Tazaro woke with a jolt, and the first thing he picked up on was the hardness of stone flooring, warmed only by his bare chest and stomach against it. He groaned and lifted his head, blinking through blurred vision. His eyes felt like they were the size of cluckatrice eggs, and as a piece of straw came into view, he went to lift his hand to brush it out of his hair and clear his view.

  The sternness of steel shackles rudely pointed out the fact that he was in chains, and as the tickle of feathers tingled in his sleepy brain, he looked back as well as he could, surprised.

  Here they were, his wings bared and pinned back in what looked like a metal clothespin. He tried to wriggle the pin off but stopped at the pinch of skin and press of bone that threatened to break them. As he struggled against his bound state, Tazaro winced from a spot of pain on his jawline.

  Lifting his head off the ground to survey his surroundings, he managed a few seconds before his muscles gave in and his head lay slack against the cold stone. Swallowing back the bile that curdled its way up into his throat, Tazaro tried again to move, flopping himself onto his side enough that he could shift himself onto his knees and sit up.

  The room spun a little less, though he still recognized the vertical stick of metal bars and the frame of a door. He stared at them, searching through the disembodied mud of brain, wondering what he had done to be thrown in jail.

  His brain must have been eager to fill in that blank, latching on to something that made Tazaro smirk. Oh. Yeah. Micah convinced us to throw cluckatrice in people’s windows.

  But, pleasant as the reminder was, it was neither suitable nor appropriate, considering he felt like he’d been sent through the wringer a few dozen times. A flash of grey and brown fur formed in his mind’s eye.

  That’s right. You and Sheeva fought a behemoth. He reminded himself, circling back to the incredible feats they’d both pulled.

  As he remembered the whirlwind of events following shortly after, Tazaro scuttled on his knees to assist in looking behind him for Sheeva. He hoped that it was only him that was behind bars, regardless of whatever he may have done. Sadly, there lay her slumped figure, also restrained like he was with her wings pinned together and wrists in irons.

  "Oh, gods, Sheeva!" He blurted, shuffling himself toward her while trying to maintain balance so that he didn't fall flat on his face.

  Upon hearing Tazaro's worried call, Sheeva began to stir and appeared just as exhausted as Tazaro expected her to be. Her eyes were puffy and darkened, and her face seemed alarmingly pale. Considering all that she had just been through, her being worse for the wear was much better than the alternative. He went to reach for her, yearning to hold her tightly to him, but as he felt the cold metal around his wrists, he remembered he was restrained.

  He sat down as carefully as he could, and even that was almost unmanageable since his wings only got in his way. It was exhausting to do, but as he managed to swing the ends of them to the side, he found he could sit somewhat comfortably.

  Using his legs, he shuffled Sheeva into his lap, helping her sit up as her brain processed their situation. Thankfully, she could sit up well enough for him to tuck his knee beneath her wings, hopefully providing her with some comfort.

  "Sheeva, I," He began, though unsure of what to say or where to start. "I'm so glad you're okay."

  The relieved sigh finally flowed from his chest, giving him a moment of much-needed peace. He dipped his head and kissed her forehead lightly, then urged her to rest her head on his shoulder with a prod of his chin. She did, and the weight of it and heat tethered him.

  "You're alive, and I– He stopped and sniffled, holding her as close as he possibly could. "Gods, I'm so grateful."

  "What happened? Why are we in shackles?" She asked. Her voice barely carried, softened by tire and weakness.

  And this was where his moment of peace shattered.

  He gaped for a few moments, incoherent noises squeaking past his vocal cords. He cleared his throat and fought to find his voice.

  "While we were walking through the crags after that fight with the behemoth, you fainted. I scanned you, but I couldn't understand what was wrong, so I flew us to the closest place I saw to find someone who could help. I don't know where we are." He admitted, frightened and hoping he hadn't let them straight to Midna's Overlook. Because they were in a jail cell, he believed he accidentally had.

  "Did they...discover what was wrong?" She seemed to ask carefully. By the furtive, guilty look on her face, she had a hunch.

  He drew in a slow, shaky breath and felt his throat constrict in an instant.

  "You…Were pregnant. A-about a month along. I, I'm not sure how. Maybe we completely missed a spell, or maybe we were so depleted that it just didn't work, but, um," Tazaro sighed deeply. "The fight with the behemoth caused you to miscarry."

  He felt her still in his awkward hold, and when he glanced down at her, she was staring at her stomach. Sheeva sighed, seeming disappointed about something.

  “Did you know?” He asked, wondering if maybe the universe had blown her plans to present him with the information and celebrate.

  Sheeva’s frown deepened, and she shook her head, then shrugged.

  “I, I wasn’t sure. When we got to Agonia, I was going to–

  They both jumped as someone banged on the bars of their holding cell, causing Tazaro to wince in pain. As Tazaro sent them his best glare, a hissing, icy snicker was the reply, along with a taunt at the "two birdies locked in a cage."

  Another man joined the fair-haired taunter, retrieving a set of keys on a ring at his side. Tazaro contemplated barreling the men outside their cell, but as he looked down at Sheeva, he doubted his ability to keep her from any further harm while doing so. He fussed with the chains with his fingers, wondering if perhaps there was a switch or latch of some kind.

  He didn’t have much time to explore the possibility when a thick rope wrapped itself around his neck, causing him to draw in a frightened gasp before the thing tightened.

  “Stand up.” The other man ordered, jerking up on whatever instrument the man was using to control Tazaro. As he felt himself choke on the leather, Tazaro reluctantly stood, given no choice in the matter. He slipped Sheeva as well as he could from his lap so that he could stand, and when the fair-haired man roughly grabbed her hair to yank her to her feet, Tazaro raised his leg to kick at him.

  “Hey, don’t treat her like–urk!”

