Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #21: Strong]

Log Date: 3/2/12764

Data Sources: Lysanne Arrignis, Jazel Jaskolka

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Shinobe Kibe: Kibe Regional Hospital

1:30am SGT

“Am I the only one that thinks it’s stupid that they’re discharging him slightly past midnight?” Milor says, covering his mouth but failing to hide his yawn.

“It’s a round-the-clock hospital in a major city.” I say, shifting in my seat in the lobby. “If they determine that the patient’s ready to be discharged, and the patient’s willing to go then and there, they’ll discharge them. The hospital offered the discharge, but Jazel agreed to it, so he must want to get out of here pretty bad if he didn’t want to wait until morning.”

“Guess I can’t fault him for that. I’ve done my time in long hospital stays. I’ll givvem credit for trying to make you comfortable, but a hospital ain’t a place you want to stay for too long.” Milor concedes, folding his arms again. “Fluffy McFoxtails is gonna be happy to see him again. Dandy says she’s been sleeping in Jazel’s room when she’s not sulking around the ship.”

“These prices are crazy!” Ozzy declares, marching back across the lobby from the hospital gift shop, which contains everything from get-well cards to balloons to flower bouquets to snacks and souvenirs. We’d sent him over there to grab a bouquet for Jazel, and some snacks to nosh on during the trip back to the starport. “I feel like I’m getting a shakedown from the medical mafia or something. I could probably get these same flowers at a flower stall for half… no, a quarter of the price!”

“You’re not even the one paying for it.” Milor points out. “We sent you there with the company card.”

“Yeah, but I can still complain about the greed and avarice of unregulated capitalism.” Ozzy says, holding out the holocard for me to sign. “You know, I had an uncle that worked in hospital administration, and he used to tell me about the epic fights that his hospital would get into with private insurance companies. Like seriously, you’d think some of these insurance companies were out to kill the patients.”

“Isn’t the point of insurance to cover medical expenses…?” I point out, signing the card.

“When healthcare is provided by the state, yes.” Ozzy says, holding out a box of beef jerky to Milor. “When it’s provided by a corporation? They don’t a give a shit about your health. All they care about is taking your money while doing their damnedest to avoid paying for the services they were supposed to provide. The whole industry’s a scam, if you ask me.”

“I dunno. The healthcare we get through CURSE is pretty good.” I say, holding out the holocard to Milor.

“I’m just sayin’. Halfies that live in the Protectorate don’t have to worry about going into ruinous, crushing, life-destroying debt over an unscheduled visit to the hospital.” Ozzy says, opening a pack of gummipops and looking around. “I suppose they’re getting the kid dressed?”

“Yeah. They should have him down soon.” I say, looking at the data slate that contains all of the discharge information and the medical records they’d transferred over to us. “We’ve already got the treatment plan and chain of custody stuff and the billing records wrapped up. He’s cleared to go, they just need to get him down here.”

“Is that him over there?” Ozzy asks, pointing across the lobby to the elevators. Stepping out of them is a doctor, and a nurse that’s pushing a wheelchair. Sitting in it is Jazel, dressed in the change of clothes we brought for him.

“Hey, there’s the champ.” Milor calls, turning and heading over to meet them halfway as Ozzy and I follow. “You ready to go home, kiddo?”

Jazel gives a mute nod. He’s looking better than he was when we recovered him from Grimes’ lab, but you can still tell there’s something wrong with him. It’s in the eyes, in the way he seems to stare through people, how he’s so often silent or slow to answer.

“We got some flowers for you.” Ozzy says, settling the bouquet and the holocard in Jazel’s arms. “Honestly I’m impressed, not a lot of people can survive the Primsex for as long as you did! I mean, I guess the people that regularly hang out there survive it easily enough, but those are like. Criminals and stuff. In the bracket of people that get kidnapped to the Primsex, most of them don’t survive very long there. That place is rough, man. I’ve been there before, but only for visits. Definitely way too intense for me—”

“Ozzy, why don’t you see about getting Jazel out to the van.” I interrupt before Ozzy’s rambling becomes unstoppable. “We’ll meet you there once we’ve wrapped up here.” I give Jazel a pat on the shoulder — something that only gets a slight head tilt out of him in response.

“Oh sure, yeah. I can do that.” Ozzy says, moving around to take the wheelchair from the nurse. “We’ll see you out there, then. You want any gummipops, Jazel? Not sure why they sell candy and junk food in a hospital, but hey, that’s capitalism, baby…”

As Ozzy’s rambling starts to fade, Milor and I turn to the doctor, who’s tucked his hands in the pockets of his labcoat. “Well, you two know the score, and not much has changed since we had the discharge discussion. Physically, he’s well on the way to recovery, and with a healthy diet and regular exercise, he should be functioning at a normal level soon. Psychologically, however…”

“Kid’s gonna need to see a shrink after what he’s been through.” Milor rumbles past his toothpick. “No surprises there. He’s been through hell and back again.”

“He will need specialized, long-term psychological help. That is not something we can offer him here.” the doctor confirms. “As I gather from the in-house psychologist, you’re probably looking at a case of multiple identity diffraction. Counseling and therapy may help, but he may also need to go on medication to manage it, if it starts to get out of control.”

“Well, on the bright side, he’s alive.” I sigh. “That’s what matters. Thank you for all you’ve done, doctor.”

“Happy to be of service.” the doctor nods in return. “I’ll let you two go now. I wish you all the best with his recovery.”

Milor and I turn and start walking as the doctor heads back to the front desk. Reaching up, Milor takes his toothpick out of his mouth. “Ain’t no fairytales to be had here, I suppose.”

I glance at him. “What?”

“Fairytale endings. Where everybody rides off into the sunset all happy-like.” Milor says, flipping the toothpick around so he can stick the unchewed end between his teeth. “I mean, realistically, I know that fairytale endings are kinda rare, but I was still hopin’.”

I snort at that. “What would a fairytale ending have looked like?”

“Eh.” Milor says, shrugging. “In our case? Everyone would’ve been roughed up a bit, but they would’ve gotten better after some bed rest. The bad guy would be dead. We’d have a way to plug Jazel’s soul back into him.”

“Well, the bad guy’s dead.” I point out. “So there’s that.”

“Yeah. Batting one for three, I guess.” Milor concedes. “But most fairytales don’t end with someone getting psych trauma and needing months of counseling.”

