Advenio

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<div id="container"> <div id="header"> <span id="header-text" onclick="toggle(this)"></span> <div class="menutoggle"><span id="zero" onclick="toggle(this)"><i class="fa fa-ellipsis-v" aria-hidden="true"></i> </span> <span id="one" style="bottom:-180px;"> <div class="menu-flex"> </div> </span></div> </div> <div id="story"> <div id="passages">  </div> </div> </div>  <script>function toggle() { var x = document.getElementById("one"); if (!x.style.bottom ||x.style.bottom === '-180px') { x.style.bottom = '0px'; } else { x.style.bottom = '-180px'; } } $("#story").click(function() { var x = document.getElementById("one"); if (x.style.bottom == '0px') { x.style.bottom = '-180px'; } }); $("#one").click(function(event) { event.stopPropagation(); }); </script>

<<replace ".menu-flex">><<include "menu-flex">><</replace>> <<replace "#header-text">><<include "header-text">><</replace>>

<script>var myDiv = document.getElementById('passages'); myDiv.scrollTop = 0;</script>

<<link '<div class="menu-item"><b>00</b> go back</div>'>><<run Engine.backward()>><</link>> <<link '<div class="menu-item"><b>01</b> settings</div>'>><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>><</link>> <<link '<div class="menu-item"><b>02</b> saves</div>'>><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>>

advenio / $gamechapter

a passage for testing the """$return""" function! it returns you to the last visited passage that isn't tagged with 'noreturn', whereas the general back button in the menu simply navigates through all visited passages. helps you avoid getting stuck in a loop! <<link "return to game" $return>><</link>>

<<set $gamechapter to 0>> <<set $trauma to 0>> <<set $resolve to 0>> <<set $sifra to 0>> <<set $zehra to 0>> <<set $speed to 0>> <<set $rigid to 0>> <<set $personable to 0>> <<set $sifrapastrom to 0>> <<set $zehrapastrom to 0>> <<set $sifrarom to 0>> <<set $zehrarom to 0>> <<set $len to 0>> <<set $irin to 0>> <<set $city to 0>> <<set $combat to 0>> <<set $countertwotwentytwo to 0>> <<set $zefriel to 0>> <<set $estelsex to 0>> <<set $irinrom to 0>> <<set $estel to 0>> <<set $estelrom to 0>> <<set $anahi to 0>> <<set $anahirom to 0>>

<<set $gamechapter to $gamechapter +1>>Galan fucking stinks. In truth, the flowers are much the same as they were before, you suppose—chrysanthemums and poppies, a sea of red painted across the golden, wheat-laden canvas of your home. A sea of blood. [[Stop.|1.2]]

It’s the blood that you still smell, hard and acrid and //bitter//, above all else, in your nostrils, lingering long after you enter the plains south of Galaeth. The city still shines, far in the distance ensconced in the mountain – still a beacon and generous benefactor to its daughter-cities, even though all it has ever given you is a bitter taste in the back of your mouth that no amount of mead could ever mask. Just one quest. Just one. And then you never have to come back. So //long//— So long as that quest does not bring you back to Gintan. [[Please, stop.|1.3]]

Not that you think anyone would recognise you now – your once <<cycle "$ogbodytype" autoselect>> <<option "plump" "plump">> <<option "curvy" "curvy">> <<option "narrow" "narrow">> <<option "soft" "soft">> <<option "slight" "slight">> <<option "scrawny" "scrawny">> … <</cycle>> frame is now firm and corded with muscle, after so much time on the road. //One year and eleven moon cycles.// //And twenty-two days.// [[Not that you’re counting.|1.4]]

You’re //fine//. Totally fine. (Even with everything that happened to you, your family, and Gintan.) Aren’t you? * <<link "Most days. You have your purpose." "1.5">><<set $trauma to $trauma +1>><</link>> * <<link "Sometimes you struggle - but you know what you have to do." "1.5">><<set $trauma to $trauma +2>><</link>> * <<link "You wake up often with nightmares. Horrible nightmares." "1.5">><<set $trauma to $trauma +3>><</link>>

But you manage. You have always been able to cope with what this life has thrown at you, from daisy petals to horseshit. Now, //horseshit//, you are //very// familiar with. You barely have enough money to support yourself, let alone a squire. * <<link "And you’re not sure you’d wish this life on your worst enemy." "1.6">><<set $resolve to $resolve +1>><</link>> * <<link "It’s //your// life, though. You’re used to it - you have to be." "1.6">><<set $resolve to $resolve +2>><</link>> * <<link "It doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters." "1.6">><<set $resolve to $resolve +3>><</link>>

The road has been long. Arduous. Treacherous, at times – and that was just that //sneak// of an innkeep in Talvane who all but robbed you blind. If you have enough money to make it to Galaeth, it will be a moon-blessed miracle. //Moon-blessed//. You haven’t thought about that phrase in a long time, and whenever you do, you think of the person who said it to you most often: * <<link "Sifra." "1.7S">><<set $sifra to $sifra +1>><</link>> * <<link "Zehra." "1.7Z">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>>

''Ten years ago'' You are lying in one of the golden wheat fields around Gintan – Sifra’s mother has joked with yours that you have been the only one who has been able to make them sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. (They are restless, they always have been – the energy that emanates from them reverberates through the air and thrums in your rib cage. You absorb them. You can’t remember //not// doing it.) Drawing you out of your musings, Sifra’s breaths beat into the air, short and sharp, still winded from racing you uphill. * <<link "You beat them handily - as you always did." "1.7.1S">><<set $speed to $speed +6>><</link>> * <<link "It was a close-run thing - but you just about beat them." "1.7.1S">><<set $speed to $speed +4>><</link>> * <<link "It was a close-run thing - but Sifra just about beat you." "1.7.1S">><<set $speed to $speed +3>><</link>> * <<link "They beat you, the same as always." "1.7.1S">><<set $speed to $speed +1>><</link>>

<<if $speed is 6>> You smile broadly at them, and you think you see their cheeks pinken slightly. From exertion. Definitely exertion. <<elseif $speed is 4>> Your breathing is ragged, and you can feel the blood blaze in your cheeks. Sifra is just as flushed, from exertion. Definitely exertion. <<elseif $speed is 3>> Your breathing is ragged, still, even as you catch a glimpse of Sifra’s smile, fleeting as the sun through clouds before your eyes flutter shut. Your breathing is still ragged. <<elseif $speed is 1>> Your breathing is ragged, and you have to close your eyes to stop your head spinning. It takes you a moment to realise that it’s Sifra’s fingers brushing your hair away from your face. Because you’re sweating. <</if>><<if $speed gte 4>> “You win,” Sifra concedes with something that could blossom into a smile if they would let it. “We’re both here,” you remind them, your eyes fluttering shut as the autumn breeze caresses your cheeks. <<elseif $speed lt 4>> “Better luck next time.” For Sifra’s sake, you ignore how the smugness bleeds into their tone. “So long as we made it, I don’t mind,” you hum, the sun dancing on the back of your eyelids as the late autumn breeze caresses your cheeks. <</if>> They are silent for a moment, a long dreadful pause that makes worry niggle at you until you open your eyes and turn to them— [[And find them already looking at you.|1.7.2S]]

Their eyes are pretty – a pale gold that rivals the glow of the setting sun around you. You’re not sure you’ve ever noticed that before. If you had the leisure, you might trace the sharp lines and angular features of their face, left bare to the sun by their latest act of rebellion. (You remember how their mother yelled when they came home two weeks ago with their hair shorn and a wild look in their eyes - one that you recognised as joy, all too rare for Sifra.) You are in the middle of wondering whether they are eating enough, the hollows of their cheeks deeper and darker in the dying light of day than you remember them ever being, when they clear their throat and turn away to squint at cotton-puffed clouds. <<link "“That’s as may be.”" "1.7.3S">><</link>>

You’re not sure how long you linger there, you and they, before the breeze turns chill and you shiver involuntarily. “Here,” Sifra’s voice is rough, and you stare at their proffered cloak, not understanding for a few moments. * <<link "“I’m ok.” You’re as stubborn as they are, after all." "1.7.4S">><<set $oneseventhreesv to "stubborn">><<set $rigid to $rigid +1>><</link>> * <<link "“Thank you.” You hope you don’t sound as shocked as you feel." "1.7.4S">><<set $oneseventhreesv to "thanks">><<set $personable to $personable +1>><</link>> * <<link "“We could share.” You don’t like the thought of Sifra freezing on your account." "1.7.4S">><<set $oneseventhreesv to "share">><<set $sifra to $sifra +2>><</link>>

<<if $oneseventhreesv is "stubborn">>Their jaw sets, and they curl the cloak around themself like a cocoon, a chrysalis of faded grey with mustard yellow patches. A burial shroud. [[Stop it.|1.7.5S]] <<elseif $oneseventhreesv is "thanks">>They hand over their cloak without a word, long fingers littered with pale, spidery scars tucking it under your chin so your neck stays warm. They are not normally this attentive, surely? [[If they ever have been, you don’t recall.|1.7.5S]] <<else>>Sifra Vinn is sharp of tongue, all of Gintan knows //that// - yet now they seem tongue-tied as they arrange their cloak so it can cover the two of you. They start when you shuffle closer to them, hissing in shock when your cold cheek rests against their exposed collar bone. “Darkness take you.” They seldom draw on the old-fashioned curses – only with you, you think – but there is no venom there, only a huffed laugh that makes their chest heave under the cloak. They’re trembling next to you. From the cold. * <<link "So are you. ♡" "1.7.5S">><<set $sifra to $sifra +2>><<set $sifrapastrom to $sifrapastrom +1>><</link>> * <<link "You’ve never felt warmer in your life." "1.7.5S">><<set $sifra to $sifra +2>><</link>> * <<link "You’re not sure why - they seem warm enough, from what you can tell." "1.7.5S">><<set $sifra to $sifra +1>><</link>> <</if>>

And like that, the moment breaks like moonglass in your hands. “Hey! <<textbox "$ogname" " First Name">>!” Sifra stiffens against you, hard as iron, before standing up abruptly, <<if $oneseventhreesv is "share">>and you are left cold from more than your newfound exposure to the elements. <<elseif $oneseventhreesv is "thanks">>one scarred hand grabbing their cloak from you and exposing you to more than the encroaching chill. <<else>>leaving you alone on the ground. <</if>> When you look around, you can see Zehra in a simple white shift, glowing in the low light. Sifra’s jaw is tight, face flinty and hard as they turn away. When you lay a hand on their shoulder, they shrug you off roughly, breathing heavier now than when they had raced you uphill. * <<link "Ask if they can stay." "1.7.6.1S">><<set $onesevenfivesv to "stay">><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><</link>> * <<link "Reassure them." "1.7.6.2S">><<set $onesevenfivesv to "reassure">><<set $sifra to $sifra -3>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><</link>> * <<link "Ask them what’s wrong." "1.7.6.3S">><<set $onesevenfivesv to "whatswrong">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><<set $sifra to $sifra -3>><</link>>

<<if $sifra gte 2 and $sifrapastrom gt 0>> “Can you stay?” You’re not sure why the simple question makes a lump appear in your throat, but you suddenly feel as if you could drink an ocean. It hurts less than the way Sifra flinches away from your outstretched hand, as if you might burn them. “I don’t know why I thought you—” At that moment, Sifra seems to register that they are speaking aloud and instead purses their lips, chapped in the autumnal air. When did you start noticing //that//? Sifra’s breathing has turned shallow by the time your eyes meet theirs again, and when pale, golden eyes flick down for a second to trace your lips, your throat feels dry. “Sifra—” “I should go.” With that, Sifra leaves and starts back to Gintan at a jog. [[They look back once, but seem to quicken their pace when they see you make to follow them.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra gte 2 and $personable gt 0>> “Can you stay?” You try to keep your voice gentle, but they flinch all the same. “Why?” The question is low, laced with venom – yet you think they are more bumblebee than wasp. You always have. But by the time you can come close to an answer that might reassure them, they have started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra gte 2 and $personable is 0>> “Can you stay?” Your voice is more blunt than you mean it to be, but you’re not sure that anything you could have said would have softened the shudder that racks their lean frame. (They are leaner than you would like – their father was the same, and— You worry, that’s all.) “Why?” The question is low, laced with a venom that makes you recoil for one brief moment, shocked by its intensity. Before you can come close to an answer, they have started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra gte 0>> “Can you stay?” Your voice is a little more uncertain than you’d like, and you clear your throat to try and speak again. “Only I—” “Only //what//?” Sifra’s voice is low, laced with venom and something else you can’t quite taste – but before you can respond, they have turned and started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra lt 0>> You watch them carefully for a moment or two before attempting to speak. “Can you st—” “I’m going.” Before you even have the chance to finish your question, they cut you off, the muscle in their jaw feathering. [[When they start back to Gintan at a jog, they don’t look back.|1.8S]] <</if>>

You haven’t seen them since. They left for Galaeth alone in the early hours of the next morning, and purposefully did not say goodbye. <<if $sifrapastrom gt 0>> The thought still stings, and you cannot help but feel that you did something. Quiet //what//, you’re not sure. But the thought eats at you, like acid in your belly, even now. <<elseif $sifra gt 0>> The thought still stings, and you wonder what they felt when they left. If it was like the turmoil you felt yourself. <<else>> …//fine//, then. They had every prerogative to be like that. <</if>>In any case, you have your own journey now. Even if your road //has// wound its way back to Galan. You’re still near the border with Kamran. You //could//— * ==make a life for yourself in Kamran== * [[but you won’t. You have your purpose now.|1.9]]

<<if $sifra gte 0 and $personable gt 0>> “She just wants—” //to be our friend//. “I //know// what she wants.” Sifra’s voice is low, laced with venom as they watch Zehra try to climb the hill to reach you. You can’t remember the last time you saw them //this// angry. “Sifra—” “I’ll see you later.” Sifra mutters, hands balled into fists as they start back to town at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra gte 0 and $personable is 0>> You can’t help your frustrated huff. “You //know// she just wants—” //to be our friend//. “I //know// what she wants.” Sifra’s voice is low, laced with venom as they watch Zehra try to climb the hill to reach you. You don’t honestly know what the //fuck// their problem is. “Sifra—” “I’ll see you later.” Sifra mutters, hands balled into fists as they start back to town at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifrapastrom gt 0>> “Sifra—” You start, the words sticking in your throat when you need them most, even when you reach out to touch their hand— And they recoil, as if you might burn them. “I don’t know why I thought you—” At that moment, Sifra seems to register that they are speaking aloud and purses their lips, chapped in the autumnal air. When did you start noticing //that//? Sifra’s breathing has turned shallow by the time your eyes meet theirs again, and when pale, golden eyes flick down for a second to trace your lips, your throat feels dry. “Sifra—” “I should go.” With that, Sifra leaves, starts back to Gintan at a jog. [[They looks back once, but seem to quicken their pace when they see you make to follow them.|1.8S]] <<else>> “Sifra, I—” You start to speak, but the anger in pale, golden eyes when they look at you makes the words strangle in your throat. “You //what//.” Their voice is flat, and they seem to have to almost punch the words out. “It’s not—” You start lamely, before they silence you with an irritated wave of their hand. “Forget it. Have fun.” “Sifra—” By the time you manage to speak, they are long gone, having started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <</if>>

<<if $sifra gte 0 and $personable gt 0 and $sifrapastrom is 1>> “Sifra, what’s wrong?” You reach for them uncertainly, and they recoil as if you might burn them. (You force yourself to ignore the stab of pain at that. You //can’t//—) “//Don’t//.” Their voice is low and laced with venom, though their eyes are wide and almost panicked. “Sifra, please.” Those eyes, pale golden and piercing, flutter shut for a moment when you speak. “I don’t know why I thought—” Sifra’s voice is but a breath, but when they register that they’re speaking aloud their eyes snap open and they press their lips into a fine line, turning away from you as if the mere sight of you burns them. “I should go.” “You don’t ha—” By the time your throat unsticks enough to let the words loose, Sifra is long gone, having started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They look back once, but seem to quicken their pace when they see you make to follow them.|1.8S]] <<elseif $sifra gte 0>> “Sifra, what—” “Doesn’t matter.” Sifra tries to smile, but the expression sours and curdles on their face before they can turn away. “I need to go.” They’ve barely bitten the words out before they turn and start back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <<else>> “Sifra, what—” You start to speak, but the anger in their eyes when they look at you makes the words strangle in your throat. “//What//.” Their voice is flat, and they seem to have to almost punch the words out. “It’s not—” You start lamely, before they silence you with an irritated wave of their hand. “Forget it. Have fun.” “Sifra—” By the time you speak, they are long gone, having started back to Gintan at a jog. [[They don’t look back.|1.8S]] <</if>>

''Ten years ago'' You are lying in one of the golden wheat fields around Gintan – Zehra likes to come here and see how early she can spot the moon. It’s early tonight. You don’t need to look up to know that, you just need to look at her smile. (She smiles a lot, normally – though lately her smiles have been fewer and further between and you have been too nervous to ask why.) Her breathing is still shallow, after she struggled to climb the hill. * <<link "You could have scaled the hill without breaking a sweat - but you waited with her." "1.7.1Z">><<set $speed to $speed +6>><</link>> * <<link "You would have been fine - but you don’t mind waiting on Zehra." "1.7.1Z">><<set $speed to $speed +4>><</link>> * <<link "You think you would have made it - but you’re perfectly happy not to have to test that and go at Zehra’s pace." "1.7.1Z">><<set $speed to $speed +3>><</link>> * <<link "You’re breathing just as hard." "1.7.1Z">><<set $speed to $speed +1>><</link>>

