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#Post#: 1175--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 10:57 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Where the walls shook hardest, Namor stood.
Lightning crawled over his skin like living veins of light, his
demi-god aura burning away the smoke that tried to choke him.
Around him, guards lay scattered, their weapons melted from
divine heat.
Above the pit, Onyx’s magic shimmered like a vast, black net. It
pulsed, feeding power back into the runes still binding the
Apple of Memory within its pedestal.
Namor raised his hand, summoning a spear of pure radiance.
“Enough,” he said simply.
He hurled it.
The spear tore through the wards like silk. The relic’s
containment shattered in a blossom of golden fire. The Apple
rolled free, pulsing with its strange, otherworldly light.
“Cal! Thunder!” Namor’s voice boomed across the chaos. “Take it
and run!”
He turned, hurling another arc of lightning into a group of
guards hurrying after the escaping captives. "I'll deal with
these fools,”
---
Basredun’s laughter echoed faintly as the cave rang with screams
and painful cries from the God's magical strikes.
“Magnificent.”
He snapped his fingers. Avarice reappeared, dripping with guard
blood and grinning wide. “The gate’s ready,” the demon hissed.
“Good.”
Basredun gestured—and the air behind him split like glass,
revealing a swirling violet rift. The inside shimmered with the
faint outline of an airship, anchored in the clouds beyond the
jungle’s edge.
“Go wreak more havoc where you see fit, Avarice,” Bas purred
with a gleam in his eyes.
The demon hissed eagerly and darted into the maelstrom.
Basredun himself stepped to the arena’s railing, surveying the
pandemonium below. “Let’s see,” he mused, scanning the figures
below. “One raging demi-god… one red-haired girl of legend… one
lovesick fae with a knife problem…”
He exhaled softly. “This is going to take effort.”
Raising both hands, he summoned a circle of violet flame beneath
Grim and Yarick—the light swallowing them before they could even
register what was happening.
“Saved two,” he said absently, already drawing more sigils.
“Now, for some fun.”
---
Snow stepped closer, slow and deliberate, knife still in hand.
“Stay with me, Skoll,” he murmured, one hand bracing the man’s
jaw, the other steady on the blade. “Breathe, amír. In. Out.”
A spear flashed from the left. Snow turned his wrist, caught the
shaft with the blade’s spine, and twisted—wood cracked, a cry
split the air, and the guard dropped. Snow didn’t even look his
way; his eyes never left Skoll.
From the chaos behind them, Eden’s voice cut through—low, calm,
and commanding.
“Snow. The Apple.”
Snow’s gaze snapped upward. Across the pit, behind a rank of
shields and sigils, the relic pulsed—its light strangled by
greed and control glyphs. Six shields. Two pikes. One mage. And
the pitmaster above, believing he owned thunder.
“On your right,” Snow called, stepping forward. Eden moved in
perfect sync. They didn’t need more words—long months of
fighting together had made their silence fluent.
Two guards lunged. Snow slipped between them like a thread
through a needle—parry, elbow, pommel to temple. One grabbed his
cloak; he shed it, rolled, came up behind, and drove a knife
into the man’s shoulder. The scream barely registered.
“Skoll!” he barked, jerking his chin toward the gate as more
soldiers poured in. “Hold the line!”
A shimmer above caught his eye. The air folded in on
itself—violet light rippling—and two of their allies, Grim and
Yarick, vanished mid-fight, swallowed by a drow’s magic. The
mage, draped in shadow-black silk, inclined his head toward
Snow, amused, before fading out as well.
“Unexpected help,” Snow muttered, then sprinted.
The mage at the pedestal was mid-chant. Snow’s knives flew—low
and wide, not to kill but to break focus. The sigils shattered.
Snow was already there, inside his guard. Wrist trap, pivot,
heel-hook. The mage hit the stone hard. Out cold.
“Three left,” he called. Eden didn’t answer—she didn’t need to.
She met the next wave with the precision of a storm, moving
through them like water through reeds.
Snow saw the shield line shift—too close to the edge, weight
pitched forward. Sloppy. He sprinted dead-on.
“Idiot,” one muttered, bracing for the hit.
Five steps out, Snow vaulted. Boot met shield rim, knee to
helmet, push. He flipped over, landed behind them, and carved
through the tendons that kept their wall upright. The line
collapsed.
——
Eden had been through chaos before—familiar, gut-wrenching,
soul-crushing chaos—but *this* was something different.
The pit had become a whirlwind of destruction. Everywhere she
turned, people were scrambling, prisoners running for their
lives, guards charging, all of them caught in the maelstrom of
crumbling stone and unleashed magic. The air was thick with
dust, blood, and the sharp tang of fear.
But her attention was drawn to one place—the two figures
standing across from one another amidst the chaos.
One was a massive beastkin, his body covered in blood, claws
still dripping as he snarled into the crowd. His eyes, wide and
feral, locked on something—or someone—across the ring.
The other figure—snow—stood firm despite the destruction around
him. His gaze was unwavering, his stance like something from a
memory, like a ghost from a past life. The armor flashing in her
memory.
The beastkin’s voice rumbled out like thunder. **“Snow.”**
The name carried weight, like a tether snapping back into place.
It was no command. No order. It was a raw cry—a plea. The
wildness in his eyes faltered for a heartbeat, like the flicker
of something lost. And then, just like that, his rage shifted.
Eden couldn’t quite make sense of it. The beastkin—*whatever* he
was, whoever he was—had been lost in bloodlust just moments ago.
But now, with that one word, something human flickered inside of
him, and the beast—barely held in check—began to *pull back*.
She saw the change in him: his claws, his powerful frame, the
way his posture straightened just enough to show the tension in
his body. There was *something* there, something she couldn’t
name—something that wasn’t just the monster, but a person
beneath it. A *man*.
And then, with a sudden, sharp movement, the beastkin stepped in
front of the man—*Snow*—his body blocking the way, his massive
form a wall of fury and protection.
“**You shouldn’t be here.**” The words were low, rough—sounding
almost like a warning to Snow. But there was something more in
his voice now. *Regret*, perhaps. A sorrow. Something beyond the
violence that had driven him to tear through the arena,
something that made him seem more… *human*.
And then, the moment was shattered.
A figure, one of the guards, moved toward Snow, brandishing a
weapon. Eden’s heart skipped as she watched the beastkin’s
stance change again, sharper this time, claws raised, his chest
heaving in a deep, guttural growl.
*This time,* the beastkin wasn’t fighting for himself. He was
fighting for *someone else.*
It was instinct—pure, untamed—and the rage was no longer for the
bloodthirsty crowd. No longer for the arena. It was for Snow.
Eden’s face locked onto the Apple as it fell, suspended for a
heartbeat in the air before it hit the stone floor with a loud
*clatter*. The sound was jarring, lost beneath the screams and
crackling magic that filled the pit. For a split second,
everything seemed to slow down—time stretching thin as the relic
tumbled through the chaos.
. She called out to snow to hear his words, her body moving
towards the apple.
But as it rolled, the golden glow that had radiated from it
flickered—dimmed—before the object was kicked by a frenzied
guard, sending it rolling across the debris-covered floor.
Eden’s stomach churned with a sickening realization, the truth
hitting her with the force of a physical blow as the trinket was
stomped on .
It wasn’t real.
The Apple was a *fake*.
Her gaze snapped upward, catching the distant, flickering
outline of Onyx’s place above. Everything she’d fought for,
everything she’d hoped this chaos would bring, was *empty*.
There was no saving this, no redemption in the fight for
freedom. The very relic they had risked everything to
retrieve—*everything*—was a lie.
The words “take it and run” still echoed in her mind, but the
weight of frustration crushed her chest, pulling her into the
storm of madness around her. The truth was too much to bear, and
in that moment, something snapped inside of her.
End taking over- surged forward, her boots pounding against the
cracked stone floor as she charged into the chaos. She didn’t
hesitate, didn’t wait to catch her breath. The world around her
spun with impossible speed, but the crackling fire in her veins
kept her steady, kept her alive.
Snow—Cal—was at the center of it all, his form surrounded by
swirling panic, his figure still a beacon of defiance despite
the destruction. Skoll—his massive form blocking Snow like a
wall of fury and rage—was fighting, the beast within him a force
of nature that no guard could breach.
But *they* were not enough. Not yet. Not against this.
End’s heart pounded as she moved, her power sparking around her
like a living storm. With every step, her aura built and built,
crackling through the air, feel hot enough to burn,her power
threatening to burn the very arena they weee in. She roar of
flame in her mind—felt the spark that was always before the
flame- felt it deep in her chest—and she let it loose.
A guard lunged at Skoll, a dagger raised to strike, but Eden was
already there—her hand raised, as a snap would be heard. Flame
and wind blowing at the man in front of her - burning him. His
screams started to turn to two, and three.
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. There were more of them, too many
to count, and her focus had narrowed to only one thing: keeping
them alive.
Another guard appeared, this one wielding a sword, and before he
could swing it down, end slammed into him with the force of a
tidal wave. Her body collided with his, and her blade came from
the side to take his head.
But it wasn’t enough. More came. *Always more.*
Frustration surged through her. They couldn’t *win* this. Not
like this. Not when everything had already been torn apart.
“Snow!” she yelled, voice hoarse with the strain. “Start moving!
I’ll distract as many as I can- move the big guy out!” She
called.
End’s heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm to match the
chaos around her, as she threw herself into the fray once more.
There were too many. Too many guards. Too many enemies. Too many
lies.
But she wouldn’t stop. She *couldn’t* stop. Because no matter
how hopeless this fight seemed, no matter how deep the anger
burned in her chest, there was still one thing she could do.
She could protect.
And if she had to burn this whole place to the ground, she
would.
——
Meanwhile, Enon’s focus was locked on the cell in front of him,
his flames burning with fierce precision as he tore through the
last of the prison’s wards. The heat rippled around him, the air
thick with the scent of burning stone, but just as his fist
collided with the final lock, something unexpected happened.
A blast of arcane energy tore through the air beside him,
sending a shockwave that knocked him off balance for a split
second. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and his heart
skipped a beat as he spun around, flame flickering dangerously
at his fingertips. His first instinct was to *fight*, to turn
his fury on whatever had just *interrupted* him, but then he saw
it.
The blast hadn’t come from a guard, but from the direction of
the upper galleries—somewhere high above, out of sight. The
magic itself was a twisted violet light, sharp and biting in its
intensity. His eyes narrowed, searching the smoke-filled air,
but the source was already gone.
*Damn it.*
He didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery. The blast had sent
the guards scattering, but it also knocked the chaotic scene
into even higher gear. The prisoners around him were on the move
now, and with them, the sound of screaming guards and the
thunderous crash of falling stone.
“Come on,” he growled, grabbing Aziz’s arm with a firm but
gentle grip and pulling him forward. “We’re moving.”
Enon dragged Aziz toward the widening gap in the cage’s outer
wall. The roar of battle was deafening, the air thick with dust
and the scent of burning magic.
“We’re getting out of here,” Enon snapped over his shoulder, the
heat in his voice matching the flames still flickering at his
fingertips. “Stick close. I’m not losing you in this mess.”
Ahead, a group of freed prisoners was already stumbling toward
the exit, but it was a chaos of its own, everyone pushing toward
the same point, panic running through their veins. Enon pulled
Aziz tighter to his side, gritting his teeth as he focused on
getting them out of the mess before everything collapsed around
them.
The blast had made things worse—much worse. But it had also
created an opening. They had to make it count.
Enon’s gaze flickered toward the distant exit, his mind
calculating the quickest route. “We move fast,” he muttered to
himself, eyes narrowing as his flames sparked higher. He wasn’t
sure what was going to happen next, or who was causing all this
mayhem, but one thing was certain:
No one was going to stop him from getting Aziz out.
The sound of his name cut through the roar like a blade.
“Skoll!”
For the first time in years, the word meant something. It wasn’t
shouted by a master or hissed from the shadows of a cage. It
wasn’t laced with orders or threats. It came soft,
pleading—human.
Snow.
The name rose from the fog of Skoll’s mind like sunlight
bleeding into a cave. The white-haired man was stepping toward
him, fearless, voice trembling only with emotion—not fear.
“Stay with me, Skoll. Please.”
Those words… they didn’t command. They asked.
Snow’s hand came up slowly, palm open, until it brushed Skoll’s
jaw. The beast flinched at first—instinct telling him to strike,
to tear—but the warmth of that touch anchored him. His vision
flickered from red to something clearer, edges softening. Snow’s
scent, familiar and faintly electric, filled his lungs.
Snow spoke again, low and steady, grounding him with each
syllable. “You’re safe. You’re not in their cage anymore. Look
at me.”
And he did. He looked.
For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Skoll saw
someone—really saw—and the haze of bloodlust began to thin.
When Snow turned, calling him to “hold the line,” the order
didn’t sting like a chain. It felt like purpose.
So he obeyed.
The beast inside him didn’t snarl in protest; it lunged forward
with intention. Skoll’s blood-forged claws tore through the
attackers that dared breach the line. The roars he gave weren’t
for the crowd anymore—they were for Snow. To protect. To shield.
To serve something real.
Then she appeared.
The red-haired warrior—Eden—moved like fire given flesh. When
she dove in front of him, intercepting a strike meant for his
throat, Skoll froze mid-swing. The flash of steel, the smell of
blood, the grit in her voice—it hit him like thunder.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Fearless.
She fought like Snow—wild and untamed—but where Snow soothed,
she provoked. Watching the two move in tandem stirred something
deep and ancient in him, something both human and wolf. The
thought burned through his mind: mine to protect. Both of them.
