Chapter Text
Ashton was no stranger to having dreams, many nights had been swarmed by visions and symbols that seldom made sense. These days the dreams had become more vivid, and more lucid to living briefly in the boots of another, often better, version of themselves.
Well, metaphorically in this case, they weren't wearing boots in this version of themselves. Their mind strained to emulate the feeling of grass touching their soft, part-elven flesh, the tightness of their wrapped, tattooed arms, or the cool metal of a gilded spear resting against their cheek and shoulder. The swell of respect upon seeing Orym and Keyleth felt familiar but not exact to how they currently knew them, the two talking alongside a half-elf man and several other Ashari that this life had known well. The Flamespeaker addressed them in a name Ashton had never heard, inviting them to join, they rose from their seat-
*clink*
A quick wince had shifted Ashton to another life; they could’ve sworn they saw something in between. They didn’t recognize this place, but they were soft and fleshy in this version too; they lounged content on a worn sofa that smelled like smoke, dust, and paint, muffled noises rang rhythmically from a box with a spinning black disc on top. This version of them attentively eyed the texture and pattern of a small geode they held aloft, absorbing their focus so much that Ashton themselves couldn’t help but feel lured in. Both of their focus broke at the jolt of someone slapping the side of their knee, demanding their attention, the geode slipped from their fingers, bouncing off the edge of their brow-
*clink*
They saw it again – a hall of bright light, the same as what they saw in the Hallowed Cage. This version of themselves felt more akin to their own, standing at the base of a beleaguered battlefield: the Malleus Key. Ceramic armour scraped and shifted around their body as they raised their weapon against the inactive tower, their hammer looked different in this version – smoother shaped and refined – emitting a faint glow that parted the skies. A blinding beam struck the Key, crumbling its outer core, they felt relieved, and vindicated, and importantly, not alone-
*clink*
You know what? Fuck this.
Ashton broke from their trance, grounding themselves back into their own shitty reality. Their eyes were reluctant to open and sounds of shuffling could barely be made out from their free, albeit folded, ear. Their clouded left eye peered slowly towards the sound, only able to make out fogged blotches of colour.
*clink*
Something was hitting them, bouncing off the glass slag on their head, the impact was more provoking than it was painful. They let out a loud and growling groan as they leaned slightly upright. Their vision remained fogged, but they could see from the shape that two Reiloran children sat frozen in fear in front of them.
“T’fuck are you doing?” they drawled, still trying to wake.
The children said nothing, thought nothing, and the brief and pregnant pause between them ended with the two fleeing as fast as they could.
---
Ashton hadn’t bothered to make chase, catching themselves before they slumped into the ground. The act of just raising their head had led to a piercing headache, the pain attempting to anchor their head closer to the floor – a new regularity due to the new dose of Dunamancy that swished in their brain. Small droplets of blood dotted around the more recent golden cracks above their brow, their skin stretching against the seals where their facial muscles had yet to adjust to the new shape. They grimaced through the sting and pulled themselves upright, their neck, back, and shoulders clicking and decompressing from the uncomfortable position they had slept in, their joints boiling and searing in tandem.
“From the, Earth...” Ashton seethed, the acidic pain stifling against their mantra.
They slowly separated their pumice arm from the wall, their primordial powers would sometimes lead it to merge with the neighbouring stone; the arm still felt foreign, phantom to what they used to have, but the pains didn’t burn as much this morning – a small victory in this early labour.
“Of the Earth...”
They clenched and unclenched their toes, appeasing the chronic and contorted pain with patterned breaths and motions until they could sit upright. They had slept rough before, which is why they had voluntarily holed themselves inside a hollowed crack in the wall when Krook House had run out of beds, but sleeping this rough was a memory they would’ve preferred to be left in the past. Their repurposed hidey hole could not compare to a humble bedroll, or better yet, a bed. As familiar as the cold and bitter mornings smelling of dank stone and second-hand tapestries were, Ashton never found it nostalgic. Nostalgia belonged to the mornings where the smell of breakfast cooked nearby in a kitchen or campfire, where bread baked in the chassis of their lost friend, sounds of plucked chords and faint footfalls preluding the day...
And flowers.
The scent of flowers, albeit with a hint of brimstone, and something undefinably tangy that they could only describe it as what they imagine an aurora smells like. Warm breath battling the early breeze against their neck, fired fur and flesh, wrapped tight and tenderly around them in perfect balance.
“Can I come with you?”
They blinked, snapping out of their haze: a memory within a dream, a dream within a memory. Their chest squeezed at the echo of her words, failing to complete their final verse. Their palms felt a rumble in the stone before sound reached their ears: the rush of people within Krook House seeking breakfast. A shortage of beds was not the only problem here; the alms house had become even more weathered by the growing amount of people staying and travelling through Jrusar, the Fownsee Hollow had become less of a place where people went to be forgotten and more a place where people went to be found; refugees displaced by the solstice, and former residents of the red moon taking lodgings and work wherever they could. Food was scarce, not unlike Ashton’s early days here - “Early?” they thought, as if they were speaking years rather than a few months ago – which led to some struggling to get a bite to eat. Hunger is disorderly, a brand of chaos Ashton did not approve of in this context, they could hear Anni’s frustrations be tested by the frantic mob that gathered where the food was.
“You get what you’re given!” they heard her bark “if you have enough energy to complain, you have enough to work and afford more!”
The rumbling was reluctant to subside, only dissipating after she defeatedly yelled “I don’t even work heeeere!”.
She’d probably hate it if I helped.
Ashton didn’t feel like having breakfast anyway, their mouth tasted metallic from whatever had been thrown at them. They leaned down, lifting their boot to reveal a dirtied disc of metal.
“Fucking copper” they sighed, disappointedly scooping the coins into a stack.
There was no way the kids wouldn’t run if they approached them to give it back, and only two people in this building knew how strongly they felt about copper to understand.
