She would wonder later why she didn't resist more, why she didn't pull away.
Every sign of caution had been there, from the eerie fog that unfurled with the sunset to the red celestial body low and brooding, to the singular focus of Zorich, whose attention had honed in on Yeva in a way that would unsettle any woman alone. Few would have braved conversation afterward, and even fewer would have attempted sleep. And here she was, fumbling behind him on the dark steps of a decrepit holy site and agreeing.
The door of the church opened with a pained and tired groan, creaking like old bones. Zorich gave her arm a reassuring tug, her feet catching on the splintered doorway and the cold tile shocking her bare toes. Yeva gasped, a feeling of nausea turning over her stomach. Something about this place was... familiar? She began looking around wildly, into every inky shadow, expecting faces. Her head was already shaking in refusal, but she could no longer move. No. No. No. No.
I shouldn't be here.
She jerked. The wind blew and swirled mist up and across her ankles, bits of dead leaves skittering and scraping across the cracked tile. Zorich's hand slipped down to take her own just as she thought she might start to cry, "It'll be alright," he soothed, voice surprisingly gentle. He had been in such a rush to lead her here, now the caring reassurances felt out of place somehow. It was friendly as if molded over time, "No one's going to hurt us."
Hadn't she heard that before? She wanted to believe him. She wanted there to be no danger, to know she was safe. Twice through the nose, once through the mouth, she breathed, "No one's going to hurt us," she whispered back, holding her weapon to her breast like a vow, trying not to look as skeptical as she felt. I'm safe. No one is hunting me.
Yeva searched his face, standing beside him in the blackened chapel, yet the Seer could only make out the deep shadows where the red moonlight kissed his skin and buried itself into the recesses of his brow. He led her onward, to a passageway that winded downwards, to a place she did not know.
Deep and dark, the cold sank its teeth through the shadow cloak that held her, but Zorich did not release his grip until the stairwell grew narrow and it was too hard to hold hands. At last, and reluctantly from the flex of his fingers, the Avilae let go, and a flicker of faint white light illuminated her hand. Her Seer's mark, branded on her palm glowed, refusing to be hidden in the belly of the church, and Yeva looked at in it small wonder until her guide's footsteps picked up once more, and she was left scrambling to touch his wings, to maintain contact for as long as she could, as if it would bind his promise to her and keep them safe, "Slow down," she whispered, her breath coming in icy puffs. The space felt impossibly small, like it was a closing fist around them, ready to squeeze, "The stairs are steep."
Even with the faint glow of light, she could not see just how far they had left to go, and their path was uneven and crumbling. A few spots had eroded entirely and she had to navigate carefully, eyes lowered to try and watch her feet, unaware of how far they had gone until another light joined them, and Yeva realized the first candle burning, tucked into a recess along the wall.
In front of the candle was a sapphire necklace with a gold chain spiraled around its large stone. In a ruin? The candle had barely burned away, its wax still promising more time, indicating it wasn't lit long ago... Her mind puzzled over this, the white glow of her palm was soon replaced with golden firelight as more candles appeared, and more treasures lined the walls. Books, and toys, jewels. A teacup set, a pair of wine glasses. A music box, a beetle encased in amber resin. Yeva's fingers faltered from the soft downy of her guide's wings as her footsteps slowed and she leaned closer to peer at the collection. They were like... snapshot trinkets of old memories. Like the broken chopsticks or the candy wrapper she carried from the sea.
All these candles... The light gave way to timeless detail, of the ceiling's intentional curvature, seemingly manmade, until the winding stairs ended, Zorich stepped aside, and the room opened to reveal...
The coziest crypt Yeva had ever seen.
Yeva had never been in a crypt before, but she would bet money there were not usually warm hearths, a wall lined with clocks and watches, or plush seating begging to give rest to the weary. She stared, mouth ajar just so, first at the room, and then at the woman with dark hair rising to meet them, "Ah, you’ve arrived sooner than I expected,” the heavy closing of a book echoed in the stone-lined space, a heavy boom that lingered a taste of finality, and yet the meeting had only just begun, "Welcome, welcome."
