Chaos

Golden rays floated into existence, illuminating the soft and clear white clouds, gently pushing forward while the gray night fluttered down to sleep. The city glittered with the rainbow lights in the sea of white sky, a shimmering clear dome receding back to nothingness as both buildings and people alike woke to greet the new day. As that literal dome completely yet noiselessly disappeared, the inner city finally revealed to the golden streets its people. They were clothed in white, each garment flowing and thin like the wind around them, though unlike the wind, they walked with a slow grace. Every man and every woman was yet silent, simply smiling their good mornings, all seeming to wait in wordless consent.
  The youngest fidgeted, trying hard to earn their title of adulthood, and the oldest closed their eyes, soothed by the calming clouds and the sun’s majestic works. They stood still and soundless, waiting. Then with a shimmering glow in the rising day, a silent flood of a cloud’s gray whiteness emerged from the central tower. This cloud upon closer examination consisted of people: all women, all in cloudy gray, and all with blonde hair bounded up into buns. Their dresses were sleeveless but modest, and fine silver rings encircled their arms, each differentiated with unique engravings. Those with sleeves of the silver rings glided forward in the front while ones bearing single bracelets trailed behind as the last.
  Finally, the cloud reached the heavenly citizens and murmurs softly bubbled into existence as the priestesses, for priestesses they were, inquired after the affairs of remembered individuals and in turn listened, accepting their confessions and advising their problems. As the city’s effective councilmen, they also attended to the citizens’ grievances, giving them both reasonable hope and probable reality. Although hundreds met the hundreds, the city was filled only with murmurs.
  This wonderful tradition remained exclusive to the seven cities of the Air Sphere, lasting one week, occurring every three months. People shared meals, children ran free, neighbors walked together, and animosity dissolved. After months of studying, of learning, of weaving, of working, this was a time most anticipated among all citizens in air.
  Selene too treasured this time.
The dawn of the first day found a woman of twenty uncontrollably trembling with anticipation, consequently costing her several minutes when tying up her gold-white hair. Gray Sages, as they were named, never removed their silver circlets, and these clinked softly around her forearms as she nervously paced up and down her room, her smooth gray raiment furling around her as she moved. The sky grew incrementally lighter outside her glass wall, and Selene reflectively paced faster.
  She could not wait.
Finally, a small sphere of silver on her bedstead began to pulse with light, and with a jolt of excitement and a sigh of relief, she placed her hand on the sphere engraved with her crest. It immediately ceased pulsing, and the voice of Elana, the general announcer, echoed saying, “It is time.” Allowing herself a small squeal, Selene quickly affected a composed face and stature. Then she calmly exited into the hallway with the others of her floor.
  She reached the lobby, and there, people were integrating neatly into the mass – all except for the newest members who had no experience in the Meeting. Strictly speaking, she didn’t either.
  In the first few minutes for organization, Selene walked coolly to the allocated space for her level, acknowledging as many people as she could on the way. They were evidence. Then still within those first few minutes of the most frantic state before order, she slipped away. Her smile crept up as silently as she as she made her way back to her room. There, she threw on a white cloak, hiding her gray clothes and silver bracelets, and shook her hair free from her painstakingly made bun. Grabbing a small black bag on the way out, Selene stole away to the Transfer room. Several years of success still could not calm her drumming heart as she entered the circular chamber of ten elevators. Her route and this room were empty, but this did not surprise her. Everyone was out in the Meeting, and anyway, her people never guarded the Transfer room. No Gray Sage, or air citizen for that matter, would willingly travel to any of the other spheres. None but her.
  She pushed the down button. The doors immediately slid open in silence, and Selene rushed in with her black bag, jamming her finger on the dull coal-red button labeled with a spiky three. Her stomach flew up, herself never failing to gasp, as the elevator rapidly began to fly down, down, down, and down past land and water to the world of the underground.
  From her bag, Selene pulled out an outfit typical for those of the underground: black tank top and black shorts. She added to these black sleeves that covered her forearms and her circlets. The white elevator grumbled to an abrupt halt, opening its maw to a world familiar yet completely alien as she stuffed her gray robes into her bag. She stepped out in her new clothes, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the underground; however, a voice spoke immediately upon her arrival somewhere to her left. “Selene, over here,” he whispered.
  A smile crept involuntarily up on her face. “I cannot see, Cairo,” she responded, facing her left, trying to squint out his figure. Suddenly, she felt his lips on her neck, his arms wrapping around her from behind, and she reached up to feel him, smiling. “I have missed you,” she muttered, already lost in his embrace. He responded by turning her around and giving her a soft kiss, smiling his cunning smile as she shook her head. “Just remember – “ she started warningly, but he interrupted, “’One speck of ash equates to our lifelong separation,’ I know. But you’re more likely to prematurely wrinkle with your constant worrying.” He laughed at her glare then he took her hand, leading her off into the darkness. “You are entirely hopeless,” Selene sighed, smiling nonetheless. He simply intertwined their fingers.

  Green. The smell, the forest, the songs echoed green. In this yellow air the ground teemed with verdant life, and the singing brooks chattered on, invisible. Tangled vines clung to their majestic mothers, those wild buildings branching out to the pure blue skies. Already they were whispering their morning news while the meadow grass laughed in the spring wind. That everlasting breeze chuckled with the contagious freedom, passing on towards the open air. There, only green blades dwelled, swaying peacefully, younger than their brothers of the forest.