He fell into rhythm beside them, matching their movements as the
chaos surged. His claws ripped, their blades sang, and for the
first time since his capture, Skoll felt… alive.
But then—that sound.
A low, metallic rattle. The scent of oil and cruelty. The chains
that had once bound him.
His ears twitched, then flattened hard against his skull as the
growl built in his chest.
He knew that sound.
Him.
The slaver.
The bastard was here—and his gaze was fixed not on Skoll, but on
the red-haired woman.
A snarl tore from Skoll’s throat before thought could catch it.
His muscles tensed, instincts screaming. He didn’t think. He
moved.
In one surge of motion, Skoll scooped Snow and Eden both into
his arms—one under each arm like they were weightless—and
charged straight for the nearest wall. The impact cracked
through his bones and sent shards of stone scattering. The
barrier caved under his sheer momentum, collapsing behind them.
He stumbled to his knees, head ringing, blood dripping from his
brow, but he didn’t loosen his hold until the air went still.
Only then did he drop them gently to the ground, panting hard.
He swayed, dizzy, the world spinning around him. His instincts
warred with exhaustion, but one command remained iron-clad in
his chest: Protect them.
“Run…” His voice was hoarse, slurred from impact. “Master
catch—no… leave.”
He lifted his head enough to look at Snow through a haze of pain
and defiance. “No one… take what mine.”
The words came broken, but the meaning burned clear—
Skoll would die before another hand was laid on them.
—-
Aziz’s body was moving before his mind had caught up.
Enon had said come, and so he did.
Every step felt wrong—like walking through a dream stitched from
fear and memory. His legs shook, muscles remembering the weight
of chains that were no longer there. The scent of smoke and iron
clung to him, mixing with the salt of sweat and blood, but
beneath it all was something familiar—him.
Enon.
The name still hurt to think.
He wanted to hate him. To scream. To demand why it took so
long—why now, when there was nothing left of the boy he once
knew? But when Enon turned, that fury in his voice cutting
through the chaos, Aziz felt the sound more than he heard
it—like it struck something deep under his ribs and forced the
air from his lungs.
No one had ever sounded like that for him.
No one but Enon.
The man was different now—harder, fiercer, the air around him
charged with the heat of barely contained fury—but the way he
moved, the way he shielded Aziz with his body without
hesitation… that hadn’t changed.
Aziz’s pulse raced as they drew close, the press of Enon’s
presence both grounding and unbearable. His breath hitched when
a gloved hand brushed his arm, steadying him as the floor shook
from distant blasts.
He flinched.
Not from pain, but from memory.
That touch—gentle, sure, unyielding—was something his body
remembered. The only kind of safety he’d ever trusted.
“Keep close,” Enon said, voice low but sharp, meant for command.
Aziz almost laughed. Keep close. As if he’d ever been able to do
anything else.
He should have pulled away. He should have snapped back with
something bitter and ugly, the way he always did when
cornered—but instead, he found himself leaning into the space
between them. Just barely. Just enough to feel the heat coming
off Enon’s skin.
His chest tightened, the air too heavy to breathe.
He hadn’t been this near him since—gods, since before the fires,
before the chains, before everything.
And now here they were, close enough that Aziz could see the
faint sheen of sweat beneath the edge of Enon’s eye covering. It
made his throat ache with shame.
He’d lost that sacred mark long ago. Torn away, like everything
else. To see Enon still wear it—still honor it—was like looking
into sunlight after years in the dark.
He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.
He wanted to speak, but his voice was a stranger to him.
The silence stretched until Aziz finally whispered, rough and
quiet, “You shouldn’t have come for me.”
He meant for it to sound like a warning. It came out like a
plea.
Enon didn’t answer—just glanced back, a shadow of movement under
the band that covered his eyes. Whatever expression was there,
Aziz didn’t need to see it to know. He could feel it. The
promise. The same one he’d made a lifetime ago beneath desert
stars: I’ll find you, no matter what it takes.
And somehow, impossibly, he had.
The realization broke something in Aziz’s chest. Fear and warmth
tangled into one unbearable knot. He swallowed hard, his hand
twitching as if to reach out—then stopping midway.
If he touched him, it would be real.
If he didn’t, maybe the illusion would hold a little longer.
The chaos roared around them, but Aziz stayed pressed against
him, caught between terror and something dangerously close to
peace. After all this time—after everything—his body remembered
the truth his mind had tried to bury.
With Enon near, he wasn’t afraid.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
#Post#: 1176--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 11:00 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Snow hit the ground hard when Skoll broke through the wall, the
world tilting in a rain of dust and shattered stone. His ears
rang; his ribs burned where the beast’s arm had locked around
him in the charge.
He coughed once, shook the grit from his hair, and looked
up—first at Skoll, then at Eden. Both were on their feet,
battered, raw, breathing hard.
“Skoll…” The name came low, a rough tremor in his throat. “You
shouldn’t have done that, you big fool. You’ll bring the whole
place down.”
But he didn’t sound angry—just relieved.
The massive creature’s words—mine, no one take what mine—still
echoed in Snow’s skull. It hit somewhere deep and old. He almost
smiled. “Guess some things never change,” he muttered, stepping
forward, blade sliding free of its sheath again.
Bootsteps scraped in the smoke—dozens of them. Torches flared
behind the fractured wall. The guards were regrouping, shouting
orders, weapons drawn.
Snow moved between Skoll and Eden, blades in hand. “We don’t
have long. Eden, if you can stand—grab what’s left of that fake
trinket. We’ll use it to bluff if we have to. Skoll—just
breathe, keep your balance. If they rush us, you grab her and
run, do you hear me?”
He didn’t wait for answers—just stepped forward as the first
wave of steel broke through the haze.
The fight came in flashes.
A blade arced toward his head—duck, step in, elbow, throat.
A pike jabbed—trap the shaft, twist, break the wrist holding it.
Another guard lunged; Snow spun low, twin blades cutting clean
and fast.
Each movement was measured, efficient—years of discipline buried
under the chaos. But even he could feel the tide turning. More
were coming. Too many.
Dust shifted beside him; Skoll’s growl rolled like thunder.
Eden’s blade sang again, sharp and furious.
Snow felt the tremor before he saw it—a shadow rippling along
the wall like smoke come alive.
Then a voice—smooth, guttural, and amused.
“Need a hand, pale one?”
Snow blinked through the haze as the smoke solidified,
stretching, rising—forming into a figure taller than any man.
The creature’s skin shimmered a deep, violent violet, horns
curling back like blades of obsidian. His grin gleamed sharp
green, and the weapon in his hand—black onyx, slick with
blood—dripped onto the broken floor.
Avarice.
Basredun’s shadow made flesh.
Snow’s grip tightened on his knives, instincts bristling—but the
demon’s stance wasn’t hostile. If anything, he looked pleased.
“You go,” Avarice said, rolling his shoulders as he stepped
forward, tail coiling lazily. “I’ll deal with these bastards.”
The ground cracked as his blade swept sideways, carving a line
of molten fire across the floor.
Behind him, guards screamed.
Snow hesitated only a second, meeting the demon’s glowing eyes.
“Don’t die on our account.”
Avarice barked a laugh, wild and bright. “Die? I live for this!”
Snow turned, reaching for Eden’s arm and Skoll’s shoulder. “You
heard him—move!”
The three broke into a run—Eden still clutching her ribs, Skoll
staggering but unbroken, and Snow covering their backs as
Avarice’s laughter and the screams of the guards echoed behind
them like music from hell.
-------
The smoke clawed down his throat as Dare shouldered through the
tunnel mouth again, cursing under his breath. He’d gotten half
the cages open already, most of the prisoners scattered toward
the outer corridors—but something gnawed at him.
The blond one.
He hadn’t seen the young man. The quiet one with the haunted
eyes.
Dare pushed deeper into the pit’s underbelly, boots splashing
through water and blood in equal measure. The air shimmered with
heat—unnatural heat—and when he rounded the corner, he saw why.
Flame, alive and furious, carved patterns along the corridor
walls, and at its center stood a man he didn’t recognize—tall,
lean, wrapped in the sharp glow of battle fury.
And in front of him—
Aziz.
For half a heartbeat, Dare froze. The sight was wrong and right
all at once. Aziz was free, but the man beside him looked like a
walking inferno. Masked. Controlled. Too precise to be chaos and
too angry to be law.
When that masked head turned toward him, Dare lifted his hands
slowly, palms out. “Hey—hey, easy. I’m not your enemy.” His
voice was rough, sanded down by smoke and a life of yelling
orders over clanging gates. “Name’s Dare. I’m with the ones
freeing people, not caging them.”
----
The screams were like divine music to the drow mage's ears.
Basredun stood atop a fractured stone wall that ringed what was
left of the pit, his silhouette framed in violet fire. His black
hair shimmered faintly against the dark, and the glowing runes
crawling up his arms pulsed in time with the dying heartbeat of
the collapsing arena.
Below, guards swarmed like ants in a burning nest. Priests of
the pit—their black robes trimmed in rust-red—were frantically
chanting restoration rites, trying to contain the magical
fallout.
“Ahh,” Bas murmured, voice dripping amusement. “The sweet sound
of chaos… it has been too long.”
He raised one hand lazily, two fingers sketching a sigil into
the smoke-choked air. The magic answered immediately—deep and
resonant, violet lightning arcing between his fingertips before
spearing downward like a spear of judgment.
The nearest priest didn’t even have time to scream.
The blast hit the altar they’d been shielding, detonating the
blood wards that had anchored half the arena. Shockwaves ripped
through the structure—pillars shattering, runes unraveling,
chains snapping.
Basredun’s grin widened. “You never anchor soul magic to
unstable stone, you fools.”
The crowd that hadn’t already fled now stampeded for the upper
gates. He ignored them, his gaze sweeping the lower
corridors—where fighters and prisoners alike were spilling into
the tunnels. Good. They were getting clear.
A flicker of familiar shadow rippled beside him. Avarice.
The demon emerged in his full form this time, violet skin
gleaming, horns slick with black flame. His blade—onyx and
pulsing—dripped as he materialized from the smoke.
“Enjoying yourself, master?”
---
Basredun’s smirk sharpened. “Immensely.”
Below, the remaining guards rallied, shields raised, trying to
form ranks around their fallen priests. Bas gestured lazily
toward them. “Deal with that. I’m losing interest.”
Avarice didn’t hesitate.
The demon leapt, wings unfurling in a burst of fire and smoke,
crashing into the nearest phalanx like a meteor. His blade
cleaved through armor and bone alike, the black fire consuming
whatever it touched. Screams followed him like a hymn.
Basredun watched for a moment, satisfied, then turned away,
murmuring an incantation under his breath. Violet light spread
beneath his boots, tracing the outline of a rune circle that
flared to life, linking to the teleport anchor he’d prepared
hours ago.
He spared one last look toward the pit—its floor caving in, its
roof cracking open to the stormy sky above—and then raised his
voice.
“Avarice! Time to leave!”
The demon’s laughter echoed from below as he burst from the
flames, wings beating once, twice before folding neatly as he
landed beside his master. “Leaving so soon?”
“Before the rest of this delightful structure collapses on my
head.”
The rune circle flared bright. Stone screamed. The entire pit
sagged inward.
Basredun and Avarice vanished in a bloom of violet light just as
the arena finally gave up the ghost—collapsing in on itself with
the sound of a mountain dying.
-----
Outside, the jungle shook.
Namor moved like a blade through the chaos, his demi-god aura
shimmering faintly beneath his torn cloak. He guided the last of
the freed captives through the dense undergrowth, the damp air
heavy with smoke and the metallic tang of ruin. Behind them, the
pit collapsed in stages—stone screaming, magic detonating in
bursts of violet light that painted the canopy in fleeting
color.
He didn’t look back.
“Keep moving,” Namor said, voice clipped but steady. “Stay low.
Don’t break formation until you see open water.”
The freed slaves obeyed—limping, staggering, but alive. That was
all that mattered.
A few straggling guards crossed their path; Namor handled them
with ruthless efficiency. A twist of power. A shove that sent
them sprawling. He wasn’t here for revenge. He was here to end
it.
By the time the last group slipped free of the jungle’s broken
edge, the air had turned thick with the smell of ozone and salt.
He could feel the storm gathering—an echo of the collapse behind
them, the world itself exhaling.
And then—movement.
---
Ahead, through the haze of falling ash and curling mist, he saw
a figure standing near the shattered river path.
Tall. Hooded.
At first, Namor thought it was one of the priests—another zealot
who’d escaped. But the man’s posture was calm, controlled. The
man’s cloak stirred faintly in the wind, and beside him, a dark
horse lifted its head, its eyes gleaming like liquid glass. The
creature’s hooves left ripples where they touched the ground.
Namor slowed his pace, one hand still resting on his weapon. His
gaze lingered on the horse, then rose to the masked stranger.
“You don’t see many kelpies this far inland,” Namor said evenly,
voice carrying across the smoke. “Did you come from the pit?”
He took another step closer, watching for any sign of
aggression. “If you did, I hope you’re not one of theirs.”
A beat of silence. The horse snorted softly, water dripping from
its mane.
Namor tilted his head, studying the man. “You need help?”
He kept his stance open—guarded but not threatening. “There are
others still running. If you’re lost, I can show you the way
out.”
He waited, the jungle crackling faintly behind them as the last
echoes of the pit’s fall faded.
