What Dreams May Come [Aurin]

[Rune]

Eshar did not appear to be able to sense Aurin, or, if they could, there was no outward appearance, so, for a moment, it seemed as though the human was on his own.

Then, there was a flicker, a different tidal movement in the ocean of gold that was their eyes,

Aurin

The one word came from inside his head, but also from the walls, resonating from every direction and centering on him. A sense of intense relief washed over him so strongly this too threatened to overtake his will but it dampened as quickly as it had rushed in. No other words were given to him but thoughts came into his mind. It felt no different than his own thoughts ever did, in his own internal voice and cadence, except he hadn't thought them. Aurin knew that they were his thoughts, but not of his creation. They were clear, however. He was to pour all the aether he had into his rune of Negation and wrap it around the god before him for as long as he could manage.

However much he downplayed his magical abilities, Aurin was no fool, he would know well enough that what was being asked of him was overstepping. He knew Negation well by now, but knew also that he had not mastered the rune and was not powerful enough to do what was being asked of him. Yet still, he was being asked.

A sacrifice he choose to make, or walk away from. Unlike the requests of most gods, the stakes were known. What could be lost on each side of the scale, while not fully fleshed out were at least outlined. That Eshar might have overwhelmed his will and forced him was obvious, but they had not done so. They had asked.

[Aurin]

They had asked, and he wasn't sure he could get out of here on his own power. It had taken quite a lot of grit to get this far, and he had been pouring all of his aether into his magical defenses the whole time. He sighed, his senses near failing anyway. Already, he was weaving the shape of a ward around them. His hands came up like he was some charlatan on the street, but he needed the movement to focus his mind, to focus his trick. He stopped trying to semble, to glamour, to ward himself. Instead, he wove that pattern into an ovoid around Eshar. When the structure was complete, he tasked it against the Dread Mists that impaled them many times over.

He grunted as the Mists fought back like a living thing. He poured himself into the wards, and the tentacles of chaos snapped. But it wasn't over then. The Mists battered at his wards, trying to get to Eshar. He didn't know if the rest of the Menagerie had suddenly come back to reality. He couldn't spare it a thought. If whatever was left of him afterward couldn't vault back to Kalzasi, he would find his way back to Torin somehow. He knew Torin would take care of him, even if he was soul-maimed in the process of freeing the Myshalarai and Eshar from this hellscape.

The mists attacked his ward, and he held the line. For now, at least, he would rather them attack his ward. If they reached out for him, he didn't know that he could protect himself, too, and then he would fall, he would fail, and Eshar would be open to their influence once more. So he was quiet. He concentrated.

Later, perhaps, he would laugh. Negating chaos meant upholding Order, and that wasn't really his style. And yet, here he was.

He didn't know if Eshar was still wrapped up in his own thoughts, but if so, they could sense what he was doing on their behalf.

Aurin just hoped it was enough.

He just hoped he was enough.

[Rune]

As the Magus' hands came up, weaving aether into a shield, into armor against the mists they stilled. The swirling chaos of images seemed to sense what he was doing, that he was trying to separate them from their divine prey. With the mindless movement of a creature with senses not of the mortal plane they began seeking for the source of the intrusion. While the mist was not conscious, it could sense aether. Tendrils began to push out of the mass, twitching, reaching for the wielder of magic.

The search was tentative at first, as one who is sated scents something appealing and raises their head in interest. Then, the shield was tasked against them, instantly the casual became a concentrated, effort. A hundred tentacles of mist whipped out towards the redhead in what was unmistakably an attack. They were faster than his eyes could follow and they were on him before he could blink, they were in him, but in that moment, another set of eyes came into focus for the first time in a year.

Gold irises snapped into focus, clarity came into the mind that controlled them and though the room was filled with an awful calamity of unidentifiable sounds, when Eshar's mouth formed a word, Aurin felt it reverberate through everything.

No

The room was a whirlwind of mists torrenting in every direction, hunting the one who disrupted them. The whole mass rose, wrapping around the human in an imitation of the shell he'd created to protect Eshar with the exact opposite intent. As the shell closed around him, the last thing he saw was the deity raise a hand.