<<if $speed gte 4>> You smile broadly at her, and she smiles back just as widely. “You’re such a show-off, <<textbox "$ogname" "First Name">>.” she accuses playfully – but given that she can barely keep her grin from her lips, you don’t mind smiling back. * <<link "Tease her." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "fastplattease">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><</link>> * <<link "Tease her…or try, at least. ♡" "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "fastromtease">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><<set $zehrapastrom to $zehrapastrom +1>><</link>> * <<link "Defend yourself." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "fastdefend">><<set $rigid to $rigid +1>><</link>> * <<link "Apologise." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "fastapologise">><<set $zehra to $zehra +1>><<set $rigid to $rigid -1>><</link>> <<else>> She smiles wanly at you, and you just about manage to return it, all while trying to hide your own ragged breaths. “I’m glad it’s you, <<textbox "$ogname" "Name">>.” She says with a gossamer-soft smile, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. * <<link "Tease her." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "slowplattease">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><</link>> * <<link "Tease her…or try, at least. ♡" "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "slowromtease">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $personable to $personable +1>><<set $zehrapastrom to $zehrapastrom +1>><</link>> * <<link "Ask why." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "slowwhy">><<set $zehra to $zehra +1>><</link>> * <<link "Deflect." "1.7.2Z">><<set $onesevenonezd to "slowdeflect">><<set $zehra to $zehra +1>><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $onesevenonezd is "fastplattease">>You affect a wounded expression – though you can’t quite keep the smile from your lips. “Me? Never.” Zehra closes her eyes and turns away dramatically – though you’re pretty sure she’s only done that so she doesn’t crack up laughing. Or, you //thought// that. But then she sighs and shifts restlessly, and you worry for a moment that you’ve overstepped. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "fastromtease">>You allow yourself to smirk a moment, lips caressing your next words. “And if I //were// showing off for you?” “If you—” And for once, consummate future politician that she is, Zehra has been left speechless, a flush darkening her cheeks. “I—that is—” Her speechlessness seems contagious, and you feel your throat close. The moment lingers, until Zehra clears her throat and looks away. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "fastdefend">>“I would //never//,” you tell her, indignant at the thought of showing off – your mother would be horrified. Zehra’s eyebrows raise, as though she is surprised by your tone, and her lips purse. “As you say,” she says before sighing heavily. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "fastapologise">>You wince at her words, and rub at the back of your neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” She gives you a smile that chases away any guilt you might feel – though you think you may not be brave enough to parse the undercurrent that shivers up your spine when she speaks. “It’s alright, darling.” //Darling//. You wonder when simple words started sounding like that. You’re so distracted by…//that//, that you almost don’t register what she says next, her smile dimmed. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "slowplattease">>“You’re only glad because you know I’d give you a piggyback,” you accuse playfully, and her answering laughter is like summer rain. But it’s autumn now, and the laughter dies on her face as quickly as the setting sun. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "slowromtease">>Despite your intentions, there is something disarming about Zehra’s smile that makes you pause long enough to lose your nerve. Your cheeks are burning, and when you speak, your voice is weaker than you’d like. “I’m glad it’s you, too.” Lush lips round into an ‘o’, warm brown eyes wide with surprise (though //how// she could be surprised, you’re not quite sure) and you have to force yourself to look away. You hear her clear her throat, and when you look back at her, she is looking at the horizon, the cotton-puff clouds, the russet treeline— Anywhere but at you. When she speaks, her voice is rushed, as if she wants to bite out the words before she loses her nerve. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "slowwhy">>//I’m glad it’s you.// You’re not exactly sure why the words make your face burn – and you’d sooner die than be left hanging. “Why’s that?” You cock your head, and feel your throat tighten when a blush darkens Zehra’s cheeks and she looks away and mutters. “I was hoping you knew.” //Knew what, Zehra, what—// “In any case,” and she pushes a smile back onto her face at that, “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <<elseif $onesevenonezd is "slowdeflect">>“And why’s that?” There’s something about her tone that you can’t quite parse, something that sets you on edge. Her eyebrows raise, and you feel yourself wilt under her scrutiny. “I //was//, anyway.” Before she can continue, she presses her lips into a line and continues. “I have to tell you something.” [[Oh. Ok.|1.7.3Z]] <</if>>

After a small pause, you realise that she’s stalling. That’s //odd//. You clear your throat, hoping to prompt her – then you ask the fatal question. “What’s that?” (You can’t help but think that she is going to tell you that she hates you, that she does not want to call you her friend, that— She wouldn’t, you //know// that. But the thought niggles and makes each second last an eternity.) “I’m going to Argereth—to school, like I said.” She looks at you through thick lashes, as if begging you to remember. Certainly, she’s told you about it before – the Shining City, home to some of the most powerful people in the continent, and the seat of power for key institutions far beyond your own understanding. But Zehra has been destined for greatness since before she could walk, her parents have impressed upon her the importance of courtly life to her future and theirs and so— You know what this means. In your heart, you have //always// known. * <<link "Say nothing." "1.7.4Z">><<set $oneseventhreezd to "shtum">><<set $zehra to $zehra -1>><</link>> * <<link "Promise to visit." "1.7.4Z">><<set $oneseventhreezd to "promise">><<set $zehra to $zehra +1>><</link>> * <<link "Ask Zehra what she wants." "1.7.4Z">><<set $oneseventhreezd to "whatuwant">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><</link>> * <<link "Beg her not to go." "1.7.4Z">><<set $oneseventhreezd is "beg">><<set $zehra to $zehra -1>><</link>>

<<if $oneseventhreezd is "shtum">>The silence stretches like a blanket, like a //noose// around you until you feel as if you can’t breathe. But you could not bear to look away, either – if she is //leaving//— Then every second counts. For her part, Zehra’s eyes linger on your face, on the contour of your brow, on your cheekbones, on— On your lips, as if committing them to memory. * <<link "Move to kiss her." "1.7.5Z">><<$set $onesevenfourzd to "kiss">><<set $zehrapastrom to $zehrapastrom +2>><</link>> * <<link "Stay where you are." "1.7.5Z">><<set $onesevenfourzd to "tense">><<set $zehrapastrom to $zehrapastrom +1>><</link>> <<elseif $oneseventhreezd is "promise">>“I’ll visit you.” You promise, voice hoarse in the autumn air. In response, Zehra offers you a watery smile before swallowing thickly. “I appreciate that, $ogname.” As if on instinct, you move closer to her and feel the warmth radiate from her. It is almost enough to chase away the knowledge that the possibility of you visiting her //there// is vanishingly small, between her mother and yours. [[And so it was.|1.8Z]] <<elseif $oneseventhreezd is "whatuwant">>“What do //you// want?” You ask <<if $personable is 1>>gently <<else>>less gently than you’d like <</if>> – you know what her mother is like, how she feels about Zehra and Zehra’s future, and you do not want Zehra’s light to be swallowed as if by an eclipse. “$ogname—” Zehra offers you a broad smile, even though tears are visible through thick lashes. “I //do// want it, I just wish—” She cuts herself off, then, instead nuzzling into your shoulder as if to find warmth. (You would give it to her, if you could.) [[She never did tell you her wish.|1.8Z]] <<else>>You can’t help the way your throat closes, almost enough to make choking out the words impossible. “Please don’t—don’t go.” Zehra sighs, something weary and //tired//, and stays quiet for a long moment. “Don’t make this any more difficult – //please//, $ogname.” She huddles into your side, burrowing in as if to make a home there, and you stay huddled together for as long as you can. [[As you suspected, it wasn’t long enough. Could never be.|1.8Z]] <</if>>

You haven’t seen her since her family’s carriage arrived to take her south to the Shining City. //She would suit that.// She had always shone, even in simple linens and winter furs. <<if $onesevenfourzd is "kiss">> Some days you find yourself thinking that you can still taste her, pomegranate and passionfruit zinging on your tongue. //Stop//. <<elseif $onesevenfourzd is "tense">> You find yourself wondering sometimes what would have happened if— There’s no point. //But—// ''Stop.'' <<else>> <</if>>In any case, you have your own journey now. Even if your road //has// wound its way back to Galan. You’re still near the border with Kamran. You //could//— * ==make a life for yourself in Kamran== * [[but you won’t. You have your purpose now.|1.9]]

<<if $onesevenfourzd is "kiss">>“$ogname—” Zehra breathes your name, eyes now flitting between your lips and your eyes, and bridges the distance between you. The first thing that you notice is that she is //warm//, the contrast against the chill autumn air almost breath-taking. Or perhaps that is simply her lips, chasing away any chill from this night or any other. She tastes sweet – you would have expected nothing less, from the times when you could not help but wonder. (There have been more of those times than you care to say – though none of them matter when she is kissing you, moonlight and honey.) <<link "You don’t want it to end." "1.7.6Z">><<$set $onesevenfivezd to "kiss">><</link>> <<else>>The air is thick and close between you, stifling in your lungs as warm brown eyes drift over your features. (You think you see her lips part when she looks at yours, but you might just be imagining it.) As if from outside your body, you extend your hand to brush her hair back from her face, and you nearly startle when she gasps in something that could be anticipa— “$ogname!” <<link "You have never not wanted to hear your mother’s voice before." "1.7.6Z">><<set $onesevenfivezd to "tense">><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $onesevenfivezd is "kiss">>But it must, as all things do. When you break apart, Zehra lets out a shuddering breath that seems to find its way inside your bones and reverberate. “Oh—” For once, words fail her. Instead, you hold each other until sundown, and there is something sublime about how you fit together, about how it feels different like this, after you have— [[You cannot help but wish you had longer.|1.8Z]] <<else>>Your first thought is that you could ignore your mother. Hold onto this moment with your fingertips, so tight you leave bruises. But then Zehra smiles her politician smile, the one she saves for //her// mother, and the moment slips through your fingers like water. “We should go.” “But—” [[She presses her index finger to your lips to silence you and brands you as well.|1.8Z]] <</if>>

''Two weeks later'' Every step you take towards Galaeth leaves you feeling more on edge. He’s there, you see. The last lead you have. You wanted answers, and the man in Kamreth seemed //very// forthcoming once he realised that he might end up more closely acquainted with the business end of your sword than he might like. //Old, but gold.// <<if $trauma is 1>><<link "Your nightmares have been getting more frequent with every step, too, though." "1.10">><<$trauma++>><</link>> <<elseif $trauma is 2>><<link "Your nightmares have been getting worse with every step, too, though." "1.10">><<$trauma++>><</link>> <<elseif $trauma is 3>><<link "You had thought that your nightmares couldn’t get worse – and if you’re honest, you’re not thrilled to be proved wrong." "1.10">><<$trauma++>><</link>> <</if>>

Reban is the next town you come to, one of the Argent Sisters, and you feel your hackles start to rise at the thought of being in town again. * <<link "You want to be able to chat with people like you used to - but you can’t, not until you’re done." "1.11">><<set $personable to $personable +2>><</link>> * <<link "Sometimes you think it might be nice to chat to people - but for the most part, you’re happy enough by yourself." "1.11">><<$personable++>><</link>> * <<link "You don’t mind either way." "1.11">><</link>> * <<link "You’d much rather be on your own, if you’re honest." "1.11">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><</link>>

Instead, you raise your cloak hood and urge your horse on to the nearest inn, ignoring curious stares. <<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "You’re not what one could describe as tall – which isn’t as noticeable on horseback, but will be once you dismount. (<5’4”)" "short">> <<option "You’re average height, but your leather armour makes you look a little taller. (5’4”-5’8”)" "average">> <<option "You’re tall – fine thing in a fight, but you look ridiculous on your old, tired horse. (>5’8”)" "tall">> … <</cycle>> There are a few inns in Reban – most have already withdrawn their signs, to signal that there are no more vacancies, but there is one in the old quarter of town that just might— And they raise their sign as you reach the door. The innkeep smiles apologetically at you, thanks you for your interest and gives you some cured meats for your journey. They remind you of your grandparent. //Stop//. You thank them with a wooden smile and head back to the woods. [[It’s where you belong, now, in any case.|1.12]]

The autumnal air was crisp in town – now that you are entering the forest, away from the protection of marble walls and flagstone streets, the cold seeps up your ankles and through your bones. Ahead, you can see a light glowing in between the trees. * [[Approach.|1.13A]] * [[Don’t approach.|1.13D]]

<<if $personable gte 3>> You inch through the treeline with your sword firmly in its sheath – though you keep a hand on your shield in case those who huddle around the fire don’t feel quite the same way. There are five of them – all, you realise with a sinking stomach, armed to the teeth. For a long moment, no one moves. Then one stands, his hand on his scabbard, and you feel your muscles tense in readiness. “What do you //want//?” He sounds more tired than angry – and when you open your mouth to reassure him, another of his companions rises to stay his hand. “Len, just—” “Listen to xem.” You’re not sure which companion speaks then, only that they all seem to be urging this //Len// to stand down, giving you a chance to get a better look. He is handsome – though perhaps //pretty// might be more accurate, with his delicate features of smooth, beige skin and narrow lips pursed in displeasure. Eventually, he sits and swipes a hand over tired, brown eyes as his companion gestures to you. “Come, share our hearth.” A traditional greeting in Argereth, the Shining City – far enough from Reban to make your eyebrows raise. “You’re a long way from home, friends.” Your new companions look at each other for a moment before xe speaks again. “We’re here for the bounty.” //Ah//. Unfortunate that you appear to have more competition than you expected. “What about you, //friend//?” Len’s tone, unlike yours had been, is decidedly //not// friendly. * <<link "Lie." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "lie">><<set $rigid to $rigid -1>><</link>> * <<link "Deflect." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "deflect">><<$personable++>><</link>> * <<link "Tell the truth." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "truth">><<$rigid++>><</link>> <<elseif $personable lt 3>> You inch through the treeline with your sword half-drawn and a firm grip on your shield, in case those who huddle around the fire are just as wary. There are five of them – all, you realise with a sinking stomach, armed to the teeth. For a long moment, no one moves. Then one stands, his hand on his scabbard, and you feel your muscles tense in readiness. “What do you //want//?” “I could ask you the same,” you snipe back, before one of your would-be assailants instead places a soothing hand on the man’s shoulder and sighs. “It is too cold for fighting, Len—” “Listen to xem,” another urges, and you all look at this //Len// and wait for him to stand down (//or not//). He is handsome – though perhaps //pretty// might be more accurate, with his delicate features of smooth, beige skin and narrow lips pursed in displeasure. Eventually, he sits and swipes a hand over tired, brown eyes as his companion gestures to you. “Come, share our hearth,” the elder says, xir blue eyes warm and entreating. You sit awkwardly once a boy runs to fetch your horse and bring it to the others, your armour digging into your thighs. But //that//— That was a traditional greeting in Argereth, the Shining City – far enough from Reban to make your eyebrows raise. “Got lost?” Your new companions look at each other for a moment before xe speaks again. “We’re here for the bounty.” //Ah//. Unfortunate that you appear to have more competition than you expected. “What about you, //friend//?” Len’s tone, just as you picture your own, is decidedly //not// friendly. * <<link "Lie." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "lie">><<set $rigid to $rigid -1>><</link>> * <<link "Deflect." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "deflect">><<$personable++>><</link>> * <<link "Tell the truth." "1.14">><<set $onethirteena to "truth">><<$rigid++>><</link>> <</if>>

It feels too risky – you have too much left to do to be thwarted now, whether they be friend or foe. So, instead, you find shelter under an old oak tree and bundle a tattered blanket around you, trying to dispel the chill. You can’t remember the last time you were warm. (You can. You don’t //want// to, but you can.) //Your mother’s hearth in Gintan is well-known for good food and good stories, and many a weary traveller has dozed off in front of your fire before heading on to Galaeth.// //“$ogname?” You can hear her call, weary but content.// //(You’re not sure when she started sounding so tired in your memory.)// //“$ogname, get the blankets down.” There were always blankets, with wool shorn from your father’s and uncle’s sheep, and—// [[And at your mother’s hearth, you did not wake up to the sound of wolves howling.|1.15]]

<<if $onethirteena is "lie">>You force yourself to smile disarmingly, and hope it doesn’t look too strained. “I hoped to get some guard work in the city.” Believable enough – you know from Zehra that there are plenty of rich families who have children that need guarding. Zehra’s own guard followed her everywhere she went until she was 14…by which point she started to bribe him to spend his day at the tavern instead, so you could spend time by yourselves. You’d like to think you’d make a better guard than //that//, even if this is only a fiction. “Well, I wish you luck – we know from our bounty that rich children are far too valuable to not be vulnerable.” You haven’t been told xir name and you don’t want to ask – names mean attachment, and you’ve been burned badly enough already. But xe is //kind//, and reminds you of your parents and you //want// to tell xem— But you don’t. The night passes with little incident after that, though Len glares at you for half the night. [[You wonder if he can sense the lie.|1.16]] <<elseif $onethirteena is "deflect">>You hum distractedly, watching the flames dance rather than meeting anyone’s eye. “Just trying to make a living. It’s rough at the moment.” //That’s// not a lie, at least. And though you have been less candid than you could have been, Len shrugs as if disinterested and turns to talk to one of his companions. [[Which suits you just fine.|1.16]] <<else>>You take a breath before you answer, the dancing flames giving you a neutral point to focus on instead of any of their faces. “I’m here for the bounty too.” The temperature around the campfire seems to drop by a few degrees, and you tense up. “Oh?” The elder warrior smiles, but it doesn’t quite match xir eyes. “Some competition, then.” The rest of the evening is awkward at best, and you are hyper-aware of the way the others eye you cautiously, as if you are a misbehaving animal. [[Well, at least you won’t have to lie.|1.16]] <</if>>

<<if hasVisited("1.13A")>>In the morning, your companions are quiet, efficient as they pack up – which already does not bode well for your chances – and you feel your shoulders sag at the thought that you will be pipped to the post. It’s not as if your luck until now has been that promising. The elder, whose name you are now actively refusing to learn, smiles at you in a quiet moment after you have saddled your horse, xir expression almost apologetic. “We have a few detours to make before we reach the city – equipment, supplies…” Xe trails off, as if to give you an opportunity to join them. <<if $personable gte 2>> You would love to, but— <<else>> You’re not sure why. <</if>> “I have to go straight to Galaeth.” Your tone brooks no argument, though you try to temper it a little for xir sake. Xe’s already smiling – if it were not xem, it might set your teeth on edge. “In which case, may your steps be light.” Another traditional phrase, this time in farewell, and you remember your father— //Stop.// * <<link "“And may your search be fruitful.”" "1.17">><<$personable++, $len++>><</link>> * <<link "Say nothing." "1.17">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><<set $len to $len -1>><</link>> <<else>> Then again, you //have// been gone for two years. That //said//, when you break through the treeline and see Galaeth on the horizon, [[you doubt that much has changed at all.|1.17]] <</if>>

The howls are close enough that you freeze in place for a moment, trying not to draw attention to yourself. The sun is already higher in the sky than you’d like – you must have been more tired than you thought. As you let your eyes readjust to the light, you think that you don’t remember there being wolves in Galan before. Kamran, definitely, and Lyrian was all but renowned for their direwolves, but Galan— [[Much and more has changed since last you were here, evidently.|1.16]]

The road stretches further north, the Argent growing more unruly the closer you get to its source, and you can see the spires and city walls of Galaeth glinting in the distance, seeming to blend into the mountainside. Moonstone, silver and opals – the wealth of Galan, all but flowing into the regional capital and into the pockets of nobles, and any miner foolhardy enough to try and strike out on their own. Striking out on one’s own isn’t typically how you stay alive in Galan, but you seem to be managing alright for now. You are, by this point, adept at finding illicit ways into cities – a goatherd’s path up the mountainside is sufficient to get you inside the city walls of Galaeth, past the toll guard who you wouldn’t have been able to pay and the customs guard who would have taken your sword and, most likely, your horse. Not that the horse has been particularly useful, given that she’s half lame. [[You must be getting soft, given that you still have her.|1.18]]

You had only been to Galaeth a few times as a child, and where the city had seemed titanic and glistening to you at nine years old, the streets now seem narrow, the streets a dull steely grey. Though, in a distinct improvement on Reban, you //have// been able to secure accommodation in Galaeth – though then again, the thought that any one of these people might remember you from Gintan, from //home//, settles heavily in your gut. <<link "After all, you //are// breaking the law." "1.19">><</link>>