—-
Eden barely had time to react. One moment, she was grounded,
battle-ready, tense. The next, Skoll swept her up in a single,
brutal motion. Her breath caught in her throat as her feet left
the floor. Her arms instinctively rose to shield her head just
as—
Boom.
Skoll crashed through the wall like a living battering ram.
Stone and smoke exploded around them. The world spun sideways,
the rush of wind and debris stealing her breath. Her back hit
the ground hard once they cleared the rubble, and a jolt of pain
lit up her ribs.
Dust hung thick in the air, every breath sharp and dry.
Somewhere behind her, stone groaned. Something collapsed.
But what snapped her out of the haze wasn’t the fall—it was the
sound of Skoll’s breath, labored and uneven.She turned, heart
lurching as she spotted him just feet away. He staggered, one
hand gripping his skull, blood trailing down the side of his
face. His chest rose in deep, uneven gasps.
"Skoll!" she called, already moving toward him. Her hand reached
out, resting on his arm—not just to steady him, but herself. He
felt solid, even in this chaos. Fierce. But the way he swayed
now, like gravity was a threat—it rattled her.
His eyes met her masked ones . They looked Dark. Dazed. But
alive. And underneath the confusion, something else
flickered—something sharp and claiming.
He growled the words through clenched teeth, voice raw: “No one…
takes what’s mine.”
End’s pulse jumped. She didn’t pull her hand away. Couldn’t.
Something in his voice hit deep—like she’d been thrown into
another war, one she hadn’t seen coming. She was used to
enemies. Pain. Blood. Not this… intensity. Not being defended
like that.
A heat rose in her chest, unbidden. She looked away quickly,
cheeks flushed. "You stubborn brute," she muttered under her
breath. "Good thing your tough.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught Snow’s face through the
smoke—tense, but relieved. It was almost enough to let her
breathe.
Almost.
Boots scraped against stone. Then came the voice—low, venomous,
and far too sure of itself. “Take the red-haired woman alive.
The Onyx Lord wants her whole.”
Her hand tightened around her weapon. There it is, she thought.
The switch inside her flipped.
Nobody was taking her anywhere.
She turned as the guards surged forward. Steel flashed in the
smoke. End moved like fire—blades slicing through the air,
dancing between bodies. The clash of weapons rang out, sparks
flying, but her focus was locked.
She was steel and stone and survival.
Until the ground rumbled again. This time, deeper. Wrong.
A shadow slithered across the rubble—elongated, unnatural.
Eden’s grip tightened. What now?
She froze. And then she saw it. The figure stepped through the
haze—towering, monstrous. Skin a deep violet sheen, like
polished stone under moonlight. His horns curved upward, jagged
and regal, his grin sharp enough to cut.
He radiated menace, but worse—he looked amused.
End heard snow . Just clenched her jaw and pivoted, keeping
herself between Skoll and the growing chaos. She raised her
blades—and with a practiced motion, clicked them together. The
halves locked with a satisfying snap, transforming into a
viciously curved bow.
No hesitation. She dropped one hand to the ground. The stone
responded like it knew her will—it forming into spike like
fashion but almost arrow like. She grabbed them mid-air, drew
back, and let them loosed.”go!”
The first arrow hit a guard’s chest. The second, his throat. A
third slammed into a knee. One after another, each found its
mark. Clean. Unforgiving.
That was enough. They took off.
Every step was a battle. Every breath tasted like dust and blood
and fire. Behind them, Avarice laughed again—louder now,
triumphant—as the world cracked under his feet.
But Eden didn’t stop. Not for the guards. She focused on getting
Skoll and snow out, her arrows finding their marks with deadly
precision. Anyone who got too close met the sharp end of her
bow. She moved with a cold, calculated efficiency, her every
action driven by the need to survive.
They were still alive. Still fighting.
____
Enon didn’t move from his place in front of Aziz.
He stood like a wall—broad shoulders squared, one hand slightly
out to the side, as if daring Dare to take one step too close.
The flames on the walls hissed and shifted, drawn toward him
like they knew where they belonged.
Dare’s hands were still raised, his stance non-threatening—but
that didn’t matter.
Not to Enon.
Not after what happened last time.
His voice came low and cold, cutting clean through the smoke.
“You think saying the right words means something?”
He took a slow step forward, shadows crawling along the scorched
floor behind him. “I've heard 'I’m not your enemy' before. Right
before everything went to hell.”
The air in the corridor thickened—not with heat, but tension.
Memory.
“I told Aziz to run once,” Enon said, his jaw tight. “Thought I
knew better. Thought I could protect him from a distance.”
His head tilted slightly. A flicker of emotion passed beneath
the blindfold—just enough to crack through the control. Regret.
Fury. Guilt, sharp as broken glass.
“I was wrong.”
He let that sit. Heavy. Bare.
“I don’t care what side you *say* you’re on,” he said to Dare,
voice still calm—but iron beneath it. “You don’t get near him
unless I decide you’re not a risk.”
The flames pulsed once, higher—then receded. Contained. *Ready.*
“You want to help? Then stay exactly where you are. No sudden
moves. Or I will burn you to ash.”
His free hand showing a flame on it as he tilted his head down.
It was a warning.
One born of a promise he *refused* to break a second time.
He finally got Aziz back- and he wasn’t letting anyone take
that from him again.
Not now.
Not ever.
——
The hooded man didn’t answer right away.
The wind curled through the ash and smoke, brushing against the
deep folds of his cloak. Beside him, the kelpie shifted her
weight, water dripping steadily from her mane, her body calm but
alert.
Then, slowly, Jalal lifted his head.
His face was partially shadowed by the hood, but it wasn’t that
which kept his gaze hidden. A strip of deep black cloth wrapped
across his eyes, tied tightly at the back. Not ceremonial.
Practical. Worn.
“I’m not one of them,” Jalal said at last, voice low and even.
Measured. “And I don’t blame you for the question. I'd ask the
same.”
He didn’t raise a hand. Didn’t reach for a weapon. In fact,
everything about him—his stillness, the slow rise and fall of
his breath, the way he kept one palm resting gently on the
kelpie’s shoulder—spoke of someone carefully choosing stillness
over reaction.
“I was in the pit,” he continued. “Not a prisoner. I just…got
side tracked from my mission.” Truthful and feeling a little
guilt.
He tilted his head slightly, the band across his eyes catching
the faint light. “When the chaos broke loose, I didn’t go
running for the gate. I went for her.”
His hand moved slowly, gently, down the creature’s neck. The
kelpie leaned into it, a low, watery sound rising from her
throat.
“They had her chained. Dying slowly. I couldn’t leave her like
that.”
A pause.
“She’s not mine,” he said simply, “but I brought her out anyway.
Didn’t have a plan beyond that. Just knew I couldn’t stand there
and let her drown in dry air.”
He said it like fact. Like breathing.
“She’s not made for the world they dragged her into. And I don’t
know where she belongs now.” He exhaled slowly. “Maybe the
oasis. Maybe not.”
The kelpie stepped closer to him, unbothered by the smoke or the
stranger watching them.
“I just knew the pit couldn’t be the last place she saw.”
He turned slightly toward Namor, head tilted—not aggressive, not
closed off. Just steady. Present.
“My name is Jalal,” he added. “I’m not your enemy. I wouldn’t
have come this far if I was.”
Still, he didn’t step forward. Didn’t move to close the space
between them. His whole stance—hands open, posture loose—held no
threat. Just a quiet readiness to *leave* if needed, or stay *if
allowed.*
“I’ll move on if I have to. But I won't fight you.”
He rested his hand back on the kelpie’s side, the creature’s
skin shifting like water beneath his fingers.
“I’ve seen enough harm already.”
#Post#: 1177--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 11:05 am
---------------------------------------------------------
The words Snow spoke—soft yet commanding, threaded with that
impossible mix of concern and affection—rumbled through the haze
in Skoll’s head like thunder breaking through fog.
He grumbled low in his throat, a sound halfway between
irritation and surrender, and caught the faintest smirk flicker
across the red-haired woman’s face. Eden. She seemed to share
Snow’s stubborn streak.
“Tough,” he muttered, forcing his legs to steady under him. His
claws retracted with a wet hiss as he pushed upright, blood
drying in dark streaks along his forearms. He wanted to keep
fighting—it was all he’d ever known—but the sight of Snow
stepping between him and the chaos sent something else through
him. Something protective. Something he hadn’t felt in years.
The battle raged around them—flashes of steel, roars of pain,
the air thick with smoke and heat—but Skoll’s focus never
drifted far from the two beside him. Eden moved like wildfire,
quick and merciless, cutting through opponents with a feral
grace that almost rivaled his own. Her power burned bright
enough to demand his respect… and his attention.
When she turned to shield Snow from a strike, her snarl met his,
and for a heartbeat, they understood each other.
Predator to predator.
Protectors, both.
He found himself falling into rhythm with them—Snow’s calm
direction anchoring him, Eden’s wrath giving him purpose. The
madness in his blood simmered, no longer ruling him but
answering to the bond forming between them.
Then the air split.
A tear in the sound, low and wrong, followed by a shape crawling
out of the ruinous light. Not human. Not slave. Something
older—demon, his mind supplied, fur bristling as the creature
extended a hand in what looked like invitation.
Skoll growled but didn’t strike. Snow’s voice cut through
again—steady, grounding. The man’s hand brushed Skoll’s arm,
guiding him with that same calm authority that had tamed the
beast in the arena.
Without quite realizing it, Skoll followed.
Not out of obedience, but trust.
The demon’s path opened before them, and for the first time in
years, Skoll ran not to survive—but to keep his people safe.
Snow ahead, Eden at his side, the world burning behind them.
—
The sound of Dare’s voice cut through the noise like a blade
through silk.
Aziz’s head snapped toward it before he even realized he’d
moved—heart twisting at the familiarity of that tone, roughened
by strain but still carrying that same gentleness he’d clung to
in this place.
Dare.
The only soul in this wretched arena who had ever treated him as
something more than property.
The one who had smuggled him scraps of food when the guards
forgot. Who had spoken softly when everyone else shouted. Who
had looked at him like he was still human.
And now—Enon stood between them.
Aziz felt the heat of the man’s fury even before he saw it. The
air itself seemed to burn, the temperature rising with Enon’s
rage. It was a righteous anger, yes—but it was aimed at the
wrong man.
Fear spiked through him. Not for himself, but for Dare.
He moved without thinking, reaching out and catching Enon’s
shoulder, the touch small against the tension of muscle and
fire. “Enon,” he breathed, voice trembling.
For a heartbeat, he thought Enon might shake him off—but the man
froze instead, that stillness more dangerous than movement.
“He’s safe,” Aziz said quickly, forcing the words past the
tightness in his chest. “He—he’s been trying to protect me. To
get me out of here.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on,
desperate. “Please don’t hurt him.”
The plea came out raw, more honest than he meant it to.
He swallowed hard, his fingers curling in Enon’s sleeve as if
trying to anchor him, to stop the fire from spilling over. His
eyes flicked between the two men—the past that had returned for
him, and the fragile present that had kept him alive long enough
to see it.
The two halves of his world were colliding, and he stood right
in the middle, heart breaking with the weight of it.
“Please,” he said again, quieter this time. “Not him.”
There was fear in the words—but there was something else, too. A
confession buried in the tremor of his voice, in the way he
looked at Dare like a man watching the last light fade from a
cell window.
He didn’t know which terrified him more:
The thought of Enon’s fury destroying Dare—
Or the realization that he still cared enough to beg for it not
to.
The roar of the collapsing arena still chased them, echoing
through the shattered stone corridors like the dying heartbeat
of a monster.
Smoke curled thick behind them, orange light flaring and dimming
in the cracks of the ruin.
Snow’s arm stayed looped under Skoll’s to steady him, the
beastkin’s weight more a comfort than a burden. Each step
forward was half-drag, half-defiance. Eden moved ahead, fierce
and untamed, every flick of her bow clearing their path like
thunder clearing the sky.
“Almost there,” Snow murmured—not sure if he was reassuring
Skoll, Eden, or himself.
Then the tunnel split open to the jungle’s edge—humid air, the
first breath of something that wasn’t blood or dust. The canopy
shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and through the breaks in
the trees he spotted it: a faint glow, a glimmer of lantern
light flickering between the leaves.
He recognized that shape instantly—slender hull, sleek steel
plating catching the faintest reflection of fire.
Zan’s ship.
“There.” Snow pointed ahead, his breath coming fast but even.
“That’s our ride.” He glanced between Eden and Skoll, a faint
grin ghosting over his lips despite everything. “I’m sure the
others will be heading there too. We’ll probably run into them
on the way.”
The words were steady, practical—but his eyes lingered on Skoll
a moment longer. The beastkin’s breathing was rough, his body
trembling between exhaustion and battle-high. Snow could feel
the tension radiating off him, the instinct to keep fighting
even now.
—-
Without thinking, he tightened his grip, his voice softening.
“You’re safe now, amír. Just keep with me.”
They pushed through the dense brush, branches snapping
underfoot, the sounds of distant battle fading behind them.
Every rustle, every whisper of leaves made Snow’s muscles coil,
ready for another fight—but instead of blades, the next sound
was a familiar voice cutting through the dark.
“Snow! Eden!”
A figure broke through the undergrowth ahead—Adan, his cloak
torn and dirt-streaked, eyes wide with relief and fear all
tangled together. Thesia followed at his shoulder, blades
already drawn, her posture that of a guard ready to kill or die
in the same breath.
Snow raised a hand. “Easy—it’s us.”
Adan’s gaze darted from him to Eden, then to Skoll—and stopped.