  Today, a girl also dwelled in the infinite meadow, standing still and gathering her own infant vines. A rough brown dress covered her as bark covered trees and her chestnut hair rustled in the wind. Her eyes were closed and arms were outstretched as if greeting that traveling breeze. The vines enclosing her legs and torso indicated longevity in her presence. Presently, however, a name was shouted out to the wind.
  The tree-girl opened her forest-green eyes. For a moment only the sounds of nature’s breeze and woods could be heard, but then the name was suddenly shouted again but louder, nearer,
  “Vertia Sherman!”
Immediately the girl dropped her arms and the vines sank into the ground, now less than seeds, and ran towards the voice. Eventually she reached a woman wearing an impatient glare at the edge of the forest, and she stumbled to a halt, doubling over to catch her breath. “Mom, I know, I’m sorry. I just got distracted - “ “Vertia, why are you even out here in the first place?!” the woman interrupted furiously, “Your wedding is in two hours and look at you! You’re smeared with dirt just like a child, and look! There are leaves in your hair! Were you running in the woods again? Ugh, just pull yourself together and come on.” Finished with her admonition, Vertia’s mother grabbed her windswept daughter’s arm and dragged her into the woods. “You just have to stay rebellious up to the bitter end. Ugh! Now you’ll be out of my household and moving on to make a mess of another, but if you truly mess it up, Vertia,” she added, directing her words to the girl rolling her eyes at her side, “Your father will never recover, and when he dies I won’t be long after; just think of your poor little sisters!”
  “Only Olive’s little; Edna and Cy are just two years younger than me,” Vertia muttered. She caught the exasperated look in her mother’s eyes.
  “Vertia - “
“I know,” she interrupted sharply, “I won’t mess it up. Dad will get his treatment.” The very trees seemed to bristle as her annoyance with her mother rose. Noticing this, Vertia instantly blocked out her feelings, along with her mother, and focused instead on the hundreds of bird songs filling the morning air.
  Instantly, naturally, she immersed herself into the rhythm of the forest, smiling as the conversations of hidden hundreds carried on, unheeded by their silent observer. She could imagine babies calling their mothers, husbands calling their wives, friends chatting with friends, and men wooing women in this clipping of nature’s – “Vertia!” came her mother’s irritated voice, suddenly cutting through the music, and she sighed. “Yes?”
  Her mother released her bruising grip on her, glaring, and replied, “We’re here. Now get inside and see if Mana can’t fix you up to look like a proper bride.” Vertia rolled her eyes as her mother marched away in the epitome of annoyance, and with another sigh, she reluctantly entered the small wooden house before her.
  “Mana?” she called out, sincerely hoping she was not there. “Finally arrived have y– Vertia!” An elderly woman had appeared out of the shop’s depths, come to pile upon her further reprimands. She rolled her eyes. “On your wedding day?!” the woman continued, pushing her towards a room masked with steam, “Tsk, just like a child, I could just imagine what your mother said. You’ll harm nobody but yourself with your antics, you know that? Well, you and your poor mother…” And on and on she went as Vertia sighed enough breaths to match the steam of her bath. This famous village cosmetician then scrubbed, waxed, brushed, soaked, polished, clipped, painted, clothed, and finally decorated her all in just a grueling two hours. Then with ruby red lips, an emerald green dress, and golden-brown hair, Vertia found herself being hastily ushered and hastily rushing towards her wedding.
  In just a few minutes, she and Mana entered a clearing ringed with trees and filled with trampled grass. The place glowed in the setting sun, dramatically shadowing a group of about twenty and a small hut decorated with hundreds of radiant flowers. The whisperings had reached them before the clearing, but when they finally arrived only silence could be heard.
  Vertia struggled not to blush before them as she sought out her husband-to-be and Mana slipped away into the crowd. He suddenly appeared out of the mass, walking towards her with a calm smile that she easily returned. Once he was within range, she hastily whispered, “Leo, I’m so sorry I’m late -“ “You’re fine,” he interrupted gently, taking her hand, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” She nodded in consent, and together, they walked toward the group of people.
  With their free hands, they each took the hand of their respective fathers who then took the hand of his own wife. All six of them stood before their guests as Leo’s father spoke,
  “Our people, thank you for gathering here today, as we all have done before, and waiting so patiently for the bride. We now begin the ceremony.” He paused, clearing his throat as her blush deepened, and then continued, “Today we witness the consummation of a beautiful and most sacred bond between two children we have all cared for, loved, and protected since their very beginnings. I referred to them as children, for indeed, they entered this clearing as children: still unlearned, still sheltered. However, with your blessings most graciously given, these naïve children will leave the next morning alone as adults, and as welcome additions to our village’s leaders and drivers. It will be hard for us, having watched over them for all these nineteen years, but your blessings today mark your willingness to nevertheless begin viewing these children as one of us. Allen, Casey, Megan, and I, along with some neighbors that could not attend the ceremony today, have already given them our blessings. To fully finalize their marriage, they now await yours.”