It’s easy to forget that when you’re burdened with glorious purpose, isn’t it? You knew the risks when you started on this path, <<if $resolve is 3>>and you didn’t care – nothing else mattered. <<elseif $resolve is 2>>though you didn’t really have a choice, as far as you’re concerned – you need answers, and you need to put your family’s ghosts to rest. <<elseif $resolve is 1>>and you’re still not sure that you made the right call. There’s no going back now, though, and your family still lay unavenged in a mass grave. <</if>> If someone recognises you though— You draw your hood closer about your face, and try to stick to less busy side streets. [[And then you see him.|1.20]]

It could //not// be him, of course – you could be so desperate for a lead after two years of searching that you are now freely hallucinating in broad daylight. But it certainly matches the description you were given in the Thieves’ Guild in Kamreth – dark umber skin and faded blue travel robes, adorned with lapis blue embroidery at the hems. And he is threatening an elderly man in a disused side street, fist balled in the man’s simple linen tunic – which would appear to be fairly conclusive, to your inspecting eye. * <<link "Try to get closer." "1.21">><<set $onetwenty to "closer">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><</link>> * <<link "Call to him." "1.21">><<set $onetwenty to "heybuddy">><<$personable++>><</link>>

<<if $onetwenty is "closer">>You try to get closer, try to hear what is being hissed in harsh whispers passed between the two men “…I need…make you pay…” Maybe-Vraelin snarls, pearl-white teeth bared for a moment before he presses his lips together in frustration. “…no time…understand…don’t do that—” The older man’s strained, suppressed shout raises in volume at the end as Maybe-Almost-Definitely-Vraelin raises his other fist to strike— Before he sees your reflection in a nearby windowpane, and you realise then that you do not, in fact, blend in. Quite the opposite. [[So he runs.|1.22]] <<else>>If this can be solved without bloodshed, it might be nice – you just washed these clothes four days ago, after all. It would //also// help if you knew for sure that you had the right man. “Irin? Irin Vraelin?” Immediately, the attacker’s shoulders tense as he freezes – definitely him, then. For one long, spun-glass moment, the three of you stay stock still, lingering in the late morning haze of light filtered by the mountains above and— And while you were waxing lyrical about the city, Vraelin has let go of the man, shoving him to the ground as he makes his escape. [[You could have predicted that, really.|1.22]] <</if>>

The chase is short enough (or, it might seem that way from the outside) – Galaeth has built //up// into the mountainside, and the higher you are on the mountain, the wealthier the residents. And the wealthier the residents, the more guards and guard towers there are. Simple facts. <<if $speed gte 4>> The streets all but blur as you give chase, and you think you hear shopkeepers yell and parents tug wayward children out of your way but all //you// care about is following faded blue robes through the streets of Galaeth, past bookshops and tea rooms and alchemists until— Until he reaches a dead end – what was once a merchant shop, you think, but which has clearly had no footfall in ten years, maybe more.<<else>> You feel a brief stab of panic as he begins to draw away from you – or perhaps that is the feeling of your lungs screaming in protest. It is so long since you have run like this. Or, if you’re honest with yourself, since you have run //at all//. In any case, Galaeth itself is on your side, as when you (eventually) catch up to Vraelin, after narrowly avoiding bowling over children and shopkeepers and food carts piled high, he is finally stationary. He has reached a dead end – what was once a merchant shop, you think distantly, but which has clearly had no footfall in ten years, maybe more.<</if>> And Vraelin seems to realise that there is nowhere left to run. Your breathing is hard as his, and you open your mouth to— [[And then he leaps up.|1.23]]

Grabs at a pole and uses deceptively strong arms to launch himself onto the tavern roof, where you can hear his supple leather boots pad along the slate tiles. You curse internally for a moment – leather armour is designed for fights, not chases, and //certainly// not rooftop chases. You manage to haul yourself up with the aid of a few helpfully placed crates and washing lines, and you rejoin the chase. <<if $speed gte 4>> Your own natural speed can just about compensate, and you can //smell// the panic rolling off him in waves once he realises that he is not losing you. The panic heightens when he realises he has run out of rooftops, and you have successfully pinned him in at the western border of the city. <<else>> You can practically //taste// his triumph in the air as he realises that you cannot keep up with him – and by rights he should be able to hold onto that triumph, but you can practically //feel// his panic spike when he realises he has run out of rooftops, and you have successfully pinned him in at the western border of the city. <</if>>He’s trapped. * <<link "Try to calm him." "1.24">><<set $onetwothree to "irincalm">><<$irin++>><</link>> * <<link "Speak plainly." "1.24">><<set $onetwothree to "irinblunt">><<set $irin to $irin +2>><</link>> * <<link "Howl in frustration." "1.24">><<set $onetwothree to "irinhowl">><<set $irin to $irin -1>><</link>>

<<if $onetwothree is "irincalm">> He still looks panicked (as well he might, having been chased through the streets by a stranger) and you try to raise your hands to calm him, as you might a small child. (You //think// you’ve calmed someone down like this before – but honestly, it’s hard to say.) “I just want to talk to you. There’s no reason to be afraid.” Vraelin looks wary for a moment more, before the tension seems to leak from him, seeping from his muscles and leaving him almost tired. “I never meant—” Breaks off and looks as if he might weep, eyes wild and lips pressed firmly into a line. “I’ve always tried—” You wish he might try to finish a sentence, for a start, but you force yourself to hold your tongue and wait— <<elseif $onetwothree is "irinblunt">> You raise your hands to pacify him for a moment, before moving a little closer so he can hear you more easily. “I just want to talk to you about Gintan.” His mouth opens the moment you start to speak, though when you say the name //Gintan//, he stops as suddenly as if you had struck him, the tension bleeding from his limbs until he is left shaking in front of you. “I never meant—” “You never meant //what//, //please//, I need to know.” Your impatience bubbles up in your throat, burning like bile, and the words leave you before you know what you are doing. “I—” Vraelin seems close to //tears//, now, and whatever you were expecting from your tip-off from Kamreth, this was not it. He seems to gather himself enough to speak, and you wait with baited breath for him to //say something//, to start to coax the restless shades of your family that haunt your every step to //sleep//, and— “I’m sorry.” <<else>> Every frustration and gut-wrenching misery that you have borne over the last two years tears and rips its way out of your throat as you yell your questions, blood fizzing in your veins. “What did you do to them? //What did you do?//” Vraelin seems stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing uselessly until he answers so quietly you have to lean in to hear him. “I didn’t—” “//Tell me!//” You have no more patience for people who will tell you they were following orders, or that they did not know. For his part, Vraelin looks stricken for a moment more before he sets his shoulders and breathes deeply. “If I have wronged you, I am truly sorry.” <</if>>[[And then, the fucker jumps.|1.25]]

His hearing must be phenomenal – or else you were so keyed up that you didn’t realise that there were wagons passing under the city gate. One filled to the brim with unmilled wheat breaks his fall, and it is with one strained backwards glance that he leaves you, sprinting into the forest. //You’re// still on the roof, though. And before you can ponder how you’re going to get down in one piece, you hear a voice of iron call to you. “Stay where you are, in the name of the Silver Sages.” Guards. Wonderful. Guards that are clearly more agile than //you//, since you find yourself surrounded by them in a matter of seconds, bedecked in deceptively lightweight black uniforms swarming the rooftop like ants. * <<link "Try to charm them." "1.26">><<set $onetwofive to "charmer">><<$personable++>><</link>> * <<link "Explain what has just happened." "1.26">><<set $onetwofive to "explain">><<$city++>><</link>> * <<link "Stay silent." "1.26">><<set $onetwofive to "silent">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><</link>> * <<link "Draw your sword." "1.26">><<set $onetwofive to "drawsword">><<$resolve++, $rigid++>><</link>>

<<if $onetwofive is "charmer">>They look young, tired – and perhaps amenable to being persuaded to leave you the fuck alone. You let a warm smile spread over your lips and raise your hands to show you mean no threat. “I’m sure we can discuss this.” <<if $personable gte 2>> A small flicker of hope flares in your chest at the sudden uncertainty in the junior guards’ eyes. You should know better by now than to think that that hope can do anything other than die, really, shouldn’t you? <<else>> Judging by the guards’ sceptical expressions, you’re out of practice. And in the end, it doesn’t matter anyway.<</if>> <<elseif $onetwofive is "explain">>You have to squash down the bubble of righteous anger clawing its way up your throat – it’s not like //you// were doing anything wrong. “I was giving chase to a thief, he—” But you gesture at the forest a little too fiercely with your left hand, and find no fewer than three crossbows aimed at your chest. Luckily, you don’t have to test their aim – or the durability of your armour. <<elseif $onetwofive is "silent">>You stay silent, wary of the as-yet-unaimed crossbows at the guards’ sides and the expensive-looking mechanisms. You wouldn’t have a hope on the sun’s face. But luckily, you don’t have to test their aim – or the durability of your armour.<<else>>You have worked too hard and suffered too long to be thwarted here – your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword, ready to draw— And find no fewer than three crossbows aimed at your chest. (Dimly, you think your father might once have laughed at the thought of bringing a sword to a bow fight, if not for the fact that his jaw was hanging from his face the last time you saw it. //Stop//.) Luckily, you don’t have to test their aim – or the durability of your armour.<</if>>The Commander of the City Guard, they of the voice of iron, steps out from the rabble, uniform trimmed with fine gold detailing, and your heart <<if $sifrapastrom gt 0>> flutters in your chest, a spasming, disused thing, before thudding to the pit of your stomach. <<else>> thuds to the pit of your stomach. <</if>> [[Sifra.|1.27]]

They are the same height as they were when they left Gintan ten years ago, though they seem to your adrenalin-addled brain to be about twice as broad, corded with muscles that you didn’t even know they //could// develop. They had always been too wiry, too //rangy// to be described as muscular before. And if you had been told at sixteen that Sifra—wild, unruly Sifra who had never willingly followed a rule in their life—would grow up to be //Commander of the City Guard// in //Galaeth//, of all places, you might have pissed yourself laughing. You can add those to the already gargantuan list of things that have changed since your parents’ deaths. Their eyes are the same, though. Pale golden and piercing, enough to turn most men’s bowels to water. A frisson of terror runs down your spine at the thought that they could— But they wouldn’t. [[Would they?|1.28]]

Sifra Vinn knows you, you see. They know you better than almost anyone else left alive. They remember your first words, or so they used to say. They //certainly// remember the first time you swore, the first time you skinned your knees, the first time you climbed a tree. They were there for all of it. And the closer they get, uniform smart and well-cared for, unlike the rags they used to wear, you know that they //know//. <<link "There’s no way that //you// would have been able to afford a moonstone, after all." "1.29">><</link>>

<<if $sifrapastrom gt 0>> You think you spy a colour high on pale cheekbones, and hope yours don’t match. That would just be //embarrassing// after a decade of absence. <</if>>They cock their head to examine you more carefully, and you start to open your mouth to //explain// to the //one// person that you know would listen to you, they always did before— Only to freeze at the feel of cold steel at your throat. Their eyes are just as cold. “Apprehend the prisoner.” They spit, and it’s all you can do to [[keep your knees steady.|2.1]]

<<set $gamechapter to $gamechapter +1>>For a moment, you can’t feel your tongue – but when the first guard’s hands close around your bicep, you find your voice again. “Sif—“ “Take the prisoner to the cells. I’ll interrogate—“ a pause, and you feel your heart slam into your throat. One word—the //wrong// word—from Sifra could see you executed. “I’ll interrogate him later.” [[…the fuck?|2.2]]

Later, in your cell, separated from your belongings (but, thankfully, not your armour or the cloths you use to bind your chest), you cannot help but think about * <<link "your father’s bracelet." "2.3">><<set $prizedpossession to "bracelet">><</link>> * <<link "your mother’s ornate ring." "2.3">><<set $prizedpossession to "ring">><</link>> * <<link "the small lump of tiger’s eye Sifra gave you when you were fifteen, fashioned into a pendant." "2.3">><<set $prizedpossession to "gem">><<$sifra++>><</link>> <<if hasVisited("1.7Z")>>* <<link "the small bolt of silver silk Zehra gave you before she left for Argereth." "2.3">><<set $prizedpossession to "silk">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>><</if>>

You can only hope that Sifra’s guards take good care of it. In the meantime… //I’ll interrogate// ''him'' //later.// * <<link "The fact that people use he/him for you in public grates, since you see yourself as a woman, but there’s little that can be done at the moment." "2.4">><<$geniden to "woman">><</link>> * <<link "You have to push down the warm feeling that bubbles in your stomach when you hear yourself referred to with masculine pronouns – it’s only a temporary situation, after all." "2.4">><<$geniden to "man">><</link>> * <<link "Neither masculine nor feminine pronouns fit you right - but it’s only temporary." "2.4">><<$geniden to "nb">><</link>> * <<link "The pronoun Sifra used for you is the least of your concerns." "2.4">><<$geniden to "agender">><</link>>

And on top of that, you still struggle to parse the sheer level of //anger// in their voice and eyes when they gave the order, as if you were shit on their shoe. They’ve //never// looked that angry at you – not when you snitched on them to their father about the apples, not when you scared the shit out of them when you fell from that tree— <<if $sifrapastrom gt 0>>Not //even// when you stole their shirt when you went swimming. Their cheeks and neck were horrendously red and they cursed you to the moon and back – but there was a glint of //something// in their eyes when they saw the darkening of your own cheeks that made your heart flutter. [[And not out of fear for your life.|2.5]] <<else>>Not //even// when you stole their boots when you went swimming – they cursed you to the moon and back, sure, but there was a small smile on their lips which makes //you// smile even now. [[That smile dies on your lips at the thought of how different they are now.|2.5]] <</if>>

Mind you, seeing your reflection in the steel surface of your cell door, you’ve changed, too. Though your hair is still its usual <<cycle "$haircolour" autoselect>> <<option "jet black" "jblack">> <<option "chocolate brown" "chbrown">> <<option "caramel brown" "cabrown">> <<option "auburn" "auburn">> <<option "flame red" "fred">> <<option "honey blond" "hblond">> <<option "ash blond" "ablond">> … <</cycle>>, it is now cut short, <<cycle "$oghlength" autoselect>> <<option "even shorter than you used to have it." "short">> <<option "rather than the chin-length bob you used to have" "short-mid">> <<option "no longer brushing your shoulders" "mid">> <<option "rather than reaching the middle of your back" "mid-long">> <<option "rather than the braid that used to reach your hips" "long">> … <</cycle>>. Your <<cycle "$skincolour" autoselect>> <<option "warm black" "wblack">> <<option "dark brown" "dbrown">> <<option "golden-brown" "gbrown">> <<option "bronze beige" "bbeige">> <<option "olive beige" "obeige">> <<option "fair ivory" "ivory">> … <</cycle>> skin is greying from exhaustion and <<cycle "$eyecolour" autoselect>> <<option "hazel" "hazel">> <<option "almost black" "ablack">> <<option "deep brown" "dbrown">> <<option "light brown" "lbrown">> <<option "stormy grey" "sgrey">> <<option "pale grey" "pgrey">> <<option "forest green" "fgreen">> <<option "pale green" "pgreen">> <<option "deep blue" "dblue">> <<option "pale blue" "pblue">> … <</cycle>> eyes are framed with dark circles. You look like you’ve aged five years in the last two. [[Let alone in the decade you’ve been apart from Sifra.|2.6]]

//Speaking of…// The cell door bursts open and an underling darts to one side as Sifra strides in, jaw set and eyes flinty. They’ve lost the gangly uncertainty of their youth, shoulders broad and face lean and stern. //They look like their father.// You’re not sure you like the thought. “Leave us.” Their voice is low, calm and sure, though the guard looks anything but. “Commander—“ “He’s unarmed. What harm could he do?” The observation stings: * <<link "you’re a competent fighter, even if they never saw it." "2.7">><<set $combat to $combat +5>><</link>> * <<link "you’re not //that// bad." "2.7">><<set $combat to $combat +3>><</link>> * <<link "they still remember how clumsy you were with a plough, let alone a blade." "2.7">><<$combat++>><</link>>

The underling leaves, and when the cell door clicks shut their demeanour changes in a heartbeat. Immediately they grab your shoulders, and your teeth rattle as your back hits the wall. “What the //fuck// are you thinking?” Pale golden eyes flit over your features, looking for something you’re not sure you can help them find. “I want them avenged.” That’s true enough, and it is a relief to finally give voice to your purpose. “They should be able to rest in peace.” At that, the muscle in their jaw feathers, but they stare you down until you have to look away. “The way you let them rest is letting them go. Not by committing a capital offence in their name.” * <<link "You’re angry." "2.8">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><<set $twoseven to "angry">><</link>> * <<link "You’re sad." "2.8">><<$personable++, $sifra++>><<set $twoseven to "sad">><</link>> * <<link "You’re…sad. You think. It’s hard to tell. ♡" "2.8">><<$personable++, $sifra++, $sifrarom++>><<set $twoseven to "sadrom">><</link>> * <<link "Say nothing - they’re wrong." "2.8">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><<set $twoseven to "shtumwrong">><</link>> * <<link "Say nothing - they’re right." "2.8">><<set $personable to $personable -1>><<$sifra++>><<set $twoseven to "shtumright">><</link>>

<<if $twoseven is "angry">>The idea of just //letting them rest// makes your throat clench and your fists ball at your sides. “They deserve the truth.” Your voice is low, low enough that Sifra leans down and strains to hear - what they hear, though, is enough to make them throw their hands up in frustration. “What ‘//truth//’?” They have the gall to curl gloved fingers in air quotes at that, before continuing. “There were bandits, it happens.” And suddenly, you are six years old again, and you shove them hard enough to make them stumble. And unlike when you were six years old, Sifra doesn’t let you win - shoves you back, harder than you ever thought possible, and advances as if to strike you– <<elseif $twoseven is "sad">>Their matter-of-fact tone stuns you for a moment, and you have never felt so alone. “How can you say that?” Sifra was sharp of tongue, all of Gintan knew that, but they were never cruel - at least, they never //meant// to be. Now, though, you’re not sure you know them at all. “I lost them before you.” Their voice is quiet, a still rumble behind the words that belies their stony exterior. You’re stunned into silence for a moment before you shake your head. “//They// lost //you//. You were always welcome there–” On their face, a sneer forms that never used to look at home on their features. They seem to have grown into it. <<elseif $twoseven is "sadrom">>Their matter-of-fact tone stuns you for a moment, and you have never felt so alone. “How can you say that?” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and you let your eyes flick over their features, looking for //something// you’re scared you won’t find. Sifra was sharp of tongue, all of Gintan knew that, but they were never cruel, //never//. Now, though, you’re not sure who this is, but it’s not your Sifra. “I lost them before you did.” Their voice is quiet, a still rumble behind the words that belies their stony exterior - but that cannot hope to be enough to soothe you, and you shake your head vehemently. “//They// lost you. //I//–” You roll your lips together to stop the betrayal your seventeen-year-old self would never have allowed, throat thick with tension. In the silence that follows, they fight half a hundred things that jostle on the tip of their tongue. They lose the fight each time. <<elseif $twoseven is "shtumwrong">>You shake your head vehemently, though your throat feels too fragile to force out the words. They see the stubborn set of your jaw and scowl, evidently hoping you’d drop the issue. “Whatever. You’re staying here, until–” <<else>>Your lips open and close uselessly, a gaping fish as you fight to answer them - and the look on their face isn’t //smug//, per se, but they know that //you// know. It’s not that you don’t think it would be better to let the dead go. You just //can’t//. <</if>><<link "“//What// is going on here?”" "2.9">><</link>>

