plains area.

Which made it perfect for Wag’s plans. Plains for the clovers and cool flowers, the forest for any other interesting stuff. He remembered chilling there in between building sessions for FryeUK HQ itself. It was always much cooler than the area around it.

“Well, darling dearest, here we are.” Wag gave a little twirl. “Here we shall find you the most magical of flowers for your pretty, pretty princess, Mianite himself. And maybe one for his maid, Tucker.”

“Ha!” Sonja turns her head away to snicker to herself. “If anything his fairest maid should be giving me flowers!” Her laughter dropped into a small, wistful smile. “Maybe I will.”

Wag gave her a description of some of the regular flowers and plants that he normally went for, then sauntered off into the woods.

Classy.

Sonja followed with a fond eye roll, eyeing flowers as they passed. True to Wag’s suspicions, -which weren’t suspicions so much as things he already knew from before, but who was keeping track?- there were some strange, magical flora laying about. Not magical in the ‘consume it to get temporary fire powers way’, but more magical in the ‘these colors aren’t something flowers can pull off on their own’ or ‘this shouldn’t ever have been able to get this big’. Like if they were subject to radiation, except this world had no concept of yellorium as far as he knew.

The first thing Wag collected was something of a marvel. Not because it was beautiful, but because it was weird. It looked like a flower. But instead of growing leaves along the stem, it grew petals. They were a soft pink, like the flush of skin, and soft to the touch. Not a trace of leaves remained on the flower. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a failed daisy. Or a successful one?

There weren’t many magical flowers, in all honesty. For all the magic the wizards had done, most of it was just absorbed into the earth as per normal. The world was teeming with magic, but that was what made it function. What made the gods gods was the fact that they could use this magic. Or, rather, that they, too, were filled with it.

It showed up in a lot of ways. Witches, potions, the way you could grow anything from any environment you wanted to, so as long as you gave it what it needed. Well, that last one wasn’t impossible, but what other world could you go to a desert, with minimal rain and the sweltering sun, and plant something that relies on constant water to thrive and have it live for months upon months?

He was getting sidetracked again.

The point was, this was just a small, insignificant place where a little bit of magic overflowed because of the proximity to the wizards. It used to have more weird things happen, but now the wizards were gone and Wag was… yeah. So he’d sometimes stumble upon a flower with a gradient from purple to red and have to puzzle out whether that was a normal mutation or a magical one. Then the flower would shimmer and the gradient would shift and he’d decide, yeah, that was a magical mutation, he was right!

Flowers were weird on their own, what could he say?

His favorite were the cornflowers. Not because they were beautiful- they were!- but because, by some manner of magic, they migrated over here on their own. You couldn’t find them in the savannah, or the desert, or even near the coastline. But here, in this tiny blip of forest and plains, they surfaced. He had half a mind to wonder if they weren’t a result of two different flowers populating, then the offspring mutating. Cornflowers, however, were a real flower. They just shouldn’t be real here. Which was cool.

So maybe Wag had become something of a flower nut over the past few weeks. Who was going to judge him, the gods? Well, fuck them! Not literally, though.

The cornflowers before him, however, were something special. From what he knew, they weren’t supposed to be this big, nor were they supposed to grow in such small units. They should be something more like a bush, with multiple stalks sprouting out and huddled together. The ones he found, Sonja poking at some poppies behind him, were very much trying to act like tulips. Less group-y and more individual.

He suspected magic was involved.

The buds alone were about the size of his palm, and those that had flowered were almost bigger than his hand! They were marvelous. And blue!

Wag snuck a look at Sonja, who was blissfully unaware of his sudden bout of mischief. He plucked a stalk- which was as thick as a pencil- and twisted around to carefully tickle the tip of her tail with the broken end of the stem. She didn’t notice, face scrunched up in thought as she appeared to be trying to decide if the poppies were out of the ordinary or not. They weren’t. Just good ole regular poppies.

Fighting back a snicker, he gently and slowly trailed the stem upward. It took the stem going from white to orange fur for Sonja to suddenly startle, ears shooting up and back going ramrod straight. She took a swipe at the flower, but Wag hurried out of the way. Clutching the poor, innocent cornflower to his chest, he mock gasped.

“Sonja! You almost destroyed the biggest, bluest flower I’ve ever seen!” He brought the back of his hand to his forehead. “Could you imagine if you had? We’d have to return with it crushed! Or worse.” Wag’s eyes widened comically. His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “The second biggest, most bluest flower.”

