Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #23: The King Of Pain]

Log Date: 9/25/12764

Data Sources: Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Envy: Secondary Parlor Room

2:22pm SGT

“…and as I understand it, Lucifer has tapped a hypernatural to perform at the next Congress. So it seems like it will be more of an event than the other Congresses have been.” I say, dropping another sugar cube into my teacup.

Envy’s hollow green eyes follow my fingers as I reach for another sugar cube. “Would that I had your insight into the Ninth Circle. I was not aware that we were inviting outside hypernaturals to perform.” She unlaces her fingers, reaching for her teacup and taking a sip from it. “I don’t imagine it will be Valcalia.”

“Heavens, no.” I scoff, lowering the sugar cube in and reaching for another. “She may be Rantecevang’s goddess of music but she wouldn’t sully her reputation by performing for one of the hells. My guess is that it will be Wicked Wolf. From what I understand of her, she likes the appearance of misbehavior.”

“Only the appearance?” Envy says, raising a thin black eyebrow.

“The actuality of impropriety is not the same as the appearance. There are… shades of bad behavior, and there is a sweet spot on the spectrum where one can have the appearance of rebelliousness against the establishment without actually being in conflict with it.” I explain, tucking another sugar cube in, and studying the tea before deciding it needs one more sugar cube.

“Just as there is a sweet spot, so to speak, for how many sugar cubes should go into a cup of tea before it becomes sugar water.” Envy observes.

I give her a cold smile. “You know I hate tea.”

She smiles in return. “I do.”

“Then you will not object to the measures I am taking to make it more palatable.” I say, dropping the last sugar cube in the cup and picking it up.

“Five sugar cubes is a bit excessive.”

“Don’t let Greed hear you. You’d break his heart with such asceticism.” I say, sipping from the teacup. “As I was saying, Wicked Wolf, and many others besides, only entertain the appearance of misbehavior. They do not wish to fully yield up the benefits of the establishment, but at the same time they need a way to differentiate themselves from the crowd in order to stand out, to capitalize, to survive. And so a little light misbehavior here and there scratches that itch, and cultivates the image of the rebel, the maverick. Someone that flaunts the order and resists the system. A little concert in hell fits neatly into that column — a brief moment of kinship and catering to the outcasts and the damned, of gracing them with something that other gods would typically withhold from them. But it’s only a brief moment, because lingering too long may result in the actuality of misbehavior, rather than simply the appearance.”

Envy smirks. “There is no impropriety for being associated with hell. We are part of afterlife’s system of justice; the work we do is dirty and unpalatable, but necessary.”

“In principle? Of course not. The hells are perfectly proper; they exist for a reason and without us, the universe would be an awfully unfair place.” I concur after another sip. “But we are sullied by our proximity to the work. We are waste workers, trashmen — the regard we receive is diminished due to the nature of the work. The work is necessary, but it does not mean people want to be near it or associated with it.”

“My point is that the assumption that association with hell implies the actuality of misbehavior is, itself, an illusion.” Envy reasons, leaning back in her armchair. “There is nothing improper about our work. That other supernatural creatures should associate with us as a way to burnish their rebel credentials is the height of unintentional parody. They wish to thumb it to the system; do they not realize we are the system?”

“Perhaps they are too steeped in the old fable of heaven and hell being pitted against each other.” I shrug, sipping from my tea again. “It’s a myth that runs rampant among mortals, and could very well bleed into the perceptions of immortals. I will admit that even I think of myself as the villain sometimes. You certainly feel it, when you are surrounded by the scum of the univer—”

A loud thump from the ceiling interrupts me, and both of us glance upwards. It sounds like someone fell hard, and is staggering back to their feet. As the sound starts to get quieter, I lower my gaze and start to pick up where I left off, only to be interrupted by a muffled scream and the sound of glass breaking as something heavy is thrown across the room above. It’s followed up by another raw scream and the sound of several objects being swept off a surface and onto the floor.

I glance back down at Envy. “Is that one of yours, or one of mine?”

She smiles behind her teacup, and I already know, from the playful tint in her eyes, that she knows exactly what’s going on upstairs. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” She lifts a hand, the door to the parlor opening. “Danya dear, would you mind going upstairs and seeing what that unholy racket is?”

Danya, standing at attention just outside the door, glances to me. I give her a faint nod, and she turns, marching off down the hall. Turning back to Envy, I stare at her as we listen to the raging upstairs, which sounds like it involves a fair amount of property damage punctuated with intermittent screaming. Neither of us speak, simply staring each other down and listening as Danya’s high heels make their way up the stairs, down the hall, and to the room overhead.

“Jayta! Graves of the gods, what has gotten into you, child—”

Danya’s cut off by a scream, which I now recognize as Jayta’s, followed by something heavy being chucked across the room. Envy straightens out a crease in her black turtleneck, then sips from her tea as the racket continues.

“Are you out of your everloving mind? Get yourself under con— HEY! Are you listening to me, young lady? Don’t you dare! If you throw another one of those candlesticks at me—”

There’s a loud thud as I study my tea, then go back to glaring at Envy.

“Oh, NOW you’re in for it, you little hussy! You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ at the rate you’re going! Get your skinny little ass over here, I’m going to have you cleaning toilets for a month straight! Wait, what are— NO. Put that shotgun down. I swear to Satan if you point that thing at me, young woman—”

There’s the sound of brief scuffle, punctuated by loud plasma blast exploding through the ceiling above. It’s followed by an avalanche of drywall, timbers, insulation, and dust as Jayta and Danya fall through, landing with a cacophony on the floor next to where Envy and I are sitting. Jayta is already getting back to her feet, fumbling with her shotgun, and Danya, still lying on the floor, notices it at the last second, activating her wristmarks and throwing out her chains to wrap around the muzzle, yanking it down as Jayta pulls the trigger. It blows another hole in the floor, which promptly collapses beneath both of them under their weight and the weight of the debris around them.

I sigh and set my teacup back in its saucer as the debris finishes clunking to the floor below, where the fight picks up again, Danya shouting at Jayta the whole time while Jayta just screams back at her wordlessly. Envy takes a sip from her teacup, still smiling.

“Really?” I ask her, letting the single word carry all the exasperation I’m feeling right now.

Envy shrugs as a plasma blast punches through the floor beside her chair. “The staff warned her not to venture into that room or look in the mirrors. Your pet does not seem to be very good at following orders.”

“She only knew about it because your people pointed it out to her in the first place.” I counter tersely. “I might even venture to say that you deliberately warned her about it in an effort to pique her curiosity.”

“Regret, please.” Envy demurs. “That just sounds like an excuse for your avenger having poor impulse control.”

“Knowing that she has poor impulse control is not a reason to prey on it.” I reply tartly, setting both teacup and saucer to the side as there’s another crash from below. “I am simply surprised you are willing to allow this level of property damage for the sake of needling me.”

Envy takes another sip from her tea. “I’m simply trying to bring to your attention the various and sundry flaws that your pet project has.”

“Believe me, I am perfectly aware.” I mutter, standing up and starting to button my vest. In my head, I locate the thread that ties Jayta to me, and follow it down to the end where I intend to assert dominion and keep her from damaging more of the House, or Danya.

But when I come to the end and reach her mind, I’m immediately hit with an overpowering profusion of rage, envy, grievance, and jealousy, so strong that I have to reach out and steady myself on the back of the armchair as I quickly retreat from her headspace. I shake my head, trying to clear the lingering emotions that had seeped over in that brief moment.

“Is something the matter?” Envy asks innocently.

I narrow my eyes at her. “What have you done to her?”

“Me? Nothing.” Envy says, feigning bafflement with an expressive shrug. “It’s not my fault she went snooping in the room containing the artifacts that remind you of the people and things that you envy. The staff told her to stay out for a reason.”

I shake my head. “You certainly enjoy your games, don’t you.” I say, grabbing my coat off the back of the chair and starting to pull it on. Downstairs, there’s the muted sound of another shotgun blast.

“Well, you have to keep it interesting somehow.” Envy says, setting her teacup and saucer aside. “A little drama or intrigue goes a long way towards spicing things up.”

“I would’ve thought that the Great Realignment would’ve provided plenty in the way of entertainment. It hasn’t even been two weeks; are you already bored of your new House?” I say as I finish pulling my coat on. “I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself now, and I will be very cross if you’ve done any permanent damage to my avenger.”