---
Milo spent most of their time working these days; when they weren’t out making repairs, they were glued to their workbench – between their intentional and inadvertent actions, Ashton couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for it. Their new hammer was still in development – at times Milo had bitterly accused it of ‘fighting’ them, other times they had sent Ashton off to get the appropriate materials – but since the house frequently needed income, they would have to stop and start new jobs that paid upfront. This morning, Ashton found them slumped over their workbench, lightly snoring underneath stacks of paper and their cap over their face. In front of them remained the hammer – wrapped but unfinished underneath Ashton’s sketches of their proposed design pinned against the wall. A small, cracked plate with a slice of toast had been placed there recently, likely by Anni, as well as a filthy mug of what remained of an abominable ichor Ashton once equated to ‘a mix of swill, grease, and oil’ near the bottom. In the corner of the room was their Portable Hole, lent to Milo for additional storage space, which had a small stepladder peering out of it.
Ashton glared at the filthy mug, they might as well replace it – if not to purge its contents from existence, not that they cared. Grabbing a lantern hanging from a coat hook, they climbed down the Hole. Gone were the days where the liminal space stank of stacked corpses, instead the mess had been replaced with a new mess of Milo’s tools and spare parts, the replaced rummage of memorabilia disheartened them a little; the corpses they could do without, but all aspects and evidence of their adventures had been stored or stashed elsewhere, hidden to even the Hole. Abandoned mugs, cups, and flagons were left above toolboxes from where Milo had sought spanners and screws, none of them clean, they grabbed the most serviceable and borderline ’clean’ one as a croaked voice rang from the top of the ladder.
“Whoever you are, I don’t keep any gold down there.” Milo said sternly.
Ashton paused, deliberating how best to respond.
“I know, you keep your gold in your shoes anyway.”
Ashton waited in anticipation, a grin crept out upon the sound of shoes tapping against the floor, coins chattering from contact. A long sigh came from above.
“Okay Ashton, what is it?”
Ashton led with raising the mug out of the Hole, Milo remained sat on their workbench squinting at them – their glasses still left on their desk. Their blue hair draped down the sides of their tired face, their braid mostly unfurled except for near the bottom, and dark bags had formed under their eyes from the recent long hours and late nights.
“Needed you for something” Ashton said, climbing out of the Hole “you weren’t up so I thought I’d get you a real drink.”
“The usual then?” Milo replied, their expression unchanging “What time is it?”
“Afternoon.” Ashton lied with a grin “Pretty lazy if you ask me.”
Milo stretched and grabbed their glasses, whispering “dick” a little too audibly under their breath while trying to hide a smirk. Ashton stacked the copper coins on the workbench.
Milo glanced at the stack “There a reason you’re putting trash on my desk?” they asked dryly.
“Not mine. Woke up to the Reiloran kids throwing them at me. No idea why, but it’s not worth me keeping.”
Milo grinned a little wider and scooped up the stack.
“Explains why you’re up so early then” they bit into some toast.
“Anni’s been telling them that throwing coins in the right spot turns them gold, ‘s probably that.”
Ashton scoffed unimpressed “That’s not even a decent enough lie! If it were true, why would I be here?”
Milo tensed as if internally biting their lip. Something was up, but Ashton let it lie – leaving the topic to die within the silence. After a few more bites of toast, they spoke up again.
“That all or do you have something else you want?”
Ashton handed the mug over to Milo “No. That’s all.”
They walked around Milo, ready to start the rest of their day, but were stopped by a new conversation.
“You know” Milo started, pouring the contents of their old mug into the ‘new’ one “I’m almost done with your hammer, remember you owe me for this and the last one.”
“Working on it, Milo” Ashton replied, aware of the debts that they’ve accrued “you can always call Justi to pay some of my share.”
“You and I both know that Justi ain’t paying shit” Milo scoffed, their tone slightly becoming more flippant.
The first they let slide, but not the second. Ashton’s eyes narrowed at the tinkerer, who continued to refill their mug without looking at them.
“Something you wanna say Milo?” they asked, mimicking the tone they just heard.
Milo’s face twitched, taking a swig of their drink for some courage that had come delayed.
“What are you doing, Ashton?”
Ashton raised a brow, the new gold seals stretching, grinding, and folding against their skin “What do you mean?”
Milo turned sharply to them “I mean what are you doing here ? This house? This place? Don’t act like this was high among your choices – you are literally sleeping in my walls!”
Ashton shrugged guiltily, unable to refute the fact, but it was clear that dickish aloofness wasn’t going to cut it.
“First upgrade in, you said you’ll pay me after you be a hero and save the world – it was weird and unlike you, but I bought it. Now, you’re done: you did it, but you’re still here.”
Ashton took a breath, cringing at having said that and the bad memories that unfolded from it.
“Look, I’m not a hero, but if you really need coin fast I can try and call De Rolo or someone an-”
“That’s not the point I’m making Ash!” Milo interjected, their frustration unleashed from its bounds.
“You got out . And yeah, it’s nice getting a visit and a payment for an upgrade, and yeah, it’d be nice to have more gold to keep this place afloat, but for the last couple weeks you’ve just, been here – you save the goddamn world and yet you’re still here .”
They took another sip of their drink “The fuck is up with that?”
Ashton soaked in Milo’s words, quelling their impulse to match fury with fury – they knew Milo, and they knew that there were good intentions behind this.
Can I explain it to them? they wondered, surely they’d understand being bound by a promise? Awaiting an answer before a new adventure can begin? Was it too late to explain it?
They took a deep breath.
“If you want me out, I can leave tomorrow. But I plan on paying you back first.”
Milo turned away, dissatisfied with the answer, Ashton stepped towards them calmly.
“I hear you, and I get how it looks from your side. But I am getting out, I am getting work, and when I get what I need, I’ll pay what I owe and leave.”