His breath caught, expression flickering through confusion,
recognition, and something like empathy.
“Are you all—” he started, then faltered when he saw the state
they were in. Eden’s torn sleeves, the blood on Snow’s cheek,
Skoll’s hulking form half-leaning on him. “Gods, what happened
to you? And who—”
“It’s a long story,” Snow cut in gently, his tone firm but kind.
“He’s with us now.”
Thesia’s eyes narrowed, her grip on her blades tightening.
“That’s one way to put it.”
Snow met her look, calm but unyielding. “He’s not the enemy. Not
anymore.”
He could feel Adan studying him, reading the truth between his
words. The young man’s concern softened into something deeper—a
quiet understanding. His gaze flicked between Snow and Skoll,
and whatever he saw there made him stop asking questions.
----
Finally, Adan nodded. “Alright. The ship’s waiting. We’ll cover
you.”
Snow exhaled through his nose, tension easing a fraction. He
looked to Eden, catching her eyes through the mask.
“Let’s get out of here before the jungle decides to fall on us
too.”
Behind them, the faint sound of Avarice’s laughter echoed once
more—distant, feral, fading into the smoke.
Snow turned his focus forward, guiding Skoll past the last of
the trees. Each step felt heavier now, but the ship’s lanterns
grew brighter, their light flickering over leaves and armor
alike.
For the first time in what felt like years, Snow let himself
believe— They might actually make it out alive.
_______
Dare didn’t speak.
Not at first.
Words weren’t going to reach a man like that—not when his whole
body was coiled in the language of loss and fury. The heat in
the corridor was suffocating, each breath thick with ash and the
acrid tang of scorched metal. Still, Dare didn’t move. His hands
stayed where they were—open, empty, palms out.
He’d been in enough standoffs to know when someone needed time
to see you instead of hear you.
So he waited.
Let the flames lick the walls. Let the man’s rage burn itself
down to embers.
He could see it then—the raw edge of pain under the mask, the
kind that didn’t come from wounds you could see. This wasn’t
about him. It never was. Whoever this man was, he was protecting
something precious—someone—and that kind of devotion, Dare
understood far too well.
Then Aziz’s voice broke through the tension like a soft note in
the middle of a storm.
The sound hit Dare in the gut. He’d recognize that voice
anywhere. He’d spent months listening for it, waiting for it,
praying he hadn’t been too late.
And now here he was—alive, trembling, but alive.
Aziz’s plea carried all the desperation Dare had feared to hear.
He didn’t dare speak. Didn’t move. Just watched as the firelight
flickered over both of them—the protector and the one being
protected.
Please… not him.
---
Something in that tone made Dare’s throat tighten. His jaw
flexed, words dying behind his teeth. He dropped his gaze for a
moment, the faintest sigh slipping from him. If this man wanted
him to stay still, he would. He wasn’t here to fight him.
But the universe had other plans.
A shadow stirred at the far end of the hall—one of the surviving
guards, limping but armed, his eyes sharp with opportunity. He
saw the moment when Enon’s flames faltered, when the tension in
his stance wavered under Aziz’s touch.
And the bastard lunged.
“Move!” Dare barked, instinct snapping faster than thought.
He was already in motion, shoving forward, tackling the guard
before the blade could reach Enon’s side. The two men hit the
ground hard, steel scraping against stone. Dare’s elbow slammed
into the guard’s jaw, a dull crunch echoing in the corridor. The
guard snarled, twisting, knife flashing again—
—and suddenly the air behind them cracked.
A flare of crimson energy seared across the wall, and a spear
buried itself in the guard’s shoulder. He screamed, the sound
cut short by the second blast that hurled him backward into the
far wall.
Dare blinked through the smoke—and caught sight of two figures
emerging from the chaos.
Ezra moved first, weapon raised, his movements sharp and
efficient as ever. Atreus followed, eyes burning faintly, the
air around him alive with the pulse of his strange, blood-tied
magic.
“Thought we’d find you down here,” Ezra called out, breathless
but steady. His gaze swept over the group—the wrecked hallway,
the flames, Enon’s stance, Aziz’s shaking frame, and Dare
crouched over the dead guard. “Guess we were right.”
Atreus didn’t say anything at first. His gaze lingered on Dare
for a long, assessing moment, then flicked to Enon. Whatever
ability he had—it was clear he was using it now.
-----
Finally, he spoke, calm and certain.
“He’s not like the others,” Atreus said, meaning Dare. “He’s
been fighting this place from the inside. If we leave him here,
they’ll gut him for it.”
Atreus took a careful step closer, hands open, voice even.
“Right now, we all want the same thing—to get out before this
whole place comes down. Save the fire for the ones who deserve
it.”
The walls shuddered—dust and sparks falling from the cracked
ceiling. The floor beneath them vibrated with the thunder of
distant collapse.
Ezra cursed under his breath. “That’d be our cue.”
Dare exhaled slowly, eyes on Enon. “You want to protect him?” he
said quietly, nodding toward Aziz. “Then help me clear the way.”
No anger. No challenge. Just quiet conviction—the kind that came
from a man who’d already chosen his side.
Behind them, another tremor rolled through the corridor, louder
this time. Somewhere above, stone split and gave way. The fires
were spreading fast.
They didn’t have long.
-------
For a long moment, Namor said nothing.
Only the rustle of the jungle wind filled the silence, carrying
the last faint echoes of collapsing stone from the ruins behind
them.
Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
“I believe you.”
His voice was low but sure, the kind that didn’t need to rise to
be heard. He studied the blindfolded man for a beat longer—then
shifted his attention to the kelpie beside him. The creature’s
coat shimmered faintly even under soot and ash, its breath
misting in the warm air. She was half-wild still, but her eyes
weren’t full of fear. They were watching him, testing him.
Namor took a step closer, careful to keep his movements smooth
and unhurried. “You did right bringing her out,” he said
quietly. “These things don’t belong in cages—or in air this
dry.”
The kelpie huffed softly, and a faint smile touched the corner
of Namor’s mouth. “She’s waterborn. She’ll fade if she doesn’t
touch her element soon.”
He glanced back toward the jungle, where the trees thickened and
the scent of damp earth cut through the smoke. “There’s a river
about half a mile east of here. It feeds into an oasis basin.
Fresh, clean, shaded. She’ll be safe there.”
Namor’s gaze returned to Jalal. “You’re welcome to come with me.
I won’t stop you—or her.”
He gestured toward the faintly glowing trail through the brush.
“You look like you’ve had your share of battles tonight. Let me
handle this part. I can guide you to the water and make sure no
patrols find you on the way.”
-------
For the first time, something eased in his stance. The tension
that had clung to him since the pit finally loosened.
“I’m Namor,” he added simply. “And if you’ve truly seen enough
harm—then we’re on the same side.”
He turned slightly, just enough to motion for Jalal to follow.
The kelpie’s ears flicked forward, responding to the faint hum
of moisture he carried in his wake.
“Come,” he said, voice softening. “Let’s get her home to the
water.”
Then he started toward the jungle path, slow and steady, waiting
to hear the soft splash of hooves and the measured steps of the
blindfolded man following behind.
-----
A ripple in the air preceded their arrival—then came the sharp
crack of displaced magic.
Avarice stepped through first, his towering form coalescing from
a haze of violet smoke and cinders, hooves striking the deck
with a metallic clang. Behind him emerged Basredun, his cloak
settling around him like spilled ink, one gloved hand still
faintly glowing from the teleportation’s aftershock.
“Next time,” the drow muttered, straightening his collar, “I’d
prefer not to materialize three inches above the ground.”
Avarice only smirked, a dark grin curling his lips. “Where’s
your sense of drama?”
“It stayed behind with my last meal,” Bas replied dryly.
The sudden intrusion sent a wave of motion through the deck.
Zan’s crew reacted instantly—blades hissed free of their
sheaths, rifles were raised, and defensive sigils flared to life
along the rail. A few crew members took cover behind crates, the
hum of the ship’s magic deepening as its wards recognized
potential threat.
Basredun didn’t flinch. He simply took in the scene with a
small, curious tilt of his head, as if walking into a roomful of
drawn weapons was nothing more than an unexpected dinner
invitation. “Ah,” he said lightly, “so we’ve reached the part
where everyone decides whether to stab me or ask my name.”
Avarice chuckled beside him, low and pleased. “They’re quicker
than most.”
Zan’s boots thudded against the deck as he stepped forward, one
hand steady on the hilt of his sword. “Who are you, and what the
hell do you think you’re doing boarding my ship uninvited?”
----Basredun’s crimson eyes flicked toward him, the faintest
glimmer of amusement visible even through the soot and fatigue
lining his face. “Uninvited? I suppose that’s fair. Though given
the chaos below, I assumed any exit that wasn’t on fire counted
as an open door.”
That earned a few tense glances from the crew but no one lowered
their weapons.
Bas sighed, brushing at a small fleck of ash on his sleeve. His
tone softened slightly, almost courteous. “Before you make a
decision—might I ask about two individuals who were brought
aboard earlier? A fae and a fighter—Yarick and Grim, I believe.”
The name drop drew a subtle flicker of recognition from Zan. His
grip on the sword eased just slightly.
“They’re alive,” the captain said cautiously. “Resting below
deck.”
Relief crossed the drow’s face—quiet, restrained, but genuine.
He inclined his head. “Good. I would’ve been… displeased if my
efforts to extract them had gone to waste.”
That simple admission—polite, unexpected—seemed to catch Zan off
guard. The sharpness in his stance dulled by a fraction,
suspicion tempered with curiosity.
Basredun noticed, of course. He always noticed. “And before you
ask,” he continued smoothly, “this blood isn’t theirs.”
He gestured lazily to the dark spatters marring his once-elegant
vest. “I assure you, it belongs entirely to the pack slavers who
decided to make a game of chasing prisoners through collapsing
ruins. They were… less successful than I.”
---
Zan blinked once, processing the mixture of civility and menace
in the drow’s tone. “You killed slavers?”
“Several,” Bas said mildly. “It seemed therapeutic.”
A few of the crew exchanged wary looks; one even stifled a
nervous chuckle. The tension on deck began to ease, just barely.
Avarice stretched, his wings unfurling slightly, the shadows
beneath him curling like living smoke. “Are we done glaring at
each other yet?” the demon drawled. “Because I could really use
a drink.”
Bas gave him a look—half exasperation, half amusement—and turned
back to Zan. “My associate has a point. If you don’t mind,
Captain, I’d like to rest my feet somewhere that isn’t currently
disintegrating. You have my word: I won’t touch a thing. Unless
it glows.”
That earned him an incredulous snort from one of the engineers,
and finally—finally—Zan’s lips twitched into something almost
like a reluctant smile.
“…Fine,” he said, lowering his weapon. “But you and your
‘associate’ stay where I can see you.”
“Of course,” Bas replied smoothly, stepping aside to let Avarice
through first. “I wouldn’t dream of overstepping. Not when
there’s so much fascinating magic keeping this vessel airborne.”
He glanced up toward the runes carved into the mast, eyes
gleaming with interest. “A flying ship. Remarkable. I’ll have to
study the enchantment matrix later—assuming, of course, it
doesn’t involve more explosions.”
Zan huffed under his breath. “You’ll fit right in.”
Bas smiled faintly. “That’s what everyone says—right before they
realize I’m serious.”
—-
Enon’s breath came slow, heavy, the heat rolling off him in
waves that shimmered the air. For a moment, it wasn’t rage
keeping the fire alive—it was uncertainty. The old instincts
screamed to strike, to burn anything that moved too close to
Aziz. But the image in front of him refused to fit the shape of
an enemy.
The man—*Dare*—wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t posturing, wasn’t
meeting Enon’s fury with his own. He was standing there,
open-palmed, ash clinging to his skin, smoke curling around his
shoulders. And when the guard had lunged, Dare hadn’t flinched
away. He’d thrown himself into the path of the blade.
For Aziz.
The heat around Enon dimmed, flickering, then pulling back like
an exhale after a long-held breath.
He watched Dare rise from the ground, eyes hard and steady even
as blood trickled down his arm. There was no fear there—only
resolve. The kind that came from a man who had already made
peace with dying if it meant saving someone else.
And that, more than any words, broke through the wall of fire in
Enon’s chest.
When Dare spoke again—*You want to protect him? Then help me
clear the way*—Enon felt something shift. It wasn’t surrender.
It was recognition.
He stepped forward, boots scraping against scorched stone. The
flames licked at his hands but didn’t spread. They obeyed him
now, bending low, quieting like beasts called home. His voice,
when it came, was low—rough, but steady.
“You threw yourself into a blade for me,” he said, not as
accusation, but as judgment. “That’s what earned you this.”
He nodded once toward Dare, then to Aziz. “My trust. We will
protect him together- you are safe.”
Behind him, the corridor groaned. The structure was giving way.
Ezra looked to him, his mouth firm and, waiting.
Enon rolled his shoulders, the air crackling with renewed heat.
“Brother,” he said, his head tilting toward Ezra with a faint
smirk beneath the soot. “You bring the tide.”
Ezra’s lips curved, faint but certain as his tilted back. “And
you bring the burn.”
Their face met once—old rhythm, old promise. Then they moved.
Enon thrust his palms forward, a column of fire roaring down the
hall. Ezra swept his arms outward, a wall of conjured water
meeting it midair. For a heartbeat, it was chaos—heat and hiss,
flame and foam—then the collision erupted into thick, rolling
*steam*.
It surged through the corridor, swallowing light and shadow
alike. The air turned opaque, the roar of fire fading into a
muffled hum. Perfect cover.