Envy stands up, making her way over. “Well, if you must. But it was nice having you over and getting to chat with you. Let’s do this sometime soon again, mm? Maybe next time you’ll think twice about bringing your pet with you.” Reaching up, she trails her fingers along my chest. “And don’t be so mad about the game. All work and no play makes a demon Lord a dull boy, after all.”

I scoff at that, heading for the door. “Careful. With lines like those, Lust might think you’re gunning for her seat in the next election.”

“Well, I do miss the privileges of being a Greater Lord…” Envy muses, folding her arms as I leave.

I don’t reply to that, picking up speed as I step out into the hall. It’s easy to track Jayta and Danya because the two are still making a spectacular racket; I’m presuming, based on the fact that nobody’s stopped them, that Envy has ordered her staff not to intervene. While she might call it a game, it seemed like there was a very real chance that the two might kill each other.

Which was… well, to Envy, and almost every other Lord, it was probably amusing, and did qualify as a game to them. In fact, if it was me, getting another Lord’s lieutenant and avenger to set upon each other, I would certainly find it amusing. So I understand where Envy is coming from.

It’s just what Sjelefengsel does to you when you’ve been here too long.

Reaching the kitchen, I find that Danya and Jayta are wrestling over the shotgun, while the kitchen staff have all hurried to get out of the way, but not interfere. Coming up behind Jayta, I call to Danya. “I’ll take it from here, Danya. You can go get the limo sta—”

I don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence, because as soon as Danya’s distracted, Jayta yanks the shotgun from her, whirls around, and nails me right across the face with the gun’s stock.

I honestly didn’t see it coming, and it hits me so hard it just about knocks me off my feet. My head whips to the side; I think I can feel my cheekbone crack; and I’m thrown against the counter, my feet slipping on the tiled floor as I brace an elbow and a hand against the counter’s edge. Little sprinkles of light pop in and out of my vision as I take a second to get my bearings back and support myself on the counter. When I look at Jayta again, Danya’s got her chains wrapped around Jayta’s arms, keeping the shotgun angled up in the air and away from me while she tries to restrain her from behind. Jayta’s eyes, instead of the usual granite-grey, are fevered, the irises filled with green iridescence.

“Son of a bitch!” I exclaim after a dumbfounded moment, still shocked that she had the nerve to go after me like that. “That hurt!”

“Think she came in contact with a cursed artifact because she’s got no fear response.” Danya grunts, trying to reel Jayta in. “If she’s so scrambled that she’ll attack you, of all people, she’ll attack anything.”

“Dear Dreamkeepers.” I mutter, touching a hand to the side of my face and wincing. That’s undoubtedly going a bruise later. “That’s the first time someone’s hit me that hard in over a century.”

“My Lord, if you could help—” Danya hisses through gritted teeth as Jayta pulls the shotgun’s trigger, blowing out a portion of the ceiling and sending burning dust and plaster raining down on my shoulder. It looks like she’s straining against Danya’s chains to get the shotgun low enough to point it at me. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” I say, moving forward. Pushing the shotgun’s muzzle to the side, I grab Jayta’s face, pressing a thumb to her forehead. “Sleep.”

Jayta lets go of the shotgun, grabbing my arm as she grits her teeth at me. I can feel her fighting the somnatic impulse that I’m feeding into her body as her hands try to crush my arm; even through my jacket sleeve, I can feel how tightly she’s gripping me. Furrowing my brow, I press my thumb harder into her forehead, ramping up the power. “I told you to go to sleep.”

Jayta’s teeth grind together as she keeps fighting it, but I can feel her grip on my arm loosening, and she goes slack all at once, overwhelmed by the strain of fighting the imposed slumber. She slumps to the ground, out cold, and I take a deep breath, dropping my arm. Danya relaxes as well, bracing herself on the counter and catching her breath.

“My Lord, next time I’m just going to take a frying pan to the back of her head.” Danya pants. “This was supposed to be a social visit. I did not come dressed for dealing with a screaming murder gremlin, and now this outfit is ruined.”

“Yes, quite.” I mutter, trying to brush the plaster dust off the shoulder of my coat, and only succeed in smearing it. “This coat will need to see the dry cleaner’s, but we have more important things to worry about right now.” I wave a hand, Jayta’s body lifting off the floor and floating in the air. “Go start up the limo. Envy will not tell me how Jayta’s been afflicted, so we need to get home so I can work on fixing whatever’s been done to her.”

“Understood. Will do.” Danya says, turning and starting to limp off. I give her a few seconds’ head start, then start to make my way out of the kitchen, an unconscious Jayta floating along behind me.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

7:30pm SGT

“You ruined my life; you took everything from me! I’m gonna rip you to PIECES!”

“I thought we were past this part of the acclimation process.” Danya growls through gritted teeth as she keeps Jayta pinned down by the shoulders, while I secure the straps keeping her arms clamped to the table. We’re in my study, which I would be enjoying more with its new modern aesthetic, were it not for the fact that we’ve spent the last three hours trying to break Jayta out of whatever berserk mode she seems to be hardstuck in.

“Yes, well, she seems to have regressed.” I mutter, securing the other clamp around her arm. “I know she still resents me for how I manipulated her, but it was far diminished, and more or less absent for the last six months or so. I’m not sure why it’s suddenly made a return.”

“Well, we need to figure it out, because this cannot continue.” Danya says, taking her hands off Jayta once she’s restrained again. Jayta keeps straining and wrenching at the straps, trying to get free. “In the state she’s in, she’s going to murder us all in our sleep if we don’t keep her locked down. And she’s going to hurt herself if she keeps struggling this violently.”

“We’ll sedate her for now.” I say, closing my eyes and holding out my hand to one side as I extend my awareness through the House, seeking out the sick room. Once I find it, I thumb through the various and sundry bottles within its cabinets until I find the vial of oversteeped drowse that I’d accidentally produced during the last Valentin’s Day. Bridging the point between the sick room and my study, I catch the vial as it falls out of the air, and start unscrewing the dropper lid. “Can you hold her head still?”

“I’ll try, so long as she doesn’t try to bite me.” Danya says, moving around to the end of the table to grab Jayta’s head and try to keep her still. “Don’t make this hard for us, Jayta—”

“You took everything from me!” she seethes, going into a fresh fit of thrashing. “You stole my life, my future, my friends, and you made me your slave, you sick bastard! I would’ve been happy if you just left me alo—hhghck!”

A single drop of narcolepsy landing in her mouth abruptly cuts off her screeching, prompting her to recoil and try to spit it out. But I don’t even need it to go down, and didn’t even really need her to ingest it; skin contact would’ve been enough, it’s just that oral intake has a faster time to effect. Within ten seconds, her eyes have fluttered closed and she’s gone still, dropping into an unplanned slumber. I let out a sigh, lowering the dropper now that I’m sure I won’t need to administer a second dose, and start screwing the vial shut once again.

Danya takes her hands off Jayta’s head, hitching them on her hips instead as she looks at me. “Far be it from me to offer counsel unsolicited, but if I were you, I would be on the phone chewing Envy’s head off and telling her to come fix this.”

“As tempting as it is, it would be fruitless.” I say, tucking the vial of narcolepsy into my vest pocket. “She would play coy; I know her. I simply cannot fathom why the sudden change in the games she plays during our social visits. Prior to this, she would always needle me, but she at least exercised restraint in that she would leave my subordinates alone. This is a sudden departure from that pattern.”

Danya gives me a look.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “You have something to say?”

“Merely that you and lead have something in common.” Danya says, shaking her head and motioning to Jayta. “What are we going to do about this? You’ve told me you cannot get into her head to fix it manually, and none of your Dreaming draughts are doing the trick.”

“I somewhat know what the problem is; she’s stuck in an emotional loop. The problem is that I don’t know how to break her out of it.” I exhale, running a hand through my hair, then gesturing back to my draught table across the room, holding all my brewing equipment and the array of distilled emotions I’ve collected. “I thought it would be easy; after all, I have most emotions known to mortals in my inventory. We’ve tried calm — she just burned it off after fifteen minutes. We’ve tried happiness — she rejected it outright. We’ve tried nostalgia — it just made it even worse. We’ve even tried to shock her out of it with a joy overdose. But nothing is sticking; it just puts the loop on pause, instead of breaking it outright.”