  A moment of respectful silence followed his speech, and then an elderly couple, the parents of Leo’s father, came forward, grasping Vertia’s and Leo’s joined hands, saying, “We bless this marriage.” As blood relatives, they also kissed their hands before returning to the crowd. Four hours went by before every person present had officially blessed the marriage.
  Vertia's cheeks ached from smiling at every single one of them.
When the last person had finally uttered the four golden words, her father spoke up in his raspy voice, “Thank you all for your holy gifts.” Then facing her he said tearfully, “Your mother and I now release you from your bond as eldest daughter, and tie you instead with full faith to Leo Softwood. This last embrace is with Vertia Sherman, our daughter, our child, but tomorrow we will embrace you as Vertia Softwood, our Forest Sister.” She turned to her mother and father to accept their embrace, giving them a reassuring smile, before finally letting go of her father’s hand. Leo’s parents echoed the same procedure on his side, leaving her and Leo's hands the last joined.
  The people formed an aisle before them, leading to the doorway of the hut, as her father handed her a white flower. A soft hum of a tune melded into the nightly noises as the people watched them steadily traverse the aisle, and it continued as she handed Leo the white flower and he stuck it into the wall of the hut. They then entered the hut and the music faded to an end.
  They were alone.
The room had already been prepared for them earlier in the day with a swept floor, clean bed, piled firewood, and a new rug. Leo headed immediately towards the caged fireplace in the middle of the room while Vertia followed uneasily. She sat down on the rug behind him, wrapping her arms around her knees and cursing the uncomfortable dress. As she watched him working on the fire, something nudged her on the butt. She looked down in alarm and found a little black flower beside her. Silently cursing, she willed it away and it reluctantly sank back into the ground.
  “Vertia.”
She hurriedly faced Leo at the sound of her name, immediately forgetting about the ominous flower. She was struck by the dancing shadows augmenting the hollows in his face. “Y-yes?” she managed to answer. He placed a palm on her cheek, “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, taking her hands away from her knees. She couldn’t respond, distracted as she was by two more little nudges on her butt, one right after the other.
  Neither did she have the time to inspect those weird nudges as Leo dramatically followed his words with a deep kiss.
  Several nudges immediately sprung out from under her hands and her buttocks, slightly painful when delivered all at once, and opening her eyes, she saw too many of the little black flowers peppering the floor. At the same time she thought of calming her anxiety, Leo pushed her down to the floor and it increased tenfold, prompting black vines to creep up along the walls and hundreds more of the black flowers to pop up into silent existence. Desperately she tried to calm her racing heart and mind, but Leo just could not cooperate. He opened his eyes. “What - ?” She saw fear instantaneously replace lust as Leo looked around in abject horror at the dark plants slowly dominating the walls, floor, and ceiling. “V-Vertia, get up, get up!” he screamed, grabbing her and running towards the door. She, however, resisted yelling, “The fire! The fire, Leo, the place will burn down!” He looked at her like she was crazy, and released her, himself fleeing through the partially blocked door. Forgetting that all-important fire, Vertia simply stood where he had left her, staring at the ripped opening in shock.
  “And to think, you were almost married to that.” She whipped around at the sound of the new voice and saw a man, clearly from the undersphere, sitting calmly next to the crackling fire.
  The plants had stopped climbing.
“What - how - you - ?” Taking a minute to gather her scrambling thoughts, she took a deep breath and steadily asked, “Who are you?” He stood up with a lithe figure, the fire illuminating his soft shadowed hair and dark red eyes. “Why would I tell you that?” he answered with a sly smile. “Because I asked,” she spat, regarding him warily.
  He smiled wider. “I know who you are,” he said, sitting back down by the fire, “Vertia Sherman. It’s fitting if you’d like to know.”
  She remained on her feet. “Um, no. I would like to know who you are. That seems more ‘fitting’ since you already know my name.” Laughing, he said, “I’ve been outwitted by a village common. Fine. Come sit by the fire and I’ll tell you who I am.” She narrowed her eyes.
  “Why do I have to sit by the fire?”
“It’s cold. I was being courteous.”
  “Well, it may be cold to you, underdweller, but I feel just as warm from over here.”
She could see him roll those dark eyes. That irked her: that was her thing. “Have it your way then,” he sighed, then he thrust his hand into the fire, making her shout out in alarm. However, when he removed it, the hand was not only unharmed but also carrying a flickering ball of fire. He looked amused. “So you do care,” he said mockingly. Scowling, she shot back saying, “Care for a stranger in harm reflects the character of the person feeling the care, not her attitude towards the stranger.” Vertia caught a brief look of astonishment on his face before he could clear off the emotion, and she allowed herself a small smile. Having composed himself, the stranger replied, “I concede in your evident kindness; however, modesty seems to be lacking.”
  He walked towards her with the glowing fire, which she struggled not to notice.
“I’m not allowed to acknowledge my kindness?” she replied with forced calm.
  He was now right next to her, the fire’s warmth washing over her frozen body.
“You’re not allowed to boast your kindness,” he corrected.
  She had no response that did not sound childish.
Struggling neither to scowl nor back away, she simply said, “You still haven’t told me who you are.” He smiled, perceiving he had won the argument, and this time she did scowl.