Through it, Enon’s voice carried, calm and commanding. “Move!
Stay low—follow the heat, not the light!”
He caught one last glimpse of Dare through the haze—the man’s
silhouette outlined by the dying firelight, Aziz close behind
him—and felt something unexpected.
Respect.
Then Enon turned, flames curling around his fists as he led the
charge into the mist. The steam wrapped around them like smoke
around a spark, hiding their escape while the arena above them
screamed and fell.
Behind the mask of vapor and flame, the fire-bearer’s voice came
once more—low, steady, and sure.
“For him,” Enon murmured. “For all of us.”
And then the inferno closed, swallowing the last of the light.
—-
Jalal stood still for a moment, the weight of Namor’s words
settling over him like the last remnants of the storm. Beneath
the blindfold, his jaw tightened—not from distrust this time,
but from something quieter, more difficult to name. Relief,
perhaps. Or gratitude he didn’t yet know how to voice.
He turned his head slightly toward the sound of Namor’s
footsteps in the undergrowth. “You speak as one who knows the
ways of things that belong to the deep,” he said. His voice was
rough, rasped thin by smoke and exhaustion, but steady. “Most
would have tried to tame her. Or kill her for what they don’t
understand.”
The kelpie shifted beside him, her flank brushing his arm. Cool,
damp energy pulsed faintly from her hide, and he let his fingers
trail through the air just shy of her skin. “She trusted me long
enough to get this far,” he murmured, half to himself. “But I
think she trusts you now.”
He hesitated, then inclined his head in Namor’s direction. “I’ll
come. I owe her that much. And if your word holds true, then
perhaps we do walk the same path—at least until she’s safe.”
Adjusting the blindfold with a practiced hand, Jalal started
forward, listening to the rhythm of Namor’s stride through
leaves and loam. “Lead on, sea-born,” he said quietly, a flicker
of dry humor threading through the words. “Let’s see if the
river remembers mercy tonight.”
And with that, he followed—the kelpie’s soft breath and Namor’s
sure presence guiding him through the damp dark toward the
promise of water.
———
Eden limped.
At first, she tried to hide it—the stiffness in her stride, the
way her left knee refused to bend the way it should. But the
pain slipped through the cracks in her control like smoke. Each
step through the underbrush sent a quiet pulse of fire up her
leg, and still, she kept moving. Always forward. Always toward
the light.
The jungle pressed close, heavy and wet with the scent of ash
and green things trying to live again. The others’ footsteps
beat around her—Snow’s steady rhythm, Skoll’s heavier drag—but
in her mind, there was only silence. Too much silence.
*Where are you, Jalal?*
The thought was sharp, cutting through her like glass. Her
master’s voice had always been a constant in the chaos—a
grounding weight, a whisper in her head that had once been both
command and comfort. But now there was nothing. No presence
pressing against her mind, no thread of familiar warmth. Just
static.
Her hand twitched toward her mask, fingers brushing the edge
where the bone met skin. She shouldn’t care this much. She knew
she shouldn’t. But the absence ached worse than the wound in her
leg.
And her brothers—
Eden froze mid-step, breath catching. The jungle around them
seemed to breathe differently then, the hum of insects suddenly
too loud, the wind shifting like a warning. Her eyes—what could
be seen of them behind the mask—darted between the trees,
scanning for movement, for the glint of steel, for the sound of
the familiar footfalls she should have heard by now.
Nothing.
Her other self stirred, whispering from beneath the surface. *Be
ready.*
Her body obeyed instinctively. Her hand brushed the hilt of her
blade, her posture tightening despite the pain. She moved slower
now—not from exhaustion, but caution. The limp became a
calculated rhythm, each step a test, a quiet challenge to the
shadows.
The ship’s lanterns loomed ahead, glimmering gold through the
dark. Safety, maybe. But she didn’t believe in safe. Not
anymore.
As she neared the clearing, she glanced over her shoulder one
last time, her mask catching the light. The forest behind them
was alive with ghosts—memory, fear, loyalty—all bleeding
together into the same dark silence.
*Master.. Enon … Ezra..…*
Her jaw tightened. The names echoed once, then were swallowed by
the wind.
She stilled as to wait for her family. Being separated was
messing with her. The last time they were bad things happened.
She felt lucky she didn’t end up captured and tortured.. not
like the last time. Her hands tightened on her blades.
She stilled where one would enter the ship waiting.. for her
master, her brothers—Eden couldn’t rest.
Not yet.
—-
Jalal stood in the shallows, the blindfold damp against his
skin, one hand resting on the kelpie’s sleek neck as she soaked
in the cool. The creature’s breathing matched the rhythm of the
tide—steady, unhurried, alive.
He exhaled, letting the ache in his shoulders fade. The quiet
here felt strange after so much fire and screaming. For the
first time in hours, he allowed himself to listen—to the pulse
of the water, to his own heartbeat finding its way back to calm.
#Post#: 1178--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 11:11 am
---------------------------------------------------------
---
The water was calm again—unnaturally calm. Jalal’s hand stayed
on the kelpie’s neck, feeling the slow pulse beneath the
surface. For a long breath, the world felt distant, quiet, like
it was finally exhaling after too much chaos.
Then—footsteps. A group approaching fast over wet stone and
undergrowth.
“Jalal!”
The voice that called his name was half-fire, half-relief. Enon
emerged first from the growth, flames guttering low around his
shoulders, Ezra just behind him—drenched, calm. Between them
walked Aziz, steady on his feet now, though the cuts on his arms
still glowed faintly from Enon’s earlier firelight.
Jalal’s shoulders eased when he saw them. “Aziz??.”
Enon said softly.”they took him..” he said quietly.”and I took
him back.. with help.” He finished as he motioned to dare.
Ezra inclined his head. As he took in Namor, who lingered at
Jalal’s side like a shadow of the tide itself. “And it seems the
demigod is here too.”
Jalal gestured slightly. “Enon, Ezra, Aziz—this is Namor. He
guided us when the waters turned.”
Ezra gave a short nod, solemn but respectful. “Then we owe you
thanks.” He tilted his head, faint amusement ghosting his tone.
“Especially for getting the apple down.”
Enon, however, froze mid-step. “Apple got freed?” His voice came
out rough, incredulous. “You mean the memory thing—*her*
memory?”
Ezra’s smile deepened just a fraction. “Seems it might be closer
than we thought.”
Enon’s flames flared once before dimming again, a spark of
boyish excitement cutting through his fatigue. “Then it means
she must of gotten it back.”
Jalal on, turning toward the light of the ship that cut through
the trees. “Then let’s not keep her waiting.”
They walked to the clearing, and there, standing just at the
foot of the ramp, blades drawn, mask tilted toward the dark, was
Eden.
She didn’t move until they were close enough for the ship’s hum
to catch their voices. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she
stepped forward. Relief flickered through her posture, breaking
the stiffness that had held her for too long.
“You idiots,” she said, though her voice cracked around the
edges. “You *all* wandered off.”
Enon was on her in a heartbeat, grabbing her by the shoulders
before she could hide the limp. “You’re hurt,” he muttered, eyes
narrowing. “You should’ve gone on the ship.”
“I *was* waiting,” she snapped, but the bite softened when she
looked at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to yell properly.”
Ezra gave a faint smile and gestured toward Jalal. “Blame him. I
was looking for him and Enon both.”
Eden turned her masked face toward him, nodding once. “Then
you’re forgiven.” Her gaze slid to Enon next, she saw Aziz to
make a soft breath out.
“Aziz!.. how…?” She mumbled to later decide.”I’ll let it slide
Enon- since it’s Aziz” she said in a tired tone.
Then her attention snapped to Jalal.
“But you,” she said, voice tightening. “You’re our *master*.
You’re the one who tells *me* not to wander off, remember?”
Jalal sighed softly, his expression unreadable beneath the
blindfold. “In my defense,” he began, “I wasn’t wandering. I was
saving a kelpie.“
Eden froze, the edge of her anger faltering. “A kelpie?” Her
tone shifted instantly, curiosity sparking beneath the fatigue.
“Where? You actually found one?”
Jalal smiled, faintly. “Right behind me—”
He turned to gesture behind him—and stopped.
Where the kelpie had been, a woman now stood.Her skin gleamed
like wet stone under the ship’s light, hair dark and dripping
down her shoulders. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Only watched
them, head tilted slightly, as if waiting.
Eden blinked once, then again. Her shoulders rose. “That’s not a
kelpie,” she said flatly.
Jalal hesitated, a frown tugging beneath his blindfold. “She
was. A moment ago.”
Eden crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Liar.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the weight of her
disbelief almost comical against the surreal stillness of the
scene.
Ezra stepped closer, tugging his cloak around tighter ,
studying the woman. “Not entirely a lie,” he murmured. “Her aura
matches the creature’s. Same pulse, different form.”
Eden sighed, dragging a hand down her mask. “You’re all insane,”
she muttered, though the relief in her tone gave her away. “Come
on. Before something else decides to grow legs.”
Jalal’s lips quirked again, just barely. “You’ll forgive me
later.”
“Maybe,” she said, falling into step beside him as they started
toward where they could board. “But you can’t tell me to wander
off anymore.” She said flatly.
The group ascended together, the soft light of the ship washing
over them cutting into the darkness. And for the first time in
what felt like forever, the family was whole again.
——
In the hush that followed the chaos, Enon finally pulled the
knot of his mask loose. The fabric came away with a soft rasp,
and for a moment he just stood there—bare-faced, the air cool
against skin still flushed from flame.
He turned to Aziz, who was sitting nearby, exhaustion etched
into every line of him. Without a word, Enon crouched, the faint
smell of smoke and ash clinging to his movements. Carefully, he
lifted the mask and slid it over Aziz’s face, adjusting the fit
until it sat just right.
“There,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting in
something close to a smile. “You’ll breathe easier with it on.”
Enon just insisted. “It’s okay. I think I can survive the trip
without an eye mask.”
His eyes caught the dim light then—burning a deep, molten red.
Unhidden, unashamed. His true eye, alive with all the fire he
carried and the control it took to keep it gentle.
Straightening, Enon looked across to Dare. The man met his gaze
steadily, no flinching, no false pride. That earned a nod.
“Think of this as my trust,” Enon said, voice even but threaded
with heat. “All of it. Break it—and you’ll answer to the
inferno.”
There was no venom in the words, only truth. A warrior’s
promise, given and meant.
The silence stretched a moment longer before Enon exhaled,
rolling his shoulders. His hand went absently to his hair,
tugging at a tangle stiff with dried mud. “Now,” he muttered,
more to himself than anyone else, “I’ve got to figure out how
I’m supposed to clean all this out.”
From across the deck, Ezra’s voice drifted over—equally
disgruntled, equally tired. “You’re not alone, brother.”
Enon’s laugh was quiet but real this time, low and warm like
embers settling back into the hearth.
---
Eden settled near where Snow and skoll were being fussed over,
the ship’s low hum vibrating faintly beneath her palms. The
lantern light caught on the sheen of sweat and blood along her
arm, on the mask that hid the exhaustion in her eyes. She could
feel the adrenaline fading—slowly, painfully—leaving behind the
deep ache that followed every fight.
She drew a slow breath, bracing for it. Her shoulders stiffened,
then eased as she exhaled. The noise of the others faded for a
moment; all she could hear was the rhythm of her own pulse and
the soft murmur of those tending to the wounded.
Across from her, Skoll lingered in the half-light, his massive
frame still, the beast’s presence muted but close—familiar in a
way that steadied her. End rose then, quiet and certain, moving
beneath her skin like instinct.
“Skoll,” she said softly, the words carrying more weight than
volume. “Lean this way…please”
——
The chaos was fading, but the noise in Skoll’s head wasn’t.
Every step toward the ship was agony—muscle, bone, and memory
all screaming together—but he forced himself to keep moving. He
wouldn’t fall. Not while Snow was still in reach. Not while the
scent of his love lingered close enough to hold onto.
By the time they reached the deck, the world tilted in waves.
The smell of blood, smoke, and salt hit too strong, every sound
cutting like glass. He let Snow guide him down, heavy limbs
folding as he sank onto the nearest bench. His chest rose in
uneven, ragged pulls.
Then—movement. A stranger’s hand.
The instinct hit like lightning. A low snarl tore out of his
throat before he even realized it, claws half-drawn, teeth
flashing. The terrified medic stumbled back, muttering curses.
Others froze, watching him like a bomb about to detonate.
Skoll didn’t hear their words—only their tone. Accusing.
Fearful. Dangerous.
It made his hackles rise.
He would’ve lashed out again if not for Snow’s voice—steady,
grounding, pulling him back from the edge. He hated that the
humans called him “broken.” “Brainwashed.” They didn’t
understand that his world had already broken long before they
found him. Snow’s hand at his jaw was the only thing that made
sense anymore.
The growl eased, but didn’t vanish. He stayed low, tense, gaze
fixed on anyone who dared move too close.
Then another voice cut through the haze. Firm. Familiar. Eden.
Skoll’s head turned at once, ears twitching toward her. The
sound of her command was different—it wasn’t fear, or pity. It
was strength. He responded before he could think, the beast in
him recognizing something in her tone that demanded trust.
Slowly, he leaned toward her, pressing his head against her
shoulder. The fight bled out of him all at once, replaced by a
strange, quiet calm. Her scent—iron and earth—settled in his
lungs, steadying the wild pulse beneath his ribs.
He closed his eyes, breathing deep. The world blurred to
silence, just her heartbeat and Snow’s presence anchoring him in
place.