  A quick jerk of the leash made Tazaro lose his balance and tumble to the floor, hissing at the burn of the strap along his neck and the bang of his knee on the stone. As the other man threw an animal catcher’s noose around Sheeva’s neck as well, Tazaro realized what it was that restrained him and felt the fury well in his chest. Why did their captors feel the need to treat them like animals?

  “Watch that one carefully, Nikolai. She’s a biter.”

  Ah. There’s the reason. Tazaro thought, getting back to his feet with the guide of the noose. As he felt himself being moved around at another’s whim, his stomach dropped, weighted by humiliation. Stealing a glance toward Sheeva to see how she was handling all of this, guilt strangled his chest as he saw her clutching at the noose not to remove it but to help support herself in an awkward stand as her shoulders slouched with tiredness.

  “What luck, finding yourself back in Midna’s Overlook! One would think that after the first time, you wouldn’t come anywhere near this place!” The dark-haired man commented, pausing to lift Sheeva’s head with his hand.

  Fiercely, Sheeva lunged forward and made to bite, but thanks to the noose around her neck, she didn’t get far. The man brought his hand to his chest protectively, directing a glare to the man holding her back.

  “Didn’t I just tell you to be careful, Dillon?”

  “Shut up, Nikolai,” Dillon grumbled, forcing Tazaro on his way to wherever they were about to go.

  A row of cells, some locked shut and others left wide open, lined the hall, and as Tazaro glanced at the occupants out of the corner of his eyes, he worried for himself and Sheeva. Many of the occupants were spun out on something, some pacing their rooms and others staring off into space if they weren’t already knocked out. He wished he hadn’t heard someone chanting off, “shapes of the dead slide off the walls; demons dance in the castle halls!”

  Were they being forced to their death?

  He attempted to halt his steps, resisting their captor’s lead to he and Sheeva’s dooms but was forced into taking some stumbling steps forward. He tried again with an adamant “no.”

  The second after hearing a click and a high-pitched whine, Tazaro felt something jab into the back of his neck, and as a sharp, stinging jolt shot through his body and buzzed in his fingers and toes, he cried out. His body dropped, and if it hadn’t been for the animal noose, Tazaro would have fallen straight back onto his wrists and wings.

  It was short, but the message was clear.

  The band cut into his adam’s apple and made him choke as he was made to stand on his feet once more, taking wobbly steps through the hallway. He stumbled a few times, mostly from his staggering steps as his leg muscles fought to recenter themselves after the shockwave.

  They turned down the next hall, and what Tazaro saw here drove ice through his veins. Bloodied, marred, dismembered poor souls groaned in pain and clawed at their heels in need, and as he gazed upon the sopped, dirty, pus-stained wrappings, it appeared a wing had been surgically added into a poor man’s back.

  “Wh-what the hell?” He blurted, jerking his head to the other side to see if these poor souls had been altered, too. By the looks of it, they had feathers of varying colors sticking out beneath shoddy medical tape.

  “What have you done to these people?” Sheeva asked, just as mortified by the sights as Tazaro was.

  They didn’t answer, and Tazaro held a shred of hope that they, too, didn’t enjoy this part of whatever was happening here.

  Tazaro fought to memorize their way as they stopped at the door to their left, just past the row of misfortunate inmates...if that was what they were, to begin with.

  The room was significantly sized, with a table covered in tools, and as he saw the tattered leather roll holding his woodworking tools, his eyes widened in fear. The chisel he had, not to mention his prized mallet “B.A.B.E,” could do some terrible damage in clever hands. He clenched his hands into fists as he worried they might drive wood chips beneath his fingernails with his mallet, as Rin had jokingly threatened to do when Tazaro was still undergoing his apprenticeship.

  A man in a white lab coat stepped out of an adjacent room, covered head to toe in blood, wiping his hands clean on a rag. Tazaro dared to peer beyond the man’s slim shoulders in the other room, then wished he hadn’t; a man’s chest had been ripped to bits, dissected, and pried open to reveal the lungs and heart within.

  The man in the white coat was the same man that had treated Sheeva the night before, and he greeted them with a sickeningly twisted smile, a malevolent cheer in his amber eyes.

  “You.” Sheeva hissed, seething with animosity. Her eyes narrowed, and as she directed her soul-shaking glare, Tazaro pieced two and two together.

  “Welcome back. I must say, I’m surprised you ended up back here. Though it wasn’t of your own doing, was it?” He greeted, sneering at Tazaro. Tazaro dropped his gaze, scowling with himself. True, it was his fault that they were here in the first place.

  “Doctor Areus. All those people out there...are they your doing?” She asked, disgusted at the notion that they might be.

  “None of them have survived so far, but, yes. They are.” He answered, waving his hand at the two people directing Sheeva and Tazaro by the noose. Tazaro grunted as they kicked the back of his legs to make him kneel. He looked up at Sheeva as they unlocked the shackles from his wrists, wondering if they were going to fight their way free, but the fair-haired Dillon made it a point to show Tazaro the button that apparently caused the shockwave to course through the stick. Sheeva subtly shook her head.

  They clamped his wrists back in shackles in front of him, pinning them to a loop cemented into the floor, and as they unpinned his wings, Tazaro let them fall forward. The muscles ached, and he felt his back pop, and he wondered how long they’d been set that way.

  “Wow. So this is what wings really look like on a Sferran, huh?” Nikolai muttered, tracking his hand along the humerus and giving it a grasp and experimental shake. The man curled his fingers around the “elbow” joint, then threateningly grabbed the rest of his wing, causing Tazaro to grunt as his fingers wedged between the radius and ulna. Tazaro bit back a whimper as the man pulled back, hyperextending the wing further than it would naturally go.

  “Can I break ‘em? It’d be easy. Like snapping a twig.”

  “Absolutely not!” Areus demanded, stepping forth to push the man off. He then ran a tender hand along the wing, admiring it in its splendor. “I need to study them first.” He murmured, entranced.

  Tazaro didn't like the sickening interest the man showed in his wings, wondering if the man was going to pin them to a corkboard, like a poor bug under scrutiny beneath the dissection scope. He fought his shiver at the thought.