  This only made him smile wider.
“I am a messenger,” he finally answered, “salesperson, delivery boy, gofer, call it what you want but anyway I have come to you with an offer.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. He continued, “We can help you to control your gift as they have helped me control mine.”
  To emphasize this, he expanded the fire in his hand to recreate the scene that had just occurred between her and Leo in its fiery flames, and as he continued to speak, the flames followed course.
  “We give you a choice. Leo will tell the villagers what he’s seen, if he hasn’t already, and those who know the old tales will raise suspicions, especially when they see that you’re not with him. Rumors will grow and preexisting doubts will solidify into truths. If you return, they will question you, you will be watched, and in your fear and anxiety you will reveal the gift that they fear. Then you must choose to run away into the wilderness, or let your mother, your father, and your sisters watch as you rot away in a cage, hanging from a tree like an animal.”
  The last scene faded away, showing her emaciated form clinging to wire bars, and the fire returned to the shape of a live ball. “But if you come with me," he added, now turning his dark eyes to her, "To us, you will never have to fear capture, nor fear hurting anyone with your powers. You will gain control. Right now, your powers have a mind of their own,” he gestured to the ashy plants surrounding them and the thin branches beginning to form around her feet, “But with us you can learn to wield it as your own to help people, even to fight if you have to.”
  He lapsed into silence, but she swiftly spoke up, arguing, “But you can’t know the future. I’ve hidden it for nineteen years; this one incident can’t just end all those efforts.”
  He swirled a snake of flame around his fingers as he replied, “You’re right. No one knows the future. But I can make the best guesses with what I know. And I know enough. I know Leo has a big mouth, I know how your powers react when your emotions get the better of you, and I know why you’ve kept your gift hidden for so long. Yes, you’ve hidden it well, but you have never faced a leaking of this magnitude. Leo didn’t know right then that it was you, but how long until he remembers the stories about the witches who could enchant the plants to lure people to the depths of the forest, to strangle kids in their sleep? How long until the whole village remembers? Let us help you, not only to control your gift but also to escape that fate which you’ve feared all your life. Your sisters have your mother, and Leo will probably claim that you two have already consummated your marriage, so your father will be taken care of.” Closing his fingers into a fist, he extinguished the fire. “There is nothing left for you here,” he said, “Nothing but anxiety and misery. They can’t understand your gift, they can only see fear.”
  The branches started to twine around her calves. This was a dream, a nightmare, but still she thought about everything, about the choices before her. But he was right, she thought, there was only one choice.
  “I’ll go with you,” she found herself saying, “As the lesser evil. But I have to see my family one last time.” “No,” he responded quickly but firmly, “That will make it seem as if you’re fleeing from some wrongdoing. It will also implicate your family to your ‘sorcery’ and the village will shun them. This way, you’ll just disappear, and there’ll be some doubt for both you and your family.”
  The branches thickened. “I won’t be announcing my arrival,” she said just as firmly, “I just want to see them; I want to say goodbye.”
  “What difference -?”
“Either I see them or I won’t go.”
  He shifted the fire to his right hand, his eyes hard. “I told you,” he said, “I know how much you love your family, but this isn’t the best option for them right now. It’s already too late. You didn’t run with Leo, so you’ll be suspected of sorcery the minute you step into the village, and by now there’s no way you can’t announce your arrival. People are probably bombarding your house and family right now, so they’ll know you visited them. We can’t wait for the people to leave either because you know it will be weeks before they let them alone, and we can’t just hang around for that long without being caught. We have to leave now.”  She was silent for a moment. “But will I ever see them again?” she finally asked. “Yes,” he answered immediately, sincerely, “Of course.”
  She measured those coal-red eyes. They never wavered. Slowly, the branches receded from her body as her mind reached its decision. “Fine,” she said, “fine.” The stranger smiled reassuringly.
  “Okay, so now I need you to take my hand,” he said, stretching out his left hand. When she didn’t take it immediately, he huffed. “Please?” She hid a smile that suddenly threatened to break upon her face, and took his hand. “Now what?” she asked once her smile had passed. “We’re going to travel through shadows,” he answered, dousing the fire and blanketing them with sudden night.
  A sense of foreboding went through her. “Fiona,” he called out in the darkness, his voice now deadened, ominous, “Sister, goddess of shadows, bring me home to eternal night, I have succeeded.” She held on tighter to his hand as a chill of icy fear shivered down her spine. The foreboding turned instantly to dread. “Succeeded?” she whispered, her eyes widened with terror, “In what?” Suddenly, a pitch black shadow blinded her, pushing into her eyes, her mouth, swallowing her soul, and she screamed as the stranger’s voice echoed in her ears, “In capturing you.”

  Snowy white hair rippled in the gloom of Deep Ocean, mixing with a dark red mist that exuded from their owner, a sleeping woman. Her pale white legs and arms shined on the rocky shelf, the fingers and toes webbed with thin membranes, and out of her sleek jumpsuit a skeletal dorsal fin could be seen. The gills on her neck were working hard with each small mouthful of water, but the oxygen did not help. She was dying.