For the first time since the pit, Skoll didn’t feel like a
weapon waiting to be unleashed.
He felt… safe.
—-
The tension in the corridor didn’t break until a guard lunged.
Everything blurred—shouts, movement, steel—and before Aziz could
even register it, Dare was there, intercepting the blow. Then
Ezra appeared out of the haze, Enon’s twin, followed by another
man whose eyes told him everything he needed to know. Dare was
safe.
The next thing Aziz knew, they were running. Steam swallowed the
hallways, heat and fear mixing until the air burned his lungs.
It felt unreal—leaving the place he’d been trapped in for what
felt like forever. That narrow cell had been a grave of sorts,
and now he was stumbling out of it like something half-reborn.
Finding the river should have felt like freedom. Finding Jalal
waiting there should have meant hope. Instead, Aziz felt hollow.
He’d spent so long imagining this escape that the reality of it
didn’t fit right. Jalal’s face—alive, whole—should have been a
relief, but all Aziz could do was stare, the shock refusing to
settle. Of course the triplets and their master had survived. Of
course life had gone on without him.
He said nothing the whole way to the ship. Words had become
foreign, fragile things, and silence was easier. The healers
worked on him, hands gentle but unfamiliar. He let them. He was
used to being handled like an object, not spoken to.
It wasn’t until Enon moved closer that something cracked through
the fog. The other man slipped the dark cloth from his own face
and tied it gently over Aziz’s damaged eye. A small gesture,
quiet and intimate. Aziz tried to stop him—tried to tell him he
didn’t need it—but Enon’s expression left no room for argument.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Enon turned to Dare and
spoke words that cut deeper than any wound.
I trust you.
Aziz’s breath caught. His throat tightened around the weight of
it all—relief, confusion, longing, fear. Dare had saved him more
times than he could count. Enon had come for him against all
reason. Both of them had seen him at his lowest and hadn’t
looked away.
He didn’t know what to do with that kind of devotion.
Didn’t know how to carry it.
“Thank you…” The words came rough, cracked from disuse. “I don’t
know how you found me—or if you were even looking for me—but…
thank you, Enon. For everything.”
The silence that followed pressed against his chest like a
stone. He didn’t look at Dare, though he could feel his warmth
close by. Some part of him feared that one day he’d have to
choose between them.
And that thought terrified him more than any prison ever had.
—-
Namor — Of Water and Family
Namor had seen many strange things in his lifetime, but few
sights compared to watching a blindfolded warrior
explain—completely deadpan—that he’d rescued a kelpie, only for
the creature to stroll up the ramp in the form of a dripping,
ethereal woman.
He folded his arms, biting back the laugh that wanted to escape.
His lips curved instead into something half-amused,
half-admiring. “You weren’t exaggerating,” he murmured to Jalal,
voice edged with quiet humor. “She’s beautiful. I can see why
she’d follow you.”
Jalal’s reply was a weary sigh, but the faintest ghost of a
smile touched his mouth.
Behind them, Eden’s exasperation and the triplets’ banter
carried like the familiar music of a family too relieved to keep
their emotions in check. Namor didn’t interrupt; he simply
watched, standing a little apart, water still glistening faintly
along his arms from their trek through the shallows.
When the group finally reached the ship, Zan was waiting at the
top of the ramp—and for once, the unflappable captain looked
almost stunned.
His gaze swept the newcomers, lingering on Jalal, the twins, the
red-haired warrior, the beastkin, and finally—on Namor himself.
“The hells,” Zan breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You
brought a demigod onto my ship.”
Namor’s mouth twitched into a small, polite smile. “Only for a
while,” he said. “I promise not to sink it.”
That earned a strangled noise from one of the deckhands, but Zan
just exhaled and waved them through. “Fine. Just… try not to
start any divine incidents.”
Namor inclined his head. “I’ll do my best.”
---
Dare — The Weight of Stillness
Below deck, Dare lasted all of five minutes before the
adrenaline finally gave out.
He’d meant to stay upright—to keep watch, to make sure Aziz and
Enon didn’t need him—but his body had other plans. The moment he
sank onto the cot beside them, the exhaustion hit like a hammer.
His hand, still faintly bandaged from blocking the guard’s
blade, slipped from his knee as his eyes fluttered shut.
He was out cold before Enon could so much as comment.
A small, curious flicker of light drifted down from above—the
fluttering form of Xahri, the pixie princess. Her tiny feet
touched the cot rail as she leaned over him, wings buzzing
softly.
“Well, that explains the heroics,” she mused, her voice chiming
like distant wind bells. “He’s got all sorts of bloodlines
running through him. Fae, human, elf… even a trace of
terranian.” Her brow furrowed in fascination. “No wonder he
looks like he was carved by three different gods who couldn’t
agree on a style.”
The pixie landed lightly on Dare’s shoulder, tilting her head as
if listening to his heartbeat. “He’ll be fine. Just burned
through everything he had.” Her wings shimmered faintly before
she darted off again, leaving behind the faint scent of
wildflowers and ozone.
----
Snow — The Beast and the Burn
On deck, Snow knelt beside Skoll, the faint glow of lanterns
catching on the pale strands of his hair. The beastkin’s
breathing had steadied, though his chest still rose and fell in
uneven rhythm. Snow’s hands were steady as he worked—binding a
wound, cleaning blood from between the scars that crossed
Skoll’s arms.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice soft enough to calm the twitching
ears and the faint growl rumbling in Skoll’s chest. “It’s over,
amír. You’re safe now.”
Skoll’s head turned slightly, eyes hazy but focused on him.
Snow’s tone—gentle but firm—kept him grounded. When a medic
hesitated nearby, uncertain, Snow simply glanced up and nodded
once. “He’s not a threat. Just let him breathe.”
That assurance was enough.
And then, of course, came Adan—pale, fretting, and determined to
be useful.
“Snow, sit down before you bleed out,” he scolded, already
reaching for a cloth. “You’re just as bad as she is,” he added,
jerking his head toward where Eden was stubbornly pretending not
to limp.
Snow chuckled quietly but obeyed, settling down beside Skoll
while Adan checked both of them over with the brisk efficiency
of someone who’d seen far too much blood in one day.
---
Atreus and Ezra — Small Comforts
Further down the corridor, Atreus leaned against the wall near
the galley, his gaze flicking toward where Enon and Ezra were
bickering over their battle-tangled hair.
“Every time,” Ezra sighed, tugging at another knot. “You’d think
fire would burn through it instead of gluing it together.”
“It’s your water that makes it worse,” Enon shot back, smirking
faintly.
Atreus pushed off the wall, his tone mild but his expression
kind. “Hot water and soap will do better than either of your
tempers,” he said. “I can help with the tangles if you’d like.”
After getting an answer from Ezra, Atreus grinned.
“I’ll bring the kettle,” he promised, already heading toward the
galley. “You bring patience.”
---
Basredun — A Demon, a Demigod, and a Favor
The ship’s deck was calmer now—lanterns swaying gently, the
jungle’s distant hum slowly replacing the chaos of battle.
Basredun stood near the rail, one hand resting lightly on the
polished wood, the other idly adjusting the silver clasp at his
collar.
Avarice lingered a few steps behind, his massive form coiled in
lazy satisfaction, smoke curling faintly from his horns. For the
first time all evening, the drow wasn’t surrounded by screams or
collapsing walls. Just moonlight, and the soft thrum of the
skyship’s runes beneath his boots.
He was about to slip below deck when he heard the faint crunch
of footsteps—measured, confident.
Namor.
The demigod approached without haste, his presence like the
sea—calm, deep, and carrying the faintest undertone of power
that made even Avarice straighten slightly. His gaze swept the
deck once before landing on Bas.
“I should thank you,” Namor said simply. His voice was low but
carried the quiet authority of one used to being obeyed. “You
made quite the mess back there—and from what I saw, it was the
kind of mess that saved lives.”
Basredun turned his head, a sly smile curving his mouth. “Ah,
gratitude from a demigod. I should frame this moment.”
Namor’s mouth quirked, though his tone stayed even. “Most drow
I’ve met wouldn’t have bothered. They prefer to profit from
chaos, not fix it.”
That earned a quiet, genuine laugh from Bas. “Fix it? My dear
sea-born, you assume far too much.” He straightened, yellow eyes
glinting faintly in the ship’s lantern light. “I didn’t fix
anything. I merely rearranged the destruction to my liking.”
Avarice rumbled with amusement behind him, tail flicking once.
Bas continued, his tone light but edged with truth. “Me, a hero?
Never. I’m more… chaotic neutral on a good day.” His grin
widened, showing a hint of sharp teeth. “On a bad day—you really
don’t want to tangle with me.”
Namor chuckled softly, folding his arms. “I’ll take your word
for it.”
“Wise,” Bas replied, inclining his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse
me, I should check on a pair of survivors before they manage to
undo all the work I put into saving them.”
He gestured lazily toward the lower decks. “The tattooed
berserker and the sparkly winged fae. Somehow, I suspect they’re
either fighting, flirting, or redecorating my peace and quiet.”
Namor raised an amused brow. “Good luck.”
“I never rely on luck,” Bas said smoothly, already turning
toward the stairwell. “Just leverage.”
Below Deck
Basredun descended the narrow stairs, the muffled sounds of
conversation and the rhythmic creak of the ship growing clearer
as he went. He found Grim easily—the fighter’s broad back
hunched slightly as he prowled the corridor, muttering curses
under his breath.
“Looking for someone?” Bas asked, his voice echoing just enough
to make Grim pause.
The larger man turned, expression tight. “Yarick,” he grunted.
“He was here. Now he’s not.”
Bas crossed his arms, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Ah, yes. Our
glittering fae with a flair for the dramatic. I can help you
find him.”
Grim raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering behind the fatigue
in his eyes. “Why?”
Bas’s smile turned wickedly sharp. “Because I’m bored. And
because I never do anything for free.”
He leaned against the wall, voice dropping to a low purr of
amusement. “Help you find your sparkly companion—and you owe me
a favor. Something useful, something fun. Nothing too dreadful.”
He paused, eyes glinting. “Do we have a deal?”
#Post#: 1179--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 12:12 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Enon stood still for a moment, watching Dare's unconscious form
with an exasperated sigh. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t
believe that Dare had fallen asleep mid-conversation—no, before
he could even finish the conversation.
A quiet growl slipped from Enon’s throat, his hand rubbing the
back of his neck in frustration.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, frowning as he glared down at
Dare’s sleeping face. “I’m not going to tell you twice, you
know. I’m not—” He cut himself off with a huff, muttering
something under his breath.
He knew Dare wouldn’t hear him, but it still didn’t stop the
irritation from boiling up. His cheeks flushed, but there was no
real anger there—just the sort of fuming that came from someone
who really cared but would never admit it outright.
Turning back to Aziz, Enon’s expression softened. He was still
troubled by Dare’s unconsciousness, but the weight of Aziz’s
gaze—the way he’d looked at him earlier—pressed down on him more
heavily.
He leaned against the wooden beam near Aziz, his voice barely
above a whisper, and this time, the words came out without the
bite they’d held for Dare.
Enon’s gaze dropped to the floor as he let out a long, slow
breath, his expression darkening at the memory. He rubbed his
palm over his face, as if trying to wipe away the weight of what
he was about to admit.
"I… I messed up,” he said again, his voice soft but thick with
regret. “Not just with you—with Eden, and Ezra too. I got caught
up with the Talutah.”
Enon sighed softly before his next words came out. "I was
nearly sacrificed.”
His voice cracked slightly, a rare vulnerability bleeding
through. "They were going to offer me—to their gods-And for a
moment… I didn’t think I was going to make it out. Not alive,
anyway.”
There was a brief silence as the weight of it settled in the air
between them.
“But Master Jalal… he found me in time. He pulled me out before
it was too late.” Enon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides,
his nails biting into his palms.
”I can’t change what happened, but I won’t let it happen again.
Not to you. Not to anyone I care about. I wasn’t strong enough
before- if I was we’d all be at the oasis, and no one hurt.”he
finished as his eyes showed a small pain and guilt.
—-
End's heart gave a quiet flutter as Skoll’s weight settled
against her, a warmth she hadn’t realized she was missing. She
didn’t have to think about it—her hand simply found the soft,
thick fur of his ears, fingers tracing the curve with a
gentleness reserved for the ones who had fought battles not just
with the world, but within themselves.
A smile curved for a moment she thought she felt the faintest
press of his face against her neck—like a wolf that had finally
found its pack again. A vulnerable, precious thing that was
Skoll, all rough edges and battle-worn scars, but in this
moment, he was just... him. End was more than impressed.. her
mind wandering a little to snow and skoll.
Her fingers worked delicately, brushing over the top of his
head, massaging between his ears as she whispered softly, “It’s
okay... You’re safe, Skoll. I’ve got you .. sleep.. I’ll keep
watch," she said her voice dropping in a soft way. her other
hand gently stroking down his cheek, fingers brushing beneath
his jaw.
Her smile grew as she enjoyed watching his fluffy ears twitch.
He felt like a puzzle piece fitting into place.
*I’ve made up my mind—he’s mine, and I’m not letting him go,*End
thought as she felt another soft press against her shoulder. Her
mouth curved into a warm, private smile, fingers continuing to
thread gently through Skoll’s hair, each stroke slower, more
deliberate, filled with quiet possession.
Her masked head tilted subtly to the right, a silent
acknowledgment that End lingered with her, watching from the
edges of her thoughts. The gesture seemed to pull his presence
closer, and with it came the steady hum of satisfaction.