  The man's fingers rolled a scapular feather between their pads. Tazaro recoiled as the short plink sounded when Areus plucked it from its place.

  “So pristine! Such wonderful condition!” He swooned, holding the feather up to eye-level.

  Tucking the feather away in a front pocket, Areus stepped over to Sheeva, who had been restrained in the same manner.

  “I’ve spent the last four years trying to figure out how you have wings. I’ve had many failures, but I...No, I cannot let that stop me. For the benefit, bets must be wagered.”

  “Bets?” Sheeva gasped, glancing behind her at the row of dismembered souls. “You’re insane!”

  “How did you come upon this gift? Surely, you would tell me now?” He pried.

  Sheeva remained silent.

  “If you don’t tell me how you gifted your husband with such a thing, perhaps after poking and prodding and plucking his wings, I’ll figure it out, and once we’ve perfected the method, I’ll give everyone the gift of–

  –I was born this way, you fucking imbecile! Those people you experiment on are wasted! Stop! Stop wasting their lives!” She cried.

  The man paused, apparently surprised at the information, and Tazaro wondered whether the man had even considered such a possibility in his psychotic search.

  “Is that so?” He asked for confirmation, seeming upset.

  Slowly, miserably, Sheeva nodded.

  “Hm. Shame you miscarried. Perhaps your child would have wings as well.” He hummed. There came the sickeningly sweet smile again. He leaned to whisper something in Sheeva’s ear, and Sheeva replied with a well-timed headbutt into the man’s already crooked nose. Tazaro had a feeling this wasn’t the first time she’d done this to him.

  He retaliated with a heavy slap that collided harshly with Sheeva's cheek, turning the alabaster skin a rosy pink in seconds. Tazaro fought against his bindings so hard that he didn't notice the cut into his skin until the warmth of fresh blood trickled down his hand.

  Areus held his now bloodied face with a hand, storming away towards the door they had been forced through moments earlier.

  "Again with the nose? Ugh!"

  Sheeva did not seem remorseful and tilted her head to hide her smug smirk, though Tazaro noted the pained glint in her eye amid pooling tears.

  “Nikolai, Dillon? Be sure to pluck them so that I can study their bone structure. Start with the primary feathers. They can’t fly without those.” He instructed in a stuffy, angered voice.

  Tazaro braced himself as he felt the grasp of his end feathers, and as they gave a mighty yank, he cried out from the painful feeling of the deeply-set end feathers as their quills were plucked fiercely from their follicles. As the man reached for another handful, Dillon stopped him.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Nikolai, what are you doing? You gotta do it slowly. One at a time. If you're gonna torture someone, fucking do it right!"

  Tazaro sent an ignored glare, grunting as another single feather was plucked with a plink that sounded in his head. He hissed as Nikolai poked at the plump, swollen follicle in curiosity. The sting reminded him of a split blister or dumb touching of a peeled scab, and he tried to swat the man's hand away with his wing.

  This only earned a tightened hold on the limb, and the man threatened to have it twisted out of its socket.

  Each pluck of his end feathers made Tazaro cringe, silently mourning the loss of his sixteen, elegantly long, sturdy primary feathers followed by the supportive, interwoven secondary feathers tucked away towards the middle of the wing. As they began to make headway on the thin, down coverts and scapulars, Nikolai grunted, frustrated with the task of pinching each one between thick, pudgy sausages.

  He blew the dusty vane off his fingers from an unsuccessful pluck and turned to the table behind him. Tazaro hoped he wasn't about to receive the insurmountable torture he'd previously imagined as the chubby man sauntered to the table to further purvey its contents.

  Tazaro prepared himself with a nonverbal cast of his passive shield as Nikolai grabbed Tyrj and Laerso in contemplation, then changed his mind and went for the leather roll of tools. How ironic that his profession would become his mental undoing!

  Nikolai scoffed disinterestedly at the tools the roll had to offer: a chisel and mallet, a wood stripper, a small saw, his combination square, a marking gauge, B.A.B.E, and his claw hammer that he swore he'd held in his tiny hands before he could even walk.

  "Babe?" Nikolai asked, holding up the tool with a judgemental curl of his eyebrow. Tazaro didn't honor the question with an answer; instead, choosing to recall the thanks and gratitude he'd expressed when his mother and Tyler had gifted him the set, explaining the acronym after many a question from Rin.

  Bad Ass Bastard, Everyday. He told himself, hoping he could cling to that feeling of worth and hope when their torturous methods were done.

  Tazaro fought to hide his worried look at the wood stripper, the specialized tool that would peel his skin into curly shavings as easily as a vegetable peeler would to a potato. As the man asked him what the tool he used to snip off the end of twigs was for, Tazaro contemplated telling the man, "stick your penis in it and squeeze the trigger to see what happens!" But, not wanting the idea to be used on him, Tazaro pursed his lips.

  “Hey, you think they react the same to Iphsium?" Nikolai asked, carelessly dropping the current tool he held on the counter.

  Tazaro's eyes widened in kind, and he looked to Sheeva. While they had discussed some of the effects of the drug, they had never discussed what to do if either of them were drugged, but Tazaro had a feeling that, since Sheeva had chosen to focus on how much she didn't need it, that would be what she would suggest.

  But, if the drug were supposed to make him feel like he was on top of the world, convincing himself he didn't need it made it seem like he'd have to view the experience as a nightmare… And who could decide what they truly felt about something?

  After ensuring their bounds were tight, the two captors left to procure the nasty stuff, and Tazaro struggled against the chains and straps holding him down in desperation.

  "Tazaro, listen to me." Sheeva hissed urgently. Tazaro didn't and focused on wiggling his wrist out of the chain shackles. If he could just get one hand free, he could liberate the rest of his body, and they might stand a chance at fighting their way out.