“Yeah, you never hear about that part of the story.” I mutter as the doors slide open for us. “With some of the shit that happens in fairytales, you’d figure more people would be walking away with psych trauma.”

“Distracts from the moral of the story, I reckon.”

“Yeah.” I say as we step out into the cool desert air. The van’s pulled up to the curb in front of the hospital, ready to take us back to the starport. “At any rate, the fairytale might be over, but life goes on. Let’s get home. I’m gonna be dead tired by the time we get back to the Drift.”

“Amen and pass the barbecue chips.” Milor agrees as we clamber into the van, closing the doors as we buckle in and get underway.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Lysanne’s Room

9:33am SGT

“Ms. Arrignis? Ms. Arrignis, please wake up.”

I curl up beneath the covers, squeezing my eyes further shut. Dandy’s voice is coming from the pad beside my door, and I groan before rolling over on my back, starting to kick the covers away. “Hnnnnnnnnnnng.” I moan, pressing my hands to my eyes. “What is it, Dandy?”

“I need you to come to Jazel’s room.”

I let out another soft little moan. “What time is it.”

“It is nine thirty in the morning. You have been asleep for roughly four hours.”

I groan, again. “Four hours. Four hours. We’ve had him back for four hours.” Huffing out a sigh, I open my eyes and start to sit up. “Alright. I’m coming. What’s the problem?”

“Kayenta snuck into Jazel’s room. He then tried to strangle her. I responded and separated the two of them; I have forced Kayenta outside Jazel’s room and I am currently restraining Jazel.”

“Maugrimm have mercy.” I grunt, getting out of bed and standing up, staggering to my door. “It’s too damn early for this shit, Dandy.”

“I apologize for interrupting your sleep cycle. I know this is not ideal, but I believe Jazel will listen to you more than he will listen to anyone else on the ship.”

“You’re fine.” I mumble, opening my door and shuffling out into the hall. Sure enough, Kayenta is crouched in the hall outside Jazel’s open door, her silver tails lashing fitfully and her ears laid flat against the top of her head. “Alright, Kaya. What’d you do to him?”

Her head turns to me, and she hisses. “Nothing! I just went to check on him! The sorcerer must’ve tampered with him. He keeps trying to attack me whenever I get close to him!”

“I’m not awake enough for this.” I mutter, tromping down the hall. “Stay out here. Let me and Dandy figure out what’s wrong.”

Shuffling into Jazel’s room, I’m immediately greeted by the scent of cinnamon and coals, and the soft light given off by the lantern fixtures in his room. Dandy is on the floor, leaned back against the bed, with Jazel in a full nelson. He’s breathing heavily, struggling every now and then as he tries to get out of Dandy’s restraining hold. Reaching over, I wave the door shut behind me.

“Go ahead and let him go, Dandy.” I say, making my way over to the bed and crouching down. “So long as Kayenta stays out of the room, it should be fine.”

Dandy relinquishes her unyielding hold, and Jazel rolls away from her, unsteadily. Crouching on the floor, he catches his breath, while glaring at the door.

“Alright, Jazel. What’s the big deal?” I ask, staring at him. “Did Kaya try to feed on you?”

“She thinks I’m weak.” he rasps, still glaring at the door. “Not good enough for her. I’m not weak.”

I stare owlishly at him, then look at Dandy, who gives me a befuddled shrug. Wiping a hand over my face, I take a deep breath, then lace my fingers together. “Dandy, you mind giving us some privacy and keeping an eye on Kaya?”

“Certainly. If you need anything, just call.” Dandy says, standing up and heading to the door. It spirals open, then closes behind her, leaving just me and Jazel, who’s still breathing heavily.

“Alright. So what’s this all about?” I ask, scooting over to the bed and leaning back against it, next to Jazel. “If she was trying to feed on you, just tell me. We can discipline her. I’ve spoken to Ozzy, and he said that Kaya should be able to subsist on the vials of soul that we recovered from Grimes’ lab; there’s enough there that she could go for years without feeding on you—”

“It’s not that.” he wheezes, leaning back against the bed. “She thinks I’m weak. I’m not.”

I’m quiet for a bit, not exactly sure where to go with that. “Soooo… she wasn’t trying to feed on you?”

“No.”

“Okay… so if she wasn’t trying to to feed on you, why were you trying to choke her out?”

“She thinks I’m weak. I’m not.” he growls, still staring at the door.

I drag a hand down my face. “Yes. I’ve gathered. You’ve said as much, several times. But that’s not a reason for trying to throttle someone, Jazel. Was she trying to do something to you?”

“No.”

“Alright then, so why were you getting all strangle-happy?”

“She thinks I’m not good enough for her.”

“So you tried to strangle her for checking on you?”

“She wants me to give her proof I’m not weak, I’ll give her proof I’m not weak. I killed Grimes with my bare hands; that should be plenty of proof.”

I take a deep breath. Something’s clearly wrong, because this obsession with being seen as ‘strong’ is not something that ever mattered to Jazel in the past. This is new, and I’m not sure where it’s coming from. And it seems to revolve solely around his relationship to Kayenta; he doesn’t seem to feel the need to prove it to anyone else but her. I’m starting to wonder if this is the result of the torture he suffered at Grimes’ hands. To go from being inexorably attracted to Kayenta to trying to strangle her is a major tone shift for Jazel.

“Why do you need to give her proof that you’re not weak?” I ask after a moment, adjusting my approach. “You’re obviously not weak; you managed to survive Grimes for an entire month.”

“She thinks I’m weak.” he mutters, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “She told me a mate must be strong, and that I’m weak.”

My mouth just kind of hangs open while I process that. “I… okay, so… wait, you said mate? Like… did you ask her if she wanted to date?”

“Sort of.” he mutters into his kneecaps, not looking at me. “She said I was frail, sickly, weak. That a mate needed to be strong, and that I was weak. That I couldn’t protect her if I needed to. That I couldn’t even protect myself.”

I have to give that a moment to sink in. “When was this?”

“Like… a month and a half ago. I think.”

“So right before you got kidnapped.”

“Yeah.”

We both sit quiet for a bit.

“She really told you that?” I eventually ask.

“Yeah.”

“So you asked if she was interested in you, and she turned you down.”

“Because she thinks I’m weak.”

“Well, no, I don’t think—”

“That’s literally what she told me, Lysanne. Her words exactly. ‘A mate needs to be strong, and you are weak’.”

