Strands of Silver and Gold

A millenia ago, the world was barren and empty. There was nothing holding it together, nothing to stablize it, and so chaos was the only force at work. Without a guiding hand, the world would not have changed at all, and it would have been left to its doom of endlessly spinning through a wasteland of space. There was great need for control, and two forces rose to answer the call, one from the ages old darkness and one from a brand new light, turning this fragile world into their battleground. During the days, Aylonla, diety of the sun, destruction, and war wreaked chaos, spreading infectious laughter even as the dusty air filled with smoke and fire. During the nights, shorter than now, Civasi descended, diety of the moon, healing, and peace, and gave a healing touch to all around him, before fleeing in fear of Aylonla discovering his good deeds.

But one night, Civasi did not flee fast enough. Aylonla descended, prepared to bring death down upon the world, and stopped, seeing another being unlike any he had seen. The being had touched the earth, and where his fingers grazed, grass sprung out of the cracked dirt and creatures moved forward for shelter in his soft, loving gaze. And Aylonla was frozen, watching the wonder he had never seen unfold before him, and that night, the moon stayed in the sky longer than it ever had, near as long as the sun stayed, as Aylonla watched Civasi.

The following day was subdued. The sun still shone, but it had a comforting warmth to it instead of the harsh, burning glare that the world had always known. And whenever Aylonla saw the wind blowing the dust and ashes of yesterday's conflict, he remembered what he had seen Civasi do, and did not raise his hand to start another. As he turned away, leaving the horizon behind, Civasi emerged to heal the earth as usual and found there was nothing to mend.

From then on, every time they were in the sky at the same time, they always found each other's eyes with a smile.

And so, against all odds, the day fell in love with the night, and the night with the day. Their chase across the sky became less of a battle hunt and more of a waiting time for the soft dawn or vibrant twilight where the two could be together. The earth still cracked and shook during the day, and still closed its wounds at night, but there was balance now. Aylonla provided the conditions for life to exist in the light and warmth of his sun, and Civasi let it flourish and grow in the rest of his night.

Creatures began to rise from the grass that Civasi created, and monsters began to form from the dust Aylonla left behind. Dragons and beasts stalked the land, their rage burning bright like the light above, and every night when Civasi descended from the stars, the animals seeked him out for shelter, hiding away in the cloaks of the sky he wore upon his shoulders, running from the destruction that stalked the day. As day and night melded, silver and gold mixed, and tremendous animals exploded into being, the best of which were the humans. Aylonla and Civasi, in their love, had birthed the first creatures that were neither night nor day, dust nor grass, but a mixture of both the war and peace that they had sprung from. And as humans scattered across the world, Aylonla and Civasi's love deepened, and the dusks and dawns lengthened, and the lines between healing and destruction, peace and war, the sun and the moon, blurred.

But as humans began to rise, so did the fear of them. Their strong hearts lent themselves to both love and hatred, and in the hot days war broke out amongst them as they strove for power, land, and wealth. And Aylonla and Civasi watched, heartbroken, as the product of their love began to spoil. Until one night, Civasi descended to find yet another massacre, another village found dead, children slaughtered, blood seeping into the earth. And he had had enough.

"Aylonla!" He called, pulling his moon from the sky, the first short night in so long, watching Aylonla wake from his rest and lower himself to earth. "We must put a stop to this!"

"It is their nature," Aylonla replied, tears falling like dew as the morning rose. "We cannot stop it, only hope to guide them along a better path."

And Civasi, so calm, so sweet and so kind, knew what they had to do. "We must rid the planet of them. We must destroy them before they destroy everything that we have built."

And Aylonla, so destructive, so playful and fiery, could not accept the words of his love. "No! We cannot destroy the very creation of our beings!"

Because you see, the sun and the moon had fallen for each other too hard-- their lines had blurred, and they had so much of the other inside them that conflict rose, swift and brutally, as they began to argue. The sun and moon remained frozen in the sky, neither rising nor falling, a dark dusk expanding across the entire world as they argued and fought.

The ancient dust that had remained settled for so long stirred up again, at the same time that the oldest cracks and canyons of the earth closed. The earth knew neither peace nor conflict for long as the deities quarreled in a brand new way. Each deity was at war with his own nature, his own dominion, and this is not how a world can stand.

So blind were Aylonla and Civasi to the aftermath of their own actions that neither realized that one of them was piling the ash up high around them, and the other was forcing it to settle, which barricaded them away from the rest of the world. They lost control over the sun and moon, and all the times of war and peace between humans. And as the ash piled up, their souls began to weaken, so cut off from the world that they could do nothing to stop their own prisons from being formed around them. The two soulmates, locked in a prison of their own making, were forever separated from their creation that they had so loved and loathed, and separated from each other.

The sun and moon move on their own today, both in the sky for exactly the same length, and it is us humans that decide when to sound the horn of battle or raise the white flag of peace. And as Aylonla and Civasi remained trapped by the ash of their own fights, they slowly began to deteriorate, bodies wasting away in their prisons, powers growing weaker and weaker by the day. Until one day, they vanished completely, never to be heard or seen by human civilization again. The celestial beings that had been so essential to their creation and survival were nothing but a memory, held as a guide for what is now the people's way of living. And all that remained of their essences were strands of silver and gold.

Dante was fluent in the language of gallows humor. The Willows conversed in it frequently, and it came to them all naturally whether they were on a job or not. If he had to pick a single moment to explain why he’d ended up on this path— even though that wasn’t exactly fair or accurate to narrow it down like that— he would have picked a time someone had shared dark humor. But here they were, standing on those infamous gallows, and they were having a hard time finding anything to laugh at.

If he didn’t think of something quick, he was going to spend the last few minutes of his life having a panic attack, and that was not how he wanted to go.

They’d kept it under control for their last meal, which was undercooked and watery oats, the exact same breakfast they’d had every morning in jail. Apparently, it was a lie that you got to choose your last meal when you were on death row. He’d even been calm for his last few hours in jail and while being transported here. But he’d underestimated the panic he’d be feeling at the gallows. These people were gathered here to watch him die, and they were excited for it.

Dante was already overthinking his posture as he stood under the gathered crowd’s rapturous gazes. Was his head held too high, his chin raised at an angle that appeared too arrogant and unrepentant? Or was it the other way around, where his shoulders were drooped in what looked like an ashamed cower? They weren’t even sure, but they felt incredibly self-conscious under this scrutiny.

If only they’d given him a hairbrush before this occasion. Jail hadn’t done any favors for his appearance, and he was currently dirtier than almost anyone in the crowd.

But not necessarily those around me, Dante noted. There were four others with them on the gallows platform, all found guilty, all given the same sentence as them. A tall person (he couldn’t quite guess at their pronouns) with dreadlocks and an impressive amount of piercings stood to his right. A woman with dark skin, a nearly-shaved head and her arms folded over her chest in contempt was to his left. Two men were further down the line from her, both very burly and very bearded. All five of them had tangles and mats in their hair, dirt on their clothes, and an underfed look to them. Dante wasn’t surprised in the least at what a cell and waiting for this moment had done to them.

At least we won’t be going back to the jail when this is over.

Dante smirked slightly. Ah, so there was some dark humor to be found after all.

The distraction from the situation was brief, and he soon found himself scanning the crowd. Public executions were a spectacle happening once a week, sometimes twice if there were a lot of criminals to go through. He’d generally avoided them, repulsed by the people who always cheered at the deaths, but he knew just as well as anyone else what happened during them. The audience always got plenty of time to watch and comment on the unfortunate souls standing on stage. Dante had never thought they’d be one of them.

He was looking for one of the Willows, but he didn’t spot any. It didn’t surprise him. Showing up here to watch this, when they hadn’t been able to do anything, couldn’t be easy. He didn’t know if their absence made him relieved or upset. Dante didn’t want them to have to see this, but he would appreciate not being completely alone.

Yazmin’s absence in particular was something he didn’t know what to make of. Had she actually abandoned or betrayed him, landing him in this mess, or did she feel responsible for an accident and couldn’t bring herself to show up? He’d never know now.

Dante did see two familiar faces a couple seconds later, and he was suddenly very glad the Willows weren’t here after all. His parents were far back in the crowd, looking up with tearful eyes as they clutched each other’s hands. Even at this distance, he could see his mother’s lip tremble with a sob and his father press a hand over his mouth. He had to face another section of the crowd before he gave anything away. It wouldn’t do to let his composure slip here. They’d rather be remembered as indifferent and unmoved than an overly emotional mess in their last moments.

He noticed that something had caught the crowd’s attention, and he guessed what it was just a moment before the executioner took the stairs up to the platform. There was no clapping for them, Dante knew, but this was their stage and then their audience.

“We are gathered here to ensure justice against those who have wronged you,” the executioner said in a hoarse and scratchy voice, raising her hands slightly. The crowd shouted approvingly. If this wasn’t his literal public death, Dante could have rolled his eyes at the bombast. “Such people cannot remain among us, and so with each of these, we are one step closer to having a safe Sorjeli.”

The executioner began to read out their crimes. Dante’s lips quirked slightly when she got to his— ambushing a noble’s carriage and attempting to rob it. The thing he’d done that was wrong wasn’t doing that, it was getting caught at it.

Thank Yazmin for that.

He’d admit that this particular attempt, he’d been a little in over his head. The sentence for robbing nobles was hanging, because of course they got better protection in the laws. Dante had known the moment he’d seen the embellished carriage heading down the road to the city that it was a bit more of a risk than usual, but they never let the carriages with money go by. How else did you get a big haul? The carriage was defended with guards on horseback, but there was always someone else in another one of the Willow trees— trees that were not actual willow trees— ready with nets to let fall.

It could’ve been very easy, if everything had gone as it had the hundreds of times before. Dante had whistled a bird’s whistle, and Yazmin should have returned it from the next tree over before dropping the nets on the carriage once it was right under her. But there had been no response from her, and he’d been forced to make a split second decision: go in alone, or let the best pick of the day go right by.

As it turned out, breaking into a carriage with guards on both the inside (yes, this noble was paranoid) and outside without backup was a terrible idea. The noble had hollered and hollered even though Dante had been outmatched from the start and hadn’t been much of a threat. He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

He really wouldn’t, because it looked like his time was up.

Someone threw a rope around his neck, not very gently, and it rubbed painfully against his throat. He probably should have made a joke about how they’d spared no expense to find the roughest and scratchiest rope for this— what were they going to do if he spoke up, kill him?— but the executioner was already standing at the lever that would pull away the boards beneath his feet, and he didn’t know if he’d have time to make the joke land before he started choking and losing the ability to make the right sounds.

Well. Dante inhaled through their nose, closing their eyes briefly. Guess I’ll have to keep it to myself.

The lever was pulled, and his stomach flipped at the slight fall. It was quickly off by the rope catching him, pressing against his windpipe. Dante had told himself that he wouldn’t, but his hands immediately clutched at it, trying to pull it away from his neck as he struggled and wheezed. The plan to die silently and stoically was out the window.

He’d die just like everyone else who had stood there had.

Even that turned out to be false, when he felt the rope hardening and turning smooth like metal under his hands. Nearly losing his grip, Dante glanced down at it, extremely confused, to find that he was now wearing a thick necklace of pure gold.

In the reflection of the shining surface, he could see his eyes had turned the same color: a shimmering, swirling mass of gold like a star.

Dante looked up at the crowd, about to do his best to ask if they were seeing it too, but they clearly were. Screams were rising up, fingers were pointing, and people were shoving to either get closer or further away. He caught a few shouts in the clamor of voices.

“What are they doing?”

“Witches! Get them!”

“Out, everyone out!”

He squinted at them, not sure what they meant, then had to quickly grab the top of his golden rope and fling his body as best as he could to swerve just enough to dodge the glass of beer someone had thrown at him. By the gods, why would someone waste a drink like that? Why did they throw something at him?

And there’s a magic user on this stage? Dante hadn’t been listening to the crimes of the other four here very closely, but none of them had anything to do with magic.

Before he could think about that for very long, the gold rope began splintering and cracking in his hands. He gasped, kicking his feet a little as he tried to get free. In the end, the rope did that for him. It shattered violently, bursting out in all directions, and one of the shards landed in their chest pocket over his heart. They only had a moment to be shocked before they dropped through the hole in the gallows.

Dante shrieked loudly in surprise as he hit the ground, and then even louder as someone landed on top of them. It just had to be someone tall. Through his panic, he realized that it was the person whose pronouns he hadn’t guessed and who had been hanging to his right, but he was pretty sure their eyes had been an earthy brown and not a sparkling silver like they were now. He staggered back from them, shouting something that didn’t make sense to his own ears. “Silver, gold— the eyes— I didn’t do it— what is happening?”

He was making an absolute fool of himself now.

The other person put up with his hysteric rambling a little longer before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. Dante wasn’t sure if they’d said it or he’d thought of it on his own, but what they needed to do was clear. The two of them needed to get out of here.

It seemed like this silver-eyed person was going to do it for them.

Stumbling blindly as the fellow outlaw pulled him along, Dante ran with them, leaving the gallows and the crowd far behind.

Beckett was dead. There was no question about it. She'd been brought from the jail after yet another disgusting meal, put on a big stage in front of a big crowd, held back the impulse to say, "Wow, you're all here for me? Thank you so much!" and otherwise been rather inconvenienced today. The sun was too bright, burning into her eyes, and she wasn't sure if any of her family was in the crowd, but she imagined that either way, they wouldn't fully understand why she was on the execution stage.

They would understand the stealing, of course; they'd taught her how to do that, raised her to do that, in fact. But they definitely wouldn't understand the reason she'd gotten caught, specifically because her gender and sexuality were both a big tangled mess, and she'd never discussed either with her family. Beckett felt a pang of horrified distress as a thought crossed her mind: her family would walk away from here thinking she was a lesbian. A dead woman who was only interested in women.

She wanted to vomit at the thought. Not because she found the idea disgusting, but because it was so violently not her. And sure, right now she was definitely feeling the woman side of her come out, and maybe it was from her desperation to stay alive, and she most often associated that feeling with that side of her; but still, she was definitely not a woman. And while women in general seemed far more healthy and emotionally available and overall stable human beings, Beckett regretfully was not solely attracted to them, which, as far as she was aware, knocked out both qualifiers for being a lesbian.

What a funny thought to be crossing her mind. She didn't care that her family would walk away knowing she'd died, or even died over something so small as an easily obtainable ingredient and a few chocolate bars that she easily could've gotten somewhere else. But the thought that they would walk away from here thinking that she was a lesbian--

Well, out of all the ways to die, flirting with the wrong person seemed like a pretty cool way to go, at least. Maybe they wouldn't walk away thinking, "Beckett was a lesbian," but instead, "Beckett was a player." That would be nice.

She held back a chuckle at the thought, mind wandering aimlessly as she stood on the hot stage under the hot sun, feeling like she would die from the heat. Actually, she guessed she would be dying fairly soon--not from the heat, but from the rope they would inevitably slip around her neck.

She'd grown well-acquainted at the thought of dying over the past few days. It had been panic-inducing until fairly recently. But after it had become clear that there was no way any of her family could get her out, regardless of their magical abilities--and her lack thereof--, she'd needed to resign herself to the fate. Besides, as much as she enjoyed being eaten up by rats, she'd been looking forward to a change of scenery from the small jail cell, regardless of the fact that said change involved a noose and a prayer.

Beck had been placed on the far right corner of the stage which meant, from the view of whoever was in the audience, she was on the far left. She held her head a little taller, feeling the tips of her dreadlocks brush against the backs of her elbows at the sudden movement. She liked the idea that she would be the first person people's eyes went towards--the most powerful position on the stage. Or maybe they'd just check her out because of all her piercings and how amazingly hot she was. Her eyes scanned over the crowd, even though, if she were being honest, she hoped she wouldn't spot any familiar faces. She didn't want anything that could make her break down crying.

Boom.

She could feel it in the floorboards, the loud boots hitting each wooden, creaky step as the person made their way up to the platform. The image crossed her mind, even though she couldn't actually see them--she imagined the man tall, hooded, a skeletally white hand extending and pointing at her. Falling and thrashing and then stillness. What would come afterwards? That was the whole gamble, wasn't it? The ultimate magic trick, if ever there was one, constantly taunting, playing, holding it over the heads of the living.

"We are gathered here," a light, scratchy voice ensounded," to ensure justice against those who have wronged you." Beckett needed to keep her biases in check. It definitely sounded like someone who had grown up rich, which, coincidentally, probably meant they were white as death, but it definitely wasn't a man's voice she was hearing. The crowd screamed. If blood-thirsty could be quantified, the petrichor hanging in the air from the earlier rain would smell like iron. “Such people cannot remain among us, and so with each of these, we are one step closer to having a safe Sorjeli.”

Beckett could only assume the woman raised her hands in some form of gesture because the crowd once again went wild.

"The five people on this stage, all thieves, all here for various crimes, will be punished."

Beckett tuned out the rest, because she wasn't particularly interested in hearing the crimes of other people who were also about to die. Besides, they couldn't be that good if they got caught. At least she technically got caught for something completely unrelated to thievery, and it was only once she was inspected that they realized she had actually stolen as much as she could fit inside her clothes.

The woman in that shop really had been beautiful though--long locks interwoven with pieces of fabric, dark clear skin, a nice smile. She'd punched like the devil when Beckett had made what some might call "upfront" advances on her--but honestly, Beckett just found that even more attractive, and the woman had clearly immediately felt bad about it, because she had bent down to make sure Beckett was okay, which is how she discovered the stuffed pockets full of stolen goods Beckett had nearly made it out the door with.

Maybe the woman was in the crowd, crying out that her one true soulmate was about to be wrongfully killed, and maybe afterwards, Beckett would get to follow her around and haunt her as a ghost.

Beckett didn't believe in ghosts, but it was a nice thought, all the same.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The boots struck again, and Beckett could feel it with every step. Wouldn't feel it anymore very soon, though; the ground would give way, and then--

Her mind drew a blank, slightly to her disappointment. She wasn't quite sure what to imagine death to be like, but she'd been hoping she'd have some last minute inspiration.

The rope slipped around her neck, rough and scratchy, which seemed fitting, given the grating voice of the executioner. She half-expected them to go into funeral speeches before the lever had been pulled. That should be how it's done all the time. It didn't make sense to give long speeches about how great someone was when they weren't even there to hear it.

"The criminals!" The woman cried out. "Redeemed!"

And then the lever pulled. And the floor gave way. And that's when the weirdness began.

The rope turned cold around Beckett's neck, cool to the touch, and quite the refresher from the overwhelming sunshine. Beckett could feel his--yes, something had definitely switched inside him, because he was most definitely now a 'he'--heart speed in his chest, galloping strong and sturdy, and around him, he watched the air waver with pulses of light.

He'd always been the only sibling out of six--SIX--to not have magic, so the sight was terrifying, but his thoughts mainly jumped to, "Yay! My siblings are getting me out of here!"

It only took him a second longer to realize that was not the case, as his hands rose to the rope, almost of their own accord, and pulled back melting, syrupy silver, like a candy bar left too long in the sun.

Beckett didn't wait to figure out what the hell was going on--he could hear the crowd screaming about witches, hear guards running through the crowd to get to the stage. He imagined, if he listened close enough, he could hear people being trampled to death--the crowd seemed rather panicked.

He swung himself backwards, the tips of his toes just barely grazing the ground behind him that hadn't given out, before he swung back forward again. He tried again, and this time, managed to land himself firmly enough that he could focus on figuring out how to get the rope undone from around his neck. He glanced beside him and saw one of the other criminals, someone around his age with ruffled black hair and piercing golden eyes, struggling with a rope turned similarly to gold. Everyone else down the line has stopped moving, swaying back and forth in the hanged man's breeze.

Something about those eyes--something stirred inside of Beckett, and the silver seeped down through his fingers, curling around his arms and dripping to the ground beneath him before slithering its way towards the person beside him. Beckett tugged at the rest of the silver around his neck, pulling hard, and suddenly, it snapped with a soft, "woosh" noise. Resting in his hand was a silver necklace, unclasped, showing no signs of damage after hanging a fully grown person's weight from it.

Beside Beckett, the other thief suddenly dropped. Beckett looked at the guards, surging towards the stage, then at the executioner, then at the other three bodies, hanging deadweight from their regular, normal ropes. He looked at the hole the other person had dropped through and bit his lip--well, here goes nothing.

He jumped in after them, landing on top of them and rolling off with a small groan. There wasn't time for them to sit around and wait. If they were caught, regardless of what was happening, they'd be charged with witchcraft--and that time, they'd be burned to death, a far less pleasant death than hanging. Despite the fact that Beckett knew he couldn't possibly have magic, he wasn't about to try to explain that to the guards.

"Silver, gold--" the person mumbled, stumbling towards Beckett and placing both hands on his shoulders. Beckett squinted, trying to understand what they were saying. "The eyes--I didn't do it--what is happening?" Their voice cracked on the last note, and it was clear they were on the edge of absolute hysterics.

Great.

Now Beckett was going to have to be in charge. And that was never a good idea.

"Come on," Beckett said firmly, taking their hands. "Come on, they'll kill us if they catch us." Did he make it up, or did the gold in their eyes flare up a little at those words? Beckett definitely must have made it up, because it was clear this person was not hearing a single word he said. "Come on," he repeated, pulling them towards him and looking around before spotting the exit from underneath the gallows. It was the way they'd have to go.

"Up and at'em," Beckett grunted, pulling them along towards the door. He pulled it open, then bolted, still pulling the person behind him. The crowd was chaos, screams and shouts--and, funnily enough, nobody gave them a second glance. It seemed in all of the horror and panic, every person had forgotten the people they'd been cheering on the execution of. Well, it suited Beckett well enough.

They fled the scene of the crime, Beckett pulling the other along--and Beckett didn't stop running until the moon had crested the sky.

1969 words

Dante only stopped running once the burning in their lungs was too hard to ignore, and then they were bent over, gasping for air. They didn't know how long it had been or how far they'd gone, but somehow, they hadn't parted ways from this stranger. In a weird way, that felt relieving. Who knew where they'd have ended up running to if it had been completely aimless. But now, they had to process this aloud with someone. In conversation.

With a few more deep breaths, Dante looked up again. The other person-- whose gender he still hadn't guessed at-- was standing with their hands on their hips, head tilted upward as they waited. They glanced over at Dante, and he got a better look at their face. He'd noticed the dreadlocks before, but he now saw their many piercings, umber eyes, and their warm brown skin that looked like his. Dante was fully aware he was staring now for way too long, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. His mind hadn't caught up to his situation yet.

"You done?" the stranger asked, raising their eyebrows as they noticed him staring. "We can't stop here."

Dante took another heaving breath, but his voice still rasped when he spoke. "I-- What was that? What happened with you? What happened with me?"

The stranger sighed, sounding more exasperated than tired. "Do I look like I know?"

Dante blinked. "That wasn't normal for you? But--" They dropped their voice, even though there was no one around to hear them, at night on the outskirts of the city. "They were calling you a witch."

"Uh... I'm pretty sure that's what they were calling you," the stranger said. "You're the one who turned our ropes into metal. And when I broke mine apart, the metal started to move towards you."

Dante gawked at them. "I didn't do that! I don't even have magic, let alone--" He waved a hand around in the air, feeling frustrated. "I'm not a witch."

The person raised their eyebrows, jerking their head back. "Why, because it's of the devil?" They rolled their eyes, wiping their forehead free of sweat. "Doesn't matter anyway, because you have magic regardless. I, on the other hand, definitely do not."

Dante found himself bristling slightly. "I do not. How do you know it wasn't you?"

The person laughed, pulling a hand through their hair. "My siblings all have it. They would've recognized the signs."

"Well, my brother made a career out of finding people with magic. If I had it, I wouldn't have lasted very long." Dante took another deep breath, shaking their head to clear it out. "This is absurd. I didn't do anything. If you didn't do anything either, that means someone else on the gallows tried to save us but didn't save themselves. That wouldn't make any sense."

"Or they could've been in the crowd," the other person pointed out. "Not that it matters, anyway. The guards won't believe us no matter what. If we're caught, we're burned at the stake." For someone talking about their own demise, they didn't sound too bothered by their own words.

"If we're caught, we'd die whether or not we'd escaped magically." Dante rubbed at his neck, where the rope had been. His skin still felt raw from its rough surface. "We were both supposed to die. Someone or something intended to interfere with that."

The person hummed under their breath, tilting their head to the side and glancing around. The sun had set a long time ago, and the shadows tripped over themselves on the ground to extend and elongate. "And you don't think you could convince your brother to help us? If we had someone who's normally on their side, it could help a lot."

Dante shook their head. "Even if I knew where he was, it's not happening. He's not one to give up the cause."

The person sighed, like the fact that Lucian might hunt them down to kill them was an annoying inconvenience rather than an extremely terrifying possibility to Dante. "Fine. Lovely." They sighed dramatically again, then turned to Dante. "Alright, then I guess we're going to Celoia."

Dante frowned slightly. "...We? Are we really?"

The person turned so suddenly on him that Dante stumbled backwards a little. "Duh, we, if someone saved both of us, there's a reason why, and it's either because they wanted us to burn at the stake or they wanted to use us for something. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't like to be used by anybody, so I'm getting the hell out of here."

"You're just running away? I've got people here, and I won't be caught twice," Dante said flatly. The person actually laughed-- full-on LAUGHED-- at that, but Dante pressed on. "And why Celoia, anyway? It'd be incredibly dangerous to get there."

"It's where two of my siblings live. They're probably a little rusty since getting married and leaving us behind, but their magic should be enough to protect us against the people after us. Once we're there, I can get a letter back home and my family will probably just move to another town and set up shop."

Dante stared at them incredulously. "Do you just have a plan ready for whenever you feel the need to flee town? You wouldn't even try to keep on living here?"

The person snorted. "Why? It sucks here."

"Not everything sucks about Sorjeli," Dante retorted, feeling more like defending his position than the city itself. "It's--" He paused for a long moment, trying to think of something he liked about it that would make sense to this person, before he sighed. "It's better than a lot of other places, especially when you factor in that we are likely to die trying to get anywhere else."

"Mhm," the person said slowly. "Right. We're more likely to die in a place they aren't hunting us to kill us? Have I got that right?" They rolled their eyes and turned away. "Look, if you want to stay here and die, that's on you. I'm going to Celoia, where I can at least have a chance of figuring out what the hell is going on."

Dante hesitated for a few moments, feeling a shred of doubt. He could turn around and run back to the Willows, avoid home, hope that no one would snitch on him. He didn't know for sure that he could, though. Even if he'd died on the gallows like he was supposed to, that road would be patrolled more now that the noble he'd tried to rob would have complained. Things could look very different, even if he managed to remain uncaught.

"Wait," he said suddenly. "What could your siblings do? What's your plan?"

"I don't know, I've only had, like, an hour," the person retorted. "But I know that at the very least, they can help cover stuff up."

Dante bit their lip, thinking. They didn't know what there was to cover up, because this wasn't even their fault. They knew pleading their innocence wouldn't work for them well, though, especially since they'd already been found guilty of something. They needed a better plan than hoping for the best.

"Neither of us would stand a good chance of trying to go anywhere else alone," they said reluctantly. "And whatever happened, it happened to both of us. Maybe there isn't an option besides a we."

"Wow, you've convinced me," the person said sarcastically. "Now come on. We need to get out of town and into the woods before the sun rises if we want a chance at getting out of here alive."

"Just a moment," Dante said quickly, holding up a hand. "First, who are you? What's your name?"

They crossed their arms, studying Dante curiously through narrowed eyes. After a long pause, they said, "Beckett. What's yours?"

"My name's Dante." He paused too for a few beats of silence. "I'm a highwayman. I got caught after a teammate failed to show. You?"

Beckett paused for a moment, then said, "Hm." They turned away and started walking. "Nothing important."

Dante raised an eyebrow, but after a quick look back at the direction they'd came in, he followed along. "Not a good story? Or just not your best moment?"

"Oh, it's a great moment," Beckett reassured. "Just none of your business."

Dante shrugged, kicking away a rock on the dirt path that kept leading them out and away from the city. "Fair enough."

They walked in silence for a long while, so long that Dante couldn't tell if it had only been a few minutes or an hour. Finally, Beckett broke the silence and said, "So what're you?" They glanced at him. "You a guy or what?"

Dante blinked in surprise before they understood. "Oh, I guess," they said, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Sort of. I don't much care whether you use he or they for me, both of those work." They looked back at Beckett, remembering that they didn't know this about them either. "What about you?"

Beckett shrugged, glancing up at the moon as they continued walking. The light seemed to make their skin glow, like luminescence. "Bit of both. Bit of neither. Changes, sometimes."

Dante nodded, stepping over a patch of mud. "What are you now, then?"

"Guy," Beckett said without hesitation, then nodded a few times, eyes still fixed on the moon. "Definitely guy."

Dante nodded again, with another glance over his shoulder. "Got it," he said. "Feel free to let me know if that changes."

"Oh, you'll notice," Beckett said. "I'm generally a lot more..." he paused, like he was searching for the right word, then said carefully, "playful." Somehow, Dante felt as though playfulness in a person who already struck him as lively and teasing was something to be reckoned with.

"I see," he said instead, and then paused. "Do you actually mean playful, or something else when you say that?"

"Let's just say that playful just glances the surface," Beckett said, "but I don't really know another word that goes fully into the water."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "It's more extreme, huh?"

"Less one-sided," Beckett corrected. "More... rounded."

Dante hummed thoughtfully. "I guess I'll have to just wait and notice."

Beckett nodded, continuing the trek forward. He was tall, that much Dante had already noticed, but it also meant that he was walking steadily at a very fast pace that Dante was struggling to keep up with. It wasn't like they were a slow person-- running was an incredibly important skill for quick escapes once they'd gotten the money-- but Beckett just seemed to consider this a normal pace. If they had to guess-- from the willingness he'd shown to leave Sorjeli-- Beckett liked to be on the move in more ways than one.

"So," Dante said after a few minutes, once they'd fully caught up alongside him. "What should we do to stay alive out here?"

"Avoid people, avoid roads, avoid towns," Beckett said immediately. "Once we're fully out, we should leave the main road. It's where they'll check for us first. Steal what we need from towns we come across, steer clear of anything else."

Dante ran through a mental map of the land between Sorjeli and Celoia. "There's three towns between us and our destination," he said slowly. "I think the first is slightly south of where we're bound for, if the sunset was that way." He gestured behind them. "It's at least a day away. Probably two."

"Then we head to there first," Beckett said. "Do what we can with food and water in the forest on our way there in the meantime."

Dante tried not to think about what that meant they would be eating, but he did have to. "Can you hunt?" he asked.

"I know my way around plants." Great. That didn't answer their question at all, and Dante only really knew their way around metal, which they knew was not better to eat and not particularly common in forests anyway.

Dante smiled thinly. "Fabulous."

Beckett stopped in his tracks, looking back at them suspiciously. His eyes trailed up and down Dante for a long time in complete silence, long enough that Dante began to feel a little nervous. "Umm... what are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," Beckett said coolly. "Just looking for where your fucking audacity came from." He turned back forward again and continued walking like nothing happened.

Dante blinked in surprise, standing there for a few moments before they rushed to catch up, nearly stumbling over a uneven spot in the road in their hurry. "I'm sorry, my what?"

"Oh, the little part of your brain that thinks it makes sense to judge me for not being able to hunt when I'm the only one who's done remotely anything to work towards a plan."

Dante bristled at that. "Well, I'm sorry for being a little slow to adjust to almost dying, then not dying, then having to flee home because some idiots with swords think I've got magic. Not everyone's a natural to that."

"It's not like I'm a natural at it, I'm just not gonna sit around and wait to be caught. Come on, you're a "highwayman" and you can't think on your feet?"

"You don't seem to know how that works," Dante said flatly. "Highwaymen bide their time. They're careful when they call the shots because they only get one chance-- they'll see plenty of opportunities and only have a couple seconds to decide whether it's the best one. I've waited for full days from dawn to dusk in hiding spots before, all for the right moment to strike. That just doesn't lend well to-- fleeing the city on a whim."

"So you're saying you can decide in a few seconds if you want to risk your life," Beckett repeated slowly, "but you can't think on your feet?"

"There is a difference," Dante retorted. "I can assess risks quickly and decide whether something is worth gambling with my life for, but not very long ago, I didn't think I'd have a life to gamble with. I haven't been watching, so of course what I want to do is take a full look at the situation first before leaping headfirst into things. That's what I'm a natural at."

Beckett chuckled but didn't respond, just kept walking.

"What?" Dante asked, nearly snapping. "What's so funny?"

Beckett sighed breezily. "Nothing at all."

Dante narrowed their eyes at him. "Do you just chuckle randomly then?"

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p' sound.

They sighed heavily, shaking their head. "Whatever. The point is, I'm good with assessment. You're good with spontaneity. I'll help when you want me to help, but there are just going to be some situations I'm better suited for than others."

Beckett didn't stop walking, and he didn't even acknowledge what Dante had said, just continued forward at a steady pace. Did they ever get tired? It was well into the night, they couldn't walk forever. Or so Dante thought, at least. Because they walked for at least another hour before Beckett paused and said, "This is where we say goodbye to the path." Then, he waved at the path and said, "Bye!" And started to diverge, walking into the woods.

Dante hurried to follow after him, nearly tripping over the sudden roots in their path that they couldn't see in the darkness. They didn't want to speak up again and risk Beckett making another seething remark. Not that they couldn't handle it, but honestly, they were too tired to deal with it right now. After another half hour of complete silence, Beckett stopped in a small clearing and said, "Alright, we can sleep here."

He kicked away leaves with his feet, then sat down in the newly cleared area, head once again tilted towards the sky.

Slowly, Dante sat down on the ground a few feet away. "Should one of us stay awake and keep an eye out?" they suggested hesitantly. "I could take the first watch."

Beckett shook his head, then softly, "You can sleep. I've got it. Not really tired anyway."

Dante glanced him over. "You sure you want to?" they asked, even though they did believe that Beckett was not all that tired.

"Yeah," Beckett said, scooting back to lean against a tree. Dante could barely see his outline in the dark. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll wake you up to switch."

Dante looked down at the forest floor, sweeping away some leaves from where his head would go. "Okay," he said, and then added more uncertainly, "Good night?"

There was a long pause, then a quiet, "Good night."

Dante laid down on his side, leaving his back turned to Beckett. As exhausted as he felt physically, his mind was still wide awake with racing thoughts, and he wasn't sure that he would actually get any rest. But eventually, the dark trees ahead blurred into each other, leaving only black, and he found himself tumbling into sleep anyway.

As Beckett kept watch, he stared into the darkness and thought about his family. What they were feeling. Had they been sad to think he would die? He'd tried to avoid thinking about it in the moment--not much to do about it then, really--but he didn't want to die. Was happy he hadn't. Was his family also happy?

Surely they were. No doubt, they would send word to his siblings in Celoia--both of them--to let them know that somehow, miraculously, he had escaped. Someone had used magic! And no, it hadn't been one of them, and obviously it hadn't been Beckett because he'd never had magic, he'd always been the odd one out, the one who couldn't be taught the charm spells, the ones where you whisper in the shop owner's ear what you want and make them forget you ever asked. Beckett wasn't talented like that, not talented in magic at all, and certainly not talented enough to transform a rope into liquid metal and manipulate it through the air. That would take someone with masterful skills, skills even his siblings didn't have, and that person would have to have a specific interest in keeping Beckett alive, or at least have magic strong enough that they had unvoluntarily done so.