“Well, if we can’t fix it, we need to make a call. To the person that caused the problem in the first place.” Danya reiterates. “We can’t be wasting time playing doctor. You are the Lord of Regret. We have a House to run. I’ve already fallen behind on my paperwork for today because we’ve spent the last three hours trying to clean up this mess that Envy’s made. I know you don’t want to because you know she’s going to play games with you, but you should make the call, my Lord.”

I draw my lips tight. “I’ll make a call, but it won’t be to Envy. She’s just going to run me in circles. If I’m going to make a call, it’s going to be to someone that will actually help.” Turning about, I head towards my desk, which is now an L-shaped glasstop that can double as a screen, instead of the austere mahogany affair that it was in the old House. “You are dismissed; you can go tend to your duties. I can watch Jayta; if she wakes up screaming and thrashing, I’ll just hit her with another dose of narcolepsy. It should keep her down long enough for me to arrange a house visit from someone that’s got some experience with these sorts of things.”

“Very well.” Danya huffs, picking at the runs and tears in her dress that she acquired during her fight with Jayta. “I’m going to go get cleaned up. If you need me, let me know.”

With that, she stalks back towards the door of the study, collecting her heels as she goes. The door slides open for her, then shuts behind her as I sit heavily in my swiveling chair behind my desk. After a moment of staring at the unanswered reports and emails piling up on the glasstop and the holoscreens that are hovering above it, I glance past them to the table where Jayta’s out cold. For now, at least.

Reaching forward, I open up my contacts on the glasstop, and go to the family folder. Scrolling down the list, I find the one I’m looking for, and hit the call button. As another holoscreen pops up over my desk, I lean back in my chair and wait through the ringing. When I hear the line pick up, I take a deep breath.

“Miqo? Can you hear me?… yes, it’s Raikaron…”

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Main Foyer

10:40pm SGT

“What has gotten into you three? All three of you should be in bed by now.”

I can hear Danya’s voice as I come down the stairs, rounding the bend into the main foyer. Trinity is standing in front of the main door, each of them in their pajamas, staring intently at it as if they were waiting. One of them looks towards Danya, who is in her nightrobe off to the side, hair down and still damp from a shower.

“We will have a guest.”

“Yes, a guest.”

“We are waiting for a guest.”

Danya looks at me as I arrive in the foyer. “Were you aware that we would to have a guest at this time of night, my Lord?”

“Yes. She would’ve come sooner, but she had to find someone to cover the Cafe in her absence.” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets. “She agreed to help with Jayta.”

“Ah. Well, if anyone can, it would be her.” Danya says, folding her arms. “I’d offer to have the kitchen make something up for her, but I doubt anything we have to offer would impress someone that’s been running a cafe for the last aeon.”

Trinity starts bobbing their heads up and down, rocking on their talon’d feet while the white feathers in their hair fluff up in excitement. They let out little chirping sounds, until the knock sounds at the door, and then start jumping up and down.

“She’s here!”

“She’s here!”

“Quick, open the door!”

The one on the right darts forward and taps the panel beside the door, which splits open to reveal a red panda Halfie with long white hair, curled at the ends, dressed in an uneven diagonal-cut skirt and a tasseled shawl. Her face immediately breaks into a smile when she sees us standing inside, and Trinity hops out around her, crowing and chirping.

“Granny Miqo! Granny Miqo!”

“Did you bring us treats?”

“Your tail is so fluffy!”

“Hallo girls, yes, yes, I’m happy to see you too!” Miqo says, moving into the House and patting Trinity on each of their heads as they orbit around her. Danya reaches out and taps the panel, the doors closing once more. “Yes, my tail’s very fluffy, my winter coat is coming in. It’ll soon be snowing in Forgotten. No treats this time, this is a work visit. There will be treats next time your father brings you by the Neko.”

“Boundaries, girls.” I reprimand them softly. “Leave Miqo’s tail alone. It’s rude to touch someone’s tail without permission.”

“But it’s FLUFFY!” one of them hisses at me.

“Treats next time.” the second one says, pulling the first one away from Miqo’s tail.

“We will behave for treats.” the third one says, bouncing away.

“Danya, you’re looking well.” Miqo says, reaching out to shake Danya’s hand. “I apologize for how late this is, but I understand it was an urgent matter. Don’t worry about pulling out the tea set or doing any hosting, you can keep winding down for the night. I’ll see myself out once the matter’s been handled.”

Danya gives one of her rare smiles, inclining her head to Miqo. “I appreciate it, Lady Miqo. Please, make yourself at home. You are always welcome here.”

With that, Miqo steps around one of Trinity and up to me, giving me a hug. Despite the ‘granny’ appellation from Trinity, Miqo is not old in any physical sense; she is clearly young, strong, and adroit, with her hug being firm and certain, and her fur healthy and in good condition. After all, she is a creature of the Dreaming like myself, and we are disinclined to show our age through our vessels.

She gives me a nuzzle — the Halfie equivalent of a kiss on the cheek reserved for greeting family members — then steps back, although she keeps her hands planted on my arms. “Raikaron dear, it’s good to see you.” she says, her dark teal eyes sizing me up, as if searching for any changes since the last time we’d met in person. “You look different! A little warmer?”

I blink at that, not quite sure what she means by it. “Warmer?”

“Warmer. There’s more of a glow.” she explains. “Like giving off heat. You know, like affection, or filial love? I know you’ve seen it before, you can see emotions just like the rest of the family.”

“That part of my sight has diminished somewhat since I’ve been employed in Sjelefengsel.” I admit. “Willfully, on my part. There are an overabundance of harsh colors down here. Though I’m not sure what you mean by ‘warmer’; I am much the same as I was when we last met.”

“Warm, like a fire.” Trinity chimes as Danya starts shooing them out of the foyer.

“Warm, like an icy heart melting in the spring.” chirps the second one on her way past.

“Warm, like young hands which pick a forbidden fruit.” teases the third as she bounces along after the others.

“Girls.” I warn them sharply, then turn back to Miqo, rubbing my brow. “Sorry about that, they’ve been more… saucy lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

Miqo’s eyes flick back and forth between me and Trinity as she departs. “…yes. Very curious. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” She lifts her arm, and I can now see the lidded wicker basket that was shrouded beneath her shawl. “Shall we go take a look at this afflicted employee of yours?”

“Ah, yes. Please.” I say, motioning to the stairs before proceeding in that direction. “It’s been a rather baffling case, and the demon Lord responsible for it will not disclose the exact mechanism of the affliction. However, I have some idea of what the issue is; in the time since I’ve called you, I was able to run some preliminary arcane scans on her and found that she came away from her experience with a supercharged obsessive impulse, which I think would normally wear off on its own. However, it’s created a closed emotional loop that I think is feeding back into itself, and is recharging the unnatural obsession every time it cycles. The solution, I think, is easy — you just have to break the loop. The problem is—”

“Nothing you’ve tried so far has broken the loop.” Miqo deduces as we venture up the stairs.

“Yes. I cannot break the loop.” I confirm, taking a hand out of my pocket and motioning as we go. “I dug through my library, found a few counterspells for the impulse and tried those, but none of them worked because the obsession is too strong. The loop is feeding it, making it more powerful than it would otherwise would be.”

“Is the loop artificial or natural?” Miqo asks as we arrive to the third floor.

“It’s natural.” I exclaim as we start down the curving hall, headed to my study. “That’s part of the problem. Because the loop is natural and not artificial, you can’t counterspell the loop because there’s nothing to counterspell; there’s no magical framework holding it together. It is entirely natural. And the impulse just gives it a kick every now and then to keep it going. So you have to counterspell the impulse, because that is artificially amplified. But with the loop feeding it, the obsessive impulse is too strong to be dispelled by a generalized counter. I would need to research something more targeted, but that would take time away from my other responsibilities, and I would have to keep her slumbered while I did so.”

“And you told me that you tried to break her out of it using Dreaming draughts.” Miqo says, stepping into the study as I hold the door open for her.

“Well, not full draughts, because those take time and precision to brew.” I concede, stepping in behind her and closing the door. “But I have tried dosing her with different emotions — joy, calm, nostalgia, happiness — to see if those will break the loop. But it hasn’t worked. They disrupt the loop for a little bit, but it eventually goes back to cycling.”

“Mm. I think I know what the problem is, then, but let me check on a couple of things first just to make sure I’m right.” Miqo says, walking across the study to the table by the wall that holds Jayta, who’s still asleep from the dose of narcolepsy I gave her. “Oh my, look at her. She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Such a shame you have to keep her strapped down like this.”