“And so you’ve… been trying to prove to her that you’re strong.” I conclude after a moment.

He doesn’t say anything, hunching his shoulders a bit more.

I take another deep breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay, well… I suppose that makes more sense now. But if you want to prove to someone you’re strong, strangling them isn’t the best way to go about it. I mean yes, I guess it technically does get the point across, but there’s not much point in winning that argument by killing the person you’re trying to prove it to, y’know? Especially if the person you’re trying to prove it to is someone that you’re interested in pursuing.”

“Yeah.” he mutters into kneecaps. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it makes a whole bucketload of sense.” I say, staring at him. “Out of curiosity, what was the master plan there? What were you hoping to achieve by strangling her? What were you going to do after that?”

“I don’t know.” he mumbles. “I hadn’t really thought past that point. I just wanted to prove to her that I was strong.” He rubs his forehead against his knees. “It’s hard to think. There’s so many whispers.”

I press my lips together. Beforehand, Jazel could be selfish and hyperfocused, but at least his actions had a clear coherence and were usually reasoned out. I wasn’t so sure that was the case anymore — trying to strangle Kayenta for no other reason than to prove to her that he was strong was not a reasonable way of getting the point across. With all the past lives that were probably churning in his head now, he might no longer be capable of coherent, sane reasoning. When the doctor had told us that Jazel might need to go on psych medication, I’d silently told myself that we wouldn’t do that to him. I’d seen what that kind of stuff did to people; it was like taking a sledgehammer to their personality. It fixed their problems, but it flattened their ability to engage emotionally. It wasn’t much more than trading one problem for another.

But if Jazel can’t get his past lives under control, having to medicate him might be the only real option we would have, if he wants to have a normal life around other people.

“Well, you don’t need to prove to people that you’re strong. Not even Kaya.” I say after gathering my thoughts. “You’re already strong. If she fails to see that, then she fails to appreciate that strength comes in forms other than physical strength and raw power. I’ll talk to her and set some boundaries. Let her know that she needs to give you space while you’re recovering. And for now, the best thing that you can be doing is getting some sleep. I know you’re running on about the same amount of sleep that I am, or less.”

“I can’t sleep. The memories keep me awake.” he says as I start to get up.

“I’ll have Dandy bring you a sleep aid and a glass of water, then.” I say, standing. “But you need to sleep. You won’t get better if you don’t get your rest.” Reaching down, I start to pull him back up. “C’mon, up you go. Back into bed.”

“It’s fine, I can stand on my own.” he grunts. It seems to be a bit of a struggle for him, but he does eventually get back up onto the bed without help, sitting on its edge. After watching that display, I’m pretty sure that Dandy called me here not out of concern for Kayenta, but for Jazel. The way he is right now, I doubt that he’d be able to strangle Kayenta, considering everything that she’s capable of. If she didn’t overpower him outright, which she would easily be capable of, she could just ghost through his hands if she did actually feel threatened.

“Alright. Back in bed.” I order. “Dandy will be back shortly with a couple pills and water. Once you’ve gotten some rest, I’ll check on you later today, and we can see about taking a walk around the Drift. Got it?”

“Yeah.” he says as he starts to crawl back beneath the covers. With that settled, I turn and head back to the door, opening it and stepping back into the hall, waving it shut behind me.

“Dandy, I assume you caught all that?” I ask her. She nods, already starting to walk away, and I turn to Kayenta. “And you. We need to have a talk about boundaries.”

Kayenta’s only response is a scowl, accompanied by laying her ears back, and I can already going to tell this is going to be a tough conversation.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Lab 2

11:03pm SGT

“Honestly, this is frankly fascinating. I don’t consider myself an expert in the subject, but I am quite familiar with the underlying principles, since I’ve dabbled in necromancy. Granted, my exposure to souls has largely been of the damned variation, and used only for reanimating corpses. You can’t typically use the souls of the damned for power generation or as arcane catalysts — I mean technically, in principle, you can, but the laws of the hell planes typically don’t allow it, since they need the power generated by damned souls, and because allowing mortals access to hell’s power grid is just a bad idea on so many levels. Hence why those that wish to harness the power of a soul have to extract one from someone that’s still living, here on the mortal plane. Now, typically that’s a one-to-one proposition, meaning you can only get one soul from a single individual, but hoo boy, let me tell you, this right here? This just blows that whole paradigm out of the water. If all these souls really did come from Jazel—”

“Ozzy.” I say flatly. “Focus. Can they be reintegrated into Jazel?”

“Oh, right, right, of course.” Ozzy says, carefully pouring soul back into one of the vials he had gotten it from. We’ve had him running tests on the vials of soul we recovered from Grimes’ lab; we weren’t going to stuff it back into Jazel without finding out if Grimes had done something to it first. “Well, the short answer is yes. Doesn’t really require anything complicated, either. All he’d have to do is slurp it on down, though that’s easier said than done, considering there’s a hundred-some vials between both boxes. Now, I know what you’re thinking: it can’t be that simple, right? Funny thing is, it actually is. You don’t need any fancy rituals—”

“So the bottom line is that he can get back most of the soul he lost.” I say before the rambling can get much further.

“Well, yes.” Ozzy says, capping the vial and holding out to me. “But the question is, should you.”

I furrow my brow, reaching up to take the vial. “What do you mean?”

“I saw Jazel’s psych diagnosis.” Ozzy says as he starts sanitizing the lab equipment he was using to run tests on the liquid soul. “Multiple identity diffraction is serious stuff. And when you ingest a soul, you’re immersed in its memories. Put those two together, and it’s a recipe for disaster. If Jazel’s already struggling with multiple identity diffraction, then making him reintegrate all of the soul that was pulled out of him is just going to exacerbate his mental problems.”

I study the vial and the ethereal green liquid swirling within it. “So this stuff may only be useful for feeding to Kaya.”

“Well, that and the spirit blooms. I remember Jazel saying at one point that the spirit blooms were fed by soul as well.” Ozzy says, equipment clanking as he puts it away piece by piece. “But the good news is, depending on Kaya’s rate of consumption, this stockpile of soul should last her for years. Assuming she consumes, say, a vial per month, there’s enough here for her to go for a decade without ever feeding on Jazel. And I know that was important to you, since, let’s be honest, he looks pretty rough every time she gets done with him.”