A woman, a city official by her rings and by the looped, braided silver insignia at her shoulder, stands resplendent in silver silks and stares at Sifra. And where they had been a commander before, now you can see the sullen teenager in their expression, shoulders hunched and lips downturned. “//Nothing.//” “Commander Vinn.” Now, she scolds them, her tone a low warning and there is a cadence there that you remember more than your own. //Zehra//. She doesn’t see you at first - //she’s// only focused on Sifra, lips pursed as she stares at them, and for once they do not meet her eyes. They have the look of someone who is actively trying //not// to roll their eyes. Some things never change. “Interrogation. Not your department, Delaniel.” Zehra bristles at the informality, and draws herself up to her full height as she jabs a finger at their chest. “//Councillor// Delaniel. And—“ And then she sees you, brown eyes warm and rekindled into something you almost recognise from before, and it feels like sunlight. “Oh $ogname—” She approaches you, lips curved into a smile and * <<link "stops, remembering you didn’t like being touched (and that’s still true)." "2.10">><<set $touch to "averse">><<set $twonine to "aversetrue">><</link>> * <<link "stops, remembering you didn’t like being touched (which is something you’ve since started learning to cope with)." "2.10">><<set $touch to "resistant">><<set $twonine to "aversechange">><</link>> * <<link "moves to hug you (but you flinch away)." "2.10">><<set $touch to "averse">><<set $twonine to "finechange">><</link>> * <<link "moves to hug you (and you reciprocate)." "2.10">><<set $touch to "fine">><<set $twonine to "finetrue">><</link>>

<<if $twonine is "aversetrue">>Her immediate reaction warms your heart - but more than that is the way her movements stop, remembering you (as she always did). You smile gratefully, and you think you might like to relearn the expression - it would be nice to have reasons to smile again. “Hello, Zehra.” Your voice is hoarse, dull from disuse, but she smiles all the same. “You look–different,” but as if realising that the observation might offend you, her eyes widen and she quickly adds, “//good// different, but–” <<elseif $twonine is "aversechange">>Her immediate reaction warms your heart - but more than that is the way her movements stop, remembering you as you were (as she always did). But ten years is a long time, and you had to learn alone, a bambi on quivering legs, how to accept touch. You smile and stretch out your fingers, disused, fragile things that have harmed more than you would like. Slowly, as if she thinks you might bolt (and a decade ago, you might have), she reaches out and brushes your fingers gently, a butterfly’s kiss of a touch that flutters through your veins. (Sifra looks away as if the sight burns them.) <<elseif $twonine is "finechange">>On instinct, as easy as muscle memory, she reaches for you and you flinch back. A spasm of something like pain (something like //shame//) flashes across her face, with a rushed apology that you wave away. You’ve changed, and she wasn’t there to see it. (If she //had// been there, would her eyes be sunken pits, her torso bubbling with blowflies?) Sifra’s brow knits, but they otherwise say nothing and a silence lingers like miasma in the air. <<else>>The embrace feels like half a dream, and you realise that it is the first time you’ve hugged anyone in– Years. Literal years. …//fuck//. (You try to ignore the spasm of //something// that flits over Sifra’s features, before they smooth them into a mask of careful, disinterested neutrality.) Zehra pulls away to look at you, eyes scanning your face for something you’re not sure you can give. <</if>>Eventually, she clears her throat uncomfortably and puts some distance between both you and Sifra, carefully positioned so that she can interfere if she needs to. “Anyway. What are you—” “//He// is avenging Gintan.” Sifra cuts in, and you’re not sure how to read the grim look on their face, rippled with anxiety and satisfaction and //anger//, seething and simmering beneath the surface. “Oh, $ogname.” Zehra’s exhale is quiet, weak as her nails raise to her lips and she begins to bite them, and you wonder when the last time was that she felt uncertain enough to do it. “Sir <<textbox "$newname" "Alias">>, now.” You sound more confident than you feel, despite the dry scratchiness of your throat. “But you don’t have–oh–” The magnitude of your situation seems to be hitting Zehra in waves, and she steadies herself with one hand against the stone wall. “What are we going to do with you?” Sifra’s tone veers back towards grim satisfaction, studying you and your frame carefully. “The bounty.” Zehra’s voice is still quiet, enough that both Sifra and you have to strain to hear her. “What?” Sifra’s question, by contrast, seems over-loud, over-//harsh// in the small space of the cell. “The bounty.” Zehra pushes herself off the wall, and darts over to Sifra. “We sanction //him// to look for the bounty. The Zefriel would give a moonstone if that was the price asked, he has scores–” Your very own moonstone - what would you do with it? * <<link "Trade it for wealth." "2.11">><<set $moonstonefor to "cashmoney">><</link>> * <<link "Keep it for status." "2.11">><<set $moonstonefor to "prestige">><</link>> * <<link "Use it to transition." "2.11">><<set $moonstonefor to "transition">><<set $transitiongoal to "true">><</link>>

<<if $moonstonefor is "cashmoney">>The mountains have been all but drained dry of moonstones, so those that have already been mined are worth a castle’s weight in gold - more than enough to fund your quest and retire after. (Assuming you survive, that is.) <<elseif $moonstonefor is "prestige">>There is a reason that the Zefriel is one of the most powerful people in Galan - moonstones buy more than goods, they buy safety and stability and you need nothing more. <<else>>The thought of having a moonstone for the rite cups its hands around the flickering, dying embers of your dream - in your heart of hearts, you had thought that Zehra might come to your rite and you to hers, moving forward together. But– <</if>>It hardly matters now. The Zefriel’s daughter has been missing for a month, and if experienced bounty hunters are descending on the region, you don’t have a hope in all scorching, moon-forsaken hells. Sifra, for once, seems to agree, folding their arms over their chest. “Zehra, this is madness.” She throws up her hands, looking wilder than you’ve ever seen her. “It’s this or–” A choked breath as she wheels away to call the guard back in, and the alternative goes unspoken, a shade that follows you like a cloud. You //did// say ‘no matter the cost’, didn’t you? As if from a distance, you hear Zehra tell the guard that //Commander Vinn// will accompany the prisoner back to quarters in the citadel. “As you wish, //Councillor//.” Sifra’s voice is quiet, a calculated calm over their features that they must have learned over years. And then, with one final smile, Zehra leaves the two of you alone. A stony silence settles over you as you walk together to your quarters, and you * <<link "try to meet their eye." "2.12">><<set $twoeleven to "try">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "stay silent." "2.12">><<set $twoeleven to "fine">><<$sifra++>><</link>>

Sifra barrels you through hallways, making it impossible for you to get your bearings<<if $twoeleven is "try">> - made more difficult by the fact that at every opportunity you get, you try to catch their eye. Eventually, they look to see if you are actually keeping up, and you * <<link "say nothing. You //can’t//." "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "tryshtum">><</link>> * <<link "hesitate. “Sifra–”" "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "tryhesitate">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "bristle. “What’s your fucking problem?”" "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "tryfucku">><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>> <<else>>, until you are deposited with a curt “//here//” in front of what must be your quarters. As they turn away, you * <<link "say, “I missed you.”" "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "finemissu">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "tell them, “You’ve changed.” The //I don’t like it// is implicit." "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "finechanged">><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>> * <<link "growl, “Fuck you.”" "2.13">><<set $twotwelve to "finefucku">><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $twotwelve is "tryshtum">>You swallow uncomfortably around the lump in your throat, ten years of absence creating a gulf wider than you think you can cross alone, and they certainly do not seem inclined to meet you, studiously affecting not to notice your efforts. Eventually, they turn on their heel and leave you in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <<elseif $twotwelve is "tryhesitate">>You open your mouth a few times to start, unsure of the words to express the pit of //something// writhing like snakes in your belly. Eventually, you fall back on the word you’ve known since you were a baby. “Sifra–” “//Don’t//.” Their voice sounds strange, as if from underwater, and their steps are faster, now, as they leave you in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <<elseif $twotwelve is "tryfucku">>Your temper gets the better of you, and in between trying to dodge doorways and walls and even attendants, you growl at them. “//What// is your fucking problem?” They scoff at that, open their mouth as if they mean to tell you //exactly// what their fucking problem is– And then they think better of it. That’s changed too - Sifra thinking before speaking. //Lots// of things seem to have changed. Eventually, they turn on their heel and leave you in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <<elseif $twotwelve is "finemissu">>Your words freeze them in place for a moment, and you’re not sure what you thought their reaction was going to be, but it wasn’t this. Teeth bared in something like a snarl and eyes wild. “You don’t //get// to miss me.” Not quite a howl, but there is something wolflike in their eyes, something quivering in their frame as they rock back on their heels, before turning and leaving you alone in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <<elseif $twotwelve is "finechanged">>A sharp bark of laughter leaves them, but their face is grim when they speak. “Whose fault is that?” Before you can even begin to answer the question, they have turned on their heel and left you alone in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <<else>>Their grin is like a snarl, harsh and wolflike, and a sharp bark of laughter leaves them. “Fuck //you//, $ogname.” And then they leave you, in front of [[what must be your quarters.|2.14]] <</if>>

You enter simple quarters, pine wood furnishings and big windows and even the dusk seems bright here. The dying sunlight reflects in the mirror in the corner of the room, and you look half-dead. (Aren’t you?) “$newname?” Zehra’s voice is quiet on the other side of the door, and you swear your joints creak as you go to open the door. All you can do is gesture wordlessly that she could come in, and she starts pacing the moment the door is closed. You almost want to grab her arms and //make// her stop. (You just want some peace.) Abruptly, she stops and looks <<if $height is "short">>down<<elseif $height is "tall">>up<</if>> at you. “Are you ok?” Warm brown eyes scan your features, and you * <<link "lie." "2.15">><<set $twofourteen to "lie">><</link>> * <<link "deflect." "2.15">><<set $twofourteen to "deflect">><</link>> * <<link "tell the truth." "2.15">><<set $twofourteen to "truth">><<$zehra++>><</link>>

<<if $twofourteen is "lie">>Your instinct is to curl inward, to hide your vulnerable underbelly. “I’m fine.” “Hmm.” Her hum is disbelieving, though she decides not to press the matter. <<elseif $twofourteen is "deflect">>You huff a laugh, smiling crookedly at Zehra. “You know me.” “Hmm.” Her hum is disbelieving, though she decides not to press the matter. <<else>>“No. But I will be.” The truth leaves you before you can stop it, and some of the weight lifts from your shoulders. With a sad smile, her eyes trace your features as if she thinks you might disappear into smoke. <</if>>She fingers her moonstone necklace absentmindedly - the moonstone is blanched from having been used in the ritual which means you can call her she in more than just breathy whispers and your own head. “It suits you.” Opens her mouth, closes it and then clears her throat to start again. “Thank you. My parents are thrilled, as you can imagine.” The silence lingers, low and heavy in the air, until you realise that she is carrying a small bundle of what might be clothes. “I brought these - you shouldn’t wear armour in the citadel unless you’re one of the guards.” She places them on the simple bed, and you think you can hear your shoulder creak when you reach up to undo the buckle of your armour. “Here–” Draws closer again, <<if $touch is "averse">>before remembering and looking at you thoughtfully.<<else>>before pausing and looking at you, fingers still hovering over the buckle.<</if>> “Do you want help?” Her voice is almost painfully earnest, and you forgot what it could be like for someone to actually //want// to help you. You * <<link "accept the offer." "2.16">><<set $twofifteen to "accept">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><</link>> * <<link "reject the offer." "2.16">><<set $twofifteen to "reject">><<$zehra++>><</link>>

<<if $twofifteen is "reject">>Her smile is understanding, though tinged with a slight sadness. “Find the Zefriel his daughter and you will have everything you need,” she assures you, tone as firm as her grip on the doorway. When she leaves, the room seems a little darker, and you strip your armour and underclothes, gingerly touching the grooves in your shoulders, before slipping the tunic and trousers over your torso. They’re soft. Softer than any fabric you’ve felt over the last two years, and you feel a lump form in your throat. When it’s done. When it’s done, [[then you can weep.|2.17]] <<else>>You nod, your mouth a little dry as she circles to stand behind you. Her fingers were always deft, you remember them unpicking your snarled stitches with ease, and she makes light work of the buckles, humming a tune you vaguely remember. You can almost picture how her brow is no doubt furrowed from concentration. When the buckle is undone, she helps you to slip it over your head, and when her fingers brush the column of your throat, you * <<link "feel a flush rise in your cheeks. ♡" "2.16.1">><<set $twosixteen to "fluster">><<$zehra++, $zehrarom++>><</link>> * <<link "ignore it - you have //many// other things to occupy your attention." "2.16.1">><<set $twosixteen to "ignore">><<$zehra++>><</link>> * <<link "flinch from her touch." "2.16.1">><<set $twosixteen to "flinch">><</link>> <</if>>

As soon as she’s gone, you hear a sharp knock at the door. “$ogname.” Fuck, they’re not even //trying// to be quiet, and that long-since-dead feeling of //sifra-I’m-gonna-kill-you// bubbles in your belly as you all but drag them in. “Are you trying to get me killed?” Your whisper is hissed, as if to make up for their voice, over-loud in the cavernous hallway. Their face is unreadable when they next speak. “It would be easier if you’d stayed dead.” And //you// - well, you can’t believe what you’re hearing. You * <<link "lash out at them." "2.17.1">><<set $twoseventeen to "fight">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "blink in confusion." "2.17.1">><<set $twoseventeen to "confused">><</link>>

<<if $twosixteen is "fluster">>The heat must surely be radiating from your cheeks out into the room. Zehra’s fingers quiver against your pulse, before she withdraws with a sharp exhale. <<elseif $twosixteen is "ignore">>Though you don’t pause, slipping the armour off without a second thought, she stops for a moment, and you had never known her be so still. <<else>>You move away, as much on instinct as anything. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her move, fingers curling as she reaches for you - but you cannot be reached. Not like //that//, anyway. Eventually, she draws back with a sharp exhale. <</if>>“I looked for you.” The quiet admission sounds like a tolling bell in the stillness of the quarters, and you * <<link "ask her why." "2.16.2">><<set $twosixteenone to "why">><<set $zehra to $zehra -1>><</link>> * <<link "thank her." "2.16.2">><<set $twosixteenone to "thanks">><<$zehra++>><</link>> * <<link "cannot help yourself. “Did Sifra?”" "2.16.2">><<set $twosixteenone to "sifra">><</link>>

<<if $twosixteenone is "why">>“Why?” The question leaves you before you can stop yourself, and her response is just as immediate. “Because you’re my friend.” Despite everything, she still uses the present tense, and there is an adamant set to her jaw even if you think the ‘you’ she knows is no more than a pale reflection of the ‘you’ that you //used// to be. <<elseif $twosixteenone is "thanks">>“Thank you.” The thanks is quiet, quieter than you’d like in the still of the room, and when you see her face you can just about make out a flush darkening her cheeks. (You can’t quite tell if she’s pleased or embarrassed.) “Don’t thank me too much,” she warns, though there’s a curve to her lips that takes the sting from her words, “you must have been long gone by the time word reached us here.” You try not to wince when you think about those first few weeks on the road. If you had dared to stay, would you have been reunited with Zehra sooner? It doesn’t bear thinking about. <<else>>“Did Sifra?” The question leaves you before you can stop yourself - and where your question was immediate, Zehra’s answer is slow in coming, and her voice stutters in the dark. “I—Sifra is—$ogname, when they left Gintan behind, they meant it. They’ve always been very clear about that.” <<cycle "$svreactnolook" autoselect>> <<option "That hurts." "hurts">> <<option "That makes you feel angry." "angry">> <<option "You just…don’t feel anything anymore. You wonder if you ever will again." "numb">> … <</cycle>> <</if>>“I tried to look for the bandits, too.” Zehra continues, clearing her throat. “Why?” You know why //you’re// looking but— “Because–” she breaks off, eyes shining and hands balled into fists, before a politician’s neutrality slides over her features like water, “because bands of bandits don’t disappear into thin air. Councillors protect the public order.” That sounds well-practised - a lie, perhaps, honed like a dagger to a fine point when others asked why she took such a keen interest in one provincial farming village. “I see.” And you do. You saw her before when her parents saw a gem to be bartered and sold and you see her now. You’re not sure you like the thought that she might see //you// as you are now. “I’ll arrange a meeting with the Zefriel for the morning, so you can ask any questions and find any clues you need. You can stay here tonight.” And with that, she turns to leave and you * [[let her go.|2.17]] * <<link "ask her to wait." "2.16.3">><<$zehra++>><</link>>

“Zehra, wait–” “Hmm?” The turn back to you is a little too ready, almost as if she had hoped you might call to her. “What is it?” The question is a prompt, to bring you back into the present, but all you can think is– * <<link "“I missed you.”" "2.16.4">><<set $zehra to $zehra +2>><<set $twosixteenthree to "platonic">><</link>> * <<link "“I missed you.” ♡" "2.16.4">><<$zehra++, $zehrarom++>><<set $twosixteenthree to "romantic">><</link>>

<<if $twosixteenthree is "platonic">>“I missed you.” One sentence can’t hope to put words to the feeling of seeing her again<<if $zehrapastrom gt 0>>, of what you //used// to be<</if>>. Of knowing that, for once, things might be ok. And if one person could understand that, it would be her, warm eyes soft as she whispers back, “I missed you too, $ogname.” Her hand raises slightly, hovers in the air between you for a moment. Her fingers curl, seeking contact on instinct before she remembers herself. “May the moon guard your dreams.” The saying sounds more than a stereotype when it comes from her, and you smile back. “And you.” You cannot remember the last time you bared your teeth in something [[other than a snarl.|2.17]] <<else>>“I missed you.” One sentence can’t hope to put words to the feeling of seeing her again<<if $zehrapastrom gt 0>>, of what you //used// to be<</if>>. Of thinking that, perhaps, you might have another chance. Whatever she sees in your gaze makes her fumble for a moment, composure slipping. “I missed you too, $ogname. So much.” Her voice is choked for a moment before she breathes deeply to calm herself. Her hand lifts slightly to hover over your own without making contact, fingers curling as if she might hold it close before she remembers herself and pulls away. “May the moon guard your dreams.” She turns and flees, and you have never known her to [[hide her face from you before.|2.17]] <</if>>