  "Tazaro! Listen to me!" Sheeva called again, louder and more firmly than before. Tazaro ceased his futile struggle and looked at her, stunned. Maybe, she had a better plan.

  "Listen. They are going to drug you. Find something you enjoy, and tell yourself that that thing, that place, that activity–whatever it is–that it is better than the drug they've forced you with. You don't need Ipshium to be happy. You don't need Ipshium when you're happy." She explained, slouched with fatigue and letting her head rest on the wooden examination slab she was pinned to.

  This scared Tazaro, as he wasn't sure if he could manage such a thing. What would he choose to cling to? What if it wasn't strong enough to help him overcome? Would he develop an everlasting addiction to the stuff? Would all the other beautiful things he could experience in life become second-best to a fucking drug?

  "I focused on the first time I could really fly. It was such an… Such a wonderful experience. The wind in my hair. The adrenaline rush as I dove towards the ground at a million miles a minute." She advised, appearing mildly pacified at the memories.

  So, they were going to endure rather than fight? As he stared at her in a moment of uncertainty, it seemed that they really were going to tough this moment out. He settled upon seeing her weary eyes as they fixed on the pile of feathers in the middle of the floor, reminding himself that she had just gone through something physically and psychologically demanding, and she likely didn't have the energy to fight.

  Her frown deepened to a scowl, and her miserable sigh pained his ears.

  "Sheeva, I'm sorry I got us into this–

  –Don’t. Not right now." She cut him off. Tazaro snapped his mouth shut and blinked at her, surprised by her curtness.

  "But Areus was right. It's my fault we're here in the first–

  –Tazaro, we don't have time to argue about this. I need you to prepare yourself, and I need you to be here with me–not blaming yourself,” She paused to sigh. “Nor believing that I would blame you.”

  He gaped at her for a moment, needing to stand his ground and accept the responsibility for his foolish actions. When she forced a calming breath and settled further into her chains, it derailed his angry brain.

  “Look. We've already lost our wings, and if we can't work together, we are about to lose the greatest edge we have of surviving this place. But I...I don’t have the strength to fight right now. I could barely walk. We need to bide our time and plan something.”

  “But that’s not–

  He was about to finish his thought with “fair” but found himself cut off as the door flew open and the two men appeared. Tazaro growled and struggled against his bindings. Perhaps a chain-link was weak somewhere, and he could break them, but they only rattled as he jerked his wrists around to snap them. Amid all the noise he was making, he barely heard Sheeva pointlessly plead with the two not to dose him but her instead.

  Sheeva's pleas went ignored as Dillon slipped a leather strap around Tazaro's mouth while Nikolai held up a pile of dusted, pink powder in front of his face. When Nikolai’s other fist jabbed him in the stomach, Tazaro had no choice but to breathe in the powder through his nose as it was practically shoved into his nostrils.

  The stuff burned like hell, stinking like a heavy waft of raw garlic, and he gagged as he felt the dryness of the stuff reach into the back of his sinuses. His eyes blurred as they pooled with tears from the sting, and he heaved for decent breath as Dillon took the slobbery bit out of his mouth. Exhaling as forcefully as he could from his nose in hopes of expelling the drug, he shook his head in anger and struggled even more against his bindings. He even managed to bark out a “Don’t you dare!” In response to their threatening encroach toward Sheeva.

  Unable to look away as they rudely dosed Sheeva with the same harsh method of deliverance, Tazaro’s eyes began to droop as he felt a heady rush. He was thankful for their lidded state as the firelight from the chandelier stabbed his eyes.

  Slowly, his body began to relax, and his head swam as it fell back onto the padding of the headboard. As Sheeva had told him, Tazaro likened the immediate effects to a powerful, full-body orgasm, and he briefly registered how turned on he was before a burning sensation ripped through his chest. He was thankful he was shirtless, sure that the drug was causing him to spike a fever.

  Neither of them had the scruples to fight back, it seemed, as they were released from their bound state to the tables, rebound in chains, and dragged back through the compound, Tazaro noticing that the screech of opening gates and taunts of prisoners seemed much more prominent. They almost seemed to cut into his eardrums, and as the ears tickled, it sent a ripple down into his feet.

  His body met the cold, hard ground, and Sheeva’s small frame quickly fell beside his.

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  Sheeva shuffled her wings back into her back, and his addled brain flashed the idea through his head that he should do the same, and he sat up as well. Tazaro shuddered at the eerie feeling of the enormous things slipping into his shoulders and folding into place beneath his skin.

  "You're burning up, Tazaro," Sheeva murmured.

  As Tazaro recalled a snippet of a conversation between himself and Bartholomew, Tazaro's heart skipped a beat in his chest, and he stared, wide-eyed, at a looming figure in the corner.

  Death isn't a scythe kind of guy. He's more of a syringe fellow... depending. His eyes followed the tall figure from toe to the top of what seemed like antlers, frozen to the spot with insurmountable horror. He choked on the breath obstructing what little fresh air one could get in a stuffy, straw-laden, piss-stained dungeon.

  Death stood silently in the corner in its most hideous form, here to claim their lives in a most unfair circumstance.

  He blinked as black raspberry and vanilla shampoo, tainted by the tinny scent of blood, met his still-stinging nose and looked down as a heat source pressed against his pectoral.

  “Remember what laying on the grass in the training fields felt like?” Sheeva asked him after a moment of paralyzing silence. Her quavering voice warbled in rapids of thought.

  Ah...The training grounds, with fresh air and pine, spacious fields, forest, and dusty mountains...

  Tazaro hummed as the pleased smile spread on his face. He could feel the warm sun glowing with radiant summer rays on his naked skin. As Sheeva placed a kiss on his shoulder, Tazaro recalled her sweet, tender caress and the way her light, noble giggles bubbled joy in his being.

  “Can almost feel the grass as it tickles my skin.” He mumbled, feeling further away from the frightening visage of the thing in the corner and the darkness of the cell.

  “Or picnics in the tower on a Stargazer date?”