I let out a slow sigh. “Yeah.” I say, carefully setting the vial back into the black cube where the others are. It doesn’t feel right to keep this stuff for Kayenta — I feel like we should at least make an effort to give it back to its rightful owner — but Ozzy’s got a point. Dumping more psychological stress on Jazel while he’s already struggling to control the voices of his past lives is not the road to recovery. And ultimately, it’ll be for his benefit if it keeps Kayenta from feeding on him. “I want this locked up, though. Both boxes. I don’t want to leave the equivalent of over a hundred souls just lying around; it needs to be secured.”

“Oh, definitely.” Ozzy agrees readily. “Like, holy cow. The black market value of that much soul? Waaaaaaay over a million credits. Maybe even two, three million credits. Depending on supply and demand and market fluctuations and all that. Could be even more than that, I’m not really an expert on the appraisal of soul products. But yeah, you definitely want to keep that stuff locked up. Make sure it’s hidden really well. Soul is considered suuuuper illegal as far as substances go. Don’t want authorities stumbling across that stuff during an inspection or something.”

“We’re well within our rights to have it, considering it comes from one of the people on the ship.” I say, fitting the lid back on the cube. “I’m going to move these to Dandy’s core room until we can find a good place to store them. They should be safe there. Almost nobody’s allowed in the core vault.”

“Smart. I was gonna say stick it under your bed or in your closet, but that’s a much better idea.” Ozzy says, starting to take off his labcoat. “Well, I’m gonna call it a night. That midnight discharge put all sorts of kinks in my sleep schedule. Normally I go to bed earlier than this, but I just wasn’t feeling it after sleeping in this morning. Hopefully this’ll be a good reset. I hate having my sleep schedule all out of whack, it makes me feel groggy and disoriented during the day.”

Clearly it hasn’t impacted your ability to run your mouth, I almost say, but I just give a quiet nod as I pick up the cube. “I’ll probably do the same soon. You have a good night, Ozzy.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” Ozzy says as he hangs up his labcoat on the way to the door. “I got a new soundtrack from a group that records the meditation chants of shaper monks in temples in Ranter colonies. It does wonders for my inner balance. I’d considered picking up elemental shaping when I was younger, but my cousins always said I was too clumsy for it…”

He keeps rambling all the way out the door, perhaps not even realizing that I’m not following him. I wait a good minute or two, just to give him enough time to get well on his way, then pick up the second cube, and start for the door. As it spirals open, I cautiously peer out, checking to make sure that he’s not in the hall. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I sneak out, booking it towards the elevators.

Next time someone tries to kidnap one of us, I hope they grab Ozzy by accident. They won’t last fifteen minutes before begging to give him back.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

3/3/12764 4:18pm LST

“Hey, whiskey whiskers.” I call as I step into the common room. “Just letting you know we’re not doing family dinner tonight. It’ll be fend for yourself this evening.”

“Whiskey whiskers?” Milor asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder from where he’s standing in front of the common room’s wide window. He raises a hand to stroke his jaw. “That a hint or something? You askin’ me to shave?”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.” I say, wandering towards him. “You’re constantly giving other people nicknames, so I figured I’d take a crack at it.”

“Hmm.” he says thoughtfully. “Whiskey whiskers. Honestly, that’s not bad. Pretty quippy, if you ask me.”

“Glad you appreciate it. Took me hours to come up with a good one.” I say, coming to a stop beside him. “What are you looking at?”

“Fluffy McFoxtails.” he says, tilting his whiskey glass towards the access deck wrapped around the biosphere. “She’s in a bit of a state ever since you told her to stay away from Jazel. I don’t think she knows what to do with herself. I don’t know how long she’s been down there, but she’s done at least three circuits of the access deck so far.”

“She needs to give him some space to recover.” I say, watching as Kayenta walks around the access deck. “She stresses him out right now.”

“You don’t say.” he says, glancing at me. “I thought he would’ve been happy to see her.”

“He made an advance a while back. She rejected him on the basis that he was weak.” I explain, sticking to the short version. “It’s had him pretty worked up ever since. He’s been obsessed with proving to her that he’s strong.”

“Oh really?” he says, sounding surprised as he sips from his glass. “I didn’t know about that. Good on him for getting up the guff to ask her out. What’s he going to do to prove to her that he’s strong?”

I scowl at Milor. “He doesn’t need to prove that to her. He’s already strong enough as he is.”

Milor makes a face at that. “I dunno, he’s spent a good chunk of the last six months either laid up in bed, hospitalized, or kidnapped…”

“That doesn’t make him weak.” I retort. “Besides, Kayenta telling him that he isn’t ‘strong’ enough to be involved with her is pushing him towards the wrong kind of masculinity.”

“I dunno. Seems like a fair demand to me.” Milor says, shrugging. “Wouldn’t want her to snap him in half during a midnight romp.”

“You’re being an ass.” I say, thumping him in the arm.

“Hey, watch it, mayng. I’m drinking here.” Milor protests, taking another sip from his glass. “But seriously, you can’t really fault her for wanting a strong partner.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Have I ever told you how shallow you are?”

“I’m being serious, blondie.” he says, nodding down towards her. “She’s lived in the woods for four centuries; we both know she’s mostly a wild animal, and wild animals want resilient partners. Of course she’d want a strong mate. A strong mate means a higher chance of strong offspring, and knowing she can rely on her mate to protect her and her kids gives her more bandwidth to focus on raising their offspring.”

“That’d make sense if she wasn’t sapient.” I say, folding my arms. “But she’s capable of higher thought, just like the rest of us. She should be able to see there’s more to a partner than just their strength or their reproductive capability.”

Milor snorts. “Oh what, you think sapient creatures are much better? I got news for you, blondie: we think the same way that the birds and the bees do. We just have a different way of measuring it. How many relationships are make and break, based on one partner’s bank account? How many relationships never get started just because we look at someone and decide that they’re not attractive enough to take a chance on? We want strong, attractive partners that can provide for us and our offspring, just like wild animals. The only thing that’s different is that we’ve got different ways of defining what counts as good enough for us.”

“Okay, well, yeah.” I admit reluctantly. “But my point is that there’s more to it than that. There’s more to a relationship than just being strong, or financially secure, or good in bed. Kaya needs to learn to measure on merits beyond just mere strength. If she did, she’d realize that Jazel has a lot to offer.”