<<if $twoseventeen is "fight">>Your fist flies before you can check your stance, and when you try to hit them, they grab your wrist easily, twisting your arm painfully behind your back. You feel your shoulder protest, an old wound from when you first started out, green as grass. You still are green, truth be told. “Fuck you, Sifra.” Your voice is low, venomous, but even that doesn’t get a reaction. All they do is wait until you stop struggling, then push you away as if you were still both six years old. They wet their lower lip for a moment, choosing their words. “It would be better for //you//.” “How?” You demand, gesturing wildly and continuing before they have a chance to form a rebuttal. “They were murdered. Tomas and Sana and Iria and Legra and Jan and Ulf and–” “//Stop//.” Their voice breaks slightly, but all you can think is that this is finally something other than cool disdain and you seize on it. <<else>>For a moment, their statement hangs in the air, an unexploded firework that could burn. //Does// burn. “W-what?” The question is weak, even to your own ears, and they run their hands over short cropped hair in frustration. “Why won’t you let it //lie//?” “Because I see them!” Rips from your throat and now you can’t help yourself, fuelled by grief and rage and bone-deep pain that no amount of starleaf can dull. “I see Tomas’ brains and Sana’s eye falling from her socket and Iria’s arm sawed off at the shoulder and–” “//Stop//.” Sifra’s voice breaks slightly, and it’s no use. “I //can’t// stop.” It leaves you as a helpless cry and they’re speechless as they watch you wheel away from them, hands waving frantically. <</if>>“They were //murdered// and buried in a //mass grave//.” “Every time–” and this is the loudest you’ve heard them in ten years and it’s good, //fuck//, it’s good, it’s good to feel something with one of the only other people who knew those faces when they were hale and whole. “Every time you remember their deaths, you kill them again.” The silence that lingers then is ugly, thick and pulsing in the air, tendrils that try to choke you. “Did you look for them?” <<link "//Did you look for me?//" "2.17.2">><</link>>

<<timed 5s t8n>><<link "“No.”" "2.17.3">><</link>><</timed>>

<<if $twosixteenone is "sifra">>Zehra told you what to expect, but the word still stings<<else>>The word stings<</if>>, salt in a wound you’ve been prodding at for years, tearing open stitches with morbid curiosity to watch the blood flow anew every time. Maybe you did die, after all. You //feel// little more than a shade, watching silently as Sifra leaves. Your sleep is restless, as normal, and before you can think that having a proper bed chases the shadows away, the shadows fade to reveal * <<link "the woods near Gintan." "2.18sv">><<set $updatetwonightmare to "sifra">><</link>> * <<link "a tower of finest marble." "2.18zd">><<set $updatetwonightmare to "zehra">><</link>>

<<timed 2s t8n>>You’re in the woods, you think, brambles cutting your palms as you push towards them. <<next>>“<<textbox "$ogsurname" "Family Name">>!” Their voice is weak, still reedy and strained from childhood, and fuck, you remember this day. <<next>>This is the day that Sifra got stuck in the mine shaft. <<next>>For once, you’d stayed in school rather than trail home after Sifra, staying until the sun died and the moon returned, a balm to everyone’s hurts. <<next>>Normally when they left early, Sifra would wait for you. You felt dread settle, heavy and heady in the pit of your stomach, when the gate creaked, unaccompanied by Sifra’s quiet disdain for the building behind you. <<next>>You feel your feet move and are carried along as if by the tide, and this will sweep you out to sea if you let it. <<next>>(You were scared. The gnawing, primal terror that is only possible in childhood, unblunted by adult reason. You feel bile rise in your throat.) <<next>>You walk home, see Sifra’s brother (half-brother, they always insist) toddling around with the scrawny chickens as their mother struggles to corral him and complete her weaving. <<next>>“Hello, $ogname, how was school?” <<next>>(She is not among Gintan’s ghosts, she moved away not long after Sifra - though for how distracted she seems, how disinterested she seems, how angry your nine-year-old self was, you think she ought to be. You hate yourself for the thought.) <<next>>“Is Sifra home?” You look past her hopefully, craning your neck to see if they are lifting logs for Haran’s carving. <<next>>“Hmm?” She hums quizzically, as if she’s just been reminded they exist (and you suspect that many in Gintan would like to forget). <<next>>“No, I thought they were with you.” Even that seems lukewarm, dazed somehow as she picks out a blood red yarn. <<next>>You thank her and turn back to the forest, to trace their steps. <<next>>Time passes more quickly in the dream, sunset slipping through your fingers like water, sun and moon blurring across the sky as you try to find them, try to direct your feet to where you //know// you will find them and– <<next>>And then, you see the shaft. Once-sturdy, it has fallen into disrepair since Sifra’s father died - the only man in Gintan who still thought that there was a fortune left to be squeezed from the stones in the mountain. <<next>>(The first thing you notice is their fingertips, bleeding from trying to haul themself out.) <<next>>And there in the shaft lies Sifra, gold eyes dull and milky. The flush in their cheeks and neck from the cold has grown stagnant, veins brown and marbling and you watch in horror as the flesh sloughs from their bones, even as their cheeks grow still more hollow and their skull bursts through– <<next>>[[“Sifra!”|2.18.1sv]]<</timed>>

“What, stars damn you.” They are there, they are there, they are //there//, holding you still by your shoulders as you come to your senses, bedsheets tangled around your legs as you had fought the tide of your dream. All you can do is * <<link "apologise." "2.18.2sv">><<set $twoeighteenonesv to "sorry">><</link>> * <<link "stay silent." "2.18.2sv">><<set $twoeighteenonesv to "shtum">><</link>> * <<link "weep." "2.18.2sv">><<set $twoeighteenonesv to "weep">><</link>> * <<link "brush them off." "2.18.2sv">><<set $twoeighteenonesv to "brushoff">><</link>>

<<if $twoeighteenonesv is "sorry">>“I’m sorry.” The words spill out, quickly enough that their eyebrows raise, and you can just about make out that they are wearing a simple black sleeping set, tunic and trousers dark enough to make them disappear into the night. They let go of you as if you might burn them. “Fine.” Their voice is quiet, distant, as they lean back and stand, and you sit up to try and meet them. “No, really, I–” “It’s //fine//.” They walk to the door, a receding figure so faint they might as well be a ghost. “Don’t wake me again.” <<elseif $twoeighteenonesv is "shtum">>You think for a moment that you should say something, explain yourself somehow - but you //can’t//. If you speak, if you give the dream voice, then it becomes real, and Sifra becomes another one of your ghosts. “Fine.” Their voice is quiet, distant, as they lean back and stand, and you are too stunned to try and stop them. “Don’t wake me again.” <<elseif $twoeighteenonesv is "weep">>You realise with a quiet horror that you are crying, tears boiling paths down your cheeks (and you wonder, if they were fire, would they lick the flesh from your bones?). After a tense second of silence, Sifra pats down non-existent pockets, before clumsily brushing the tears from your cheeks, hands warm as ever. “Stop it.” Their voice is firm, even strict - and perhaps they are a better commander than you took them for, since your eyes dry easily enough. “Don’t wake me again.” <<else>>You shift restlessly in their hold, brushing them off and avoiding their eyes. And where once they might have pressed the matter (//like a dog with a bone, that one//, your father had laughed back when his jaw was attached to his face), now they simply shake their head and release you, as if they think you might burn them. <</if>>They leave without a second glance, and they have returned the <<if $prizedpossession is "bracelet">>bracelet<<elseif $prizedpossession is "ring">>ring<<elseif $prizedpossession is "gem">>tigerseye<<elseif $prizedpossession is "silk">>silk<</if>> from the guards’ store. <<if $prizedpossession is "bracelet">>You slip the bracelet back on your wrist, and your wrist is now thicker than your father’s ever was, even before his skeleton lay blackened in a mass grave. The metal biting into your skin drags you back into the present, and the dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "ring">>You slip the ring back on your finger, and you remember how it would sparkle in the firelight before, when flames meant you were coming home to your hearth and nothing more. The metal biting into your quivering fist drags you back into the present, and the dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "gem">>With your first pouch of gold, you’d commissioned a necklace setting for the tiger’s eye so that you could keep it safe. You wrap the chain around your knuckles and it grounds you, centres your focus to where the rough bronze bites into your skin. The dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "silk">>The silk is fraying slightly at the edges, but it is no less soft, no less soothing as you wrap it around your knuckles and let the softness lull you [[into sleep.|2.19]] <</if>>

The next morning is moon-stained grey, and you are tired, two years of toil settling heavy in your limbs when the servant brings you a simple breakfast, <<cycle "$foodchoice" autoselect>> <<option "sweetbread and wild garlic" "meat">> <<option "sharp cheese and thyme" "veggie">> … <</cycle>> wrapped in moonleaf and roasted with honey. You inhale it. (You idly wonder where your own supply of hardtack has gone, since it was in the satchel confiscated by the guards. You hope Sifra chokes on it.) <<if hasVisited("2.18sv")>>(Then you remember your dream and think you might vomit your breakfast back up.) <</if>>Another attendant tells you that Councillor Delaniel will be with you shortly, and leaves you trousers and a simple tunic, of a thick enough material that your binding would only be visible to a trained eye. Not a problem that you are in the heart of the moonstone council, where it is their job to scrutinise bodies and those to whom they belong. It’s fine. Totally fine. [[You feel bile rise in your throat.|2.20]]

<<timed 2s t8n>>You know this place only from Zehra’s descriptions, a tall tower of finest Lyrian marble, mined from the finest quarry near Avenn, the richest of the Twins. <<next>>(The Delaniels’ wealth touches places you could never dream of, words in a book you are not permitted to sully with your touch.) <<next>>The tower existed for her as a threat, a promise of retribution if she did not complete her lessons, if she cut her hair, if she tried to leave the north and travel south. A gilded cage for the prize songbird of the Delaniels. <<next>>(Zehra’s father wants the best for her, you can see that in how his eyes follow her around a room - but the Delaniels believe that love is possession, and they mean to make good on their investment, and a mere <<textbox "$ogsurname" "Family Name">> doesn’t factor into their plans.) <<next>>You look down at yourself and you are a knight in a picture book, resplendent in shining silver with a vermilion cloak pinned at your breast with an ornate pin, hands clasping a dagger. <<next>>Each step you take toward the tower, a shining pillar before you, the hands push the dagger further in, and you think that this may kill you, she may kill you, for daring to approach. <<next>>Time slips through your fingers like water, sun and moon dancing through the sky as you force yourself on, as your vermilion cloak fades to sickly russet, and you are drained of more than just blood, you think. <<next>>You drag your own corpse up the side of the tower, and you don’t envy the servant who will have to clean the marble, try to remove your stain from it. <<next>>(You stain a great many things just by being near them, don’t you?) <<next>>You haul yourself through the window and find what you always knew you’d find, Zehra’s corpse rigid and numb and lifeless in a plush, velvet armchair. Her arms are outstretched, facing the window as if she knew you were coming and wanted to welcome you. <<next>>You hold her as you feel your own limbs seize, sealed in your body as the rigor takes hold and all you can think is that in death the pair of you are safe here. <<next>><<link "“//$ogname//?”" "2.18.1zd">><</link>><</timed>>

You start awake and stare back at her as she holds you gingerly, hands light on your shoulders as you come to your senses, bedsheets tangled around your legs as you had fought the tide of your dream “What–” “You were crying out.” Her voice is quiet, soothing as ever, and you feel your pulse grow steadier as it beats at your throat. “Oh. Sorry.” The words struggle past the lump in your throat, and she looks at you carefully. “Why were you scared?” “I–” //I lost you again//. The words will not come, and instead you shake your head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.” “Of course it matters.” The rebuttal is softened by sleep - you feel guilty at that, as you look up at the deep, dark circles under her eyes and wonder how often she is pulled from sleep. You don’t feel that guilty, though, if it means seeing her alive. The night is still, moonlight streaming in through the window, and you * <<link "feel the breath catch in your throat." "2.18.2zd">><<set $twoeighteenonezd to "rom">><<$zehra++, $zehrarom++>><</link>> * <<link "look away quickly." "2.18.2zd">><<set $twoeighteenonezd to "away">><<$zehra++>><</link>> * <<link "shift restlessly in Zehra’s hold." "2.18.2zd">><<set $twoeighteenonezd to "restless">><</link>>

<<if $twoeighteenonezd is "rom">>She is bathed in moonlight, and her pale grey sleeping role and the moonstone at her neck seem to glow, a sacred apparition that may well disappear at the first sign of dawn. “$ogname?” You don’t want her to stop saying your name. You’ve longed to hear it for a decade and //fuck//, it is a moon’s chorus, light and lilting and everything you’ve wanted since– Since. “Zehra–” You reach up to her, and though she seems surprised, she welcomes the ghost of a touch to her cheek. No flesh sloughs from her skull at the gesture, and you feel your heart rate ease. Your hand sags back to the mattress, and you had not realised how tired you were until you stopped moving. <<elseif $twoeighteenonezd is "away">>You look away quickly, though you sense her watching you carefully, as if trying to commit you to memory. Eventually, she seems to need to peel her fingers from you, not quite wanting to let go. (Perhaps remembering how long it had been before she found you again the //last// time she let go.) <<else>>You cannot help but shift restlessly in her hold, and the reaction is immediate, letting go with an apologetic grimace, leaning back a little to give you more space. <</if>> “$ogname?” (Now it is your turn to have your true self hidden, only spoken of in hushed whispers under cover of darkness.) “What are you going to do?” The question is deceptively simple - you are going to meet the Zefriel and bring back his daughter or, most likely, die in the attempt. But there is a searching tone underneath that makes you pause. “Survive.” That’s all you’re capable of any more. “You deserve better.” The observation is sad, simple and solemn, and you don’t have an answer as she turns to leave. It’s only when she has gone that you realise she left the <<if $prizedpossession is "bracelet">>bracelet<<elseif $prizedpossession is "ring">>ring<<elseif $prizedpossession is "gem">>tigerseye<<elseif $prizedpossession is "silk">><</if>> from the guards’ store. <<if $prizedpossession is "bracelet">>You slip the bracelet back on your wrist, and your wrist is now thicker than your father’s ever was, even before his skeleton lay blackened in a mass grave. The metal biting into your skin drags you back into the present, and the dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "ring">>You slip the ring back on your finger, and you remember how it would sparkle in the firelight before, when flames meant you were coming home to your hearth and nothing more. The metal biting into your quivering fist drags you back into the present, and the dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "gem">>With your first pouch of gold, you’d commissioned a necklace setting for the tiger’s eye so that you could keep it safe. You wrap the chain around your knuckles and it grounds you, centres your focus to where the rough bronze bites into your skin. The dull throb lulls you, heartbeat by heartbeat, [[into sleep.|2.19]] <<elseif $prizedpossession is "silk">>The silk is fraying slightly at the edges, but it is no less soft, no less soothing as you wrap it around your knuckles and let the softness lull you [[into sleep.|2.19]] <</if>>

The clothes are soft, well-made and the cut makes your shoulders appear broader than they actually are - Zehra always had an eye for such things. “$newname?” Zehra’s voice is hesitant, as if the taste of your name is foreign on her tongue, and you open the door to invite her in, gesturing at yourself and twirling in place. “Will I do?” <<if $zehrarom gte 2>>A flush paints beige cheeks dark, and she clears her throat before looking up at you through her lashes. “You will //more// than do, as well you know.” Her tone is reproving, but the small, secret smile at the corners of her lips is enough to make the knot of tension at the base of your spine fizz. <<else>>”You will more than do.” Her voice is gentle, as if encouraging a bambi to walk on its own legs. <</if>>You follow her out of the chambers, through corridors that seem as incomprehensible as the night before when Sifra had barreled you through. If you stop for a moment to try and get your bearings, Zehra stretches several steps ahead and threatens to leave your view. You stop in front of an ornate door decorated with silver filigree - and when Zehra raises her hand to knock, a deep, resonant voice from within bids you to enter. [[So you do.|2.21]]

The room, far from being richly adorned as you would have expected from //the// Zefriel, is sparsely-furnished, the light pine desk with intricately-carved legs being the central feature. Some ledgers are spread out around the room, with what look like accounts written in neat script. Neatness, it would seem, is a key virtue here. For his part, the Zefriel barely looks up when you and Zehra approach. The pair of you wait for him to notice you - and when that appears to be a vanishingly likely possibility, Zehra clears her throat delicately. “My Zefriel, I have brought–” “Sit.” At the curt command, you * <<link "sit." "2.22">><<$zehra++, $zefriel++>><<set $twotwoone to "sit">><<set $countertwotwentytwo to 0>><</link>> * <<link "stay standing." "2.22">><<$sifra++, $city++>><<set $twotwoone to "stand">><<set $countertwotwentytwo to 0>><</link>>

<<if $twotwoone is "stand">>You stay standing, as a mark of respect, and though the city officials would surely be thrilled, the unimpressed look on the Zefriel’s face tells a different story.<<else>>You sit, and while city officials might decry the informality of it all, you get the feeling that the Zefriel expects to be obeyed regardless of convention.<</if>> “Leave us.” The command is directed at Zehra, who throws you a concerned look before leaving you and closing the door behind her. When he looks up, you have a chance to study his features - he is more handsome than you would have expected, with a long, rectangular face and high cheekbones and neatly trimmed facial hair that is still much more black than silver. He removes reading glasses from where they had been balanced on the bridge of his nose, and now you are being //scrutinised//, much as Zehra’s father used to study you. (You doubt he ever actually bothered to remember you, but he’s in Argereth anyway. You think. You //hope//.) “What do you need to know?” An impatient man, then, and one who wants this conversation done as soon as possible, but you need to know, * <<link "“Where was she last seen?”" "2.22.1">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>> * <<link "“When was she last seen?”" "2.22.2">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>> * <<link "“Does she have any enemies?”" "2.22.3">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>> * <<link "“Do you have an image of her?”" "2.22.4">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>> * <<link "“Can I see her chambers?” [ends cycle]" "2.23">><</link>>

His eyes flick immediately to a door at the back of the room - the family chambers, you suspect, and he confirms it with a sigh. “In her chambers - she never left them unless she was with me.” (In days of old, you and Sifra might have been able to turn the Zefriel’s hair fully white with tales of just how easy it can be to evade a parent’s scrutiny - but you’re not sure it’d go down very well.) * <<if hasVisited("2.22.1")>>==“Where was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“Where was she last seen?”" "2.22.1">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.2")>>==“When was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“When was she last seen?”" "2.22.2">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.3")>>==“Does she have any enemies?”==<<else>><<link "“Does she have any enemies?”" "2.22.3">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.4")>>==“Do you have an image of her?”==<<else>><<link "“Do you have an image of her?”" "2.22.4">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<link "“Can I see her chambers?” [ends cycle]" "2.23">><</link>>