The mist sucked back toward the center of the room. It hurt when they pulled out of Aurin, hurt somewhere deeper than his flesh and bone, deeper than his brain, a relief that left him sickened to his soul. He had been touched, and though the touch was gone, the change it would cause was only beginning.

Though they fought, the twisting, screaming chaos magic was forced into a sphere shape, the size of a person but shrinking rapidly till it was the size of a head, a fruit, a marble. The body floating began to descend slowly, and in the moment the feet came to rest on the floor the marble of mist dropped so they touched at the same moment.

The sudden silence was shocking, but it lasted only a moment before voices could be heard below, some wailing, some laughing, some speaking words too far off to be understood, a chorus of relief.

[Aurin]

There was pain in the piercing, but there was also an orgasmic joy. For a year, he had avoided the Dread Mists, skirted danger to acquire things, free people, and establish a network of power for himself that might survive the calamity and thrive in the Zaichaer to come. Aurin knew with a certainty that he was dead, or that he would become one of those shambling mutants. He hoped someone got word to Torin. He hoped Arry mastered Solunarium and that the love of his minstrel was enough for him.

Even when Eshar pulled them away, the relief was nauseating, and the longing was disturbing. He didn't know what Eshar was exactly, but he knew who Eshar was on some instinctual level. For all their sharp edges and barbs, something true had passed between them when Eshar had taught him the tricks of the Myshalarai, when he had taught Eshar the tricks one picked up observing countless courtesans ply their trade.

He wouldn't have called it love, but perhaps it was one of its myriad of forms.

They weren't a Mistlord or the Mists would not have harmed them.

At some point, he had staggered to one knee, then to both. Then he was blinking stupidly at Eshar's feet as real sounds rose from down below. The man who had thumbed his nose at the royal Draegir of Kalzasi was in a position of supplication before someone else.

With a thief's quickness, he snatched the marble of chaos. He was already polluted by it; best to keep it from his brothers and sisters of the Menagerie. They had suffered enough.

He looked up, bone weary and looking, for once, older than his age.

"If I'm going to become a monster... just kill me now..."

[Rune]

The creature that was Eshar looked down at the man, his position might have been seen as supplication by one observing, but to Them it was exhausted proof of the herculean effort expended to come to the aid of one whose connection to him had been intense, but brief. Aurin had had no obligation to come their Their call, and an ocean of reasons not to. Still he had come and pushed through such devious opposition as would have crushed or consumed most mortals.

A smile curved the beautiful mouth of the demigod, as teasing and cruel as it was adoring and a hand, still so pale it was almost translucent reached out to cup Aurin's scruffy ginger bearded face.

Oh, Aurin

The words were aloud, but also in his head, echoing with exultation and a pride that was all for him. His name heard by his ears was the one he had chosen for himself, the one he heard in his mind was something else. He had heard it once before, on the lips of his delirious runesmith. The tone shifted, the feeling of laughter ringing around the edges,

You were always a monster. Just as We are.

For a moment the yellow-gold of Eshar's eyes met the burnished copper of the human's and filled his sight so he could see nothing else. When he found himself able to look away he was no longer on the highest story of The Menagerie, no longer in Zaichaer, no longer on the mortal plane. He now found himself on what all his senses told him was a well polished wooden floor that somehow managed to be soft under his knees like plush carpet, with a warmth emanating up from it that washed both the mundane cold of the Zaichaer day and the magical cold of the Mists from his bones. The rest of the room was vague, like what one sees from the corners of their eyes in dreams, but it felt like comfort, and safety. There was a contentment to the place, like the sound of rain or a crackling hearth-fire, like the humming of a lover in the next room when you come home. There were other things, many other things that Aurin's exhausted aether couldn't understand. There was not enough left for the use of his Semblance, and this was probably a blessing.

Eshar was still there, looking down at him without a trace of inequality in any line of Their being. Without moving the exhausted demigod was on their knees as he was, and expression more open now. Almost shy They leaned forward and kissed the one who had come to save them. Then, again without either of them moving, the floor became a bed that reached up to welcome them both into its embrace.