  Suddenly, a black shadow passed over her, causing the woman to open her eyes. They were a piercing shade of icy blue, currently filmed with double lids and misted with growing unconsciousness. They watched with dulled curiosity the pointed metal vessel swiftly swimming overhead, the woman unable and unwilling to shout out for help. But whether she wanted it or no, help came to her, gently lifting her up from the rocky bed and carrying her away to that swift swimming ship. This helper then brought her into the air chamber, and the water immediately started to eject back out to the ocean. But before she could witness her first breath of air, blackness finally washed over her.
  An orange glow warmed itself before her closed eyelids as she began to emerge from some deep slumber. Slowly, she became aware not only of the weird warmness but also of the strange softness that wrapped around her and the uncomfortably dry air. She felt parched, and, opening her eyes, she noticed and immediately grabbed for the glass of water on her nightstand. The thirst and swallowing was clumsy and unfamiliar, though she had experienced them in this form before. Annoyed, she wished to quickly leave whichever haven she currently bided. She reached up hesitatingly to brush her fingers over her neck and made a face at its uninterrupted smoothness. She hated being in her land form. Ripping off the covers to her stifling bed, she awkwardly scooted to the edge, grimacing with some dull pain. With that pain, she looked at herself and suddenly became aware of thick bandages covering her arms, legs, and torso. Weird, she thought. Then with a rush of images she remembered the source of her lacerations, bruises, and whatever broken bones, and a wave of fury crashed through her. Yelling out from both anger and pain, she hurried to place her feet on the floor, to put one foot in front of the other, but her powerful legs could not recall how to walk. She fell.
  She really hated being in her land form.
From the arched doorway a man suddenly appeared. He yelled out in clear worry and rushed to her side. “Naomi!” he had cried, which gave her pause, and she looked over at the newcomer with curiosity. He had shaggy, light brown hair and hard, light brown skin. His large emerald eyes shined clear through the dim darkness, widened with worry. “Altus,” she said suddenly, unable to believe her eyes. Or her luck.
  “Altus, why –? What are you doing here? Am I in the palace? I was trying to reach a haven in the distance but I didn’t know...out of all fifty-two havens I can’t believe...but Altus – the Seas, no I mean your – “ “No one’s here; it’s the middle of the night,” he interrupted gently, “Give me your hand.” He reached out his, but she refused to offer hers. “What are you doing,” she asked wearily, shaking her head, “Why are you here?”
  “I’m clearly here to help out my oldest friend,” he replied, opting to take her hand, forcing her to her feet. Leaning against him, she made it safely back to the bed, though the cursed effects of his familiar warmth might not have been worth it. His arms also held her one heartbeat longer than they should have, bringing her disappointment upon him as well herself. “Leave,” she whispered through the pain of her injuries, “You’re being stupid.” He picked up the blanket she had thrown to the floor, saying, “I know we made rules, but that doesn’t mean I can’t inquire over your health.” Handing over the blanket he added, “You were seriously injured. I just wanted to make sure you were okay before we went back to ignoring each other.”
  She scoffed, unable to resist responding. “What’s the point of making rules if you’re going to add caveats along the way?”
  “I’m just adapting them to the situation. I mean, say you saw me dying off on some shelf in the middle of the ocean; would you just ignore me for the ‘contract’?”
  “I believe that falls under the ‘necessary situations’ part of our agreement. But that’s not what I’m talking – ” she broke off, looking at him curiously, “You were the one that found me?” He sat down at the edge of her bed, but she kicked him, causing both of them to grimace, and he quickly switched to a guest chair. “Yes,” he answered, “What happened?”
  Ignoring his question, she asked one of her own, “What were you doing out of the palace?”
  “You forget: I’m king – “
“Wish I could forget,” she muttered bitterly. He faltered in his speech and they looked at each other with the new eyes. She spoke up, louder in his silence, “You are the one forgetting your place, my King. I believe the time for your departure has long since passed. Please leave.”
  “Naomi – “
“Please, my King. The Queen would not be pleased to find you missing from the High Chamber.”
  They entreated each other through eyes ice blue and warm green, but Naomi won. He broke contact and got up. “Goodbye then, miss,” he said quietly, bowing, “I wish you the utmost comfort and speed in your recovery.” Then with a last glance, he turned away.
  Seconds later he had gone, and Naomi fell back in aching relief. Taking her pillow out from under her, she unreservedly screamed into it, simultaneously watering the thing with her melting eyes, and, accepting the bodily pain, she hurled it against the opposite wall. With a huff, she regretted her actions instantly as she uncomfortably lay back down on her bed. We’re strangers, she repeated to herself for the millionth time, and as she started to drift back to sleep, the mantra still echoed in her mind. Just strangers.

“Escaped?” His voice clawed through her like a jagged knife, and she fell to her knees. “I’ll find her and capture her, just as I did before,” she whispered to the floor, “This is simply a small drawback, I assure you.” His pointed gray finger suddenly appeared, lifting her silvery pearl eyes to his searing black ones. “I have complete faith in you,” he hissed, the words seeping into her very bones. He then bent down and kissed her, moving his lips with hers like the man she knew, but just as he started the moment he ended it. His whispered words in her ear followed their kiss. “But don’t ever let this happen again.”
  “Understood.”