At this, he looks up sceptically, brows knitting. “I would have thought Councillor Delaniel would have told you that already.” You bow, as much to avoid seeing his disdain as anything else. “It will help to narrow down any suspects.” For a moment, all you can hear is sullen silence. Then, a sigh. “Three weeks. Three moon-forsaken weeks.” He sounds tired. * <<if hasVisited("2.22.1")>>==“Where was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“Where was she last seen?”" "2.22.1">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.2")>>==“When was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“When was she last seen?”" "2.22.2">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.3")>>==“Does she have any enemies?”==<<else>><<link "“Does she have any enemies?”" "2.22.3">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.4")>>==“Do you have an image of her?”==<<else>><<link "“Do you have an image of her?”" "2.22.4">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<link "“Can I see her chambers?” [ends cycle]" "2.23">><</link>>

“I have no enemies.” His tone brooks no argument - and you don’t think you’ll get anywhere by pointing out that that wasn’t //actually// what you asked. * <<if hasVisited("2.22.1")>>==“Where was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“Where was she last seen?”" "2.22.1">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.2")>>==“When was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“When was she last seen?”" "2.22.2">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.3")>>==“Does she have any enemies?”==<<else>><<link "“Does she have any enemies?”" "2.22.3">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.4")>>==“Do you have an image of her?”==<<else>><<link "“Do you have an image of her?”" "2.22.4">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<link "“Can I see her chambers?” [ends cycle]" "2.23">><</link>>

He has it ready, pride of place on the spartan desk. The miniature is carved from Lyrian marble and painted in opal dust, enchanted to move subtly in the light. You think you see his eyes swim for a moment before he clears his throat and hands it to you. “My Anahi.” (His voice breaks a little on the //my//.) To what extent the miniature is truly faithful, you may never find out, especially if trained bounty hunters are on the case. But here, at least, Anahi Zefriel is almost offensively beautiful, with thick lashes and high cheekbones and full, pouty lips and she looks– //Bored//. Bored and apathetic and bone-numbingly //bored//. * <<if hasVisited("2.22.1")>>==“Where was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“Where was she last seen?”" "2.22.1">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.2")>>==“When was she last seen?”==<<else>><<link "“When was she last seen?”" "2.22.2">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.3")>>==“Does she have any enemies?”==<<else>><<link "“Does she have any enemies?”" "2.22.3">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<if hasVisited("2.22.4")>>==“Do you have an image of her?”==<<else>><<link "“Do you have an image of her?”" "2.22.4">><<$countertwotwentytwo++>><</link>><</if>> * <<link "“Can I see her chambers?” [ends cycle]" "2.23">><</link>>

<<silently>> <<if $countertwotwentytwo lte 2>><<set $zefriel to $zefriel +2>><<else>><<$zefriel++>><</if>> <</silently>>The heavy door scrapes along the marble as you follow the Zefriel into his family quarters, through an appropriately opulent living area and then through another heavy door covered in ornamentation. The first thing in Anahi’s chambers that catches your eye is a tapestry of the Zefriel family, faces beautifully woven in silks and wools, and you see that she is the only child of the current Zefriel. “Will she be a good Zefriel?” The question is a selfish one, as much as anything else - the Zefriel is one of the most influential voices in the land, there is little room for error. “With training.” His voice is firm but you hear the //no// buried underneath, from a father too stubborn to hear otherwise. You decide to stick to safer shores. “She must have been well-educated.” “Her mind is sharp as a whetstone, but she is willful. I don’t doubt that she resisted her attacker fiercely.” You hum noncommittally, looking around the room to find that it is, indeed, in disarray. The moon dial has been knocked over, various ornaments are scattered across the floor rather than neatly on their shelf, and some books are askew. But nothing is //broken//, which you might expect from a fierce struggle, and you feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. “Will you take it on?” The Zefriel’s question seems harsh and over-loud in the still air of the chambers, but above all he sounds //tired// when next he speaks. “Zehra speaks most highly of you.” //Stars damn it, Zehra//. You can do without more expectations placed on you, a burden that will surely make you break. But a moonstone– “Of course,” you keep your tone deferential, eyes downcast for a moment, “I will start today.” He smiles, and for a moment you think he might be handsome. “Excellent.” And like that, the politician’s mask slides back over his features, and he starts to lead you back into the sparsely-furnished, pathologically neat office. “Speak to Zehra if you need funds, she can authorise it.” [[You’ve been summarily dismissed.|2.24]]

Outside the office, you realise you have no fucking idea where you’re going - you try to walk back to your quarters, but the corridors all look the same, and you nearly collapse with relief when a citadel official rounds the corner and spots you. “Friend. The moon shines brightly.” They greet you, their robes shining silver and their head shaved bald so that the moon might shine on them and theirs - they are in the employ of the Magister, and you feel your throat close. “And watches all.” The greeting is traditional in Galan, but you have been away so long that it has rusted on your tongue. “What brings you to the Citadel?” There is no suspicion in their tone - only a practised, careful neutrality, meant to evoke the stillness of lakes under moonlight. “Councillor Delaniel recommended me - I am to find the Zefriel’s daughter.” Saying the words aloud seems to make them feel more true, each syllable a nail in your coffin. Assuming you have enough coin for one by then. “I see. Well,” they smile broadly at you, and gesture for you to follow them, “all newcomers to the Citadel should meet the Magister before going to complete holy duties.” Well, now you //have// to fucking find her, if the Magister’s involved. The pristine marble corridors wind, seem to get tighter and narrower with each step and you feel your muscles tense. (Can the walls tell?) <<if hasVisited("2.18zd")>>(You try not to think about the bloodstained marble in your dream.) <</if>>After what could be minutes or hours, [[you arrive at the Magister’s quarters.|2.25]]

The magister’s offices are more what you had expected from the Zefriel’s - ornate silver filigree on moonstone-encrusted furnishings, pristine marble fireplaces with twin lion carvings, and dread panther skin rugs. (You remember Zehra’s parent sneering at Sifra when they asked xem what wages the Magister was paid. //They work for the public and the glory of the moon, they have no need of money//.) The Magister themself is no less opulent, delicate features and thin, birdlike neck burdened with silver chains and the keys to the city, fragile fingers weighed down with rings of tourmaline set in opaline glass, one of the rarest materials in Galan’s quarries, in colours beloved of city officials to signify purity. One ring in particular catches your eye, intricate, interwoven bands of rose and yellow gold, but they hide it quickly enough in voluminous robes. “Welcome.” Their voice is quiet and resonant, wind chimes in a spring breeze, and you feel the tension in your shoulders ease a little. “Magister.” You drop into a bow, made easier by the fact you actually slept in a //bed// last night, so you make sure to mention it. “I thank you for your hospitality.” “Think nothing of it,” they wave their hands airily, jewellery clicking gently as they move, “Zehra is invaluable, and a fine judge of character. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.” [[You wait for them to continue.|2.26]]

“You are to find Anahi, I hear?” News travels fast in the citadel, it seems, and you nod carefully. “Yes. Moon willing.” Their smile is benevolent as they nod back. “The moon will guide your steps, my child.” After a few moments, they pause and speak more softly, as if confiding in you. “I must confess to a personal interest. Eman has long promised that the girl would be my bride.” //Oh//. You think back to the sullen, stubborn young woman in the miniature and look at the Magister, seeing them suddenly as she might, brow furrowed in disappointment and knuckles white from tension. You recover quickly enough. “That would be most fortunate, Magister.” They open their mouth to tell you how right you are, but they are stopped abruptly by a voice from the basin in the corner. “Vraelin has escaped, he knows–” “Thank you, Veland.” Their voice is cold, steel and ice as their lips twist in displeasure - though they affect a calm demeanour again when they turn to you. “Nova will take you back to the room Zehra prepared for you.” <<link "You nod and smile gratefully, but //inside//–" "2.27">><</link>>

Inside, your mind is racing, and you fight to maintain the appearance of a humble supplicant even as you feel brambles rise in your throat. Nova is quiet, quiet enough that you think they might be able to hear your heart hammering in your chest. Back at your door, you thank Nova with a bow and they [[return the gesture with a smile.|2.28]]

The room is dark - someone put out the lights and drew the curtains, and you feel your hackles rise on instinct. You reach for your shortsword but, of course, Sifra had already taken it. <<timed 5s t8n>>You’d have dropped it anyway with shock. <<next>>Irin Vraelin is there, half a corpse, [[in the middle of your room.|3.1]]<</timed>>

Thank you so much for playing! Advenio is a WIP and new chapters will be released periodically. For updates and more information, or to report any bugs, please visit the [[dev blog!|https://advenio.tumblr.com]] If you enjoyed playing, please consider supporting my work via [[Ko-fi|https://ko-fi.com/renwritesif]]! Ren ❤

<<set $gamechapter to $gamechapter +1>>Vraelin has been beaten to a pulp - he pitches forward and you catch him on instinct, wincing internally as you think about how you will explain the bloodstains to Zehra. (You haven’t had to worry about explaining away bloodstains for a long time - it’s been so long since anyone has cared enough to ask.) “What the fuck–” “I didn’t know where else to go,” he interrupts - and he sounds lost, almost delirious, and you look around and find a pile of coarse bath towels. You press one to a shallow gash at his collarbone, muttering another muted apology to Zehra. “What happened?” Your question is met with an attempt to sit up, quickly abandoned. “Guards.” Every breath is a chore, and he feels a little heavier in your grip. “Guards everywhere.” “Don’t I know it,” you mutter under your breath [[as you apply pressure.|3.2]]

The shock seems to have faded somewhat - or perhaps the fact that you are tending to him, and not finishing him off, puts him at ease enough to ask. “What’s your name, anyway?” Your pause is tellingly, guiltily long, before you manage to tell him, “$newname.” “Right.” A smirk spreads over his features as he draws out the vowel, and for one mad moment you think you liked him better when his face was pinched with pain. “So what happened then?” Your prompting is urgent, almost, and he mock salutes before continuing. “Ran from the guards. Got caught by the guards. Got interrogated by the guards.” At this, he prods at his ribs with a wince, while you remember. //“Interrogation. Not your department, Delaniel.”// //“Councillor Delaniel. And–”// “How did you get out?” Your voice is hoarser than you’d like, and he studies you for a moment before deadpanning a response. “Played dead.” You let out a snort of laughter before you can help yourself, and that seems to please him. A smile transforms his features into something that might even be handsome. Laughter lines and full lips and //shit//, you’re staring. “See something you like?” * <<link "You’re flustered. ♡" "3.3">><<set $threetwo to "flusterrom">><<$irin++, $irinrom++>><</link>> * <<link "You’re flustered." "3.3">><<set $threetwo to "fluster">><<$irin++>><</link>> * <<link "You deflect. ♡" "3.3">><<set $threetwo to "deflectrom">><<$irinrom++>><</link>> * <<link "You deflect." "3.3">><<set $threetwo to "deflect">><</link>>

<<if $threetwo is "flusterrom">>“I–” <<cycle "$gameexp" autoselect>> <<option "You have never considered flirting to be one of your strengths - not for lack of trying." "nogamewanted">> <<option "You //used// to be good at this. Really fucking good." "yesgame">> <<option "You’ve never been interested in flirting." "nointerest">> … <</cycle>> …he //is// handsome. And he knows it, lips curving into a smirk. “I’d say //look don’t touch//, but I don’t want to bleed to death - we’ll pick that up another time, sweetheart.” You try to ignore the flush on your cheeks and instead focus on the wound. And then– <<elseif $threetwo is "fluster">><<cycle "$gameexp" autoselect>> <<option "You have never considered flirting to be one of your strengths - not for lack of trying." "nogamewanted">> <<option "You //used// to be good at this. Really fucking good." "yesgame">> <<option "You’ve never been interested in flirting." "nointerest">> … <</cycle>> Right now, though, you’re too fucking busy for this. “Stop it.” You don’t mean for your voice to sound that harsh, but there’s a time and a place and you can’t– He tries to hold his hands up in what might have been a concession - then winces, and you bite back the //I told you so// that is on the tip of your tongue. <<elseif $threetwo is "deflectrom">><<cycle "$gameexp" autoselect>> <<option "You have never considered flirting to be one of your strengths - not for lack of trying." "nogamewanted">> <<option "You //used// to be good at this. Really fucking good." "yesgame">> <<option "You’ve never been interested in flirting." "nointerest">> … <</cycle>> Right now, though, you are stunned. (And he //is// handsome.) And he knows it, lips curving into a smirk. “I’d say //look don’t touch//, but I don’t want to bleed to death - we’ll pick that up another time, sweetheart.” You try to ignore the flush on your cheeks and instead focus on the wound. And then– <<else>><<cycle "$gameexp" autoselect>> <<option "You have never considered flirting to be one of your strengths - not for lack of trying." "nogamewanted">> <<option "You //used// to be good at this. Really fucking good." "yesgame">> <<option "You’ve never been interested in flirting." "nointerest">> … <</cycle>> “Stop it.” Your voice is harsh, perhaps - though he seems to understand easily enough, holding his hands up in what might be a concession. Then he winces, and you bite back the //I told you so// that is on the tip of your tongue. <</if>>“$ogname.” Sifra’s voice is hard as steel on the other side of the door, and as you try to ignore Vraelin’s smug smile, you * <<link "tell them to go away." "3.4">><<set $threethree to "goaway">><</link>> * <<link "stall them." "3.4">><<set $threethree to "stall">><</link>> * <<link "tell them to come in." "3.4">><<set $threethree to "comein">><</link>>

<<if $threethree is "goaway">>For a moment, you’re not sure they heard you. Then you hear them, low and threatening, and their voice is ice water. “Open the door, or you get to explain the hinges to Zehra.” …well, fuck. “I don’t have a choice–” you start, but Irin’s smile is understanding. A little sad around the edges. “I know.” You lay him carefully on the ground, and stand quickly to bundle Sifra in. You think they’ll shove you again when their eyes fall on Irin. <<elseif $threethree is "stall">>You cast about for something to stall them, eventually blurting out, “I’m changing!” There is a long, weighty pause outside the door as Sifra weighs their options. “Two minutes. Zeh–//Councillor Delaniel//,” (you can //hear// the eyeroll), “wants to see you.” Irin’s sharp gasp of pain when you jostle his ribs draws them back in. “$ogname, open the door or you get to explain the hinges to Zehra.” You don’t want to get your hopes up and think that that’s concern you hear. You wince apologetically at Irin, who smiles understandingly. A little sad around the edges. You lay him down as carefully as you can, before bundling Sifra in. For a moment, you think they’ll shove you again but then they’re eyes fall on Irin. <<else>>You hear your own voice as if underwater, and why the //fuck// did you do that? Irin, though, smiles understandingly. A little sad around the edges, perhaps. You thank the moon that Sifra just about still has the presence of mind to shut the door behind them before freezing at the sight of you cradling Irin and applying pressure to his wound. <</if>>“Sun damn it, $ogname–” Their voice is quiet, golden eyes wide and unblinking as they watch you <<if $threethree is "comein">>hold Irin a little tighter<<else>>move between him and them<</if>>. “He’s hurt.” //He// is prey-scared behind you, quick, shallow breaths sounding more pained by the second. “I’m not //thick//, $ogname.” Sifra’s eyes flick over the wounds, before they cross the room to a simple pine cabinet and look inside. “Who did it?” “Guards.” Irin spits the answer, eyeing Sifra carefully as they return with gauze and some kind of poultice. “Not //my// guards.” They seem adamant enough that you pause, and Irin looks between the two of you curiously. “Who else could it have been?” Your question comes as you watch Sifra apply the poultice, long fingers delicately placing the gauze as they hum thoughtfully, cocking their head slightly. “There are a few militia groups in the lower city - the Magister uses them to keep the peace when harvests fail.” …well, shit. “Is that often?” Galaeth had been held up as a shining city when you were younger - Zehra had gushed about the splendour of the capital, and even Sifra had promised you that they would make it there. Their lips are downturned, as if they can hear the direction of your thoughts. “In recent years, yes.” <<link "Simply //marvellous//." "3.5">><</link>>

“What did you do?” Sifra asks, and sighs when they see the defiant jut to Irin’s jaw. “What’s the //charge//?” For a moment, you think Irin might not answer. Then, eventually, he answers - and you had not thought he could be so quiet. “Heresy.” Both you and Sifra pause - Sifra from the severity of the charge, and you because that is //not// what you thought he would say. “Not Gintan?” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I had //nothing// to do with Gintan.” “Anyway,” Sifra cuts in, carving the thick tension in the air and you could //hit// them, “we need to get you out of here.” “You think?” Irin drawls, and if his eyes weren’t wide with a heady mix of pain and panic, you think Sifra might call a guard themself. “How?” You look sharply at Sifra, and they think for a moment before turning away. “I have a spare uniform - keep him quiet ‘til I get back.” And then they stand, already moving purposefully to the door, and you have to stumble to catch them before they reach the door. “Sifra–” “What?” They are almost vibrating, the energy rolling off them in waves as they shift restlessly. * <<link "“Thank you.”" "3.5.1">><<set $threefive to "thanks">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "“Sorry.”" "3.5.1">><<set $threefive to "sorry">><<set $sifra to $sifra -1>><</link>> * <<link "“Hurry.”" "3.5.1">><<set $threefive to "hurry">><<set $sifra to $sifra -2>><</link>>

<<if $threefive is "thanks">>“Thank you.” Your fingers flex at your side, rather than reach out to them. “It’s fine,” their voice is quiet, almost soft, “I’ll be back soon.” They don’t look back when they leave. <<elseif $threefive is "sorry">>“Sorry, I–” “Whatever,” their tone is rough, abrupt - harsher than you remember ever being directed at you, “I’ll handle it.” Their fingers flex by their side as they leave, but they don’t look back. <<else>>“Hurry.” Your tone is urgent, and you nearly grip their shoulder, as they had yours earlier, to hammer the point home. “Fuck you.” Their lip curls in something like a sneer, and you remember their grandparent, a hulking figure in your six-year-old memory, as they leave you. <</if>>[[And now, you wait.|3.6]]

Irin is able to wait quietly for precisely two minutes before looking at you sidelong. “So…history?” * <<link "“It’s fine.”" "3.7">><<set $threesix to "fine">><<$irin++>><</link>> * <<link "“It’s complicated." "3.7">><<set $threesix to "complicated">><</link>> * <<link "“It’s complicated. ♡S" "3.7">><<set $threesix to "complicatedrom">><</link>>