“She looks calm now, but trust me, when she is awake and foaming at the mouth, she is far less precious.” I say, heading over to the recessed groove between the bookshelves. The groove runs the length of the curved wall, and I snap my fingers within it; blue flames ignite and race through the rest of the groove, providing the room with a gentle warmth and a soft blue tint. “Until we can get her sorted out, she has to stay restrained, for everyone else’s safety.”

“Well yes, I assumed you had a reason for restraining her like this.” Miqo says, gently taking a lock of Jayta’s hair and moving it out of her face. “But when she’s calm like this, it looks like she really is a fine young lady. I can only imagine what she’s like when she’s herself and not trapped in a murderous rage.”

“Admittedly, she is a good deal more attractive when she’s not trying to blow my head off with a plasma shotgun.” I mutter, crossing the study to light the groove on the other wall in the same way I’d lit the first one.

“You mean to tell me you don’t find a murderous mate exciting?” Miqo teases, setting down her wicker basket. “I jest. Your forbearers were unique in that regard.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the stories of Solebarr and Kastril’s violent courtship.” I say, making my way back over to the table. “Thrilling in the telling, no doubt, but in reality, a murderous suitor rather puts a damper on things. For most of us, anyway; it clearly wasn’t an issue for my ancestors.”

“Yes, well. In their defense, Solebarr and Kastril were not what you’d call ‘well-adjusted’ in their early years. They still made it work, though.” Miqo says, her black-furred hands gracing either side of Jayta’s head.

“I’d also like to state, just for the record, that I am not courting her.” I add quickly, motioning to Jayta. “Just for the sake of clarity. My aversion to her trying to murder me and the rest of the House has nothing to do with sentiment; it’s strictly practical in nature.”

“If you insist, dear. I’m just saying, this is the first time you’ve called me to Sjelefengsel to fix one of your subordinates, so she must be very important to you. More so than even Danya.”

“Strictly practical.” I repeat firmly, tucking my hand back in my pocket. “She made it quite clear several months ago that she has no interest in a demon Lord. Cruel and terrible things are we, paragons of vice and all that, and she could never love someone like that.”

“Really? Seems rather shallow to me.” Miqo remarks as lines of dim teal light start to work their way across Jayta’s skin, spreading away from Miqo’s hands. “You haven’t been too hard on her, have you?”

I give an equivocating shrug. “I may have incited her to murder a romantic rival, then sealed her into a demonic contract in my service as a way to escape the consequences of her actions…”

Miqo gives me a flat, sidelong look.

“I’m a Syntaritov! This is what we do!” I protest, shrugging more aggressively.

“Well then, perhaps you should not be so surprised she is not too fond of you.” Miqo says, taking her hands away from Jayta as the lines converge on her forehead, and join together, starting to form iridescent bubbles that drift into the air. “You goaded her into committing one of the worst crimes there is, then trapped her in your service as a demon. I would be hard-pressed to love a man that had done that to me.”

I roll my eyes. “She was wasting away her life and potential in foodservice, with an uncompleted college degree in science. You should’ve seen how miserable she was when I happened upon her.”

“And you didn’t think to help her, instead of preying upon her?” Miqo says, reaching out and snagging one of the bubbles. From what I can tell, it looks like each one holds a memory or a thought.

“Miqo. I am a demon Lord of Sjelefengsel.” I reply with exasperation. “I help people, but it cannot look like I’m helping them. The other Lords would be all over me if they thought I was going soft. Well, softer than they already think I am.”

“Hmm. Well, you were not always a demon Lord. I seem to remember you were once a sweet young Dreamsnatcher.”

“I was a naïve young Dreamsnatcher.”

“Naïveté is not a sin. All I’m saying is that maybe this young lady would prefer the Dreamsnatcher over the demon Lord.”

“Well, I am not exactly in the position to just go flouncing back to the Dreaming and pick up the life I had centuries ago.” I grumble, turning my attention to the bubbles in an effort to redirect the conversation. “I presume these are thought bubbles from the loop that she’s stuck in?”

“Yes. Why don’t you take a look?” Miqo says, handing one off to me and grabbing another as it slowly floats up from the point of light on Jayta’s forehead. “From what I can tell, the loop orbits around her envy of her old friends, and how they have moved on without her. It seems she is keenly aware of what she’s lost because of the path she’s taken.”

I take the bubble she’s given me; it’s light and squishy, like a moon jelly. Inside, there’s images of people that I presume are her friends, and doing mundane things — going to coffeeshops, getting jobs at scientific institutions, meeting new people and starting families — always with Jayta watching from the side. I frown at the montage, trying to decode it. “So she feels left out.”

“Not just left out. Have you been watching the tinting around the edges of the thought bubbles?” Miqo says as she passes me another. “It’s got this reddish hue to it. She feels angry because she feels excluded. It’s a very complex emotion, what she’s experiencing; it’s not just envy, but a mix of different things, which is why your attempts to disrupt the loop with simple emotions wasn’t working.”

“So we’ll have to brew a more complex draught to break her out of the loop.” I conclude, taking the next bubble and letting the last one drift away. This one has images of her friend group going to new places, doing new things together, and I can feel the anger radiating off this thought bubble. The anger of being left out, of seeing your friends move on without you.

“That is part of the solution. But more importantly, we must understand why she feels the way she does, so we can chart a course out of it.” Miqo says, examining some smaller thought bubbles. “When we reduce this down to its most basic elements, we find that this tantrum is being driven by one thing and one thing alone: the need to belong. To be part of something, of a group.”

“She is part of a group.” I say, shooing away the thought bubble I’d been holding. “She is part of the House’s staff. She gets along well with the harpies and enjoys a position of authority within the House.”

“She did not choose that group.” Miqo points out. “That is a group she adapted to out of necessity. Whereas her friends from her old life — that was a group she chose. Those are people she spent time with because she wanted to, not merely because she worked in proximity to them.”

I don’t want to admit it, but Miqo has a point. “Very well. We are not her first choice of company, but the fact remains that she cannot return to her friends or her old life. Not after what she did.”

“Oh, I quite agree. And she knows that; that is not in question.” Miqo says, picking up her wicker basket. “But that does not remove the fact that seeing your friends move on without you, exclude you from the groups you were once part of — that hurts, Raikaron. Even when our friends don’t mean to hurt us, it still hurts to be excluded like that. It hurts terribly. I know you know that.”

I purse my lips, looking away. “Yes. I am fully aware how painful that is.”

“Good. Now tell me why it hurts, Raikaron.” Miqo says as she pads across the room to the table with my draught-brewing equipment.

Squaring my shoulders, I take in a deep breath. “It hurts because… because of many things. To be excluded from a group means you are no longer a part of something. It means you are alone. And being alone means that you are vulnerable. You feel exposed. And small.” I pause to gather my thoughts. “It also damages your sense of worth. When you are excluded from a group, the natural conclusion is that your worth is not…” I run out of words, pause for a moment, and take another deep breath. “…your worth is not sufficient for the group you were a part of. That you are not desirable… or wanted… or needed.”

“And that is reinforced when…?” Miqo asks, setting the basket on the table and opening the lid.

“When you can still observe the group and see that… its structure and function remains intact without you.” I sigh, reaching up and taking one of Jayta’s errant thought bubbles. A memory of being alone at a party. Another one, drifting by, shows a younger Jayta in middle school, eating lunch all alone in the cafeteria.

“And how do people usually react to such things?”

“With anger, and grievance, and a sense of loss.”

“And that results in?”

“Individuals that lash out, looking for someone to blame, or trying to hurt other people, so that they are not the only one that is hurting.”

“Or individuals that run off and do inadvisable or uncharacteristic things, trying to prove that they have worth that would merit being included in the group again.” Miqo says, waving a blackfurred hand and sending an elegant train of vials flowing out of the basket. “Things like a sweet young Dreamsnatcher running off and becoming a demon Lord in one of the twenty-three hells.”

I flick away the thought bubble I’d been holding onto. “How do we break the loop?” I ask, redirecting the conversation back to its original topic.