She got back up to her feet, and hesitating, she watched as he started to exit the room. “Arabus – “ she began to say, but another man’s voice simultaneously echoed in her mind, and she cursed, recognizing the sound.
  “Fiona,” it said, and sensing the demand behind it, she automatically started to reach out to the shadows. His voice got louder as she searched, and before he had even finished his second word she found him. In a few seconds, she had two bodies emerging from the room’s shadows, stumbling forward into their presence. One trembled with evident terror while the other tried to free his hand. Arabus shot her a look. “You could have warned me,” it said, and she responded with a noncommittal shrug. The male half of the pair finally managed to disengage the woman’s hand, and now walked towards Fiona. “Thanks, sis,” he said, a bit too cheerful for the occasion. Addressing the girl, he said, “This is my sister, Fiona. She will lead you to your room and inform you of the schedule around here. Training sessions will start for you when you are ready.” Training sessions? She wondered what story he’d fed this one. “Fiona,” he said, now to her, “Remember Vertia?” Unhesitatingly, she replied, “Yes, of course. Thanks for bringing her here, Cairo. Would you follow me, plea – ahh!” Thick black vines had jutted out of the floor and wrapped themselves around her legs, and, losing balance, she fell backwards. “Take me back home!” the girl cried out, backing away from them all as her plants slowly smothered them. “Vertia,” her brother responded soothingly, his tone surprising even her, “We already went through this, you can’t go back there. Remember? We want to help you.”
  Fiona started to call out to the shadows, determined to teleport the girl to her prison.
“You little snake,” Vertia said, unwittingly heading towards Fiona’s creeping darkness, “You said you’d captured me. You’re just trying to – “ She broke off, ceasing her movements. Just a few more steps… “Vertia,” Cairo entreated in her silence, “I never said that. It was Fiona; her powers augment fear…” he faltered as did Fiona. Trees had rapidly rustled into existence before their very eyes; the mutant plants gargantuan and growing up past the ceiling, each one as black as night. “Vertia,” she heard Cairo whisper; in fear or wonder she could not tell. “You liar!” the girl screamed, and millions of black birds burst from the trees, as fast and as small as live bullets, drilling themselves into any available surface, living or not. Cairo’s fire flashed in response, and Fiona made herself incorporeal, watching with wide eyes as the wild animals plunged through her. Before the girl could further encompass them with her incredible powers, Arabus’ voice suddenly boomed, painful, loud, and distorted, so that she doubted whether anyone could make out the words, but Fiona immediately knew their purpose as a woman’s scream ripped through the thickening air. The black plants and black birds flopped lifelessly down to the dead floor, the trees drooping down to join them.
  Then silence.
“You could have warned us of her powers, Cairo,” Arabus said, silkily, emerging from behind a tree. “Sh-she’s unpredictable,” he answered shakily, picking his way over to them, “But her personality isn’t. I thought she trusted me.”
  “Obviously not,” Fiona snapped, moving through the vines around her before returning to tangible form. “And whose fault is that?” he said, rounding on her, “You could have toned down the fear when teleporting us! She clearly experienced hallucinations – “ “You know I can’t just ‘tone it down’ – “ “Both of you have failed me,” Arabus interrupted, instantly quieting them. “One,” he glanced at Fiona, “more than the other. Fortunately, my friends, I know just how you can redeem yourselves. Fiona, for you we have already spoken. Now Cairo, I wish you to tame the girl, Vertia. She is powerful and persuadable, and that is advantageous to our goals. Let us extend to her our hand of friendship.”
  She could see the difficulty of the task in Cairo’s eyes, but he had no choice. “Thank you, I will,” he said. He went back to retrieve the girl’s unconscious form and, with it, exited the room.
  “Are you hurt, my love?” Arabus said once they were alone. He extended his hand to her, and she smiled wanly, accepting it. “Of course not. Are you?” He kissed her hand, where a small scratch had made its way. “Of course not.”

  The bed was stiflingly warm, made even more so, she could tell, by the fire before her. Vertia opened her eyes. A splitting headache made itself known, and she groaned in pain as she hurriedly removed herself from the blankets, hoping the floor to be cooler. It was by a margin, and so there she stayed. Quietly, Vertia looked around at her assumed prison, but found it could only be so in name. A fire, though unnecessary, crackled merrily in a brick fireplace, very grandmotherly cushioned by two plush armchairs. The creaky wooden floor and a purple patterned rug completed this picture, with the bed she had just left tucked off to the side.
  She slowly got up to explore the friendly, dim room and found a fairly stocked bookshelf. It was accompanied by a low desk; neatly decorated with a vase of white flowers and pencils and paper.
  She didn’t understand. As she picked up a pencil to examine, a hidden door suddenly opened next to her bed. Panicking, she convulsively clenched her hands into fists but quickly hid her pencil.
  Turning around, she saw the underdweller, Cairo, standing opposite her with a face hidden in shadows; however, his hands clearly held a tray of food. “So you’re awake,” were his first words as he casually pushed past her, placing the tray on the desk. “Cairo,” she said, testing out his name, “Why am I here?”