Beckett looked over at Dante's sleeping form, barely visible in the dark. Chest steadily rising and falling with each breath, shifting every once in a while, stirring up a rustle in the leaves nearby. Magic so strong that even without meaning to, he'd saved himself and somebody else. Beckett found it hard to believe. It certainly wasn't the only plausible explanation, but it felt close to it. What other options were there? Some random person saved both of them?

Beckett's eyes trailed Dante's face. Dante could be lying. They could be an experienced magician, someone who knew about Beckett's family and was looking for other magic-users. Someone who wanted Beckett to lead them right to them. Maybe Dante had lied, and was, himself, the witch hunter. Maybe he'd used a captured witch to perform the magic, or maybe he'd lied all-together and it had only been Beckett's rope that had turned to metal. Some trickery of science, that Beckett had then convinced himself to be magic. Had he really felt it be rope? Or had he just felt metal slipped around his neck?

It would be a genius plan. Somehow, that alone made Beckett feel a little more secure. Dante, as...interesting as he'd struck Beckett, did not seem diabolical enough to pull something like that off. Certainly not the acting part of it all. Unless that was a part of the trick too.

Beckett sighed and leaned against the tree behind himself. He was getting tired, and it was making his paranoia run wild. He rubbed his temple, grimacing, before opening his eyes and leaning forward again. He'd been keeping watch for hours. He'd be able to wake Dante in just a minute to switch.

He wasn't sure he trusted Dante to keep watch on their own. Then again, he wasn't sure he trusted Dante. It wasn't like he could just...never sleep, though. He'd have to hope that there was some shred of common sense in his companion, however slim, and hope that it held the reins while Beckett slept.

His thoughts drifted back to his family, and he quickly steered himself away from it. He wasn't in the mood to think about them--mainly because he didn't want to make himself miss them in the process. No matter what, he wasn't going to see them for a while, so there was no use moping about it. Maybe he was getting too tired. He always got more emotional when he was tired.

Slowly, he stood, stretching his legs before he walked over to Dante and knelt down. "Dante," he whispered. He didn't want to touch the guy and startle them, but Dante didn't stir. "Dante," Beckett whispered again, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Dante shifted at that, opening his eyes quickly. He stared at Beckett for a few moments, seeming to need a second to remember where they were, and then sat up slowly. "My turn?"

"It's your watch," Beckett affirmed. "Can you stay awake?" He watched him doubtfully.

Dante nodded, blinking a few times before getting to their feet, a bit groggily. "I can. Thanks for letting me sleep."

Beckett nodded silently, then rose to his feet again, walking back over to his own spot and laying down. He stared up at the trees, trying his best to stay awake for a few minutes to make sure Dante was actually fully awake before finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.



Anger. Blind and red-hot. Scorching, tearing apart.

Emotion, so strong, so powerful, he wanted to throw up. He could feel it all. Why could he feel it all?

He hadn't been like this before. Calm, serene. Peaceful. Ignorant, perhaps, but healing. Gracious. Kind. He didn't feel that way anymore. He'd grown tired of the world. Tired of watching his creations destroy each other. Tired of cleaning up their mess. He felt savage. Bloodthirsty. Swallow the world whole and destroy it. Why didn't he want that too? It's what he had wanted at first, right?

He could no longer tell who had corrupted who. Had he been corrupted to violence? Or had he corrupted him to pacifism? The refusal to do anything, ANYTHING, and for what?

It wasn't like he'd wanted to swallow the world whole, not really. Just... pluck them away. Like the mosquitos they had become. Squish them underfoot. They were doing it to each other anyway. Why should they care?

He didn't. Not anymore.

The moon rising, dust swirling all around him, screaming, arguing, wanting to throw and hurl and break the earth apart just to show the sun that it was just a planet. Just like any other. One they were supposed to protect, protect from the abominations who now swarmed its surface, infectious. Disgusting. He wanted to throw up at the thought of them.

The memory of that argument, that day. So strong. That tiny escence of himself left, slipping away between the cracks. Never to see each other again, and for what? Because he had wanted to protect them? He should have wanted to destroy them with him! They could have done it together.

And now...and now what?

The moon rising in the sky. Pale. Crimson.

He hoped the clouds came to wash it all away. He hoped that when it rained, the humans drowned in their own blood.

Dante was starting to get tired again after several hours of watching, but the dawn started to rise, and soon enough it was bright enough that he wouldn't accidentally be drifting off to sleep. He let his head fall back against the tree he was sitting by so that he could see the sky lighten better, folding his legs up tighter to his chest.

He felt more at ease now that he was able to see more. He'd been constantly alert for all of his watch, imagining that he was hearing noises or overreacting to the ones that were really there. At least he really was good at keeping watch. He was used to staking out roads outside the city, and not a lot slipped by him.

Dante gave Beckett a glance every few minutes, just to make sure he was okay. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, but he seemed... a little tense. It wasn't quite light enough, and Beckett was turned away from them somewhat, but they thought the expression on his face looked a bit like an intense scowl. Strange.

Then again, Beckett was more than a little strange.

More light started filtering through the trees from the direction Dante was facing, and they made sure to note that that direction was east. They'd have to keep moving, after all. They weren't quite far enough from Sorjeli for them to feel comfortable about it-- although they knew they'd have a hard time staying comfortable on this journey, period. There were already a million panicked thoughts bouncing around his head, and one of them kept coming back to him, but he wasn't sure why that was.

Lucian would be so disappointed.

That was such a stupid thought. Their brother could literally hunt them down and kill them for being a magic-user, which they weren't, and they were worried that he would be disappointed in them? Still, Dante couldn't quite chase it out of their head.

He felt more and more relieved the more the faint, early sunlight shone through, and he was starting to think about going over and waking up Beckett so they could get on the move.

But Beckett seemed to wake himself up first.

He shot upwards, panting as his hands dug into the soil around him, sending dirt and leaves flying in every direction. Beckett looked slightly crazed and out of it, eyes glowing--maybe the light was just hitting them?--a flashy silver that faded into the regular golden-brown of his eyes.

Dante sat up straight, eyes wide, before he got up and hurried went over to kneel next to him. "Beckett? Beckett, are you alright?" he asked quickly.

Beckett took several panted breaths, blinking as he stared blankly in front of himself. After several seconds, he said, "Huh?" He still sounded distant, like he wasn't quite there.

"Are you alright?" Dante repeated, speaking more slowly now to give him a better chance of hearing it.

"What?" Beckett said, disoriented, then shot to his feet, seeming to suddenly get ahold of himself. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He blinked several times, swaying on his feet, then shook his head and said, "Yep, I'm fine." Beckett started to walk.

Dante slowly rose up, watching him and not following yet. "Are you... really?" he asked uncertainly.

Beckett's shoulders rose and fell with a shaky breath, but Dante couldn't see his face anymore. "Yep, I'm doing great. Let's get water." He began walking again.

Dante opened his mouth to say something-- probably another question-- but he had the feeling he wasn't getting a different sort of answer. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, yeah, good idea." He began to follow Beckett.

Beckett wound his way through the forest like he knew the area, and Dante wasn't quite sure how he knew where to go, but they weren't going to complain. He simply kept track of what direction they were going with his mental compass until he heard it-- the sound of distant, faint rushing water.

"I think there's a creek or river that way," he said, pointing to their left.

Beckett said, "Duh. Why do you think I started this way?"

Dante stared at his back for a long moment, finally sighing softly and shaking his head. Alright. Maybe he should just stop trying to be helpful.

They did veer left when they came to a more navigable path through, finding a stream just behind a thin layer of trees. Dante stepped out into the middle of it with careful grace over small stepping stones, first washing the dirt off his hands in the cold, rushing water before cupping his hands and scooping up the water to gulp it down. It had an unusual taste to it, different from the city water, but it wasn't unpleasant and he hardly cared what it tasted like after being dehydrated for this long.

Beckett crouched down a few yards away from Dante, staying clear of getting his shoes in the water and cupping his hands to his mouth to drink. Dante studied him, wondering if he'd say anything now about whatever he'd woken up from, but time passed and no words were spoken. They dipped their hands in the water again, this time to wash some of the dirt off their face and hair.

"So," he said with a dry chuckle as they rubbed at their cheeks and jaw, deciding to lighten the mood with some humor, "you'll be pleased to know I've come around about the plants."

Beckett didn't respond for a moment, then glanced up and said, "Your way of saying you're hungry?" Dante couldn't tell if Beckett was amused or annoyed by the way he said it.

Dante faltered, then corrected, "No. My way of apologizing for being unhelpful, though."

Beckett paused, looking up to study Dante with an expression that they couldn't read. Finally, Beckett said, "Alright." Some of the tension in the air lifted.

Alright. Better than nothing, Dante supposed. He'd heard worse in response to an apology.

He shook his hands dry of the river water, watching the droplets fly free and send ripples through the current as they landed. Perhaps, on a different occasion, he'd have sat here, peacefully watched the river go by all morning, and taken the chance to live in the moment. Unfortunately, he was far too conscious of their need for survival to fully appreciate the scene. Fear of death and all that stuff.

Dante slowly looked back up to Beckett, deciding to take a risk and test the waters with a question. The past few hadn't gone that well. But at some point, he'd find something that wouldn't offend or annoy him, right?

"You mentioned your siblings are in Celoia," he said. "What are they like?"

Beckett paused again, before decisively wiping his wet hands off on his pants and pushing himself up to stand. "They're magical," he said, with a glinting flare to his eyes for emphasis.

Well. Such statements demanded elaboration.

"Magical how?" Dante asked. "Besides the obvious literal sense, I mean. What can they do?"

"Why do you want to know? Gonna run to tell your brother?" Dante's instinct was to immediately defend himself, but he barely caught himself as he realized Beckett was watching him with a sly grin. He was kidding, Dante realized. Very funny, he thought to himself sarcastically.

This trip was going to take some... patience.

"You caught me." Dante decided to play along, slowly holding up their hands in surrender. "I mulled it over last night and decided maybe I was too quick to judge the gallows. Perhaps getting turned in by my own family could be more fun than it seems."

Beckett nodded seriously. "Good decision. Very patriotic of you." He turned. "Now, let's go find some food. I'm starving."

Great bonding moment. They had learned absolutely nothing new at all. Dante kept his face neutral as he stood, hopping back over stepping stones to the riverbank.

"So," Beckett said over his shoulder as he walked, "What witch shrunk your brother's junk? That's why he's hunting them, right? To finally find the one who can grow it back?"

Dante huffed in faint amusement-- the closest they could get to a laugh right now. "A mage stole his girl once, though he would claim that's unrelated."

"Oh, of course," Beckett said. "You've got to give him some credit though. Most five year olds forget that someone stole their toy by the next day. He's got some real dedication." He bent and held a leafy plant up carefully, examining the stem before pulling it from the ground.

"Rumor has it he's still chasing him." Dante watched as Beckett shook dirt off the plant's roots, committing the details of its appearance to memory. Mystery plant: safe to eat. "Truth be told, I wouldn't actually know. I've not seen the man in years."

"Heartbreaking," Beckett said distractedly, handing the plant off to Dante before bending to unroot another one. "He never got to see the woman-stealing mage you grew up to be." Beckett turned to look at Dante suddenly, narrowing his eyes, then said, "Mmm... just the mage, actually."

Dante rolled their eyes as they rolled up their sleeves to the elbow. "Not even that much," they said, joining in on the digging. "Sorry to disappoint."

Beckett's eyes flickered down from Dante's face to his now rolled-up sleeves, then turned away. "Right."

Dante cracked a smirk. "I'll keep saying it," they said, uprooting another unfortunate plant. "Can't do anything about you not believing me, however."

"You're right," Beckett said cheerfully, yanking a final plant out of the ground before standing and turning to face Dante fully. "You can't."

"Mutual disbelief it is, then." Dante shrugged, rising as well. "Have fun keeping it up."

"Oh, I will." Beckett walked past Dante in the direction they'd come from. "We need to wash these off."

"I suppose the dirt makes poor seasoning." Dante glanced at the patch of plants before following along, a step behind. "What are these called?"

Beckett chuckled. "They're Bitterroots. And there won't be any seasoning on them because there's nothing to use, so it is going to feel a bit like you're a cow eating grass. You might want to start practicing your moo."

Dante squinted at the plant. "Any chance there's something called a Sweetroot in these woods?"

"Nah, Sweetroots only grow in the North," Beckett said off-handedly.

"Really?"

Beckett smiled at them, but his eyebrows were drawn down, and he looked more like he couldn't believe his own ears. "No, idiot. Of course there's no such thing as a Sweetroot."

"My bad," Dante muttered. "I'll keep all botanical questions to myself from now on."

"Oh, feel free to ask them. I enjoy a good laugh," Beckett said before bending down next to the water and beginning to wash off one of the many plants he held. "Besides, if I ever end up tragically bedridden and I'm so sick, you have to chew up my food for me before spooning every small bit in my mouth, I'd prefer you knew what you were giving me." He paused and smiled a bit to himself. "Actually, I'd prefer you kill me before it reaches the point of chewing my fucking food for me, but hypothetically speaking, if it reached that stage."

"I'd prefer eating a poisonous plant to that," Dante said, joining in on the rinsing. "No offense, but I'm not going to play mother bird for you."

"I'm hurt. I'm playing mother plant-picker-person for you right now." Beckett shook the plants in the air, slinging water everywhere. He set them down on his lap and methodically pulled the leaves off. "Only eat the base and the flower buds," he said. "The leaves will have you throwing up for hours."

"Good to know." It actually was.

They both ate, a pile of green leaves growing around them as they made their way through the harvest. Dante found the flowers bitter, as expected, but they had a slight aftertaste of liquorice, which wasn't the worst. The greater disappointment was that it wasn't a very filling meal, and Dante sensed that Beckett was also still hungry by the time they finished. What wouldn't he give for some bread and butter right now-- or even better, meat.

"If we manage to borrow a gun in Celoia," they said, pushing the Bitterroot leaves into the river so they'd be out of their way, "I could hunt something for us."

Beckett sat back on his heels, tilting his head a little, hair also hanging to the side. He studied Dante for a few seconds with an unreadable expression, then stood deftly. "Don't want to make a gun with your metal powers?" He said over his shoulder, already on the move. Gods, he moved fast. Dante barely had time to stand and follow before he could get left behind.

"Again," Dante said, "no metal powers here to speak of."

"Uh-huh," Beckett said. "Sure." He kept walking, but he no longer seemed like he was searching for plants.

"I'm from a family of blacksmiths," Dante said, quite aware that at this point, the balance in information shared between them was forever lopsided. "Believe me, I'd know about metal powers by now if I had them. I'm not the one whose eyes glowed silver when he woke up."

For the first time, it seemed Dante had actually thrown Beckett for a loop, because he immediately came to a halt and said confusedly, "Huh?"

"That's right," Dante said, internally a little pleased they'd caught him off guard. "I would've said something at the time, but you were hard-pressed to convince me that you were 'fine'."

Beckett bristled. "My eyes don't glow silver," he said flatly. "Maybe you were confused by the reflection of your eyes glowing gold." He sped up his walking pace.

"My eyes are hazel, but thank you very much for the embellishment," Dante said, now walking alongside him, "and I don't think color theory works that way."

Beckett ignored him, and, if anything, sped up again. How he did it, Dante had to wonder.

"Have it your way," Dante said after a moment, looking upwards. The sun was starting to appear through the lower branches. "Hide what you have to hide."

"I'm not hiding any magic," Beckett snapped. "I've never had any, and believe me, I've tried."

"Maybe you made a wish on a star the night before our scheduled execution and forgot."

"Impossible," Beckett said. "I don't believe in stars."

Dante gave him a flat look. "Now that's a choice."

"I prefer to think of it as a religion. People believe there's a God of the night. Why not a belief in no God of the night?" He pointed to the sky and continued theatrically. "It's all a magical spell, you know. Takes ten million witches every single night to cast all the stars to the sky. A drain of resources, really. No wonder they want to burn them, wasting their time on something like that."

"You know what's unbelievable?" Dante shook his head, hopping over a gnarly root. "You."

"Maybe your brother wants to kill all the witches so that when he makes his advances on women in the dead of night, they can't be disappointed by the size and leave once they see it. He wants to get rid of the stars so every love-making session is a fight in the dark." Beckett spoke every word dramatically, and somehow managed to give each word emphasis.

"Gods above--" Dante threw up an exasperated hand. "Or maybe the stars are nothing but a flock of birds hovering in the air holding a candle in their beaks, if you like to be unreasonable."

"Ooh, that's a good one," Beckett said. "You know what? Forget what I said before, I believe in the candle birds now."

"I'm so thrilled," Dante said. "This prophet accepts tithes, if you'd like to help spread the good news."

"Does the prophet take forms of payment besides money?" Beckett gave a side grin to Dante, but didn't stop walking.

Something about that sounded like an innuendo, but Dante was not nearly confident enough in his interpretation to call it out. "Normally not, but he is hungry enough that food is fair game as a currency at the moment."

"Oh, I thought I already made a payment of that this morning," Beckett said. "Has the prophet considered starting his own business so he can pay himself?"

"Business? It's a religion. A lifestyle. That's a demeaning term." Dante scoffed. "Pay no attention to the fact that any money he has scammed people out of-- I'm sorry, graciously accepted as charitiable donations-- is immediately invested towards his next hot meal."

Beckett laughed as they continued trekking through the woods. "Completely unrelated, I'm sure."

That sounded like a real laugh. Dante tucked that thought away as a small victory as they went on their journey.

Beckett and Dante had been walking for hours, and he could tell they were beginning to slow, despite his best efforts to keep a steady pace. They walked and talked about random things--some details of Dante's life, no details of Beckett's. That was the way he liked it. At the start, it had been because he didn't trust Dante at all. Now, he still didn't fully trust Dante, but he didn't seem like some sort of evil mastermind. Frankly, Dante didn't seem like he'd be capable of that. Poor guy.

Still, he was... Beckett found his eyes wandering to the face of his companion--Dante's unruly hair framing their face, dark olive skin, hazel eyes--before he looked forward again. At least Beckett didn't have an ugly traveling partner, even if his partner was a little on the boring side. Was Dante sure they'd been a thief before this? They didn't seem like they could lie for the life of them. At least they were reactive. The hours-long walk would be so much more boring if it hadn't been so easy to get a rise out of them.

Not that it mattered what his travel companion was like. In fact, it definitely did not matter what his travel companion was like. All that mattered was that someone had saved them, and someone else was trying to burn the two of them at the stake, and maybe one of those people was Dante and the other was his brother, but regardless, it meant that Dante was too valuable to separate from--at least for now. Beckett would never admit that to Dante though--them being valuable. It would give them leverage, and Beckett hated not being in control of his situation. He was glad Dante hadn't argued against the suggestion to go to his siblings. In truth, Beckett had no idea if they could do anything to help, but he had been panicking internally for a good forty-eight hours at this point, and at the very least, they could give him some sort of potion to pass out for a little while.

When Beckett least expected it, out of nowhere, Dante suddenly came to a complete stop. He squinted up into the branches of a tree, a suspicious scowl on his face. After a minute, he slowly looked back down to Beckett.

"Did you hear that?" they asked seriously, in a hushed tone.

Beckett looked at Dante with overly wide eyes. "Hear what? The woods?" He whispered back in a mockingly dramatic tone.

An irritated look fell over Dante's face as they pursed their lips and kept walking. "Guess you'll never get to know now," they muttered, but the lingering concern in their tone told Beckett their heart wasn't in it. Beckett bit his lip to hold back a grin. Maybe not as boring as he'd thought.

"Oh, help me out here, now I'm dying to know."

Dante was silent, and for a moment, it seemed like they wouldn't budge. But finally, they shook their head and simply said, "A sigh."

Beckett frowned, stopping in his tracks. "What?"

"A sigh," Dante repeated, stopping again. "Like-- too emotional and frustrated to just be the wind through the trees. Too much like a person."

A beat passed.

"I likely just imagined it," Dante said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. He gave the foliage another look before turning and moving on, this time in the lead. "Never mind. False alarm."

Beckett gave them a weird look, but decided not to push it--mainly because Dante had gotten into his head, and now he was trying to see if he actually did hear anything, or if they had just imagined it. The two continued walking in a discontented silence, Beckett trying not to think about how his legs ached and his feet hurt.

Both of them stopped when a faint breeze blew through the trees, then realized the other had stopped too. "Okay, we're just being paranoid now." Beckett rolled his eyes and took several more steps forward, before a tree root shot suddenly out of the dirt and smacked him in the chest, sending him reeling backwards. The force of the blow sent him rolling backwards in the dirt several times before Beckett managed to stop the momentum. He couldn't see himself, but could feel that his entire face was now covered in tiny cuts from the branches on the ground.

"I don't want to state the obvious," Beckett groaned, "but that's not normal." He pushed himself up from the ground tenderly, wincing at the bruises he could already feel developing on his body.

"You think?" Dante exclaimed.

Just as he spoke, a tendril of an ivy vine coiled around a tree abruptly loosened and launched itself for Dante's neck. Eyes wide, Dante sputtered and tugged at the plant that was now eagerly wrapping itself around his throat. He broke the vine with a snap, throwing it aside, but barely managed to move in time before another root attempted to grab his leg. The ground was rumbling with some unseen power.

"Who's there?" Dante challenged, glaring into the clearing of trees that... seemed to be shrinking around them. No, it was shrinking around them. The branches were extending, forming a barrier that surrounded them on all sides.

They were trapped. "Well," Beckett said, turning his body around slowly to look at all the branches until he'd completed a full circle. "That's not great."

"Not great?" A voice wailed, and both Beckett and Dante spun suddenly to look in the direction it came from. "Not great!" The figure of a short, stout man stood at the edge of the branch enclosure, wearing a cape that looked as though it was made of grass, a pair of square spectacles, and a red-and-white mushroom hat nearly as tall as he was. He sounded undignified, though his anger was slightly dampened by how high-pitched his voice was. "This wall of branches is very great!" The man called out indignantly. "It is the greatest of the greatest! It is the powerfulest of the powerful! It is--"

Beckett hardly realized Dante was moving until his companion had slammed into their attacker, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Sputtering, the short man rolled over onto his back, attempting to stand up, but Dante was faster. He rose up, firmly planting a foot on the man's ribcage and pinning him down on the forest floor.

"Pretty sure it's 'most powerful'," Dante muttered, wiping the dirt off his clothes.

"Why--" The short man huffed, struggling in vain to wriggle loose. "Agh, get him off of me, get him off!" A few stray branches twirled slowly through the air, twisting slightly at the end like a dog tilting its head in confusion as they turned from the man to Dante, then back to the man again. "Assaulting the god of these woods in his own territory! " The man whined. "Insanity! Covering my beautiful mushroom hat in dirt! Sacriligeous!"

Dante cast Beckett a wearied look. "Do you think his hat is all that beautiful? I don't see it."

Beckett narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Hm. Well, I like the height of it, I'll give you that. I mean, who doesn't like a hat that doubles their height? But the spots-- I don't know, they feel like they're a bit much."

"Outrage!" The man wailed. "Seize the stupid sun one at once!" The branches twisted and looped around Dante's arms, although he looked more irritated than inconvienced as he started to pry them off.

"Or we could just, I don't know, talk," Dante said plainly as he wrestled with a branch. "You're not impressing anyone."

"Not impressing anyone," the man growled, and the branches that made the cage around them trembled and shook. Leaves wobbled in the air.

"Uh..." Beckett began, but the man interjected again.

"You dare enter my land, you pathetic, little monster! You're just a star, you know that? My trees block you out so easily--"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dante grunted, wrangling one arm free and using it to fend off the twisting vegetation that was now winding around their torso, "but if you've got a problem with us being here, we'll be on our way soon. Although I don't see why you would. These woods are public land."

"Public land!" The man scoffed. "You are so tiny-minded, have you got a peanut in there?" He knocked on Dante's head by way of a hand-like branch, startling everyone--even himself, temporarily, it seemed, because he shook his head a little and then said, "I do not care what little petty humans lay claim to this land. It is my domain! It is my lifeforce, and I am its-- I am its-- ugh, I am its lifeforce! And you come here, traipsing through with your ridiculous little lover's quarrel, and you drag behind you an entire army of buffoons who will tear down my foliage!" The man seemed genuinely choked up because he let out a little sob.

The look Dante gave to Beckett was clear in interpretation: Is this guy alright?

Beckett could tell Dante was looking to him to figure out what they needed to do, but he decided that he wanted to be unhelpful for a little while longer. "I don't know if I'd go so far as to call it a lover's quarrel. Spat seems like a more appropriate word."

"Your lover's spat--" the man sniveled, "--has been ruining my life for years, and now you decided to bring it to my own front yard! And my back yard! And my house, and my godly essence, and my EVERYTHING!" He let out a loud wail, and one of the branches reached over to pat him on the head comfortingly.

"Uh... Godly essence?" Dante began, but Beckett cut him off.

"How have we been ruining your life for years? We've only been here a few days!"

"Oh, a few days this, a few centuries that," the man sniffled, and wiped his nose against the entire length of his arm. "It's all the same. What does it matter you've been fighting for a millenia? What does it matter at all!? Oh, I know you don't care about the concepts of time, you old bastards." The man paused then squinted. "Though you really should, with all the rising and setting and rising and setting and rising and setting and rising and--"

"Setting, we get it," Dante finished for him. "I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm twenty-two years of age, and my companion over there is--" They glanced over their shoulder, squinting at Beckett before looking down at the man again. "Not ancient, unless he's got a killer moisturizing routine."

"Oh, I do," Beckett said. "I turned 103 last year." Dante blinked at him for a second longer than they should have, and Beckett laughed. "No, you dumbass, obviously I'm also twenty-two."

"'Obviously'," Dante muttered. "As if there's anything intuitive about this situation."

While the two talked, the old man tried to squirm his way out from beneath Dante's foot, but they turned around in time and pushed him down again. "This is outrageous!" The man fumed. "Just because I'm a minor diety does not mean I deserve this treatment!"

"You started it," Dante pointed out, "and it's kind of your fault for being so easy to tackle."

"Well, I will not release you! And with your mortal bodies, you will surely wither away in-- what, only a few hundred years?" The man sniffed. "I can easily wait that time."

"Or," Dante suggested, "I free you, you untangle me, we maybe answer a couple questions for each other, and then we go on our merry way?"

The man let out a huff and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose--or tried to, anyway, though he was already laying flat against the ground and they were as far up as they could go. "I don't see the need to answer any of your questions. You've already caused me quite enough damage as is. I might as well cause you some inconvenience in return and make you do another cycle of incarnation."

Dante's resigned expression indicated he would play along with the ramblings. "Only to have us in your hair again in a couple centuries? So that's, what, no time to you at all? If you don't let us go, you'll never be rid of us. That sounds illogical."

"Oh, but I'll get a few moments of peace." The man sighed blissfully. "Plus, if you're gone, all the creatures chasing you will leave my woods alone!"

"Uh," Dante said. "The what now?"

"The buffoons, the creatures! Oh, don't act all coy now, you sent out an annoyingly blinding beacon of where you were only a few days ago. Of course they're all after you now!"

"Gods above." Dante sighed. "Okay. If you're going to be obtuse and unhelpful on purpose, do I have your permission to knock you out and leave?"

"Absolutely not!" the man cried. "Unbelievable! As if you could get through my branches. They move only when I say!"

"Wow, really? Thanks! So glad you agreed." Before the man could say anything more, Dante raised the foot that was on his chest, kicked him squarely in the jaw, and staggered back. The branches that wrapped around him and connected the trees shrunk back, as if wincing along with the man. Dante looked over to Beckett and shouted, "Run! Just run!"

"From a god?" Beckett said incredulously.

"If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it!" Dante didn't wait any longer, bolting through an opening the branches left behind as the man groaned, rolled over, and flopped on his belly. Beckett groaned in annoyance, but didn't waste any time questioning it further, just ran after Dante. They ran for a long while, before they both finally doubled over, gasping for air.

"What the hell was that?" Beckett asked. Dante didn't get a chance to answer though, because a mouse skittered over Beckett's foot and began climbing up his pants leg. Beckett yelled, shaking his leg. When he turned around, the branches of the nearest tree had bent to form a face.

"You think you can escape me that easily?" The bottom branches moved like lips. "You really have no respect for my power at all! You know, light isn't the only important thing out there, and darkness isn't either! Green is the symbol of life, and you have been destroying my forest!"

A single leaf fell from one of the branches bent like eyes and drifted slowly to the ground. Oh my gods. Was the tree crying? Now Beckett had seen it all.

"We don't know what you mean," Dante insisted. "Look, I'm sorry someone has been hurting your forest, but we aren't who you think we are. Can we just agree on that?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The branches trembled, before he wailed, "Oh, my poor babies. You have killed all my poor babies!"

"We ate maybe six plants," Dante muttered.

"MY POOR BITTERROOTS!" He howled. "Oh, I have failed you, my sweet, little babies!"

"Sweet isn't the word I'd use to describe them. I mean, bitter is kind of in their name," Beckett supplied, and the tree howled louder. All around them, the trees shook, and small woodland creatures began scurrying all around them in a panic, foxes and rabbits and mice and squirrels.

"Okay! We get it," Dante exclaimed, shooing away a frightened robin that was trying to find shelter on him. "Can we-- if we can't talk this over, can we make it up to you somehow? Maybe there's a favor you need? Something only a human could do?"

"What?" Beckett exclaimed. "We don't have anything to make up for! We couldn't just let ourselves starve, it's not our fault there's no freshmade bread and jam to eat sitting in the middle of the woods!"

"I realize this, and so would anyone else reasonably-minded," Dante said, "but I'd like to get out of this mess somehow."

By Dante's foot, a cluster of mushrooms shifted and bubbled like they were liquid, amalgamating into one thick, sturdy mushroom. Slowly, it began to inflate and grow until it was the size of the mushroom hat the man had been wearing. Then, the man popped up from beneath the hat. His face was streaked with dirt and tears behind his big spectacles, and he shook his cape of grass angrily as he stomped towards them. "Not responsible! Of course you could have let yourselves starve! That was a perfectly reasonable option!"

"Well, because we chose not to..." Dante pursed his lips. "We'd like to say... we're sorry...?"

Beckett narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "You can say sorry all you want. I'm not sorry at all." Dante shot him an incredulous look, but Beckett kept going. "You come here unannounced, don't even tell us your name, insult us, and then expect an apology from us? If you really want us to not eat your babies, you should give us other food to eat! Otherwise, we'll do what we have to."

Dante tilted his head skyward, closed his eyes, and muttered something that was either a curse or a prayer.

The God blanched. "Oh, I see what this is!" He put his hands on his hips, and the trees all around them trembled. "You have a lot of nerve!"

"So I've been told."

"You disgusting, vile little thing," the man spit. "You skipped ahead of the reservation line!"

"I--" Beckett paused. "What?"

"You're a little liar, aren't you!" The man said, and squinted behind his glasses suspiciously. "You're--" Beckett waited for the worst insults imaginable to leave the man's mouth, but instead, it spread into a huge smile, revealing his weirdly green, fuzzy teeth. "--A superfan!" He finished. He clucked his tongue like he was scolding a child. "I cannot believe you would try to get around the ordering like this! Well, I'm sure you can't help it, I really am just magnifying like that, I've always drawn everybody towards me like that. Always the most popular kid in class, you know--"

Somehow, Beckett didn't believe that, but he was perfectly happy to let the man keep talking nonsensically anyway. "You just couldn't stay away from me, could you? Oh, you poor thing, it's like a fever. A fever where the only cure is Falziban!" The man exclaimed cheerfully, then wagged his finger. "Oh, you two really had me going there for a minute. I mean, I know who you are of course, and that display back in that town was so incredibly stupid. And you did eat my babies..." The man murmured suspiciously.

Before he could continue down that train of thought, Beckett jumped in. "To get your attention! We are definitely your superfans."

"Yes," Dante said, nodding quickly after a moment. "Sorry. We were too shy to admit it."

"Oh, of course you are," The man scolded. "You really ought to be ashamed! There are people who have been on the waiting list for months to recieve one of my prized picnic baskets! Mm-mm-mm." He shook his head disapprovingly. The branches around them shook too, and somehow, Beckett felt like they were also disappointed in them, like one of his older siblings finding out Beckett had gotten caught when stealing ingredients from shops. To his dismay, he felt a small wave of shame wash over him.

To his credit, Dante ducked his head as if he felt guilty, though Beckett knew he certainly did not. "We knew we shouldn't have, but we were such great fans that we couldn't help it."

"Oh, you certainly could not. Why, you were moved to murder! Just to see me!" For a gruesome concept, the man seemed extremely touched--especially when the murder in question was of his supposed babies. With his grass cape, he gently wiped away a tear from his eye, which Beckett wasn't sure was doing much of anything except move the water around.

"Right. I don't mean to be too forward, but is there a prized picnic basket in store for superfans who go to great lengths to meet you?" Dante asked. "I mean, I don't know who's ahead of us in line, but it sounds like they aren't that determined to see you. They sound like fakers to me. That's not very nice of them."

"Fakers?" His mouth dropped open. "Oh, no, they couldn't be. Nobody fakes wanting to get their hands on an infamous Falziban picnic basket!"

Beckett started to chuckle, but it turned into a muttered, "Ow!" when Dante sharply elbowed him in the side.

"I'm sure they want the basket," Dante assured him. "I mean, who wouldn't? But what if they're just trying to use you to get the basket? Come to think of it, have any of your fans shown any interest in you once they have it? Have they spent any quality time with you? Entertained you with back-and-forth conversation? Gushed over your prowess with forest magic?"

Falziban's bottom lip trembled. For a moment, Beckett felt a little sorry for him. He was clearly alone all the time, and just seemed to want people to talk to. Still, he'd tried to kill them, and he'd also talked very fondly of letting their bodies decay, presumably to feed his other plant children, so he didn't feel too bad for him. "Well..." Falziban began. "It has been quite a long time since I've fulfilled an order, you see," he admitted.

"Do you even know if the people on your order list are still alive? What if they're dead?" Beckett asked.

It was clear that thought had never occured to Falziban. "Hm. Well, many were placed by immortal creatures like the ones chasing you, so--"

"So they could wait a few hundred years extra for their picnic baskets?" Beckett suggested.

"If they're intent on eating us, I think they'll have their meals planned out for a while," Dante added.

"Plus," Beckett said, "if we eat the picnic basket and then they eat us, they've basically already gotten their picnic basket. So it's kind of like a two-for-one type of deal on your end, so that's pretty nice."

"Less work fulfilling orders, and you retain customer exclusivity, which is a badge of prestige," Dante said. "I think it's a win-win for you."

"Hmm..." He narrowed his eyes at them. "Oh, but you are leading them all straight through my forest," he said unhappily. "I'll tell you what. You leave my forest and make sure those monsters don't tromp all over my babies, and I won't kill you!"

"Tempting offer," Beckett said. "But we really would love that picnic basket."

"Fine!" Falziban threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "But you cannot tell another soul about this! I'm not even supposed to be talking to my fans without my bodyguards around. It encourages parasocial relationships."

"We won't tell a soul," Dante promised. "We'll be too busy stuffing our faces."

"On the picnic," Beckett clarified. "Not your babies."

Falziban shook his head mournfully. "Not my babies."

"If it makes you feel better, they didn't taste good at all, so even if we hadn't ran into you, we weren't really looking to try more of them," Beckett said helpfully. Dante nodded in confirmation.

Falziban's eyes filled with tears. "You didn't even like them?"

