Arc V Chapter 5: Home


Olivia stood atop Crowley Manor, marveling at the new beauty of Grimoire’s night. The ashen veil that choked out the moon and stars was nearly invisible, crowded out by the gleaming golden boughs of Grimoire’s World Tree. That was all that Olivia had heard the tree called, and only from a distance. She didn’t leave Crowley Manor, she didn’t go asking questions. 

She was a sentinel, faithfully manning her post, her watch over her sleeping…

What do I call them? “Friends” seems too… casual, too simple, for what we are now. Our minds, our hearts, are linked. Even if we find a way to restore Fae to her body without the need for this blending of our selves, these bonds won’t vanish. Are we… sisters? I’m not sure what to call them.

To call you, I should say. 

Because Olivia knew that the others could hear her thoughts, could feel her heart in their frightened, unsteady sleep. She felt them, too — felt their fear, felt their pain, felt the strain that the feedback of seven hearts and minds intertwined had on all of them but her.

But… she also felt things beginning to heal, beginning to calm. She could hear her music in their hearts, guiding them towards renewed harmony. They had to regain what they’d found at the Orphan of the Dawn, and they were beginning to get there.

Olivia stood on the roof also to let Fae, Sonya, Madeline, and the Star sisters see the beauty of the world outside through her eyes. Grimoire’s winter had already been lovely, the city blanketed with the purest snow, but now with the World Tree’s protective umbrella, the constant fall of golden motes of light, the gold reflected on the white of the snow, Grimoire was a city of unparalleled beauty. 

Olivia’s music remained in their hearts, but she wasn’t playing right now. Because in the midst of the beauty and calm…

Something felt wrong.

It wasn’t the wrongness that was always there, ever since the ashen veil had clouded Earth’s sky, heralding the onset of the Endless Night. This was something new, and yet… familiar. Olivia didn’t want to put words to it, not until she was sure, but if she was right… then they were all in grave danger.

She stood atop the roof, at the highest point, gazing out at the snowy city. Hollow Hour had already begun, and the Hunters of Grimoire were waging their nightly battle.

But there was something else out there. Mixed in with the chaos, mixed in with the confusion and combat. Using it to hide. Whatever it was — or whatever they were — “hiding in plain sight” meant waiting for darkness and battle, not daylight and city crowds. 

Even if Olivia was wrong, as she hoped, about this new presence, it was still something dangerous. Her fingers brushed against the jade pin on her jacket’s sleeve, a pin of three horizontal lines slicing through three ornate, stylized letters: fos. Above and below the letters were elegant lines that looked somewhat like musical notes, somewhat like painterly flourishes, somewhat like elaborate lettering. On the back of the pin, invisible at the moment, was also a powerful warding mark, specific to the Wicked Dragon, Wasuryu. It blocked his gaze, and protected her, Fae, and Sonya from some of his power as well, if he ever were to come before them again. 

He cannot see us. So what is this familiar dread?

Olivia continued to watch the city closely. Standing on a high point, watching for any sign of danger, had been part of her training as a Guardian of Renault, and she’d been one of the very best. Soon, she would see. She would know. She just needed to cut through the visual noise and focus on what didn’t want to be seen…

Dracoyil,” came the voice of a young boy from beside her. Olivia started at the sudden, soft voice. She hadn’t even realized that Ciel had been beside her, his pale blue eyes watching the city closely, with a faint hint of wariness. He’d spent all his time since arriving at Crowley Manor at Madeline’s side, watching over her. 

Dracoyil?” Olivia asked. It was similar to a word he’d spoken when they’d been given the three fos pins, “Draconis.” That word had meant something like “an ally to Dragons.” But she didn’t recognize this new word.

“The Cult of the Dragon,” Ciel said, and a shiver ran down Olivia’s spine. 

“The Cult of the Dragon?” Olivia asked. She thought back to the City of the Dragon, Wasuryu’s city, and the personal army he commanded there, hundreds of thousands strong. She and Fae had fought and run from them in their escape, when Fae had rescued her after destroying the fragment of Wasuryu’s soul in her heart. She’d hoped she’d never have to see that city — or its inhabitants — again. “They’re… here? But how?”