She gasped in shock. Her voice was but a mutter. “No, we can’t have that. Imagine! Bringing home something second best! T'would be not only a shame, but a disrespect to his name. I could never.”

Wag nodded sagely. He cradled the blossom between his hands, reverently offering it up to Sonja. “Treat it well. Though it may seem insignificant in the grand scheme of your life, it holds value untold. The gods themselves tremble beneath its weight, the tremors of the earth quake for its life. Hold onto this and you hold onto what men are willing to go to war for.”

Sonja delicately grasped its stem, a serious look on her face. “I will, O’ great wizard. I will guard this to my last breath, travel across a thousand seas, five hundred miles of land, to bequeath this to the god of which I hold most dear.”

Her lips twitched as she tried to keep her laughter in. “Ianite, of course.”

Wag, however, burst out laughing. “Oh yes, the god you follow, Ianite herself. Mianite who?”

Facade breaking, Sonja joined in the laughter. Placing the flower down, she held onto her stomach, curling around it. Wag tried not to fall over from his dramatic kneel.

They took a second to calm down, smiles still firm on their faces.

“But yes, this will be satisfactory as a gift to Mianite.” Sonja appraised it, looking past him to eye the bush it came from. “What are these flowers? I don’t think I’ve seen them before.” She looked back to Wag. “And I dabbled in Botania in the other realm.”

Wag stood up, turning his attention back to the flora. “Cornflowers. They live in more temperate climates; plains, some forests, and such. It’s strange to have found them here, all things considered.” He gestures around vaguely. “We do live in a mostly savanna environment. I’m not even sure how they made it to this little patch of paradise, never mind the fact that this area exists as it does.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. They are rather pretty. They are most typically associated with hope, devotion, and remembrance.”

“And,” He places a hand on his heart, “According to some good ol’ folk tales, men in love would carry them around. If the color of the flower faded quickly, it meant their love was not returned. So,” Wag picked it back up, “If you wanted to listen to superstition, if the color lasts that means Mianite cares a whole lot about you.”

Sonja scoffed. “Oh please, he is far too regal and orderly to fancy anyone, never mind a human. Or, well,” she flicks her tail, “someone mostly human.”

“Imagine if he actually did, though! Tucker would be in for quite the competition. Champion of Mianite? Try Queen of Mianite.” Wag winked, holding the flower back out to her.

Except it seemed that was the wrong thing to say.

She held her breath, wilting before him “Yeah,” Sonja mumbled at the flower, “Tucker would really be in for it.”

There was a pause.

Wag eased back down towards the ground, getting comfortable. He tugged on Sonja’s sleeve to bring her down as well. Setting the flower aside, he pondered his next words. If he was going to pull out any wisdom, it better be now.

“Things aren’t going too great between you two, are they?” Wag started, giving her the option to push the conversation aside.

Sonja was silent for a second. Her ears flicked back and forth, agitated. Then she let out a sigh, deep and heavy.

“No.”

Wag nodded slowly. “It’d help to talk about it.”

He wanted to help, wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to press. He wouldn’t dare push the boundaries when it felt like he was already on the brink of losing someone else he cared about. A two for two special on failing relationships would hurt.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he reminded himself that this was about Sonja. Not his life problems. Hers!

“It’s…” she cast her eyes around them. “Kinda heavy. Would you be ok hearing about it? I don’t want to bring your mood down.”

Wag gently bumped shoulders with her. “Of course. I’m all ears if you ever need it.”

Sonja opted for a smile, though it fell more towards a grimace. “Thanks.”

She went quiet again. Wag could see the thoughts churning in her head, gears clicking and turning along.

“I was.” She stopped. Started again. “I used to be.” Biting her lip, she took a breath. “There was a brief moment of time that I worked for the Shadows.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

She couldn't meet his eyes, which is probably a good thing because he didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry that you used to work for the people who wanted to kill all the gods and take over the world, or some stupid thing like that’? ‘Yikes’?

‘Cause yikes.

“That’s, well, not what I was expecting.” He suppressed the urge to crack a joke. “And yeah, that’s pretty heavy.”

Sonja drooped a little beside him, and he had to rush in the rest of his words.

“But that’s not the end of the world. You aren’t working for them anymore, and even if you were you have been my friend and helped save so many people that I feel that it wouldn’t matter. Your actions say more about your character than who you follow does.” He hoped that curbed her fear and doubt, if only for a moment. And, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Hey, look at Tom. He’s a little chaos rat who followed a real evil guy and we still love him. The standards can’t get lower than that.”

She huffed, and Wag counted that as a win.