  “Yeah…” He purred, hearing the buzz of crickets as they sang their laments while they scoured the skies, pouring over the eyepiece so much one of them was bound to be stuck with a bad case of scoliosis.

  He glanced up at the thing in the room, realizing it was just a cage with a blanket draped over it when someone passed by with a lantern to illuminate the walls.

  Sheeva began to tremble and weep, shying away from him as she scooted back and turned away, curling into herself in a heap on the floor, muttering, “That bastard! How dare he!” to herself. Tazaro wasn’t sure what Areus had said, but he curled up behind her and wrapped a leg around her waist in an attempt to comfort her. She shuffled away from him with a sharply demanded “Don’t!”

  Stricken, Tazaro obliged her request, and with a miserable sigh, he rolled over onto his other side as well as he could, staring into a spinning space on the floor.

  ***

  As what felt like eternity passed, the moons filled out from their crescent shapes, Kursu nearly full as Celeste lingered behind. Though they were partially obscured by thin clouds, they shed enough light that Tazaro could see the compound outside. He'd managed to stand and was craning his head to peer out of the barred window to see if there was any way they could get out.

  He sighed and fell back to his feet in defeat; he could barely see the tops of homes beyond the blades of grass. He began to wonder if the townspeople had any idea about the goings-on in this hellish dungeon that, from what little he could tell, was nestled somewhere beneath the town doctor’s home.

  Or perhaps the entire village was in on it, and it was some type of creepy secret punishable by death.

  His lip curled in distaste, and he scoffed.

  For the greater good, my ass.

  His face no longer burned, but he seemed more worn out than he had and wondered if this was a side-effect of the drug: that so-called “crash and burn” that he’d heard others talk about. Maybe Vincent was joking about taking the occasional hit of Ipshium because Tazaro couldn’t imagine anyone willingly putting up with feeling like this.

  Sheeva stood and walked to the edge of the cell, peering down the hallway as well as she could through the bars, then hurried to the other side and did the same.

  “When they come back to feed us, we strike and make a run for it.” She stated with a cold, calculating tone.

  “Comfortable lodgings and food? Why ever would you want to leave, Sheeva?” Tazaro muttered sarcastically, hoping to lighten the ambiance of the cell they shared. His comment either went unnoticed or immediately dismissed, and judging by the increasingly hardened stare in his wife’s eyes, it was the latter.

  “Tazaro, I need you to be serious. This...won’t be easy.”

  There was a sadness in her eyes and a reluctance in her voice, and as Tazaro’s imagination began to run away with him, his gut dropped into his feet. Would he have to...kill? He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, unwilling to think about it.

  “What’s the plan, then?” He asked, wanting to keep on track while also distracting himself from the idea of killing people.

  “When they ask us to stand with our backs to the cell to unchain us, when the one with all the keys reaches in, you grapple him, and I’ll grab the keys. Hopefully, he won’t notice, but if he does, if you can keep them busy, I can at least unlock the door. We’ll beeline for the room with all of our stuff, grab the essentials, and bolt. And if anyone should stand in our way….” She trailed off, but Tazaro felt a chill crawl up his spine at the implied.

  “I just...hope I have the energy.” He heard her mutter. The disappointed shadow that covered her face cut him like a knife, and he dropped his head with a heavy sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Sheeva. It’s all my fault. I should have been more careful.”

  Her short scoff surprised him, and he jerked his head up to look at her.

  “You’re still on about that?” She asked. “I told you it’s not!” She hissed, staring back out beyond the confines of the cell bars. Something out there received the rest of her frightening glare, though, as he studied it, felt it was as strong of a front as she could put up to prevent crying.

  “I meant for you being pregnant and miscarrying in the first place. If I’d been more careful, maybe–

  –I don’t want to talk about that.” She cut sharply, shooting him a stern glare. Her red eyes glimmered with a ferocity he had never seen before, laced with tears and her alabaster cheeks rosy with fluster. The forced expression betrayed her for all her want of sternness.

  “Right now, or at all?”

  The words fell from his tongue before he could stop them, and the flash of fright on her face and the abrupt turn of her back to him told him all he needed to know.

  He pursed his lips and frowned, sighing heavily as he crossed his arms and slid down the wall to sit in a miserable slump.

  A slammed door down the hallway made them jump, and Tazaro hurried to his feet, his stomach churning in anticipation. Sheeva hoisted herself up with the bars, leaning a little more heavily on them than Tazaro was comfortable with, considering they were going to try to make a break for it.

  “They’re coming. Be ready. On my signal, go.”

  “We, we can wait if you–” He silenced as their footsteps neared, then bit his tongue to keep from saying more.

  The two men from earlier that day appeared, and Tazaro half-expected to see a mound of birdseed on the trays instead of what looked like slimy, grey slop considering the jeers they’d made.

  “You first, woman,” Nikolai ordered.

  Sheeva stepped up to the bars and turned around, seeming a mite relieved with the release of her binds, but as she tried to walk away, Nikolai reached through and snatched her back. As he trailed his hand up her stomach and towards her breasts, Tazaro’s angry protest went unheard. He didn’t think Sheeva’s scowl of disgust could deepen any more than it already appeared.

  “You’re quite pretty, woman. Perhaps I could help you make up for that miscarriage of yours.” He stated. A pained, hateful expression flashed in Sheeva’s eyes, and she reared her head back to bash the man’s face.

  He didn’t let go, and as he reached through the bars again, Sheeva caught his hand in her mouth and bit down hard, eliciting a girly scream of pain.

  Dillon hastily unlocked the door to the cell and rushed in to free his partner’s hand, and Tazaro saw his opportunity. He rushed forward, got into a quick stance, braced a shield, and delivered a kick into the man’s stomach. The man was lifted a couple of inches off the ground, but Tazaro didn’t stop there. Instead, Tazaro proceeded to whip around and drive his other foot into the back of the man’s neck, lurching him forward into the opposite wall. He fell and crumpled into a lifeless heap on the floor.