“You already knew they were here,” Ciel said. “But you’d hoped you were wrong. Right?”

“As for how they have found you here,” Toryu said, stepping up onto the roof, “that is a more curious topic.”

“Wasuryu can’t find us,” Olivia said, fighting to keep a tremor out of her voice. She held up her sleeve, on the cuff of which shone the fos pin. “So how —?”

“Ah,” Toryu said, eyebrows lifting as he puffed at his pipe. “I see. The warding mark protects you from Wasuryu’s gaze. But his followers are likely another story. And he has a great many. They found you for him.”

Olivia’s pulse quickened, and she fixed her eyes on a dark corner of the city, dark amidst the World Tree’s golden glow and the blaze and light of mages in combat. 

There, she saw a trio of figures. Shadows within the shadows, patient, watching, waiting. 

“Then he isn’t here yet,” Olivia said. She held out her hand, calling forth her alabaster scythe. Along its keen white edge gleamed a golden aura — the Blade of Dawn. “Toryu. The others are safe inside these walls, correct?”

“Oh, yes,” Toryu said. 

“And you can protect them if it comes to it?” Olivia asked. 

“Oh, I am really not much of a fighter,” Toryu said with a chuckle. 

That took Olivia’s focus away from the distance to fix the tortoise-Dragon with a confused look. “But back at the Silver Star Sanctuary, you fought Wasuryu to buy us time to save Fae.”

“Ah. ‘Fought’ is not the right word. He wants me dead more than any other. I took advantage of that and made myself the bait. I led him on a merry chase, but no, we did not fight. I have great power — all Dragons do — but my power is not one for combat, for destruction. Wisdom is a power just as valuable, and altogether different. And wit and wile go a long way against even the most dangerous of monsters.”

“Can your wisdom protect the others if it comes to it?” Olivia asked.

“Yes,” Toryu said. “No harm will come to them.”

Olivia nodded and turned back towards the city. The trio of shadows within the shadows were still there. Her hood up, her scythe in hand, Olivia leapt from the roof. In midair, she called forth a violet circular portal — a magical gate, her own individual form of Mobility Magic — and she fell through it. 

She emerged directly above the trio, her scythe slashing in a wide arc meant to cut all three of them down in one swift attack. 

But, somehow, they were ready for her.

Chains snapped out, three sets of them, black metal that shimmered with a sickly green aura. The chains wrapped around Olivia’s scythe, redirecting her attack, and Olivia went with it, missing the trio by a large margin. With Olivia overbalanced, the three Dragon Cultists drew long, wicked swords and lunged.

But Olivia only looked overbalanced. Even caught off-guard like this, her weapon nearly wrenched from her grasp, her whole body turned away from her would-be prey, she adjusted with swift, graceful reflexes. She twisted around, snapped out a kick, and caught one of the Cultists on the jaw, sending him sprawling. The other two swords were easy to evade, and then Olivia turned her scythe, rotated, slashed, cutting through the chains that weighed down her precious weapon. They snapped, fell away, and dissolved, and Olivia followed the motion, turning and slashing in a wide arc. 

The other two Cultists, and their swords with them, were sliced in half, and fell into the snowbank without a sound. 

Olivia stepped over to the one she’d knocked out with a kick. But as she reached for him, a hint of danger raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she leapt away, turning in a defensive stance. More black chains with sickly green auras lashed out of the darkness. Olivia slashed them apart and landed in the snow, skidding a short distance. She formed a new gate behind her and back-stepped through it. 

She exited that gate on the top of one of Grimoire’s old watch towers, looking straight down at the shadowed street she’d just exited. Down there were not two or three Cultists, but a dozen of them. Even as she watched, Olivia saw all of them immediately look to where she was… and leap towards her. Chains hung at the ready, and potent Mobility Magic let them jet towards her like rockets launching from the earth fifteen stories below. 

They came prepared, not just for a fight… but a fight with me. They expected me to see them, to attack. Chains to trap my scythe. Mobility Magic to keep up with me. And they knew — perhaps instinct, perhaps Divination Magic — where I would travel to through my gates.