“Rather than trying to jolt it with sharply contrasting emotions, we have to follow the natural progression of emotions in a situation like this.” Miqo says as the procession of vials forms a ring around her, but more keep spilling out of her wicker basket, starting to layer a second ring atop the first, and then a third. “Exclusion from a group is a loss, a social loss, and any loss involves moving through the stages of grief. She’s already past the initial shock, and is currently stuck on anger. The next step she needs to go through will be sorrow.” Reaching up, Miqo snags a vial that has a muted purple-blue liquid in it and pulls it out of the rings encircling her. “You have a stock of requarium, correct? We’re going to need to boil some down into vequarium to serve as the base for this draught.”

“Of course I do. Can’t make draughts without it.” I say, crossing the study to my brewing table. Reaching into the bookshelf behind the table, I pull down one of the bottles of blue liquid; snapping my fingers, one of the spell circles on the table lights up beneath a small pot, starting to heat it the way a burner on a stove would. “How much should I pour?”

Miqo glances at the pot, tapping at her chin. “Fill it a quarter full. We don’t need much, but that should give us enough spare to make a second pass at it if we botch the first brew.”

I uncork the bottle, starting to pour it into the pot. “So is that the problem? Instead of using diametric emotions, I should’ve used something that aligned more closely with the negative spectrum?”

“Only part of the equation. It’s more a matter of the combination of emotions and whether they progress logically into each other.” Miqo says, searching the rings of vials around her. “Think of it like a color gradient. Blue and yellow are very jarring contrasts if you put them next to each other. But if you gradate them into each other, progressing from blue, to purple, to red, to orange, and then to yellow, the transition is much more natural. Emotions often function in a similar manner; they can be chained together in gradual progressions to reach the desired endpoint.”

“So in this case, we’re going from anger, to sorrow, to…?” I ask, capping the bottle and setting it back on the shelf.

“To grief.” Miqo says, reaching up picking a vial with a bruised-purple liquid out of the rings around her. Then another with a pale green liquid, one with thin yellow liquid, one with grey contents, another with dim brown liquid, and finally one with a brighter orange. “Then to resignation, and after that acceptance, depression, boredom, and finally resolve.”

“That’s quite a progression.” I remark, eyeing my own case of emotion vials sitting at the back of the table. I used to think I had a rather impressive collection, but seeing the five rings of vials orbiting Miqo, with hundreds of vials in total, I feel myself being quietly humbled at the sheer variety of her collection.

“Loss is an experience, not a single emotion. A journey, rather than a moment.” Miqo says, laying the vials on the table and starting to parse through my equipment. “Replicating that experience, providing a roadmap for it, requires the use of many different emotions. Multi-stage draughts are a little delicate, though; not the easiest things to brew. They require a certain sort of finesse beyond even the more advanced draughts, so you don’t see them very often. They are rarely present in social drinking; they’re more often used for recreational and medical purposes.”

“Likely explains why I do not have any recipes for them in my draught book.” I say, glancing to the shelves. “I believe the most complex draught I have in my collection is a three-stage.”

“You’re in for a lesson, then. We’ll be brewing a seven-stage today.” Miqo says, pulling a set of measuring spoons and checking the shelves behind the table. “I don’t suppose you have any realization in here, do you?”

“It’s not an element in most of the draughts I brew.” I say, reaching into the shelf and moving some of the boxes around. “What kind of realization do you need?”

“Gradual. This draught will need a slow, timed release for each stage.”

“Sorry. All I’ve got is sudden realization.” I say, pulling forward a small bottle with a floating liquid that keeps changing shapes and shifting through colors. “Gradual realization is a lot harder to harvest. It’s a lot more subtle than sudden.”

“Don’t I know it.” Miqo says, going back to her wicker basket. “Let me see if I have any in here. Worst comes to worst, we can milk some of our own experiences for it.”

“I’d rather not.” I say, pushing the bottle back onto the shelf. “I’ve always had reservations about getting others to ingest sentiments I sourced from myself.”

“It’s not all that different from what we do.” Miqo says, digging around in her basket, which seems to be hammerspaced, given she’s up to her shoulder in it. “Creatures of the Dreaming live off the emotions and memories generated by others. Why should it be so strange when other creatures feed on our emotions?”

“It’s just a bit too… intimate for me. The thought that someone else might be experiencing my emotions, it’s just…” I hunch my shoulders up for a moment. “…gives me shivers. It’s just a little too personal for my liking.”

“Is that not what we do to others, though?” Miqo points out, coming up with what looks like a spice rack that’s full of tiny spice jars. “We feed off the emotions of others around us. Is that not intimate and personal?”

“The way we do it is different.” I protest. “We skim off of what they radiate, the way plants absorb sunlight or mussels filter water for nutrients. It’s not concentrated into beverages or food that have physical form.”

Miqo gives me a look.

I sigh. “With the exception, of course, of the Neko, where that’s literally all that you do: turn emotions and experiences into food people can eat. But outside of that…”

“Outside of that, we still consume memories and emotions and dreams.” Miqo points out, thumbing through the spice rack. “In the Dreaming, we hunt, cultivate, and eat dreams and nightmares, much the same that Wakers cultivate crops and livestock and slaughter them for food. Have you forgotten that?”

“Well no, but I haven’t lived in the Dreaming for centuries.” I point out, checking on the requarium, which is starting to bubble. “When you live in the Waking or in one of the afterlives, you get used to soaking up ambient emotion from the people around you.”

“So you’re only comfortable with soaking up their emotions. You’re not comfortable with them soaking up yours.” Miqo says, pulling one of the spice jars out and setting the rack back in the wicker basket. “I suppose that makes sense for a setting like Sjelefengsel. You don’t exactly want to wear your heart on your sleeve in the heart of hell.”

“Yes. That exactly.” I say quickly. “Telegraphing your emotions to other demons a liability; you don’t want to broadcast something like that. It’s best to keep them guessing, or to carefully control what emotions you outwardly advertise.”

“Very well. I’ll let it slide, given your circumstances. It’s just as well; I managed to find some gradual realization.” she says, shaking the spice jar she pulled. “How’s that requarium looking?”

“It’s getting there. A few more minutes and I think most of it will be vequarium.”

“We’ll want to let it boil all the way down to vequarium, so we’ll give it at least five. While we’re waiting on that, you can help me prepping the first stage of the draught. We’ll start with sorrow; we’ll need at least a few drops from that one, since it’s going to the longest stage of the draught…”

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

11:43pm SGT

“…Ink and Kau have been doing well; they actually recently decided to have another little one, so they’ve dialed it back on the the hypernatural responsibilities recently. Not that they really have all that many, mind you, since Kau’s young and Ink’s not a part of the Gathering. Nocturne’s stepped up to fill the gaps while they’re raising the little one.” Miqo says, stirring her marshmallows around in her mug of hot cocoa.

“That’s good to hear.” I nod, sipping from my own mug. We’re both sitting in armchairs near the brewing table, sipping on hot cocoa while we wait for the seven-stage draught to finish the evaporation-condensation process. Rather than a full drink, we elicited to distill it down into a small, highly-concentrated dose to make it easier to get it into Jayta. Forcing her to drink a vial of the stuff, rather than a full glass, was the optimal route considering she’d be raging and thrashing from the moment we woke her up. “What about you? Do you ever get the urge to start a family?”

“Oh me? No, no no no.” Miqo says, waving a hand. “I’ve already walked those roads in my younger years. Raised a few families, sent them off into the universe to do their thing. I might still have a few descendants roaming around but I haven’t bothered checking. After about fifty or sixty generations you just stop keeping track, you know? Just gotta trust that they’ll do what they need to do, be who they need to be. You can’t watch over your line forever.”

I snort. “Tell that to the Syntaritovs.”

Miqo rolls her eyes. “Solebarr’s line is a mighty exception. I swear my little brother had mischief encoded into his genes; a billion years down the line and we’ve still got carbon-copy misprints of that fluffy gremlin running around making trouble. You among them.”

I smile and shrug. “Have to live up to the family name.”

“You don’t have to. But a lot of Solebarr’s descendants decide to anyway.” She shifts in her armchair, adjusting her tail so she’s not sitting on it quite as much. “What about you? Have you ever thought about continuing the family line?”

“Mm.” I rub a thumb over the rim of my mug, debating how truthfully I should answer. “I’ve thought about it from time to time. I have wanted a family at times, but there was always work to do, and I just… haven’t really found someone I can settle with. Admittedly, it’s mostly because I’ve been averse to settling with mortals. I just… don’t like the thought that I would outlive a partner. Many times over. So that’s part of the reason I’ve never really settled and started a family.”