  Threat number one dealt with, Tazaro’s furious eyes landed on the pained, frightened ones in Nikolai’s skull, who was staring in shock at his defeated partner in the cell.

  “Get your damn hands off of my wife!” Tazaro demanded with an icy, deep voice that he didn’t recognize as his own, too blinded by a curtain of red.

  Sheeva grabbed the man’s wrist, jerked his arm through the bars, and with a twist and a heavy press, snapped the man’s arm at the elbow. She reached down at the loop of keys and snatched it, then clamped the man’s jaw shut with an uppercut. Nikolai staggered backward, blood spewing from his mouth as Sheeva had managed to catch the man’s tongue between his teeth.

  Sheeva hurried to Tazaro’s backside and unlatched the shackles, and as soon as she dropped them to the floor, she urged him toward the door.

  Nikolai attempted to stop them, holding a thin knife in a shaking, outstretched fist.

  Tazaro dodged the first inexperienced slice, then blocked with a forearm as Nikolai attempted to stab him from the side. He grasped Nikolai’s wrist, ripped the blade from his weak hands, and brought him close to sink the steel into the man’s body. Once in the stomach, where it was met with almost no resistance, causing Nikolai to go limp, then again in Nikolai’s chest with more resistance as the knife tore a chasm through rib bones. An awful gasp of pain and a shuddered, raspy wheeze eked past the man’s throat in a bloody gurgle.

  Noise from the right side of the hallway snared Tazaro’s attention, and as he dropped Nikolai to ready himself, he heard Sheeva’s empowering command of “break through and run!”

  Both parties advanced, and as the goon in front tussled with Tazaro with a shortsword, Sheeva occupied another, dodging strikes from two obsidian blades.

  The force of the swing Tazaro blocked with the knife was redirected over his head, causing the knife to slip from Tazaro’s sweaty hand. Tazaro stepped to the side with ease as the man tried to bring down his sword upon Tazaro’s body, and as Tazaro drove his heel into the man’s knee to shatter it, the man cried out in pain.

  He didn’t think about it and had only seen it once, but his hands wrapped around the man’s jaw and the back of his head. With a violent twist and crunch that he briefly felt in his palms, the man’s neck snapped unnaturally to the left before springing back.

  Sheeva had also finished with her target by the time Tazaro began to stare at the man’s lifeless body in the stark clarity of his actions, and with a grunt and shove, she urged him forward. He staggered a few steps, then broke into an uneasy run, terror beginning to wrap its thorny tendrils around him.

  “Bereich!” Sheeva barked, casting a shield a couple feet ahead of them that derailed a crossbow bolt shot by a man at the doorway to the unfortunate patient’s hall. The bolt flew into a lantern and shattered it, splaying oil on the ground. Tazaro happened to see a crowd of men following behind, and he stopped to focus a fire-breathing spell.

  With a mighty bellow, Tazaro blew a breath that ignited the spilled oil, sending roaring flames that cut off their pursuer’s courses as they halted to a stop behind the fiery curtain.

  “Come on, almost there!” Tazaro urged, grasping Sheeva’s hand to help her up and pulling her with him.

  Sheeva cast another barrier to block another bolt, then held fast to Tazaro from the instant sap of strength. The bolt ricocheted into a poor prisoner’s neck, and Tazaro found himself thinking that death would offer a sweet release from whatever hells he’d been subjected to. As both of them stumbled aside and leaned heavily against a pillar in a moment of exhaustion, Tazaro formed the seals for a mannequin and slapped the opposite pillar. A stony golem as tall as him stepped out of the pillar, leaving behind a person-shaped hole in its wake, and as Tazaro commanded it to “follow us,” he helped Sheeva to lean against him as they made their way through the hallway.

  As they rounded the corner, Tazaro felt a surge of energy from relief–the door to the room where all of their equipment lay rested just beyond, though guarded by two people who seemed to be on the lookout.

  With a command, he ordered the golem to take the brunt of the attack.

  The goons at the entrance to the room increasingly lost their minds as all the attacks they unleashed on the stone mannequin failed, and without a flinch, the mannequin took them down. Stepping past the soulless thing, Tazaro muttered to it to watch the door, feeling a strange sense of pride for the creation now acting as watchful sentry.

  Tazaro hurried them to the long table where most of their things rested, surprisingly in good condition. Even his toolkit seemed still intact, and he crammed it into his bag, along with Sheeva’s favored medicine bag. Tyrj and Laerso seemed happy to see him as they glimmered in the lantern light, and he couldn’t have felt more relieved to have their leather straps wrapped around his chest again, even if it was bare for lack of finding his shirt amid the items. Maybe, it was on some other goon...and maybe, it would look better stained with said goon’s blood.

  An array of screams from the hallway at their left rang out, shrieking in horror at some unknown “monster.” Tazaro looked to Sheeva, who had already finished gearing up, tightening the last strap of her leather vanguard.

  “What on Sferra is going on–

  Tazaro and Sheeva wheeled around at the madman’s questioning, booming voice as he stepped out of the room, and Tazaro felt sorry for the poor soul strapped to the surgical table inside, appearing bloodied and subjected to some other kind of horrendous experiment.

  Areus paused the wiping of his stained hands onto a now stained towel, peering at them in surprise beyond his spectacles.

  Before the man could turn tail and hide in the confines of the surgical room, Tazaro lashed at the handle behind him with a thread of energy to slam the door shut in the man’s face, relishing in Areus’s nervous squeak. Sheeva unsheathed Abraxas and held him in front of her. Eager to assist, Tazaro drew Tyrj and Laerso, turning to glance at the unguarded door as a blood-curdling scream echoed out. Whatever manner of beast it was, it was getting closer.

  “Sheeva, something’s here.” He muttered, stepping to her backside and staring at the wooden door. “Maybe it’ll take care of this bastard for us.” He suggested.