Time passed, though there was no time in this place, and, eventually, Aurin found himself across from Eshar, their eyes meeting again. He was still tired, but the deadly loss of aether was beginning to restore itself and the psychological trauma (both that he had taken in The Menegerie and all that had come before) was softened. A part of him knew that the latter relief was an effect of the no-place they were in, but knowing did not diminish the effect.

[Aurin]

The Bronze Fox—no, that wasn't it, not quite.

Aurin nodded dully; Eshar understood that he wasn't lying when he protested that he was a bad man. He was a monster not even the Dread Mists could find palatable. But Eshar drove that thought out of his mind; Eshar drove all thought out of his mind. They were Elsewhere. All his Runes ached as if his soul were a body. He was spent, and could barely make sense of the world he was in. The slipspace was there, but strange, distant, deceptive. After all those masterwork glamours, this place found its way past his protections. It wasn't so much the sight, the sound, or anything the normal five senses could understand. He felt safe with a sense that was more akin to his sembling trick when his mind wasn't just interpreting things as sight, as sound.

He felt safe in his bones even though he knew safety was a lie.

But it also felt as though this world was seeping into him, through the pores of his skin and the ragged holes in his soul.

Aurin was Eshar's brother in the Myshalarai, though, and so he let himself drift between the floor, the kiss, the bed, consciousness and various shades of more and less. Then he was calm, still weary, but not quite the soul-deep wrung-out way he had been before. He was calm, almost at peace. It was Eshar's presence, Eshar's realm. He was aware of that and merely let that knowledge pass before his mind's eye and drift away without grasping, without comment.

The kiss hadn't stirred passion, thought another kiss might. He hadn't slept, but he had been renewed just a bit. Perhaps commensurate with how renewed Eshar was for the rest. Aurin wasn't even certain time had any true meaning here, but again, his mind didn't press at that thought like a loose tooth.

Aurin was kneeling, facing Eshar, a marble of chaos in his hand.

"Everything makes more sense here," he noticed. "And, at the same time, less. You are a god... who masquerades as a mortal. We are beautiful monsters." He made observations, but asked no questions. For all that Eshar tended to rouse desire in him, desire, too, seemed muted, something to be aware of but not engage with, not without deciding to.

[Rune]

Their face remained softer, more open than it ever was in the mortal realm, as Aurin's own was, though he would not know that. A small smile marred the simplicity at his choice of phrase; 'masquerades' but it did not pull either of them out of the sense of well-being.

"Yes." Was the answer that came, though there had not been a question, and it was meant for all four statements. The plain fact of the matter was that the Moritasi of Desire was too weary to draw even their own first domain. In time, they would recover, but for now, it was enough to drift. Time passed, sometimes they were conscious, and sometimes they were not. Sometimes they rose from the bed and ate, though what they ate wasn't something Aurin's mind seemed to hold onto. It was more than his body, being nourished, and, as the no-time passed, what seemed like it must be days of it, or weeks, or years, his nearly severed connection to aether began to heal. As it did, his runes began to regain their feeling, as though they too had been nearly severed from his soul. With his alternate senses, his sense of himself flowed back as well, thoughts becoming steady and clear, wants and needs returning even if his body, as it existed there, never seemed to be in want.

More and more often he found himself kneeling, studying the odd marble in his hand. It felt like glass, smooth in against his palm but jagged in his mind. The Mists trapped within were constantly moving but the sphere was too small to make out any images, if, indeed there were any.

Eshar's color returned to them, hair a vibrant black, eyes burnished yellow that was more liquid here than ever it had appeared in Zaichaer, the ashen quality of their skin fading to something healthier. Neither did not speak often, though there was communication. The connection that had been created when Aurin gave all of himself into protecting Eshar remained and through it, they learned of each other.

Eshar had been a Myshalarai, had risen in the ranks, had been touched, more than once, by the Goddess Herself, had been led down a path that had led to apotheosis. They still worshiped their patron, still considered themselves Her creature. Their power had grown and they had grown into it, taking the reigns of the coven that had created them from the shadows, selecting the best few to be their worshipers. It had been long since Eshar had been truly human, though no time was mentioned, later Aurin would do his research and realize they must be hundreds of years old. Yet, for that, they did not feel less human. When this seemed odd Eshar made it clear that they wanted to remain as close to their human self as possible, did not want a grand cult or a nation of those devout.