What was this place?
Her question was answered as quickly as it formed, poised upon her lips and readied for flight.
"I hope the Church hasn’t frightened you too much, but places tinged with death have an unfortunate habit of repelling the living.”
Church, Yeva repeated, turning the work over in the confines of her mind. Her golden eyes darted to sundials on the wall and the winding staircase from which they had emerged. In no recent memory could the Seer recall ever stepping into a holy site like this one, and yet hadn't stood on the front steps felt like a memory? Like... a dream? Wait - what did she mean? Tinged with death?
"Zorich," she whispered, taking a step back, towards the stairs. She considered her odds of running if she needed to, and then the odds of fighting if she could not. The blade in her hand might have been little more than a jagged piece of broken metal with a pommel, but effective weapons had been made with less. Yeva was weary, repelled as promised.
“Please have a seat,” then, to her escort who appeared unfazed by their environment, "Do let the poor avialae go now, boy. He must be feeling quite awful right now.”
Yeva watched him node and stride across the room to where the plush seating awaited them, and sit down. He moved without question or doubt, shifting his wings across the back of the chair and settling in.
Zorich's head dropped as if knocked unconscious and Yeva gasped, afraid something awful had happened. She rushed forward, forgoing plans of escape in her concern. The availae's head rolled, weight shifting forward, ready to fall at the slightest touch, "What did you do?" she demanded, panic scratching the corners of her voice, "Zorich! Can you hear me?"
She grabbed at his shoulder with her free hand, pushing him back so that she could look at his face. In the dark, with him ahead of her, she had not realized how pale he had become. His eyes were closed and a cold sweat dampened his face. The faintest bit of color tinged his cheeks, but his eyes were rolled back, still unconscious. She felt his neck for a pulse. "What's wrong with him?" she begged, giving a small shake to the winged figure, as the flowing curves of coiling smoke twisted and formed. Noticing this, Yeva pulled back and raised the blade defensively.
The smoke grew, thickened, and then-
Asher.
Memories in reverse order flashed behind her eyes in a powerful blow, each one more powerful than the last, ending with the day they had met:
A gaggle of children and cousins clambered to the dinner table, an extra boy sitting next to her older brother piling food upon his plate. He was neither family nor servant. Those around them talked and ate and played, except for Yeva, who sat opposite in a blue dress and polished leather shoes, "Who are you?" she asked, noticing her brother and the boy look up at the only one who seemed to care amidst the chaos. "Are you supposed to be here?"
The boy laughed, shrugging. He must have been in the early years of puberty, and Yeva saw that one of his eyes was slightly bruised. His dark hair was wild, and his attire was more simple than the ones worn by the other children around the table.
"He was invited," her brother, Petyr interrupted, "Don't you ever mind your own business? You're so nosy."
"Am not," she snapped, feeling warm embarrassment flood her cheeks. Little Yeva said no more on the subject, lowering her eyes to look at her plate, and only stealing glances at the intruder as if she could piece together the stranger's identity through osmosis and careful observation.
Wide-eyed and in shock, Yeva stepped back until her heel hit the front of a seat and she sank down.The dagger slipped from her hand and clattered on the ground. She covered her mouth. Remembrance of the Ether storm, and the reading in Vuka's tent. An apparition.
In a place tinged with death.
You're dead.
She had known, and yet... it did nothing to alleviate the rush of emotion in witnessing the revelation. He was supposed to have moved on. Isn't that how death worked?
Yet he was here, visible? In a crypt? No- he had been in Zorich. A possession? Like from the stories? Vampires were real, and so were ghosts.
A figure roaming beyond the stained glass windows of a church, the tolling of bells and a clock struck the hour. The understanding that the boy she watched grow up alongside her brother would no longer continue to age, to change, saddened her. His ears were still cut, like the last time she saw him and hot tears pricked her vision. The last time she had seen him, he had been so disappointed with her, frustrated and publicly chastised.
"H-have I been here before?"