Her fingers traced his hairline and slipped down to brush over
his cheek, appreciating the contrast between his strength and
the soft surrender in this moment. She could still see him in
the pit—fierce, unyielding, every muscle coiled with power—and
yet here he was, leaning into her hand, yielding without a word.
*You’re strong… but you trust me enough to rest*, she thought,
pride and tenderness curling together as her thumb brushed
beneath his jaw. *I like that.*
Her masked face tilted left.
*Intelligent… caring…I like that..*Eden thought, the words
curling like smoke in her mind.
Adan’s hands moved with steady precision, wrapping Snow’s injury
as if nothing else existed.
Her head shifted right.
*And a perfect way to get under Nile’s skin,*End’s voice purred.
*You’ve always liked the brainy ones.*
The faint light caught the edge of her mask, reflecting a glint
of mischief.
Another slight tilt to the left.
*And you’re the one who chases brawn, so don’t start,*Eden
countered.
Her gaze slid over to Snow, motionless but solid, a quiet
strength in his posture.
A nod downward, subtle.
*Mmm… our type. Brawn and brains…* the thought coiled warmly
between them.
Snow’s chest rose and fell, the bandages snug against his side.
Eden lingered in her silent reflections, her masked head tilting
faintly as thoughts drifted like smoke. Pride and tenderness
curled together as she imagined snows quiet strength, his quick
actions- and his tender moment that disarmed skoll. Her her
fingers still stroking skoll’s hair, each motion tethered to the
rhythm of her thoughts.
Then Ezra’s voice cut through the calm.
“Of course you’d do that on purpose.” Said Ezra with a flat look
at his sister.”..just to pet his ears…”
End’s face never moved as she pretended to not hear the man call
her out.
“Eden,” he said, a flicker of excitement in his tone as he
shifted the conversation.”… Elior and Ezma—they’re alive.”
“How did you find out? “ she asked as Ezra continue to tell her
about Atreaus and finding it out during their time at Nile’s
kingdom.
Relief washed over her first, warm and full, before irritation
pricked at the edges. *Alive. And no one thought to tell me
sooner?* Her masked head tilted, the smallest sign of her
simmering miffedness.
Ezra hesitated, catching the spark of that unspoken lecture. He
hurried to change the subject. “So, uh… about the apple?”
Her hand, hovering mid-motion, froze. A beat passed before she
let the answer slip, soft and edged with finality. “…Total
fake.”
Worry creased Ezra’s face, the weight of her words settling in
as he realized the quiet had turned heavy again.
Ezra’s breath caught, and he shifted his weight, his hand
brushing against the crumbling dried mud in his hair. “You… you
don’t think this could be… the Hollow Era, do you?” The words
slipped out, fragile, as though speaking them aloud could make
them real.
Her masked head snapped toward him, sharp and precise, and in
the same motion a gloved finger pressed to her lips. The
unspoken command bit through the heavy air: Silence.
Only the terranians knew. Only they carried the burden of what
her presence truly meant. If a side triumphed, a new era would
bear its name—Eden for peace, End for war. But if neither rose,
if the balance faltered, the Hollow Era would consume it all.
The one where both sides failed. The one where the apple
vanished—or worse, where the memories shattered, her face turned
at the few memories she knew of. She wondered if they would
break not having it all.
“Later… we’ll talk later, when there are fewer ears.”The words
slipped out in a whisper, but inside, her thoughts screamed. She
refused to name the clawing unease that curled in the pit of her
stomach. Fear? No—she told herself it wasn’t fear.
Not of losing her-Not of watching End fade from her side the way
shadows vanish in the dawn. She clung to her denial like armor,
insisting to herself that she was unshaken, that she didn’t feel
the hollow ache threatening to bloom. Hell, she wasn’t happy at
the thought of losing End—no more than End could bear the idea
of losing her. And yet, that truth hovered, unspoken, like a
blade over their heads.
____
Jalal’s head turned slightly toward the sound of the soft,
dripping footsteps. Nyrah—if that’s what she was now—moved with
an unhurried grace, water streaming off her luminous form and
pooling around her bare feet on the ramp. He could feel the
faint hum of magic clinging to her, the echo of wild rivers and
deep, secret currents.
He exhaled slowly. “I… still don’t understand how you shift,” he
admitted, voice pitched low as though speaking too loudly might
break the spell. “One moment you’re a horse, the next…” He
gestured faintly toward her human silhouette, trailing off.
“You’ll need a name, before Eden starts calling you ‘Kelpie’
like some stray.”
The ethereal woman tilted her head, droplets cascading from her
hair, but said nothing—just smiled in that otherworldly way that
somehow made his chest tighten.”Maybe Nyrah?…” he mused.
Zan’s voice broke the moment. “The hells. You brought a demigod
onto my ship.”
Namor’s polite smile and promise not to sink the vessel earned a
soft grunt of amusement from Jalal, but his mind was elsewhere.
As the last of the group stepped aboard, he leaned toward the
captain, one hand flexing against the worn strap of his weapon.
“Captain,” he said in a hushed tone, urgency threading his
words. “We need to go straight to the oasis. No stops, no
detours. Ezra is the oasis binder and- we need to get back
before our people sacrifice themselves to keep it alive.” He
said quietly.
——
Grim tilted his head, a slow, crooked grin creeping across his
face. “Oh, come on, Bas… you really think I’d give up the fun
part so easy? Chasing Yarick around this little boat is like…
entertainment. A game. And I do like to play my games.”
He took a step closer, voice dipping to a lazy drawl. “I’ve got
three spots I need to check first. If he’s not in any of ‘em,
then sure—we’ll make our deal. But until then? I want to enjoy
the hunt. Draw it out a little.”
Grim’s grin sharpened as he leaned in, tone full of wicked
amusement. “When I find him, I’m dragging him straight to my
bunk… and he’s staying there. Right in bed with me, where I can
keep him.” He let the pause hang, eyes glinting. “You know… you
could always join us, Bas. Make sure he’s healing *properly.*”
Aziz sat in silence while Enon muttered under his breath about
Dare’s sudden nap, the edge of irritation in his voice softened
by something that almost sounded like care. The sound filled the
stillness like a low hum—ordinary, grounding, almost enough to
make the world feel real again. Almost.
He sat close enough to feel the faint warmth of Enon’s shoulder
brushing against his own, a quiet reassurance that neither of
them was alone. But no matter how he tried to focus on that, the
knot in his chest refused to ease. Every breath still carried
that thin, sharp thread of disbelief—like if he blinked too
long, he’d wake back in the stone halls, chained, still waiting
for rescue that never came.
His fingers curled in the fabric of the blanket draped across
his knees. “I keep… thinking this isn’t real,” he admitted,
voice low and hoarse from disuse. “That any second I’ll open my
eyes and…” He trailed off, unable to finish, the words catching
on a memory he didn’t want to name.
He forced himself to glance at Enon, catching the faint light
glinting off the man’s uncovered eye. “You said they almost—” He
stopped again, swallowing hard. “I should’ve been there. I
should’ve protected you. You’ve saved me so many times, Enon,
and now that you’re here—really here—I… wasn’t.”
His voice broke a little, frustration and guilt bleeding
through. “I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t anything.”
The last word came out almost as a whisper.
He drew in a shuddering breath, eyes flicking briefly toward
Dare’s sleeping form before drifting back to Enon. The sight
stirred something tangled—something that ached and warmed all at
once. He wanted to lean into Enon’s steadiness, the way the man
anchored him even without trying. But fear held him still—the
fear that if he reached out, if he relaxed even a little,
everything would vanish again.
So instead, he stayed as he was—close but tense, fingers
worrying at the edge of the blanket, trying to hold onto the
simple sound of Enon’s quiet voice as if it could keep him
tethered to this fragile, impossible peace.
It was subtle at first.
The way Eden’s hand threaded gently between Skoll’s ears… the
way his massive frame melted under her touch… the way those ears
twitched when she whispered to him. Snow had seen Skoll in every
shade of fury—he’d never seen him like this.
Soft.
Safe.
Owned.
Snow paused mid-wrap on Skoll’s shoulder, eyes lifting just
enough to watch the scene. A slow, almost relieved breath left
him.
“…Good,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than to anyone
listening.
Not jealousy.
Not discomfort.
Relief.
Because Skoll sleeping without teeth bared felt like a miracle.
Snow’s hand drifted once along Skoll’s sternum—checking
breathing, blood pressure—then eased away, letting Eden’s quiet
influence stay dominant. Her rhythm was perfect. Predictable.
Calming. A language Skoll’s body responded to instinctively.
“That’s it…” Snow whispered, voice a low current, as Skoll’s
muscles loosened under their combined touch. “…Sleep. You’ve
done enough for today.”
When Skoll finally sagged fully into Eden’s side, Snow’s mouth
twitched into the closest thing he’d shown to a smile since the
pit.
“Well,” he said dryly, glancing to Ezra, “apparently we’ve
discovered the off-switch.”
Ezra shot him a look.
Snow ignored it.
He shifted, testing Skoll’s weight. It was like moving a wall of
warm muscle and fur.
“…Right. Blankets,” he exhaled.
He leaned over the rail and called down to the lower deck.
“Bring three heavy woolens,” he ordered. “The thick green ones.
And some towels.”
A startled crewman scrambled to obey—anything to avoid the
beastkin waking.
Snow looked back at Eden, tone softer this time.
“Keep petting his ears. It’s keeping the adrenaline crash from
hitting too hard.”
Which was true.
And also—not the whole reason.
Adan had been quiet while he wrapped Snow’s ribs, letting his
hands work on instinct. But when he looked up—really looked—his
brows lifted behind his spectacles.
He’d never seen Eden like this.
Her posture was relaxed.
Her touch was gentle.
Her voice?
Liquid honey over steel.
There was something there. Something older than the pit.
Something he didn’t have a word for yet—so he studied it with
the same scrutiny he gave every language.
“…fascinating,” he whispered under his breath.
He finished tying off the bandage at Skoll’s back, fingers deft
but careful not to startle the slumbering giant.
“Pressure’s good,” Adan murmured. “Joints are tracking normally.
Heart rate is high, but steadying.”
He pulled back, wiping his palms on a cloth.
“Eden—are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Her hand was buried between Skoll’s ears.
Her mask tilted left—just slightly.
Understanding blooming, Adan softened his voice further.
“Water? Salves? Clean cloth? I can bring what you need.”
He was already rising, prepared to fetch it without waiting.
“Oh—and one other thing,” he added, tone gently knowing. “You
might want to keep… doing that.”
He nodded toward her hand stroking Skoll’s head.
“It’s regulating his nervous system.”
The clinical translation of:
You’re helping him more than you think.
He glanced to Snow briefly—respect, quiet and mutual.
“…I’ll make sure no one else wakes him,” Adan promised.
Then he slipped off toward the storage crates to fetch supplies.
Once blankets arrived, Snow spread one beneath Skoll’s head,
then draped another loosely across his back.
“He’ll be too heavy to move once he’s fully out,” Snow explained
softly. “We’ll ride the storm here.”
His fingers brushed Skoll’s wrist—checking pulse again.
Then his eyes flicked to Eden.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
No theatrics.
Just truth.
“When he wakes…” Snow exhaled, voice dropping lower, “…he’ll
need someone whose voice he trusts. That’s you. And me.”
He leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was
sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Eden and Skoll.
“I’ll stay.”
And he meant it.
-----
Namor’s arms folded loosely as Jalal murmured to the
kelpie-turned-woman. The demigod’s expression softened—just
barely—as he watched Nyrah tilt her head to Jalal’s voice like a
river listening to its bank.
“…Ny-rah,” Namor echoed quietly, tasting the name aloud. “Good
choice. It carries current.”
He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.
“You’ve shed shape, not instinct,” he said gently. “If you’d
like, I can show you how to manage the… boundaries.” His gaze
flicked to Jalal. “And—if you permit it—the water inside her
will answer mine. Teaching her will be easier.”
Namor smiled—warm, not sharp.Zan pinched the bridge of his nose
until the pain hit. “And now you want to go to an oasis.
Which—by the way—is in contested airspace. Do you know how many
cursed watch-wards sit over—”
“Captain. If we don’t return soon, there will be no oasis left
to contest.” Namor spoke up, picking up on the what Jalal wasn't
wanting to admit.
That stopped Zan cold.
His jaw worked for a few seconds, then he exhaled.
“…We do need water,” he admitted grudgingly. “Our stores are
half-spent from the rescue.”
Namor rested a hand on the rail, gaze drifting toward distant
dark clouds.
“I can refill your stores in minutes.”
Zan’s head snapped up.
“…You can what?”
Namor’s fingers curled, and the ocean answered far below—not
violently, but eager. Vapor coiled up the hull, gathering in
soft sheets like pulled silk.
“I am water-born,” he said simply. “And time is against us.”
A handful of deckhands froze mid-coil of rope, staring as water
lifted obediently into barrels, condensing in shimmering
threads.
One muttered, “Sweet tides preserve us…”
Another: “We’re never gonna run dry again, are we?”
Namor smiled faint and dangerous.
“Not while I’m aboard.”
“Fine! Oasis it is. We travel as soon as Namor finishes
performing—whatever water miracle that was. If I die, someone
carve on my tombstone: He tried his best.”
A deckhand: “Captain, you don’t have a tombstone.”
Zan threw his hands in the air.
“EXACTLY.”
Letting the final barrel seal itself with a crisp snap of
condensed ice, Namor straightened a smile lifting at the corners
of his mouth.