When they were less weary, less angry, the events of the 34th were shown. Eshar had woken beside Aurin, had felt the destruction coming, had put their all into holding back what they could, protecting the Coven Market, but the Mists that had poured forth from the hole torn in reality had not been normal, had not been what sustained them and their patron. Not knowing this, they had not realized anything was amiss when the Mist had poured into The Menagerie, into their body, into their mind. Whatever had created or was controlling those Mists had used Eshar's power to create the illusion version of the Menagerie, fed on all those that had been sheltering there and any others it could lure in. Eshar had been barely conscious but when they realized it was trapping more people they had closed off the way in. Until Aurin came. Eshar had marked Aurin, not as belonging to them, just something to keep track. Over time, what they now knew to be a year, Eshar had regained enough control to reach out and sense for him, or anyone else who might be able, and willing, to come.

The full story was painful and horrific, but the releasing of it seemed to cleanse something in Eshar, allowing them to grow stronger again.

Eventually, there came a cycle in which they woke and Aurin could sense something different in Eshar, something with intent.

"It's time."

The words were out loud, Eshar was wearing clothing, and the room was fully formed. It was small but well appointed, quite like Aurin's own cottage was now, though there was no door, no windows, and though a fire burned in the hearth there was no wood for it to consume. The bed was a large four-poster that looked exceptionally like the one in which they had dallied together the night of the 33rd of Searing. Floor, walls and ceiling were all polished wood, not dark but not light either. The whole effect was cozy with a suggestion of opulence, all needs met and a little more than.

"Few who belonged to me remain, but those that do deserve to know I also live."

Sharp eyes ran over Aurin's form in appraisal more than appreciation, but appreciation was not lacking.

"I have done for you what I was able in this place, and drained as I was.I owe you my life, and more. I have given you my story, which I have yet to give so openly to any mortal, but owe more. I could bestow on you many sorts of gifts of my choosing, but you would not want that. They must be of your choosing. "

[Aurin]

With time, it became more difficult to exist in that place without desire, without pride. Before he returned entirely to normal, however, he shared stories too. He told Eshar of many of the exploits and shenanigans of Oren Cavafy, as well as several people with different faces, different names, that he had worn since. He spoke of demons and men whose works and wishes were as twisted as any infernal things. He spoke of abuses and traumas visited upon him, as well as those he had visited upon others. It was a confession, of sorts, and while he wasn't convinced they couldn't just pluck that from his mind, he offered it freely here in this no-place, passing the no-time.

When Eshar announced the time, Aurin was ready. He didn't know what he was ready for except returning to the land of the living; he was curious how much actual time had passed or if any at all had. Perhaps they would return to the Menagerie and the same survivors would be weeping and wailing, singing and laughing. He wanted to help them rebuild. He wanted...

"I want you," he admitted. He flashed a smile that was more smile than smirk, unusual for him. "Not to keep, but sometimes. You understand me in ways nobody else does. I think... I might even venture to say I understand you more than... well, most people." There, carnal desire wrapped up in an existential desire for connection. He took a pensive breath and blew it out. "I want to help rebuild the Myshalarai, and the other covens. I have been doing what I could for them all this year..." He paused, trying to remember if those were stories he had shared in the long instant they shared. "But they are scattered to the winds now. Those that remain... some hold out in coven strongholds. Others collaborate with the Order of fucking Reconciliation. I still want what I wanted when I came to the covens, bold as you please: I want to be a member of all of them. I never even considered myself a mage. Just a man with plenty of tricks up his sleeve. But these tricks... I've mastered some of them. I didn't even realize how rare that was. I'm not a mage, but I'm a witch. And I want to be the Witch-King.

