Prophetic
Seers and their prophecies, whatever shall we do?
Unknown
Cass shifts against me, her body still tense. My fingers idly trace the red lightning as it runs down her back and into her joggers.
“So, what can you do?” I ask after what feels like hours in the heavy silence.
“Allegedly, the possibilities are endless. I have not had anyone to discuss them with since associating myself with that monster would only lead to mistrust.”
Her voice sounds hushed and tired. Like she might just want to fall asleep against my chest. Even with the extra few inches she has, she fits so nicely. As though my chest and ribs were built to accommodate her.
And with the last few weeks of regular meals and exercise, I no longer look skeletal in the wrong lighting.
“Would you like to find out?” I ask, and she sits up a little, bracing her torso under a bare arm.
Gorgeous and fearsome, this woman is a legend. If it weren’t for her literally showing up in my life and demanding that I give her attention, I would still believe she didn’t exist. That she was just a boogeyman made up to frighten wayward Remnants.
And yet, here she is. Dark hair falling over her pale, perfect face. Her orange eyes blazing with something like affection—and maybe apprehension, still. Her pale neck traces into bare shoulders and a black bra that covers breasts that look very soft.
Hey, stop it.
I shake my head a little and refocus on her.
“How?” she asks, voice soft and eyes heavy lidded.
“Start with basics and work into manipulating the Affliction. I know you can drain it out of people and counteract powers, so we can start there.”
Something flashes through her orange irises that raises the hair along my arms. But it’s gone before I can acknowledge it.
“We will have to find a private area for it,” she says, scooting a little to the end of the bed. “And we should probably go see if anything has changed with—”
There’s a rapid series of knocks on the door that doesn’t seem to actually startle or surprise her.
“I could feel them coming,” she grumbles, grabbing her shirt from off the ground.
I take one final look at the perfect body before she slides the shirt over her chest and tucks it in.
She crosses the bedroom, then pauses before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. Then to my lips.
“Meet me out there in a few minutes?” she asks, and I nod quickly before she strides from the room. I watch as she moves swiftly down the hall of her small apartment.
Her mask and shields are already up before she reaches the kitchenette in the main living area. And by the time I see her turn for the front door, she looks impassive and uncaring. Unfeeling.
Which I know is total bullshit.
I slide off the bed and quickly change into an extra pair of Tempest clothes. The blessing of being with someone as tall as Cass is.
Finally, I spritz some water from the ensuite into my face and gargle what I hope is a mouthwash. It tastes alcoholic enough that it might literally just be bathroom vodka.
You know, a normal thing in Nye Verden.
I glance down at the bottle, turning it in the half light from the bedroom.
“Oh, that’s definitely just grain alcohol.”
“Hiraeth?” Cass’ voice calls down the hall, holding all the intonations of an empress.
“Coming,” I call back and make my way from the bedroom.
I turn into the foyer to find Azazel staring at me with a definitive “you owe me more answers” look.
“Do you ever take that off?” I ask, and Azazel grunts in annoyance.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, turning to Cass who radiates murderous intent.
Her jaw ticks as she finally looks away from Azazel, locking eyes with me.
“The Seers have given us another line of the Prophecy.”
“So that shit bag wasn’t fucking with me?” I scoff.
“Who might this be?” Cass asks, tone unreasonably icy, if I do say so myself.
“Loki,” I say, meeting her stare with one of my own.
“What did he say?” she asks.
I glance at Azazel.
“He said something about you not yet telling me about ‘the Prophecy,’ I figured he was just being a dickhead.”
“When was this?” Cass asks, still not looking at Azazel.
“Right before I killed him, Beowulf, and twenty-four others for running their mouths.”
“It was you?” Azazel asks, wonderment in their voice.
“Of course it was,” Cass says, not looking away from me. “Who else would have that kind of power?”
Cass’ eyes don’t look normal. They look haunted. She looks haunted. Like something about this Prophecy is far worse than she’s letting on.
“So, the Prophecy?” I ask.
Cass inhales sharply before pushing past Azazel in the doorway and turning down the hall.
“Alright,” I grumble, following behind her.