Come as prepared as you wish. I’ve felled thousands of monsters. And you are all smaller and weaker than my usual prey. 

Most of Grimoire’s Hunters would be hard-pressed to handle these Cultists alone, especially a dozen of them. And especially before the battle with Blaise’s Shadows and the Radiant King’s forces. Until then, Grimoire’s Hunters had neither trained for, nor had any experience with, fighting against fellow mages. They lived up to their titles, hunting Hollows. Vicious creatures in their own right, but nothing like fighting a skilled mage.  

But Renault’s Guardians fought against Stalkers, gigantic monsters that often dwarfed even the largest of Grimoire’s Manors. And they frequently trained against each other, against other mages, to hone their skills in more personal combat. 

Tactics and strategy went a long way. But these Cultists, these would-be hunters, had chosen the wrong prey. 

Olivia stood on the tower and met the Cultists as they came to her. The top of the tower was plenty wide enough for Olivia to stand there alone, but for twelve others, it was a tight squeeze. Perhaps they’d counted on that, judging Olivia’s weapon by its long handle, designed for reach and poorly-suited to close-quarters combat. 

Olivia was used to that kind of underestimation. A long-handled, long-bladed scythe like hers wasn’t just an impractical weapon for tight, close-quarters combat — it was an impractical combat weapon, period. 

But there were many weapons that, on the surface, were impractical, but were part of beloved and revered martial arts disciplines. Training and experience made a great difference, and in the hands of a master, one who knew exactly how to put such an impractical weapon to use, such a weapon was peerless. 

Olivia was, without a doubt, a master of her chosen weapon.

She slashed apart chains that came for her scythe, and when the Cultists landed around her, she used their expectations against them. Three slashes. Less than a second was all it took. Ten Cultists fell, to never rise again, and two others retreated from the tower, nursing grievous injuries. 

They would not escape. Olivia didn’t just have the skill to deal with them, she had her sense of duty as a Guardian, tonight defending not her precious city, but those individuals most precious to her heart. Fae, Sonya, Madeline, and the Star sisters were not fighters, not in the slightest. 

So it was up to Olivia to protect them. She’d failed before against Wasuryu himself in the Silver Star Sanctuary, but against his followers, she wouldn’t falter in the slightest. And she certainly wouldn’t let wounded followers of the Wicked Dragon escape from her to report back to their master.

So she pursued the wounded, leaping through a gate and exiting behind them while still in midair. She cut them down. Then she returned to where the battle had begun so she could interrogate the unconscious Cultist.

But he wasn’t there anymore. Footprints in the snow showed he’d trudged away, dazed for a while, and then the footprints ended. He must have used Mobility Magic to leap away. 

But he was just bruised at best. Surely he won’t run when he can still fight. 

Olivia followed the footprints to the point from which the Cultist must have leapt away, and tried to judge his trajectory. Gazing up through falling golden motes of light, she noticed a mark on the edge of a roof. Through a violet gate she went, exiting onto that roof. There were more footprints. 

And she wasn’t alone. 

She whirled around, catching a quartet of chains on the long handle of her scythe. The ones who wielded the chains pulled, but they weren’t strong enough to overcome Olivia, not when she called upon Enhancement Magic. 

But while they tried to keep her weapon tied down, four more Cultists were emerging from the shadows behind her. Two rushed her with swords, while the other two stepped back, raising their hands. Those two wore some kind of wrist-mounted launchers, which glowed white-hot. 

Olivia twirled her scythe, tangling the chains, then turned that twirl into a diagonal slash that cut her weapon free. She leapt, evading the slash of swords and the blast of concentrated Energy Magic. In midair, she called forth a gate and passed through it, emerging behind the ones with the launchers. 

They’re all using weapons, and only weapons, aside from very simplistic Mobility Magic. Why is that? Is that the only way they can fight, or is there some other purpose behind it? Perhaps they’re holding back, but launching blasts of Energy Magic like that, even at that intensity, doesn’t normally require some kind of weapon to concentrate it. I would think they were fashioned for them by Wasuryu, in particular the chains with that distinctive green aura, but…

They’re all far too weak. Is this all the power his followers have, even with magical weaponry?