Milo didn’t respond, their face hadn’t softened from the response.
“You know why I think your hammer is fighting me?” they said after a while “’cos I think you need a reason to stay. I can’t explain it but, that’s how it feels.”
They faced Ashton again, bracing for another assault “and I know you’ve been turning down jobs that are out of town because of it; if it were a Hexum job I’d get it, but people come down here and expect me to explain on your behalf what your reasons are! I don’t want to kick you out Ashton, but whether or not you see me as a friend I have to kick your ass about this – there are better options than this .”
They gestured to the hammer “I’m finishing it by the evening; take the hammer, get out, and the next I see you after then, you better be paying me back.”
Their shoulders sank in exhaustion, relieved of their frustrations. Ashton simply nodded.
“Okay” they chirped, feigning an unbothered tone. They walked away to leave once more, this time stopping themselves.
Don’t leave it like that. You promised her and the others that you'd work on being better.
“I’m gonna pay you what I can by the evening” they said “it may not be everything I owe you, but it never will be.”
The frame of Milo’s glasses tapped against the workbench as they rubbed their eyes, this time Ashton was the one looking away.
“Back then, with the Nobodies, you saved my life. I don’t think I really thanked you for that, but I am grateful, and I do see you as a friend. I’m just, I’m just an asshole – and I deserved every bit of that. I’m sorry.”
They snuck a glance at Milo, who was looking directly at them. Their face changing to surprise at hearing an apology, Ashton smiled weakly but genuinely, suppressing the pit in their stomach reminding them that they would now part ways with another person that tolerated them enough to call friend, and began their exit.
“See you in the evening.”
---
That could’ve gone better. Ashton thought, leaving the crooked frame of Krook House.
They intended to stay true to their word, but only having the rest of the day had fucked with the original plan they had made for their predicament.
Should’ve just told them.
“Maybe” they mumbled to themselves, but it’s already done now.
If they were quick, and in the rare occurrence that they were also lucky, they could cover most of Jrusar and be back before the end of day; the Lantern Spire was their best bet due to the markets but, failing that, the Smolder Spire was an option too. Getting new lodging would definitely dent their income, but they could worry about that later.
In all honesty, paying for the hammer wasn’t high on Ashton’s mind at this point; Milo was working themselves too hard and they – alongside Anni, who had often been vocal about it – didn’t feel like they were helping enough. Despite them not having the full picture, their outburst had made some valid points, and Ashton couldn’t help but be reminded of Greymoore House upon seeing them struggle. Tired eyes and not enough time, they’ve seen it eat away at good people before; Letters would’ve told them that even good people needed help, or else the second chances and compassion they would give to those who need it won’t end up getting it, and then everything goes to shit.
They couldn’t leave it like that, they won’t leave it like that. But it was their mess to clean.
The Hollow wasn’t the only place overflowing with people, Jrusar as a whole was far busier than it used to be; making it harder to traverse the Spires, and the constant bumping and shoving aggravated their aches and pains aplenty. On the plus side, close quarters made pickpocketing easier; any rude or haughty types in the bustle were easy prey for expert pilfering, the Elder’s Post had also overflown with pop-up markets and caravans, sprawling and hugging the edges of the Fatewalk – bringing more trade to take advantage of.
The deep pockets of F.R.I.D.A.’s gifted coat ballooned with necklaces, rings, and bracelets, now Ashton needed to trade it for coin. Not every place accepted trade as payment, especially the places that knew them – and their barbarian nature meant that they were neither friendly, flirty, or fey enough to charm vendors into complying. There was, however, a tool in Ashton’s arsenal they could use: spotting an easy mark. Their good eye scanned through the markets leading into the Elder’s Post, the mouth of the cavern bottlenecked by gaudy and narrow stands seeking an advantageous position – the noise of each vendor coaxing and goading customers towards them was overwhelming, causing Ashton’s skin to itch. They drilled further into the cavern away from the noise, their head rang and rumbled from the echoes of its cacophony, a loud creak of a porthole opened from above.
“Are you dying down there, Aaron?” a voice spoke.
Marwa glanced down at them, a smug and knowing grin on her soot-stained face as she played along with their initial introductions.
“The usual” Ashton replied, tilting their head to the noise’s source “the front is getting worse.”
Marwa huffed in agreement “If you’ve got enough gold I can rent you a cannon, do us both a favour.”
Ashton let out a small laugh and lifted a coat pocket, allowing its contents to shimmer in her view. Marwa quietly nodded, mouthing an ‘oh...’ in understanding.
“Selling or just swiping?” she asked.
“Selling” they confirmed “you want?”
She thought about it, looking back and forth.
“Best not” she conceded “wouldn’t want to try and sell someone something you just stole from them, could get messy.”
Ashton sank and exaggerated a grumble “Shame. You’ve seen any stands that’ll do trade?”
Marwa leaned forward, eyes narrowed and grin widening.
“Might have...” she said coyly “But I won’t give it for free.”
They nodded, pulling out a gold coin from their back pocket and flicking it high in the air. The coin arched within reach of her thick gloves, captured within the clasp of her palm with a proud show of nonchalance.
She inspected the gold coin “There’s a Tortle holed up by a pillar not far from the exit, caravan and everything; their prices are so-so, but they don’t bullshit you like Advik does. It’s called...Ebb’s-something or other...”
She looked back down to Ashton “bit of a nice type really, maybe just bankrupt them a little?”
Ashton made a mock salute and walked away, leading to Marwa sarcastically shaking her head.
“Buy something next time!” she yelled, shutting the porthole to end their conversation.
They didn’t relish the idea of going back towards the noise, and they only just realised that they didn’t ask which pillar they would be looking for. They were down one gold already and only had half a lead – such is their luck.