Thankfully, Cass’ apartment is on its own floor so no one will think it odd that I’m coming out of the God Queen’s room in the early afternoon.
Though I don’t know if Cass actually cares.
The Citadel is busy. There’s movement almost everywhere, but it’s not frenetic. Just a normal, regular afternoon in the cavernous city.
Something about this place feels right, though. I can’t help but wonder what life might look for me down here—with Cass. Being able to see Marla and her family, to exist with a family of my own.
Azazel falls into step beside me with the God Queen ahead of us, splitting the crowd like she’s made of the plague. It’s fascinating to watch the way the people seem to worship her as a legitimate deity.
Except she’s just like the rest of us. Maybe immortal and durable as hell, but still capable of mistakes. She still experiences pain and remorse. Still has anxieties and worries.
And she hasn’t been able to share them with anyone—until now. It’s a devastating thought, but a privilege I won’t squander. Not on my life.
Cass turns down a passage I hadn’t noticed in the weeks I’d been here. Granted, I’ve been unconscious for some of them, but this area down below the basin is outside my normal routine.
Azazel pauses before we reach a large reflective ovoid structure at the farthest end of the long path.
“I do not know what you two are doing, but—” Azazel lets out a short puff of air. “Are you okay?”
I turn to face them, confusion obviously written all over my face. “Should I not be okay?”
“All I know is that she values you over any other. I do not know why, and I do not know when it began. I only know that Bloody Mary has never let someone into her chambers, much less talk to her the way you do.”
I flash them a quick grin before nodding to where Cass is studying the ovoid structure. Or maybe she’s zoning out again.
“I get why the people here worship her. I only hope that I can live up to whatever expectations she has for me.”
Azazel nods once before waving a gloved hand forward.
Cass turns to face us as we approach, eyes hard with stress or anger. It’s tough to tell with the way this side of her is.
“What a fun coincidence,” a voice says, explaining Cass’ expression in a heartbeat.
I turn to see Gareth von Kemp and Varun strolling towards us. The former wears a stupid grin on his face and the latter looks like there’s no one home.
“Bast and Morgana are already inside,” Cass says, tone definitively authoritarian. “Let us not make them wait any longer.”
Gareth turns to me, and I see the flash of confusion that quickly turns to annoyance.
Cass places her palm on the ovoid structure that sort of looks like a large metallic bean. It shudders and ripples like the surface of a lake before an entire doorway opens within it.
“A strange honor to bestow upon an acolyte such as yourself,” Gareth says, voice low as Cass descends the stairs, not looking back.
Azazel, though, pauses as they reach the doorway. They don’t exactly turn around, but I know they’re listening.
“I’ll be really honest with you,” I say, giving him a toothy grin, “I have no fucking clue what’s going on or why I’m here. I do just do what I’m told.”
He reciprocates the grin, but it looks fake and just a tinge manic.
“A loyal soldier,” his voice drops lower though as he continues, “it’s a real shame that you didn’t turn out to be the one we’d all hoped for.”
He steps past me without another word and disappears down the stairs. Varun does the same, moving like he’s not exactly sure about this whole sentience thing.
I move to the stairs and of course they’re darker than the pits of hell.
Why the fuck Tempest can’t invest in lighting is beyond me.
A tendril of shadow peaks out of my palm and feels out the steps ahead of me as I begin down the passage.
I can hear the steps of those ahead of me, but sure as shit can’t see them. It’s only after what feels like a solid minute of pitch black that I see the barest hint of light.
“—the fuck is she doing here?” Gareth’s words are hushed, but I pick up the latter half.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and first see him standing beside Varun, the former looking as if he’d been leading the conversation. Varun stares at me like the she in question is undoubtedly me.
Then I take in the rest of the room.
It’s a wooded grotto with leaves and vines hanging from the rocky ceiling. At the farthest end is a sequence of six stone stools arrayed in a horizontal line. Each erected in a shallow pond that’s cordoned off from the rest of the room.
In front of the pond seating stands Cass, Azazel, Morgana, and Bast. The latter three seem to be in conversation, but the echoey ambience down here obscure their voices. Cass, however, watches them quietly.