  “Because you chose to be here.” She could see his smirk. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t give me that. Just tell me the truth.” “Are you okay?” he asked, blatantly avoiding her question, “Mr. A probably didn’t mean to hit you so hard with his powers. You have a headache right? Drink some of this soup, it’ll – “ Vertia pushed him into the desk, holding the sharpened pencil up to his neck as the soup spilled over them both. “Get me out of here,” she said as threateningly as she could, but he simply rolled his eyes. She hated him.
  “Vertia, calm down. Look at this place, look at me, look at this food,” he said, gesturing to the lost meal, “Why do you keep on believing that we mean to harm you?” “Because you did harm me,” she answered forcefully, remembering the feeling of her head bursting into flames, with lava searing into every pore. She shivered. “Even if it’s your power,” she whispered faintly, “Why would you ever subject someone to that kind of torture?”
  His answer came immediately, and she couldn’t help but interpret the tone as suspiciously sincere. “Like I said,” he entreated, ”He went overboard, probably panicked. I swear he didn’t mean to. You were…a little scary.” An echo of that fierce, raw power coursed through her at the memory, and she smiled. Oh, how spirited, how powerful she had felt. Her smile then dimmed as she recalled the looks of terror coming from its victims. She could have killed them, she suddenly realized. Her. Vertia.
  Slowly, she backed away from him, letting the pencil clatter to the floor. “I still don’t trust you,” she said, to be clear, “Not him…Mr. A.”  He picked up the pencil and the soup bowl, putting them back onto the desk. “You don’t trust me or Mr. A?” he said.
  “So where am I?” she asked instead of answering. She looked back to the warm room. “The undersphere?” She had always imagined the place to look a little more…intimidating. “Yeah,” he answered, “The rooms here don’t usually look like this though. We renovated it so you could feel more at home.”
  “Does ‘we’ mean you and your sister?”
“And some other people like you.”
  “’Like me’ could mean a lot of things.”
He laughed, “No it couldn’t.”
  She stared, unsure of whether he had meant to insult or compliment her. She didn’t like the reply either way. So she again ignored him, rephrasing her question, “Who else is a part of this – this…family?” She thought he rolled his eyes, but the dim fire hid them. “You’ll meet them in time,” he answered, “For now, you should rest some more.” He again pushed past her to pick up the tray. “I’ll go and refill this.” He started to leave, but she had made up her mind to ask a request. “Wait,” she said reluctantly. He turned around, his face betraying nothing but polite interest. She hated him. “Do you, um, you guys have extra clothes?” she asked nonetheless. She still wore the uncomfortable green dress of her supposed wedding. This prompted an idle thought of her old village and family: were they worried? Were they scared? Did they know?
  All she knew was a dull ache in her chest where her home had previously resided. The empty space should have been cold, but instead budding thorns grew in its place.
  “I’ll see what I can find,” he answered. There was an unnatural pause, as if he had meant to elaborate into conversation, but they let it pass, and he left as he had come, though less burdened. Vertia waited for one hundred counts and then rushed towards the hidden door. She pushed on it as he had to exit, and, to her surprise, it worked. A black gap appeared in her room of artificial comfort. Eagerly, she entered through it, but that black immediately consumed her. Undeterred, but with a certain shortness of breath, Vertia placed her hand on the wall to her right and walked forward. Somewhere in those one hundreds breaths she had decided without deciding: the world above might exile her, fine, but she couldn’t bear the idea of this underground one confining her. Their warmth was something else entirely. This thought circled through her mind as she sought determinedly for night’s end.

  Selene looked over at the door in relief as that obstinate plank of wood finally creaked open. She put down her book and said evenly, “What work has that evil, onerous man employed to you now to leave me alone so continuously?” Cairo grinned sheepishly and joined her on his bed, pecking her cheek. “I’ve missed you too.” She sighed, leaning into his open arms. “We’ve picked up another recruit,” he said after reestablishing their familiar comfort. She could feel her eyes narrow in automatic response. “’Mr. A has gained a new victim to unwittingly aid in constructing his twisted dreams,’ is what I believe you meant to say,” she said acidly, her body twining with annoyance.
  “Fiona loves him,” he replied, “I have no choice but to help him.” She looked at his red eyes. “You only encourage her. You acknowledge his evil nature, yet you follow him? This is a choice borne from fear, not love for Fiona; do you know that?”
  “I know. But I fear because I love. I love Fiona, I love you. I know that Mr. A is more than willing to hurt if not kill you guys. It’s too late for Fiona, and…everyone else…but I can’t let him know about you.” He paused, and she tensed, sensing his words. He felt her reaction, but continued anyway, hurriedly as if that would be more effective; “So, I know that we’ve waited a long time to be together but Selene – ” Before he could begin again his worn pleading, she reached up to kiss him. “Let us discuss this later,” she said, placing her hand on his wearied face.
  “Selene – “
Her lips followed her name, smothering any other word. She knew he rolled his eyes, but, nevertheless, he kissed her back in willing defeat as she smiled with victory.

  Vertia had been wandering much too long for comfort. Her stomach growled in discontent as she bumped, yet again, into a dead end, and she shouted in frustration. With a huff she brushed away a creeping leaf and sat down. Prickly thin branches poked at her from the floor, reaffirming what she already knew – she had already passed this way. “Why do I always find what I don’t want to find?” she muttered bitterly, closing her eyes from the darkness. But suddenly, her lids beheld light. Flinging them open, she watched with wide eyes the warm glow gradually dazzling the never-ending tunnel. At the same instant, her starved nose detected the mouth-watering aroma of steaming, thick broth. She turned to this overwhelming source of all she had been yearning for in the last few hours.