A silver had sufficed at Yohaurag’s to tell them where this Tortle could be. After threading through some alleys and tunnels to obscure the noise, they found the pillar in question. If there was ever a visual definition for an ‘easy mark’, this was it; a slanted banner hung between the pillar and an invitingly open caravan, backed by a row of alleys and surrounded by enough open space that Ashton already felt second-hand embarrassment for its owner. A small number of curious locals hovered around the spread of goods on display, meaning that the owner had at least something worth selling, but something about it put Ashton on edge. It was easy, far too easy, but nobody was taking advantage of it?
We could clear this place out with our eyes closed...
Ashton had already imagined multiple approaches that would’ve handily absolved its owner of their inventory, each one shooting sparks from their head and hummed heat down to their stomach.
A wild shape would distract them easily, nice types would be putty in her hands; rabbits, cats, whatever that happy marsupial was...
Ashton had already mapped entry, exit, and escape if the owner was more than they let on; they got so fixated on the hypothetical heisting that they leaned and muttered to the right of them.
“We could use Mister or just disorient them from two sides, dealer’s choice. Anything we actually want we'll just steal from each other la-”
They stopped, remembering that they were standing alone, awkwardly and, given the self-muttering, suspiciously. The sparks and warm feeling were swallowed inside a fog sensation that numbed their body, the gravity of reality focused them.
You’re not here to steal, you’re here for coin.
Ashton straightened themselves to appear as presentable and unthreatening as they could manage, they lingered a little bit away from the customers at the front deliberating over an old calligraphy set. Their eye drifted at the painfully apparent placement of an open lockbox left unattended, their teeth bruxed as they battled their urges, the several devils on their broad shoulders begging them to just snatch and grab.
“I’m sorry, but I think we’re okay, maybe another time” they heard a customer say regrettably.
“Psssh, don’t worry ‘bout it. You’ll give me something to look forward to later!”
The Tortle glided across their desk to approach Ashton, a wide and sincere smile upon their face welcomed them and adjusted their neck to lower themselves a few inches below eye level.
“And doth my eyes see a Genasi. Hullo, hullo to you! Welcome to Ebb’s Something or Others.”
The corner of Ashton’s mouth couldn’t help but sneak a smile; not only because the stand was actually named that, but because as much as this guy fit the theme of an obviously oblivious seller, they were subtly a master of their craft. They hadn’t even said a word and yet they felt a creep of guilt for having considered stealing from them. Weaponized niceness, they had seen Orym, Dorian, and F.C.G. utilise it to defuse tension but not to this degree, it was a risky road to walk but weirder things have worked in their experience.
“You’re a cheery one” Ashton said, playing along with the rapport “I take it you’re Ebb?”
Ebb basked in a slightly less-humble introduction; Tortle age was often hard to tell by looking, but they held themselves like an adult with some experience – however, the last few months have given most people enough experience to last a lifetime. They wore a worn bowler hat wreathed by a collection of twigs, monocles, metal links, copper coins, and dead leaves, as if a bird had begun nesting there. Their fingers were short, stubby, and declawed, but wired gloves with prosthetic fingers at the tips compensated for its absence. Several necklaces sporting keys dangled from the bridge of where their shell made way for their neck, and a multi-tiered magnifying glass attached to a metallic arm had been lodged within a crook of their carapace over their shoulder. They pointed invitingly at Ashton.
“You’ve come out of curiosity, but you stay for a service.”
“So.” they said, placing their hand under their chin “How may I serve you today?”
This guy is good... Ashton thought, having to admire the charm offensive. But we’ve dealt with the best.
They scooped a handful of their haul out of their pocket, allowing it to dance and dangle in front of them before laying it flat on their desk.
“Ohhhhh!” Ebb cooed cheerily, gently separating the items with their prosthetic index while inspecting them under his magnifying glass “a customer and a tradesman!”
They frowned briefly, quick to correct themselves “trades person of course, not to assume...”
“Tradesman’s fine” they said, faintly sharpening their tone the closer they got to business. Both felt the shift of balance favour Ashton, encouraging them to take the lead.
“Make an offer?”
Ebb clicked their tongue in deliberation, their finger still circling around the edges of the bundle placed before them.
“I...suppose I could part with a purse or so” their voice carrying like a stretched chord
“I take it that this isn’t all of your uh, take of questionable origin?”
“Not everything needs to have an origin.” Ashton replied dismissively, taking the comment a little too personally “What matters is that it’s made its way here, and it can be yours – depending on what you put on the table.”
“I do have plenty of stuff on the table already” they said quietly, looking down to grab something by their feet “but I guess to be richer, I must first be poorer.”
Ashton steeled against the sympathy act. The friendly smile remained on Ebb’s face, but their eyes shifted with the wary respect of a man who had met their match. They procured a sizeable but empty sack – enough to cover their head had this been another line of work – laying it open and clear for Ashton to see, he turned to the lockbox and lifted the top tray. Their hand reached into unnatural depths, emptying smaller bags of gold into the large one. Ashton remained stoic, mentally counting how much they were getting; they noticed Ebb become reluctant with each bag they grabbed, pausing a little longer to see if they would take the amount already given.
“Are you only after coin?” they asked, nervous and visibly laboured. They gestured to the wares they had around their desk “Perhaps something of fancy can help balance the cost?”
Ashton stayed silent and focused, Ebb’s smile hanging by a thread.
“I have to leave some coin in here.” they confessed “Else what would I give for change?”
Ashton thought about it , this is their livelihood after all .
They broke their glance a second too late, hearing a heavy, defeated sigh from Ebb. They gleaned over the items; mostly trinkets and vials meant for mages and magic users, some fabrics were nice but not valuable enough to suggest as trade, Laudna would’ve taken them though. Their head buzzed when looking at the edges of the banner, highlighting a cascade of dangling pebbles tied into pairs.
“Those are Sending Stones, right?”