“Understandable.” Miqo nods. “Dating across mortality lines has never been easy; marriage and families across those same lines are even harder. Have you considered looking among other immortals?”

I blow out a long breath. “Other immortals are… complicated. Take the complexity of mortal courtship and then multiply it exponentially, and that’s immortal dating. I’m sure you already know that, but it bears reiteration. And because immortals are a much smaller, but much more persistent population, the chances that you might encounter and have to work with an ex at some point in the future are much, much higher. It’s a hell of a minefield, and the minefield just gets more saturated as time goes on.”

Miqo looks amused. “Well, yes… but I think you’re overplaying the risk a bit. A little bit of drama can be fun; in fact, it can sometimes spark other relationships. Besides, the nature of the vast lifespans of immortals means that our romantic lives are quintessentially different from those of mortals. It is not uncommon for us to fall in love many times, and raise multiple families, with different individuals, over the vast span of time.”

I squirm a bit in my chair. “Well, yes, but… that’s not everybody’s thing. I don’t want to do that, or at least I don’t feel like I want to do that. I think I’d like to settle down with just one person for the remainder of my existence?… does that sound naïve, coming from an immortal?”

Miqo’s whiskers twitch a bit. “A little. But it’s not unprecedented, nor is it rare. Many young immortals do desire precisely that. Sometimes that changes as they get older and mature and have different experiences, and sometimes it doesn’t change, and they are happy to remain with a single person until the end of their existence. Everyone is different; you don’t necessarily have to conform to the stereotypes extant in the immortal community.” Lifting her mug, she takes a sip from it before going on. “After all, look at how many immortals settle into enduring relationships with mortals. That used to be taboo, many billions of years ago. But attitudes loosened up about it, and nowadays it’s a very common thing for immortals to do if they find a mortal they love.” She nods to the table where Jayta’s still out cold. “As I think you have.”

“Strictly practical.” I insist once again. “We’ve already established that she’s not interested in me, and you yourself stated that she would never love me after what I’ve done to her.”

“I said I would be hard pressed to love a man that had done something like that to me. Not that it was impossible.” Miqo corrects me. “If you will be good to her and give back her freedom, she may eventually find it within herself to love you.”

“I have been more than amply kind to her.” I counter sharply. “To the point where Danya and the other Lords think I’m spoiling her. She enjoys a position and privileges that few other contract demons do.”

Miqo shrugs. “Then all you need to do is give her freedom back, and see if she decides if you are worth her time.”

“I cannot do that, Miqo. You know this.” I say, exasperated. “It is one of the foundational precepts of Sjelefengsel: power and privilege are bound up with service and enslavement.” I hold up a hand, showing the manacle mark on my wrist before letting it drop back down. “It is why every demon, even the Lords, are chained, and it is why our powers are tied to those chains. We yield up our freedom in exchange for power. That is the deal that every contract demon makes. It is the deal I made with Lucifer, and the same deal Jayta made with me. If Jayta wants her freedom, she will have to give up the nice things and her place in Sjelefengsel, and go back to the mortal realm, where she will be hunted and brought to account for the murder she committed.”

“That you tempted her into.” Miqo points out sharply.

“It was something she did in spite of me, not because of me. She still had her free will, and she did not have to act on my words.” I riposte. “I may have prompted her, but the onus for the decision is upon her. Especially as she took it upon herself to reject the help I offered her, and went about the murder in her own way and on her own terms.”

Miqo sighs, shaking her head. “You certainly have Solebarr’s penchant for creating tangled moral conundrums, even if you lack his chaotic instinct. You may slave her to your service to provide the benefits of hell while protecting her from the mortal consequences of her actions, but if you love her, you will have to let her have her freedom, Raikaron. If you retain nothing else from this visit, retain that. It is a lesson that Solebarr had to learn the hard way with Kastril, and it is not a lesson you want to learn the hard way.”

I look away, towards the flickering fire grooves in the study’s walls. “So that story is true, then. That she left him for a brief dalliance with others.”

Her fingers tighten around her mug as she looks down into it. “It was painful for both of them. Both of them had much to learn after that… period of time. It was not a one-sided transgression; Sole lost Kastril due to his ambition and hubris, and in return, Kastril nearly lost Sole to the void after she broke his trust. I was the one that stood in judgement while she begged on her knees before me to bring him back. There were many lessons learned… many painful lessons, for both of them.” She raises her dark teal gaze back towards me. “Love is born of a freedom to choose to love, Raikaron. It cannot flourish in captivity. Bear that with you as you think upon who you grant your affection to. I know you aspire to be like your ancestor, but he was not perfect. Trust me when I tell you there were mistakes that he made that you do not want to replicate. They call him the King of Pain for a reason.”

“I will bear it in mind.” I say quietly, sipping from my mug as I glance towards Jayta again. “I thought they called him the King of Pain because he knew how to prey on the pain of others.”

“They did. Solebarr has a uniquely exquisite understanding of the many varieties of pain, and how to use it to manipulate, motivate, and control others. But such a masterful comprehension of pain does not come through secondhand experience.” Miqo says, standing up and making her way over to the brewing table. “What I will say for that, though, is that even though I very rarely approve of my younger brother’s antics, there is much I have learned from him. His understanding of pain can be used to manipulate and control… but it can also be used to understand and heal. Those are the skills and the knowledge I have leveraged to understand what is wrong with your avenger, and what we need to fix it.”

I start to get up out of my chair as Miqo checks the condenser line and the vial it leads down to. “Is it ready?” I ask, making my way over to the table.

“It appears so. Nothing’s left in the evaporation beaker and there’s only a couple drops left in the condenser line.” Miqo says, carefully working the vial loose of the assembly. “We will need to wake her up so she can drink it. Do you have anything that can bring her around?”

I reach over the table to the box of vials in the back. “Mm… I’ve got some surprise, shock, startling, and a few others. It’ll be a bit of a rough awakening, but at this point that’s the least of our concerns.”

“Use a drop of startling. Surprise is a bit too gentle, but shock might put her in a bad state while we’re trying to get her to down this.” Miqo says, fully disconnecting the draught vial from the assembly and capping it with her thumb. “I’m going to need you to hold her head still after you dose her. Once I get the draught in her mouth, I’ll clamp it shut and pinch her nose until she’s forced to swallow.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for it to hit her?” I ask, picking up the vial of startle and heading back towards the table where Jayta’s restrained.

“Should be fast. I don’t imagine it’ll be more than five or six seconds before she starts feeling it.” Miqo says, following me over. “If all goes well, we’re looking at about two days for her to work through the draught’s entire cycle of emotions. The resolve included at the tail end should give her enough of a kick to get her back into the swing of things.”

“Here’s to hoping.” I say, clicking open the lid on the vial as I tilt Jayta’s head so that it’s facing up, then pry her mouth open. “Ready?”

Miqo settles into place beside me, nodding and with the draught vial at hand. “Ready.”

I tilt the vial of startle enough to tease a single drop of it and into Jayta’s mouth, and then immediately snap the vial closed, tuck it in my breast pocket, and firmly grip the sides of her head. I can already feel her starting to stir; a moment later, her eyes snap open, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

Which is a mistake, because Miqo’s already pouring the draught into her mouth.

Jayta ends up inhaling nearly half of it on accident, and Miqo covers her mouth and pinches her nose shut before Jayta can try to spit it out. The thrashing starts nearly immediately, accompanied by muffled grunting since her mouth’s clamped shut and she can’t shout or scream. I can tell she’s fighting it, and she still hasn’t swallowed most of what Miqo dumped in her mouth.

“Swallow, Jayta, swallow!” I order as she glares up at me, a vein pulsing in her forehead. I can tell she’s livid. “The sooner you swallow, the sooner we let you go. If you don’t swallow we are going to hold you down until you do!”

Her only response is more muffled, furious grunting, but between both mine and Miqo’s supernatural strength, she can barely move her head more than a quarter of an inch. Her back arches as she strains up against the restraints holding her down; Miqo grimaces. “Alright then, if that’s the way you wanna do it.” she mutters, taking her hand off Jayta’s nose, and giving her throat a stern flick with her middle finger.