  But she definitely could have gone without. “There you are,” he said, approaching her with his ball of fire floating beside him. Scowling, she said nothing.
  “Were you looking for me? Do you need anything?”
He seemed so real…yet so fake. “Just…give me that broth, I’m starving,” she answered reluctantly, unable to resist its teasing allure. His smirking shadows burned her as she accepted the food from his mocking hands. “At least you know how to feed your prisoners here,” she muttered as she scarfed down the burning broth. He leaned against the wall next to her, which she determined not to notice. “At least you know how to appreciate hospitality there,” he muttered back, just barely audible. This surprised her enough to put pause in her meal massacre. “Well,” she said in what she hoped was a neutral enough tone, “you are real.” She looked up to see his mirroring surprise and held back a triumphant smile as she returned to her meal.

Exiled from her family’s haven, now recognized as the Royal Haven, Lady Eion traveled away into the largely uninhabited waters of the ancient ocean. Little to no records of these travels exists in the modern age. Although various nomads have come forth with alleged eyewitness reports, such accounts differ so markedly that –
 
  “Miss?” Naomi looked up from her book to see a royal maid before her. “Yes?” she replied, not in the least bothered to break away from the dry biography. “Your morning meal is ready, miss,” the maid answered. She closed the book gratefully and placed it on her side table. The girl brought in a rolling cart topped with a plain meal of mackerel with seaweed soup, setting Selene’s stomach to ache with hunger and her mouth to water with longing. The plate was placed upon her bed table, and she eagerly picked up her spoon to begin eating once the girl had left. An unnoticed slip of paper, however, gave her pause.
  She groaned. This had better not be what I think it is…but it was. Naomi opened the folded paper, glancing at his scrawled words of worry:I hope you’re doing well. Crumpling the paper in anger, she scoffed and threw it to the floor. Weak, she thought.
  “Has someone offended you, miss?”
Naomi looked up in surprise at the bleached beauty standing by the open doorway. Her hair, her skin, her lips, even her eyes were devoid of color, making her seem a drowned ghost come to haunt her from the grave. Only the faint flush of pink upon her cheeks indicated life on this pale phantom as she walked up to her bedside.
  “My Queen,” Naomi said, bowing, “To what do I owe this honor?” The Queen held back her customary reply, instead bending down to retrieve her crumpled paper. Quickly she read its contents, but her face betrayed no recognition.
  She silently placed the message onto Naomi’s side table. “I had come to wish you good health,” she answered, “Though it seems my wish must serve only to pile upon those that came before it.”
  “I hope to assure my Queen in saying that her wishes carry far more value than their predecessors.”  “The worth of a queen’s wish depends wholly upon the receiver,” the Queen replied, sniffing at her cleverness. The petty snide lost itself in an ocean of its sisters. “Well then,” Naomi said deferentially, “its value ranks higher than gold, my Queen.” “Therefore, the value of the Queen herself is priceless.” The woman took the slip of paper again in her hands, then ripped it twice. “And her King’s…” The pieces fell, drowning, into Naomi’s soup. “Unthinkable.”
  She wanted to laugh at that supercilious viper. “Thank you for reminding me, my Queen,” she said instead, “However, this is a fact so ubiquitous it usually needs no mentioning.”
    Ignoring courtesy, the Queen plowed forward, “Spare me untruths. Altus’ valiancy in preventing your imminent death has brought our value into question. They wonder why a member of the royal family, the King of the Deep Seas no less, would debase himself for a…nomad.”
  “Why, indeed.” 
The ghost swooped down on her. “Leave the Royal Haven. I don’t know why you’ve suddenly dared to bare your face here again, but leave before my people start to know it. There are already rumors about Altus and the crippled tramp – “ “And whose fault is that?” Naomi bit back, unable to endure her sharp arrogance. “You’ve served as Queen for five years now, Marissa, but one small incident is all it takes for rumors to grow like this? Your marriage with my King is colder than an acquaintance between two strangers –” The Queen slapped her before her words could fade from her mouth. “I’m the Queen,” she said, her dead face flushed with anger, “You dare encroach into familiar speech with me, you uprooted tramp?” “Your familiarity is the one to seem out of place, my Queen,” Naomi responded through gritted teeth, her irritation now grown beyond despite her efforts. “I would advise rest to calm –“ Marissa’s open hand struck her once more. Naomi continued, snubbing the sting, “ – to calm my Queen – “ She made to strike her a third time, but this time Naomi slapped it away. “Enough!” she cried, now forced to real anger. “Do you think beating me will dissolve the rumors? Are you still this ignorant?” The Queen made as if to speak, but she had said enough. “Marissa, what of the Depths did you think you’d accomplish in coming here? If these rumors are already so common that you’ve heard of them, then you just augmented this fiction with your vain jealousy. Why else would a member of the royal family debase herself for a filthy nomad?” She echoed this bitterly, despising that appalled face. “The Seas, you’ve always been so stupid; they’ve had no proof until now.”