  “Fuck that,” Sheeva stated, surprising Tazaro. “I'll take that luxury for myself!” Sheeva hissed, steeling herself and taking a couple of steps forward.

  “Sheeva, what?” Tazaro called out. It was ignored, and Sheeva reached forward and snatched the man’s coat, jerking him around and tossing him onto the floor. Tazaro took a step back as the man stopped at his feet, then looked up at Sheeva as she formed a seal and slapped her hand through it.

  Thick, dirty roots sprung through the spaces between the stones and coiled around Areus’s limbs, tying him to the ground.

  “You insolent bastard. All those people, tormented for your stupid ideal. Your disgusting statement about me being a breeder…” She seethed, erratic breathing coming in a wisp as she gave a delirious huff. “I hope you rot in the underworld.”

  Whatever Sheeva was planning to do, Tazaro had no desire to witness it, and as the man’s pained outcry wailed into the room, Tazaro cringed. He only glanced back to see if she was done, but as he saw her booted foot on the man’s crotch, he decided seeing that was more than enough and averted his gaze to the open door where the stone golem still stood watch.

  Steadfast and strong, the stubborn thing waited, guarding the door with a blank face and crossed arms, as though daring the next person to try to break past.

  Tazaro turned back to look at the closed door as something thudded against it. He heard the scuff of armor slide down against the doorway. Whatever was out there was on its way in, and they were out of time.

  “Sheeva, it’s–Bereich!” He barked, casting a shield that prevented the splinters of wood from piercing them like tiny arrows as the door burst.

  Beyond the blue, beehive shield of energy, Tazaro watched a tall, blurry figure emerge from the dust, two long horns jutting towards the ceiling and large wings curled around the creature’s frame, no doubt laced to act as an armor of some kind. The shield fell, and as the dust cleared, Tazaro’s worry faltered with it.

  “You’d think with a prison, they would have steel doors, not flimsy...Oh.” Bartholomew’s voice called out, trailing to a simple utterance as he saw the situation. His teal eyes trailed from the golem at the door and an eyebrow arched in wonder; to Tazaro’s half-naked state and pallid face; then to Sheeva, with a faint look of relief towards both of them. Finally, as his eyes lowered to the floor behind Tazaro, they widened in impressive shock.

  “Who was–

  –Just a man who wanted to play as a god.” Sheeva stated, delivering a final kick to what Tazaro assumed was a battered corpse.

  “Can we get out of here? We’re still sitting ducks!” Tazaro pressed, eager to get away from the horridness of the place...or perhaps, he wanted to start running from his actions.

  Bartholomew cleared his throat and waved his claw. In the corner of the room, a thin, wiry line of dark, pulsing energy appeared.

  “This will take you out of the compound. Touch it, and walk in a straight line. Well, as well as you can, anyway.” He ordered.

  Tazaro didn’t want to linger around anymore and turned to Sheeva, offering her his hand, though only then did he see a stain of blood on his palm. He wondered whose blood it was, considering he didn’t have any wounds himself, and as the crushing despair with himself began to fall, Tazaro shrunk back. He stared at his hands, examining them in all their terrible capacity.

  He blinked as a pair of smaller hands took hold of his and squeezed, and though they were warmer than his, Sheeva’s fingers felt just as cold.

  “Come. Let us go.” She stated in a bare whisper.

  Tazaro nodded and allowed her to guide him to the strange line, and as they reached out to touch it, he squeezed his eyes shut at a brilliant flash of light.

  An eerie, maddening silence roared, deafening and thunderous, and he felt his heart pound, frantic and somewhat delirious. An odd, spinning sensation met his body, and as he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. Millions of stars spun around, spiraling like water in a drain towards a focal point a few yards in front of them. It seemed nothing escaped this drain, not even light, and he wondered what lay beyond the mystical horizon.

  “What in the gods’ names is this?” He asked, wheeling his head to look around. Had they been jettisoned into the skies beyond Sferra? If they had, wouldn’t this be overkill, considering they were only traveling a mile or so? Were they gazing at the eye of the universe?

  He looked behind himself, wondering if he could see Sferra from wherever they were, but all he could see was an ever-expanding source of fleeting stars.

  Tazaro gulped. Would they plummet towards the ground and become pudding without their wings to break their fall if they were truly beyond the skies?

  “This is...I have been here before.” Sheeva muttered, clinging to Tazaro’s arm.

  “You have?” He asked, wondering if they were actually still on Sferra somehow.

  “Yes. As a child. Bartholomew carried me through this when he rescued me from the orphanage in Torde. I believe it is as simple as just...walking through.”

  He looked at her, realizing he could see her as clear as standing in the sunlight, and as she squeezed his upper arm, it emboldened him. His fingers entwined with hers, and as they made a testing step of faith towards the sinkhole of stars, he found the first land of his foot was met with something seeming solid.

  He craned his head to look beneath his feet, but the zoom of stars made him dizzy. The silence devoured him, and as Sheeva fell to a knee, so did he. The weight of extra gravity crushed him, and as he lay there, pinned between an invisible floor and suffocating invincible power, Tazaro contemplated his crazy circumstance.

  His eyes fixed on Sheeva’s face, miserable and worn out by fighting, eyes closed to weather what had to be a fear-induced hallucination.

  Tazaro groaned, struggled to his hands and knees, and then shuffled Sheeva onto his back. Wearily, he crawled along the invisible path, wondering if they would fall to their doom should his hand slip off the edge and send them spiraling into the halo of darkness.

  Almost there. Gods, just let us get a little–

  “Geeze. Can’t hold your liquor, can’t hold your portals. Get a grip, boy!” Bartholomew cackled, standing above them with a grin on his jowls.

  Tazaro was unamused, to say the least, and as the ta’hal reached down and scooped the both of them up to carry them like sacks of flour towards freedom, Tazaro let himself hang, thoroughly exhausted.