You can see Jayta’s eyes shoot wide at that as she swallows on reflex, and starts thrashing even harder; Miqo yanks her hands back and I do as well. Jayta immediately gasps for breath, coughing and wheezing, flecks of the draught flying up into the air. It sounds like some of it went down the wrong pipe, if the coughing’s anything to go by, but at least she isn’t thrashing and screaming anymore. As the coughing starts to subside, I can see the anger on her face slowly start to drain away as her body language changes and the green tint fades from her eyes. The pent-up tension disappears, and she starts to curl up as much as she can while restrained, her face crumpling into a slow sob.

“There you go, sweetie.” Miqo says gently, brushing Jayta’s hair out of her face while I wave the restraints open. The first thing Jayta does is roll over on her side and curl up into a fetal position. “Let it all out. Being that angry for that long isn’t healthy for anyone.”

“At least we know the loop is broken now.” I say, picking up the empty vial and looking it over now. “You said it would be about two days before the draught runs its course?”

“Two days, yes.” Miqo says, turning around and taking the vial from me. “Leave that to me; I’ll handle the cleanup while you help her back to her room. You’ll need to carry her; she hasn’t eaten in twelve hours and she’s exhausted from all her struggling earlier in the day. Make sure the kitchen has a hearty breakfast ready for her tomorrow morning; she will need it.”

“They always have a good breakfast for her, but I’ll have them deliver it to her room instead of having her come downstairs to get it.” I say, making my way over to the side of the table and getting my arms under Jayta’s legs and shoulders so I can carry her. She remains curled up as I lift her, still shaking with sobs, and I turn to head for the study’s door — but I pause when she tangles her fingers in my shirt and vest, balling them into fistfuls as she keeps crying into my collar. Looking down, I can see she’s clinging to me, hanging onto me, as if for comfort or safety.

All the sudden I feel uncomfortable, my chest tight, like something was swelling inside it, pressing against my ribs.

I catch Miqo glancing at me, and I clear my throat, picking up the pace once more. “I will be back momentarily. You do not have to clean up the draught table on your own.” I state firmly.

Continuing to the door, I step out into the hall, and make my way to Jayta’s bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. The door slides open at a wave from me, and I step in, carrying her over to her bed; the covers peel back with another wave, and I gently set her down on the bed. She doesn’t let go of me, though, and I have to reach up, wrapping my fingers around her hands and gently loosening them from where they’re balled into my shirt and vest. As I do so, I notice how small and delicate her fingers are, and how they shake with every sob she lets out.

Once again, there is that uncomfortable tightness in my chest, as if something inside was burgeoning and trying to break out.

Taking her hands, I gently fold them back to her own chest. “There, there. This is but a moment.” Reaching up, I use my thumb to wipe away some of the tears gathering beneath her closed eyes. “You are sad, but it will pass. It simply needs time.” Pulling the covers over her, I tuck them in around her, looking around when I feel something brushing against the back of my legs. It’s Cinder, and reaching down, I pick her up, nuzzling her before I set her down on the bed next to Jayta.

I turn to leave with that, but hesitate. After a long moment spent in uncertain consideration, I turn about and lean down, planting a careful kiss on Jayta’s head. “Get some sleep.” I murmur, brushing some of her stray locks back behind her hair as her crying continues, albeit muted and tired. “Things will look better in the morning, I promise.”

Giving Cinder a final pat, I head for the door with that, waving it closed behind me as I go. When I step out into the hall, I see Miqo leaning against the wall just outside the door, her arms folded.

“Strictly practical.” she says, smiling quietly.

Sighing my defeat, I turn start back down the hall towards my study. “Yes. Something like that.”

“If you insist on it, I will not disagree.” she says, pushing off the wall and following me. “I have already cleaned up the draught table and all the equipment, so you can get to rest. I anticipate you will have a long day ahead of you.”

“You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” I say, starting to unbutton my vest. It, and the shirt beneath, are damp from where Jayta was crying into it, and I’ll have to put them in the wash. “Shall I prepare a room for you?”

“I have no need for sleep. It may be night here in Sjelefengsel, but the Neko Cafe does not know time, and I need to return to it.” Miqo says. “I would love to stay a while longer, but it is not a quiet period in the galaxy right now. Unrest always produces an uptick in lost souls and visitors to the between-places.”

“Surely there are others that could manage that for you.” I point out. “You have many responsibilities already.”

“Surely there are.” Miqo agrees as we arrive back to the doorway of my study. “But I know they could not manage it as well as I could during a time like this. Perhaps in a decade or two, when the galaxy has settled down a little.” Raising her hand, the wicker basket floats back across my study to loop over her arm, which she tucks beneath her shawl once more. “Simply promise me that you will be wiser than Solebarr, Raikaron. There is no reason you cannot learn from your ancestor’s mistakes, and spare yourself the pains he has experienced.”

“I will avoid as many of them as I can.” I say. “But we both know there is some wisdom that can only be gained through firsthand experience.”

“You are not wrong.” she concedes. “But don’t chase it. Pain will always find you, sooner or later, regardless of the decisions you make. There is no need to give it more of your life than is required.” She holds her arms out. “Now give me a hug, just in case it’s a while before I see you again. The gears of the galaxy have started to turn, and you may find yourself very busy soon.”

I lean into the hug. Miqo’s tall, almost as tall as I am, so I don’t have to bend down to get my arms around her. “I will see about visiting as soon as I can. The harpies look forward to the yearly field trip to the Neko, but I don’t know if it will happen soon. The Congress of Sjelefengsel is fast approaching, and I need to get the affairs of my House in order before then.”

“Whenever you can. You know that we look forward to having you.” Miqo says as she releases me from the hug, and starts to trot off, raising a single blackfurred finger over her shoulder. “And make sure you bring that darling little demon with you when you come to visit. I very much want to see what she’s like when she’s not a murderous little gremlin or a walking pity party.”

I smile a little at that, and watch as she slowly rounds the bend in the hall, disappearing from view. As her muted pawsteps fade, I let out a long exhalation, glancing to my study, then waving the door shut. Starting down the hall in the direction that Miqo took, I reach up to hook a finger in the knot of my tie, and start tugging it loose as I head for the stairs.

A little bit of rest after the day I’ve had actually sounds quite nice.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Jayta’s Room

9/26/12764 10:03pm SGT

It’s a single knock, and there’s no response to it. In truth it was more of a courtesy than an ask for permission; short of being told that she was getting dressed or in the shower, I was planning on entering anyway. The knock was simply to let her know I was there, and about to come in.

But there’s no response, and so I wave the door open.

Within, Jayta is curled up on her bed, half-submerged beneath the covers. She hasn’t left her room all day, but it’s to be expected with the effects of Miqo’s draught still running its course. Cinder is lying on the bed with her, and lifts her head as I step in, waving the door closed behind me. Moving over to the bed, I set down the mug of hot cocoa on the bedside, and carefully sit down on the edge of the bed.

“I brought you hot cocoa.” I say after a moment. “I thought it might help you sleep.”

Her head turns slightly, but not enough to look at me, and she doesn’t say anything.

Lacing my fingers together, I try to figure out what to say, where to go from here. On one hand, I know it’s just a matter of time, and that as the rest of Miqo’s draught plays out, it’ll give Jayta a ramp back onto the normal carousel of emotions. But on the other hand, I know this all started for a reason — the genesis may have been artificial and induced, but the emotions it brought to surface were genuine. Deep down, she still resents me, and blames me for all the opportunities she feels I took from her. And she is angry and hurt that her friends have moved on without her.

After a moment to consider that, I take a deep breath, and start talking.

“It’s strange. It hurts less when they tell you to your face that they no longer want to be friends with you. When they push you out of the group. Because at least then, they’re upfront about it. It is still painful, of course, but at least it is honest. Nothing is left ambiguous; they have the courage to tell you that you aren’t wanted or valued. It is not ideal, but at least you are not left wanting for answers.” I pause for a moment, gather my thoughts, and go on. “But when they try to hide it from you, it hurts more. I still wonder why that is sometimes.”

On the bed, I can feel her turn a little more. Still not saying anything, but clearly listening.

“For me, I think it boiled down to respect. Or being valued.” I go on. “I figured if they valued me, they’d at least be able to look me in the eye and tell me they didn’t want me to be a part of their group anymore. But no, they never said anything to me; they just formed a completely different group, and moved on without me. Didn’t even bother to tell me. I spent months wondering where they’d gone, giving them the benefit of the doubt, telling myself that they were busy, that life and its inconveniences had gotten its claws into them, that they weren’t spending time with me because things had gotten complicated for them, and they needed to take that time to sort things out.”