Dante quickly tried to backtrack. "We loved how they looked! We were devastated that we had to eat them to catch your eye. You clearly care for them."

"Hmm... Fine," he said. "You will leave in exchange for me not killing you, and a Falziban picnic basket."

"Definitely," Beckett said.

He sniffled. "Well... only because you're superfans." His mushroom hat tilted to one side, and seeing as it was as big as him, Falziban's entire torso also toppled. When he hit the ground, he exploded into nothing but a pile of drifting leaves with a picnic basket sitting in the middle.

Beckett looked over at Dante and blinked, before both of them moved to the picnic basket.

"Oh," the tree spoke from beside them in Falziban's voice, nearly startling Beckett out of his skin, "and you two really should be going! The moon and the sun are at their weakest when blocked by my beautiful, beautiful trees. Those buffoons will tear right through you in no time!"

With that, the branches all snapped sharply back into their natural places, and suddenly, it was like the two of them were standing in a normal forest again.

Dante blinked, rubbing at his face and looking between the picnic basket and Beckett.

"What the..." he muttered, finally breaking the silence. "What was that?"

Beckett blinked a few times, then grinned. "Entertaining, for one."

The picnic basket contents were, Dante had to admit, pretty good. Maybe not worth sitting on a centuries-long waitlist for, but good nonetheless. The bread was somehow warm and freshly baked, and the jam tasted like the berries had been plucked moments ago. True to their word, he and Beckett had hurried to the edge of the woods and stopped to eat on the other side of a river that acted as the border between the forest and an expanse of rolling hills. Dante worried about the lack of cover this new terrain offered them, but at the same time, Falziban's last warning was... alarming. He just wished he knew what it meant.

The two of them were silent until the last of the bread was reduced to crumbs, and the two of them were staring into the depths of an empty basket. Dante wished there were more, but at least he wasn't starving any more. He just wanted more than one meal out of this and fewer meals out of whatever random forage they found.

"Well," Dante said, flipping the lid of the basket closed. "For my first and only interaction with a god, I'd rate that a five and a half out of ten."

"Do you think if we crossed back over, we could force him to give us another basket?" Beckett mused.

"Please, no," Dante groaned. "I don't want to become Bitterroot fertilizer."

Beckett shot Dante a grin. "Did that little thing scare you? Gods, I can't even imagine how you acted when the guards showed up to arrest you."

Dante rolled his eyes. "I'm the one who wasn't too chicken to attack him. You just stood there like a potted plant."

"You were getting nowhere. I'm the one who got us food and a way out of there."

"After pissing him off and nearly dooming us several times," Dante remarked.

"You're the one who kept pissing him off," Beckett said. "Remember his whole speech about the sun while he wiggled furiously under you?"

"I remember next to nothing about it," Dante said. "It was nonsense, after all."

Beckett frowned at that, but didn't respond, his eyes trained on some indistinct point on the horizon. It was clear he was thinking.

"What is it?" Dante asked, after a short pause.

Beckett shrugged. "Dunno. It just didn't make sense." He pushed against the ground to rise to a standing position. "If there is something chasing us though, we shouldn't waste any time."

"Not sure whether he meant city guards, or some kind of animal," Dante said, hauling himself up as well, "but I'm not keen on finding out."

"Well, he did use the word creature," Beckett said, "so I'm leaning towards the latter." This time, he looked back at Dante before beginning to walk. "You ready?"

Even though it was small, it felt like it resembled something larger-- that the two of them were now definitively in this together, whether they liked it or not, and that Beckett was no longer going to hurry away and try to abandon Dante in his dust. Dante hadn't thought they'd care about that, but despite hardly being sentimental, it was... touching.

"Ready," he confirmed, falling in step beside him.

A beat passed as they considered whether to show the concern they felt nagging at them. Might as well. It felt like a decent thing to say in response.

"You took a pretty good hit back there," Dante said. "Are you alright?"

Beckett shot Dante a confused but amused look. "Aww. You're concerned about me?"

"I--" Dante sighed. He should've seen this coming. "Let's just say I don't trust you to bring it up if you got an injury you thought you could hide."

"Do I seem like I'm trying to hide something?" Beckett said cheerfully.

"You've shown me nothing," Dante said, not unkindly.

Beckett chuckled. "Shown you nothing? What are you wanting me to show you?"

"Specifically? I don't know," Dante said. "That's up to you. But if it helps to have a starting point, occasionally answering questions pertaining to you would be fabulous-- starting with the one I just asked about your wellbeing. Don't think I didn't notice you dodging that."

"Dodging? Me?" Beckett said mockingly, then rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. I got thrown through the air by a tree branch and I'm still alive and walking, I'd call that a win."

"I can see you are," Dante said. "But not whether you're in pain or not."

Beckett let out an irritated sigh. "Why does it matter? It's not like we can do anything about it, even if I was in pain."

Dante furrowed his brow. They weren't liking how this conversation that should've been perfectly straightforward was going. They had to resist the urge to say, Because if you were, I'd want to know so I could make this trip easier on you.

"Beckett," they said. "I feel like it's basic human decency to have another person's pain matter to me. No need to overthink it."

Beckett sent Dante a weird look. "I think you're the one overthinking it. I'm up and walking, nothing broken. I'm fine."

Dante really felt like they were thinking about it just enough, actually, but they couldn't argue that without accidentally proving Beckett's point. They sighed, looking aside to the hill at their right.

"Alright," they said. "I'm going to believe you. But the minute something hurts, I expect you to say something."

Beckett laughed outloud. "What are you, my parent?"

Gods, why did they bother. "Again, just someone exercising basic empathy. Not that hard to wrap your head around, I hope."

Beckett rolled his eyes again, but didn't stop his pace. "Sure."

As if it'd be anything else, Dante thought tiredly.

They walked on, and the sky was turning from red to dusk-gray as they reached the top of a hill. Over the course of their journey, the vegetation around them had turned from short blades of grass to leafy bushes that reached waist-height, and Dante was glad for it. It was far from being tree cover, but they were slightly less exposed, especially if they sat down.

Dante scanned the horizon ahead. There was another hill ahead, but it would probably take another hour to reach the top, and it would be too dark by then. They didn't want to stop in the valley between them, either, as watch duty would be made harder by not having a view.

"I think this is our best option for resting somewhere," he said.

"Getting tired already?" Beckett asked, but Dante could tell even from his voice that he was also exhausted. He'd refused to admit he was hurting, but the past several hours had passed with more silence than the previous ones, so Dante wouldn't be surprised if he was in pain and just being a jackass about it.

"Just for that, I'll take the first watch." Dante sat down somewhere he'd have a clear view of what was ahead, but also had a bush to his back. "You're welcome."

Beckett didn't even argue, just shrugged his shoulders and muttered, "Your loss," before he practically collapsed to the ground, falling asleep almost immediately.

Dante rolled his eyes, but it was more out of tame amusement than frustration.

It was breezy up on the hilltop, and he wished it was safe to start a fire without announcing their presence to the entire world. He could've used a little warmth-- he hadn't exactly brought layers to his hanging. In hindsight, it was such poor planning to dress light the day he'd gotten arrested. He should be ashamed for not being prepared at all times to get caught, survive his own execution, and be hauled around as a reluctant companion to a headache of a human.

Dante glanced away from the valley to watch Beckett for a moment. He seemed deep asleep by now.

The more they thought about it, the more they were convinced that they'd seen silver in his eyes when he'd woken up-- the same silver his eyes had been at the gallows. It couldn't be a trick of the light, because Beckett's eyes were too dark for them to suddenly appear clear in any circumstance. They couldn't have deluded themselves that badly. Maybe this wouldn't bother Dante that much, if Beckett wasn't so keen on denying it, or the fact that he had magic.

But then Dante probably seemed just as suspicious to Beckett, didn't they?

Allowing himself a quiet sigh, Dante looked away and turned his gaze back to where he was supposed to be watching. It was late, and he'd been woken up in the middle of the night for the last watch. He needed to save the thoughts for a time when his brain wasn't slowly shutting down.

The sky continued to darken until the stars were shining through the thin cloud cover of the night, and Dante slowly counted the hours going by as the constellations moved on their circular paths. The valley was still and silent. And for a long, long time, absolutely nothing happened, to the point Dante was sure he could close his eyes and not miss anything.

That was, until he caught sight of what appeared to be a cloud swooping through the air.

Dante frowned, sitting up and squinting at where he'd glimpsed it. That couldn't actually be a cloud. It had moved too fast, and it had gone in the opposite direction of the mind. He was just about to decide he'd imagined it when he saw it again-- a shadow, circling overhead against a clear patch of night sky.

It could have been a bird. But there was a bad feeling in Dante's gut, and it only grew when he noticed two things: one, it was larger than any bird should've been, and two, it was starting a dive towards them.

"Beckett," Dante murmured, getting to his feet. He didn't want to make too much noise, but perhaps he'd said it a bit too quietly, because Beckett didn't rouse.

The shape kept nearing them, and when Dante saw its silhouette had four legs, his blood froze.

It was almost upon them. And whatever it was, it was headed right towards Beckett's sleeping form.

"Beckett!" Dante shouted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and dragging him to the side. "Up!"

He pulled Beckett away just in time. A second later, the beast crashed into the spot Beckett had been lying, and Dante saw four mighty, clawed paws sink deep into the earth. The creature shrieked-- a deafening, bird-like cry, even though this was no bird-- and took off with a thunderous flap of wings to soar back to its circling position.

"What the hell is that?!" Beckett exclaimed, stumbling backwards and nearly falling over in the process.

"I think it's a griffin!" Dante shouted back, letting go of him when he thought Beckett could stand on his own. "It looks and sounds like one!"

The griffin caught a gust of air, wheeling around for another high loop. He knew they couldn't have much longer until it dived again-- and then what?

Beckett sent Dante an irritated look, but appeared too preoccupied with trying to stay alive to have a snarky comeback. "Okay, well how do you fight off a griffin?"

"I don't fucking know!" Dante hissed through his teeth. "As far as I'm aware, you don't!"

"Okay, well since we're trying to stay alive, that seems like a bad strategy," Beckett whispered in a snappy tone.

"For the love of the--" Dante whirled around, looking for anything that could be of help, because apparently Beckett sure wouldn't be.

Not finding anything better, he snapped a branch off one of the bushes nearby, sending a shower of leaves to the ground. He held up the pointy end.

"We can get its eyes, maybe," he said tersely. "And then we have a shot at escaping."

Beckett laughed straight in their face. Dante knew it was a stupid plan-- but it was the best option they had, considering they had no supplies and no weapons. Beckett snapped another branch off. "If I die because of this and not being hung, I'm gonna have some issues to take with whoever runs this shit."

"You and me both."

The griffin screeched again before it swooped, claws extended. Dante caught the moonlight reflecting off its open beak.

They took a step back, moving out of the way from its landing, but they almost lost their footing with the way the ground rattled with the impact force. Dante dashed to its side, knowing it would have trouble attacking something that wasn't in front of it. In a decision that they were sure they'd regret, they pounced on its back, sprawling between its eagle wings.

The griffin let out another deafening call, spinning in a fast circle in an attempt to shake him off. Dante gritted his teeth, holding on to the-- mane? Plumage? He wasn't sure-- as tight as he could to avoid falling off. He was already dizzy, but he was still there and it couldn't get him.

"Beckett, it's distracted!" he shouted.

"What do you expect me to do about that?" Beckett yelled back. "It's fucking spinning, Dante!"

"I have to do everything by myself around here," Dante muttered, before pulling himself forward, extending his arm, and blindly stabbing at the griffin's face.

He couldn't tell if he'd actually struck the eye or not, but he must've caused some damage, because the griffin suddenly reared up with a shriek. Dante managed to cling on. But before he could try again or even take in the small victory, the griffin suddenly unfurled its wings and took to the skies again.

With Dante still on its back.

Dante didn't fully realize it was happening until he felt the rush of air on his skin. Stunned, he looked down-- and his stomach immediately dropped. Beckett and the hill were getting smaller and smaller in his vision, and he was still climbing. There was no stopping it. He was high in the air and out of control.

To say his heart stopped was an understatement.

A sound like a dozen guns going off at once split Dante's skull, and the griffin suddenly jerked, as if hit by some unseen force. And then, to Dante's horror, the beast started plummeting.

He barely had the time to shout before the ground rushed up to meet them. The griffin crashed first, and Dante felt the shock of that impact first before he was thrown off its back, crashlanding to the ground and rolling several times before coming to a stop.

Winded, very bruised, and sick to his stomach, Dante closed his eyes with a faint groan. "Dante?" Beckett called out, running over and kneeling next to him. Dante could feel Beckett lifting his arms, checking his body for injuries. "Anything feel broken?"

Dante didn't think so, but it still took him several seconds to find the air to wheeze out, "Oh my fucking gods."

When Beckett had confirmed that Dante wasn't hurt, he grabbed them by the shirt and pulled them up. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"What?" Dante blinked their eyes open to find that they were staring into Beckett's incredulous face.

"You have magic, you fucking dumbass!" Beckett said. "Oh my gods, and I bet you're being serious when you say you don't, which means you don't know, which makes you even more stupid!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Dante exclaimed. "Give it up!"

Beckett laughed incredulously, and he didn't stop for several seconds as he stood up and walked away, bent down to pick something up, then walked back and held it out. "This," he said, jabbing it in Dante's face, "is a golden piece of a bush that EXPLODED when you went into the air."

Dante stared at it. For a moment, he thought he was staring at a bullet, but its shape was too irregular for that. It looked more like a spindly, uneven needle with a bend in the middle. Not only that, but it had an unmistakable gold gleam to it in the moonlight.

He looked up to Beckett. Down to the metal shard. Back to Beckett.

"I..." they started, but they found that they really, truly, had nothing to say in response. All their thoughts had gone spinning off into turmoil.

"Are you gonna look straight at this little, gold piece of a BUSH," Beckett said, "and tell me you don't have magic?"

Dante narrowed their eyes. "I didn't do anything! You could've easily done it from the ground!"

"It's your eyes that were gold at the execution!" Beckett accused.

"Yours were silver then!" Dante shot back. "If this means something, that has to mean something too!"

"My eyes were not silver!" Beckett says, throwing his hands in the air. "My eyes are brown. Yours were glowing."

Dante let out a laugh, feeling like he was going crazy. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but you couldn't see your eyes then, and I could. You wouldn't know anything."

"I could say the same thing to you," Beckett said, "but I'm not the one who just made a bush into gold and sent it shooting at something in the sky. Why would I have been hiding having magic if I was just gonna do that anyway?"

"Because--" The headache quietly brewing in the background had just settled in with full force, and Dante closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If I was hiding magic, why would I suggest a stick first?"

"Because," Beckett said, "unfortunately, you weren't hiding magic. You were doing the even more stupid option, which was not knowing you had it even when I told you to your face."

Dante shook his head. "That's impossible. I couldn't go this long without myself or someone else finding out. If I had magic, I'd be dead by now."

"Well, I grew up in a family of magic users. There's no way I would've made it this long without someone noticing something. You're probably just a late bloomer." Beckett looked at Dante, then narrowed his eyes. "You look like you'd be a late bloomer."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dante snapped.

"It means you have magic and you are refusing to even consider it as a possibility because of some weird-ass internal belief you have about magic because you've never been around anyone who's had it, and even though I know way more about it than you, you refuse to admit that you could possibly actually be wrong about it."

"That's not true. I knew someone--"

Dante suddenly clamped his mouth shut, silently seething. No, he wasn't going to go there. Not with this guy. It would all fall on deaf ears anyway, because Beckett had so clearly made up his mind. He settled for giving him his best silent, annoyed look.

Beckett rolled his eyes, clearly also annoyed. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I know what I saw, and I know me, and I know you have magic. But if you don't believe me, that doesn't matter." He crossed his arms, looking into the distance with a stern frustration. "Go to bed. It's my turn to keep watch."

Dante pressed his lips together, dissatisfied. There was too much happening to just... call it quits. His ribs still ached from the fall. He was reeling from adrenaline and vertigo. And most of all, his mind was buzzing too loudly with all the implications and realizations of... whatever this meant.

His gaze flicked behind Beckett, landing on the very-still, very-dead griffin's body. Dozens of sharp golden shards had pierced through every square inch he could see.

This couldn't be real. This really, really couldn't be.

"Why bother watching?" he muttered. "Not like I'm going to be able to sleep after this."

Beckett snapped, "Just go to sleep. That much magic, I'm surprised you haven't passed out already."

Dante smiled without joy or humor, sitting down slowly. "Careful. Don't be too impressed."

"Oh, don't worry," Beckett said flatly, "I'm not."

Well, that was fine. Dante didn't care. It wasn't like he needed Beckett's approval or something. He'd go on being just fine without it.

Turning away from Beckett, they laid down on their side, hiding a wince from the pain of the movement. The bruising he no doubt had was his only proof that any of this fever dream had actually happened and wasn't some elaborate hallucination.

He was scared of waking up and having to come to terms with it all being true.

Turns out he'd lied to Beckett. The minute their head found the earth, their eyelids were pulled down with a force stronger than they could resist, and Dante tumbled into a turbulent sleep.



The fire burned on. It always burned. But where the flames had once sparked with belligerent wrath, there was a subdued disappointment to their dim light, as if they regretted their own destruction.

He'd relearned the language of warmth for him. What scorched could also comfort; what destroyed a life could make a home out of a hearth. He'd changed his ways. He'd kept the world in balance and surrendered what could have been his in the name of peace. He'd turned sunlight into a synonym for healing, for joy, for life.

All this, and for what? Just to have the world burn and smolder under a fire not even he could control?

He felt what those small, once-helpless humans called an ache. An ache for change. For restoration. For the chance to breathe air that wasn't heavy with its own war-torn ash. But most of all, he felt the crushing, looming guilt of knowing that nothing had been enough, weighing down on him. He had not been enough. Now both of them were paying the price, locked out of their own creation.

Somewhere, it was sunrise. It was always sunrise somewhere. He imagined how it would feel to stand in the light of his own sun and be made whole again. Somewhere, someone had to be drinking in the daylight and giving thanks for its return. Someone had to be feeling hope at the sight of it.

He dared to hope, too, even after all this time. Someday, the sun would shine on the both of them again.

Despite their protests, Dante had passed out the moment their head touched the ground, and Beckett spent the night looking at the moon--among other things. The clouds sometimes swirled in front of it, cover the surface and make the world just a little more dark, and each time it happened, Beckett felt a little more tired, sitting in the darkness, waiting for the sun to come back. He'd always been a person who stayed up late into the night and slept late into the day, so now having the second night shift, knowing that as soon as he woke Dante, they'd have to be on the move again, was disorienting for his internal clock to say the least.

Beckett stared at the sky so long that he started thinking on his family. In particular, he started thinking of his two eldest siblings who lived in Celoia--Hudson and Violet. They'd been a part of the stealing once. They'd enjoyed the mischief and thrill of it all. Now though, they'd grown up, and had both developed disgustingly high moral standards on how one should illegally use magic, as well as laughable levels of maturity that really just made it feel like they were constantly disappointed on everything Beckett did. Good thing their only contact was a rare visit on the holidays, or letters. Until now, a voice in Beckett's head grumbled. You're gonna be an idiot and bring witch-hunters to the doorsteps of two of the most proficient witches you know, and then you're gonna ask if you can borrow some clothes.

In Beckett's mind, actually asking to borrow the clothes was a sign of respect-- like, "Hey! You and I both know that I'm perfectly willing to steal this shit, so asking you actually is supposed to mean I really care about your opinion." He knew they wouldn't view it that way though. Violet would just... do that thing she did where she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed with her eyes closed, while Hudson's eyes would just slowly narrow in exasperation and frustration at every word Beckett said until he was also standing with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture practically every one of Beckett's siblings had picked up from their mother, though Beckett prayed to the gods that he never picked it up himself.

Beckett pushed his hair over his shoulders, then rolled his left one with a wince. He tried pressing into the skin around his shoulder, but all that did was make the ache flair a little. Certainly not a noteworthy injury by any means, but annoying all the same.

Finally though, even though it felt like it never would, the sun did rise, and the moon did fall. Light overtook the sky, and still, Dante didn't stir. Beckett let the sun rise far into the sky before he finally sighed and shook Dante awake. Frankly, he was tired and cranky and more than a little annoyed that Dante had gotten several hours more worth of sleep than him, but it wasn't like he could blame him, since it had been Beckett's decision in the end. It was no use, both of them being exhausted. Beckett also knew from his siblings that powerful uses of magic--especially when someone hadn't trained or built up their threshold--could be extremely draining.

"Hey," Beckett said, shaking Dante by the shoulders. Dante jolted awake, groaning a little and covering their eyes from the sun reflexively. "Time to go." Beckett stood up and watched Dante as he combed the hair away from his eyes with his fingers, got to his feet, and brushed himself off. He seemed surprised that he'd gotten sleep, from the way he blinked at the sun in the sky, before he sighed and shook his head as if to clear it.

"No visit from another monstrous hybrid, I take it?" Dante asked.

"Nope," Beckett said. "If there had been, I would've woken you up so your magic could take care of it." He tried his best to tamp down the sharp sarcasm. He knew, however annoying it was, that it was understandable that Dante didn't accept having magic. Still, in his mind, it felt like a slight against him, like Dante somehow knew more about magic than Beckett did-- a belittling theme that liked to frequently reoccur in Beckett's life.

Strangely, Dante didn't respond to the bait. It was hard to tell if it was out of him being weary or still in shock, what with his expression being unreadable, as he hummed in response. "There's some good news."

"If you want some actually good news," Beckett said, "we should only be a few hours away from Illador now. Ideally, we'll get there just in time for lunch."

That got a reaction out of Dante. They raised their head, the look in their eyes a little more alert now. "That is good."

Something about the sudden eye contact made Beckett blink a few times, like the look had suddenly made Beckett completely aware of his--nope, her body. Most definitely her, though it didn't feel like hers. She felt a bit like she was the one who had just crashed down to the ground on a griffin, not him. She straightened her shoulders and rolled her neck, trying to counteract all the weird gender feelings with more connection to her body.

When she stopped moving and realized Dante was still staring, she smirked. "Come on!" she said, beginning to walk. "We haven't got all day."

She could tell they were a little confused by the enthusiasm, but they only hesitated for a moment before falling in step beside her.

"You walk so slow," Beckett noted. "I feel like I'm always trying to walk slower so I don't leave you in the dust." It wasn't even meant to be an insult--just a thought that popped into her head--and it wasn't until after the words had left her mouth that she realized he'd probably perceive it as one.

Dante let out a faint huff-- which, she was starting to put together, was his version of a laugh. "Uh, no. You walk so fast."

Beckett laughed. "Girl, if this is your definition of fast, remind me to never let you bet on the horses."

Dante slow-blinked in confusion. "No, I'm serious. If we weren't quite literally on the run, I'd think you were constantly trying to outrace something."

Beckett glanced at them with a sly grin, and picked up the pace a little--not much, but just enough to watch them register it. "Maybe I am."

"Wow," Dante deadpanned, catching up to her speed again. "I was going to suggest we steal some horses in town, but if you keep this up, we'd be faster without them."

Beckett rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. She wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep, but for the first time in a few days, she was feeling a little more care-free. It likely also had to do with feeling a little more used to being around Dante, and a little more certain that they weren't going to try to kill her the moment she turned her back. Plus, it didn't help that when she was feeling more woman-like, she also tended to, purely by coincidence, generally feel less worried about what her family thought of her. It was like a mask, in a way. Deep down, she still felt worried about it, but when she felt this way, she had so many other things to think about that she had gotten good at pushing those thoughts away for when she was feeling more man-like (Sorry, future Beckett).

"You're a funny guy," she said. Her words didn't hold the same sharpness of underlying tension that she'd had for the past several days though; sure, it was extremely clear she wasn't being genuine, and she was most certainly making fun of him, but it felt more lighthearted because she felt more lighthearted. It felt a bit like internal backlash, but she tried not to linger on it too much.

"Well, you're..." Dante paused, brow furrowing in thought. "Surprisingly chipper at the moment, actually."

"Oh, don't feel like you have to stop there," Beckett said. "Feel free to continue praising my amazing qualities."

"No, that was it," Dante said. "I've said my part."

"Why don't you stab me? It might hurt less," Beckett said sarcastically, but it didn't break the pep in her step.

"I think you'll survive." It was barely there-- there and gone quick enough that she could've imagined it-- but for a moment, the corner of his lip had quirked up in a smirk.

Beckett bit her bottom lip to hold back another grin. Maybe not such a boring traveling companion after all... and certainly not ugly. Gods, she was so grateful she wasn't stuck traveling with someone ugly. That sounded so conceited, now that she thought on it, and probably wasn't the best reflection of her moral character. Initially, observing the... quality of Dante's looks had purely been a way to comfort herself about how boring he was. But now, it was feeling more and more like he wasn't as boring as she'd initially judged, and she was stuck with a threat on her hands--not to her safety, obviously. Dante didn't seem capable of being a threat to her safety. To her temptations, though? She had literally been arrested because she couldn't stop herself from flirting with a married woman, so already, they weren't off to a great start.

She imagined the look on Violet's face, if Beckett told her all this. She imagined the lecture she'd get from her about how irresponsible it was to get feelings tangled up in what was already a huge, big mess, a mess Beckett was part of creating, and that now she was dragging Violet and Hudson into helping to clean. But then, she imagined Violet's face when Dante walked through the door, and the quiet sigh of defeat she'd give because yes, Violet would also have to admit that Dante was attractive, undermining the entire point of her lecture up until that moment.

Even though it was an imaginary scenario, the look on Violet's face sent a wave of satisfaction through Beckett as she eyed her travel companion more openly, only looking away when he glanced back at her.

"Really, though," Dante said, tone curious. "You seem in a better mood. Did I miss something?"

Oh, not at all, Beckett thought. Just me thinking about how attractive you are, and the rational part of my brain conjuring images of my siblings being disappointed in me so the immediate guilt and shame can try to dampen those thoughts out.

Instead, she just went with, "Eh, nothing much. Just sat doing nothing for hours then watched the sun rise." Several of her braids fell in front of her shoulders as she ducked out of the way of a particularly lengthy tree branch, and she flicked them back over her shoulders. She thought Dante might've watched the movement.

"Fair enough," Dante said with a shrug. "Glad to see it." It sounded actually genuine.

Beckett laughed a little, despite her best attempts not to. She really wasn't trying to be mean. It had actually sounded completely genuine-- still, the idea of someone telling her that they were glad she seemed to be in a better mood when she was sleep-deprived and running for her life was a little too much for her fried brain to handle. "Glad we sorted that out."

A few steps passed in silence before Dante suddenly said, out of nowhere, "I'm sorry for being an ass last night."

Beckett glanced at him, eyebrows raising in surprise. "It's fine. You also killed the griffin trying to eat me, so I think we can call it even."

"Maybe, but..." There was a tense frown on Dante's face, one that signaled he was weighing his words carefully. They finally sighed, as their foot kicked out at a pebble that was in their path, sending it skittering. "You were right. I don't know much about magic."

Beckett tried to suppress a smile. It was clear Dante was doing something he wasn't comfortable with, so it wasn't like she wanted to make that harder for him-- still, she smiled a little before she turned her face away and bit her lip. "That's true."

"I didn't mean to offend you," Dante said, a little quieter. "I apologize if I did. It's not that I think you don't know what you're talking about-- rather, I just didn't like what you were saying, and that it was probably true."

Beckett turned to watch him, feeling a little more serious than she normally did. "For what it's worth," she began, kicking a pebble down the nonexistent path they were walking and fiddling with one of her ear piercings, "I can't imagine learning I had magic at twenty-two. Shit's hard enough at twenty-two."

Dante hummed in agreement. "Better now than at twenty-three, or else we'd probably both be dead."

Beckett laughed. "I'll take it as a compliment that while you were about to be hung, your subconscious just knew I was too hot to die, and you had to save me too."

"If that's what suits your narrative, then I won't say anything to disappoint you," Dante said off-handedly, but the way he rolled his eyes suggested he was amused.

They continued to make small-talk as they walked. Before Beckett had really registered the time passing, she stopped at the top of a hill and pointed-- there, in the distance, probably another hour's distance away, was their first destination. "Illador," she said.

Dante stopped beside her, squinting into the distance. "Looks like how I remember it," they said. "Hopefully the market's open today. There's a guy with a stall there who makes an incredible stew."

Beckett unconsciously made a face. "How do you steal stew? That seems like the one thing you can't steal."

"How dare you assume I'd stoop so low as to steal a bowl of stew," Dante said. "I'd never do that. You buy the soup honestly, through perfectly legitmate means, with real money-- real money you stole off someone five minutes prior."

"Oh, of course," Beckett said sarcastically. "Never rip off the stew man, those are the ones that come back to get you."

"If I rip him off, then I can never get stew again," Dante said. "And if that happened to me, I'd just turn myself in."

"Best to just be hanged if such a tragedy were ever to occur," Beckett agreed.

"I'm glad you get it," Dante said.

"So am I," Beckett said with an added flair of her eyes. It was a little mocking, but playful all the same. And actually, she did get it. She didn't want to sell from the poor man selling stew on the road to feed his family. She wanted to steal from the people who already had plenty to feed their families. She was moral that way.

"If we can stay long enough without getting caught, we should get other things besides food," Dante said. "Weapons, for one. And I wouldn't say no to a new jacket."

"What, and cover up the weapons you already have?" Beckett imitated flexing her arms with her best "I'm-a-big-strong-man" face she could muster, the type of face men liked to make when they were trying to look really mysterious and cool, but just ended up looking constipated.

The look she got back was not one of macho pride, but a "done-with-your-bullshit" expression. "It's called concealed carrying."

Beckett's initial reaction was to say, "Ooh, sexy," but she decided that was a bit too far for someone she was going to have to travel with for the unforeseeable future, so instead she landed on, "Mm." In hindsight, that was not at all a good enough response for what Dante had just said, but her mind hadn't been able to think of another clever response quick enough. She grimaced a little. Honestly, the 'mm' sounded worse in a way, and she turned her face away as she felt embarrassment heat her cheeks.

Just the sun... she thought. It's too hot out here.

"Let's hurry," she said decidedly. She didn't want to give him a chance to respond to the weird 'mm'. "I'm ready to get under some shade again."

"Say no more," Dante said, already on the move.

Beckett was glad that he ignored the awkwardness, and more glad to get moving again. She was ready to get an actual break with real food and a place to sit down that wasn't the dirt. That would be nice.

"What are you going to be looking for?" Dante asked after some time. "While we're in town?"

Beckett frowned, thoughtful. "Dunno." She shrugged. "I can't risk stealing clothes that look too... gender-y 'cause it'll panic me when I switch. I do need a change of clothes though. They had me in these for a solid week in jail." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"They're not really accomodating for fashion choices," Dante agreed. "Certainly not when your preferences change."

"Definitely not," Beckett said. "Just means I can't be stealing skirts or shit like that." She glanced at him. "Why do you ask though? Is there something else you're looking for?"

"Just making sure I grab a sufficiently large wallet for whatever we need," Dante said breezily.

Beckett laughed. "Sure. Well, we also need some sort of bags, and some food supplies that can last us until the next stop. A bar of soap wouldn't hurt either, if we ever run across a river with flowing water."

"Certainly," Dante said. "Because you still smell like the cells there."

Beckett shot him an incredulous look. "Excuse you, have you smelled yourself lately?" She clasped her hands behind her back like she was some sort of detective, or a doctor delivering bad news. "I was really just saying it was for both of us so it wouldn't hurt your feelings, but now I guess there's nothing holding me back."

"You've been holding back?" Dante said, visibly amused.

You have no idea, she thought, but instead of saying that, she just smirked. "Yep," she said, popping the 'p' sound as she did. "I actually hold back quite a lot. You should be grateful I'm trying to make sure I don't make you go crazy."

Dante huffed. "I can take it."

Beckett grinned and shook her head. "Oh no, I don't think so."

"I think your doubt is more hurtful than anything you could tell me, actually."

"Oh, Gods, I'm not worried about hurting you." Beckett chuckled. "In fact, I'm not worried at all."

"Then what?"

Beckett shook her head. She bit her lip, trying to stop her smile. "I really don't think it's a good idea. I'm trying not to scandalize the person I have to travel with for the next however long. I'm an insane bitch, okay? The stuff that comes out of my mouth is the most mellow shit I can muster."

"I don't think you're insane," Dante admitted, "but point taken."

"You don't think I'm insane because you don't know me," Beckett said breezily. For a second, saying it felt... wrong, somehow, like an immense sadness washing over her. She paused in her tracks for a moment, feeling like her breath had been taken away. Why was that upsetting? Was it upsetting to downplay her self-worth like that, by saying she was insane just by being herself, or was it upsetting that they didn't know her? Maybe it was upsetting that everyone else she'd ever been around believed her when she said that she was insane, and so now that Dante was pushing back, it showed that maybe she wasn't as crazy as everyone else had always acted like she was.

Or maybe you're thinking too much into it, she chided herself, beginning to walk again. Sane people don't generally stop to think about how they're insane.

Dante was silent for a couple moments, seemingly in thought. "Well," they said, "as you've said, we're traveling together for the foreseeable future, and we don't know each other yet. I guess we'll have to see if that changes."

"I'm sure it will," Beckett said. She fell silent after that. After another solid forty-five minutes of walking, they reached the outer edges of the town and pulled to a stop. They would need a plan instead of just waltzing in.

"What's our backstory?" Dante asked, evidently thinking the same.

"Siblings?" Beckett asked.

Dante shrugged. "There's worse lies out there."

"What brings us to town? We can't tell anyone where we're headed, but they're gonna ask."

"We headed in the opposite direction of the people they're looking for, from Guravem," Dante said, "and we're here because among other food errands, we're looking for a particular baker. The one back home gave us a dozen rolls instead of a baker's dozen, so obviously we must take our business elsewhere."

Beckett nodded. "Yeah, we travelled for over a day to get that extra one roll. We really needed that extra one roll."

Dante frowned. "It's the principle. We're not here for the roll, we're here to prove a point to that baker. The point is that he is a bastard. If he sees the lengths we're going to just to deal in honorable business, maybe he'll think twice about shorting us next time, won't he?"

"Sure, oh yeah. We're all about principle. That's our main thing. Actually, in Guravem, everyone knows us for our ridiculously high principles."

"They all shook their heads when we said we were going here for this," Dante said. "But deep down, they agree: they are tired of being cheated."

"We're not self-obsessed at all," Beckett added. "We're not even arrogant. In fact, we're being pretty humble, but deep down, we know that we are saving our town, and everyone there knows it too."

"If only they'd just admit it," Dante said with a solemn nod. "We're quite underappreciated."

Beckett narrowed her eyes with a small smile. "Uh-huh. And we're here with a large budget to sample the different bakers to see whose business we'll rely on. In fact, we decided since we were coming all this way, we'd get all our other shopping out of the way as well."

"Don't you know our parents own that vineyard, over by the windmill?" Dante asked. "Never mind which of a dozen local windmills. We've got money to drop."

"Really, everyone here should be falling over trying to win our business. We're not afraid to up and take it elsewhere, you know," Beckett said, before breaking down laughing. "Oh, I can tell I'm gonna hate us."

Dante's smirk was back, a little higher this time. "We're insufferable. I'd pick our pockets in a heartbeat."

"Any rational person will steer clear of us," Beckett said, her eyes flickering to Dante's face and expression before glancing away again. "Great," she said, clearing her throat. "Now that we've got all that figured out, where's our first stop?"