Milor swirls his glass around, and doesn’t respond right away. “I think she already knows that, though.”

“No, she doesn’t know that!” I counter. “She told him he was weak, and that she needed a strong mate! Which was more or less turning him down. Even Jazel, who’s pretty damn dense, was able to read the subtext on that one.”

“Okay, yes, that’s true, but hear me out here.” Milor says. “If she’s not interested in him, why is she all worked up when she can’t be around him?”

“Well… obviously, she’s probably hungry!” I point out. “She’s gone a month without feeding on anyone, and he’s the only one she can feed on without killing them, so that’s probably why she’s all moody.”

Milor gives me a flat look. “That’s an awfully convenient way to explain away her being upset over you keeping her from seeing Jazel.”

“It’s valid.” I mutter.

“Alright then. Try this on for size: Why don’t you feed her. Give her one of those vials of soul stuff we brought back from Grimes’ lab. See if that gets ‘er to settle. And if she’s still fidgety afterwards and still wants to see her boy, then you’ve got your answer.”

“If I let her near him, he might try to strangle her again!” I protest.

“Blondie. Seriously?” Milor scoffs. “You don’t really expect me to believe that you think that Jazel actually poses a threat to her, do you? You’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with an orc three times her size. What’s Jazel gonna do, sneeze on her? That’d probably hurt him more than it’d hurt her, with the state he’s in.”

“It’s still a bad idea.” I grumble, hunching my shoulders.

“No, it’s an idea you don’t wanna try because you don’t wanna be proved wrong.” Milor says, knocking back the rest of his glass. “But hey, that’s just my take. You do you. If you want to be stubborn and keep her away from Jazel to feed your sense of self-righteousness, be my guest.”

“I’ll have to talk to her first.” I mutter. “I’m not just gonna let her run up on him with the state he’s in right now.”

“That’s what I thought.” he says, sizing up his empty glass. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go make myself a bowl of cereal since we’re not doing dinner together tonight.”

I make a face. “Going straight from whiskey to milk and cereal? Gods, that makes me sick just hearing it out loud.”

“They don’t call me ol’ ironsides for nothin’.” Milor burps, turning and heading back to the counter to wash out his glass. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I say, waving him off. He starts to make his way back across the common room, but I realize that since I have him alone, it’s a good time to ask him something I’ve been wanting to asking him. “Wait, Milor. After we left Vissengard, all those months ago, you could’ve gone back. Or gone anywhere else. Why did you stay with us?”

He shrugs. “Y’all needed a ship guard. And I don’t have to pay rent. And the food’s free. The perks are pretty good.”

“You didn’t stay because you’re a Challenger, and this is an old Challenger ship?” I demand. “I want you to be honest, Milor. People don’t just up and leave a job they’ve had for a decade. You didn’t even go back and pack up your apartment on Vissengard. Just shrugged and came with us when we left the system. Why?”

Another shrug. “Y’all needed another set of eyes on the fox. And it felt more important to keep an eye on you lot than it did to keep handing out parking tickets on Vissengard. I figured the chance wouldn’t come again if I passed it up, so I took it while it was there.”

I press my lips together. “You’re not spying on us or on CURSE for the resurgent Challengers, are you?”

That draws a snort out of him. “If I was spying, who would I report it to? The Challenger program is dead. There ain’t no one left to report back to. Trust me, blondie, if I was gonna throw y’all under the bus, I would’ve let Grimes do the heavy lifting. I wouldn’t get my hands dirty when I know there’s someone else that would take care of it for me.”

I huff out a breath. “Then why are you here? Why are you doing this? You’re not getting paid, so it has to be something else. There has to be a reason you’re still here, instead of going somewhere else and finding something else to do.”

He moves around the counter in the back, turning on the water so he can start washing out his glass. “Maybe this is all I have left to do. There’s no more Challenger program, no more big missions… maybe all that’s left is keeping an eye on a couple of kids and their fox. And it don’t seem like a lot, but it’s enough for me.” Setting the glass on the drying rack, he turns around and shrugs yet again. “Not everyone’s as complicated as you, blondie. I’m a backworld redneck; all I need is whiskey, friends, a job that’s worth doing, and that’s good enough for me.”

I don’t know why, but that answer bothers me. Maybe because it’s too simple. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t imagine living like that, couldn’t imagine not wanting or striving towards something more, some higher purpose. Maybe it’s because I wish I could have it as simple as that. “So you’re just gonna stick around until you find something better to do?”

He scratches the back of his head. “I mean, if you want me to leave, I can go call Huck…”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” I say quickly. “Just trying to figure it out, is all. I don’t really get you sometimes.”

“Don’t overthink it, blondie. Whiskey, friends, and a good job is all I need to be happy. You’ll understand when you get older.” He starts for the door once more. “But if you could start stocking more meat, that’d be much appreciated. There’s only so long a man can go munchin’ on roots and tubers.”

I sigh. “You want meat, you’ll have to buy it yourself!” I call as he reaches the door.

“Don’t tempt me!” he calls back before the door spirals shut behind him.

In the ensuing silence, I turn back to the wide window. His answer still bothered me, not because it was untrue, but because it was the kind of answer that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to give. I don’t think I’d be happy with friends, whiskey, and a good job; I’d always want something more, some purpose to my life. I wanted to know I was making a difference, and I’m not sure I’d ever be able to settle for the kind of things Milor was happy with. I suppose I envy him that — his ability to be satisfied with the simple things.

Movement down on the access deck draws my attention, and I glance towards it. It’s Kayenta again, making another listless circuit of the biosphere, tails swaying fitfully. Like Milor said, she looks like she doesn’t know what to do with herself — looking lost, and not knowing where to go or what to do. As she goes, she looks up to the common room, and catches sight of me staring down at her; her silver ears lay back as she glares at me. I glare back at her.

I don’t like it, but I’m gonna have to talk to her eventually.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Dandy’s Room

11:01pm LST

Raising my hand, I go to hit the doorbell icon on the pad outside the door of Dandy’s room — only for the door to spiral open before I can tap it. Standing behind the door is Dandy, staring curiously at me. “Did you need something, Ms. Arrignis?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You couldn’t wait for me to ring the doorbell?”

She glances to where my hand is hovering an inch away from the pad. “Should I have waited? I knew you were coming, so I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

I smile. “Next time you see me coming, just open the door if you want me to come inside.”