A glint in Ebb’s eye sparked the Tortle back to life, he shot upright joyfully.
“Y-yes! I have many!” their hands pawed blindly at the stones “nobody wanted them during the solstice but-”
They stopped again, composing themselves and taking a breath.
“Usually, I’d sell a pair for 350. But since we’re businessmen, I can value it at 325 – or slightly lower if you buy in bulk.”
Ashton grabbed what remained in their left pocket and added it to the table, silently opting for the latter. They hovered their volcanic pumice arm outstretched over the stand, wary not to accidentally stain it with charcoal marks.
“I’ll keep count” they said cooly.
Ashton had owned Sending Stones before, the one Orym used as almost a symbol of their connection with Dorian was initially theirs after all, and there was already one stashed in their inner coat pocket from the wizard called Widogast; who was more than happy to help them figure out the mess that swished in their now-third mind with Essek once things had calmed down – Ashton felt a little guilty that saving their life had left them in deep shit, he hadn’t had the chance to properly thank them for it either. It was a worthy investment, they had thought about it since they first reunited in Jrusar and, if Imogen’s telepathy doesn’t work – or worse if she is the one in danger, it’d help to have some other way to communicate. It didn’t have to be used only when there’s danger either; keeping tabs, jobs to collaborate on, shit to steal, it would be comforting to know they’re all reachable if they were needed.
They don’t pine; their mess is of their own making and their own burden to bear, but the best time of their life was with them, with her, and even though they all now have the chance to live their lives, a yearning had grown in their absence. The Nobodies would’ve called them out for thinking this way, but fuck ‘em: own it, life was best when those they cared for cared back.
Oblivious to all this internal thinking was Ebb, who had embarked on his own anecdote while stacking the stone pairs in their hand. Ashton hadn’t heard any of it by the time they retracted whatever question they asked.
“Sorry, sorry, no: don’t answer that.” they said, nervous and disappointed with themselves “awkward silences are like an itch, but I shouldn’t pry – it’s not good business.”
He continued stacking the stones into their rocky palm, deftly and tight knit to avoid a loss of space “Your stories are your own, if you don’t want to tell them that’s fair enough by me.”
A few moments passed of silent stacking, the set turning into a small hill on Ashton’s hand, Ebb paused as if hoping that would be enough, but Ashton merely tilted their head.
“There’s uh, hardly enough space left on your hand, sir”
Ashton didn’t respond, their eyes simply narrowed, causing Ebb to shrink a little. They swallowed and timidly started threading the strings holding sets between Ashton’s fingers, catching them in the creased ridges of their igneous flesh.
Ashton’s mind was elsewhere, however.
Upon the last thing they heard, they had urged themselves to give Ebb a small smile, to settle their discomfort, but their peripheral caught something that tilted their head and stole their focus. It was something unwelcome, sneaking in the shadowy dark.
Essek wasn’t the only one with eyes tracking them; the Kryn had approached them before to ‘explore and discern the nature of what lies within’, which would have been more inviting to them had they not learned of their refusal to help revive them – just as their refusal had led to their sacrifice in the first place. They were warned already how the Dynasty tend to keep tabs from afar; the Drow’s deep indigo skin blended with the darkness, but the flicker of their eyes had been caught in contrast before again engulfing themselves into hiding. Ashton didn’t like being stalked, or spied, or surveilled, and, as obvious as it was that the detection was intentional, they didn’t appreciate the reminder. They narrowed their eyes, scowling into the shadows where they expected the spy to see them, an unspoken but stern dialogue had been relayed through their expression:
I see you. I know you’re there. The answer’s still No. Back. The Fuck. Off.
Had their eyes been arrows, their stare would have pierced through the Spire. Their head crackled around the glass and gold edges in unison with the ripple that twinged under their skin – particularly in their stoked, outstretched arm. They could easily show them a fraction of what they could do; a Wormhole or a Hyper Rage, a Titanic figure imposing over them, enough just to increase the distance they had foolishly deemed safe from their reach, even without their hammer. Their vision focused and tunnelled into the alley, trying to distinguish the darkness into separated shades.
The more I see you, the farther you must go away.
They had forsaken the notions of time and space around them, and what little sense they claimed to have hung by a thread. With one step they could potentially have torn the cavern down, but a voice yanked them back into clarity.
“ Excuse me.”
Ashton’s return disoriented them for a moment, the venom and disdain in their voice was palpable. Their clouded eye could only make the smudge of a woman shorter than them; an amber scarf draped loosely over a beige dress, arms crossed but hands balled into a fist, and ears or horns pointed above their head, either with tufts or accessories at the tips, unless it was simply a blur from their poor vision. Their good eye completed the picture of a lynx-like Katari, beads hugged around her jaw threading her dark brown and speckled ruff, a relatively unthreatening figure had her yellowish-hazel eyes not been glaring with similar intensity that Ashton had just done from afar.
“Are you quite done?” she glared, subtly bearing her fangs.
Ashton looked back to Ebb, the Tortle visibly uncomfortable and intimidated by both figures opposite them. Their hand trembled from scorching, phantom pains, causing the obnoxiously large pile of Sending Stones both in their palm and dangling from their fingers to tap against one another. The tension around their face sank apologetically, inadvertent as it may be, they had once again alienated a decent person with their baggage – and had wasted valuable time in doing so. The glare of the Katari still scorned against their face like molten steel, they only needed another glance to confirm why; their hands had gripped tightly around a necklace, what little they could see noticed that it was weathered but well-kept, they could tell it was a holy symbol of some kind, and that meant she knew who they were.
“Yeah.” they said calmly, reaching for the bag of coins “I’m done.”
They pulled a handful of coins out of the larger bag and returned it the desk, nodding to Ebb, they pulled the bag’s drawstring and lifted it between their fingers, stuffing their emptied pocket with the sending stones as they turned away. A few steps after, they heard the woman audibly sneer at the vendor.