In Renault, weapons were common, and all Guardians had their own weapon specialization, but that was a rarer thing across the wider magical world. Olivia knew from her brief observances of Hunters that they rarely used physical weapons, opting instead for physically manifesting their magic in a variety of ways, like Caleb’s Containment Magic chains and Mobility Magic discs. Part of that style came from Grimoire’s long history of keeping their magic a secret from the city’s non-magical population, a quandary that the mages of Renault did not face. 

So the Cultists’ use of weapons, and the relative ineffectiveness of those weapons, was a curiosity, and while it seemed mundane at first glance, Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that it was significant. Even so, she dispatched them without too much difficulty. She’d had far more challenging sparring matches with her fellow Guardians…

A lifetime ago. Two lifetimes ago, realistically. 

Are the Guardians today as strong as the Guardians of the past? Are they even stronger? 

It doesn’t matter. My foes today are easy prey, even though they came equipped to fight me specifically. 

But as she cut down her foes, as she thought back on her fellow Guardians, a pang of loss rang out in Olivia’s heart. 

It was a brief thing, a subtle thing, but it was a surprise to her. She’d regained all of her sealed memories, regained all of the emotions that had gone with them, and it had all been so very, very heavy. It had been too much to process. For a while now, she’d wondered if she was just strong enough to take it, that she didn’t grieve, or even need to. 

But that brief pang of loss startled her. And it told her that processing all that she’d regained would not be so simple or easy. 

It wasn’t enough to distract her, though. She finished her foes, leaving one Cultist alive but disarmed, and dragged him to his feet. The hood of his dark green robe fell back, revealing a rugged face that looked to be in its mid-twenties… but the shining green stars of light bouncing in his eyes revealed him as an Enchanted, so age couldn’t be discerned visually. The Cultist didn’t scowl, didn’t glare, but he didn’t gloat, either. He didn’t put up any sort of fuss at all, but rather seemed resigned, accepting of his defeat. 

“How did you find me?” Olivia asked. She held her scythe back, ready to strike, rather than place it threateningly against the Cultist’s neck. She didn’t trust him not to kill himself on the blade to hide what he knew. 

“We are everywhere,” the Cultist said, and his voice immediately struck Olivia. It was almost emotionless, almost robotic, almost like Olivia’s had been as the Sealed Vessel. 

Almost.

But there was this faint, dreamlike quality to his tone, flickering at the edges of each word, just enough to dispel the notion of sealed emotions. While he didn’t show anything outright on his face, in his eyes there was a similar dreamlike light, almost like…

Dracoyil,” came the voice of Ciel. Once again, Olivia didn’t quite jump, but she was shocked to find the boy at her side. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you — never mind. Just stay close to me. It isn’t safe.” 

Ciel nodded, standing right up against Olivia’s leg. “He is of the Cult of the Dragon,” he said. “He worships the Wicked Dragon. Even though his mission is a failure, he takes joy in knowing he lived serving the object of his worship the best he could.”

“How can I not?” the Cultist asked. “The Great Dragon has opened my eyes to all that I can and should be. I serve a power higher than I, and there is nothing greater than that. Praise be to the Great Dragon!”

Olivia’s stomach coiled tightly in disgust. “Enough of that,” she said. “What was your mission? Did you think you could capture me? Kill me?”

“A test, only a test,” the man said. His dreaming eyes never looked directly at Olivia, gazing far away, as if he could see the wicked object of his adoration. “We know your power as the Sealed Vessel. It is lesser now without the Dragon within you, but you are still too powerful to contend with. But the Great Dragon cannot see you. He cannot find you, so he sends his grateful servants to find you. And to know, to know how you are, what you are, what you can do. ‘The first victory is always easiest. Never does the sun rise the same way thereafter.’ You have not seen the last of us.” 

“But I’ve seen the last of you,” Olivia said. She opened a gate behind the man and shoved him through, closing it behind him. 

“Where did you send him?” Ciel asked.

Olivia turned away. “It’s not important. Are there any more of them in the city?”

Ciel shook his head. “Not at the moment. But more will undoubtedly come.”