<<if $threesix is "fine">>“It’s fine.” You shrug listlessly, and Irin rolls his eyes. “You’d better be a better smuggler than you are a liar, //$ogname//.” Your tone is reproving when you correct him. “//$newname//.” “Well, exactly.” He raises his hands as if that proves his point, before continuing, “What happened at Gintan, anyway?” Your mouth opens and closes a few times, unable to process the swirling vortex that could drag you in. “It was my home.” You pause, before suppressing a sigh as best you can. “I want answers” “You want //revenge//.” There’s no judgement there - only a simple, clear-eyed assessment of the facts, and you feel some kind of childish sense of fairness flare. “Well, //someone// must have given the order!” “$ogname, sometimes bandits just–” He breaks off at the look on your face. The pair of you settle into an uneasy silence. <<elseif $threesix is "complicated">>“It’s complicated.” Your tone is flat, fingers probing the light bruises they left earlier. (Your tongue runs over the tooth you chipped when you were nine and they hugged you until you stopped crying.) “I can see that,” Irin seems sanguine enough, but his gaze is shrewd as he continues, “hopefully it doesn’t get in the way of keeping me alive, $ogname.” “//$newname//, unless you’re trying to kill me too.” “Perish the thought,” he smiles and you settle into an easy silence. <<else>>“It’s…” “Complicated?” Irin looks knowingly at you, and you think of //them//, of sunsets and moonrises and wind-burned cheeks and broken bones and chipped teeth and stolen flushes and the bruises still on your shoulders– “Something like that.” <</if>>Eventually, for want of something to say, you address the grizzly bear in the room. “So…heresy?” “Fuck off,” but his laugh is good-natured and fades to an easy smile. “I don’t like being told what to do, where to go, what to find beautiful. Or who.” His eyes flick down to your lips for a moment and you * <<link "match the movement, then flush and pull away. ♡" "3.8">><<set $threeseven to "flush">><<$irin++, $irinrom++>><</link>> * <<link "match the movement and move closer. ♡" "3.8">><<set $threeseven to "kiss">><<set $irinrom to $irinrom +2>><<$irin++>><</link>> * <<link "look away." "3.8">><<set $threeseven to "lookaway">><<$irin++>><</link>>

<<if $threeseven is "lookaway">>He seems as sanguine as before, and you wonder if the swerve even affected him. Certainly from the smile on his face, it seems like water off a duck’s back - and indeed, he seems perplexed at your expression. “What?” “Nothing,” you mumble, brow furrowed. “Suit yourself.” He shrugs as best he can with, by your count, at least two broken ribs. Sifra comes back in and you look at them instinctively.<<if $threesix is "complicatedrom">> Irin looks at you sidelong, a small smirk on his features, before<</if>> Sifra holds out a guard’s uniform to <<if $threesix is "complicatedrom">>him<<else>>Irin<</if>>. <<elseif $threeseven is "flush">>“You’re pretty.” His observation is quiet, almost solemn, and despite that you nearly sputter a laugh. “What?” “What do you mean ‘what’?” He seems genuinely confused, head cocked slightly from where he rests in your lap. “I–” You can’t remember the last time someone called you pretty. Sifra comes back in and you look at them instinctively.<<if $threesix is "complicatedrom">> Irin looks at you sidelong, a small smirk on his features, before<</if>> Sifra holds out a guard’s uniform to <<if $threesix is "complicatedrom">>him<<else>>Irin<</if>>. <<else>>When you woke up this morning, you couldn’t have imagined you’d be kissing a heretic. But then, there are a good many things you never thought you’d do, and this is by far the most pleasant. //Pleasant// doesn’t really cover it - bloodstained and pained, he still tastes of cinnamon and cloves, and his lips are surprisingly soft. His fingers skim the short hair at the nape of your neck as he tries to take control of the kiss, leaning up to meet you. Your lips open to him like a flower under sunlight. (Perhaps heresy is contagious.) To your left, Sifra clears their throat loudly, and you pull away from Irin to find them looking at you, their expression inscrutable. <</if>>“Here, put this on.” Sifra holds out the clothing expectantly - when Irin obviously makes no move to take it, they sigh and kneel, removing their own jacket to protect it from bloodstains. (Their shoulders are broad now, and there are scars there that you don’t remember from before.) Their hands are gentler than you would have expected, and Irin seems to grow still under their touch, only groaning occasionally. When Sifra has managed to dress Irin well enough that he will at least look passable from a distance, they rock back on their heels and make to leave, only asking one brusque question before they get to their feet. “Can you stand?” Irin glares at them, and they kiss their teeth for a moment before conceding, “Fine. We’ll just have to–” “$newname?” Zehra’s voice is cautious from the other side of the door, and Irin chuckles as quietly as he can. “Popular, aren’t you?” Sifra glares at him, before nodding at you. [[“Let her in.”|3.9]]

<<if $threeseven is "kiss">>A spasm of //something// passes over Sifra’s features when they look at you moving to the door. <<if $sifrarom gte 2>> You try to ignore the twisting in your own stomach.<</if>><<set $threenine to "awkwardkiss">><</if>> Instead, you shush Zehra, and she claps her hand over her own mouth, warm brown eyes doe-wide at the sight in front of her. “What the fuck–” The whispered question dies in her throat as she looks at Irin more, and he props himself up on his elbows to look up at the two of you. “Oh, she’s //pretty// - I like her.” The last part seems pointed, almost, as if directed at Sifra. Zehra’s instinct is to preen, as it always used to be, but she manages to stop herself. “Who is he?” “By his own admission,” Sifra deadpans, fiddling with the buttons of Irin’s new uniform before continuing, “a heretic on the run from militiamen.” “Oh, //fuck//–wait, why is he //here//?” Now it’s your turn to answer. “I was chasing him when Sifra took me in.” Zehra hums for a moment before beckoning Sifra closer. You swear you can see the vein in their forehead throb before they obey. [[Irin watches you all nervously.|3.10]]

He needn’t wait long, as Sifra promptly turns back to coax Irin to his feet and supports him easily, draping their jacket over him to hide the wounds. “Why were you chasing him?” Zehra’s voice is quiet as she eyes you carefully, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. Uncomfortably. Sifra nods at Zehra when they take him away (<<if $threenine is "awkwardkiss">>pointedly <</if>>ignoring //you//), and you continue once the pair of them have gone. “I thought he knew about Gintan.” Her eyes soften, and you think she might cry for a moment, before she purses her lips and blinks the tears away. “Wait here a moment,” she mutters, clearing her throat uncomfortably, “and I’ll get you some new clothes” [[She leaves you alone for a moment to survey the bloodstained mess left behind.|3.11]]

She returns in a matter of minutes (either her room is closer to yours than you thought, or she ran), and you see the dark circles under her eyes. “How have you been?” You feel your eyebrows knit as you ask the question, and she nods brightly, as if trying to shake away the tiredness. “The city’s been well - there was a grain shortage last winter, though, and–” “No,” and you’re surprised by the measured tone of your voice, the firmness as you stop her, “how are //you//?” “I–” She doesn’t seem to know how to answer, wetting her lips before continuing, “I’ve been better. I wish–” <<if $zehra gte 3>>A moment passes and it feels like half a lifetime. “I wish I’d stayed.” The admission is quiet, as if saying it aloud at all is a crime. You feel yourself shake your head even before she’s finished. “No, you don’t - it was too harsh, you deserved–” “To make my own choices. //That’s// what I deserve.” Her tone is low, charged with something you cannot hope to name and you nod, not daring to think that she is talking about you. <<else>>“Never mind.” She cuts herself off quickly enough that you cock your head and try to ask, but she shakes her head.<</if>>Instead, she presents a burgundy sash with silver trim. “The Zefriel wants you to have this - so Anahi knows to trust you.” It’s the first time she’s said the young woman’s name, and you look <<if $height is "tall">>down at<<elseif $height is "short">>up at<<else>>at<</if>> her carefully. “Did you know her?” She sighs and shakes her head slightly. “Not well - she often stayed in her father’s shadow.” Then, there is a knock at the door, and you quickly turn away while Zehra answers it, to hide the blood. “Make sure a horse is ready for Sir $newname. He’s been employed by the Zefriel.” “Certainly.” Nova’s placidness seems almost eerie, and when Zehra dismisses them she sounds every bit the haughty aristocrat. At least, until the door closes. “This is a fucking disaster.” Her sigh is almost earth-shaking, and [[you can hardly argue with her.|3.12]]

Later, outside the city walls, Zehra smiles at you as you stroke the hide of a powerful destrier - but you notice she doesn’t approach. She always was nervous around horses. You start to smile and she already rolls her eyes. “I never knew how you could //stand// the beasts.” You see Sifra feeding a horse and murmuring to it, to which Zehra mutters something that sounds suspiciously like //birds of a feather//. “Hmm?” Curiosity niggles at you, at the thought of them working together without you there - but Zehra is too polite to indulge your nosiness and she smiles warmly. “Nothing.” You have time to speak to one of them before you go: * <<link "Sifra." "3.13">><<set $threetwelve to "sifra">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "Zehra." "3.13">><<set $threetwelve to "zehra">><<$zehra++>><</link>>

<<if $threetwelve is "sifra">>When you stand next to them, you wait for a few moments but Sifra barely reacts. You * <<link "ask how they are." "3.13.1">><<set $threethirteen to "howye">><</link>> * <<link "ask about the horse." "3.13.1">><<set $threethirteen to "horse">><</link>> * <<link "ask about Irin." "3.13.1">><<set $threethirteen to "irin">><</link>> <<else>>Zehra visibly relaxes more the further away from the horse you are, until she is able to smile broadly at you again. “Are you ok?” You scan her features as you ask the question, and she looks almost guilty. “I should be asking //you// that.” “Well,” you shrug with a lopsided smile, “I crash back into your life, after being arrested, with a bloodstained her–” Her wide eyes and warning look make you stop - but you’re not //wrong//. “I think it’s a valid question.” She presses her lips together, as she used to when she would watch you try to get the pair of you out of trouble. “I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.” You frown, lips parting to refute the statement - but before you can follow up you’re summoned by the stablehand, [[and you’re gone.|3.14]] <</if>>

The woods are quiet - almost silent but for the susurrus of woodland creatures and rustling leaves, and out here you feel like you could let it all fall away if only you could stop thinking about * <<link "Sifra." "3.14.1">><<set $threefourteen to "sifra">><<$sifra++>><</link>> * <<link "Zehra." "3.14.1">><<set $threefourteen to "zehra">><<$zehra++>><</link>> * <<link "Irin." "3.14.1">><<set $threefourteen to "irin">><<$irin++>><</link>>

<<if $threethirteen is "howye">>“How are you doing?” They don’t respond. And don’t respond. And don’t respond, until even you are questioning whether you actually asked the question aloud. Eventually, you clear your throat uncomfortably and try again. “Sifra?” “//Don’t//.” Their voice is strangled, and they keep their face turned away. “I can’t–not right now.” “Ok.” You’re stunned, as much as anything - you rack your brain, trying to remember a time when you had heard them that raw. [[You’re whisked away by the stablehand before you can think of an example.|3.14]] <<elseif $threethirteen is "horse">>It’s a destrier, similar to the one that has been picked out for you, powerful frame and lustrous black coat. “It looks well cared-for.” Your observation is carefully neutral, though you look at them out of the corner of your eye to study their reaction. “He is.” Their eyes soften a little, as they always would have - they’ve always loved horses more than people. (There used to be a time when you were the exception to that.) You reach out to stroke the horse, the coat soft under your fingers, and for a moment, everything else falls away. Sifra’s hands are sure but gentle as they brush his mane, and when they pull away the horse is fit for a parade. And yet– “Sifra–” “I can’t–not right now.” Their voice sounds //raw//, as if from silent screams, and you try to remember the last time you heard them like that. [[A stablehand whisks you away before you can think of an example.|3.14]] <<else>>You had hardly expected Sifra to hide a fugitive heretic in plain sight, but he must be //somewhere//. The question trips off your tongue before you can stop yourself. “Where is–” “Are you //thick//?” They wheel around to glare at you, before looking around nervously. (You’re not sure you’ve ever //seen// them this nervous, shoulders tight and hands balled into fists to hide their trembling fingers.) “Where did you take–” “To a friend.” Their tone brooks no argument, but there is a small, childish part of you that whispers that Sifra doesn’t //have// friends. At least, they didn’t before. “I just–” //need to know//, is what you //want// to say but Sifra cuts you off with a jab to the centre line of your chest, and you hear their voice strain with the effort of keeping as quiet as they can. “Look, he //told// you he knows nothing about Gintan, just let it–” With a curious look between the two of you, [[a stablehand arrives to whisk you away.|3.14]] <</if>>

<<if $threefourteen is "sifra">>They’ve grown into their frame, once long and lanky and unwieldy, and you think back to the pale scars on paler skin that you weren’t there to watch heal. //Well//. They weren’t there to watch yours either. Nor were they there to watch blood soak into the buckwheat fields of Gintan, nor did they stand at your side and watch smoke drift into the sky. <<elseif $threefourteen is "zehra">>She looks much the same - even her hair, lustrous and darker than ebony, is styled in the same loose waves, and her silver jewellery is still meticulously clean and cared-for. All the years when you had tried to remember her features, she had slipped through your fingers like smoke and now– <<else>><<if $threeseven is "kiss">>At the memory of his lips on yours, you flush, trying to push the image away in favour of trying<<else>>You try<</if>> to remember the man that told you about Irin, who //assured// you that he would be able to give you the answers you sought. He was the only lead you had, and even then every time he has slipped through your fingers like smoke. <</if>>Smoke curls lazily, a wreath for the treetops, [[and like a moth to flame, you approach.|3.15]]

To call the cottage “ramshackle” would be unfair - but the stones holding up the roof could collapse at any moment, and the windows seem slightly wonky in their frames. A curtain twitches and falls back into place as you approach, and when you raise your fist to knock at the door they open the door. (It’s perhaps a little unkind to think that they worry that the cottage might fall down around their ears with one simple tap. Unkind, but not unfair.) Long, honey-blonde hair curls lazily past their shoulders to rest on a simple brown, woven shawl - they look shyly up at you, and you are struck with jade-green eyes that might just have flecks of gold if they dared to meet your eye for long enough. “Hello.” They seem shy, staying purposefully on the other side of the door - and their accent seems strange, a little rounder on the vowels. An accent that you had grown to love in your self-imposed exile, when you lived near Silvane. * <<link "You greet them politely." "3.16">><<set $threefifteen to "polite">><</link>> * <<link "You greet them gruffly." "3.16">><<set $threefifteen to "gruff">><</link>> * <<link "You stay silent for a moment." "3.16">><<set $threefifteen to "silent">><</link>>

<<if $threefifteen is "polite">>For a moment, you look uncertainly at each other - but you recover quickly enough and smile. “Hello - I’m Sir $newname.” They match your genial smile, though they stay at a respectful distance, so you know they are from Kamran even before they tell you their name. “Estel Etain. Please, come in.” The space is small<<if $height is "tall">>, and the doorway short enough that you have to duck slightly,<</if>> but you feel at ease in a way you haven’t let yourself for months. Woven shawls and blankets are draped over every piece of furniture you can see, and the dark wood of the furniture feels soft under your fingertips. A stew bubbles over the fire, and you breathe in for a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. When you open them again, Estel is standing in front of you with a herbal tea, the scent of camomile and honey soothing you. You * <<link "drink." "3.16.1">><<set $threesixteen to "drink">><<$estel++>><</link>> * <<link "don’t drink." "3.16.1">><<set $threesixteen to "nodrink">><<set $estel to $estel -1>><</link>> <<elseif $threefifteen is "gruff">>After a few moments, you realise you’ve been staring into green-gold eyes a little longer than is appropriate in either Galan //or// Kamran. “Sir $newname,” you manage to offer as a stilted greeting, as if an amateur puppeteer directs your movements. “Estel Etain.” They seem nervous, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. “Can I help you?” “I’m looking for a girl.” You force the words out, and all they do in return is shrug jerkily. “I’d help if I could.” You think they seem genuine enough, but they still look<<if $height is "tall">> up<<elseif $height is "short">> down<</if>> at you. “Anything else?” * <<link "Ask about Kamran." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "kamran">><</link>> * <<link "Ask about their occupation." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "job">><</link>> * <<link "Ask about the smell inside." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "smell">><</link>> <<else>>You stay silent. And stay silent. And //stay// silent, until the stranger coughs uncomfortably and looks <<if $height is "tall">>up <<elseif $height is "short">>down <</if>>at you nervously. “Estel Etain.” They offer their name but little else for a moment - when you offer nothing in return, they clear their throat again. “Can I help?” Eventually your throat co-operates and you answer, each word a wound. “Sir $newname. Looking for a girl.” “Oh.” Whatever they had been expecting you to eventually say, that wasn’t it, and they rub their jaw with delicate fingers. “Uh—well, there isn’t one here.” They seem genuinely disappointed about that - but you’ve met enough people that have claimed to want to help you that you pause before you answer. Eventually, they have to prompt you again. “Anything else?” * <<link "Ask about Kamran." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "kamran">><</link>> * <<link "Ask about their occupation." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "job">><</link>> * <<link "Ask about the smell inside." "3.17">><<set $threesixteen to "smell">><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $threesixteen is "kamran">>“You’re a long way from home.” Not a question, exactly, but they take your meaning all the same, nodding slowly. “Yes. But I’ve been here long enough that this feels more like home than Silvane ever did.” You’ve been to Silvane - walked along its thick, sandstone walls and narrow, winding streets and alleyways, seen its bustling markets and felt its clement breezes on your cheeks. You find it improbable that anyone would prefer Galan’s harsh climate and punishing winters over Kamran. “You really prefer it here?” You try not to sound so incredulous - and they look sad for a moment before they try to cover it with a smile that wavers at the corners. “Yes. I suppose I do.” <<elseif $threesixteen is "job">>“What do you do?” Though a practical question, ostensibly, you cannot help being curious about Estel - and not a little worried about them by themself. “I make medicines for people in the city.” The stains on their hands make more sense now, and you nod in understanding. “That’s—amazing.” You manage to push out past your shock, but the flush on their cheeks is pleased, and they tuck another strand of hair behind their ear. “I’ve always had a talent for it.” “What do you use?” Sifra’s mother had used moonbulbs and spring water - but she had been a provincial medic, for all her soft words and kind smiles, and serving the people of Galaeth required something a little more impressive. //Professional//. Estel freezes for a moment, before smiling tremulously. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? Can’t have you spilling all my secrets.” <<elseif $threesixteen is "smell">>You notice the strange smell, warming the back of your throat, and you are seized with curiosity, however unprofessional. “What is that smell?” You hope they take it as the compliment you meant it to be - and indeed, their frame relaxes at the safer topic of conversation. “Oh, I’m cooking stew.” <<elseif $threesixteenone is "kamran">>“You’re a long way from home.” Not a question, exactly, but they take your meaning all the same, nodding slowly. “Yes. But I’ve been here long enough that this feels more like home than Silvane ever did.” You’ve been to Silvane - walked along its thick, sandstone walls and narrow, winding streets and alleyways, seen its bustling markets and felt its clement breezes on your cheeks. You find it improbable that anyone would prefer Galan’s harsh climate and punishing winters over Kamran. “You really prefer it here?” You try not to sound so incredulous - and they look sad for a moment before they try to cover it with a smile that wavers at the corners. “Yes. I suppose I do.” <<elseif $threesixteenone is "job">>“What do you do?” Though a practical question, ostensibly, you cannot help being curious about Estel - and not a little worried about them by themself. “I make medicines for people in the city.” The workbench behind them is covered with papers and vials, and you nod in understanding. “That’s—amazing.” You manage to push out past your shock, but the flush on their cheeks is pleased, and they tuck another strand of hair behind their ear. “I’ve always had a talent for it.” “What do you use?” Sifra’s mother had used moonbulbs and spring water - but she had been a provincial medic, for all her soft words and kind smiles, and serving the people of Galaeth required something a little more impressive. //Professional//. Estel freezes for a moment, before smiling tremulously. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? Can’t have you spilling all my secrets.” <</if>>They look at you again, quietly assessing, before they ask, “Would you like to stay for dinner?” * <<link "Stay." "3.18">><<set $threeseventeen to "stay">><<$estel++>><</link>> * <<link "Go." "3.18">><<set $threeseventeen to "go">><</link>>