“You shouldn’t serve the likes of him... ”
A deep, aggressive part of Ashton threatened to breach; they could handle odium, the anathema was nothing new to them, and they had relished the idea of their ‘heroics’ being both inconvenient and obnoxious – but it riled them knowing that it wasn’t just directed at them. The rest of their extended family were of course thick skinned enough to take it, they had faced constant criticism from even their own allies near the end point of their adventures, but none of them deserved to be looked at like that. Fuck those who would look at them like that!
How dare we save her precious gods from the God Eater? How dare we stick our own necks on the line for them?
The anger failed to quell itself, looping in a cycle of frustration and aggression. They could barely resist the invitation to turn around and unleash on this woman who knew nothing about what happened, the sacrifices made for her prejudice.
Letters didn’t die so that people like her can act all high and mighty about a decision we were left to make, a decision the Gods agreed to! Did she kill Ludinus? Did she fight Predathos straight after? We all made choices, ours ended a fucking war and helped end however many years of slavery and fucked up shit they were doing on that moon!
They took a long, deep breath. Their hands had clenched so hard that the stone had cracked across their palm, glowing in bright reddish lava, both hands jittered and tremored from a combination of pain, anger, and concern. If one person pissed them off this much, a group or even a town could prove aggressive, and if they were regular people they all would hold back. They didn’t want to imagine the droves of aggrieved citizens chasing their friends out for saving them; trying to trip and kick Orym to the ground, breaking or vandalising whatever Chet or Braius had made, cutting Dorian’s strings and smashing his instruments, throwing holy water at Laudna and calling her a creep, accusing Imogen of conspiring with her mother and betraying everyone. Torn dresses, yanked hair, cruel and uncalled for yells of “Go back to where you came from”, each thought spiralled and strangled them internally. This isn’t what they died for.
You didn’t die for them though.
The thought settled them. No, that’s true, they didn’t. It wasn't for them; the Gods made their choice, and the Matron had conveniently omitted information about a key component as a final request, a request refused. There was no alternative, no backup plan, and they had fought harder than they had ever fought before. Predathos couldn’t be allowed to get out, not until it was done, and Imogen was tearing herself apart trying to keep it in. They didn’t die for Exandria, or Ruidus, its people or its Gods, they died for them ; their people, the ones they chose to protect and save throughout all of this, the ones stronger, greater, and brighter than they could ever be, the ones who stopped them falling, and were there when they came back – alive, and in her arms.
Calm swept over them, it was weird – they weren’t sure they liked it – but it was necessary. Neither the spy nor the critic was worth them making a scene over, they got what they came for, but there was still time and room to get more gold. They knotted the bag of coins tightly against their belt in a way that would muffle the sound of it jingling – a common rule for Jrusar and most places was to make sure nobody knew how much you were carrying – they sought to leave the area and make for the exit.
“I’m surprised you didn’t knock her out”
It was a voice they hadn’t heard for a while, and yet they knew exactly who it was. Prism Grimpoppy of the Cobalt Soul had attempted to lean casually against the wall for Ashton to see, but in their faltering focus they had walked right past her. Her pale face lit up when Ashton turned to face her, relieved to have been belatedly recognised.
“I’m sorry miss, I don’t have time for surveys today.” Ashton joked, turning to face her with a grin. They then opted for a softer tone.
“Hey Prism.”
“Hey Ashton” she said, rolling her eyes at their sarcasm.
“Fancy catching up? I know a place.”
---
When Prism said they ‘knew a place’ they expected a tavern, or at the least a bar. Instead, Prism had led them through networks of alleys towards the outside of the Spire, following various graffiti markings that navigated her like code. They stopped midway up a staircase hugging the edge of the Spire; they had a clear view of Jrusar and a nearby gondola service likely ported at the top of the steps. Prism lingered for a moment, waiting until a gondola ascending beside them was out of view, before inspecting the wall.
“Would you mind, uh” she gestured for them to push a loose piece of stone above them.
They obliged; the stone moved effortlessly and triggered a pressure pad; a seam appeared around the wall Prism was inspecting as she pushed with the full force of her body into it, the stone budged only an inch, but it was enough for her to wedge it marginally ajar. Warm, fragrant air burst out from the breach, revealing a small gap, Ashton reached with their remaining hand and pulled the stone door open the rest of the way. Prism huffed, begrudgingly thanking them for opening the door and allowing her to pass through.
Ashton had thought they’d seen most of Jrusar’s secrets, but this hidden place was entirely new to them. A narrow, spiral ramp led them to descend towards a small, artsy café. The decor was rustic but brimmed with the arcane; Dancing Lights and Faerie Fire lit the room in a rhythmic loop that passed over a fixture of painted crystals for a kaleidoscope shimmer, the air was hot from the steam of hot food and drinks rising towards the hollowed interior of the Spire. It was quiet, quaint, and unlike anything you would see in Jrusar outside of the top. They leaned behind Prism while they descended the ramp.
“How’d you find a place like this?”
Prism smiled, proud of herself “Trade secret. You’re not allowed to tell anyone about this place either – they have a strict visitors policy.”
I’ll bet they thought, fancy places like this tend not to stay nice for long – saturation and jealousy was a common downfall for many such establishments. Prism signed their names into an enchanted book by the entrance that called itself the ‘Clear Smoke Café’, the ink on her name glowed in familiarity while their name permeated the paper, returning in a paler, more pencilled-looking style, both their names had a small numeric symbol above it – Prism in the 20s, Ashton at 1.
They seated on a pair of tree stumps, Ashton could only imagine how quickly Chetney would have renovated them had he saw them, and a lumpy, metal garden table with built-in swirls for cups and plates to be placed on. Prism laid a thick stack of papers, topped with scrolls wrapped in black ribbons and purple embossed seals, and their suspiciously quiet sentient book Dynios beside her, handing Ashton a postcard-shaped menu.