She took a peek at him. “You took that a lot better than Tucker did.”

Suddenly, it clicks. She told Tucker, the ultimate devotee of Mianite, who had been willing to follow an evil version of his god just because he had the same name as his actual god. Tucker, who held strong to his beliefs and only turned on the Other Mianite when he went too far. Tucker, who’s devotion to Mianite came after little else, if after anything at all.

Tucker would not only have been appalled that she faltered in her devotion to Mianite, but felt down right betrayed that she would work for someone who wanted to kill his god.

Tucker wasn’t Tom. He wasn’t willing to work for a god that was near unanimously seen as chaotic, destructive, and evil. But he would also be easily blinded by the misdeeds of his god after seeing only the good in him for so long. He wouldn’t kill his god for his friends, he wouldn’t save his friends from his god. If Mianite told him to kill, he would.

He had killed the Ianitas under the Other Mianite’s command.

So Sonja, regardless of how much he loved her, telling him she had been part of the Shadows?

Wag could only imagine his reaction.

Instead of making much comment on Tucker, Wag offered her a smile. “The Shadows don’t mean as much to me.” That got her to look up. “I’m- I was a wizard, remember?”

Meeting her eyes, he saw the start of understanding. Then it struck him- he never told her how he became a wizard. “Sonja.” It was his turn to look away. “Do you know about the Cult of Athar?”

She mouthed the words, face scrunching up. Silently, she shook her head. “The Cult of Athar was formed in the name of Athar, who was a god. Or close to one. They weren’t sure of that, at the time they formed the Cult, but he was. Instead, they thought he was a godly power that existed and was given to those who were worthy. In a way, they weren’t wrong.”

“Was?” Already she was picking up on the ending.

“We’ll get to that.” Wag picked at the grass in front of him. “The Cult was made of four mortal people. They studied, they trained, they crafted, they worked their assess off to get a glimpse of the Athar. Nothing worked.”

Sonja nodded, eyes searching Wag’s face. Connecting dots. Her gaze lingered on his dark skin and endless tears of blood. It wouldn’t be long before she pieced it together.

“One day, they found an ancient scroll.” Sonja scoffed at this detail. “Look, I know it’s cliche but this is my story I’m telling and you will suffer through any cliche moments in it. I will add a magical girl transformation scene in here just to spite you.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Then both burst out laughing. With a fond shake of her head, Sonja shoved him gently. “Who’s to say you won't anyway?”

With a mock offended gasp, Wag dramatically clutched his heart. “How could you. I guess you don’t want the story of this freaky, weird cult of absolute dorks.”

“No, no, I do. Please continue, Mr. Extravagant Storyteller.”

Holding back a smile, Wag started back up. “In this scroll was a ritual. According to the scroll, if you performed the ritual you could summon down the god that possessed the power of Athar- who was actually called Athar so really calling the ‘godly power’ Athar was redundant. By calling him down you could duel him for the right to hold that power and use it yourself.”

He trailed off now. It seemed, now of all times, that the reality of what he had lost sunk in. “By defeating Athar, who was a selfish, greedy god, they themselves could become gods among mortals. But they vowed to be benevolent, loving gods. Gods who would help humanity unlike that who came before them. They wanted to make a change in the world, to help build it up in the name of peace and prosperity.”

“So they killed him?”

Wag nodded.

“You were one of them, weren’t you?” Sonja pressed gently. “And the rest of the wizards, too?”

He nodded again.

When he made no further comment, she spoke again. “I always wondered how you guys became wizards. I just figured you guys were born from, I don’t know, dragons or something. Something badass like that. Or maybe just one day you guys popped into existence all like, ‘Golly gee, there’s an open plot of land here, and I sure do feel like making something. You guys want to build? I want to build.’”

Wag laughed despite himself. “I wish we were dragons. That’d be so much cooler than waltzing up to a god and telling him you’d be better at his job.”

“No, I think that’s still pretty badass.” She slowly leaned over to rest on his shoulder.

The sun was just starting to fall from its highest peak, making it just past noon. They still had a whole day ahead of them, if they pleased. But there was something settling about sitting here, with a friend, letting your secrets loose.

“The point is,” Wag rested his head on hers, “That I’ve actually killed a god. I formed a cult with the intent of becoming godlike. You joining the Shadows? For whatever reason? I’m not that phased. Sure, the Shadows wanted to kill all the gods, even the nice ones, but I’m not about to go cherry picking which gods can and cannot live. You guys didn’t kill Dianite until he almost killed Ianite. Eye for an eye, y’know?”