"We're going to have to loop around to the farther gate, to be true to our story," Dante said, "but if we feel like eating, I can lead us to the stew."

"Oh, I always feel like eating." She'd been hungry since at least the night before, but they'd both agreed that it was too dangerous to use plants, not knowing where Falziban's borders ended and someone else's began.

"Good," Dante said, sounding relieved. "I really hope he's still in town."

"Well, if not, I'm sure he can't be the only one who sells stew. Besides, it's all gonna pale in comparison to my brother's cooking."

If he doesn't slam the door in our faces, the voice in her head added. She knew it was irrational. Hudson may be more stern than some of her other siblings, but he was also the eldest, which meant he wasn't ever going to turn her away, no matter how much everything inside him was screaming to. For a moment, she felt a little bad about that-- it felt like she was taking advantage of his love, even when she was putting him in danger. She tried not to think about that though. They didn't have any other option. They could go to Violet first, but she would just march them over to Hudson's house for all of them to talk. No, better to go to him first and have him invite Violet over, since they'd all end up there anyway.

"I'm willing to test that theory," Dante said.



By the time they walked to the other entrance so their story lined up, Beckett was starving and ready to eat anything-- stew or not. Well, she'd already been hungry, of course, but the extra walk when she could finally smell the spices in the air was extra torturous. The new entrance lined them up perfectly with a row of venders, and led onto what seemed like the busiest road in town, from how many people were crowded onto it.

"Here goes nothing," Beckett said, walking past the gates and officially entering Illador.

Dante raised his head to scan the rooftops, following them with his gaze as they went.

"Not a lot that's changed in the last eleven years, at a glance," they noted.

Beckett shot him an amused look. "You remember eleven years ago?"

Dante frowned. "What, does it seem like I have dementia?"

"No, I just don't remember eleven years ago. Or I wouldn't remember a random town we stopped in." Beckett shrugged. "I dunno, my family just..." She realized what she was doing. She didn't like what she was doing. She was giving Dante information that he didn't need, and it was information that, if he had enough of it, could be used to find out more information--to find the rest of her family, or her history. So why was she saying it to them? But even as she knew it was a terrible idea, the words kept slipping from her mouth. "We moved around too much for me to remember one place specifically, is all," she finished.

Dante hummed, nodding as the two of them turned the corner and joined the light crowd of passing residents. "It sounded like Sorjeli didn't really feel like home to you," they said. "Or at least not particularly close to your heart."

Beckett glanced at him, narrowing her eyes for a moment before she looked forward again thoughtfully. "It wasn't. Nothing ever is, really. We're never in one place long enough for anything to get close."

"Why did you move so often?" Dante asked.

Beckett looked at them again warily. She wasn't playing with her safety now, she was playing with the safety of her entire family. She decided to keep it vague. "Nature of my family's profession, if you catch my drift. Can't make your brother's job any easier."

Fortunately, Dante seemed to understand, hesitating and then nodding quickly. "Best you don't." He was silent for a few seconds, then added, "I'm not from Sorjeli, either, but I only had to move once. That was enough of a reset on its own-- I can't imagine having to do it several times."

"You get used to it. I guess that's why you didn't want to leave though."

"I'm not sure if it's my home. I might have just been settling for good enough." Dante's brow furrowed, and for a moment, he seemed as if he was debating elaborating. But the next moment, he lifted something up, and suddenly there was a bag of coins sitting in Beckett's palm. "Lunch's on me."

Beckett knew, logically, that he had just stolen someone's money and that it wasn't anything more than the two of them not having eaten in nearly a day. Still though, she couldn't stop the grin as she closed her fingers around the bag. "How gentlemanly," she said mockingly.

"You're welcome." Dante huffed. "We can take our business anywhere in town, except the metal dealer in the south end. Which shouldn't be a problem."

"I'm assuming there's a thrilling story behind that."

"Oh, hardly. My father used to take me with him here when he'd buy supplies from that merchant. It's a low risk, since I've grown up, but she's potentially the one person who could recognize me here," Dante said. "See, not everything's about me being unscrupulous."

"I bet everything in your life could be traced back to you being unscrupulous," Beckett countered. She didn't mind it, though. In fact, she'd never really cared for the boring people. She found the rule-breaking ones much more... Her eyes drifted to Dante's face, then quickly away. Much more not boring.

"Come on, only eighty percent at the highest," Dante said, before pausing. "Eighty-five."

"Fine, we can call it even at ninety-five," Beckett said, vision narrowing on a vendor sign proudly declaring the best stew in all of Illador. "Is that it?" She pointed at the little stand, turning to watch Dante's reaction.

Dante turned, visibly perking up at the sight of it. He looked like an overgrown puppy who had just spotted a treat. Beckett would've likely found it annoying only a few days ago because she would've thought it was some kind of performance or act. Now though, she knew that he was actually that excited about stew. It was kind of adorable, in a ridiculous way, like she couldn't believe someone her age had that expression on their face. "That's the one!"

"Great," she said. "Lead the way, brother."

Dante didn't even react to the term, because with her words, it was like she'd let go of a magnet. He was quickly drawn to the stand, and for once, Beckett had to hustle to keep up with him. "Damn, we could've been going this fast all morning?" Beckett huffed, jogging a little to close the distance between them.

"Only if that stall was in view that whole time," Dante said, not slowing.

"I mean, really that just depends on how good your eyesight is," Beckett said. "Okay, gods, slow down, will you?"

"Nope. Deal with it."

Beckett's heart was racing by the time they reached the stand, and she doubled over briefly to catch her breath. Dante, on the other hand, seemed completely unphased. "Well," she said, "we know who to sign up for the short-distance races."

"We'll be a dual act," Dante said. "I'll leave the marathons to you."

"Great," she said, finally pushing herself up to stand fully again. "That works for me."

The man behind the stand eyed them warily, eyes flicking between the two of them, before he said, "Stew?"

"Stew," Dante confirmed.

"You got money?" the man asked, squinting again between the two of them as he picked up a disposable bowl in one hand and a ladle in the other.

Dante gestured to Beckett's coin purse. Beckett held it up as additional proof. "We've got money," she said. "A lot of it," she added.

Dante gave her a side-eye. "Don't say that," they protested in character. "You'll get us robbed."

The irony was not lost on Beckett. She shrugged. "What would it matter?" she said snootily. "We could just get more."

"Fine, whatever," Dante said, looking back to the man with impatience that was probably only half-faked.

"How much is it?" Beckett said, eyeing the soup and trying not to look nearly as hungry as she was.

"Three silvers for a bowl," the man said.

"It's two," Dante corrected. "You're trying to upcharge us."

The two of them held tense eye contact for several moments, neither seeming willing to back down. Finally, the man barked a laugh and shook his head as he looked away, reaching for the ladle. "How'd you know that?" he asked, spooning the first bowl.

"A little bird told me," Dante said off-handedly.

Beckett pushed four coins across the small stall counter and snatched the first bowl out of the vendor's hand before he could give it to Dante. "Slowpoke," Beckett said with a smirk as she brought the bowl to her lips. She could technically argue that she was doing it as a part of their sibling cover story, but it was pretty obvious she was only doing it to make fun of how fast he'd run to the stand.

"Can't believe I paid for you," Dante muttered with a shake of his head.

Dante got his bowl next, and with that, the two of them were walking through the market square, attacking the stew like it was their first proper meal in days. Which it was.

"How's that?" Dante asked, after another famished gulp. "Worth the hype?"

"Oh my gods," Beckett mumbled through a mouthful of stew. She didn't say anything more, just kept eating.

A grin appeared on Dante's face before it was hidden as he raised the bowl again. "Thought so."

Beckett didn't even have a comeback to that. She was so focused on downing the bowl in front of her. It only took another minute or two before she'd finished the entire thing and gasped for air like she hadn't taken a breath the whole time. She stared into space for a moment, eyes hazy. "Fuck," she muttered finally.

"Agreed," Dante said, lowering his now empty bowl.

"Where to, brother?" Beckett said in a light-hearted mocking tone. It was clear though that both of them were feeling tremendously better already after getting real food in them. "Know any good clothing stores nearby?"

"Are you sure you're not an only child?" Dante muttered, in a low tone that only she could hear. "Siblings don't call each other 'brother'."

"They do when they're making fun of them," Beckett said cheerfully.

"Yours, maybe," Dante said. "I mean, ours."

Beckett laughed. "Good save, bro." She emphasized it more just to annoy them further.

"Dear gods," Dante groaned. "I don't even have to pretend you're a pain in the ass."

Beckett felt a flare of pride ignite inside her. "Great," she said. "That's what I was aiming for."

"Anyway, do not call me that. I could call you...?" Dante gestured to her, inviting her to fill in the blank with a fake name.

Beckett thought on it for a long moment, then said, "Hmm. What's an old rich name?" Beckett tilted her head to the side, then said decidedly, "Amelia. Ugh, that sounds like my name, doesn't it?" she said, referring to the snobby character she'd put on.

Dante slowed their pace, looking at her with a blank expression. "...What?"

The look and change in behavior was so startling that Beckett stared back at them blankly, brain momentarily glitching. "Huh?"

"Amelia," Dante repeated.

"Yes..." Beckett said slowly, giving him a weird look. "Last I checked, it was still a name."

"Yeah, but it's a--"

A look of realization swept over Dante's face, and his steps slowed to a halt.

"...Oh," he said slowly. "You said I'd be able to tell. I could not."

Beckett looked at him incredulously as it hit her. "Really?" She wasn't upset. She'd probably find it funny if the statement hadn't been completely confusing. Everyone who had ever known her had told her it was obvious; in fact, the only reason she'd told them that they'd be able to know immediately is because everyone else had told that to her.

"I-- guess I didn't know what to look for, or expect, even though I saw something change," Dante said, before shaking his head to clear it. "Sorry. I'll probably be able to tell just fine after this, though."

"Oh, I don't care," Beckett said, a little surprised to find herself reassuring them. "I just--" She stopped herself. There was no reason to share something personal, especially when there wasn't anything to get from it other than him just... hearing her. "I don't know," she said finally.

"I just assumed you were in a better mood, honestly," Dante said, pausing before nodding and resuming their walk. "Okay, Amelia's a good name. Fitting, too."

"Well, to be fair, I am in a better mood," Beckett said. "But great. What's yours?"

"Uh..." Dante furrowed his brow, spending a few moments in thought. "Virgil?"

"Great," Beckett said. "Amelia and Virgil." She moved forward with him, searching the various stands and storefronts for something that would hold suitable clothes.

"Yeah, we could be a dual act with names like that," Dante said.

"Oh, definitely," Beckett agreed. "Though to be fair, I think we could no matter what." She glanced around, before her eyes landed on a store with fancy lettering. She could see clothes in the display windows, and turned to Dante. "What do you think about that? Fancy enough for us?"

"No," Dante said. "But I've seen nothing better so far."

"Well, that really sells me," Beckett said sarcastically, but started walking towards it anyway. When she opened the door, a little bell rang out, but there didn't seem to be anybody else in the store. If there was a worker, they were in another room.

Wow, they're really just tempting me now, Beckett thought. Did they think that thieves were too poor to come into their store? They were thieves. Still, she didn't want to risk shoplifting anything and drawing attention to them, so they'd pay. Let someone else teach them the lesson, Beckett thought.

Dante made a move for a rack of jackets, lifting up a tan, durable-looking leather jacket on its hanger. The price listed must have been enough for him to break character, because his eyebrows raised slightly.

"You think rich kids barter?" he muttered.

"If it looks bad enough, yeah," Beckett said, then looked at the jacket and quipped, "Yeah, that'll work."

Dante frowned. "It looks bad?"

Beckett raised her eyebrows and paused her search through the clothing racks. "Wait, were you being serious? You like that?"

"I--" Dante stared at her incredulously. "It's warm enough for cool days and cool enough for warm days. It can handle travel. And it has pockets."

"Mm," Beckett said, unconvinced. "I mean, maybe it would look better on you than it does just... by itself." She turned away. Really, she had no opinions on the jacket at all, but it was fun to get a rise out of him.

"You said that like an insult, even though that's technically a compliment," Dante said, baffled.

Beckett said nonchalantly, "Mm," like she wasn't really paying attention, but she bit her lip to stop a smile. It was so easy to get Dante to argue, she was surprised they hadn't gotten angry yet. She turned back to them and sighed dramatically. "Well, go on. Put it on then."

With a shake of their head, Dante shrugged the jacket on, tucking their hands in the pockets. They moved to look in a full-sized mirror leaning against the mirror, and the way they held themselves in it so naturally made Beckett think this was the kind of thing they would normally wear. Maybe they'd even been wearing one of these when they'd gotten caught.

Gods... this was going to be a difficult journey. After staring for a second too long, all she could find to say was, "Mm," again, before turning away quickly. Unfortunately, the jacket looked stunning on him-- or maybe Dante just looked stunning with or without the jacket. Fuck me... She moved a few hangers around pointlessly, trying to act like she was looking for something for herself, but really she couldn't concentrate on the clothes in front of her at all.

"Well, it fits," Dante said, taking it off again and draping it over their arm. "I'll haggle if need be."

"You do that," Beckett said, biting the inside of her cheek as she narrowed her eyes. She had to actually find clothes, not just think about-- stuff. She had to concentrate.

"Well, what are you getting?" Dante asked.

Beckett pulled two shirts off the rack, similar in design--both lace-up tunics--but both in different colors. One was a faded green, deep-set, like nature at night. For some reason, Beckett didn't really care for the color, and she frowned as she studied it, before replacing it on the rack, turning her attention to the other tunic-- a deep and bright red-orange, like the sun at midday. It would be more noticable in a crowd... But how many crowds were they going to be passing through anyway? Besides, when was the next time Beckett would be able to afford clothes that looked this nice?

"This," she said decidedly, before moving past Dante to browse the collection of pants and shorts available. She skipped over the skirts entirely; though she would've enjoyed one at times, she also knew it would eventually be too uncomfortable to risk.

Dante gave it a glance out of the corner of his eye before nodding in approval and lifting a black shirt off the same rack. "Looks good."

"Oh, it'll look more than good on me," Beckett said casually. "I'm insanely attractive like that." She tried not to think about Dante being insanely attractive like that. She just needed to act normal, at least until they reached her siblings. She had no idea if they'd even still be together after that-- they might part ways and never see each other again.

"Didn't know my sister was so humble," Dante said, with a shake of his head.

"Not one of my strongsuits," she said. "I have so many others though, that I think it all evens out."

Dante squinted at her as they lifted the end of the shirt's sleeve to their wrist, checking that it was the right length. "Such as?"

"Well, my looks, for starters." Beckett pulled out a pair of pants, then held it over her body while pressing the shirt to her top. "Oh, yeah. Definitely my looks."

"Hmm," Dante said. "Helps you compensate for other things."

Beckett blanched, though she noticed that he hadn't denied her claims--likely humoring her. "Like what? My charming personality?"

"Mmh-hmm," Dante hummed sarcastically.

Beckett narrowed her eyes playfully. "Are you saying I don't have a charming personality?"

"It rhymes with charming," Dante said.

"Aww." Beckett grinned. "You think I'm disarmingly attractive?"

"I mean alarming, gods above."

"Alarmingly attractive," Beckett said.

Dante stared at her. "Are you alright?"

Beckett paused, so thrown off by the drastic change in tone that she nearly dropped the pair of pants she was examining. "What?"

"Like, do you seriously think of yourself so highly, or are you just... saying all this?" Dante asked.

Every word felt like a slap to her face, and she pulled back, reeling in disbelief. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Some people mean every word they brag, and others mean it as a front," Dante said. "And I cannot for the life of me tell which one you're doing."

Beckett shook her head. Absolutely unbelievable-- not to mention, a totally asshole way to ask it. He was basically asking whether she was absurdly vain or absurdly insecure. Invasive fucker. In fact, it didn't even warrant a response-- because what the hell was she even supposed to say to that?

She walked across the store towards the shoe selection, but could feel how hard she was stomping even without meaning to.

"Hey!" A woman's voice snapped from another room. "No stomping! You'll damage the carpet!"

"Excuse me?" Beckett said icily, whirling around. She could feel that her eyes were burning, but she didn't dare bring herself to look at Dante because she actually might strangle him. "Do you know who I am?"

A middle-aged woman entered the room with a scowl, looking upset at her. "Why would I care who you are? I care about my carpet."

"Because I'm about to pay you more than you'll make in the next month," Beckett snapped, trying to channel her anger at Dante into her character's anger.

"No, we're not," Dante said, joining her. "I'm not paying the full nine silver for this jacket."

"That is a six, not nine," the lady said stubbornly.

"That's not what it--"

Dante lifted up the tag tied around the jacket's wrist, reading it again. The way he went silent and the annoyance vanished from his face said it all.

"Yeah, right," the woman said. "Stop your bickering-- you're scaring away the customers." Never mind that the shop was otherwise empty of people.

"We are the customers," Beckett seethed, sending a not so subtle glare at Dante before turning back to the selection of shoes.

The woman sniffed. "You don't seem like you've got money. Your friend over there can hardly read."

Dante bristled. Before they could respond though, Beckett said coolly, "That's because my brother is an idiot." Her voice was sharp and cutting as she raised her head and looked at the woman. "We have more money in our monthly allowance than you make in a year."

"Then put it up on the counter," the woman said flatly. "We'll see about that."

Beckett had half the mind to storm out of the shop and refuse to pay. She should've stolen the clothes while she had the chance, instead of giving their money to this woman. Still, she narrowed her eyes and stormed up to the counter, pulling the bag of money out and setting it on the counter with a loud "clang."

The woman pulled at the drawstring, squinting inside the bag. Beckett watched her facial expressions shift from annoyance, to surprise, to realization, to a grudging acceptance as she nudged the bag back her way. Dante really had picked a well-off target, fortunately.

"Take whatever you like," the woman said sourly.

"Oh, we will," Beckett muttered, purposely stomping as she walked back to the shoe selection.

Dante followed, and he didn't meet her eyes as he picked up a pair of leather boots. He must've wanted to be out of here quickly, because he only compared it to the size of the shoes he was wearing instead of trying them on before he walked back and dropped them on the counter, next to his choice of a shirt and jacket. Beckett glared at them, mainly because she'd been considering a pair of leather boots and now, she didn't really want them if that's what they were going to have. She tried to push past her stubbornness. She needed durable shoes, and leather was the best option. Still, she made sure her boots looked nothing like Dante's in design before dropping them, the shirt, and the pants at the counter. She couldn't even look at Dante. He really just saw her as-- as what? Something awful, that was clear. And without at all trying to understand her. Asshole, she thought again aggressively, like if she thought it loud enough, he'd hear it.

The woman shook a handful of coins out, counting them in a pile before dropping a couple excess ones back in the purse. "Where are you from?" she asked reluctantly.

"Guravem," Dante said. His tone was plain, almost subdued. "Our parents own a vineyard there."

"Are you heading back that way?" The woman asked, frowning. "You have heard about the League of Witches, right?"

Dante paused. "The what?"

The woman humphed, putting a hand on her hip. "The League of Witches," she said, annoyed. "You know? It's this underground allegiance of witches who want to burn the whole world down and start over from scratch. People say they worship Aylonla and only do his bidding. And, better yet--" She leaned in closer and lowered her voice-- "their leaders are coming this way, supposedly. Two witch-demons who take the form of humans. They say they were scheduled to be executed for their war-crimes, and to be sure they died, they set them up to hang, be set on fire, and be decapitated all at once. But they still got away." She shook her head and shivered a little. "People say the fire turned to water, the blade turned to grass, and the ropes around their neck turned to metal."

"What?" Beckett said incredulously. "There's no way two witches would have that much power."

"Oh, you'd think so," the woman agreed, "but they have their whole League with them. The papers say it could be any of your neighbors, even your loved ones-- that the witch-demons are replacing people we love and taking their places in wicked disguises! Be on the lookout for any small changes." She nodded her head sagely.

"Like if my brother here didn't used to like tomatoes," Beckett began, "but now he loves them?"

The woman's eyes shot to Dante, looking wide as she backed away.

"Not funny, Amelia," Dante deadpanned.

The woman looked back and forth between the two of them, then said, "Out! Out of my store, the both of you! There's bad energy in here, something I don't like. You two ought to be safe on your travels back home. Those two witch-demons are said to be roaming these parts!" With every word, she shuffled the two of them backwards, closer and closer to the door, until they both tumbled out into the street. With a decisive, "Gods help us!", the woman slammed the door closed, locked it, and pulled the blinds down.

Dante sighed as he threw on the jacket, tucking the boots and his other clothes under his arm.

"Would've been nice for her to at least offer us a bag first," he said.

Beckett didn't respond, just pulled the new boots on holding the other clothes as she surveyed the street, silent. She'd need to find somewhere to change. She would also, at some point, need to stop the glare of death radiating off her face, but she didn't quite have the self-constraint to do that yet.

Dante put on their own boots as well, still avoiding eye contact. She wasn't really looking at him, either, but he didn't seem proud of himself. Their face was sullen as they turned their head out into the street.

"Where to?" they asked, a little quieter than usual.

"No idea," Beckett muttered. "I don't know everything, do I?"

Dante blinked, finally turning to her in confusion before he looked away again. He didn't even look annoyed or angry. Just tired.

"Let's just... go this way," he murmured, starting forward. Beckett followed without responding. She felt drained and angry and misunderstood. Why was she angry over that? It wasn't like she'd told them much of anything about herself. There wasn't much for them to misunderstand. Still, their question kept replaying in her head. And to think she'd been standing there, thinking about him as attractive, only for him to turn around and ask if she was self-obsessed-- the embarrassment crawled into her throat, and the anger that followed it was slick and slippery. She felt like she was walking across a frozen lake, hoping it didn't crack and drown her.

The next half-hour or so was spent in near silence as they made a few stops for food and supplies as they meandered in the direction of the gate. Occasionally, Dante would ask a question about some item or another, and Beckett would curtly answer, but the time for conversation and banter had passed. It didn't feel right, and yet it was what she wanted. The tension had stretched tight by the time they'd each bought a backpack and filled it with the most-filling, shelf-stable food they could get, as well as a handful of weapons, water and other supplies. With nothing left to do, the two of them seemed eager to leave Illador behind.

They were only a few hundred feet from the gate they'd entered by-- straight down the road ahead of them-- when a group of four in the familiar boxy, deep-blue uniform of the Royal Guard suddenly stepped into view from an intersecting street. The squadron wasn't looking their way, but all the hairs on Beckett's neck stood. Shit. What the hell are they doing here? As calmly as she could muster, she turned a corner to get out of their view as soon as possible. Dante turned after her, looking only confused for a moment before his eyes also spotted the group. She saw alarm spark on his face.

"Why the hell are they this far out?" Beckett muttered, peering around the corner.

"They've probably already been here for a day," Dante whispered, sneaking a peek as well. "They've got horses. I guess they're relentless."

"Yeah, but the royal guard? Why would they be doing such a low-profile search?"

Dante paused, as if he was realizing something.

"They wouldn't be, unless we're not low-profile," he said, and then a moment later, he held a finger up. "Come on. We're close enough to listen if we're quiet."

Beckett gave him an annoyed glance because she hadn't actually been making any noise, but she stayed quiet anyway.

"Face it," one of the guards said, taking off her armored helmet. "This isn't the place. They're likely miles and miles away from here."

"But the accounts said they were bound north when they escaped," another guard argued. "Unless they suddenly changed course, they'd need to stop somewhere, and it should be here."

"It was chaos," the first guard said, "and the accounts also say that everything they touched turned to silver, even the footprints they left behind, yet today's letter from the commander says that was greatly exaggerated. You can't trust everything."

"We don't even know what they look like," the second one muttered. "This is a ridiculous waste of resources, the rumors have gotten out of control. There's no telling who they are or aren't!"

Beckett glanced at Dante, giving them a knowing look. Obviously, the woman in the store had been exaggerating. Besides the fact that Beckett had never heard of the League of Witches but had grown up in a household of seven of them, it really was impossible for two human witches to do that much magic. That brought up the big question though: how much magic had they actually done, to get the entire countryside riled up? Dante shook his head in skepticism.

"They were both arrested on charges of theft," the first guard said, straightening her shoulders. She seemed to be in charge of the other three "If they really had all that magic, why wouldn't they have just escaped when they were being arrested?"

"I bet it was someone in the crowd," the second one said, also taking off the helmet-- a man, around the same height as the woman, with many of the same features, like the pale freckled skin and the light hair. Gross, Beckett thought. Royal Guarding is a family affair? "Really," the man continued as the woman shot him an incredulous look, "there's no way to say for certain the magic came from them. I mean, how much magic would you be able to do while you were being hung? And what're the odds two witches are hung right next to each other?"

"It might not have been an accident," the woman argued. "Maybe it isn't about odds. Maybe they planned to be hung next to each other."

"A man on the inside?" A third one quipped nervously, rubbing the side of his helmet like that would somehow soothe him.

"I don't know," the woman said. "Either way though, I think it's stupid to say it was someone in the crowd."

Beckett was starting to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't quite tell why, but the details were a little too close to their story for comfort. Was this something that had happened recently? Some rogue witch had gone to multiple hangings and freed multiple people? For what purpose? But Dante for sure had magic--that didn't guarantee it was his magic that freed them though. Could there have been someone in the crowd lurking, waiting for a chance to get the two of them out? What did they expect in return?

"It doesn't matter whether it was them or not." The last guard had a lower, gruff voice, and Beckett saw a bushy beard peeking out from under his helmet. "People are talking. Whatever happened at those gallows, people saw a display of power they couldn't fathom, and the news is getting around. It's dangerous. They're going to get ideas."

"It's just two common thieves," the woman scoffed. "No one special. One of them was robbing a coach, and the other was some shoplifter. You think that's what people are afraid of?"

"I don't think they're afraid," the bearded man grunted. "I think they're hopeful."

The woman sighed. "Well, whatever the case, it's not like they'll stay that way for long."

"What're their names?" the man who seemed like her brother asked. He pushed blonde hair out of his eyes as he turned his gaze towards her. "We could ask around."

"They're not going to use their real names," the woman sneered, but even still, she pulled a small scroll out of her pocket and unraveled it. "Dante Weylin and Beckett Hale."

Beckett felt her breath catch in her throat, and the world suddenly spun a little. Oh my gods. They were talking about them? Talking about them like they were terrorists, ready to take down the government or spark a revolution, or like they were the most powerful beings in the century? She felt a touch of pride at the fact that she'd done something so big, the Royal Guard had gotten involved, but all the other things only pushed her panic.

Her brother frowned, leaning over her shoulder to read. "Hold on. One of those names sounds familiar."

"I would really hope so, or else your brain really has rotted inside your skull," the woman said dryly. "You're thinking of Lucian Weylin."

Beckett's stomach dropped. Lucian Weylin--as in Weylin the Bloodhound. As in the most brutal witchhunter there'd been in the past two decades, as in the witchhunter who burned witches in gas masks, so they couldn't die from the smoke first, so they had to suffer, as in the one every little child with a witch mother or father had nightmares about, as in the one Beckett had had nightmares about. She thought of Lily, the sister she hadn't really known, the sister who had died when Beckett was so young that all she'd had of her was the scrawled, faint handwriting on the scrolls of potions recipes, the big loops, the curves, the twists, and the small, smudged portrait of charcoal. The hushed family stories, the arguments between Hudson, who had been nineteen at the time, and Beckett's second oldest brother, Lennox, who had been sixteen, when it was dark outside and their parents were away fulfilling customer orders. "We have to fight back!" Lennox had yelled. "We can't just let them get away with-- with--"

"Are you fucking psycho?" Hudson had screamed back. "And set him loose on our whole family? You can't do that, you idiot, he'll come for all of us!"

Violet, seventeen, gathering the three younger siblings, Beckett the littlest, then Elise, then Scout on her bed and telling them fairytales in a hushed voice, like it could drown out what was happening in the next room over. "And this little piggie went to market..." she'd say, with a pained smile on her face like she was trying to hold it all together. "This little piggie stayed home..."

When the two brothers had finally finished one of their screaming matches, which always ended with Lennox storming out of the house, Violet would tuck all of them back into bed, then go to the living room to talk to Hudson. Beckett wasn't able to hear their words then, but she could hear it when Violet broke down, started bawling. Sometimes, she heard Hudson cry in bed. Elise, Beckett's closest sibling in age, who had been eight when she'd been five, had had these horrible night terrors. She'd wake up screaming, and Hudson would rush over to her bed and pull her out of the room so she didn't wake the others. Lily's name was one that Beckett never heard anyone speak of. She didn't know what her oldest sister had been like, only that she was gone.

Lennox was the only one who would whisper anything about her at all. He said if you don't tell a person's stories, they get forgotten. He'd been the one to tell her about how they'd stormed the house, and this arrogant, freshly eighteen-year-old boy with no hair on his chin to even shave had pointed at Lily. "He might as well have spun the bottle to pick which one of us to take," he'd said fervently, eyes feverish. Lennox, with his sixteen years of age and his anger, had scared Beckett, but she had sat attentively, hardly daring to blink. "That's how unsure he was. But he chose her, and so we could do nothing. He dragged her out into the square. He tore her nightgown away and said witches deserved no dignity. Tied her to the wood. She held her head high though. Lily always held her head high. She looked him dead in the fucking eyes as he fit the mask on--"

The images were burned into Beckett's mind, and she couldn't even be sure if it was the actual memories, or the images Lennox had envoked. Hudson had been mad about that--that Lennox had told Beckett the details-- and it had caused yet another argument. It had gotten so loud that Violet had abandoned the storytelling altogether and gone to the other room to add to the conversation.

"You didn't need to tell a five year old that his older sister was burned alive naked!" Violet had said, sounding as though she were pleading. "What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking about our SISTER," he'd roared. "About that fucking scum-of-the-land piece of shit who TORE HER NIGHTGOWN OPEN."

"He is FIVE YEARS OLD!" Violet had cried hysterically. "He's already traumatized as is!"

"SHE WAS EIGHTEEN!" Lennox had yelled. "SHE WAS EIGHTEEN, AND THAT'S ALL SHE'S EVER GONNA BE!"

Beckett could feel her body trembling, in the distant alleyway, but her mind was focused on the charcoal drawings Elise had done, when her tiny hands had held steady enough to mark down her face. Beckett was thinking of how she had looked just like her, with the same cheekbones, the same curves of the face. That was Dante's brother? Not a witchhunter, he wasn't just a witchhunter, he was THE witchhunter. The one who had stripped her sister naked and--

Oh Gods, she felt like she was going to puke. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She murmured, feeling the whole world spin around her. Nausea rose in her throat, and she stared at the ground, watching it shrink then expand, even though she knew the bricks below her weren't actually moving. "Your brother's the Bloodhound?" It was barely a whisper. Lily was barely a whisper. She couldn't look Dante in the eye.

She heard the faint shudder of their breath and the swallowing noise they made, but it was a long time before they could speak.

"We can talk about this later." Dante's voice was tight, pinched-- from the sound of it, he was sickened too, but it seemed like it was in a different way from her. "But not here."

She thought of the gas masks he forced on people so that they couldn't just die from the smoke-- so they had to stay alive long enough to feel their body melting into the flames. "Later?" she said, feeling her anger rise in her chest. "You want to talk about that later? What, when were you gonna tell me? When he was stripping us naked and gluing gas masks to our faces?"

"Don't." There was a fragile waver in Dante's voice, one she'd never heard the likes of with him. It startled her a little, though it barely cut through the dense fog of noise in her brain. "Please, just don't."

Beckett turned away, biting on her lip, as if that could stop her body from shaking like it was, like a deep chill had overtaken her. What could she do now? Could she even trust what Dante had told her about everything else? She'd felt good about keeping so many details of her life private and hidden away from them, but now she was realizing he might have been doing the same exact thing. Could she trust anything Dante had told her before? Maybe she didn't know them at all.

She remembered them in the store, his question: "Do you seriously think of yourself so highly, or are you just... saying all this?" She didn't actually know him at all, did she? Just like he didn't know anything about her. Well, she would make sure it stayed that way then. She wasn't about to give him any information he could pass on to his brother--willingly or not.

"And he is on his way, is he not?" the bearded guard said. Fuck. She'd missed some of their conversation, which probably had valuable information in it.

The woman snorted. "Obviously. It's going to take him at least a week, because he was in the Smoky Mountains when it happened, but he got the summons. Hopefully we don't even need him."

Beckett heard Dante's next breath catch, forever trapped in their throat. The bile rose into her own throat again, nearly gagging her. What were they supposed to do now? She couldn't lead the Bloodhound to Violet and Hudson's doors, not after what he'd done. They had nowhere else to go though-- they had to get help somehow, and they were the only ones who wouldn't turn them in on sight. What if this time, she was the reason one of her siblings died, not just a "spin of the bottle," not just fate?

"We should go." Dante's whisper was strangely hollow. Beckett heard it like an echo, as it if took her brain a few seconds to fully process their words. She knew, logically, they were right. She also didn't want to believe them or trust them on anything. She wanted to run-- away from Dante and away from their brother and away from everyone she might hurt. She couldn't bring herself to do it though. She pushed herself to her feet from where she'd been crouching on the ground, using the wall beside her to steady herself. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him--or anything. The world was too colorful, with too much movement, too many things fighting for her attention. She would've preferred to stay lost in her thoughts, however depressing they were.

Still, they began to move-- away from the guards, and towards the entrance they'd come from, that they'd had to walk all the way around to reach. They'd head towards Guravem, which had to be at least a day's worth travel, but likely more. Away from the guards, and the rude lady in the store, and the lives they'd left behind, the people they might never see again. They ran away from it all.

Dante couldn't walk in a straight line.

He'd try, but he'd find his focus slipping again, and before he knew it he'd wandered several steps off to the left or right, either nearly bumping into Beckett or whatever was in his path. Which was usually another one of those bushes, which had become abundant again the moment Illador had vanished into the distance. Maybe it was annoying to Beckett, but she hadn't said a word for hours now, and neither had he. Her stare was focused on some nonexistent point ahead, and something about it made him feel cold. At least she didn't have it focused on him.

Not for the first time, a wave of sick guilt sank over him.

What was it that Mireya had told him, ages ago? That every person with magic knew at least one person who had been lost to hunters? It had taken him forever to figure out that she hadn't been exaggerating or overly generalizing. He regretted not realizing it sooner. He regretted never getting to find out who that meant she'd lost. It was far too late to regret either of those things, but here they were, dragging him down like a stone tied to his waist.

He shook the idea away, but it was quickly replaced by another equally unwelcome thought. Not just unwelcome, it was uncommon. Dante almost never thought about Lucian because he'd never been there. With the vastness of their age gap, it would've been difficult for even the most compatible of siblings to be close. He had distant memories of a time they'd been under the same roof-- an uneasy time, a time of slammed doors, of bloodstained weapons resting openly on their dinner table, of bird and butterfly wings that had been torn off and thrown in the yard. His mother had described Lucian as the kid who always played too rough in games, who laughed when another player cried through an injury. Dante had a hard time imagining him that tame.

At least that time had been brief. After Lucian left, he came back less and less often as he got sent further and further away on bigger searches-- and as he stopped bothering to return. Still, every time he did, no matter how many months or years it had been or how tall Dante had gotten since the last visit, Lucian always towered over him with that same sneer. At best, he'd look Dante over with a bored glance of mocking skepticism before shaking his head and turning away-- and that truly was the best outcome of such a meeting. The bond they had certainly couldn't be called brotherhood. No, it had been far too stained by blood and dread, pulled apart by distance, and fractured by forgetting. It was hard to claim the bond even existed.