No one turns to me as I reach the grassy area where the other four stand. Varun and Gareth file in past me and both go to stand alongside the other councilors, leaving me in the back.
A breeze that hadn’t been there before picks up and swirls around the grotto. It’s frigid and chills to the bone, like an ominous warning.
“I hardly think it’s proper to have an acolyte down here for this,” Gareth says into the silence. “She’s clearly only here because the God Queen feels she might be relevant to the Prophecy. If she is, I say we inform her later. She’ll no doubt go and spread rumors otherwise.”
”She’s right behind you,” I growl, hands clenching.
I should just fucking kill him. Damn the consequences. Not only does he piss me off, but he’s clearly not on our side. He’s a danger to everyone down here and everyone topside.
“Did you say something, acolyte?” Gareth asks, turning towards me with a stupid grin.
“Enough,” Cass’ voice reverberates through the room. “Hiraeth stays. That is final.”
“As you say, God Queen,” Gareth says, tone reeking of sarcasm.
Cass still doesn’t turn to look at me, but I suppose this is our public dynamic for the time being.
I look back to the stones and startle when I find six men sitting along them. They all look relatively normal. And almost identical, each bald with a robe tied along their torsos.
“Godwin,” Cass’ voice calls to one of them. “The Prophecy?”
The third from the left opens his eyes and finds Cass. He focuses on her for a few seconds before his eyes find me.
Pain lances through my eyes, hot and violent.
Images rush through my mind. Death. Destruction. Absolute decimation of entire landmasses. Fire and brimstone. The entire world itself hinging on a singular choice. A singular goal.
Faces leap out at me. Cass is amongst them, but so many of them are people I don’t recognize.
A woman with auburn hair and brown eyes.
Her entire demeanor looks beaten and broken.
A woman with a tan complexion, her dark hair and green eyes look serious and haughty.
Another dark-haired woman whose dark eyes radiate with a malicious, nightmarish intent.
A strawberry blonde with piercing blue eyes.
A gorgeous blonde with silver eyes. A wild-looking, dark-haired woman with magenta eyes.
Another blonde. This one I recognize. Alexa, the “other subject” that Darkrend had in his retinue.
An older woman with greying hair and deep-set wrinkles. She looks like she’s peering back at me through the images—like she knows I’m here, too.
Like shattering glass, the images fall away and I land roughly on my knees. My head spins and the ground wobbles unevenly as I feel hands at my back.
“Shit,” I hiss out, feeling at my damp forehead with trembling fingers. “Thanks for the fucking warning, baldy.”
“Time immortal be thy guide, for the end no longer seems in sight,” a deep masculine voice cuts through the piercing ringing in my ears.
The hands leave my back, and I slump forward onto my hands and knees. Nausea rises in my throat, choking my senses. The ringing gets louder as stars dance in my vision.
“Fuck,” I groan out as my gut heaves. The late lunch I ate yesterday at Marla’s splashes against the soft grass at my palms.
“What—” I hear a voice ask, but the deep masculine one cuts them off.
“The grim night has begun, child. It is time for the final reckoning.”
I spit out bile and rancid spit. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
At the words, the splitting headache reignites. It radiates like someone kicked me directly in the tailbone and I curl forward again. Pain soars to a crescendo with hot pricks and stabs in organs that shouldn’t even be hurting.
I feel my forehead crash into the cool stone, and it sends another wave of pain through my spine.
Shadows begin to whisper. Like they had so many times before.
“No, no, no,” I groan, my voice hoarse with overuse.
I thought I was done with this. I thought I’d figured this out. I thought I was finally getting better.
The whispers get louder, almost turning into screams.
Power bubbles beneath my skin. Percolating like boiling water. The precipice of the flash point only moments from tipping me into something far worse than death.
I can feel it—the way the dead call for me. I can feel their claws gripping at my skin. The way I sink into the shadows like cartoonish quicksand.
“Breathe,” a voice says. The voice is calming. Familiar. Lovely.
The hissing strengthens. Widens. A deep, cavernous maw reaches up from hidden worlds that I should not be able to see.
I can see further, now. I see them all. I hear them all.
I—