“All stores full, Captain.”
The crew stared at the barrels—then at him.
“…Already?” someone breathed.
Namor’s grin sharpened just a little.
“Efficiently.”
He turned toward Jalal again, voice lowering.
“When we reach the oasis, stay near me. There are old waters
there. Some remember their teeth.”
Nyrah’s fingers curled lightly around his sleeve.
Namor looked down, amused.
“…I suppose she will, too.”
He stepped back, bracing one hand on the mast as the ship angled
toward the horizon.
“Make ready,” he called over his shoulder. “The desert will not
wait for us.”
-----
Basredun’s brows lifted—slowly, deliberately—as Grim leaned in
with that feral little promise.
For a heartbeat, the drow just stared at him… then his mouth
curved into something sharp and amused.
“Oh, I fully encourage savoring the chase,” he purred. “Half the
thrill is watching a fae pretend he isn’t flustered when you’re
already three steps behind him.”
A tiny flick of violet flame danced across his
knuckles—showmanship, nothing more.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“Though if you intend to drag glitter-wings to a bunk”—he
drawled the word like it tasted cheap—“you may be selling
yourself dangerously short. Airship cots have all the grace and
comfort of a sad prison plank.”
He leaned against a beam, posture loose, voice dropping into
something velvet and coaxing.
“I could find us a more plush arrangement. Pillows that don’t
stab your spine. Candles that aren’t bolted to the wall. Privacy
wards that keep nosy captains from barging in.”
His smile went crooked.
“Unless, of course, you’d rather play watchdog until this little
apple-nonsense resolves.”
He flicked a glance toward Yarick’s probable hiding hole deep
belowdeck, lips twitching.
“You could simply give me one little favor now, Grim, and I’ll
sniff out your sparkly fae in minutes.”
He straightened, brushing a speck of ash from his collar with
dramatic precision.
“But I respect the… artistry of anticipation. So.”
He gestured with one lazy flourish.
“Enjoy the hunt for your three little hidey-holes. When you grow
tired of Yarick wedging himself in a supply closet like a
panicked butterfly, I will collect you both—and we’ll upgrade
from that sad excuse for a bunk.”
Bas’s eyes glinted mischievous violet.
“And should you wish me to supervise his recovery… well.”
He tilted his head, fangs flashing just a little.
“I do healers’ work far more… intimately.”
He waved Grim on, chuckling low.
“Go. Find your glittering prize. When you’re ready for comfort
over chaos—call.”
The lanterns swayed gently with the ship’s movement, casting
warm pools of light along the corridor. Footsteps padded across
the deck—measured, familiar—and Ezra turned as Atreus
approached. The oracle’s expression was calm, but his eyes
flicked knowingly to the cracked mud and blood tangling Ezra’s
hair.
“You look like you lost a fight with a quarry,” Atreus hummed,
though the corners of his mouth tugged upward. He lifted a hand
toward the stairwell. “Come on. I figured you might want a full
bath.”
Ezra blinked, surprise softening the stern line of his brow.
“Already?”
“I don’t do half-measures,” Atreus said plainly.
He led Ezra below deck, down a quiet hallway, and opened a door
into a private cabin. Warm steam curled through the air
immediately. A copper tub sat filled, enchanted stones beneath
it radiating heat. Soft cloths, oils, and brushes lined the
table beside it—along with a folded set of clean clothes, dark
and practical, Ezra-sized.
“I guessed on the measurements,” Atreus admitted. “But I’m good
with numbers.”
He stepped aside, motioning toward the tub. “Go on. The water’s
still hot.”
Ezra hesitated at the threshold, the exhaustion suddenly
heavier. “…You did all this?”
Atreus nodded once. No fuss. No pride. Just fact.
“I’ll wait for you to get in,” he continued, turning his back to
face the opposite wall. “Then I can help with your hair and your
back.” His voice gentled a fraction. “The resin and ash are set
deep. You’ll tear half of it if you try alone.”
He folded his hands behind him, posture respectfully still.
“Just… tell me when you’re ready.”
The ship creaked softly beneath them, sea wind whispering past
the porthole. Atreus kept his eyes forward, composed—but the
faint tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
“Takes trust to let someone near you after a fight like that,”
he added, almost a murmur. “But you’re safe here.”
He waited. Quiet. Patient.
And fully prepared to tend every stubborn knot of ash from
Ezra’s hair.
#Post#: 1180--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 12:14 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Eden’s masked face tipped toward Snow, the faintest curve of her
lips showing—*yes, I wanted to pet his ears, and yes, it
worked.* Her gloved fingers moved in a slow, even rhythm over
Skoll’s fur, brushing the soft base of his wolf like ears. His
massive frame eased against her, heavy and warm, and the steady
rise of his chest told her he was finally yielding to rest.
She shifted carefully, guiding him closer to the blankets. The
green wool blanket whispered beneath them as his head—found its
place. Pain flared along her ribs where the cage had caught her
in the pit, but her posture stayed strong, only a slight
tightening in her shoulders betraying the strain. Her hand never
faltered.
“Just a sprain,” she said lightly as Adan’s eyes landed on her
ankle. A small, precise tilt of her head dismissed the concern.
She let that hang a moment, then angled her shoulder toward him
with a playful lift. “But… since you asked so sweetly- wouldn’t
mind water and a cloth.” She said as her free hand went to her
hair..”could at least clean this stuff off a bit, “ she muttered
to herself.
Fingers slipped into the thick fur behind his ears, steady and
calm.
Then, her head shifted subtly toward Snow. A tap of her fingers
against the blanket beside skoll, an invitation without words.
“You should relax too,” she said, her tone smooth and composed.
“Heal while you can. A lovers warmth best keeps the beast of men
asleep.. cuddle hm?” She said softly her lips forming a soft
smile. “Think him waking up and seeing you will assure this
wasn’t a dream.” She told Snow.
Her masked head canted, the curve of her throat and the set of
her shoulders carrying the mischief her eyes hid. “Maybe I’ll
even stroke your hair to put you to sleep…if you ask nicely.”
She murmured lightly to ease the tension.
Skoll’s ears twitched beneath her hand. Her fingers moved in
that same slow rhythm, her breathing steady now, though every
subtle shift of her posture disguised the ache she refused to
let show. Once snow settled next to skoll did she move when she
saw the water.
“Thank you, Adan.” She said softly.”mind helping me out of this
hooded vest? I did crack a few ribs but- nothing I can do about
it other than dealing with the pain.” She muttered.
With some help,did she get jt off. It would reveal the lean line
of her back, bare beneath the dim light and what seemed like a
small tattoo that can be barely seen settled between her
shoulder blades.
On her back, it would look as if a seedling was tattooed on it.
What one wouldn’t know is that it was a mark of Eden. It would
look as if it barely sprouted.
She would strip her gloves off with ease before going to the
belt around her ribs.With a soft tug, the leather loosened, and
the pressure against her ribs eased away. A faint sigh slipped
from her lips as a wave of relief rolled through her ribs; the
tight pressure that had been gripping her ribs finally eased.
She didn’t think twice to tug the top off.
A beat or two- then a voice.”want some room with privacy?” She
heard from one of the crew who stared a bit too hard.
“Nope- I’m good.” She said as her hand went to the water. She
fingered the red stone that hung from her belts from her pants
as the water warmed.
Eden eased into the quiet task of cleaning herself, every motion
careful under the dull throb of her ribs. She untied her mask,
eyes closed as she methodically wiped the grime from her face.
Her fingers dipped the mask into the water, wringing it out with
slow precision before tying it back on. A faint hum of
water-tuning brought a gentle flow, not strong like Ezra’s, but
enough to dampen her hair and wash the mud away.
“Now we are heading back home no doubt.” Said Eden and she let
off a breath.”please be prepared. It’s been a few years since
any of us went back. After master got us back together a few
years ago- all we did was train. And given what happened you
might get met with hostility.”She told Adan, as she wiped her
hands on her pants to dry them. She grabbed her gloves to pull
them on and simply tucked the top and belt in her side pack.
----
Jalal’s jaw flexed as he met the captain’s exasperated look, his
silence heavier than any retort. He had spoken of home, not out
of whim, but because the desert was no stranger to him—its
heat,and quiet had been his since before most of those on the
ship were born.
He watched Namor’s hands draw water from the very air, cool mist
spilling into barrels as if he was creating the water itself had
done by his own will. For a moment, the tension in Jalal’s jaw
eased, replaced by a long exhale.
When Namor turned, advising him to stay close to him in the
oasis, Jalal’s lips curved into a thin, knowing smile.
“No,” he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than
defiance. “It is you who must stay close to me. That place is a
beginning—older than teeth, older than tides. And I…am far older
than I seem.”
He saw Nyrah beginning to doze as he settled her down. “And
you’re welcome to help me with her. If anything I’m bringing you
to our home.”
He snagged a blanket that passed by for those that were
recovering. Once she was covered did he sit to let her lean on
him.
The airship hummed softly beneath Jalal’, the wooden deck
vibrating with the deep thrum of its engines. He lingered near
the shadow of a mast as Nyrah slept. His masked face turned
toward Eden where she rested against Skoll, her fingers absently
stroking the fur along his ears. The glow of firelight caught in
her red hair as it shifted with the breeze, and the small,
unguarded smile on her lips made something tighten in his chest.
A silent weight pressing behind his mask, his visions of Eden
were all over the place. Where she found the apple and
remembered herself, somewhere she did not. Some with end ruling
and wars running rampant.. he had warned her to not get involved
with anyone..and yet she was already leaning into the three men.
>>>
A long breath escaped him, almost lost to the wind, worry
building with every mile they drifted home. Beneath his
stillness, a quiet promise formed: if this fragile attachment
ever shown signs of hurting her , he would cut it away before it
could tear her apart.
——
Enon let the silence stretch for a moment after Aziz’s words
faded, letting the boy’s trembling voice settle into the dim
room. He had grown used to listening in the quiet between
battles, in the narrow spaces where fear lived, and now he found
himself doing the same here—listening not just to Aziz’s words,
but to the breaks between them, the weight they carried.
Finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “Aziz…” His voice was
softer than usual, the raw edges of it tempered by something
gentler. “We were young. Too young to have survived half of what
we did. And yet… here we are. I don’t know if that makes us
lucky. Or cursed. Maybe both.”
He shifted slightly, shoulder brushing Aziz’s again, this time
with intent, a small grounding gesture. “You think you failed
me. I think I failed you. Maybe we’ve both been carrying that
weight for too long.” He glanced at Dare’s sleeping form, then
back at Aziz, his gaze steady. “The truth is… I don’t want
either of us to carry it anymore. Not like this.”
After another beat, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his
knees. “So here’s what we do instead. You train with me. Every
day. We get stronger—together. No more being separated, no more
waiting for rescue that may never come. Next time, we fight side
by side.”
Enon’s expression softened just enough to let a hint of a smile
through, small but certain. “I’m not leaving you behind again.
Ever. If the world tries to tear us apart… it’s going to have to
go through both of us first.”
He reached down, nudging Aziz’s hand lightly with his own, not
forcing the contact but offering it. “So. What do you say? Start
tomorrow?”
——
Ezra hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He
fidgeted with his cloak, noting with cautious relief that Atreus
kept his gaze politely averted. Slowly, he began to remove his
layers, his movements tentative, all the while watching Atreus
from the corner of his eye.
A man accustomed to lies, Ezra found it hard to let go of his
instinctive mistrust.
He slid into the warm water, his head turning just enough to
keep Atreus in sight. “Alright… I’m ready,” he murmured, though
the slight stiffness in his shoulders betrayed his unease.
As Atreus began the careful work of washing away the grime from
his hair, Ezra’s tension slowly eased. The warmth, the rhythm of
the motions, and the quiet patience in the room gradually
uncoiled something tight inside him.
“So…” he ventured after a pause, voice low and tentative. “Mind
telling me a bit about yourself? And how you ended up on this
ship?”
#Post#: 1181--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 12:15 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Ashthealien posted
The sincerity in Enon’s voice caught Aziz completely off guard.
He’d braced himself for anger. For disappointment. For something
sharp and deserved. Instead, what he was given was
steadiness—quiet, unyielding, and warm in a way that seeped
beneath his ribs and loosened the tight coil he hadn’t realized
he was still holding.
For the first time since the gates had closed behind him, his
chest didn’t feel like it was caving in.
Aziz let out a slow breath he hadn’t meant to release, shoulders
sinking just a fraction as the weight of fear and disbelief
began to ebb. Not vanish—not entirely—but soften. Enough to make
room for something else.
Trust.
Enon was right. The past was heavy, but it wasn’t all there was
anymore. Freedom—real freedom—was terrifying in its own way, but
it was also here. Tangible. Sitting beside him. Complaining
about a man who had saved his life and then promptly fallen
asleep like nothing in the world could touch him.
A faint smile touched Aziz’s lips—small, almost fragile, but
real. The kind that belonged to memory rather than pain.
“Yeah,” he murmured, the word steady, unshaken. “Training in the
morning…” His gaze drifted briefly, as if he could see
it—sunlight, dust, bare feet on warm stone. “Like when we were
kids.”
His voice leveled completely then, calm settling into him at
last as he leaned just slightly closer, close enough to feel
Enon’s presence without needing to look. For the moment, that
was enough.
For the moment, he believed he would wake up here.
And that made all the difference.
#Post#: 1182--------------------------------------------------
Re: Triple threat
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 12:16 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Min your next, last two posts are what I posted for my
characters and ash’s
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