Dante certainly forgot it did sometimes.

Maybe that was a bad thing. He'd thought the information of Lucian's profession had been sufficient enough for Beckett-- why would he need to share which witchhunter he was, when there wasn't a single one out there who wasn't a force to be reckoned with? Dante knew from Mireya that Lucian was scarier than most-- she'd called him the same thing Beckett had. The Bloodhound. But maybe like her statement about loss, he'd been underestimating the severity of her fear. That thought sent another shiver down his spine.

They'd messed up. They'd messed up even before this, when they'd crossed a line back in the clothes shop. Dante knew that was a mistake when they'd seen the look on Beckett's face-- a mistake they wished they could take back. Now, that was yet another thing weighing on his shoulders.

They were wandering adrift again. Dante shook their head to clear it and readjusted course back to Beckett. It was quite the swerve, but it didn't even earn them a glance.

Something about that made them feel even worse. They couldn't handle this silence. Not while it was glaringly clear to him right now that he was the guilty party.

"I'm sorry," Dante said suddenly, before he could talk himself out of it. It took several seconds for the words to even register on Beckett's face, but even afterwards, she just shrugged--the smallest shrug Dante had ever seen. Gods, so it was worse than he thought.

"It's whatever," Beckett murmured.

"It's not--" Dante breathed in, resisting the quick retort. "You don't have to pretend it's 'whatever'. I know it's not."

"What are you even apologizing for?" Beckett sighed.

"For what I shouldn't have asked you in the shop," Dante said quietly, watching Beckett for any kind of reaction, "and for Lucian."

Beckett clenched her jaw briefly, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It's whatever."

"It isn't," Dante insisted again. "I didn't mean to upset you either time, and I-- it doesn't sit well with me that I did. I'd like to say both times were an accident, but the first one was me being an asshole, and the second one was me being downright ignorant about something that would've been relevant to you." He sighed. "So, I'd rather take responsibility."

"Great," Beckett said. "You've done that now." Her voice didn't have the biting edge it usually did when she was being aggressive, though; she just looked miserable. In a way, that was worse. Dante could handle anger just fine. What he didn't like was someone hurting because of him.

"I just started, really," Dante said. "I didn't know you'd want to know details about my brother, things that probably mattered, and..."

Was he going to regret this? Possibly. Add it to the list.

"What I guess I'm trying to say is, if there's anything you feel I've been hiding about that or that you still want to know," he finished quietly, "the floor is yours to ask questions."

"Have you ever helped him?" She didn't look at them-- didn't look at anything, really. Her eyes still seemed to be fixed on some space in the distance that Dante couldn't quite see.

"No." Dante felt a little sick again as he firmly shook his head. "He knows not to seek help from me."

"Are you lying to me right now?"

"No." Dante swallowed. "I haven't lied about anything thus far. I just... haven't said much."

Dante expected her to follow up on that--ask what he'd left out. And he would've said it. Instead though, she said in a whisper of a voice, "Have you ever been there?"

The question sent his mind into an unexpected buzz of thoughts.

He'd always known when it was happening, if Lucian was in town. He'd hear his brother's door creak open in the night, and then he'd come back smelling like a bonfire with blood on his clothes. It happened enough that Dante felt like he'd been there, that his mind could color in the outlines of the event that had happened-- but he'd never actually been present. It was like he'd been sitting in the wings his whole childhood, just out of view of the stage.

"No," he said, a little quieter. "But I... I know how it goes."

Beckett nodded after a moment, then said, "Yeah." She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to, Dante knew. They were obviously both too familiar with it.

"I didn't care for him." Dante wasn't sure where that thought came from, or why he was saying it aloud now, but he allowed himself to follow it. "Even when I saw everyone treating him as a hero, even when I didn't know any better about magic... I didn't. It felt too much like I was sharing a house with some kind of monster." He paused, and they took a few more steps in silence before he added, "I ended up being right about that."

Beckett fidgeted for a moment, before aggressively shoving her hands into her pockets, frowning. At the very least, she seemed like she was a little more connected to her body now. "Yeah, you did."

Dante took a moment to glance up at the sky. It wasn't rosy yet, but he knew it would be soon enough.

"He's a freak," he muttered.

They walked in silence for a long moment with that sitting in the air, before Beckett said, "Do you actually think I'm self-obsessed?"

Dante turned to her, watching her with a soft frown. He'd almost forgotten about that.

"I don't," he said, and he hoped it sounded like he meant it as much as he did. And that's the thing.

Beckett sent him a sideways glare. "That was an asshole move."

"I know." Just like then, the words left a sour taste in their mouth. "I'm not proud of myself for it."

"Doesn't make it any less of an asshole move."

Dante nodded in acceptance, biting their lip.

"I know what self-obsessed looks like," he said, after a few moments. "I've got a friend who you'd think was the prince of Aylonlis by the way he acts. Well, he'd think that. You'd think he was full of shit, and you'd be right." Percy would be affronted-- good thing he probably had bigger things to worry about right now than a fugitive friend shit-talking him. "That's not you."

"Why did you ask it then?"

Dante wasn't entirely sure how to answer. He could say it was a reaction, a bad choice made in taking the bait. But that wasn't really it. He looked aside again.

"Curiosity," he said. "A kind that was unreasonable to expect you to indulge me in, at this point of our acquaintance."

Beckett glanced at Dante, then sighed. "You can ask me three questions. I reserve the right to say 'hell no' though."

The suggestion caught them off guard-- to the point that the offer felt unearned on his part. Dante's thoughts spun as he hurried to collect them. This was not the time to ask anything too heavy-- he'd learned that lesson now-- but if he was careful, this could be the time to get the answers to innocuous questions Beckett had found a way to dodge thus far.

"How did you get caught?" he asked gently.

It was a question he figured was safe, since he'd heard half of it from the guards-- shoplifting-- and it was a common thread between them. But instead, Beckett scowled. "That's what you want to know?" She sighed annoyedly before she said, "Fine. A shopowner's daughter attacked me and knocked me out, then freaked out and tried to check if I was okay, and found my pockets loaded instead."

It took every bit of self-control for Dante not to immediately waste his second question and ask why the hell she'd gotten attacked in a shop for a seemingly unrelated reason. He had a feeling Beckett would treat instinctive follow-up questions as part of the three.

Dante winced in sympathy. "At least she cared enough to check."

"Yeah, well." Beckett shrugged. "She did turn me in immediately after, so don't feel too fond about her."

"I won't, promise," Dante said, racking his brain for a second question. "How long have you been a thief for?"

"I was six when I shoplifted on my own for the first time," Beckett said, as if that were the most normal thing in the world.

Dante let out a little huff. "You've got more experience than me, then."

"I'd have assumed that," Beckett replied.

"Ouch," Dante said, pressing a hand to their heart, although they weren't really hurt.

Beckett rolled her eyes, but she seemed to be loosening up a little bit. She wasn't staring blankly into the air, and looked like she was actually taking in the scenery around them as they walked. Dante chose to take that as a good sign.

They were tempted to ask about her siblings, since they'd be meeting soon, and Dante would rather have some information on them before they got there. But there was a chance that such information would come up naturally closer to that time, and if not, that Beckett might be willing to share more by then anyway.

Eventually, he decided on asking, "Do you work alone?"

Beckett hummed thoughtfully. "Weird third question," she said, before she shook her head. "No. Well, I do sometimes, but other times I'm with my siblings. We try not to be in the same stores at the same time, but in a way, I guess we're all working together to get the ingredients we need. Or--we were. Only a few in the area left to do it with the past few years, other people moved on."

This was useful to know, but for some reason, Dante's brain latched onto the word ingredients. It was unusual to mention as a target for robbery, and he had a feeling it wasn't for cooking. Which left another option.

"I take it you mean for potions," he guessed.

"That's another question," Beckett pointed out. "But no. I don't make potions."

Dante chuckled. "It wasn't a question, technically. But fair enough." He paused, deliberating for a moment, then added, "I suppose it's only fair that you get three questions as well."

Beckett looked at him incredulously. "Seriously? No, that doesn't count," she said, cutting off any chance of him responding. "Fine. Do you work alone?"

"No," Dante said, wondering if he was going to get the same questions thrown back at him. "I'm in a group. There's eight of us-- it means there's a good variety of talent across the board, so everyone's got their own speciality, but it makes for a strong team. We're called the Willows." For a moment, he'd nearly said nine. It felt worse to correct himself than to stick with the old number.

"Your brother makes heaps of blood money," Beckett said. "Why do you steal?"

"He doesn't share," Dante said. "Not a generous guy. My parents also need to retire eventually, especially since my dad's eyesight is failing-- I've been trying to help that along as well."

Beckett thought carefully for a long moment, then said, "How do you feel about magic? You said you disagree with your brother, but what does that mean?"

If the question were any less serious, Dante would've pointed out that actually, that was two final questions. Instead, he pressed his lips together thoughtfully in a slight frown, hesitating.

"It... changed over time," he said. "I started out like almost anyone else, I guess-- believing what I was told about magic, taking it to heart because there was no opposing voice out there. The violence didn't sit right with me, but I was taught it was necessary. That's how it was, for a while." A beat of silence. "Things changed with the Willows. I had a... a friend there, who eventually trusted me enough to tell me she had magic. I knew by then that she was a good person, which didn't line up with the 'all witches are evil' doctrine I'd been fed. It wasn't immediate, but I managed to reconcile things and realize that maybe the world could be wrong about her and people like her."

Beckett nodded silently. After a long moment, she murmured, "Wish your brother had gotten that message."

Dante smiled thinly, without any joy. "Yeah. I wish he had, too."

But it was too late for that now. They walked together in silence. After a long time, as the sun was beginning to set, Beckett smiled--a smile that immediately told Dante something absolutely insane was about to come out of her mouth.

"So..." she began innocently, "how many times have you helplessly and devotedly crushed on someone who never in a million years would've gone for you?"

Blinking in surprise, Dante stared at her. After a moment, a half-laugh, half-scoff tumbled out of his mouth. "That's four questions now."

"You gave me infinite questions," Beckett said smoothly. "So spill. How many times have you played the pathetic romantic?"

"I didn't say infinite--" Dante sighed, realizing that would be a futile argument. He felt oddly defensive, even though he didn't know why. "Do I look like a romantic to you?"

"Oh, you look like you'd sob for hours if she glanced your way."

"On top of all this, you're presuming I'm straight?" Dante said disbelievingly. The audacity.

"Are you not?" Beckett said cuttingly, and Dante realized, a little dazedly, that somehow they had just answered the question Beckett had actually been looking for-- which they might not have answered at all had they realized it was what she was going for.

Wow. Just... wow.

"Why do you care?" Dante asked innocently.

"Oh, I'm just a big fan of numbers," she said. "If you want to know mine, it's zero. I've never moped after someone for a pathetically long duration of time."

"Great," Dante said. "We might actually have something in common, then."

A bit under two years wasn't pathetically long... was it?

"Oh, I don't believe you for a second." Beckett laughed. "Next question. What's their name, and what detail of their physique kept you up at night?"

"You must not have heard me," Dante said. "Just ask me to repeat myself next time, thanks."

"Ooh, that's a new one," Beckett said. "What other deflections do you have?"

"Plenty more where that came from."

"Another good one," Beckett said. "I'm gonna guess it was the hair. Now, in terms of personality, that's a little harder to guess, because you seem like you hate anyone who wants to have fun, but what's super attractive about a serious, stoic, lifeless person?" She raised a hand and continued, "BUT, maybe you're attracted to people who are wild because you feel like you can't ever be that wild yourself, and you find it attractive when people let go and are authentically themselves, because you're always too busy trying to keep secrets."

Dante shook his head, amazed-- not so much at any accuracy, but her persistence on the matter. "Are you done projecting yet?"

Beckett let out an offended, "Excuse me? You think I'm a serious, stoic, lifeless person?"

No, or I wouldn't be on my fifth headache this trip. "I'm just saying you're making a lot of assumptions about me in the face of denial."

"So you admit you're in denial," she said. "That's great, the first step is always to come to terms with that."

"In denial that this subject can seriously still be ongoing despite all I've said to end it, maybe," Dante muttered.

Beckett glanced at him, seeming to sense a shift in tone. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. It's not as if it matters."

Dante let out a little huff. "If that doesn't matter to you, I'd love to see what does."

Beckett gave them a weird look and paused for a moment. "Girl," she said, a little bit of disbelief leaking into her voice, "I was trying to drop it."

"Alright," Dante said, a little more hastily than he meant, because he would actually like that. "My bad. Great plan."

Beckett rolled her eyes again and turned forward to keep walking. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, but a small smile crept on her face towards the end of it.

It took Dante a moment to realize they were doing the same, although they weren't sure why. They were surprised, but they let it linger on their lips for a minute. Might as well savor the first moment of unexpected levity hanging between them.

They had been walking for hours. Of course, they'd been walking for hours for several days, but today in particular was starting to catch up to Beckett. Maybe it was having to break in the new pair of boots, which were better than the tattered jail ones, but were also inflexible and immovable against the arch of her foot. It was also possible that she was just tired because they had literally been walking for days. Her leg muscles had moved beyond cramps and into a dull, aching pain that radiated with every step she took. She was afraid that as soon as she stopped to catch her breath or to rest a moment, her legs would quite literally slosh into jelly and disappear into the ground.

The ground had begun to practically tremble under her feet, her legs felt so unstable. When she looked down, she was actually genuinely surprised that they weren't shaking like leaves in the wind. This is pathetic, she thought, and grimaced a little, before sighing. It came out softer than she'd felt it leaving her throat, like her vocal chords themselves were going, "Welp! Time to pack the bags, let's head home!"

Finally, despite her pride, she had to stop for a moment, Dante kept moving, like they didn't notice, but she didn't care. She leaned temporarily against a tree, pulling her right leg up to rest on her knee as she massaged the calf muscle. She could've groaned in relief. She switched legs and did the same to the other, before leaning her head back against the tree for a moment to look up at the moon and catch her breath. It looked gorgeous, but also a little pale and sickly. Gods, I feel a bit like that right now, she thought grouchily as she reluctantly placed her left leg back on the ground and pushed herself to stand and follow Dante.

Then, she paused.

The trembling she'd felt in the ground hadn't gone away, even though her legs were temporarily in respite. She bent down slowly, frowning. "Dante," she said, putting a hand to the ground. "You should come take a look at this."

When she looked up though, they hadn't turned around, as if they hadn't heard her at all. It was only then that she processed that she hadn't heard her. What the hell... She put a hand to her throat and stood, suddenly feeling her heart leap into her throat. She thought of Violet, telling her and her siblings bedtime stories with arguments going on in the other room, with two parents who ignored it all because they had six children to feed and too many hours to work. "There was once a terrible king..." Violet had said. "He was king of the underground. And his most valued servant was--"

Sandworms.

Beckett broke out in a run towards Dante. "Dante!" She screamed. She could feel the strain on her vocal chords, but she couldn't hear it. "Shit, shit, shit," she said, panicked, though she couldn't hear that either.

She couldn't reach him in time.

The ground at Dante's right suddenly exploded in a cloud of dirt, a crater punching through the earth. Before Beckett could blink, a sandworm's head burst through, rearing with an ugly, screech-like hiss. The monster was pale with lack of sun, and its rings were the size of a carriage wheel. She watched Dante's eyes widen in shock before the sandworm barreled into them with an incomprehensible force.

Thrown through the air, Dante went flying into a tree. His back hit the trunk with a sickening thud, and by the way he crumpled limply and his head slumped as he tumbled to the ground, the impact seemed to have knocked him out immediately. Sure enough, he didn't rise or move at all.

Beckett watched with horror as the sandworm loomed over Dante's motionless form. But it didn't attack them. Instead, the monster retreated into its cavern-- and a moment later, she could feel the vibrations it sent traveling her way.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Beckett yelled desperately, sprinting through the trees, hoping their roots would slow it down. Of course, none of her words made any noise--they were only in her mind, adding to her panic. She needed to loop around eventually. She couldn't just leave Dante alone and unconscious in the woods. She also couldn't lead a huge worm in the ground to them though.

The rumbling underneath her intensified to a buried roar. Just when she thought it would knock her off her feet, the sandworm erupted from the ground in her path again, rising to what was nearly the height of the nearest tree. It hissed at her, and she could see needle-like teeth flash in its mouth, each deadly sharp and easily the length of her forearm. Oh Gods... She was about to die, wasn't she?

The panic consumed her, and in some vain, instinctual, unexplainable, last-ditch effort to not die, she knelt down and dug her fingers into the ground. She didn't know what she was doing. Hugging the dirt before it embraced her and her coffin forever?

The ground trembled beneath her fingers as the sandworm surged forward, and suddenly-- plants. Plants everywhere, plants shooting up from the ground, vines hanging off trees lowering themselves, tiny flowers growing into large bushes. The moon, dull only a few minutes before, now glared so strongly that it reflected off of the leaves and bathed the sandworm in a metallic shine. No...

One by one, plants were touching the sandworm. And one by one, small patches of grotesque slime and skin shimmered, shifted like silver in the moonlight. The metal spread along the skin, small patch by small patch, as the vines lowered and the flowers bloomed and--Gods bless them--bitterroots, shooting out of the ground, bigger than she'd ever seen them before, with stems stretching up taller than her. She could only imagine how big the bulbs must be. Each little leaf of the bitterroots only brushed briefly against the sandworm, but it groaned and shuddered, only pieces of its skin were falling off and peeling, curling and hitting the ground with loud thuds before sizzling into drops of silver metal that sank into the forest floor.

The silver consumed the beast, and Beckett, unbelievably, began to feel bad for it. It had been needing a meal, which was natural for any creature of the earth, and now it was being turned into metal. What a horrific way to die. She hadn't seen Dante, but he must have begun to feel better, must have followed the two of them and come to her rescue.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the poor creature's moans stopped as its huge, hulking body finally came to a standstill. The only sound to be heard in the whole forest was the drip-drip-drip of drops of silver sliding their way down the surface and splashing into the leaves below.

A gun clicked behind her. She spun to see Dante emerge from the trees, pistol aimed steadily at the now-frozen monster in one hand. The stiffness in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw told her he was hurt. The shock and stunned awe on their face told her they knew nothing about this.

In a strained tone that indicated he was very much still winded, Dante breathed, "Knew it."

"Knew what?" Beckett asked. Her voice was strained and felt raw, like it was burning. She suddenly felt exhausted, like she might collapse at any moment.

"I thought I was going crazy," Dante said, lowering the gun. They barked out a sudden laugh, but it must've been painful, because it quickly turned into a wheeze and a grimace spread over their face. "Your eyes were even silver a moment ago."

"No they weren't," Beckett said, but found her voice to sound hollow. She felt out of breath and slightly dizzy. She pushed herself slowly to stand. "Are you alright?"

She stumbled a little, another wave of suffocating exhaustion rolling over her so strongly that her eyes nearly drifted shut in mid-air. She put a hand against a tree to stop her fall, panting a little. Why wasn't her breathing doing anything to make her feel like she'd caught her breath?

"Hey, take it easy," Dante said breathlessly as they joined her, not answering her question. It didn't seem like it was out of avoidance, though-- they seemed genuinely distracted. "I think you just did something very taxing. You should sit."

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice sounded different, even to her. Blood rushed through her ears so loud, she felt she was by an ocean. What? That makes no sense, she thought. She'd never been near an ocean, why would she feel like this was what it was similar to?

She repositioned her hand on the tree, and the moss of the bark, combined with her sweat, made her slip and she collapsed forward onto Dante. Dante tensed at first, evidently not expecting it-- and neither was she-- but he caught her firmly with one arm before she could fall any further.

"Yeah, you're sitting down," Dante said, lowering her to the ground with surprising gentleness so she could lean against the tree. "No buts."

"Oh, fuck," Beckett muttered, head against the tree behind her. Even with her eyes closed, she felt like she was going to fall over from dizziness.

She heard the sound of something turning. When she managed to peek open an eye, she saw Dante holding out one of their water canteens with the cap off.

"Looks like you could use some of this," they said, the firm note in their still breathless tone indicating that a 'no' would get nowhere against their stubborness.

"You're the one who's hurt," she managed, but still tried to push herself up to take a drink.

"And you look half-dead," Dante said, not unkindly, though his tone was still pained. "Water's not going to heal anything of mine, but it might keep you from passing out."

Beckett didn't argue for once, just took several long sips of the water before leaning her head back again and closing her eyes. The dizziness had died down quite a bit, but she still felt so, so tired. "Shit," she said again, the full reality sinking in now. He hadn't been here-- his magic hadn't been here.

"Valid reaction," Dante muttered, sinking down at last.

"I think I might curl up and die now," she mumbled. She felt drained dry, like the sandworm had taken everything she'd had and a little extra, too.

"Think you could wait a minute on that?" Dante asked. "I could... kind of use the help popping my shoulder back into place."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She said, forcing her eyes open. "Your shoulder is dislocated?"

Dante shrugged-- although, Beckett noticed now, it only involved the use of one shoulder. His left arm was hanging awkwardly at his side, and it didn't look natural or comfortable at all. "It wouldn't be a very funny joke if I were kidding."

"Shit," Beckett said again, because she had no other words that could describe the simultaneous overwhelming exhaustion and responsibility she felt. She wasn't sure she could fully stand right now, let alone pop someone's shoulder back into place. Still, she said, "What do you need me to do?"

"If you can..." Dante hesitated, frowning. Now that he'd admitted to being injured, a more transparent strain was evident on his face. "I think you lift my arm and then push back towards my shoulder as hard as you can. That's how it's worked before."

Beckett didn't even comment on the before. Her head was spinning enough. "Okay," she said carefully. "Scooch so your arm is facing me."

Dante obeyed, inching closer and turning so she could see their left side. They appeared to be bracing for the pain, jaw clenched and eyes fixed straight ahead.

Beckett closed her eyes for a few minutes, willing some more of the dizziness away, before she picked up his arm and unceremoniously pushed. It took less effort than she thought, but she cringed the entire time, even though she wasn't the one in pain.

Dante let out a sharp, involuntary cry of pain as his shoulder popped back into place, but it was replaced with stark relief on his face within a moment. Drawing in a breath, he stretched out his arm, testing his mobility before sighing quietly and relaxing a little.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Beckett leaned back against the tree again, heart beating fast in her chest. She somehow felt out of breath again. "No problem," she said. "Are you alright now?"

"Much better." Dante turned back to her, and she knew she wasn't imagining the concern in his eyes. "What about you?"

She closed her eyes and groaned quietly. Her head felt like it was stuffed with burning coal. "I've felt better."

"Take the time you need," Dante said. "We can stay here awhile. You... the danger's gone, thanks to you."

"Nope," she muttered. "No, no, don't do that, it's not thanks to me. Don't do that."

"Do what?" Dante asked softly. "It wasn't me, Beckett. It honestly wasn't."

She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, taking in several unsteady breaths. No, she was not about to have a panicked, emotional moment, she was NOT going to do that. Still, the lump rose in her throat and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. The reason she'd always failed to impress some of her siblings, like Lennox, or had never earned their full trust and had continually been babied, like Hudson and Violet, was because she didn't have magic. In fact, that had been a very defining characteristic of her for her entire life.

"Beckett?" Dante's worried voice cut through her thoughts.

Fuck... She wasn't used to anyone outside her family sounding genuinely concerned for her. She was not doing this right now, she was not going to do this. "This is not mine," she said roughly. "This isn't mine, it's not." She felt a cry forming in her stomach, and she tamped it down.

There was silence for a few moments.

"I can't blame you," Dante said finally. "That's what I thought yesterday."

"Yeah, but you fucking have magic, you dumbass!" Beckett snapped. "I have literally never been enough because I didn't have magic, so if I have magic now, I might actually kill someone."

"It just-- makes sense," Dante said. "Or rather, it doesn't, but it makes just as much sense as me having it."

"No, it fucking doesn't!" Beckett said hysterically. "It doesn't make sense, because if I have it, that means I've always had it, and it just never came out, and that doesn't make any sense!"

"Nothing makes sense right now," Dante said, with a bitter sigh. "But we can't just ignore the signs, can we?"

"Oh, we absolutely can," Beckett retorted, clenching her hands into fists and pulling them away from her eyes. "I'm an expert at ignoring weird shit."

"What?" Dante shook his head. "This can't be ignored."

"You don't know how good I am at ignoring things." She sucked in her breath and blinked away more tears.

Dante sighed again. "Okay. You could ignore this. But you certainly shouldn't."

As if to prove his point, the entire sandworm metal structure sunk into the ground by about a foot, ringing out with a loud clinging sound and startling both of them.

"I can't think about this right now," Beckett said quietly, eyes wide and glued to the huge creature. "I absolutely cannot handle this."

Dante was silent for a moment as they rubbed a hand to their face, looking drained.

"I get it," they said, faintly enough that she wasn't sure they'd spoken at all. She couldn't look at them. She felt almost-- vulnerable, raw. It was uncomfortable, and not something she was used to. It certainly wasn't something she liked to feel in front of other people. It made her look incapable. Worse, it made people pity her in a way they wouldn't if they viewed her as strong. She didn't want that from him. The more she thought on it, the more she realized she was actually kind of terrified of getting that from him. She liked being looked to for the answers for once, the way Dante did. She'd never had that happen before.

"Maybe... don't think about it now," Dante suggested quietly, after some time. "Get some sleep. Come back to it at a more reasonable hour."

"Sleep," she muttered sardonically. "Right." She pulled her backpack off as best as she could without standing, and began to unzip it clumsily. It took her several tries because it kept getting caught, and her hands were shaking.

Dante moved a few feet away, slowly rising and stretching out. When he was done, he walked over to a nearby tree, clambering up until he was perched in a branch, back against the trunk. It seemed he was silently volunteering for the first watch this night.

Beckett thought about asking if they were sure, but she knew it was the right move. Even though they were the one who got injured, Beckett was thoroughly exhausted. She laid out her sleeping mat and curled over on her side-- and nearly as soon as her head hit the ground, she was out.



He was trapped in the dark. He was trapped in a darkness of their own making, overwhelmed. He was trapped with him, but he was still alone.

He was used to the dark. It had been his once, hadn't it? Only the cooled reflections of the hours of violence. The world had been lit by the fires that had been left behind as the sun had set and the moon had risen. He'd spent his nights gently stamping the fires out, soothing the scorched plants and animals with whispers, quietness, and overwhelming and peaceful silence. The crickets had begun to chirp, softly at first, then more forcefully, as the fires went out one by one and left him in the dark.

He had trapped himself in the dark then, to help others.

He had trapped himself in the dark now, to hurt. He'd wanted to be rid of them, the humans. How had he, the other, fallen so low that he could no longer bear himself to do it? Had he, the other, not lit the fires himself? Had he not maimed the animals and stripped bare the plants? And yet, as soon as he agreed, as soon as he said, "I will no longer put out these fires," then he did not want to?

Had the fun only lay in the fact that he, the other, had gotten to watch him, the self, clean up after him? He'd spent nights on end for centuries on end healing the poor animals who limped and hissed, whose fur was frazzled and singed from the flames. He'd grown so tired of it.

Were their lives worth living, marked with so much pain-- pain that the humans had added to, despite all his best efforts? It had seemed better, in the moonlight, to let them waste away instead. Let the world crumble to ash, so their pain and suffering could end. He would have no job, no responsibilities, if only the other had agreed. Neither would have needed to do anything, save be with one another.

Now, they were with one another, with nothing to do save sit in the dark. Trapped by ash. How ironic.

He felt played for a fool. Had he not wanted the world to live, once? Had he not wanted to live, once?

It was no more. The darkness overwhelmed him, and the darkness overtook.

The bark of the tree dug into Dante's back, over the vicious bruising he didn't want to look at, but it kept him awake. He needed to be awake. Beckett was out like a rock, and she deserved to be that way for a while. He'd felt hollow after... whatever he'd done to that bush. Stopping a sandworm in its tracks seemed like a different level of exertion entirely.

Dante's gaze drifted back to the sandworm, which had sunk far enough into the earth over the hours that it was almost at eye level with him. It didn't look so scary now, even when its teeth gleamed like a comet in moonlight. But he knew better than to underestimate it-- he'd been lucky to only dislocate his shoulder besides the scrapes and bruises he'd gotten. A little more forceful of a crash, or a different point of impact, and it could've been his neck or spine that got snapped.

If he had a silver coin for every time he'd been thrown around by a monster, he'd have enough for a free bowl of stew. Which didn't sound like a terrible trade, honestly.

Dante sighed quietly as he tilted his head back, feeling it hit the trunk as he looked up at the sky. How far away were they now? Was it far enough? If Lucian was coming from the Smoky Mountains, as the guard had said, there were some days left before he could arrive to their general area. But Dante had a sickening feeling that he wouldn't have a hard time finding them once he was near.

He didn't know how Lucian did it. It was an uncanny skill, one that even baffled other mage hunters, to track down targets with such ruthless efficiency that one would think he had a compass pointing to their location at all times. It didn't only apply to when he was on the job, either-- Dante had heard of Lucian catching people without even being sent to look. He could sniff anyone out, so the rumors went, and all the stories spread from there. It seemed inconceivable that Lucian could miss someone right under his nose.

So why hadn't he been found?

Beckett's case was no less confusing. If there was any safe environment to discover one's magic in, it was in a family of witches, because there was no need to hide there. And Dante believed her when she'd said earlier that she'd 'tried' to manifest it, although the comment about never being enough for not having it saddened him, for some reason. He'd heard so much about magic's existence being a curse that he'd never considered someone might be disappointed for lacking it.

His thoughts spiraled on, but he felt them getting less coherent as the night ticked away. And it wasn't until Dante saw a tinge of pink on the horizon-- a color so unexpected that it instantly snapped him into alertness-- that he realized just how much of the night had gone by. He'd been intending to let Beckett sleep a little extra, but it seemed like he'd gone even farther than that and just about skipped his own time to rest.

It was practically dawn now. Cool. They'd live.

Deciding to get on with it, they dangled from the branch they'd made into their perch and hopped down from there. The landing sent a wave of soreness through their back, but they clenched their jaw through it, pushing past the ache with spite. They dropped to a knee beside Beckett, shaking her shoulder slightly.

"Rise and shine," they said, deciding not to admit that thanks to their absentmindedness, it nearly was time for the sun to shine.

Beckett roused slowly, and it took several seconds of Dante shaking her shoulder for her to fully open her eyes blearily. They shone silver for a moment, before they faded to brown. She'd clearly needed the extra sleep--Dante wasn't sure if they would have been able to wake her earlier if they'd tried. "What?" she mumbled, wincing as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

For a moment, Dante wasn't sure how to answer, distracted by the silver they kept seeing. After a second, he cleared his throat, pulling his hand back. "Did you sleep okay?"

She blinked a few times. "I feel like I didn't sleep a wink."

Well, that was great, considering Dante actually hadn't slept a wink. He gave her an apologetic shrug, sitting back with a sigh. "Understandable."

She looked up at the sky, then squinted. "Wait, how long did you let me sleep?"

Dante paused. He was either going to get thanked or called an idiot in these next few seconds, and he wasn't sure which to prepare for.

"...About that," he started. "It's been a while."

Beckett looked at him for a long moment, then said, "Are you kidding? We're gonna be walking for hours today and you might pass out at any moment?"

An idiot it was, then. "I wouldn't say that."

"I would," she countered. "That was stupid. You shouldn't have done it." She had already pushed herself up and begun to roll up her sleeping mat and repack her bag. After angrily shoving it into the bag and forcing the zipper up, she paused for a moment, still turned away from him. She didn't look at him as she said, "I appreciate the gesture though."

"Don't mention it," Dante murmured, although he had the feeling that this was going to be held over his head if he ever indicated he was tired.

"Do we need to stay here for a bit longer?" Beckett asked. "We probably can't afford a full rest, but a couple hours wouldn't hurt."

Dante glanced up at the sky, still deep with night, but lightening quickly at the edges. "Is that... wise?" they asked.

She glanced up. "I guess you're right. We can head for Guravem, and hopefully reach them in time for supper. Can't risk staying in an inn, but we can find a good place a ways away from the gates."

"Is your idea of a good place a stable?" Dante joked weakly.

"Are you a horse?" Beckett said, sending him a weird look before pulling her pack onto her back.

"Just trying to figure out what else you could mean by something that's not an inn," Dante said. "At least hay is soft."

"My idea of something that's not an inn is the forest," Beckett said slowly. "Outside of town and far enough away from the gates that nobody will wander across us randomly."

"Cool." Dante rubbed at his eyes, getting up to their feet. "Sounds good."

"You should've woken me up," Beckett said, shaking her head. "You sure you're good to go?"

"Yeah," Dante said. "If nothing else, pride and spite will keep me from dozing off."

"Good to know," Beckett said sarcastically. "I'll make sure to keep pressing those buttons."

Hmm. That wasn't lovely. Dante frowned in contemplation of this new idea. "Not what I was hoping you'd do."

"Got to keep you awake somehow," Beckett said, though it was clear her heart wasn't fully in it. She hadn't been lying; even though she'd slept nearly the whole night, she looked bone-tired. So this whole half generous plan, half shortsighted accident of letting her sleep in hadn't really worked out. It should've been a disappointment, but for some reason, Dante didn't regret it.

Dante sighed in reluctant acceptance. "Fair enough," they said, slinging their pack over their shoulder and starting through the woods. "It'll work until we can get into town, where maybe I can splurge on my first coffee."

"Coffee," Beckett repeated with a look of tired disgust. "I'm ready for a tea."

"See, I'm normally a tea person too," Dante said, "but I think this situation requires something a little more serious."

"You think tea isn't serious? You're having the wrong kind of tea," Beckett said, shaking her head.

"I-- okay, so what should I be having?" Dante asked.

"Black tea," Beckett said. "I bet you're one of those people who drinks the fancy shit with like, lavender in it." She squinted at him briefly, then said, "Yeah, you would drink lavender tea, wouldn't you?"

Dante slow-blinked. It would've been a relatively easy statement to deny, but he was much more preoccupied with... "How did you know that?"

"Lavender comes off you so strong, it's like I can smell it," she said. "Ugh."

"Oh, that's not so bad," Dante said. "Lavender's a good smell."

"Oh, lavender is a good smell, but that's not a compliment."

"What's the problem with lavender, then?" Dante asked defensively.

"It just says things about who you are as a person," Beckett said. "I don't know how much clearer I can get."

Unfortunately, Dante was utterly and completely lost. So all he could come up with was an uncertain, "Sorry for liking lavender, I guess?"

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Apology accepted."

He still didn't know what he'd apologized for, but at least it was out there. With a shrug, Dante kept on walking, taking care not to trip over any roots.

After a few minutes of silent walking, Beckett glanced at him and said, "Oh my gods."

Dante halted, turning to her with mild alarm. "What? What is it?"

Beckett stared at him disbelievingly for a few more seconds, before she shook her head. "You add vanilla too, don't you, you sick freak?"

Dante opened their mouth, but no words came out except a delayed, "What's wrong with that?"

"If I wanted vanilla, I'd chew on a flower," Beckett said. "Tea is supposed to taste like tea."

"If you think that, then you should skip the tea part and go straight to chewing on leaves," Dante said, baffled.

"Did you just tell me that if I want tea to taste like tea, then I should chew on leaves because it no longer tastes like tea, even when that's literally all it is?"