Olivia bowed her head, letting out a slow, tense sigh. The way the man had described her, had described what she’d been… the reminders of Wasuryu and all he’d done to her and made her do to others…

It made her sick. She thought back to her message in a bottle from the Celestial Shore, to the words that gave her such hope: Free now and forever from the Dragon’s hold.

But was she, really? If his followers were finding her, fighting her, chasing after the other six she was bonded to… then none of them was free, not really. 

Not until Wasuryu was defeated. Not until he was utterly, completely destroyed, along with his vile influence, his soul like a toxic contagion spreading from one to the next, infecting the world. 

I will never be the Sealed Vessel, or any Vessel, again. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. Not yet. 

“How can you detect them?” Olivia asked, looking down at Ciel.

Draciel,” Ciel said, meeting Olivia’s gaze steadily. “The last draciel.” 

He didn’t explain further, but Olivia didn’t ask. Ciel had regained at least some of his memories at the Silver Star Sanctuary, but all this time since they’d left together, he’d never spoken a word about his past, about who he was, where he’d come from, or why he’d been at the Silver Star Sanctuary. This was the first he’d really spoken about himself, and while the words must mean so much, while the statement seemed so lonely, Ciel spoke them with his characteristic calm, innocent way of speaking. Olivia was determined to respect his privacy, allowing the boy to reveal what he wished at his own pace. 

And Olivia had the feeling that the word, whatever he was the “last” of, would not be easy to translate. Like draconis before it, whatever language these words came from didn’t have any direct links to Olivia’s own language, or any Human or Enchanted languages. It had no roots in other languages, stood apart, alone. 

But it must mean he’s connected to Dragons, or a specific Dragon, in some way. That “drac” root keeps coming up with words relating to Dragons. 

Perhaps Sonya has some ideas. She has a good grasp of language and words. 

She thought that last part with a little bit more feeling, directing it towards and hoping to get some response from the sleeping Sonya. But while she could feel the slightly-lessened turmoil within Sonya, Sonya didn’t give any clear response to Olivia. Still, the fact that the pain and confusion was beginning to fade gave Olivia a bit of hope. And it told her what she needed to do next.

“Are you ready to go back?” Olivia asked, dismissing her scythe. 

“Yes, please,” Ciel said, staying close to her. Olivia opened up a violet gate and passed through it with Ciel, stepping from an unknown roof in the middle of Grimoire onto the high roof of Crowley Manor. Toryu leaned against a steeply-sloped snowy set of roof tiles, puffing at his pipe, waiting patiently for their return. 

“The Cult of the Dragon is dealt with… for now,” Olivia said. She raised her right hand, fixing her eyes on the jade pin fixed to the end of her sleeve. “It protects us from Wasuryu’s eyes, but if his followers can find us for him then we can’t just stay here. Crowley Manor’s defenses are strong, and the World Tree is undoubtedly a valiant defender, but… if Wasuryu has even a portion of his full might, he could well breach all of these defenses, couldn’t he?”

“I do not doubt it,” Toryu said. “But we cannot move until the others awaken, can we? I can carry one or two, and you’re surely strong enough to carry one or two more, but that isn’t ideal, and still leaves at least two unaccounted for.”

“I know,” Olivia said. She reached into a Conjuring portal, drawing from magical space her dark blue viola case. “Ciel, please let me know if any more of Wasuryu’s followers arrive in Grimoire. Until then… I will help my —”

Again she hesitated with the word. What should she call Fae, Sonya, Madeline, and the Star sisters? She didn’t dare call them “sisters,” even though she did feel like their new bond had a familial feel to it. There were actual blood-related sisters in their group, and beyond that, being a sister had been quite… complicated… for her. But they were far more than friends, there was no denying that. 

“I will help the others,” Olivia said, opening the case and drawing forth her viola and bow. She began to tune, but found there was no need. The instrument held its tuning flawlessly, and it hadn’t been very long since she’d last played. “And thank you. Ciel, Toryu… I wouldn’t be able to handle things here alone. And we never would have come this far — Fae wouldn’t have come this far — if not for all you’ve done, Toryu. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” Toryu said with an easy smile. He puffed his pipe once, twice, three times, and then took a seat on the roof, gazing up at the World Tree. Ciel descended the roof to the highest balcony with care, and then went inside to watch over Madeline. 