I go silent for another moment as I feel some of the old pain trickling back. “You try so hard to fight down those voices that always whisper at the back of your mind, that tell you your friends left because they don’t care about you, because they don’t value you, because you’re not important to them anymore. You try so hard to believe the best of them, because that’s what a good friend should do. To have faith in them, even when the signs point against it. To believe in them, because it’s what you would want your friends to do for you. It starts out of a good place, it really does; but at the end of the day, you’re telling yourself lies. Possibly because deep down, even when you have no actual evidence, you still know the truth. You can feel it, and your instincts know it; but reason and logic refuse to let you believe what you already know. And so when you finally do get the evidence, it hurts all the more, because you knew all along. At some level, you always knew, but you just didn’t want to believe it. Because it would confirm something you didn’t want to believe — that they didn’t care about you, wouldn’t miss you, as much as you miss them.”

I’d stopped keeping track of Jayta as I spoke, so it’s only now that I’ve noticed she’s rolled over on her back so she can watch me. I don’t look back at her, knowing that if I do, I’m going to lose my train of thought. Instead, I keep talking.

“That’s what made me angry when I found out my friends had excluded me from their group without telling me. I was angry at them, of course, but I was angry at myself, because I wanted them to care about me, even though I knew that exclusion was proof that they didn’t. I felt hurt. And lonely. And humiliated too, because what was I supposed to do? Go to them and ask what I’d done wrong, or why I wasn’t good enough? Just to be awkwardly deflected or told I didn’t belong? How could I ever be part of the group again after that? Even if they accepted me back, there’d always be that tension, that knowledge that all these people didn’t value me as much as they valued each other. Maybe they thought that silently excluding me would be easier, that they wouldn’t have to answer hard questions, and hoped that I would just never find out they’d moved on without me. Maybe they thought it would be kinder than saying it to my face. But it’s not. It’s not kind to leave someone hanging, to leave them trying to believe that you are still a good person, that you care about them when you really don’t. It’s something you do for your own sake. So you don’t have to see the look on their face when you tell them that you don’t want them to be part of the group anymore. When you don’t even care enough to be honest with them about what you’re doing.”

I trail off into silence, my words spent. I realize after a moment how much talking I’ve just done, and how my attempt to relate to her had led me a lot further than I was planning to go. I take a deep breath, recomposing myself. “I am sorry. I did not mean to ramble like that.”

She blinks her granite eyes; they’re a bit red from all the crying she’s been doing. “Was all that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” she asks, voice quiet and a little bit husky.

“No.” I respond adroitly, and with force. “Not in the slightest. The point was not to earn your pity, nor was it an attempt to minimize your distress. I shared this with you because I wanted to let you know that you are not alone; that I understand what you are feeling, and I know how much it hurts.”

“Oh.” she says, rubbing at her watery eyes. “Well, it was working. Making me feel sorry for you.”

I give a melancholy smile at that, pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside and reaching out to gently wipe away the tears beneath her eyes. “I appreciate it, little demon. But I have carried this hurt for a long time. I am accustomed to its weight. I wanted to help you hold yours, if it was feeling too heavy for you right now.”

“I can handle it.” she mumbles, turning so that she’s now lying on her side facing me, instead of facing towards the balcony.

“If you say you can, then I will believe you.” I say, setting the tissue aside and combing a few locks of hair out of her face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She shakes her head, and I acquiesce with a quiet nod. “Very well.” I say, returning my hand to my lap, and gazing through the glass wall of the balcony. Hautaholvi is visible outside; the House of Regret is now placed on the edges of the city, up on a hill of igneous rock, rather than our previous location in the foothills by the mountains. It provides a much closer view of the city’s skyline, rather than the thin line of yellow lights that it once was.

“Who was the other person that was with you? The Halfie with the red markings on her face…”

I glance back down at Jayta’s mumbled question, surprised that she recalls Miqo. “That was Miqo Morquela, one of my distant relatives. She is the older sister of Solebarr Syntaritov, the progenitor of the Syntaritov line. She has been something of a godmother to many generations of Syntaritovs.”

Jayta frowns. “She flicked my throat.”

I smile somewhat at that. “It was necessary to get you to swallow the antidote we’d made for you. You would’ve kept raging without it. She is much gentler otherwise.”

The frown still doesn’t go away. “I don’t like it when people flick my throat.” she mutters.

“I don’t imagine many people will be doing that to you anytime soon.” I say, picking the mug of hot cocoa up off the bedside. “I brought you some hot cocoa with marshmallows in it. It should be cool enough to drink by now.”

She works on sitting up so she can take the mug, holding it close and sipping. She hasn’t left her room all day, so I’d had the kitchen staff bring lunch and dinner to her. Based on the plates that had come back, though, she had eaten almost nothing the entire day. Hot cocoa wasn’t much in the way of sustenance, but it was better than nothing.

“What did you do?” she asks after several sips. “After your friends excluded you.”

I take a deep, bracing breath. “I did not chase after them. There would’ve been no point. They’d made their choice, and I… I was angry. And hurt. I was determined to prove that I was valuable, had something to offer, was good enough. And so I undertook a journey within the Waking, seeking power and knowledge and self-improvement, and on that journey I encountered a demon goddess named Lucifer. She offered me a contract, and within that contract, power, authority, and rank within the largest of the twenty-three hells.”

She stares at me. “Just like you offered me my contract?”

I give a single slow nod, studying my fingers, long and thin and delicate. “This is how the living come by Sjelefengsel. It offers you something you desire, if only you will put your name on the line and sign away your free will. For you, it was an escape from the natural consequences of your actions; for me, it was a chance to prove I was not as worthless as my friends thought I was.” My fingers trace over the curve of my palm, down to the intricate black manacle mark burned into my wrist. “But in the end, we are all made prisoners by our craving for the things which we lack. From the First Circle on up to the Eighth, we are slaves to a moment of desperation. I know it does not look like it, with the commensurate privileges I enjoy as a Lesser Lord, but I am just as much a prisoner as you are. My cage may be slightly more ornate than yours, but it is a cage nonetheless.”

“And what about your friends?” she asks.

I shrug. “All dead now. Or faded away, as creatures of the Dreaming often do. The last one died a couple centuries ago. It no longer matters what they think of me, as bitter as that is, and I have long since lost my primary reason for being here in the first place. I have wondered, often, why I still remain.”

She blinks at me. “You can leave?”

I glance to her and nod. “I am a Syntaritov, you know this. We are a family of dealmakers; I learned very early on never to accept an offer or agreement without first examining the terms and demanding concessions. My contract with Lucifer was a negotiated one, and one of the concessions I won was that my employment would be at-will. I can, if I so desire, terminate the contract at my choosing. Yield up the rank and power accorded to me, and depart Sjelefengsel if I wish.”

“Why haven’t you left?” she asks in disbelief.

It’s something to which I don’t have a good answer. “Because I am comfortable, I suppose. I have spent so long being a demon Lord that I have become accustomed to the way things work down here. I have invested centuries in Sjelefengsel, replete with institutional knowledge and connections. Leaving would be… difficult. Starting all over again, giving up my power, the connections I’ve made… it is daunting. And besides, I tell myself that I can still make a difference down here. I can change the way things are done, build a better hell that doesn’t just punish souls, but changes them, and changes them for the better.” I pause for a moment, to absorb everything I’ve just said, then look at her. “At the end of the day, perhaps I stay for the same reason you do: I wouldn’t have anywhere to go back to. Nowhere that would really want me.”

She seems to deflate a little at that. “Yeah.” she says quietly. “I suppose we have that in common.”

I nod along in rueful agreement. It hurts to know we are bound by this shared truth: that we are outcasts, rejected by those whose friendship matters so much. Royalty in hell, but practically nobodies on the mortal plane. After a moment of hesitation, I say what has been lingering on my mind. “I will not leave you behind the way my friends did to me, or the way your friends did to you.”

When she looks up at me, I can see the tears welling in her eyes, and I know that she’s still sad, courtesy of Miqo’s draught. My words alone will not alleviate that. But she does lean into me, resting her head against my side, and a moment, I put an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder and trying to provide what meager comfort I can.

“Thanks.” she whispers. “You’re a good friend, even if you are a demon Lord.”

I give a bitter smile at that. “I try.”

And with that, we both go back to staring through the balcony, watching the golden lights of hell flicker and glimmer in the night.