Prism regaled them with her adventures since they last met in Jrusar; the ‘research mission’ with Deanna and F.R.I.D.A. at the Starpoint Observatory had yielded little information on Predathos, outside of the same book Imogen had discovered on her visit, but the library kept drawing her back in. Deanna and F.R.I.D.A. left on a skyship after the former visited the Dawnfather temple for a few days, Prism opted to remain in Jrusar, using her hat to pose as different disguises and ‘borrow’ more books.
“You little deviant, I’m impressed.” Ashton smiled, circling a glass of iced tea “So what? You just ended up being a student after that?”
Prism shifted, looking away and biting her lip.
“You got caught, didn’t you?”
“Mayyy-yes, I got caught” she confessed “one book too many...”
Ashton tutted sarcastically “You got cocky, happens to the best of us.”
Prism nodded in acceptance “After that, the Cobalt Soul found me. Thought I’d be kicked out for sure, but when they found out we were looking into Predathos they held back. Instead, I got 'grounded': put on scroll and scribe duty ‘til further notice.”
“S’that why your book is...?”
She glanced over to the dormant Dynios “Yeah. Special kind of Arcane Lock; I can still use it but, if I wake him, they know about it – and I have to write a whole report to justify why I did.”
“And you’re still an apprentice?”
“Yes.” She sighed solemnly “The streak continues.”
“The Duskmaven temple took me in and, after some time not stealing the books, the Observatory offered for me to join. The Soul pays my tuition so long as I keep up with their work, but now I can use the library whenever.” she tapped the table “This place is mainly for students as well.”
Ashton winced at the mention of the temple, reminded of Prism’s connection to the now-former goddess.
“You still stay at the temple?”
Prism pulled away from her mug in confusion “Imogen and Laudna didn’t tell you?”
Ashton shrugged, unaware that they had even interacted recently.
“I live with Zhudanna now, where they used to stay.” they explained “They gave me some tips when they last came here for taking care of her.”
“Huh...” Ashton squeaked.
“She took me in, and I love her to death, but she’s not quite all there” she said, pointing at her head for emphasis “she’s called me Laudna a few times, actually. I still go to the temple of course but, it’s closer here and honestly? I like the markets.”
Ashton nodded in understanding “You been to the Emporium?”
“I did!” she said enthusiastically “But it was shut down when I got there! Something to do with the owner being out, or away, or something? Guess the Spire's not big enough for the both of us.”
They shared a chuckle, pausing quietly for a moment to drink.
“So I guess you also know what happened with us and the Gods...” Ashton said nervously.
“I did.” she replied quietly, looking into her mug “The Archive’s got a whole space reserved for it...”
Ashton shuffled uncomfortably, not used to consoling people over God stuff.
“I, er, I didn’t like them, but...The Matron had our backs when we needed them. I respect that, so...I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” she said with a half-smile “they made a decision, I’m just sorry you had to die for it.”
“Don’t be.” Ashton repeated “My decision too.”
“Is that how...?” she pointed at her arm that was opposite their pumice one.
“Ah, no. Different decision, different fuck-up.” They looked at their arm regretfully, the memory of angry, hurt words echoing through their mind.
“I’m never listening to you again!”
They sighed, waving their hand “I got cocky...acts as a reminder though.”
“Happens to the best of us.” she said, repeating them from earlier.
She shrank a little further, bracing herself for her next question.
“I...I noticed that your little friend wasn’t there...Did he-?”
“Die? Yeah...”
“Sorry.”
Ashton downed the rest of their drink.
“You found your bag of dicks though? The one with Deni$e’s guy?”
“He kinda found us.” they said, turning their glass upside down “He lost someone too, but it was nice to have him back. He’s with Orym now, finally.”
Prism blinked, she looked a little saddened upon hearing that, but hastily buried it.
“And the other guy?” she lifted her hands to make right-angled horns over her head “The minotaur, is he also an old friend?”
“No, he’s new. Braius; pretty charming but also pretty desperate, good in a fight though. Think he’s becoming an artist now.”
They thought better about noting how Braius had formerly been aligned with the Lord of the Hells, or that they had technically betrayed them by stealing the Matron’s mask. The thought reminded them of their shared experience with Bor’dor, whose betrayal hit the majority of their group like a wrecking ball, Prism and Laudna particularly. They looked down at their glass, F.R.I.D.A.’s green coat reflecting against it.
“What about you?” they continued “You keep up with Deni$e or any the others?”
She rocked her head from side to side “I mean, kinda? I did a couple of Sendings, and I think she invited me to her wedding. Deanna and F.R.I.D.A. stopped responding not long after they left here, I heard from them about a week ago saying sorry, but not much else so far.”
She put on a cheery smile “But I made new friends around here too! Not just in the university, there’s a bunch of cool people here in Jrusar!”
"Present company included?”
“Present company included.”
Ashton laughed “Well, it’s good to know that I still count as a cool person in Jrusar.”
Another pause followed, a tray floated over to collect their empty glass and cup. Prism pulled out a small pack of cigarettes, offering one to Ashton; they reached their back pocket, briefly forgetting that they gave their pipe to Laudna, and shook their head. She took a couple of puffs from the cigarettes, emitting a cleaner, fruity-smelling smoke that had likely been enchanted, her neck tensed from holding back a cough, almost cartoonishly releasing the smoke from her flared nostrils. She wiped her face and leaned forward.
“Can I ask you something?” she said directly, not waiting for an answer “Why’re you here on your own?”
Ashton’s brow furrowed, surprised by the source of such a question.
“I mean, I know I haven’t known you for long, but you seemed pretty adamant to get back to your friends. I just thought after everything was done, you’d be with them?”