Olivia took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let it out. 

Slowly, but with growing confidence, she began to play. A song of healing. A song to guide six hearts, minds, and souls back to each other in perfect harmony. 

——

Fae was dreaming. 

Or… was she? It was hard to tell. She’d never had a dream like this. 

She’d never known dreams could hurt. 

Scratch that. She’d walked the Nightmare Road, and that had hurt in ways she’d never thought possible. But that hadn’t felt like an actual dream. She hadn’t been sleeping. 

And what she’d thought was the worst pain imaginable turned out to only be an appetizer. To hurt the body was one thing, one terrible thing. But to hurt the mind, the heart, the soul… that was something altogether different, and far, far worse. Her heart didn’t ache, it bled, it was stabbed, over and over and over again. Her head didn’t hurt, her mind did, from voices like physical battering rams slamming again and again against the fragile castle of her own thoughts. Her soul burned within her, ablaze with tears and shouts and cries and voices, voices, so many voices…

No. Not “so many,” as if she couldn’t count them. 

Five voices. Sometimes six. Not just voices, either. Feeling. She could feel everything that they felt, and right now what they felt was what she felt. All of them but one, one whose name she could barely recall, drifting at the edges of memory like a vaporous mist, threatening to blow away —

Olivia.

Fae found the name and clung tight to it, refusing to let it escape her. In the midst of the storm, of the pain, of the anguish, she found other names. Mercury. Neptune. Sonya. Jupiter. 

And then one name, a name that was so dear to her, how had she ever come close to forgetting it?

Madeline.

They were here, with her, not just around her, not just connected to her, they were her, and she was them. They were, all seven of them, not just linked like a chain but blended into one being, each inseparable from the next. 

It should have been, could have been, beautiful. But it wasn’t. It was agony. Why? Why was it like this? They’d found their harmony at the Orphan of the Dawn, so why was it such a dissonant, discordant cacophony of anguish now? 

Harmony. Fae wasn’t a musician. She loved music, she listened to it all the time, but that was all. Was that why? She’d so readily accepted the harmony analogy as a path forward for them at the Orphan of the Dawn, but now, outside of her protection, Fae, the leader of this strange, uncomfortable fusion of minds, hearts, and souls…

Was woefully inadequate for the task. What would work for them in artist terms? Fae almost always worked alone. Her collaborations with Madeline were conceptual, they never actually worked on the same illustration or frame of animation together. Which was strange, Fae knew that, because animation especially was a team effort. But where most “key,” or primary, animators only did the linework and left coloring, shading, and lighting up to others, Fae and Madeline both almost always did all of their work for their cuts of animation, taking initial sketches to full rendered completion for every single frame. 

They liked doing things themselves. Being part of a team, but doing their own work on their own.

I’m alone. I’m always alone, always doing things alone, always working alone, always wanting to be alone.

I wanted my body back, and readily accepted having everyone with me, binding us together, carrying this weight together, but I never really understood what that would mean.

I’m not the right girl for this. I’m…

That was as far as she got, conscious, coherent thoughts being swept away in the storm of unconscious, unending pain. Where was the candlestick bell when she needed it most? Where was hope in the midst of this torrent of emotion, thought, and feeling? Could hope even cure such pain, could hope ever save her from this endless whirl of confusion and torment? 

Fae, Madeline, Sonya, Mercury, Neptune, Jupiter, they were all here, all part of the storm, in the storm, creating the storm together. Why were they all in pain? Why were they all so horrifically broken, left to suffer, alone even though they were together? 

The most terrible thing about this pain was that no one was trying to hurt anyone. It was all unintentional, and it all came from people that she —

Fae paused, a sudden clear thought piercing the storm of agony. The people that I love. 

It was such a simple thought, such a simple idea, but it was so true, so incomparably, undeniably true, that she was suddenly, briefly stopped, hanging quiet and unhurt in the eye of the storm. It was all so quiet, so startlingly silent, and everything was still. 

From the edges of the stillness, Fae started to hear something. 