She appears to think about that for a moment. “Unfortunately, my prescience has limits. I cannot tell the difference between when you are simply walking by my room, versus when you intend to stop at my door. I only realized your intent to enter my room when you turned to face it. Would you still like me to open the door in those cases?”

I shrug. “It’s up to you. I wouldn’t mind.” I motion to her room. “Do you mind if I come in? I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“I don’t mind at all.” she says, stepping out of the way, motioning me in. “Were you unable to sleep? It’s very late to be making visits.”

“Yeah, sorta…” I say as the door spirals shut behind me. “Usually my shower helps me settle, but I’ve had some stuff on my mind that I just can’t get straight. Milor thinks I should let Kaya see Jazel.”

“You do not think this should be allowed.” Dandy deduces, settling on the bed next to me as I sit heavily on its edge.

“Not with the way Jazel is right now.” I say, lacing my fingers together. “He’s unstable, and he’s struggling. There’s been times when he doesn’t recognize me, and it takes a few minutes and a few reminders before it clicks. It almost looks like a neurodegenerative condition to me, something like dementia. He shouldn’t be dealing with that; he’s only twenty-eight years old.”

“There are treatments for that.” Dandy points out. “There are certain therapies which help reclaim cognitive function, and there are even treatments which help restore neural cells. It’s a little extreme, but if there is actual neural decline present, then it can be reversed if we catch it quickly enough.”

“I know. I know.” I say, rubbing my face, and then looking around. “It’s just… a lot to deal with.” Dandy’s room is immaculate, her bed neatly made, her floor vacuumed and spotless. There’s no holoposters or frames on the walls; no effort has been made to decorate anything. Presumably, she doesn’t have much in the way of material needs. “I’ve been looking through insurance documents and medical billing over the last couple of days, trying to figure out what places and specialists are covered by our insurance, and which ones offer the kinds of services Jazel will need… it’s just been a lot.”

Dandy reaches up, placing a gentle hand on my back. “If you are feeling overwhelmed, you can ask me for assistance. I will gladly do an assessment of our insurance coverage and cross-reference it with the available psychological recovery resources in Colloquium member systems, and do an analysis of services offered by each one, and the quality of those services.”

I laugh a little at that. “Can you? Please?” I ask, leaning against her and resting my head on her shoulder. “That would be great. All I see when I look at the documents is a blur of numbers and legal jargon.”

“Yes, gladly.” she says, properly sliding her arm around me. “I will begin working on that overnight. It is a process that can run in the background during my rest cycle.”

“Thanks.” I say, breathing out a long sigh of relief. I just sit there for a while, leaned against Dandy, staring quietly at the closed door of her room. I feel worn out, braindead, exhausted, drained. “No fairytale endings.”

“Come again?” Dandy asks, looking at me.

“It’s something Milor said.” I explain tiredly. “No fairytale endings. Things don’t magically get better after we beat the bad guy. Like in the holos, where they beat the bad guy and then everything’s just… okay afterwards? But it’s not really that way, I suppose. You still have to clean up the mess after the bad guy’s dead. Things don’t magically get better on their own.”

“Yes. That is one aspect of conflict that entertainment properties often leave out.” Dandy concurs. “The resolution of a conflict is rarely so simple as defeating a single individual or a group. Victory is rarely so total as to end without losses of some sort, and victory rarely brings apokatastasis.”

I’m with her all the way until the end, when she loses me at the big word. “Apoka… what?” I repeat, confused.

“It is a word from an ancient language that means restoration or restitution to an original form or state of being.” she explains. “In a religious context it could be taken to mean a salvation of sorts. But the concept itself appears quite often in fictional properties, as you have observed. In fairytales and fantasy stories, the resolution of conflict often brings about apokatastasis: all that was ruined, and all that was destroyed, is restored to its original state, as it was before misfortune befell it. Forests are made lush again, kingdoms are restored, darkness is lifted, and those that suffered are made whole once more.”

“Oh… yeah.” I say, a little floored by that. It’s something that I’ve seen in stories hundreds of times, a pattern so well-worn that I knew exactly what she was talking about. But I’d never realized there was such a specific word for it. “I wish we could have apokata… that thing you said. It’s got too many syllables.”

Dandy chuckles at that. “Yes. It does have many syllables.”

At hearing her little laugh, a light, fluttery thing, I turn my head to brush my nose against her cheek. “I like hearing you laugh.”

She turns her head, her digital-blue eyes studying me. Calculating. But not in a cold, detached way. It’s like she’s trying to figure out the right way to respond. “Should I laugh more often?” she asks.

“Only if you feel like it. Don’t force yourself to laugh.” Sighing out a long breath, I close my eyes. “Nobody ever told me that tracking down bad guys and defeating evil sorcerers would make you so tired. They make it look so easy in the holos.”

“It is late. Perhaps you should get some sleep.” Dandy recommends.

“I should.” I agree. After a moment of weighing it in my head, I go ahead. “Dandy, I know this might be asking a lot, but… do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?”

I can feel her stiffen up as the question processes. “Oh.” she says softly. “I…”

“If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly okay.” I say without opening my eyes. “It’s just that I’m tired, and you’re warm, and I’m already in my pajamas, and it’s been a long time since I slept next to someone else. It’s nice having someone to curl up next to, to just have someone else… there.”

It takes a few moments, but the tension starts to bleed out of her frame. “I… wouldn’t mind giving it a try.” she says slowly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I repeat drowsily, failing to fight back a yawn.

“No, I want to.” she says softly, reaching over to pull back the covers. “Go on and get comfortable. I’ll go grab the spare pillow from the closet.”

She gets up with that, heading over to the wall, and I shuffle across the bed and under the covers, getting settled in. It isn’t long before a second pillow is placed on the bed, and Dandy settles in as well, resting on her side towards me. Taking a hand out from beneath my head, I rest it on the space between the two pillows, and after a moment, Dandy rests her hand on mine, so we can clasp them together.

Smiling, I close my eyes, and let myself drift off to sleep.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Kitchen

3/4/12764 10:05am LST

I’d kinda been hoping to sneak up on her.

I was in a debatably good position to do so; Dandy had caught Kayenta rifling in the pantry, and by the time I got to the kitchen, she had moved onto the fridge. The freezer in particular. I’d taken a moment to prep myself outside the door, then opened it, my sock’d feet easily gliding over the tile floor.