It was a fair question; in their ideal scenario they would all still be together, seeking the next adventure and discovery – this time on their own terms, unburdened by world-ending fuckery. But their life was never ideal, and everyone did need a break from the aforementioned fuckery to figure out what they wanted.
“Can I come with you?”
“They, went back to their homes” they mustered “have a rest and such.”
“And, Jrusar’s home to you?” They aske-
“No.” They responded without even taking breath, the refute was so reflexive that Ashton had to pause and ponder it.
Jrusar wasn’t the worst place they lived in, anything was better than Bassuras, and they could see how people could be drawn to this place. But it wasn’t home to them, it was just a place that felt familiar and had someone that could take them in for a while – although, after today, they had overstretched the limit of such a courtesy.
You didn’t explain to Milo, maybe explain here?
They took the words into consideration.
“I’m...waiting.” they started, labouring themselves into honesty.
Prism tilted her head “Waiting?” smoke escaping from her mouth as she spoke.
“Yeah...” they nodded, beginning to fidget “There’s an answer, and I’ll have to accept and live with whatever it is, but...I said I’d wait – and this was the last place they saw me so, here I stay.”
They tensed, shrinking themselves as small as they could while seated on this wooden stump, Prism’s eyes read them like an open book, then widened brightly.
“Oh!” she whispered excitedly, leaning so far forward that her Cobalt Soul pin skimmed the table “How long’s it been?”
“Too long...” they admitted “but also not yet time. My-uh, the person I was crashing with kicked me out for lingering and not taking any long-term jobs here or outside the city.”
“Guessing they didn’t know?”
Ashton shook their head “You’re the first I’ve told.”
She leaned back upright, silently honoured “So, at the market, is all that for lodging or-?”
“Nah, I’ll manage with that.” They said, once again putting that predicament aside “S’more of a goodbye present, I owe them a lot, plus they’re upgrading my hammer.”
“I thought you were missing something!”
Ashton looked at her perplexed “It’s a giant fucking hammer! How do you miss that?”
Prism continued to prod, refusing to change the subject “So when you get this answer, you’ll go...where?”
Ashton thought for a moment
“Not sure. Depends where they want to go – if they want to go, that is. I wanna explore, see all the shit that’s out there, and getting paid to do it would be great. But...I also’d like to just, be out there with them; out on some adventure or staying in a place for longer than we had the chance to last time. Just... whatever we feel like, I guess.”
Prism nodded, hesitant to press on another question.
“This person you’re waiting for” her tone gradually softening and quietening “It’s, the Fey one, right?”
Ashton looked at her astonished, she had only met her once after all. How did she know? Were they that transparent?
They nodded in confirmation.
“Fearne.”
Even saying her name swept them with overflowing emotions; joy, comfort, excitement, but also regret, embarrassment, and anxiety. The rush made them feel soft and light, picturing memories of her that they had cherished or condemned. At this moment, the positives outweighed the negative.
They blinked at Prism, wary of how often they had fell into trances today.
“How did you-?”
“I had my suspicions” she admitted “Issylra was mostly a shit show, and we all had to carry it back here once you met up with your friends.”
Ashton nodded along in agreement.
“But” she continued, pretending to hold something small between her thumb and finger “when she took that ring off your finger, you changed: it went away, even if it was just for a moment.”
She retreated a little, giving Ashton an aloof shrug “I guess I just, caught a vibe.”
That is, one way to describe it I guess...
Ashton felt relieved but weighted at the same time, everything often a curious paradox – especially with her. They clutched their jacket, looking down to see their leg unconsciously bouncing – they placed a hand to stop it. Their palm accidentally cupped a pocket with a small bag of dried mushrooms in it – stolen from that snarky, pink-haired Firbolg back at the Wizard’s Tower. Another promise made, another promise jeopardized with imminent death.
“I’ve fucked up a bit since then...” they said, sinking. “After everything that’s happened, I’m not even sure if she-”
They didn’t finish the sentence; they didn’t even want to finish the thought. They composed themselves once more with a long, reserved breath.
“She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”
“She’ll tell you when she’s ready.” Prism repeated, hoping to reassure them.
The tension and conversation were broken by a small, magical pocket watch appearing between them, bouncing and ticking impatiently.
“Guess that’s our cue” Prism said defeatedly.
The two got up from their chairs as the watch rotated to show a receipt and a coin slot. They paid their slightly-above expected share into the device until it popped out of existence, Ashton dropped a few silver coins onto a moving tray as they prepared to exit. Prism twisted a disc to complete a glyph puzzle, pulsing a wave of detection across the wall. No figures were opposite the entrance, only a couple of auras were climbing up the steps on the far-left edge of the spell’s range.
“Looks like we’re all good.” Prism said, dissolving what remained of their cigarette through magic “I’m meeting someone in a bit about some scrolls, so I have to head out with Mother.”
Ashton nodded silently, opening the door for her again.
She tapped their shoulder as softly as they could in passing “It was nice seeing you again Ashton, truly.”
Ashton took a moment to properly shut the door; the sound of Prism’s raven familiar being summoned caused them to react.
“Before you go.” they said, raising their voice a little so they’d hear.
Prism turned in time to barely respond to what was thrown towards her, catching it in both hands with a clap. She opened to find a Sending Stone, looking up at Ashton in gratitude.
“Really?” she said brightly.
“If you need pointers for not getting caught next time” they joked.
Prism scoffed, stuffing the stone into her bag “I’ll think about it. And if you’re ever after work I can always suggest you to the Cobalt Soul – there are still some high-level prisoners out there who escaped during the solstice.”
“Sounds like fun.” they smirked “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Prism hopped off the ledge as the enlarged Mother carried her away, Ashton quickly scratched her name into the paired stone they had given her to keep track.
Where next? They thought, remembering the gondola up above. They had less time, but in this instance, it was time well spent.