A song. A lone string instrument — a viola, that was it — playing a song filled with deep, rich emotion. Soulful, hopeful, a calming, steadying presence. And also a light, a beacon, showing the way…

Home. 

Not home as in a place, but home for the heart, for the mind, for the soul. For Fae, where was home? Where did her heart lie, where were her strongest bonds of love and friendship?

There. For once, she could see in this dream, floating in the eye of the storm. There within the storm, she could see Olivia. She stood on an island of calm within the raging, anguished storm, playing her music, showing the others the way. Where six voices and hearts were crying out, battering against each other, unable to handle the weight of each other… Olivia was steady, a rock to ground them all, a light to show them the way home.

Home was with Olivia. But not just Olivia. 

Fae began to soar. Out from the eye of the storm, into its raging clouds, the lightning-flashes of grief and sorrow, the thunder-claps of frustration and rage, the pouring rain of anguish and loss. But she didn’t feel it, not as painful as before. She wasn’t part of the storm, wasn’t whipped about by the wind, but passing through it, following the beacon, but also…

Looking for the others. 

She reached out, grabbed hold of a lightning bolt, and its roll of thunder, and the rain and cloud it brought with it, and that piece of the storm turned into a hand, the hand of Sonya. Another lightning bolt, another piece of the storm, and Fae took hold, took the pain and let it course through her and out of her. 

Mercury. 

One by one, Fae moved through the storm, reaching out, taking hold. She didn’t, couldn’t, ignore or avoid the pain. But she could let it run through her, pass through and then out of her. She could bear their pain, and if she didn’t recoil, if she didn’t flinch from it, but accepted it, then it ran through her, and out of her, and left behind the one she sought. 

Here was hope, even without the candlestick bell. As if Fae was the bell, could feel its ringing in her heart, in time with Olivia’s beautiful, guiding song. 

Harmonizing.

From one to the next, Fae found them all. Neptune, Jupiter, and Madeline. Together they moved as one, towards the rock, through a storm that had lessened now to just steady, soft rainfall. 

Fae had always loved the sound, the smell, the feel of rain. 

They joined Olivia on the island, an island that was barely large enough for Olivia, but expanded to fit the other six as they arrived. Here was hope.

Here was love. In hearts intertwined, taking each other’s pain, not recoiling but holding fast to each other. Hands held, gently but firm. Hearts that were nowhere near perfect, accepting and reaching out to each other through the imperfections, resolving to grow together. Hearts that sang together, meeting Olivia’s song. 

Harmonizing.

Seven hearts, seven minds, seven souls. Olivia had started the process of healing, of reaching each other and understanding each other again. 

But it had been up to Fae to lead the way. To find the others in the storm, and to understand what it meant to lead, to live, to love. 

It still hurt. They still hurt. But they didn’t hurt each other. 

They hurt with each other. 

All of them carried hurts. Sorrows, losses, griefs, angers, frustrations, rejections, doubts, insecurities, self-loathings, anxieties, fears. Bonded as they were, out from under the Orphan of the Dawn’s protection, there was no possible way for them to ignore each other’s pain, or keep their own pain secret. 

So at first, all they could feel was each other’s hurts, all they knew was pain, and they recoiled, they pulled back, but there was nowhere to go. Not here, not like this, not as they were. They were stuck together, a part of each other. Where could they go to hide from one another? 

Instead of reeling back, they needed to lean in. To reach out. 

They were all hurting. They’d been hurting before they were bonded. All they took into this new connection was their own pre-existing pain. 

And once they understood that, leaned in, and took hold of each other…

They found their harmony. What had been just a tiny seed at the Orphan of the Dawn finally sprouted, grew, and bloomed to beautiful life here out from under her protection. They couldn’t bear their hurts alone. And it had seemed so much worse when they were all bonded together, but they’d started to understand.

The hurts sometimes hurt a little less when there was someone else willing to carry them with you.

And when they reached out to each other in love, it wasn’t just to carry the hurt together, to lessen it. It was also the beginning of something that could never happen all alone:

Healing.

In the midst of the song, seven together holding onto each other on this island amidst the rain…

Fae finally woke up. Tears of sorrow and joy washed her face. 

She was home.

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