"You're the fucking Witch-King, though. Witch... Sovereign. I could be one of your fingers in the pie. I could help you help them. I want to rule them with you... not just for power and self-aggrandizement, but... they need me. Like they need you. I want to help them rebuild, and I want to help those who work with the government to maintain their freedom. I want them spread comfortably well beyond the borders of Zaichaer.

"I want that."

[Rune]

The smile that flashed in return was sharp and bright as a blade fresh from the forging,

""Its mutual."

It was acknowledgment without pride, and, again, it was an answer to all of it. Eshar wanted Aurin. Not to keep, but sometimes. Aurin understood them in a way no one who walked the material plane with them did. They had saved each other, shared of themselves. They survived, but better together. A wickedly attractive brow rose at the next part; wanting to help rebuild the coven. It was an unexpectedly not-quite-selfless desire. But the Moritasi of Desire was not the Moritasi of Greed, or Selfishness, and it was obvious that while a surprise, it was one that pleases them.


"The other covens were not mine to keep track of, but I have..."

An expression that was more displeasure that bordered on anger than it was sadness crossed the lovely face, but the sadness could be felt, reverberating in that place,


"Or perhaps had, friends among them. There is much for me to catch up on. As much as I appreciate what you have allowed me to glean."

The appreciative smile returned, and a slight sway to their body that implied, among whatever material rewards were due to Aurin there would also be personal ones, and they too would be significant.

"Witch-God." They corrected, though there was an amused tone to it, as though it were an inside joke to someone. It wasn't intended as an interruption and their eyes stayed locked on Aurin as he continued. There was an intensity to them, no, a weight, as though the demigod, the very realm in which they stood, was concentrating all its attention on the human as he spoke. When he finished something flashed behind Eshar's eyes and they were, for that instant, molten-gold again.

"I hear your Desire, and I Accept.

The words rang inside Aurin like a bell and he could feel them settling into him, sinking through his skin into him. It was not painful; it was intense, but brief, leaving only an echo of the feeling. When his attention returned to Eshar they looked, without changing expression or posture, somehow sated; like a cat who has been into the cream and is now cleaning their paws about it.

"I will aid you in these things, as you will aid me. We will achieve the coven's return together and then we will see what can be done about the others. I will return to The Menagerie, there is a mess to clean there that is mine. Where would you go? I can send you most places on the mortal plane. You may return with me, but that is not required, you are no healer, brother, and there is little you could do for those who remain until they are stabilized."

[Aurin]

The would-be witch-king found it easier to be open and honest about himself with Eshar. He hadn't expected to make a connection like this, nor a connection like that with Valencia Grey, when he had made his pitch to the powers that were in the covens before the fall. Here and now, his tricks were celebrated equally with his mundane skills; put together, their skills and powers would make them excellent shepherds for the flock.

Eshar's acceptance felt like something momentous as well, but even with his sembling trick, he could only sense the edges of divine gravity. In saving them, he had saved what remained of the Myshalarai. With a divine patron, they might thrive sooner than other covens. But he also had his friends among the covens. He needed to check in with the mute Kindred and the cantankerous Sunsinger before he returned to Kalzasi.

Return.

"I don't know... where we are or... when we are, but I should like you to take us back to as close to both as where and when we left. I may not be a healer, but I'm more than most Myshalarai. I can get the injured to the Grymalka and Kindred healers. I can ward the Menagerie, the Market... maybe not as well as master warders, but I can shore up defenses, reclaim coven territory for the covens the way the sky island folk are reclaiming the land one city block at a time. There's too much work for me to do... I'll return to Kalzasi when I've done enough, and when I return to Zaichaer, I'll bring some of the witches who have settled there, some who might want to come back knowing there's some semblance of security to be had."

He laughed, a touch self-mocking.

"And let my brothers and sisters see their savior helping them. If you want to work from behind the scenes, I can take the glory... it'll help rally them behind a new witch-king, anyway. In time, in time. I'm content to earn it. Not trying to have it handed to me on a silver platter."

The marble of chaotic energy disappeared into one of his pockets. He didn't even attempt misdirection with Eshar. If they hadn't wanted him to keep it, they would have taken it away when he had been weak as a mewling kitten. Eshar had been weak too, but still, a weak god.