"I'm just saying, if that's the flavor you want, might as well go right to the source," Dante said. "Tea is better when there's a recipe to the blend, with fragrances and flavors that give it character besides leaves that happen to dissolve well."

"The whole point of tea is the leaves," Beckett pointed out. "Everything else is just stuff you're adding because you can't handle it in its truest form."

"Spoken like someone who's missing out."

"You know what?" Beckett said suddenly. "Since you love shit being added where it doesn't belong, I bet you wouldn't mind drinking a full cup of Posie Poison then."

"The fuck is that?" Dante asked.

"A tea that adds all sorts of plants and flavors that don't belong," Beckett said. "Like vanilla, and posies. So what do you say?"

"I'd say I don't believe you when you describe it so innocently," Dante said, "but I'll have it anyway. Make it two cups."

Beckett smirked. "Wow, pushing yourself to the absolute limit for a lavender bitch."

Dante sputtered. "What did you just call me?"

Beckett looked at them innocently. "What? That's the official term. You've never heard that before?"

"For daring to like lavender? No! How is that any different from, I don't know, liking mint in green tea?"

"It's a completely different concept. You're just going to have to trust me on this. Lavender bitches are famous for being in denial, much like witches with witchhunter brothers."

"I wish the sandworm ate me," Dante muttered.

"At least it would've enjoyed you," Beckett said. "You know, with the lavender and all. I bet sandworms are real lavender bitches for lavender bitches."

"That doesn't even make sense," Dante objected.

"I'm sure it doesn't to you," Beckett said, then glanced at him with a mischevious smirk. "Lavender bitch."

Dante let out a faint groan, although it wasn't of true annoyance. Damn her and her uncanny guessing skills. He needed to figure out what that was about and how to keep her from being devastatingly accurate about his preferences in the future.

Beckett watched him for a few seconds with her wide grin, before tilted her head for a moment and then turned away suddenly. Dante shook his head, but was surprised to feel his lips floating up in the slightest of smiles. He needed to stop doing that. Smiles were not mysterious, and they didn't need to be doing Beckett any favors on transparency, apparently.

But really, what was a lavender bitch? That thought would bug them for the rest of the walk.



Guravem was slightly more impressive of a town than Illador. The buildings stood a bit taller, its walls were better fortified, and the farmland around it stretched out for miles. In the distance to the west, Dante could see the blades of windmills turning in the breeze. That would've been where the two of them claimed to be from back in Illador. There wasn't a vineyard in sight that way, making him thankful that no one had called them out on their lie or turned suspicious.

The two of them had paused at the edge of the woods, a good ten minutes out from the nearest gate, observing from the shade of the trees. Entering Illador, Dante had been relieved to return to human civilization. But now that they'd learned how intense the search for the two of them was, he felt cold looking at this harmless-seeming town.

Lucian wasn't here. He couldn't be yet. No matter his fear, that had to hold true.

"I think we're going to need a new story," they said, turning back to Beckett. "Considering it's going to be much more difficult to pretend that we're rich kid hometown heroes here."

Beckett nodded. "Yeah." She didn't offer any suggestions. Dante had really hoped she would've, because at the moment, their brain was probably too dead for that kind of thinking.

"Are we still siblings?" they asked.

"Sure, why not," she said. "You can be my lavender bitch bro."

How had she made an already upsetting label worse? Dante sighed. "Okay. And we're from Ciosia this time. Why are we here?"

"Because we heard they have the best Posie Poison around, and you had to confirm that for yourself." Beckett smirked again.

Dante was really starting not to like the sound of this Posie Poison thing. "Is it really worth travelling for?" he asked doubtfully, hoping to get more information on it.

"You're gonna find out, aren't you?" Beckett said. Her eyes gleamed. Okay, he definitely didn't like this now. Either it was straight-up nightshade tea and therefore literal poison, or it was something worse than he had the capacity to imagine right now.

"It sounds like you're here to help me with whatever tragedy is certain to befall me because of it," Dante said.

"Of course not! Who do you think I am?" Beckett said innocently.

"Definitely the younger sibling, since you asked," Dante said.

"Thanks for the compliment."

"It wasn't meant as one," Dante said, knowing full well they were speaking as an actual younger sibling.

"I'll take it as one anyway," Beckett said.

Dante rolled their eyes playfully, waving her onward. "Let's get going. I know you're eager to see this."

"Oh, I am so eager to see this," Beckett said. "I actually don't think there are enough words to describe how happy I am to watch your reaction to tea with shit in it, which you clearly think is superior."

"Can't be worse than everclear or something," Dante said. "Not if it's actually tea."

"Don't worry," Beckett said. "If you're too scared, you can back out."

Dante scoffed. "I'm not scared, believe me. I am worried I'll be underwhelmed, though."

"Uh-huh," Beckett agreed. "Well, if you do get too scared, it's fine to back out. It wouldn't be unexpected." She grinned at them.

Well, now he really did have to do this. "Oh, I won't."

"Mhm, right."

If this thing was actually poison and he got goaded into drinking two cups of it out of pride, Dante would guess he probably deserved whatever happened to him.

The two of them looped around the town wall, passing through the gate facing Ciosia's direction, and Dante tucked their hands in the pockets of their jacket as they examined the crowd they moved through. Their purse wasn't empty, so there was no need to steal from anyone else-- a fact they were glad for, because no one here looked as well-off as the random stranger they'd pickpocketed back in Illador. They could probably make it to Ciosia before resorting to that again, where there would be plenty more targets they wouldn't have qualms about robbing.

It was with a strange feeling that they realized, if they could actually turn things into gold somehow, that probably meant they could create money. It wasn't like they knew how to go about doing that, since they had no control over that magic, but the irony wasn't lost on them. Turning random shit into gold was absurdly easier than being a professional thief. Still, the thought didn't excite them as much as it could've. It didn't really matter that they could strike it rich if it was far more likely they'd get burned at the stake first.

He watched Beckett's steps slow a little as they passed a business on the side of the street, and he realized why as he read the sign: East River Tea. It seemed like they'd found their first stop, then. Steeling himself, he turned to her.

"Feel like getting this over with?" Dante asked.

Beckett grinned. "I'm not getting anything over with," she countered. "But sure, if you'd like to."

"I think the mystery's lasted long enough."

"Exciting," Beckett said. "Well, after you!" She gestured dramatically at the door as she opened it, beckoning them inside.

Dante hoped he would be walking out of this shop alive and unpoisoned, which wasn't a guarantee. The bell on the door jingled as it closed behind him.

The tea shop was cozy and small but surprisingly full, with every space that wasn't taken up by a towering shelf of jars in use by tables of patrons. Fragrant steam filled the air, and Dante breathed in deeply, taking a moment to appreciate the first calm atmosphere he'd known in a while. There was one empty table left in a snug corner near the back, and the two of them settled in there. Dante was about to ask if Beckett would be getting anything, but the owner of the shop-- a spectacled and bearded man with a jovial expression-- swooped over first.

"Welcome to East River Tea!" the man said pleasantly. "I don't believe I've seen you stop by-- would you like a list of our selection? Or do you already have something in mind?"

"I think we're ready to order, thank you," Dante said, with a look to Beckett. "Although I'm going to need you to remind me of the name for what you said I should get-- I forgot already."

He had not, but he wanted Beckett to be the one to ask for it, just so he didn't get tricked into ordering something that didn't actually exist.

Beckett smiled sweetly--it looked nice, but as someone who had actually started to know her, he didn't trust it for an instant. "My brother here," she said, "is gonna have two of your Poison Posies."

The man nodded immediately, then paused and glanced at Dante, his expression suddenly uncertain. "Two? You sure you want to do that, son?"

That wasn't good. He sounded like he thought Dante was a sick man. But Dante slapped an easy smile on their face and nodded. "Oh, I'm sure."

The shop owner looked vaguely alarmed, but all he did was let out a little hum and turn to face Beckett. "Would you like anything with that?"

"Yes," Beckett said, then folded her hands and placed them on the table. "I'll take a lavender tea, thank you."

Dante's expression immediately fell into a flat stare. Beckett met it with an infuriatingly innocent smile.

"Wonderful choice," the man said agreeably. "I'll be back in a few minutes with your teacups." With that, he left their table, but not without a concerned glance back at Dante. Great. Just great.

"You're kidding," Dante deadpanned. "You like lavender?"

"What can I say for it," Beckett said, sighing wistfully. "I'm a bitch for it." Her eyes flashed a little with each word.

He was going to lose his goddamn mind. "Not the impression I got from our conversation earlier."

"Oh, there's an important distinction," Beckett clarified. "I'm a bitch for lavender, but I'm not a lavender bitch."

Dante balked a little. "The difference is still lost on me."

"I promise, it's there, and it's a big one." Beckett smiled as the man came back, now carrying three cups with steam rising out of them. "Here, I'll prove it."

"Alright, a lavender tea, and two Poison Posies," he said, setting each one down carefully on the table. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Actually, sorry--" Beckett said, raising her hand. "Sorry, I know you're very busy in here, but I just had a question for you. My brother and I have been having a bit of a disagreement lately. I say that he's a lavender bitch, but he says that just because I like lavender, I'm also a lavender bitch. I've been trying to explain the difference, but it keeps getting lost in translation somehow. Could you help us settle this?"

Good gods, Dante hadn't so much as had a sip of anything and there was already a headache setting in.

The man looked briefly surprised, but his confusion cleared up as he looked between the two of them. "Ah! I suppose that's a... subtle and elusive difference to describe, but I see your meaning. Anyone can like lavender-- it's hard to dislike, honestly-- and plenty will appreciate it more than others, but others will make it into an obsession of flavor. If someone's got that heavy preference embodied in their lifestyle, I suppose it might get the label of a..."

The shop owner faltered, waving his hand around vaguely as if he were trying to think of a different term, but evidently nothing else was coming to mind.

"A 'lavender bitch'," he finished.

Dante wouldn't say they were staring daggers at the moment, but they were definitely giving Beckett one of their better dead looks. Which they were pretty good at.

"See," Beckett said. "I told you there's a difference." She picked up her cup, blew on it for a second, then took a sip and let out an exaggerated, "Ahhh. Delicious."

It took every bit of Dante's willpower not to snap and to instead turn to the man with what had to be a very evident plastered smile.

"Thanks very much," Dante said.

"Of course," the man said with a tip of his head. "I'll leave you to it." He was gone even faster than the last time, and Dante had the feeling he didn't want to be around for what was next.

Blinking dazedly, they looked down to stare at the two teacups before them.

The color of the tea was a marshy chartreuse and semi-opaque, like green tea. What was odd was that they couldn't smell it, and there wasn't anything wrong with their nose, because they could easily smell Beckett's tea from across the table. If it was hard to smell, it should follow that it was hard to taste, right? Encouraged, Dante lifted the cup, blew lightly on its surface, and took a first sip.

He'd never been hit with a wave of revulsion so quickly in his life.

Fighting the urge to gag, Dante's eyebrows shot up as a horrible, bile-like bitterness filled his mouth. He almost spat it out right then and there-- almost. Instead, he forced himself to swallow the tea quickly, feeling nearly sick, but to his horror, the taste didn't vanish. Instead, it only seemed to get worse the longer it lingered on his tongue, and there was nothing to wash it down with. Dante had to lower the cup to stare back into it disbelievingly as a queasy feeling of illness settled in his stomach.

What the fuck? What was this shit?

"Enjoying yourself?" Beckett asked innocently, taking another sip of her tea. "I imagined you'd like it, since you enjoy so many other things being added to tea."

"I meant plants and flowers, not fucking lamp oil or whatever's in here," Dante coughed, openly grimacing with distaste.

"Oh, Poison Pansies are chock full of plants," Beckett said. "There's the vanilla, the pansies, the daisies, and the chamomile, all boiled in a mixture of water, honey, and bitterroot." She pointed at the cup. "The bitterroot is really the biggest ingredient. The rest of it is pretty optional, and varies widely from place to place. Some people include cinnamon, which I disagree with on a fundamental level, but plenty of others keep it simpler and just do the pansies and bitterroot. It's used quite often for health purposes. It's said to open your lungs and wake up all your senses." Her eyes gleamed again.

Bitterroot? He'd had that back in the forest for the first time, and it definitely hadn't been fun, but that had been nothing compared to the way the foulness flooded his mouth now. Apparently, it tasted a thousand times worse dissolved in water. Dante forced himself to take another sip, nearly choking as his throat refused to swallow properly for a moment. This had to count as attempted murder. A third sip took him to a halfway-empty teacup and a stomach that was getting very unhappy with him.

"You can't be serious," Dante muttered. "People knowingly choose to drink this shit?"

"All the time. No shame in backing out though," Beckett said. "We could even trade, if you can't handle it."

Yeah, fuck that. Dante made sure every bit of his displeasure was evident as he made direct eye contact and drained the last of the tea, ignoring the wave of nausea he felt in response. Getting poisoned would've been a preferable fate. He cursed his pride as he set the cup back in its saucer, pulling a disgusted face.

"Good job," Beckett said. "You really convinced me you enjoyed that."

"Now I know why the owner clearly thought I was a psychopath for wanting this," Dante grumbled, reaching for the second cup.

"Ah ah ah," Beckett said, snatching the cup away. "Don't be a dumbass, I don't want to be stuck here while you puke your guts out for the next hour."

She pushed the lavender tea cup towards him, before she, without breaking eye contact, chugged the second cup of Poison Pansie without blinking or stopping. Afterwards, she set it down with a loud 'clink' and sighed contentedly. "Gods, that's good."

She might as well have picked the table up and thrown it at him, by the way he felt like he'd been struck in the face. Dante stared at her, finally echoing in open disbelief, "Good? Good?"

"Yes," Beckett said slowly. "Good. Delicious, actually. It's like I can feel my body regenerating."

"You cannot be serious," Dante said incredulously. "That is sewage in a cup."

"Shut up and drink your lavender tea, you bitch," Beckett said with a satisfied smirk. "It tastes disgusting anyway."

Dante could feel the gaze of a customer across the shop landing on him, and he understood why the two of them might be a subject of interest in the room. He was crazy enough to order that god-cursed blend of tea, and Beckett was crazy enough to enjoy it. Not to mention that she'd lied about liking lavender too. Trying to keep from openly fuming, he took the teacup she'd ordered and gulped its contents. It helped a little, but the aftertaste was still there, and he knew it was going to take more than that to wash it away.

"Not sure I'm going to forgive you for this," Dante muttered.

"Forgive me for what?" Beckett said slyly. "Ordering you a cup of shitty lavender tea, or saying there's no shame in backing out?"

"Gods, let's just get the check," Dante groaned. "And then I need something to wash this down-- I have something in mind."

"Great," Beckett said. She stood, stretching her arms out and yawning before she made her way to the counter. Despite how much it seemed like she'd been bullshitting him, she somehow did actually look slightly better. The bags under her eyes were less prominent. Maybe, even with its disgusting taste, it really did have healing properties. Or maybe that was only for her. He felt like he was on his deathbed.

As she moved away, he could see more of the cramped room, and Dante got a look at the customer who he'd felt watching them. It was a man maybe ten years older than them, watching Dante through a pair of thin, rounded wire glasses. His hands were folded on the table in front of him next to a teacup as he shifted anxiously, and he didn't seem to notice Dante caught him staring. Dante tilted his chin up with a hint of challenge, and the man quickly and awkwardly looked away.

Beckett walked back to Dante, hands in her pockets, hair pushed back behind her shoulders. "Alright, lavender bitch," she said. "Where are we going?"

Dante remained unfazed, rising to their feet as they turned away from the stranger. "Right across the street," they said. They didn't actually know what was there, but for gods' sake, this was a decently sized town. There would be a bar across any street.

"Mysterious," Beckett quipped, wiggling her eyebrows as she headed towards the door.

"I promise it can't be worse than what you just had me do." Dante pushed the door open, holding it open for her as he scanned the street.

Luckily, their prediction had been right: there was not one, but two bars across the street. Dante went for the one directly opposite them, a regular-looking tavern with a wooden sign above its door that read The Silver Moon.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Beckett said playfully.

"Only myself," Dante said, as the two of them entered the tavern. A fiddle was playing somewhere in the back as they made their way to the bar counter, settling in on a pair of stools. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"You're so overdramatic." Beckett laughed. "It's not like it's everyone's favorite, but it's certainly not going to kill you."

"I'm not convinced, given the name," Dante remarked.

"It has healing properties," Beckett said. "Come on, tea shops wouldn't be selling anything that dangerous, you'd need to go to a private brewer if you really wanted something for killing someone."

"...That's not comforting," Dante said.

"Sure it is," Beckett said. "I'd recognize the smell and color and probably stop you from drinking it."

Dante had meant the suggestion that apparently brewers were game to poison people, but a bartender walked up to them as she wiped down a glass with a cloth.

"What can I get started for the two of you?" she asked.

"I'll have two shots of tequila, please," Dante said-- because if that didn't get rid of the taste, they didn't know what would. "And she'll have a hard seltzer."

Beckett's mouth was already open to order, but she paused, clearly momentarily caught off guard. "How the fuck did you know that?"

Dante paused, glancing her way. The bartender was giving both of them a funny look, but after a moment she shrugged, gave them a thumbs up to acknowledge the order, and walked off to make it.

"I don't know. How'd you know I liked lavender?" Dante replied.

"That's completely besides the point," Beckett said. "You just reek of lavender vibes. I don't reek of hard seltzer, do I?"

"You seem like you're not a shooter," Dante noted. "Anyone who can't take a shot drinks seltzer instead."

Beckett blanched. "I can take a shot," she said. "I just think it's disgusting."

"Mmh-hmm," Dante hummed. "So a concoction of the vilest-tasting plant to man is fine, but you draw the line at hard liquor?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Beckett said, picking up the glass as the bartender sat it down in front of her and taking a sip.

"If you say so," Dante said, lifting the first shot glass and taking it quickly. It was strong, burning, and infinitely, infinitely preferable to the Poison Posie. Next to them, Beckett took another slow drink of her seltzer, face thoughtful as she stared at the counter.

Thankfully, the tequila was helping, although they'd have to be dealing with the effects of two shots soon enough. Whatever. That was a later problem.

"What tastes good about it?" they asked after a moment.

Beckett startled, then glanced at them. "About what?"

"Poison Posies," Dante said. "You wanted me to try it because you knew I wouldn't like it, so you know it's an unpopular flavor. But you like it."

Beckett moved her glass around idly for a moment, swirling it and watching the remaining seltzer bubble and fizz. "I don't know," she said finally. "The earthiness. It tastes like a calm night where you don't have to worry about anything anymore. You've finished the day. You just get to lay there."

"Hmm." Dante reflected on this, spinning their empty shot glass thoughtfully. It caught the candlelight and scattered it back as it twirled over the counter. "I'm not sure I see it myself."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Beckett said. "You're a highway thief, you work at night."

Dante huffed. "Fair. I did take the day shift when I could, though. I don't work so well at night."

"Good to know," Beckett said sarcastically, though the bite to it wasn't really there. She swirled her glass around a few more seconds, clearly slightly troubled, before she downed the rest of it in one swing.

Dante took his second shot, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. His throat was burning a little, and normally this situation would call for some lime to chase it with, but he was just glad to have something to focus on that wasn't that all-consuming bitterness.

"What now?" he asked.

"If you don't mind me butting in--" Someone began, and both Dante and Beckett jumped, spinning around. It was the man from the tea shop, the one Dante had caught staring at them. The man startled at their sudden movement, and jumped back a little himself. "I couldn't help but noticing," the man said nervously, "that you seem to enjoy Poison Pansies." He addressed the statement at Beckett, who was staring at the man like he was some type of foreign creature. "I was wondering if I could talk with the two of you in private."

Dante scowled. They weren't looking to talk to people-- especially at any secondary location. Especially if they'd been followed over from a different place.

"We're not interested in whatever you're selling," they said, tone neutral but firm.

The man shook his head, chuckling awkwardly. "Uh, no, sorry, I'm not selling anything. I just-- I think that I have information that the two of you are probably in desperate need of." He scratched the back of his head and pushed his rounded glasses up his nose, glancing between the two of them.

Dante exchanged a doubtful look with Beckett.

"Information," Dante repeated. "Over tea preferences."

"Oh, not at all." The man chuckled again, then glanced over his shoulder nervously. "I really think you ought to come with me, they've got the guards searching all over for the two of you-- have for days."

Dante tensed, meeting Beckett's eyes again as his heart started to race. How did this man know? They hadn't said or done anything to evoke suspicion. He wasn't threatening to turn them in, and he sounded like he wanted to help, but Dante didn't trust him that far. The mention of guards searching made his chest feel tight.

Beckett watched Dante for a second, then turned to the man and narrowed her eyes. "We don't know what you're talking about. My brother and I--"

The man laughed loudly, drawing a few stares. "Ah, yes!" He said, like a bad stage actor. "Yes, you and your brother. I was just thinking you would find some of the books in my library to be fascinating! Loads and loads of tea recipes in there, yes."

Beckett's entire body stiffened, but to her credit, it was clear she tried not to show how panicked the man was making her. "Yes, sure!" She said loudly in response. "Yes, we'd love to see your tea recipes, we're fanatics." She glanced at Dante with wide eyes, sending a very clear message: Help! What the fuck do we do now?

Dante tried not to glare at the man. He wasn't sure his glance to Beckett properly communicated the message of if he tries anything, I'll deck him, but he hoped it was clear enough that he was not scared of this nerd.

"Where's your library?" Dante asked.

"Just down the street," the man said, pushing his glasses up again. "Well, actually, the regular library is just down the street, but I think you two would enjoy some of the older literature in the basement." Then, as if he panicked and remembered where he was, he added loudly, "Lots of old tea recipes in the basement!"

Dante resisted the urge to grit his teeth-- that was more suspicious, not less-- but he turned to Beckett and said, "Let's close our tab, then."

"Sure," Beckett muttered, placing several coins on the counter and pushing them forward before hopping out of her bar stool. "Lead the way," she said, waving a hand annoyedly at the man.

He nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Yes, it's just right this way."

Dante stood, giving the bar a suspicious glance over their shoulder before following the two of them out. The man walked briskly-- scurried like a mouse, really-- through the street, and Dante wanted to tell him to cut it out. Normal people who weren't guilty of heresy and crime didn't walk like that. If this guy was a rat for the guards, he was the worst person at it to ever hold the role.

The man led them to the library, a wider building sitting on an open plaza. When they walked in, Dante was about to stop and take a moment to observe the towering walls of bookshelves on the first floor, but the man didn't slow or pause. Instead, he ducked around and hurriedly took a narrow, old staircase downstairs into an area Dante would've assumed was off-limits to the public. Maybe it was. He exchanged a skeptical look with Beckett, but after a moment, the two of them followed.

The basement ceiling was low, only a couple of inches above their head. Rather than bookshelves, books were piled up in stacks on top of each other, with a winding maze of corridors between them. The air smelled thickly of old paper, and Dante got the feeling that these books didn't see a lot of people reading them. The yellow of their pages seemed to confirm their guess.

The man turned and said, "You two can wait here," as he gestured at an old table covered with various scrolls and books. Then, he turned and disappeared into the maze of stacks. After several seconds of awkward silence, Beckett turned and muttered at Dante, "What do you think is going on here?"

From the books came a small squeal of excitement, before the man whispered to himself, "Okay, calm down." Dante was assuming he didn't realize how much of an echo there was in this place.

"...I don't know," Dante murmured. "But for whatever reason, I think he's genuinely happy to see us."

"Why would he be--" Beckett stopped abruptly as the man rounded the corner again, this time holding a stack of four very thick books.

"Here we are," he said to himself, putting down the books one by one around the table, then moving back to the first book and flipping through the pages until he stopped triumphantly and said, "Yes!"

He moved to the second book, and Beckett frowned at him, before hurrying to look at the first book and the page he'd stopped it on. "Maybe I'm just stating the obvious," Beckett said, "but this isn't a tea recipe."

The man froze, then glanced up at her. He looked delighted. "Not at all!" He said cheerfully. "Did you think it was? Was my acting that good? Of course, I never thought I'd need to be able to do something like that in a place like this, so really, I had no idea how well it had gone. But wow, you believed me!" He practically squealed again as he found the page he was looking for in the second book, then moved on to the third.

Dante felt a bit like hitting their head on the table. They also felt a bit like sleeping through this conversation. Instead, they folded their arms over their chest and sighed quietly. "No, we knew this wasn't about tea. What's happening here?"

The man glanced up at Dante and smiled nervously. "Well, that's a long story. One that is covered in countless books, or used to be, anyway. Unfortunately, many of them encouraged or taught magic-users, so away they went!" The man chuckled, but seemed a bit like a wounded puppy, thinking of what must have been stacks upon stacks of burning books. "Fortunately, it's still preserved in a few places," the man continued, pushing his glasses up again before pointing at a page in the third book. "Like here." He moved to the fourth book, and only needed to flip a few pages before he said, "And here."

"What is?" Dante pressed.

"Your story," the man clarified. "Oh, I can't believe this is happening to me. Oh, all my colleagues would freak! But no, no, mustn't say anything, it's far too dangerous." He licked his lips. "Here, come here." He pointed to the page in the fourth book. "Do you see?"

"Beyond his most familiar historical deeds, Civasi was identified and painted frequently in ancient artwork as a brewer of teas and potions," Beckett read outloud. "Among his favorite was said to be Bitterbeer, though because alcoholic brewing was not discovered until the later myth of the Barley Bird, it is suggested that what the moon god favored in actuality was Poison Pansie, a recipe enclosed in the appendix." Beckett glanced up at the librarian. "So what? There's myths about the moon god drinking a drink I like, how is that connected to us?"

"Or here!" The man said, hurrying to the second book. He waved at Dante. "Here, here." He pointed out a passage.

Dante thought this was bullshit as well, but they leaned over, squinting at the open pages. "Lavender was known to be the favorite flower of the sun god Aylonla, due to its pale purple blooms matching the color of the sky at dawn and dusk, the time when he could see his love Civasi. A healing potion containing lavender was his gift to the great heroine Alta in the myth of the Gilded Lake, as a way to indicate that the champion had won his favor." Dante blinked at the book, then scoffed, peering up at the librarian. "I fear you've yet to make your point."

The man watched him with his mouth hung open, but said, "Alright, this one then." He pointed to the passage he'd selected from the third book, and this time, read it outloud himself. "In the myth of the Water's Son, Aylonla and Civasi are often given credit to the birth of the Water's Son after making love in the water, where neither the sun nor the moon may touch, and where they are equal. The creation is known today as the pearl. However, this inconsistency can be traced back to an error of translation between 'rameq' and 'romeau', a difference that would have been nearly indetectible in the ancient alphabet. The original myth actually cites this act of love as the creation of the equally precious metals, silver and gold, which was, because of their love, said to bloom under the touches of the sun's rays and the moon's glances."

The librarian looked at both of them as if this were definitive proof of some profound thing that neither of them seemed to be grasping yet. Which, Dante wasn't, considering he was on exactly two shots of tequila and zero hours of sleep. The librarian received two blank stares in response.

"Cool story," Dante finally said to break the looming silence. The librarian deflated a little.

"Well, I suppose it makes sense that neither of you would remember or understand," he said to himself, wringing his hands out. "Reincarnation studies are tricky at best, very little evidence... but the gold could-- yes..." He continued murmuring to himself for a few moments, before he looked at them and said, "Oh! I nearly forgot."

He rushed over to the first book he'd set down, which he had yet to read from. "The First Fight of Lovers," he read outloud. "A myth concerning Aylonla and Civasi." He pointed to the passage and pushed the book towards Dante and Beckett, fiddling with his glasses anxiously.

Dante sighed quietly, deciding to get this over with and leaning towards the book. "Some mythological texts have a surprising and much debated inclusion: they state the two gods, moments before becoming unreachable by the mortal world in their battle, realized their mistakes. Regretful, but with too short a time to properly act, they supposedly split the essences of their soul into many small parts and sent them out into the world, where they were to meet with humans. These texts state that when a human with a piece of Aylonla's soul and a human with a piece of Civasi's soul meet, the two will have the potential to become their reincarnations, and the gods will walk among us again."

There was no need to go back and recap the myth of the vanished gods-- every kid in Aylonis had grown up being told that story. This was a version Dante wasn't familiar with, though. With expectant confusion, they looked back up to the librarian, silently pushing him to just say whatever wild theory he was forming.

Instead though, the librarian just looked at the two expectantly, his entire body shaking a little with what must have been excitement. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he burst out, "Oh, don't you see? It's you! I know it is!"

He turned and pulled a newspaper that didn't look nearly as old as the collection-- only a recent edition to the countless books and papers in the basement. "Witches to be Hung Go Free From Strands of Silver and Gold-- Hunt Still Undergoing." He slammed the newspaper on the table and pointed at it. "That is the two of you. And I imagine now that your magic has woken from meeting, it hasn't given you much of a break on your journey thus far."

There was silence in the basement for a long moment. Then Dante had to turn away with a chuckle that gradually built into a full-bodied laugh.

"I can understand why this would come as a shock," the librarian said hesitantly, "but, umm... well, it all adds up, doesn't it?"

Dante laughed for a few seconds longer, almost uncontrollably. It was then that it struck them as odd that Beckett wasn't laughing, and a glance her way told them why. Her face was dead serious, looking deeply troubled. "You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don't you?" She asked, sending a glare at the librarian.

He fidgeted under her gaze. "Yes, of course. Oh, if they hadn't taken my other books, I could've shown you more-- there's been character analyses done on their personalities, how they acted before and after their intertwining and reversal of emotions. There have even been theoretical papers hundreds of pages long, all dictating how they would manifest in the modern day!" The librarian exhaled exasperatedly. "Oh, but they burned all of them." He sagged against the table, elbows on the surface and his face in his hands. "I do understand how this all sounds," he said finally, pushing himself up. "I really do. But-- well, this is rather awkward, but-- you're my life's work. I think I'd recognize the signs more than you might."

"Look," Dante said, starting to get himself together. "I understand you're enthusiastic, and that you probably want us to be this. But the two of us are hardly witches, let alone literal gods."

"But don't you see?" He said. "That's exactly it! You two have no idea what you're doing! Mortal magic doesn't work like that, it manifests from an extremely early age. There are no records of mortals' magic surfacing late. Certainly not two decades late, that's completely unheard of!"

Dante glanced at Beckett, expecting her to agree that this was complete insanity, but she was watching him with wide eyes, gradually looking closer and closer to fainting. "Your brother," she whispered. "He wouldn't have seen you if the magic wasn't there before."

"That's..." Dante hesitated. "That could be an uncanny coincidence. There's always anomalies out there."

Despite saying it, he didn't like how well it fit-- and that he didn't have anything better to disprove the claim. Meanwhile, the librarian was staring at him with stars in his eyes, as if he were meeting the king. "You really are quite canny," he said, turning to a book and flipping through the pages. "You speak just like him."

Dante scowled. "I speak just like myself and nobody else, thank you very much."

The librarian went completely still, before he scrambled so fast he nearly tripped, which would have been a disaster with the piles of books in this room. Dante could hear him running through the makeshift aisles, mumbling to himself, before he yelled out, "AHA!" so loud that Beckett jumped. The librarian emerged again with another book, placing it on the table definitively and shuffling through the pages quickly, before he landed on one and screamed, "YES! YES!" He pointed at a line.

"What?" Dante asked tiredly. He felt himself losing patience, much like he had for their conversation with Falziban.

Beckett sighed and leaned over the book, before she also went stiff. "Oh my gods," she murmured. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Now concerned, Dante peeked over her shoulder. The librarian had brought out some kind of mythological text-- Dante wasn't sure which story it was, at a glance, but it was written out as a script. The librarian's finger was tapping excitedly over a line of dialogue from Aylonla, which read...

Dante felt strangely cold, and he recoiled from the book.

Those had been his exact words.

"Oh, come on," he muttered, mostly to distract himself from how freaky that was.

"This isn't actually possible though," Beckett said. "Is it? You said yourself that magic doesn't just-- appear like this."

"Mortal magic," he corrected. "Well, as for the gods, they're unpredictable! None of them have been seen for centuries, a millenia, even! They hardly ever reveal themselves to mortals, even the smallest ones prefer to keep their distance, so it's really hard to say what their magic is like."

Beckett made eye contact with Dante. She placed a hand on the table to steady herself. "Falziban," she said quietly. "He called you the sun. He said we'd been having a lover's quarrel that had been ruining his life for years."

"Okay-- yes, and he did mention reincarnation, something about killing our bodies and forcing us to do through another cycle," Dante said, "but he was also acting like he'd lost his mind five centuries ago--"

"Falziban?" The librarian interrupted them. His eyes stared unblinking, round as coins. "You met Falziban? God of the Westbank forests?"

"Gods, don't tell me you're one of his superfans," Dante muttered.

"There haven't been any reported sightings of him in the last three hundred years," the librarian whispered in awe. "And he's one of the most recent Godly sightings because he's one of the least shy."

Superfan it was, then. "So? Maybe we just made him that angry."

"Oh, no." The librarian shook his head fervently. "Falziban is always described as extremely calm in temperament, more so than all the other minor deities. It's said that he rivals Civasi's peace-making tendencies. I suppose it is possible that in the absence of Civasi and Aylonla's supervision over the other gods, that the balance got all--" He searched for words as he tilted his hands back and forth. "--topsy-turvsey," he finished. "Still, mortals rarely hold the power to influence a god's emotions, let alone to anger one."

Calm was not exactly the word Dante would have used to describe Falziban, so something had definitely changed. He fell silent, gaze lingering on the page where a god was spitting his own words back at him.

"Just as a hypothetical," Beckett began, staring at the book, "what would a giant sandworm attacking us signify in all of this?"

"Yeah, what would a sandworm have against these two?" Dante asked.

"A sandworm?" The librarian contemplated it for a moment. "Well, they've been said to have connections to various gods, but it would be difficult to tell which simply by its appearance."

Beckett said, "It came straight for me. It missed and headed towards them, but--"

"Hold on a minute," Dante interrupted. "What do you mean, it missed you before it headed for me? Did you notice it?"

Beckett flushed. "Yes, I noticed it, it was a huge fucking worm trying to eat me! The fuck kind of question is that?"

"Well, why'd you wait and let it throw me around without so much as a warning that I was about to get ambushed?" Dante demanded.

"I tried to!" she exclaimed. "I was saying words, I just-- I couldn't hear them. I think it must have had some sort of silencing magic--"

Thump.

The librarian's grip had loosened on the book he'd been holding, and it had fallen with a 'smack' to the ground. "Silence?" he breathed.

Dante frowned, glancing between the two of them in confusion. "What do you mean, silence?"

The librarian didn't take his eyes off of Beckett. "Silence," he repeated. "Silence, as in your voice specifically, or--"

Beckett cut him off. "No, I mean, I was speaking as loud as I could and nothing was coming out. And..." she frowned. "Now that I think about it, I guess the woods also got quiet. Is that a weird thing to say? I mean, if it hadn't gotten quiet, you would've noticed the sandworm sooner."

Dante tried to think back to that moment. It was difficult, because the second more he'd gone flying through the air was a second spent aimlessly thinking. There was nothing important about it. But he'd probably had an easier time staying lost in thought because it was quiet in his surroundings.

"And I didn't notice," he murmured. "Not a thing, even though a sandworm isn't known to be subtle."