They were silent after that. Just sitting there, looking out into the mix and blend of savanna, plains, and desert. This didn’t fix anything for Sonja, he knew, but at the very least she knew she had an ally, a friend through all of this.

“Thank you,” Sonja blurted. “It’s. I feel better knowing someone won’t ostracise me for my past.”

“No one is going to ostracize you!” Rolling his eyes, Wag turned to look at her. “And if they do they’re a bitch and you didn’t need them in the first place.”

“I don’t know. Tucker was really upset. I think I’ve burned any relationship we had.” She pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around. “I’m afraid that he won’t even be able to look at me. What would Jordan think? What would Tom? Or Dec or Champ? What would the gods?”

Wag wrapped an arm around her. “It’s going to be a shock, for sure.”

But the thing was, she was still their friend.

“Jordan will take it with suspicion and unease, which is usual for him. But, for all that he will be wary, he will still be your friend. Honestly?” He squeezed her arm. “Your situation isn’t new to us, not exactly.”

An ear flicked against his cheek. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Wag blew on it and it flicked again, “There’s Tom’s whole thing.”

She lifted her head at this. A frown tugged at her lips. “What? What do you mean by that?”

Ah, Wag had a feeling that she hadn’t thought about this.

“Tom was the loyal champion of this world’s Dianite.” He was trying to lead her into the connection. It’d be easier for her to relate if she figured it out on her own.

“So?”

However, that meant she had to figure it out.

“I suppose it’s a little harder to see from your perspective. Tom, the friend you guys all love despite his love of chaos, stealing, and murder,” He stressed the murder part, “was the champion of the god you had to kill to stop from killing Ianite.”

Sonja blinked at him.

Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as he thought.

“Tom was loyal to Dianite above all else. He’d kill for him, he’d die for him, he was practically a lapdog at points, eagerly wanting to please him. Even when he failed him and was punished.” Wag shook his head fondly. “He would have killed Ianite if Dianite asked. He would have killed Ianite.”

Tom would have done a lot of things for Dianite. The Shadows wanted to recruit him for his burning loyalty to who he followed and his willingness to kill and destroy.

It was starting to click in Sonja’s head. Her frown became less confused and more thoughtful.

“Maybe it was hard to see, since you were much closer to him than I was at the time, but Tom was set against all of you. Yet he still wanted to be your friend. He still wanted the best for you- when it didn’t involve him stopping his own chaos and fun- because he cared about you guys. In fact, he repeatedly stole from you and killed you, and he’s still your friend.”

She was there. So, so close. Right on the edge of a breakthrough.

“But Tom was,” she waved a hand, “Tom.”

And there it was. The thing that she held her back. The thing that pulled at her conscious in this whole debacle.

“So?” Wag wasn’t going to pull any punches. “Why are you holding him to a different standard than yourself? If he gets a pass, if he can follow someone who’s intent was destruction and death, just like the Shadow’s was, in a way, why can’t you?”

Sonja was silent. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Her eyes went wide.

Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “Jordan is still friends with Tom. Tucker is still friends with Tom. They both suffered at his hands, but they’re still friends. They still care about him. Just because you served, for some brief time, an entity that was just as evil as Dianite had been, at one point, doesn’t mean they’ll stop caring about you.”

“What about Tom, then?” She straightened up, something stirring in her eyes. “What would he think?”

Wag held back a laugh. “He wouldn’t care? Remember Nadeshot? Remember Cronus? He was friends with both.” Sonja gave him a look. “Oh come one, this one should have been obvious. Nadeshot told Tom he joined the Shadows, and what did Tom do? He had the us- the wizards- build him a fucking castle. The last person who would give a shit about you being part of the Shadows- having used to be part of- would be Tom!”

Sure, she looked like she was about to punch him, but it was a little ridiculous to think that Tom would give a shit about something like that.

Wag turned his head away. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. This is a very serious situation and I should try my best to stay serious.”

“Yeah, you should.” Sonja gave him a light punch to the arm, “Asshole.”

“But the thing is, we’re still going to be here for you. We’ve been to a whole other world, we fell through the void together. You’ve had our backs from day one. We’ll always have yours.” He ended with a gentle smile.

Sonja settled back down, head on his shoulder once more. “That does make me feel a little better. But things won’t be the same. Nothing will, really.”

That was true. They would probably look at her different, in a new light. They’d reconsider some things, rethink what image they had of her. But at the end of the day, they’d still be together.

As Wag set his head back down atop hers, she whispered, “I guess things haven’t really been the same in a while.”

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