But even the whisper-silent sound of the door spiraling open didn’t escape her attention. I didn’t know if it was the faint rustle of my clothes that got her attention, or the ever-so-slight change of air pressure that came with the door opening, but she stopped rummaging through the freezer, her silver ears flicking and pivoting in my direction. A moment later, the rest of her followed as she peered around the door of the freezer, a container of ice cream — my ice cream — tucked under her arm.

For a moment, we just stand there, staring at each other across the kitchen.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing with my Marshy butter toffee and caramel ice cream?” I demand after a moment.

She narrows her eyes at me, curling her arm around it a little tighter.

“You better put that back or there’s gonna be violence in the next five seconds.” I warn her.

She reaches down, beginning to open the lid of the container. I immediately start towards her, starting to roll up my sleeves; she snaps the lid shut and shoves the container back in the freezer, yanking out an entire tray of fruit popsicles and darting away. I close the freezer door when I reach it, then turn around to raise an eyebrow at her. “You hungry or something?”

She just glares at me, wrestling a popsicle free of the tray and shoving the whole thing in her mouth.

I stare at her, then shake my head. “I’d make a joke about everything else you could fit in your mouth, but you wouldn’t get it.” Reaching into my jacket, I pull out one of the vials of Jazel’s soul that I grabbed before coming here. “Maybe this would fix the munchies you’re getting.”

Her eyes widen, and she immediately moves around the table towards me, starting to reach for the vial. I hold it out of reach, though. “But first, you and I are going to have a talk about Jazel.” I say. “And after we’ve gotten some things straight, then you can have this. Are we clear?”

She glares at me, but reaches up and takes the popsicle out of her mouth. “Speak.” she says, impatient but begrudgingly compliant.

“Good.” I say, tucking the vial back in my jacket. “About a month and a half ago, Jazel asked you if you were interested in him, and you told him that a mate needed to be strong, and he was weak. Remember it?”

Her eyes dart away as she nibbles on the popsicle. “Maybe. What about it?”

“Why’d you turn him down?” I demand. I want to ask her if it’s because she thought he was weak, but I hold that part in — I want her to have a chance to formulate her own response, instead of forcing the conversation in a certain direction.

She shrugs. “Because he is weak. Weak mates are not desirable.”

I take a deep breath, biting back my response. “Okay. Tell me what makes him weak.”

Her orange-yellow eyes flit back to me in a flat look. “You know well that he is weak. He cannot protect himself and he cannot protect others. His body is frail, and when he is injured, it takes him a long time to recover. If it was not for his friends, he would’ve died well before now.”

“He killed Grimes.” I point out.

Kayenta’s brow furrows, and she takes a bite out of the popsicle. “He got lucky.” she mutters past a mouthful of grape slush-ice.

“Beat him to death with his bare hands.” I add.

She doesn’t say anything, just looks away.

“He proved that he would kill for you, and the rest of us.” I go on. “Even when he was sickly, and unstable, and struggling to walk on his own, he got up, walked over to Grimes, and beat that man to death with his bare hands in order to protect the rest of us. Isn’t that strength?” I give her a moment to let that sink in. “And if that’s not strength, what is, Kaya?”

She doesn’t answer, but her ears do lay flat against her head.

“There are other ways of being strong, Kaya.” I say. “Just because someone doesn’t have a strong body doesn’t mean they don’t have a strong mind, or a strong heart. Yeah, Jazel is a little fragile. That’s not his fault; that’s the way he was born. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t strong. He fights for the things he cares about, and he endures the things he has to. Like having you feed on him over these last six months. He lets you do that to him because it keeps you from feeding on the rest of us. Even when he feels sick and tired afterwards, he lets you keep doing it. Again, and again, and again, even though he knows how it makes him feel, and what it does to him. It takes strength to keep doing that, and to not shy away from it.”

Kayenta doesn’t say anything. Her gaze seems to be permanently averted to the side, so she doesn’t have to look me in the eye; her ears are still folded flat, as if she was trying to block out my words, though I know she hears me. A couple of drips from the popsicle have collected on the tile from where it hangs from her hand, half-eaten.

“He is not as weak as you think he is.” I say before the silence drags on too long. “He can be strong, and he is strong. And if I were you, I would think twice about the kind of mate you’re looking for.” Reaching into my jacket again, I pull out the vial and hold it out. “You’re allowed to go see him if you want. Just don’t stress him out too much. He’s been through a lot because of you.”

Kayenta’s eyes flit back to the vial, and she reaches out hesitantly, before grabbing it and clutching it to her chest. But she doesn’t say anything, and I don’t have anything left to say. So I turn and head for the door, because I know I need to get out of here before my temper boils over. Once the kitchen door spirals shut behind me, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, blowing it out in a long sigh.

“I think you got through to her.” drawls a familiar voice.

I open my eyes and look to the side. Milor’s leaning back against the wall, toothpick hanging out of his mouth. “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you.” I say, starting to walk.

“I was curious. Sue me.” he says, pushing off the wall and falling in step beside me. “You think she’s gonna go make nice with the witchling?”

“What she chooses to do at this point is up to her. I’ve said my piece and I’ll only step in if I have to.” I reply. “I’m guessing you’ve got nothing better to do than snoop around on the rest of us?”

“Man’s gotta keep himself entertained somehow.”

“Agreed. Well, since you don’t have anything better to do, you can help me knock out the biosphere dailies.”

“Actually, I just remembered I’ve got some laundry to do…”

“Too late. Let’s go, buster. Those vorcruelians aren’t going to feed themselves.”

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Jazel’s Room

4:23am LST

They say that dreams are memories of forgotten lives.

But some memories are better left forgotten.

We want to believe we were good people in past lives, but live enough lives, and you will eventually find yourself the villain in one of them. For those of us that have lived hundreds of thousands of lives, we find that we were the villains, not just once or twice, but quite often.

I was the villain, quite often.

Curled up beneath my covers, lost in the space between sleeping and waking, I recall the cruel things some of my past iterations have done. Their dark knowledge resides in me, alongside more benevolent manifestations. Since I’ve gotten back to the Drift, I’ve made a habit of writing down the knowledge from those past lives when I can, much of it involving spells lost to history. Sometimes they are only fragments, but a good number of them are whole and complete. A reclamation of Aurescura’s ancient heritage.