The librarian's eyes were still wide with terror, and he disappeared once again into the books, though this time he returned quicker than before with a small book, which he opened as fast as he could. He began to speak rapidly as he flipped through the pages. "There have been mentions throughout various mythological pieces, though for better or worse, the stories seem, the majority of the time, to have been silenced over the centuries. There's a--"

It was as if his voice trailed off mid-sentence, though it was clear that he was still talking. As soon as he realized what was happening, panic struck his face. Dante's eyes widened the longer they watched him, starting to share in his panic.

"What is it?" they tried to ask-- but couldn't. Dante felt his lips mouthing the shape of the words, felt his throat and jaw move along with them, but no sound reached his ears. In fact, they couldn't seem to hear anything else either. The secluded library basement was not a noisy space, but Dante hadn't realized until now that it hadn't been fully silent-- because now, it was.

Lifting a hand to their mouth, Dante turned to Beckett frantically, trying to communicate their alarm at their loss of control wordlessly, because words weren't an option anymore.

Beckett also looked panicked, but still took the time to look at them like they had lost their mind. She nodded with overwhelming amounts of judgment in her eyes, as if to say, Yeah, I ALSO can't speak. What the fuck are you doing? You look stupid, put your hand down.

Dante put his hand down, tempted to glare. He would've, if there wasn't something much more nefarious at work here than a somehow perfectly communicated silent insult.

Beckett turned back to the librarian, snatched the book from his hands, and, after only a few seconds, tore out the page the librarian had turned to. The librarian looked aghast, and was clearly mouthing something along the lines of, What are you doing!? That's a priceless ancient artifact, you can't tear it up!

In response, Beckett shrugged apologetically, pointed to her ears exaggeratedly, and mouthed, Can't hear you, sorry! before tearing out the next several pages and shoving them in her pocket.

Dante cared for the condition of books as much as the next person, but for once, they agreed with Beckett. This wasn't the time for that-- and they had to leave. They didn't know what getting away from here would do for the dreadful, eerie silence that had fallen over everything, but they knew they didn't want to stay for any more of it.

Unable to say this out loud, they bolted in the direction of the stairs, hoping Beckett would get the message. They couldn't hear their own footsteps and definitely couldn't hear Beckett's, but when they glanced back, she was following, so at least there was that. The two of them burst out into the main library, quiet as ever. The people up here might not have even noticed a change in volume. The librarian at the desk looked up at the movement, clearly expecting to shush them, then looked mildly confused as the two sprinted towards the door with absolutely no sound.

Beckett burst through the door first, leaving it open for Dante to follow behind as the two ran down the street. Dante felt like they were losing their mind, expecting to hear sound when there was none. The dissonance was maddening. Were they headed for the gate again? They didn't know-- and there was no way to communicate-- but Beckett turned down the main road that they'd entered on, and a wave of relief washed over them.

As if by magic-- which it had to be-- the sound of gravel crunching under their boots finally reached their ears once they passed through the gate.

"What the fuck was that?" Dante exclaimed, eager to find their voice again as they halted.

Beckett was panting, braids hanging in front of her face as she bent over to catch her breath. "I've got no fucking clue," she wheezed. "And I don't want to find out. We should keep moving, it seems like there's some sort of radius."

Dante inhaled deeply, glancing back over his shoulder. It seemed no sound was making it out of town. It would've been nice to make an extra stop or two, but there was no chance of that happening now.

Besides, their exhaustion (and the non-negligible amount of alcohol they'd just consumed) was starting to weigh heavier on them now.

"Can we... rest somewhere away from here?" he said wearily.

Beckett nodded, but she took several more seconds to push herself back up to standing fully. "Right," she said wearily. "You need to sleep. Fuck." She wiped sweat from her brow and stared up at the hot sun, which had finally begun its descent through the sky. "We should stop early so you can sleep sooner."

"That sounds great," Dante murmured, rolling back his shoulders and taking another deep breath before starting to walk again. "Because that felt like a bad dream."

Beckett just shook their head, clearly lost in their thoughts.

The two of them retreated back to the woods, and they didn't start to slow until Dante looked back and saw Guravem had vanished behind the trees. His head hurt, trying to grapple with the impossibility they'd just witnessed. Who could have that power? More importantly, why would anyone want to use it on the two of them?

"Was that what it was like?" he asked after a while, once he'd found his breath again. "With the sandworm?"

Beckett looked at him exasperatedly and said, "No shit!" She pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned to him and pointed accusingly. "I told you I wouldn't have just not warned you. You thought I was fucking crazy!"

"I didn't say that!" Dante objected. "It's the situation that's crazy!"

"You didn't have to say it," she retorted. "Your face was screaming, 'I don't believe a word of this'."

"So maybe I didn't, not immediately," Dante said defensively. "But would you believe me right away if I was the one claiming it?"

"When the other option is you purposely trying to get me killed?!" Beckett said incredulously. "Yeah, I'd believe you! We've had crazier shit happen in the past couple days than our vocal chords not working!"

"Gods forbid I retain any of the healthy amount of skepticism that's kept me alive thus far." Dante shook their head.

Beckett looked genuinely furious for a moment, but she just shook her head angrily and muttered, "Whatever." She turned away from him. "Get some sleep."

Dante felt like he should have a name for this by now, with how often it was happening-- Beckett, getting the last word, and him, feeling strangely defeated with nothing left to say. It was hard to feel good about any of this when it always ended with regret's bitter taste. Dante schooled his expression into careful neutrality as he walked over to a flat spot on the ground, shrugging off his backpack and positioning it under his head once he laid down-- it was no pillow, but there was worse out there. Clear sunlight dripped through the canopy of the trees, but he didn't care that it wasn't dark yet. All of the day's exhaustion was sinking over him and he was losing the willpower to fight back.

"Don't let me sleep in," he said, staring blankly at the rustling leaves overhead. "This is just a headstart."

"Whatever," Beckett replied. She was leaned against another tree, looking at the pages she'd torn out of the book with a stoic expression, and seemingly refusing to look at Dante.

The word 'whatever' had never been very comforting coming from her. But they found that they were too tired to point that out to her, because their eyelids were sliding shut, and Dante gave up on the waking world as their vision went dark.



Dante really should've insisted more on not getting extra sleep, since Beckett waited until the normal time to wake them up. Part of them wanted to say something about that, but they really did feel better now, and they didn't want to ruin that so soon. It was with a quiet word of thanks that the two of them traded roles, and Beckett slept until dawn, when it was time to get back on the road.

The two of them broke into their food supplies for a hasty meal, and Dante had the feeling Beckett was particularly impatient to get moving, from the way she'd waited for him to finish eating. He didn't blame her. If they travelled fast enough, there was a chance the two of them could be in Ciosia by dinnertime-- and since Beckett had spoken highly of her brother's cooking, he guessed that was what she wanted. He wasn't about to stop her.

Beckett hadn't spoken much when she'd woken him, and she hadn't spoken much since he'd woken her either. It was clear that she was still not happy about the previous day, though she didn't seem as angry as she'd been the night before. Suddenly, Dante remembered the pages she'd ripped from the librarian's book, and how she'd been reading them when they'd fallen asleep. It was too dark to read when he'd woken up, so he hadn't even tried, but that spark of hesitant curiosity was returning now.

"What did you learn from the reading?" he asked, wishing the question didn't sound so sudden in the silence.

Beckett pulled the folded-up pages out of her pocket as they walked, glancing over them briefly as she talked. "It basically says that before the sun and the moon, there was only silence. Then the moon created the creatures and the plants, and the sun came down daily to destroy them." She skimmed the page and said, "'The silence shattered with noises of day and night, retreating to the shadows once more. He was...' Wait, this part isn't useful, hold on."

She flipped the page over and continued reading. "'The God of Silence is vastly undocumented, and referenced only a handful of times throughout various historical literary documents. He remains unnamed, and is said to never reveal himself to mortals. From the few myths that reference him, he is cold, undying, and everlasting, with a power that frequently goes unnoticed and undermined by the surrounding Gods and Goddesses." She flipped to the next page, then the next. "It just goes on like that for a while."

"Well," Dante murmured. "That's not scary at all."

"That was convincing," Beckett mocked. "Anyways, it gives next to no information on anything because he's hardly ever mentioned, is the whole point of it. Whoever wrote this did make a point to emphasize over and over though that it was the sun and moon that broke his silence, which-- I guess could mean that they took away his domain?"

"Sounds like it?" Dante said. "I guess it can reasoned he doesn't like them. It's odd he seems to have done nothing about the loss of that power, though."

"That's a bit of a leap," Beckett said. "Just because this random person five hundred years ago didn't write about him doing anything about the loss of power doesn't mean he did nothing."

"That's worse," Dante said. "If his work's unattributed, whatever he's done, we don't know about his motives. People like that librarian love to do character analyses on these figures, but if there's nothing out there to determine what he's like or what he wants-- well, he could be outright evil."

Beckett gave them a side-eye that was clearly judging. "He sent a sandworm and a griffin after us," she said. "Well, I assume the griffin was from him, but I guess we could have another terrifying enemy."

"Yes," Dante said. "But we haven't actually done anything. It could've been from a misunderstanding that we need to clear up with him-- maybe something he blames us for that we're not actually responsible for-- or, it could be that he will stop at nothing to kill us. I'd prefer if it were the former, but there's no way of knowing."

"Considering the librarian was convinced we're the reincarnations of the people who took everything away from him, I'm going to keep my skepticism on that one for now," she said. Okay. So she definitely was still upset.

Dante frowned-- not wanting to push her buttons further, but he wasn't just going to bend to that. "Don't preach to me about trust. We're both thieves. If we believed everything we saw, we'd be in an early grave."

Beckett laughed angrily. "You're such an idiot." She did not elaborate, but the words made him bristle anyway.

"I don't make the same mistake twice." Dante meant for the words to be sharp, but-- damn it, what was that they were hearing in their voice instead? Hurt? They couldn't unhear it now. "That's all there is to it. How does that make me a fool, exactly?"

"You don't make the same mistake twice?" Beckett repeated. "When exactly was trusting my word a mistake? When have I proven you can't trust me?"

"I didn't say it was your fault." Dante pressed his lips together, trying and admittedly failing to keep the stung feeling out of his voice. "Or that betting on you was the mistake."

"You said it well enough," Beckett said flatly. "You know I'm taking a huge risk on you too, right? You're not the only one in danger right now. I'm about to take you to my siblings' homes, so the least you could do is act like you're not suspicious by every word that comes out of my mouth."

"I'm not." Dante looked aside, feeling their face warm. "Is that what you'd like me to say? If so, I can even go a step further and say you were right. That's not a problem. But I take issue with your expectation that I trust you blindly."

Beckett looked like she'd been slapped in the face. She opened her mouth as if to spit something else at them, then shook her head and closed her mouth again.

If it didn't matter to him that she was upset too, Dante might've felt victorious. But it did matter, and the result was guilt to shelve alongside the ache her words had left.

He was only in this situation because of trust. Trust he'd given to people he'd known a lot better than Beckett. He'd put his life in their hands, and they hadn't even fought for him not to die. That hurt. The idea of having to do it again so soon made fear twist like a snake in his chest.

And yet he already had, to an extent that was greater than he liked. He'd let Beckett help with his injury when she could've easily decided not to help, or even to make the pain worse. If he didn't trust her at all, Dante would've found a way to do it himself, even if that led to a negative outcome. So there was something there.

If he wasn't giving from nothing, then what was the right amount of trust to give?

The tension felt heavy and ever-present as they kept walking, neither of them daring to break the silence. This, too, was not unfamiliar between them. Dante was starting to think nothing could ever break it when the loud rustling of leaves reached his ears, and he froze in place immediately.

Beckett stilled too, head turning to follow the sound. Dante's gaze flicked around suspiciously, lingering on a nearby bush for a moment. Had it just moved? He didn't know. Dante waited, but no further motion or sound showed itself.

"...We might want to keep an eye on that," they said slowly.

Beckett's eyes lingered on where the noise had come from for a moment longer, before she turned back forward and kept walking. Hopefully that meant they were in agreement. Dante honestly didn't know.

They proceeded through the woods, and Dante would've forgotten all about it after five minutes or so-- if Beckett, who was walking in front of them, came to a sudden halt, wide-eyed and scanning the woods.

"What is it?" they asked automatically, looking around as well. They couldn't see or hear anything of alarm, yet Beckett remained on guard.

After a pause, Beckett shook their head and muttered, "Just thought I heard something."

Dante frowned softly in concern. "Similar sound?"

"I don't know, it just sounded--" She sighed. "Nevermind, it doesn't--" Abruptly, her head shot to the side, eyes searching the trees right behind Dante. After a long, unsettled moment, she murmured, "I'm sure it's nothing."

"No, don't say that," Dante said quietly, slowly turning to look over their shoulder.

"What?" She said annoyedly, starting to walk again. "There's nothing there. I'm just psyching myself out."

Reluctantly, Dante started walking again, though they found themselves frequently casting glances over their shoulder. Several minutes passed in an unnerving silence. Then, Beckett's head snapped to the side again. Her eyes went wide. "Run!" She yelled, eyes fixed on some point just behind his head. "Oh my gods, Dante, run!"

Dante didn't know what he was running from, only that the urgency in her voice was so intense that it made them feel cold. He bolted without even bothering to look for it. He didn't know how closely Beckett was following, or how far he ran, but he became tunnel-visioned on a tree he was sprinting towards. Figuring there was safety in higher ground, Dante leapt for a low-hanging branch, pulling himself up and scrambling higher and higher.

Heart racing, he unzipped his pack and pulled out the pistol there, one arm wrapped around the trunk for stability and one ready to aim at the threat. He could hear a sound echoing from behind him, distorted through the trees. He took several deep breaths, trying to steady his aim as he tried desperately to see the source of the noise, until--

Was that... laughter? But that meant...

Sure enough, there was Beckett, drawing closer to the tree, but taking her sweet time because she was having to pause to catch her breath through a hysterical fit of laughter. "Oh my gods," she gasped. "Oh my gods, I can't breathe."

The revelation hit them like a slap to the face. Dante lowered the gun, dumbfounded.

"You're kidding me," he muttered, then said louder, "You have got to be kidding me."

Beckett was doubled over, leaning against a tree and wheezing--actually full-on wheezing. "I can't," she started, then broke into laughter again. "I can't."

"It's--" Dante sputtered, leaping down from the tree and looking at her indignantly. "It can't be that funny, can it?"

She didn't slow her laughter in the least. Instead, she pulled the front of her shirt up and wiped tears away from her eyes. "Your face," she said. "Your face--" She doubled over again, now so out of breath that her laugh wasn't even making any noise.

"What was I running from?" Dante asked, regretting the question immediately.

Beckett took in a big gasp of air, slowly sinking to her knees as she howled. She placed her face against the dirt. If Dante hadn't seen the build-up, it would have looked and sounded exactly like she was bawling her eyes out.

"Please just tell me," Dante said, with a shake of his head.

Beckett shook her head no back and forth, but didn't sit up. Her entire body shook with laughter.

"It's not--" Dante had to hide a sudden laugh, rubbing at their face with a forced frown. Even that wasn't good enough to suppress it, though, because they found that within moments, they were laughing too. And they didn't stop for a while.

"Fine," Dante admitted, once the two of them had finally calmed down. "It's funny."

For some reason, that hit Beckett the wrong way again, and she burst into another round of giggles before sighing and wiping her eyes. "Okay, we have to stop, this is actually hurting my abs."

"You stop, then," Dante said, but it was with the hint of a grin.

Beckett placed her hands on her hips and let out a long breath. "Oh gods, that was good."

"Yeah, yeah," Dante groused, although there was no ill humor in it.

"So good," Beckett said.

With an amused roll of their eyes, Dante waved her onward. "Come on. Let's not get stuck outside the gates after they close-- I'd hate to explain to the guards that we're late because I got pranked."



Dante had never seen Ciosia, but he'd heard plenty about it from Tess, who had grown up there. She'd had nothing good to say about the place; whenever one of the Willows complained about something specific to Sorjeli, Tess would follow it up with something worse about Ciosia. No matter how dirty the street, how overpriced the food, how brutal the guards, Tess claimed they were lucky to be where they were at. Without another account to compare hers to, Dante had wondered for a while whether the grass really was greener in Sorjeli-- a sad thought, considering its situation-- or if his imagination of the city was purely fed on exaggeration.

Now that they were nearing the city gates, he was close to finding out.

"Do you travel here often?" he asked, looking up at the walls. A pair of guards were on patrol, talking as they walked around the rim. Dante squinted at them warily.

"I don't have time to travel," Beckett said, also eyeing the guards. She turned to Dante suddenly. "Do you actually not trust me?"

Dante had been expecting the subject to come up again-- but not here, or so suddenly. He blinked in confusion. "What--"

"I don't give a shit about my feelings right now," she interrupted. "But if you don't trust me, I can't trust you. And if that's the case, you can find someplace else to go, because I'm not leading your psychopath brother to my siblings' doorsteps."

"I just sprinted like a madman through the woods, for no good reason at all, except that you said I should and I believed you," Dante said. "So sure, I trust you."

"I'm not looking for a sure," Beckett said flatly. "If these were your siblings, would you take me to their houses?"

Dante glanced up at the passing guards-- now farther off with their backs turned-- before looking down again. When they did, they met Beckett's eyes seriously.

"I would," they said firmly. "And if they had a problem with that, I'd tell them to take it up with me. You're not to be messed with."

Beckett studied his face with narrowed eyes, like she was trying to find some hint of deception in them, before she turned back towards the gates. "Alright," she said. "Let's go find some witches."

Beckett stared up at the gates, and she tried not to feel sick. Actually, he tried not to feel sick. He wasn't sure what exactly it was, but anytime he knew he was about to see his older siblings again--for a rare holiday, or even when he was younger and they'd been gone for work all day--he felt himself reverting back into this condensed version of himself, the small and tiny boy he'd been. Him, listening to Hudson and Lennox argue in the other room, Violet sat in front of him and Scout and Elise, trying desperately to distract them all from the inevitability of being hunted like foxes through the woods, trying to hide. He'd had plenty of scary moments with his siblings, waiting to see if a magical stunt they'd pulled off had been too big, too broad, too noticeable. If they'd open the door to see him again, if he'd recognize their family or treat it like just another job. Beckett wasn't sure which possibility was more horrifying.

Now though, he was feeling nervous, not on behalf of his siblings, but because he knew no matter what he did, they were going to be able to explain exactly why every step he'd taken was wrong. He loved them, but they had a way of tearing people down. Beckett prayed it wasn't something he'd picked up. Had he made Dante feel indescribably useless? Had he belittled them like that? Beckett picked at the sleeves of his shirt and bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his stomach ache. Despite knowing it had been hours since he'd eaten, and he likely needed whatever food his siblings--and Hudson, specifically-- would be able to provide, he didn't feel hungry at all.

Beckett glanced at Dante, as if that would lessen the sudden anxiety, but it only furthered the overwhelming feeling of paranoia. Had Dante somehow guessed Beckett's line of thinking? Did Dante think Beckett had babied him, or not taken him seriously?

He looked away again and bit down sharply on his bottom lip. He was being ridiculous. Dante needed things spelled out to a 't', there was no way Dante was able to read Beckett's mind. Unless that was one of the sun god's powers...

"We don't need a story this time, do we?" Dante asked, eyes trained on the ramparts. His arms were folded over his chest, and his expression was a little tighter than usual.

"No," Beckett muttered, glancing around as they started to walk. He felt like each passerby knew exactly who they were. A large group of teenagers passed, and all Beckett could think of was them laughing as they went to report the two of them and have them burned at the stake. Gods, I need to calm down, he chided himself. He was way too on edge.

Dante glanced at him, frowning at first-- before his expression shifted into something that could have been described as... softer. "Are you alright?"

Beckett let out a frustrated sigh and shook his hands out. "I'm fine. Just hungry." Oh gods, he felt like he was going to throw up.

"It's not long now." Dante's gaze swept over the street, before going back to Beckett. "What are your siblings like? Are they going to be... happy to see us?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Beckett said. "I mean, maybe they'll be happy once they get past the long lecture about how I made the wrong choice every time. It'll involve a lot of the word 'dumbass'."

Dante let out a little huff. "They sound stern."

"They're... nice," Beckett said. Suffocating, the voice in his head added on. Babying. Condescending, always viewing me as incapable.

"Can't be worse than mine, I guess," Dante said.

Beckett glanced at them, but couldn't even muster a response. He didn't know where his siblings were--that was part of keeping each other safe, so that if someone were found out, they couldn't give information on everyone else. Still, he knew how to find them. Supposedly, Hudson was supposed to check a specific store every day to see if there was any mail for him or Violet from the family, who sent the letters to the store's address. Beckett didn't know how they'd set that up with the store owner, but their course of action had to be to find that shop and hope they got there right before Hudson checked.

"We need to find Miller Street," Beckett said distractedly.

"Where is that?" Dante asked.

Beckett bristled. "If I knew, I wouldn't be saying we needed to find it, would I?"

Dante blinked at him, evidently a little surprised. "I assumed you knew where they were."

"I told you I didn't have time to travel," Beckett muttered. "I haven't been here since my entire family lived here. We left right after my tenth birthday."

Dante was silent for a moment, before they nodded, with a bit more understanding than he expected. "Then we'll look together."

Beckett bit the inside of his lip again. He didn't have any sort of clever quip to give, or a snappy, passive-aggressive comment. "Yeah," he said, shifting his braids on his shoulders and sighing.

As they kept walking, he thought more on Violet and Hudson--what they'd look like, and how they'd probably changed. He hadn't seen either of them in at least a year, or maybe two. As the eldest, they'd both left home when Beckett was a lot younger than his other siblings, so in reality, he'd been around them the least. He knew that Hudson had one daughter, Daisy. She'd been... six? Five? When Beckett had last seen her. Violet also had children, but she'd never brought them around for holidays. They'd already begun to show signs of magic as toddlers, and she'd been paranoid to bring them too close to a large source of magic and draw the attention of authorities.

Would they say Beckett looked different? He did. He hadn't even begun to figure out why and how he felt different when either of them had been at the house. Scout had come out as nonbinary four years ago, but Beckett hadn't been out to anyone except his mother the last time he'd seen Violet and Hudson. His mother had encouraged him to tell them, of course, but that was only because she hadn't ever fully fulfilled the role of being his mother, so he hadn't been entirely anxious to tell her. Violet and Hudson had been his real parents, who had both left before he'd even become a teenager. Even his parents talked about it as if he'd been a product of Violet and Hudson, not them. Anytime they told stories of Beckett being little, it would always start with, "Violet had taken you for a walk--" or "Hudson was giving you a bath and--"

Most of the stories weren't even his parents' stories to tell because they hadn't been there. And then Hudson and Violet had left, and they hadn't viewed Beckett as anything other than their eleven-year-old baby brother since.

And now I'm about to tell them that I have magic, am maybe the reincarnate of a god, and am traveling with the sibling of the man who killed our sister, Beckett thought queasily. Great. That'll go over well.

There was a part of him that wanted to turn around-- turn to Dante and say, "Actually, this was a horrible idea. Let's figure something else out." That wouldn't be fair to them, though. Beckett knew they could get solid supplies here, and he knew they'd be fed, and he knew they'd both get their first full night of sleep in at least a week or two. It wouldn't be fair to either of them for Beckett to back out now, not when they'd come this far.

As if right on cue, Dante pointed to a crooked sign partially hidden behind a tree, tilted towards a rundown alleyway. "Over there."

Beckett let out a long breath, then said, "Right. Let's hope we get there before it closes."

"Closes?" Dante echoed. "What's going to close?"

"The store we're going to," Beckett said. "It's the only way to track them down."

Dante looked like they had questions, but at some point in this conversation they must have decided it was easier to ask fewer of them, so they shrugged. "The store it is, then."

Beckett nodded as the two headed down the street. There were less people here, away from the crowdedness of the gates and the main storefronts. Everything here looked a little more shabby and rundown--homebrewed. "We're looking for a paper store," Beckett said. "It's called The Sketch Stop."

"Do your siblings run it?" Dante asked.

Beckett gave him an odd glance. Dante was watching him genuinely, with that annoying but also adorable look in his eyes that said he trusted way too easily, even though Dante had clearly shown over the past twenty-four hours that he had the exact opposite problem. "No," Beckett said, perplexed. "Why would they run a paper shop?"

"Why else are we going there?" Dante asked.

"It's the middle man." Beckett sighed. "We don't send things to our actual addresses, that could be traced. We send it to a business that agrees to keep things under wraps for some price. The one back home is Monstrosi-Tea."

"Ah. I was a regular there." Dante paused. "On the days that I paid."

Beckett paused and gave them a disgusted look. "You stole from a locally owned business?"

"Local? The owner's the nepo baby of the Faren family-- they're stinking rich. That lot's got shops everywhere, including my old hometown. They just put them under unique names so they look smaller." Dante huffed. "Turns out there's a near-infinite number of tea puns that make good shop names. If you've lived anywhere that had a shop like that, there's a good chance it was theirs."

Beckett gave a disgruntled look, before he pulled to a sudden stop. Tucked between two bigger shops was a small, thin door, with the scrawled, handpainted label, "The Sketch Stop" hanging above it. Well... it was time to pay the piper... He pushed the door open and walked in.

As it opened, windchimes rang out throughout the cramped shop, which had low rows of different cards and types of paper stretching throughout the space. The shortness of the shelves was made up for by how many of them they had managed to cram into the space, because even though Beckett could easily walk through the aisles, he fought against the impulse to turn sideways and walk with his back against one of the shelves like he was going through a tight part of a cave.

"Can I help you?" A voice asked from behind the counter, and Beckett glanced over to see a bored-looking teenage girl, leaning against the counter as she watched the two of them.

"Nope," Beckett said, fighting off the urge to snap at her as he made his way over to one of the other shelves where he'd have sight of the door. "We're waiting for someone."

"But thank you," Dante added hastily, following behind Beckett to stop at his side, arms folded over their chest as they watched the entrance.

Beckett wiped his hands on his pants, then did it again and let out a long sigh as he tried to at least pretend like he was looking at paper products. Maybe they'd gotten there too late in the day. Maybe Hudson checked in the morning, and wouldn't be here again until the next day. Maybe he'd left just before they got here, and wouldn't be here again until tomorrow afternoon, or maybe in the time that it had taken for Beckett and Dante to get to this town, Hudson and Violet had both moved, or been captured and killed, or--

The chimes sounded.

Beckett's head snapped to the door, and he wasn't sure if he should feel an overwhelming sense of relief or dread. There, standing tall with his short afro, his shirt buttoned all the way up the front so the collar hugged his neck, the well-maintained beard-- there was Hudson. Beckett wondered if maybe it would be possible for him to bolt out the back door fast enough to avoid Hudson seeing him. They could pretend this has never happened; none of Beckett's family would ever see him again, and that would be fine because Beckett could lie well enough to convince himself it was for their safety and protection.

Unfortunately, before he could make a run for it, Hudson's eyes--which had been roaming the shop aimlessly as he made his way to the counter--met Beckett's over one of the short stacks of elaborate cards. They widened, and Hudson froze like a spotted deer. Beckett froze too, feeling equally trapped.

Dante stood up straight, tensing, and Beckett could feel his gaze on him, silently asking: Is this good or bad news? But Beckett didn't have an answer for him. He knew, logically, that Hudson wasn't going to kill him, but he was feeling like he was under fire.

Hudson only stayed frozen for a couple more seconds, before he walked over slowly and steadily. It looked nonthreatening to someone who hadn't grown up being scolded by him, but Beckett was all-too-familiar with the wide-eyed, nostril-flared expression. Beckett tensed, preparing for the worst--but Hudson just engulfed him in a suffocating hug. Beckett thought he might be feeling him shake a little.

"The letters said you were executed," Hudson muttered, pressing a hand into the back of Beckett's head.

"Your mail is outdated," Beckett managed to say, completely trapped in Hudson's grip. Hudson finally pulled back, his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing.

"You--" He paused, taken aback, then grabbed Beckett's chin and tilted his head back and forth. "How is it possible you got this many piercings since I last saw you?" he said disbelievingly. "Who said you could-- nevermind." Hudson shook his head. The vein in his neck popped out as he clenched his jaw. "You know these piercings can be dangerous," he warned. "It snags on something and then your ear gets ripped out."

Beckett scowled. "What? That's absolutely not true."

"I've heard stories."

"Your stories are false."

"I've seen people," Hudson added.

"Well, I'm sure my piercings aren't as dangerous as the hanging rope was," Beckett said sarcastically, and regretted it almost immediately.

"Yeah, we're not even gonna talk about how much of a dumbass you were yet," Hudson said, glaring at Beckett and pointing a finger sternly. "We clearly have a lot to talk about."

Beckett, despite his best attempts, felt heat rush to his cheeks. "Whatever..." he mumbled.

Hudson looked like he was about to lay into him again, when he finally noticed Dante, who was watching like he wasn't sure if he should leap to Beckett's defense, or skip that step entirely and get them both out of here. "And who is this?"

Dante was silent for a moment as he uncrossed his arms from his chest. "I'm Dante," he said finally. "I escaped with Beckett."

Hudson studied Dante warily. "Hmph," he said, crossing his arms as he looked Dante up and down. He didn't have to say We'll see about that for the message to be loud and clear. He didn't even look at Beckett either, to ask silently if Beckett trusted Dante, which Beckett also found to be rude, and he scowled a little harder at Hudson's turned back. Every time he was unhappy around Hudson, he felt like a five-year-old throwing a ridiculous fit. More than embarrassing, it was this sense of humiliation that just came from being around someone who didn't see him as an adult when he'd been one for years. He doesn't even see me as a teenager, Beckett thought bitterly. It was as if the momentum of anxiety had come crashing down with the hug, and now all that was left was Beckett's general annoyance.

Dante stood still against the examination, but his eyebrows were slightly raised, like he was in judgement of the idea that this was a statement that somehow required more convincing to accept.

Hudson finally turned his gaze again to Beckett, but not as if he wanted Beckett's opinion. It felt more like Beckett was the one under scrutiny again. He crossed his arms, trying not to shrink backwards. "You're such a dumbass," Hudson emphasized.

"Whatever!" Beckett exclaimed louder, and the teenage girl behind the counter jumped. Beckett felt his cheeks heat again. He was acting like a bratty pre-teen now. Because that's how he views me, Beckett thought. That's how Hudson sees me.

Hudson's eyes narrowed. "Don't you--" He stopped himself, though Beckett could finish whatever snappy remark he'd been about to say well enough on his own. Likely something along the lines of, "Don't you mouth off at me," or "don't you take that tone with me, young man!"

Okay, Hudson had never said anything along the lines of the last one--but it was probably what he was thinking. Beckett watched as he studied him for several more seconds, then said, "Come on. We need to make sure you weren't followed." He started towards the door of the shop, not waiting for either of them as he pushed through the door forcefully, sending the chime off loudly as Beckett reluctantly trailed after him. Dante followed behind him, but more warily, and at a slightly greater distance.

"Is this... normal for you both?" they murmured to Beckett, once Hudson had outpaced them a bit.

"Always this cheerful, you mean?" Beckett muttered.

"That's one way of putting it."

Ahead, Hudson turned around and raised his hands in a disbelieving gesture Beckett was more than familiar with. It had looked funny on his brother's skinny, underfed figure when they'd been younger, but now that he had bulked out, it was a lot more angry-looking. Or maybe Hudson was just really, really angry. Both were pretty good options at the moment. "You waiting for the leaves to fall?" He called out. "Hurry up."

Beckett glared and picked up the pace, trying not to kick rocks annoyedly as he did so. "You realize I'm an adult, right? You don't need to talk to me like I'm twelve?"

"Maybe stop acting like you're twelve, and then we'll try 'adult' on for size," Hudson countered, turning around and beginning to walk again, not slowing his pace in the slightest.

Even Dante had the good grace to look offended on Beckett's behalf by that. Beckett didn't have it in him to argue right now though--which had to be a first. He was exhausted and starving, and honestly, even if he felt like a scolded puppy, a part of him wanted to just curl up next to Hudson and cry like he was six years old again, and have Hudson tell him it was all going to be alright. That wasn't going to happen though, which rubbed some sore spot in Beckett's chest in a painful way, which he did not currently have the time to think about.

Instead, he focused on the ground, and on keeping up with his brother as they walked in silence for several minutes, with Hudson occasionally glancing behind him, as if to check they weren't being followed. After what felt like the millionth unnecessary turn, they finally arrived at a small, shabby house squeezed between two larger buildings, with a faded red door and a window with flowers in a pot. It felt more like what a cozy home looked like than anything Beckett had lived in before-- it must've been the influence of Hudson's wife or daughter.

Hudson opened the door, then shooed them in annoyedly. "Come on, hurry up," he said, eyes trailing the street carefully as they squeezed through the small door and into the living room. Hudson entered after them, and slammed the door shut.

A young girl-- maybe about eight years old-- was sitting on the floor of the living room the three of them found themselves standing in. Two dolls with yarn for hair were clutched in her hands. She looked up at them with wide, staring eyes in curious, complete silence. Beckett hadn't seen her in at least a couple years, and she had looked a lot different then, but it was clearly Daisy-- which he could tell by the extremely unsettling, unwavering eye contact.

"Uncle Beckett is here?" Daisy asked confusedly. "Daddy, you said--"

"Daisy," Hudson said interrupting her. "Go run to your Aunt Vi's house and tell her I need her to come over here, okay? Tell her it's an emergency."

Daisy immediately dropped her dolls, giving her father a mousy nod before bolting out the door. It fell closed heavily on its hinges behind her. Hudson watched her leave, before he turned stonily towards the two of them. "Sit," he said, his eyes staring directly into Dante. It was not a question, and even though it wasn't directed at Beckett, he felt the impulse to immediately collapse onto the tattered couch-- which he did. Dante sank down beside him a moment later, but a bit slower, as if to show he wouldn't be bullied around.

Hudson's gaze remained unwaveringly on Dante, his sharp eyes practically cutting into him. Hudson sat down slowly, then leaned back, arms crossed. The eye contact didn't stop for even a second. "So," Hudson said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dante," Dante said, their tone making clear this information had been true the first time he'd asked and was still true now. "I was on the gallows with Beckett."

"Oh really?" Hudson said stonily. "And why were you there?"

"Stole from the wrong person," Dante said. "Didn't have someone to get me out of it."

"Are you saying Beckett didn't have people to help him?" Hudson said, quirking an eyebrow.

"I don't think I said anything about that, actually," Dante said.

"But didn't you?" Hudson said, pushing himself forward on the couch.

"Stop it," Beckett said, and Hudson's gaze shot over to him. "Stop grilling them. Violet's gonna have the same questions, anyway, there's no need to do all of it twice. We're also half-starved and sleep-deprived so I don't think either of us really has an interrogation in us at the moment."

"I second that," Dante said.

"Shut up," Beckett hissed, elbowing him before he turned his gaze back to Hudson sheepishly. "I'm just..." Beckett hesitated then sighed. "We're really tired. And hungry. Please?" He bit his bottom lip, chewing on it nervously. He knew he wasn't out of the personal fire and neither was Dante, but he just didn't have it in him to do it on an empty stomach-- let alone having to do it twice, since Violet hadn't arrived yet.

Hudson gave Beckett a hard stare, then stood. "I'll get you food. But we are not done talking about this."

"I know," Beckett said, making a face as soon as Hudson turned his back. Husdon glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes.

"Don't give me a face."

"I wasn't!" Beckett exclaimed. "Gods, how do you always know that?" he muttered under his breath.

"You're not subtle about it," Hudson said with a scoff, leaving the room and trailing into the kitchen.