<<if $threesixteen is "drink">>They say nothing, but they seem pleased, lips quirking to swallow a smile. <<else>>They say nothing, but their lips purse slightly in displeasure as they set the cup to one side. <</if>>“I’m on city business - looking for a girl.” Still truthful - but they’re a stranger in the woods, and your mother taught you better than that. They laugh and their smile is crooked when they look<<if $height is "tall">> up<<elseif $height is "short">> down<</if>> at you, before they look away. Then look back at you through long lashes. “Oh, I shouldn’t think you’d need any help with that.” <<if $gameexp is "nogamewanted">>You feel your cheeks heat at the attempt, even if all you can do for now is clear your throat. <<elseif $gameexp is "yesgame">>You can appreciate the attempt, even if all you do for now is smile appreciatively. <<elseif $gameexp is "nointerest">>You shrug, a minor self-deprecation, before continuing. <</if>>“She was taken - I want to bring her back home.” “Hmm. Well, I’d help if I could, but—” They seem a little sceptical, before shrugging slightly and cocking their head, curls bouncing slightly. “Anything else?” * <<link "Ask about Kamran." "3.17">><<set $threesixteenone to "kamran">><</link>> * <<link "Ask about their occupation." "3.17">><<set $threesixteenone to "job">><</link>>

<<if $threeseventeen is "stay">>They give you a broad smile when you accept the offer and <<if not hasVisited("3.16.1")>>usher you in, taking your cloak from you with the grace of an experienced host. The space is small<<if $height is "tall">>, and the doorway short enough that you have to duck slightly,<</if>> but you feel at ease in a way you haven’t let yourself for months. Woven shawls and blankets are draped over every piece of furniture you can see, and the dark wood of the furniture feels soft under your fingertips. A stew bubbles over the fire, and you breathe in for a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed.<<else>>fuss around you for a moment, ever the attentive host.<</if>> They continue to engage you in polite conversation while delicate fingers move fluently over simple wooden crockery - though you think that might be more to draw your attention from the bloodstained cloths and gauze that had been hastily stashed in the corner of the room. You fucking //inhale// the beetroot and butternut stew in front of you, spices from Kamran warming the back of your throat as you smile broadly back at them. “Thank you.” Stilted though it might be, your thanks is just as warm as the food in your belly. “Thank //you//.” Their answering smile is just as warm, and for a moment your eyes meet. * <<link "You flush. ♡" "3.18.1">><<set $threeeighteen to "flushrom">><<$estel++, $estelrom++>><</link>> * <<link "You smile broadly, almost catlike. ♡" "3.18.1">><<set $threeeighteen to "smilerom">><<$estel++, $estelrom++>><</link>> * <<link "You smile broadly." "3.18.1">><<set $threeeighteen to "smileplat">><<$estel++>><</link>> * <<link "You deflect quickly." "3.18.1">><<set $threeeighteen to "deflect">><</link>> <<else>>“Oh.” You don’t have to be a renowned scholar of human nature to know that they are disappointed, and you wish for a moment– But you have been wishing for so long, and you know now that you have to make your own luck. You’ll never get anything done if you stay here chatting. “Stay safe.” They seem serious, almost //too// serious for soft features, and your voice is grave in turn when you <<link "promise that you will." "3.18.1">><<set $threeeighteen to "gocreature">><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $threeeighteen is "flushrom">>You feel the flush rise in your cheeks, from more than your proximity to the hearth fire, and you feel your mouth become dry. You take a sip of water to wet your lips - yet that only seems to draw their attention, eyes flicking down to look at your lips, and they clear their throat quickly, looking away from you. “Do you live alone?” You ask, as much for an opportunity to think about anything other than the building swell of tension between you. “I–yes.” Their cheeks look as hot as yours feel, and they look at you hesitantly. “Do you want to stay? Just for tonight. It’s late.” “I–yes.” For a moment you smile at each other, before you look away, snapping the string connecting you. [[“That would be very kind.”|3.19]] <<elseif $threeeighteen is "smilerom">>You watch a flush rise in their cheeks at your easy smile, though you definitely see them try to hide one of their own when they take a sip from their cup, wetting their lips. (You’re staring - but you have been denied beauty for long enough that you cannot begrudge yourself a glimpse now. …you’re still staring, though.) You clear your throat, and cast about for a separate topic of conversation. “Do you live alone?” “I–yes.” Their cheeks look as hot as yours feel, and they look at you hesitantly. “Do you want to stay? Just for tonight. It’s late.”. “That would be lovely.” There is a genuine smile on your features, one which makes the flush in their cheeks deepen. <<elseif $threeeighteen is "smileplat">>You smile at them, and watch as they smile warmly back and start collecting bowls and spoons. Abruptly, you are aware of how isolated the cottage seems and how still the night is. “Do you live alone?” Worry tinges your tone, and they smile again, softer this time. “Yes - more or less since I’ve lived in Galan.” That //more or less// intrigues you, but they’ve turned away now and seem disinclined to continue the conversation. “Will you stay?” They ask instead, looking briefly over their shoulder and then back at the bowls in their hand. “It’s late.” “If it’s not an intrusion,” you answer, [[rising to meet them at the makeshift sink.|3.19]] <<elseif $threeeighteen is "deflect">>The sudden praise makes your frame tense, and you look away quickly. “I was always taught to be a good guest.” (You remember your father, with his brash voice and soft, gentle hands, telling you how to eat, how to address your host–) “Then you were taught well.” Their voice is reassuring, and the glow of their approval is more warming than any stew, no matter how well-made. “Will you stay? It’s late.” They soften the question with the explanation, and studiously avoid looking at you, as if not to pressure you into a decision. [[“I–Yes,” you concede, and you let the tension leech from your frame, “that would be very generous.”|3.19]] <<elseif $threeeighteen is "gocreature">>When you leave, you feel their eyes bore holes into your back, and you force yourself not to turn and stare back at them. You walk, and walk, and walk, until you are close to regaining the path you had rode in on. Your promise to stay safe holds true for about a quarter of a mile, before your destrier whimpers, a harbinger of what is to come. At first, you think it is a direwolf, with long, powerful limbs and a rattling snarl that makes your hackles rise, a primal response to a threat you are quickly realising you’ve never seen before. Inky dark and shifting in the dappled dusk, snaking through shadows until it is before you, hulking and burgeoning until it is nearly the size of your war horse, and you feel your heart slam into your feet. <<if $combat is 5>>Your blade is as ready as ever - though your destrier is not and he bolts from the scene, though not before sending you sprawling into the dirt. You have but a moment before the creature is on you, cloying thick and rasping something that might even be a laugh. It seems, though, to be solid enough that you can kick upward, twisting to stand with your blade ready to jab at the creature and drive it back for a moment of respite. The blade feels comfortable in your hand, the iron practically moulded to the contours of your palm, and you only need a few more thrusts to drive the beast back, before you plunge your sword into what you think might be its skull and <<link "you feel something like ichor drip down your arm." "3.18.2">><</link>> <<elseif $combat is 3>>You are ill-prepared, as is your horse, and after being sent sprawling into the dirt when he bolts, the creature is on you, cloying thick and rasping something that might even be a laugh. It seems, though to be solid enough that you can kick upward, twisting to stand - but your thrusts are clumsy, enough to drive the beast back a few paces but nothing more, and a particularly clumsy parry leaves your flank open and the beast’s claws rip into your side. //Definitely// solid, then. Again, you find yourself sprawled in the dirt, a stunned observer as it looms above you, features shifting into impossibly long fangs, burning eyes that remind you of the fires of Gintan– But unlike then, your hand is still on your blade, and you have just enough time to raise it and plunge it into what you think must be the creature’s skull before its jaws descend on you. <<link "You taste the ichor on your lips as it drips onto your face." "3.18.2">><</link>> <<else>>You didn’t stand a chance, really. You spent a quarter of a century training to be a <<cycle "$ogjob" autoselect>> <<option "sheep farmer" "sheep">> <<option "weaver and tailor" "cloth">> <<option "trader" "trade">> … <</cycle>>, and the only weapon you had ever wielded before the massacre had been a plough, in half-hearted “duels” with Sifra which usually devolved into slapping matches when Sifra would refuse to hurt you and you would refuse to back down. But Sifra isn’t here now, and the creature bears down on you, fangs growing to impossible lengths. The last thing you hear is the receding thundering of hooves. The last thing you see is the beast’s jaws descending on you. The last thing you think is that you will rejoin your parents soon, and no one is here to perform the burial rites. <<link "TRY AGAIN." "3.17">><<set $updatethreedeath to "true">><</link>><</if>> <</if>>

<<if $threeeighteen is "gocreature">>They fetch you a bowl of stew from the pot and you //inhale// it, your guilt assuaged as quickly as your hunger, and they smile warmly at you, hovering near you so they can fetch your dish when you finish, and you rise to meet them at the makeshift sink. <</if>>“Here, let me help.” You reach for them, and though they don’t quite flinch away they shift to the right, to avoid contact. “No, really, it’s–” They break off, giving up when they see you have already started washing the bowls. You let calloused fingers rub over the smooth wood, working the beetroot out bit by bit. (You’re normally very good at getting stains out - you’re a little //too// good at getting bloodstains out, now, and here in this domestic space you almost feel out-of-place.) Genius that //you// are, you feel the bowl slip slightly in your hand, and hiss when you feel the small splinter of wood stab into the base of your thumb. And where before Estel had been careful to keep their distance, now their hands are on yours instantly, a calm precision to their movements that <<if $touch is "averse">>makes your habitual knot of tension in your belly at the mere thought of touch ease a little<<else>>makes you feel more at ease<</if>>. Estel removes the splinter and works in a light, fragrant salve, thumbs moving in small, gentle circles. It is only when they have been working on your (incredibly minor) injury for a few minutes that they seem to realise just how much the yhave been touching you. They gasp and pull away, their free hand rubbing comforting circles on their own wrist. Your hand flexes slightly from the memory of the touch. “There’s nothing to forgive.” //They// had been helping //you//, after all, though you remember how contained your hosts had been in Kamran, and you try to stay back. Nevertheless, they are still flustered, busying their hands by tidying away salves and glasses and you watch in horrified slow-motion as one of the glasses falls and slices a fine red ribbon across the back of their hand that widens into a rivulet the longer the pair of you stare at it. “Here, let me–” “I–” Their breathing is shallow, and whatever instinctive refusal had been on their lips crumbles to acceptance, and they let you take their hand in yours. <<if $touch is "averse">>You force your muscles to relax in favour of pressing a cloth to their hand that quickly stains as pink as beetroot<<else>>You press a cloth to their hand, watching as it quickly stains as pink as beetroot<</if>>. They pull you with them to a workbench littered with salves and gauze, and you move as directed, pressing a thick pad to the cut and wrapping cloth around it, tying a clumsy knot. They hum approvingly at your efforts, and when you turn to face them, you find that their face is closer than you expected. * <<link "Lean in. ♡" "3.20">><<set $threenineteen to "leanrom">><<$estel++, $estelrom++>><</link>> * <<link "Fluster. ♡" "3.20">><<set $threenineteen to "flusterrom">><<$estel++, $estelrom++>><</link>> * <<link "Move back." "3.20">><<set $threenineteen to "moveback">><<$estel++>><</link>>

<<if $combat is 5>>As quickly as it had appeared, the creature melts into the shadows, the only proof of its existence your racing heart and the stain of ichor on your hand. Victory or no victory, you are now without both a horse and a way of finding shelter for the night - and as proficient with a blade as you are, you don’t fancy your chances if there are any more of–//whatever// that was. So, gathering your belongings, you trudge back to Estel’s cottage and knock gently. They open the door with little other fanfare, though there is muted alarm in their eyes when they see you without your horse and with your arm drenched in ichor. “What–” They scan you briefly, checking for any egregious injuries - finding none, they move back into the cottage and fetch a damp cloth. “I don’t know.” Guilt twists in your stomach when they wipe the ichor from your arm so you can begin to eat<<if $threethirteen is "horse">>, and that churning only intensifies when you think about how upset Sifra will be that you lost the destrier<</if>>. “Well, you’re safe in here. It won’t come inside.” Their voice is soothing, a balm for your senses even as you wonder how they can possibly know that. [[They move away before you can question them further.|3.19]] <<else>>You think you can make it back to Estel before you pass out. You //think//. Each step is through treacle, and your limbs grow heavier the nearer you get to the cottage. Jade-green eyes are wide with alarm when they open the door to you, reaching out to support you. (You have a habit of staining whatever you touch.) “What happened?” They ask, voice low and soothing as they guide you to a small bed in the corner of the room, cooing softly as you mumble in pain. “Don’t know. I got it, but—” You break off with a gasp when they shift you on the bed, and <<link "your vision whites." "3.21">><<set $threeeighteentwo to "creaturepassout">><</link>> <</if>>

<<if $threenineteen is "leanrom">>When you move, they lean in to meet you. They make a soft noise in the back of their throat when your lips meet, spring time and elderflower consuming your senses. Just as quickly, they pull back and start to apologise, but they stop when you speak and instead go back to tracing your lips with their gaze. “I’d like to kiss you again.” You can scarcely remember being this bold, but it is worth it for how their eyes widen and their cheeks darken. “I–Yes.” Flustered they may be, but their pupils are blown when they tilt their head again to kiss you. Their cheek, like their lips, is almost sinfully smooth when you cup it, and you wonder if your palm is as rough as the rest of you. The pair of you are dazed when you pull away, and they giggle slightly and look away with a flush. You watch carefully as their tongue traces the soft curve of their lower lip, as if to savour you. “Will you stay?” The question seems loaded, and you * <<link "kiss them again. Harder. ♡" "3.20.1">><<set $threetwenty to "sex">><<$estelrom++, $estel++>><</link>> * <<link "thank them with a bashful smile, moving back." "3.20.2">><<set $threetwenty to "kissthanks">><<$estel++>><</link>> <<elseif $threenineteen is "flusterrom">>You can feel your cheeks burn, the flush spreading to your neck as you try to turn your attention back to the task at hand. (Thinking about //hands// doesn’t help, theirs is silken soft and warm in yours and you think– Things that you cannot tell if they would appreciate you thinking.) In any case, they turn away and seem grateful for the distraction of looking for a bedroll. “You should stay.<<if $threeeighteen is "gocreature">><<else>> There’s much and more lurking in those woods.<</if>>” “Have you spoken to the guards<<if $threeeighteen is "gocreature">> about the–//those//<</if>>?” You grind out the question past the lump in your throat - the idea of them at the mercy of slavering wolves hardly bears thinking about. You startle when they laugh, bringing their uninjured hand to cover their mouth daintily. “Sorry - no, I think the guards would rather forget I exist. //Most// of them, at least.” With that, they hand you the bedroll, tongue darting out to wet their lower lip when their hand accidentally brushes against yours. (You do not dare to hope that it was not an accident.) “Sleep well.” Their parting words as they leave you are barely a whisper, a prayer to some power that you have never possessed. [[And, for once, you do.|3.21]] <<else>>They let out a sigh as you pull away (though whether it is of relief or of disappointment, you cannot quite tell). “I should go,” you manage to stammer out, turning to leave and finding them already in front of you. “You should //stay// - there are direwolves.” Their matter-of-fact tone makes you pause for a moment, and you look<<if $height is "tall">> down<<elseif $height is "short">> up<</if>> at them carefully. You startle at their laugh, and watch as they try to stifle their giggle daintily, their uninjured hand pressing firm to their mouth for a moment before they are calm again. After a breath, they tell you with a small, secret smile, “I think the guards would rather forget I exist - //most// of them, at least.” Before you can question that, they hand you the bedroll, smiling apologetically when their hand brushes against yours during the transfer, and smile again. “Sleep well.” [[And, for once, you do.|3.21]] <</if>>

<<timed 3s t8n>>When you wake up, you are alone. [[End of current demo|demoend]]<</timed>>

Kissing them is addictive, the spices from the stew heady and sweet on your tongue as it runs along the seam of their lips. They help you out of your armour, and where before they had kept their touches fleeting, now they are greedy for you, palms mapping every sinew they can reach until you feel cleansed. Their hands make light work of the tunic Zehra gave you<<if $zehrarom gte 3>> (you feel a flare of //something// writhing in the pit of your stomach and push it down)<</if>>, and if they are surprised to see the bindings at your chest, they say nothing, acceptance a balm for your fears. You tip their head back to kiss the column of their throat, feel them shudder against you and pull you into the hushed dark of their room, giggling when you both stumble onto the bed. The stumble breaks your concentration - and for a moment, you are unsure. <<cycle "$estelfirsttime" autoselect>> <<option "This is the first time you’ve engaged in such intimacy." "virgin">> <<option "This is the first time since Gintan, and your body is almost not your own anymore." "beenawhile">> ... <</cycle>> They sense your hesitation and force you to look them in the eye, and you have never found jade so striking before. “We don’t have to.” The reminder is firm, and you * <<link "nod, prompting them to continue. (Fade to black)." "3.21">><<set $threetwentyone to "sexsex">><<$estelsex++>><</link>> * <<link "roll off of them and stand." "3.20.2">><<set $threetwentyone to "sexbail">><</link>>

<<if $threetwenty is "kissthanks">>They busy themself finding a bedroll for you and are careful not to touch you again when they hold it out. You feel their eyes as heavy as their hands as they linger in the doorway watching you unpack the roll, fingers moving over deceptively soft fabric. “Sleep well.” The farewell–the //order//–is quiet, a prayer to powers you could not hope to understand, and you smile back at them as they withdraw into their bedroom. [[And, for once, you do.|3.21]] <</if>><<if $threetwentyone is "sexbail">>You feel almost light-headed when you stand and look back at them, propped on their elbows with swollen lips and mussed hair. What words could you hope to offer? <<if $estelfirsttime is "beenawhile">>Where once you had known this dance as well as any at Haran’s hearth, you have all but rusted shut.<<else>>This is a dance you were never taught, the steps new and unfamiliar and all //you// can do is stumble, a fawn on spindly legs.<</if>> “I—” “Hush.” The admonition is light at best, a concerned frown marring their features as they stand to meet your eye more easily. “You do not need to apologise. I fear you have grown far too used to that.” They move past you gingerly, fingers attempting to comb through their hair as they look for the bedroll again, handing it to you with a smile and a hand to your cheek, thumb skimming your cheekbone. “Sleep well.” [[And, for once, you do.|3.21]]<</if>>