But often I hesitate to write down those spells which came from my villainous iterations — only to write them down anyway, because this knowledge will soon slip away, and I might one day have a use for it. I write, as if committing the knowledge to paper will remove it and its horrors from my mind. And sometimes, I simply lie beneath my blanket as the trauma of forbidden sorcery rolls through my head, paralyzed by malicious designs that I could’ve never contemplated in this life.

It’s been horrible, and the only way I’ve been able to sleep is with the sleep aids that Dandy’s been providing with each dinner.

It’s getting to that time again; I can see the clock on the wall ticking away to the evening. I’ve already done my physical therapy for the day, and after my shower, much of the afternoon has been spent writing down spells that I knew in my other lives. I lie here now on my bed, with that little book pressed to my head, as if I could just spill all my memories out onto the pages and have them take form. I don’t want to write anymore; my hand is sore. And yet I know I must, before the memories fade and settle back into the depths of my soul.

Setting the book down, I roll over on my back, staring up at the dim ceiling of my room, lit by my hanging lanterns. I don’t know how much longer this’ll last, but I hate it. I hate not really being quite sure of who I am. I hate drifting between identities; I hate being confused when I wake up, or finish writing a lost spell from another life. I hate having delays in recognition, of not knowing I’m talking to my friends or coworkers until the fog of memories clears and I remember their faces. I had hoped that everything would get better once I’d escaped Grimes, but that hadn’t been the case. The damage lingered, and I couldn’t begin to imagine how long it’d take to repair.

I cover my face with a hand. I wish there was a button I could press to just make everything go back to the way it was before. To fix everything. To have all the problems just disappear, and go back to when things were easier. But I knew was there was no such thing, and I would just have to deal with this. This was my new reality.

The sound of my door spiraling open draws my attention, and I pull my hand off my face to look. It’s always brighter out in the hall than it is in my room, so for a moment, all I can make out is a silhouette. But then I realize that silhouette has tails, and my pulse starts to pick up.

I scramble to sit up, tapping at my left hand to try and get my grimoire awake.

Kayenta sees it and goes pelting across the room, beelining straight for my bed. By the time my grimoire’s glowing, she’s already lunging through the air, tackling me flat before I can get any of my spells pulled. Despite the breath getting knocked out of me, I fumble around, trying to get a hold on her and throw her off. After several seconds of grappling with each other, she manages to get my wrists pinned down to the bed, and though I try to squirm free, she’s just too strong. Even if I wasn’t in my weakened state, I doubt I’d be able to physically overpower her — so I just glare at her as I pant, trying to catch my breath.

“You still resist, even when you are sickly.” she observes, those august eyes glowing faintly in the twilight dusk of my room. “You are stubborn, little witch.”

Little witch.

Something about that grounds me in this moment, in the here and now. It pushes away the past lives crowding in on me, gives me room to breathe. I tense my arms, trying to jerk them loose of her pinning hold, but Kayenta doesn’t let up. She just glances at my arms, then back to me.

“You were angry I called you weak.” she observes. “This is what Lysanne told me.”

I bare my teeth at her. “I’m not weak.” I snarl, trying to yank loose of her hold again, to no avail.

“Lysanne said the same.” Kayenta says, leaning a little lower. “She said you may not be strong, but you endure and persist. That you fight for the things you care about.”

I go still, staring up at her. “Lysanne told you that?”

She nods.

I start to relax, my fingers uncurling as my grimoire fades away on my left hand. She notices, and slowly releases my wrists, though I don’t move my arms once she’s let go. I don’t know what to do in a situation like this.

“Little witch,” she says, leaning even lower now. “you told me two moons ago that you wanted to be my mate.”

All of the sudden, I find myself flooded with nervousness. Nervousness when I realize how close she is, how her ravenlock hair spills over her shoulders and forms a curtain on either side of me, when I realize that her breath smells faintly of a fruit salad. I have to stop myself from asking if she got into the popsicles in the freezer.

And in that moment I realize that this is who I am. This is Jazel: nervousness and awkwardness and clueless questions at all the wrong times.

I almost tell her what I told her almost two months ago: not quite, that there’s a few steps between courting and mates, that it’s a bit more complex than just a yes or no. But I now have the disjointed wisdom of past lives, in pieces and fragments; I know better than to equivocate. I know I have to speak her language, and that a straight answer is what she wants, not hemming and hawing.

“Yes.” I answer quietly. “I want to be your mate.”

Her hands slide along the sheets, resting on my shoulders as she touches the tip of her nose to mine. “Fight for me.”

I nod quietly.

“Kill for me.” she murmurs.

“I already have.”

She smiles at that, her silver ears flicking. “Yes. You did.”

With that, she leans in, pressing her lips to mine. It’s different from the other kisses I’ve gotten from her until now; those kisses were never a product of sentiment, but of need. The only purpose they served was to siphon bits and pieces of soul out of me. But this kiss wasn’t like that; it was a product of emotion, of desire. It’s soft and playful, not greedy and demanding, and it tastes faintly of grape and strawberry popsicles.

And I can feel myself coming back, my identity finding its place once more, because I know who wanted this more than anything else. I’ve been many people over the aeons, but this, this experience and this moment? This desire?

These all belonged to Jazel Jaskolka, and that is who this life belonged to.

Kayenta pulls away after a moment, her thumb tracing along my jaw. “You taste like cinnamon and smell like coals, little witch.” she murmurs.

I open my mouth to answer, pause, then turn my head away in time to sneeze off to the side. Kayenta jerks back a little, looking startled, and I thump my chest, clearing my throat.

“Sorry.” I apologize. “Still a little under the weather.”

She relaxes at that, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “You will get better. You always do.” With that, she starts digging and tugging at the covers on the bed, carving out a space for herself before sprawling alongside me, settling her head on my shoulder and wrapping an arm around me. “Go to sleep, little witch. I will keep you safe.”

I almost protest, but there’s nothing to argue with. This is nice; it’s comfortable, and warm and safe. As I lift an arm to rest it atop Kayenta’s, her tails curl around, draping across both of us like a fluffy blanket. Closing my eyes, I start to relax.

It’d taken the better part of a year,

countless disagreements and arguments,

some sacrifice on my part,

a lot of evenings spent watching holos and eating dessert,

countless questions and answers,

one kidnapping and a few murders,

but in the end…

It was worth it.