"What're we having?" Beckett called after him.

"Stew," Hudson answered from the distance.

"Thank the fucking gods," Beckett groaned, then let himself deflate completely into the sofa. After weeks of only being on the ground, it felt heavenly.

Dante didn't look comfortable enough to relax with such reckless abandon, but he managed to uncross his arms from his chest. He looked... well, awkward wasn't a word Beckett associated with Dante, but he looked closer to it than he'd ever seen him before.

Beckett watched Dante for a moment, feeling suddenly unsure on what to do with himself. He felt a sudden responsibility to protect Dante from-- from what? Hudson wasn't going to hurt them, and Violet wasn't going to either. It was uncomfortable, but it was also comforting, in a weird, diluted way.

Except the comfort part wasn't there for Dante. Dante didn't know them, and neither of them would feel obligated to protect Dante in the way they felt obligated to protect Beckett. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, now suddenly feeling self-centered or arrogant to have sunk into it when Dante was sitting up straight like he was trying his best to turn the couch into a wooden chair.

"He's like this with everyone," Beckett said suddenly, glancing awkwardly at Dante. "It's nothing to do with you."

Dante turned their head his way, something searching in his gaze. "Does he... usually lighten up at some point?"

Beckett stared at Hudson through the doorway--his figure, turned away, chopping vegetables in complete silence, a towel over his shoulder and an expressionless face. He thought of being a small boy, long before he realized he was more than a boy--of hearing Hudson cry in the corner of the room, of running to him when he scraped his knees and Hudson lecturing him while he bandaged him up, and then kissing him on the forehead. He thought of the day they'd gone to a lake for an early birthday of Elise's-- her ninth, maybe? Tenth, maybe? And Beckett had been six or seven, small-boned, always skinny and hungry, and Hudson had thrown him into the lake and said, "Come on, you can do it!" when Beckett had cried that he couldn't swim, or the nights when Lennox's descriptions of Lily's death had kept him awake, and how Hudson had taken him out of the bedroom to keep from waking others. Smoothed out his hair. Gotten him a drink of water, and had hugged him.

Those moments had been there, hadn't they? They'd existed, right?

And here, in front of him, Dante watched Beckett's face for an answer expectantly.

"Eh," Beckett finally brought himself to say, tearing his eyes away from Hudson's figure in the kitchen and shrugging his shoulders. "I wouldn't count on it."

"That's fine," Dante said, eventually raising one shoulder in a half-shrug. "As long as I know what to expect."

"Yep," Beckett muttered. "Well, this is it. This, and good stew."

"What did you say about my stew?" Hudson asked from the other room. Even though he hadn't said anything bad, Beckett nearly shrunk against the couch under the intensity of his suspicious stare.

"Nothing! I just said it was good!"

Hudson watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment longer, then turned back to the food. "Gods, he's terrifying," Beckett muttered. He didn't really mean it, but he did at the same time. Maybe it was because Hudson made him feel younger--like a small child again.

"Quick question," Dante said quietly so Hudson couldn't hear, his eyes on the kitchen again. "What pronouns should I be using for you here?"

Beckett watched Hudson turn and set water up to boil. He must've stared silently for longer than he realized, because Dante tilted their head at him with an almost concerned look. Beckett glanced away, trying to tamp down the sudden and very foreign feeling of embarrassment. Beckett did not get embarrassed. Not like this. Not from being... vulnerable. It was a horrible feeling. "Dunno," Beckett muttered, glancing down at his lap. "I don't know what the execution notice said."

Dante hummed in response. It sounded a bit sad.

"Is there a safer choice, then?" they asked.

"Guess," Beckett said sarcastically, then bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "I don't know why I said that. Just-- he/him, is probably what they'll use."

Dante nodded. "Got it."

Beckett felt a sense of disgust crawl over him. He did use he/him. He was actively feeling he/him right now. But still--to tell someone specifically to use that right now felt like he was shoving himself into a box and asking them to tape it shut. He felt trapped.

From the back of the house, through the kitchen, Beckett heard a door open and slam closed, followed by Daisy's voice ringing out through the house. "Daddy, I got Aunt Vi."

"Is everything okay?" followed another voice, high-pitched and soft-spoken and anxious. Beckett felt like he might throw up. "It sounded urgent but she wouldn't tell me why you needed me." He saw her stop next to Hudson in the kitchen--saw her tall, slender frame, and her short braided hair down to her shoulders, all framed in a long, flowy dress and sandals handsewn from straw. "Why are you making stew this late?" she asked. Beckett could practically hear the thoughtful frown on her face.

"You should check the living room," Hudson said gruffly. "Actually, no. You should sit down."

Beckett watched as she slowly sunk into one of the kitchen chairs, frowning with concern. She hadn't spotted him yet. He was overtaken again by the urge to run, flee the house and never return. Let her think he'd died. It was probably better that way, anyway. But Beckett knew it was far too late for that--Hudson would tell her regardless, and then she'd be searching for answers with no way to get them, and Beckett wanted to crumble as Hudson turned to look at him before the words even left his mouth. "Come in here," Hudson called. It wasn't a question, and even if it had been, Beckett's body was rising without his permission, without him even processing he was doing it.

Violet gasped, and her hand fluttered to her heart. Beckett might have thought it felt dramatic, but he knew it was genuine, and he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt rush over him for it. Violet stood slowly with trembling hands, and approached him, holding his face. "You're alive," she whispered.

"I sure hope so," Beckett squeaked as she pulled him into a tight hug.

"Don't you mouth off at me," she said, but it wasn't sincere, and she just held him tighter. "How are you here? They said you were executed. The letter, it said--"

"We escaped," Beckett managed to push out. "It's a long story."

Violet pulled back, searching his face with disbelief. "You esc--" She stopped. "Wait, 'we'? Who's 'we'?"

Beckett glanced back at Dante, now standing in the entry between the living room and the kitchen. He'd never looked more put on the spot.

"That would be me," Dante said, after a tense silence.

"You?" Violet said, stepping past Beckett and pushing him behind her towards Hudson. It was like Beckett could see her physically transforming into the mothering sister he'd grown up with. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dante," they said, and although it was a question they had to be tired of answering, they didn't show it. "Not much else. Just another fugitive."

Violet placed a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. "Just another fugitive?" she echoed mockingly. "Right, uh-huh. I'll believe that when--"

"Violet," Beckett interrupted her. "We're going to answer any questions. We were just waiting for you to get here. But first... can we eat? We've been starving for weeks."

Violet's eyes softened as she looked back at Beckett, before she looked distrustingly back at Dante. "Fine," she said, quirking an eyebrow in Dante's direction. "But we're asking questions as soon as you're done eating. And you're going to answer them all."

"That's right," Hudson said, crossing his arms. "Now hurry up and get your bowls. It's going cold."

The Willows had a code. Well, they had many-- but most were unofficial and unserious, like if someone steals a piece of blue clothing or jewelry, it automatically becomes part of Mireya's cut, or if Jesse ever says the words "trust me", a two-thirds vote is required before proceeding with said suggestion. There was one, however, that was non-negotiable and imperative to all their operations, and that all of them swore up and down to live by: don't talk to authorities, and never rat out the others.

Dante had been throughly questioned after his arrest, of course. There had been a small cramped room, scowling guards at the door, and a heavily-decorated officer screaming in his face with orders to confess who he'd done this with. He'd kept silent, to the intense frustration of everyone in that room. Even back then, Dante had the sinking feeling that no one would be coming to get him out, but the deal was the deal. He wouldn't be dragging anyone down with him. Everyone else would've done the same in his place.

Now, he was about to be interrogated all over again, and this time there were no rules. No rights against self-incrimination, however weakly afforded by laws outside these walls, and no creed to follow. He was a guest in this house, even though it was starting to feel more like he was a prisoner, and he would be completely at the mercy of Beckett's siblings.

The smart choice would've been for the two of them to stall time, take as long as humanly possible to finish the meal. But the stew was, admittedly, quite good, and they were both so starved that their bowls were empty before Dante realized it. And now Hudson and Violet were watching him from across the table with such sharp intensity he felt like a pinned bug frozen on display.

"Now," Violet said, her soft voice slicing through the air as she narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? And don't give me any bullshit either, I've got a sense for it."

"I've answered that a couple times now," Dante said. "I'm not sure what else you actually want me to add."

"You said you're a fugitive," Hudson said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "What did you do?"

"Robbed a noble's carriage on their way into town," Dante said plainly. "Failed to predict they'd be so paranoid that they'd need three guards in there with them."

Violet sniffed. "Of course you did. Not very experienced, then, I take it?"

"You may assume wrongly, if that's what you like."

"How did you escape, then?" Hudson interjected. "What did you do?" He said it accusingly towards Dante, which was a weird attitude to come from someone who, if Dante had been the person to do it, should be grateful that they'd saved their sibling.

With a shrug, Dante looked to Beckett.

"Do we even know the answer to that?" they asked.

After a dazed moment, Beckett blinked and said, "Well, yeah. Magic."

Violet, looking somewhat triumphant, exclaimed, "Oh! So not just a highway thief after all, then, huh?"

"Having magic and being a highway thief aren't mutually exclusive," Dante replied. "Last I looked, at least."

"You said there wasn't anything else important to know about you," Violet said accusingly.

"Well it's not like they're gonna give you their whole life story!" Beckett interrupted, then nearly shriveled as both siblings turned their hard gazes on him.

"You stay out of this," Hudson said sternly.

"Stay out of it?" Beckett exclaimed. "I was there! I'm the one who had the rope around my neck!"

Dante decided it was pointless to mention that actually, they had both had ropes around their necks. This was not the time for semantics-- with Beckett, at least.

"Beckett's right," they said. "My life story's not on the table, and I can only help you so much if he can't share as well."

Violet sneered. "What makes you think you've been of any help so far?"

"I haven't decided to start, actually," Dante said. "I haven't been convinced to."

"Careful now," Hudson said, his deep voice settling over the room. "You're in my home, eating my food, intending to sleep in my beds, and we're only a five minutes' walk from the nearest guard post. I'd watch my tone if I were you."

Dante resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. Threat would be met with threat, if not for Beckett sitting right there. He had the feeling the scorn on his face was clear enough.

"I'm only in your home because Beckett described it as a safe place to go," they said instead. "And I'm sure you'd hate to tell him that he was wrong."

Hudson stifled, narrowing his eyes. He began to stand, and Beckett jumped in. "Please!" he yelped, with a vulnerability Dante wasn't used to hearing from him. "You can ask us any questions you want, but can you at least try not to insult us? Dante is a friend. We've gone through a lot together and I... I trust him."

Dante had to fight to keep the surprise off their face. It was not the moment to ask whether friend was being used to save face or truly genuine-- and yet, he couldn't help but feel quietly touched to hear it spoken aloud.

"You've always been overly trusting," Violet said.

"This is the first I'm hearing of that," Dante said.

"Well, you wouldn't have heard much about him, would you?" Violet snapped. "You've barely known him."

"In the last few weeks, I've seem them more than I've seen either of you two since I was twelve and you left me alone," Beckett said with a glare, and Dante was startled to see that Beckett was clearly fighting to keep control of his emotions.

Oh. This was coming from a truer place than they'd imagined.

"Left you alone?" Violet said, shocked. "We didn't leave you alone, you had Lennox and Scout and Elise and Mom and Dad!"

"Yeah, well they weren't really my mom and dad, were they?" Beckett said unsteadily, then stood abruptly, turning away.

"Well, what did you expect us to do?" Violet asked, standing from her seat. "Put our lives on hold? We were children too! You think we were supposed to just..."

"Beckett," Hudson said, "we never intended to leave you, or for it to feel that way." He was watching Beckett's turned figure with a frown.

"This isn't important right now," Beckett murmured with his back turned, "and we don't have time for this." He raised his hands to his face for a moment and wiping away-- something. Tears? Dante couldn't see because he was faced away, but just as quickly, it was gone, and Beckett had turned back around with a coldly collected look on his face. "I'm not overly trusting," he said, which felt like a bit of a deflated response to follow everything that he'd just said.

Hudson and Violet were both watching him carefully, and for a moment, Dante saw them in a different light-- not just as attackers and interrogators, but as siblings who had practically raised his travel companion. People with their own stories and trauma and history, now paranoid at the idea that, just as soon as they'd gotten him back, they might lose Beckett again to a stranger who had waltzed into their house and declared he was trustworthy. How were they supposed to know that though? They didn't know Dante.

Then the moment was over, and their glare was just a glare.

Dante sighed quietly, folding their hands together and resting them on the table as he dropped his gaze.

"I don't blame you for not trusting me," they said. "My word's not worth much to you. But I'll use it anyway to promise this-- we all want the same things for Beckett. Safety, peace of mind, and a chance at a life free of danger. I can tell you're ready to fight for it. So am I. That puts us on the same side. While none of us might like it, it's best we don't fight each other."

Violet's eyes stayed trained on Beckett as she slowly sank back into her seat, and Hudson also looked as if he were slightly disoriented as he turned back to Dante. He stroked his beard, clearly thinking, before he said, "Nobody here is trying to fight." He glanced over at Beckett and kissed his teeth disapprovingly. "Sit down, come on." Hudson turned his gaze back to Dante as Beckett reluctantly lowered into his seat again. "We don't know you," he continued. "You've done nothing to show us why we should trust you or allow you in our homes."

"What would show you that, then?" Dante asked.

"How did you get out of the noose?" Hudson said,

Dante looked over to the spoon-- a simple, chrome metal object of no real value.

"I don't know if I can demonstrate it," he said slowly. "I could... try."

Beckett sent Dante a startled look. Even though he still seemed a little out of it, he was also sending Dante the message with his eyes of, What the hell are you thinking?

Dante could only widen his eyes back with the helpless reply of What else do you want me to do?

Beckett covered his face with his hands in a gesture of such lack of faith in Dante that he had to mutter, "Wow, okay."

"Demonstrate what?" Hudson said. The eyes of both siblings were planted firmly on Dante.

"How I got out," Dante said. "It was instinctive. I haven't done it on command yet."

"Done what on command?" Violet asked, frowning distrustfully.

It was just going to be easier to show than tell, wasn't it? Except he wasn't sure he could show them. Dante stared at the spoon, willing it to change. He didn't know what that was supposed to feel like. All he knew was that whatever he wanted, it wasn't happening.

Sighing, he looked back up. Now his head hurt.

"The rope turned to gold," he said simply, fully aware of how insane this statement sounded.

"What?" Violet looked like she thought they were even more stupid than she'd thought a moment ago.

"Gold," Dante repeated, desperately looking to Beckett for backup. "Then it burst apart."

"It's true," Beckett said. "They turned a bush into gold. It killed a griffin."

"Excuse me?" Hudson said. "I must not have heard you correctly."

"Believe me, I wish otherwise, but that is exactly what happened," Dante said, their headache getting worse.

"You killed a griffin?" Hudson asked. "The sacred magical animal? The symbol of the kingdom that's illegal to kill?"

"It was trying to kill us," Beckett interjected. "They didn't have a choice. And really, he didn't have a choice either way because he didn't even know he had magic until we were getting executed, so he had no idea what he was fucking doing."

Dante rubbed at their face, resisting the urge to sigh again. Now they looked stupid and clueless.

"What a shocker," Violet chimed in. "The mysterious highway robber who got caught taking on three guards had no idea what he was doing."

Beckett made an offended-looking face, which was nice of him. "You don't know him!" Beckett said for what felt like the fiftieth time this conversation. "Dante can be very smart sometimes. We've kept each other alive."

Sometimes? Seriously?

"Each other?" Violet scoffed. "It seems more likely that you kept him alive, and now you've dragged a wanted fugitive to our doorsteps!"

"I'm a wanted fugitive!" Beckett yelled hysterically.

"Oh, don't even get me started on that," Violet hissed, pointing a finger accusingly at him with a hand on her hip as she stood from her chair. "What you did was beyond idiotic, it was-- you were-- you were--"

"A dumbass," Hudson filled in helpfully, turning his serious eyes to Beckett. "You were a dumbass."

"Yes, a dumbass! Thank you," Violet said. "Not to mention, that is not how we taught you to steal! What were you thinking? You nearly got yourself killed!"

"Yeah, but the only reason I didn't is because Dante helped me get out!" Beckett said.

Well, they weren't even sure that was true anymore-- Dante certainly didn't think so-- but he didn't interject since Beckett was trying to help them, and their voices were getting too loud for them to think.

Violet's eyes flared. "I'll believe it when I see it," she said. "Someone his age should have plenty control over his supposed 'magic'. If he had it, we'd be seeing it right now."

"Say it louder," Beckett argued back. "You want the whole neighborhood to raid our house?"

"Don't you dare speak to your older sister that way!" Hudson said, standing firmly. "We have spent our entire lives trying to protect you. To insinuate that we would be the reason someone would come to this door is just completely disrespectful!"

"As if I would--" Violet began, then stopped, clearly flustered. "As if-- as if--"

"You're screaming about someone having magic!" Beckett said. "It doesn't matter if you're trying, you're gonna get all of us killed!"

"I'm gonna get all of us killed?" Violet cried out, hands shaking as she clenched them into fists at her side. "Beckett, you better not--"

The good news was Dante finally had something to show for his efforts to demonstrate. The bad news was that no one, him included, was expecting it anymore.

The spoon on the table shuddered, rattling violently as its surface coated itself over with vibrant gold. And then, as everyone looked to it in confusion, it shattered.

Dante leaned back, covering his face, but the explosion missed them all. Shards of gold flew through the air like bullets, sinking into the walls, floor and ceiling. One especially jagged piece embedded itself in the center of the table, digging deep into the wood. It was still vibrating for several seconds, the slight hum the only noise remaining in the sudden silence that had taken over the dining room.

Dante felt their shocked gazes move from the gold to him. He didn't know whether to apologize or be smug. Maybe there was still a way to spin it as him doing it on purpose.

The silence was going to be the death of him, if Beckett's siblings weren't.

"Is that proof enough?" Dante finally asked, and immediately felt like digging a hole under this house and never coming out.

All three of the siblings, for once, seemed shocked into silence. Finally, Hudson, whose eyes were glued to the ceiling, muttered, "I'm gonna have to fix that now."

"Don't throw it out," Dante said without thinking. "Your spoon just appreciated considerably in value."

Was he seriously telling a man in his own home that the damage paid for itself? Apparently he was.

Hudson sent an annoyed look at Dante-- which they probably deserved-- but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Beckett said, "See? We weren't lying. Dante has magic, and it only appeared when we were about to be executed."

"That's impossible," Violet said firmly. "Magic doesn't just appear at a moment's notice, it's there since birth."

"I don't really know what to tell you," Dante said with a shrug. "But it very much did just appear. I think I'd have noticed much earlier otherwise."

"That's ludicrous!" Violet exclaimed. "That makes just about as much sense as Beckett suddenly getting magic out of nowhere!"

Beckett chuckled, but the smile on his face looked extremely forced. Violet glanced at him, then her mouth dropped open. "No," she said. "No, you are not about to tell us that!"

Next to her, Hudson's face dropped into his hands and he groaned as he massaged his forehead. "This is not possible," he muttered. "It simply isn't."

"Yeah, well, I would've said the same thing," Beckett said.

"I think you actually did say that," Dante added. "But you came around."

Beckett scowled at Dante. "You said the same thing about yourself!" Beckett said defensively.

Dante held his hands up. "Touché."

Violet shook her head, hands shaking. "No," she said again. "This is not possible, you can't have magic!"

"It wasn't exactly a choice!" Beckett said.

Hudson lowered his hands. His face was grave as he watched Beckett seriously. "Are you telling us that they aren't just hunting for two runaway thieves--they're hunting for two confirmed witches? Is that what you're telling us right now?"

Violet's lip trembled. "What if they send him?" she whispered, her face losing some of its color. She looked faint, even though she was sitting down. "Hudson, what if they--"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

"How are we supposed to protect you?" Violet asked. "How are we going to do this? He's going to find us and burn us all, oh my gods."

"No, he's not," Beckett said, and Dante had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who they were referring to. "He's not going to, because we're only here for a night's rest, and then we'll leave you be. We're not going to lead him here."

"What?" Violet said alarmedly. "You can't leave! No, we need to hide you! We need to hide you somewhere and not use any magic and keep you there until this has passed, we need--"

"We can't control our magic!" Beckett said. "We can't stop from using it, neither of us has done it on purpose! We need to leave so we can keep you safe!"

"Keep us safe?" Violet said indignantly. "You don't need to keep us safe, we are your older siblings, we're trying to keep you safe--"

"I'm not Lily!" Beckett yelled, and immediately, the entire room went silent, save for a buzzing energy hovering in the air. Violet and Hudson both recoiled as if they'd been slapped in the face, and Beckett himself suddenly looked as if he might become ill.

Gods. Dante would truly rather be anywhere else-- even looking Lucian directly in the eye-- then sit under this sickening tension.

Everyone's lost someone. That was what Mireya had said, and from what had happened in Illador, Beckett was no exception. But they hadn't thought he'd meant a sibling.

They wanted to apologize, say something for the spreading feeling of dread and guilt coiling in their chest. But it wasn't their place to speak right now. It wouldn't even mean anything in the face of that loss.

The silence stretched out, and it seemed finally that all three talkative siblings had completely lost their words. Violet was staring through the doorway to the fireplace in the living room with wide, terrified, distant eyes, as if she were watching something else entirely, and Hudson held a hand to his chest over his heart, eyes closed as he took in several deep huffs of air. As for Beckett, he sat in his chair, seemingly stunned by his own words, watching both his siblings with the most horrified expression Dante had ever seen him wear.

"I didn't..." Beckett started, then trailed off. "I didn't mean..." Neither sibling reacted at all. It was as if Beckett's words had been spoken to the air.

Dante found himself dropping his gaze, staring down at the table with his fists clenched in his lap. It wasn't just guilt he felt, he knew. There was fear laced in it as well.

After what felt like an eternity, Violet said in a small voice, eyes still trained on the fire in the other room, "Beckett, I can't watch you burn." Her voice shook and her body did too as she tore her eyes away from the fire and to Beckett. "I can't watch you burn, I can't do that again, I can't." She began to cry as she burried her face in her hands.

"You're not going to," Beckett said softly. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

Violet cried harder. "Why?" she said. "You're right, you're not. She had her magic since she was born, and she knew how to keep it hidden, and he found us anyway. He finds everyone, he finds them all," she said hysterically.

"You were safe," Hudson whispered, slowly opening his eyes. "You were the only one of us who was completely safe. And now, you-- oh, gods."

Beckett seemed hurt by that comment, but just stared at the two hopelessly. Finally, the tension built too much-- it was so quiet, and nobody was saying anything.

"Lucian's on his way." Dante heard his own voice as if someone else was using it, hushed and unwilling.

Violet let out a small sob. Hudson's face snapped to Dante. "The bloodhound," he said, his entire body stilling. "How do you know?"

"Beckett and I eavesdropped on some guards in Illador." Dante swallowed. "They... said he was in the Smoky Mountains when he got the summons, and it couldn't have been immediate. We have a slim headstart."

"The Smoky Mountains," Hudson repeated. "Okay. We'll figure this out."

And suddenly, it was as if none of the previous conflict meant anything anymore--Dante had been lumped in as part of the team--because they all had a common enemy. Hudson could have heard that news and immediately kicked Dante out to lead Lucian elsewhere, but instead, he'd said 'we'll figure this out.' We. Dante wished they could feel any sort of relief through the lingering shame. They gave a mute nod in response.

"How?" Violet cried out. "How are we supposed to figure this out? He finds everybody, he always finds them, oh my gods. I don't want to burn, I don't want to, I don't want to." She collapsed against Hudson's shoulder, who held her.

"You're not going to," he said firmly. "None of us are. Over my dead body."

"If we leave quick enough, we can lead him in a different direction," Beckett said in a small voice, sounding torn. "We can figure that out, right?" He looked to Dante for confirmation, and then suddenly, Hudson's eyes were on Dante too, watching intently.

Dante hated that, technically, they were the expert on Lucian here. That wasn't something they wanted to be recognized for.

"We..." He hesitated. "I don't know if we could do that and still avoid him. I don't know how Lucian does it."

"You don't know how the bloodhound does it," Hudson repeated. "So what?"

"If we're going to act as bait to keep him off your trail, actively leading him our way, it'd be really nice if we could do it without, you know, getting caught," Dante said. "Which would be easier if anyone knew what Lucian's tricks were-- but I guess that's a trade secret."

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Hudson said suddenly, eyes squinted as he watched Dante's face, as if re-evaluating them. "Nobody calls him that."

Dante snapped their mouth shut. They could feel Beckett's gaze on them, but they didn't think they could turn their head to see his expression.

"That's his name," they said, rather uselessly.

"It humanizes him." Hudson narrowed his eyes. "You're hiding something. Spit it out."

Dante contemplated the idea of leaving the table, or just staring back at Hudson until he gave up. But somehow, he doubted either of those would work. Snake-like dread coiled another ring around his stomach.

"Dante, you don't need to," Beckett said.

Violet slowly pulled away from Hudson, her tears having stopped, though her face still shown with their remnants. "He doesn't need to what?" she said, looking between the two of them.

Dante bit his lip. He definitely didn't want to.

But he really should. It was probably the least he owed this family.

"I know him," he said quietly, before he could change his mind. "He's... he's my brother."

The room went still. For a moment, it was as if nobody breathed. Then, Hudson said quietly, "What?" He stood from his chair, and Beckett stood too.

"Dante is on the run too," Beckett said quickly. "The bloodhound would kill him without a second thought. He didn't even show up to our hanging or try to get it stopped."

Dante knew it was true, and that was something Beckett needed to say, but they couldn't help but wince and look away. The reminder felt like a slap.

"There's no love lost between us," they murmured.

"What does that mean?" Hudson said lowly, taking a step from behind the table and starting to round it towards Dante. "It's still there?"

Dante looked up to meet Hudson's gaze as firmly as they could, but it still felt like they were guilty of something they hadn't done. "It was never even there in the first place," they said, thorugh slightly gritted teeth. "It means he's my brother, but he's not my brother. I can't do anything about blood, but I can see him for the monster he is and loathe him for it."

Hudson clenched his hand into a fist and rested it against one of the chairs. Violet watched wide-eyed, silent, before she murmured, "Alright."

Hudson's head whipped around to look at her. "What?" he said disbelievingly.

"Alright," Violet repeated again, seeming sturdier as she used a hand to swipe away some of her remaining tears. She stared at the table, and it was like Dante could physically see her brain working. "We can't control who we're related to," she said unsteadily, "and you brought Beckett this far."

"Okay," Beckett interjected, "Dante didn't bring me."

"Oh, please," Violet retorted. "You nearly flirted yourself to death."

The relief Dante could've felt was mostly wiped by astonishment as he turned his head to Beckett. Under different circumstances, he could've laughed.

Hudson, though his face was still in a settled frown from Violet's sudden change in tune, turned back to Beckett and said firmly, "Yes, you were a dumbass."

"Dumbass, yes, that's exactly the word," Violet repeated, standing and seeming to get back into her scolding-parent-groove again. She pointed a finger accusingly at Beckett. "And I saw the picture in the paper. She was average-looking at best."

"Violet!" Beckett protested. "That's not okay to say about someone!"

Now everyone was standing except for Dante, and he felt like a fly on the wall. He would've rather actually been a fly on the wall. Flies weren't uninvited guests awkwardly made the center of attention while families hashed out their out-of-context drama.

Violet waved a hand dismissively. "I said what I said," she said. "Now, I'm not saying she was ugly, but I'm not sure how she got her first fiance, let alone how she was enough to catch your attention--"

"Vi--" Beckett began again.

"Don't interrupt your sister," Hudson chided.

"And then to let her knock you out!" Violet continued.

"I didn't let her!"

"Oh, I have no doubt it was some kind of-- dirty attraction type of thing," Violet floundered before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Some weird thing where you wanted to be knocked out, and then you let her do it while you were carrying stolen goods--"

Beckett, who seemed to have realized his words meant absolutely nothing in the situation, just muttered, "That's what she said," and sat back down annoyedly into his chair.

Dante, who now felt like he knew way too much about this event, coughed meaningfully. It wasn't like he wanted to be in the hot seat again, but whatever this was, he definitely wanted to wrap it up.

Violet turned her gaze sharply to Dante, seeming to come aware of herself again, and she took in a deep breath. "We'll send you to Lennox. He'll be able to help."

Hudson hesitated. "Vi, I'm not sure about that."

"Why not?" she said, turning to Hudson. "You know he could do more than we could."

The two proceeded to narrow eyes with each other, facial expressions only shifting slightly as they carried on what must be a very intense silent conversation. Finally, Hudson sighed and said, "You two, go to the living room. We'll finish this conversation after I clean up in here."

"I'll help you," Violet said decidedly, then looked at the two of them and pointed to the doorway. "Out."

Dante exchanged a look with Beckett, but decided this was not a battle he would be picking. He stood up from his chair, sliding it back into place and leaving quietly with Beckett close behind.

"Who's Lennox?" he muttered once they were through the door and out of earshot.

"My brother," Beckett said dazedly. "I didn't..." he trailed off and sat down on the couch, lost in thought.

Dante sat down next to him, taking a deep breath. The atmosphere felt less suffocating now that it was just Beckett, but still, he didn't think either of them could relax just yet.

"Why wouldn't visiting him be a good idea?" he asked softly.

Beckett shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since I was twelve, I didn't even know we had a way to contact him. I thought he wiped himself off the map."

Dante opened their mouth to ask another question, but closed it again before he did. That was not something to probe at, they could tell. All they could think to say was, "I'm sorry."

Beckett shrugged, and it was like Dante could physically see him pulling himself together. "It's fine. Are you alright? I know they can be intense." Beckett's eyes were suddenly staring deep into Dante's, almost uncomfortably intense.

Despite that, Dante managed to look over and hold his gaze in return.

"I'm okay," they said, and they tried to feel like they meant it. "What about you?"

"I'm used to it," Beckett said, which conveniently didn't answer the question.

And sometimes, the lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

Dante nodded in a way that he hoped showed he understood as he dropped his gaze back to the floor.

"For the record," he said. "I don't think you're a dumbass. I don't think I'm the reason you made it out, despite what they said. In fact, I'm pretty sure you don't need me at all."

"We're in this together, whether we like it or not," Beckett said. "I don't think we could change that now if we tried. And they can't change it either," Beckett added, glancing back towards the kitchen. "It's why they're so mad at you."

Dante hummed in agreement.

"You're right," he said. "But... I do think I like it."

Beckett chuckled and glanced down at his lap. "Aww," he teased. "You like me?"

Dante rolled his eyes playfully, looking back over at him. "I more than tolerate you and have for a while, certainly."

Beckett smirked. "Should I be flattered, or do you tell that to all your reincarnated gods?"

Dante made a show of thinking about it. "Not sure. Guess I'd have to ask all my past selves."

"Technically, if it was a past version of me, it would still just be me," Beckett pointed out.

Dante chuckled. "So what you're saying is, I should be asking you if that sounds familiar."

"Hey, I'm not asking if it's been me, I'm asking if I'm your one and only," Beckett said in an exaggeratedly whispered voice, flashing his eyes with a wide grin.

Dante opened his mouth, but he couldn't find a reply. For one, the question implied he even believed there had been more than one-- something he didn't know if he did yet. Second, something about it threw him for such a loop that he felt vaguely dizzy.

"Uh--" he started.

Do better than than that, Dante.

"That would've been a better question for our fanboy nerd," he said.

That's not much better. That might've actually been worse.

As if to reinforce that thought, Beckett gave Dante a long, weird look, before he laughed. "I was just teasing," Beckett said. "I haven't even decided if I believe the whole reincarnation thing yet."

"Me neither," Dante said, relieved. "He seemed to believe it, but his conviction was... not contagious, to say the least."

Beckett nodded, seeming to ponder the whole thing, before he sighed and leaned back dramatically into the couch, sinking into the cushions. "I don't have the brain energy to think about it right now. Maybe we're gods. Maybe we're not. We have magic. We didn't used to have magic. All I know is I need a good night's sleep."

"I don't feel much like a god," Dante said, staring up at the ceiling. "Unless I'm the god of sleepiness."

"Stop using your magic sleepy powers on me," Beckett replied. "I'm tired of being tired."

"I'll consider it," Dante said. Beckett was funnier when he was sleepy.

As if on cue, Beckett gave Dante a side-stare that somehow conveyed I'm over this at the same time as Are you kidding me? Dante offered a slight innocent grin in return. "What do I need to do, burn lavendar at your alter?"

"Burn lavender? What good is that going to do? Then it can't go in tea anymore." Dante paused. "Where it belongs."

Beckett sighed. "You're psychotic."

"Never heard that word used to mean having good taste," Dante said. "Is it a new definition?"

"You think they'd change the dictionary just for you?" Beckett countered. "Self-centered, much? Then again, I guess the sun does think of itself as the center of the universe."

"It... it is, though," Dante said slowly. "Are you a science-denier?"

Beckett stared off in the distance for a minute, and Dante could practically see the smart-ass remark cooking in his brain, before Beckett yawned dramatically and said, "I give up. I'm too tired to out-smart you."

"Until next time, then," Dante said.

"You two both seem like you need to bathe," Hudson said from the doorway, face scrunched up in annoyance and exhaustion. "We've got extra clothes upstairs, and some extra blankets. I'll make up the couch."

Dante turned their head back to the kitchen, startled for a second until they remembered the whole reason the two of them had been out here. Right. Maybe they were more tired than they thought.

"Thanks," they murmured, getting to their feet.



The clothes fit better than Dante had expected. They weren't sure if they had been Hudson's once, or maybe had belonged to Lennox, or someone else entirely. All the same, they'd underestimated how good it felt to finally be clean, about to sleep on a cushioned surface of some kind even if it wasn't a bed of his own. Beckett had been the first to bathe, and Hudson must've finished setting up while they were gone, so when Dante returned downstairs it was just the two of them.

And the one couch.

Dante was about to remark on it, but then Beckett grabbed one of the blankets Hudson had brought down and settled in the armchair across from it, curling up snugly.

"You don't have to do that," Dante said quickly. "You could take the couch instead."

"Nope, you're too late," Beckett muttered, pulling a leg up to his chest as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "The heroic deed is mine. They'll write about me in all the history books. Sacrifice of the century." Dante could barely even hear the last words though, because it was like with each word, Beckett actively drifted closer and closer to sleep.

Dante sighed, relenting, since it would be too much trouble to do anything about it now. "Alright. But this will not be forgotten," he said, sinking onto the couch. "It'll be my turn to have a moment of valor someday."

Beckett mumbled what must have been some sort of sassy response, but it was completely lost to the blanket.

A smile crept over Dante's face as he shifted to lie down on his side with his back to the wall, wrapping the blanket around himself. In the dim white of the moonlight seeping through the living room curtains, Beckett could've been asleep already. He'd pulled his legs up to his chest, and his head had fallen over the armrest, eyes closed and breathing steady. He looked... in his element, somehow, now that night had fallen. Peaceful. Softer. A braid of hair had fallen across his face, and inexplicably, Dante had the urge to brush it out of the way. They were close enough that he could've reached out, but he didn't. Maybe it was because they were too close.

Why did that weigh on his mind so heavily?

With a quiet sigh, barely audible even to himself, Dante forced their eyes to close. They'd forget about it in the morning, surely. There were too many pressing issues out there for them to worry about this.

But even still, as sleep claimed them, they found themselves glad not to be alone in it.