  The step through the door wrecked his senses, and as they stepped into an alleyway lit by broad daylight, the hustle and bustle of busy shoppers and cries of vendors greeted his buffeted-by-silence ears. His core no longer spun, and as he felt the sudden lighter weight of his limbs, held faith that he must now be back on Sferra.

  “Hey, let me down. I, I’d like to stand now.” Tazaro urged, tapping the beast’s incredibly thick forearms, only now noticing that they were covered in blood. He lifted his blood-painted palm and stared at it in fear. Had Bartholomew slaughtered the whole town?

  Bartholomew gently set the both of them down, then headed across the way to sit down. Tazaro made to help Sheeva first, but she shook her head to signal she was okay, then tipped her head to Bartholomew.

  Tazaro stood and turned to Bartholomew to say his gratitude but stopped. He appeared just as worn out as the both of them. Sure enough, the ta’hal’s blue scales shined with blood, and the spots of fur sticking underneath were matted and sticky. His tail-blade dripped with the stuff, and as Bartholomew shuffled his wings into a comfortable position, the wooden poles of pikes stuck out from his wings.

  “Whoa, you’re hurt kind of badly, man.” He blurted, hurrying to his friend’s side and lifting a wing to examine the damage. Bartholomew brushed him off with a hand.

  “It’s not the worst I’ve incurred...dude.” He grunted with a snort. Still, as Tazaro cast a healing spell on a deeper wound in the ta’hal’s side, Bartholomew snarled and bared his teeth in a warning sneer, ears flattening against his head.

  He reached over with a claw and grabbed a pike, snapping the thing in half and tearing it out of his wing, chucking the pieces on the ground in hasty discard. Tazaro opened his mouth to protest but closed it as the ta’hal proceeded to snap the piercings and remove them, the wounds sizzling as they began to heal closed.

  “Where are we?” Tazaro asked, peering out into the street beyond the alley.

  “Agonia. Where we were supposed to meet. You two were late, and when I searched for you, I felt something was wrong. You both had ended up using a lot of magic somewhere.” He explained. Bartholomew’s stern gaze softened, and his maw dropped into a frown as his eyes darted to Sheeva, then fell, downcast.

  “Sheeva, I’m sorry about your–

  –That’s enough.”

  Sheeva’s harshness was enough to make even Bartholomew gape, and he closed his mouth, nodding in response. He cleared his throat and stood, wandering further into the alleyway before waving his hand. Another portal appeared, and he stopped, turning to face them.

  “There should be an inn. Take this, and get some rest.” He urged, reaching for a satchel at his side and tossing it to them. It rolled to a stop at Sheeva’s side.

  “Where did you get–

  –You don’t raid a dungeon and not loot the bodies, Tazaro. Haven’t you ever played Castles and Crusaders?” He offered with a scoff before setting his hand on the portal. It shut with a bizarre shoom sound.

  Sheeva had already stood, picked up the coin pouch, and pocketed it by the time Tazaro had turned around. He was lost in thought, dismayed. They weren’t just bodies. They’d been people.

  He felt the chill of a disguising spell, and as he looked at himself, saw that Sheeva had covered both of their blood-ridden states.

  “We should hurry. I don’t know how long I can keep this cover-up.” She insisted. Tazaro followed her out into the sun, wondering how long it had been since he had felt warm rays on his bare skin.

  They hurried to the first inn they could find, and just as they reached the door, the spell Sheeva had cast faltered. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice two clean people suddenly appearing bloody, dirty, and in shambles.

  Sheeva handled the transaction, willing to offer extra money as compensation for their filthy state and even more for the shocked man’s silence.

  Tazaro felt a surreal sense of safety as they stepped into the room, and to further secure themselves, as soon as Sheeva closed the door, he turned and placed a ward on it. The sigil flashed, then faded, but Tazaro couldn't care less, immediately backing away from the door as though it would grow teeth and bite at them.

  The room darkened as Sheeva pulled the curtains closed, and Tazaro frowned at the fact, not wanting to be reminded of the cell they’d shared so soon after their escape. He sat down at the desk and lit the wick to the lantern sitting there, brightening it as much as it would allow, then sat back, lost for words as he gathered his thoughts.

  His gaze fell back upon his blood-stained hands, and in a daze, he slowly recollected how it had felt to drive a knife into a man’s gut or snap a neck as effortlessly as he had. It’d been so quick, and he hadn’t felt remorse or even hardly registered what he’d done until this moment. The news terrified him, and he wondered if it was acceptable. He felt ashamed; he could have held back but instead went all-out in a reckless charge for escape.

  “Oh, gods. What have I done?” He asked himself, turning the shaking things over to look at the dried blood patterns splayed over the backs of his hands.

  “You defended yourself, Tazaro,” Sheeva stated sternly, walking up to him. Apparently, she had begun to draw a bath, evident by the sound of running water and wisp of steam rising into the air. It was fragrant, and Tazaro inhaled deeply, calmed by the scent of lavender and black raspberry soap. Had Sheeva already bathed by the time she broke him free of thought?

  No. Sheeva had only stripped and washed the blood off of her hands in the sink, the white towel the inn offered tinted pink by murky water. It pooled next to the lantern as she set it on the desk.

  "Come with me. You'll want to bathe," She urged as she knelt at his feet to struggle with his boots, unlacing the hastily tightened laces.

  “Sheeva, what are–

  –Shh.” She hushed him gently with a hand on his knee and a bare glance up towards his face. Their eyes met briefly before hers darted away to hide in the corners as she dropped her head back to his booted feet.

  “This is…something you will have to process.” She said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "It's best to do so when you're as relaxed as possible–reflect, and acknowledge…everything."

  She focused on freeing his feet from his shoes, then sat back on her heels in contemplation. Her hand reached up to cup his face, and he knew she felt him flinch at the quick action. She lowered her hand to the strap of his weapons and loosened it, too, draping them over the arm of the chair he slumped in.

  Tenderly taking his hands in hers, she helped him stand and guided him to the tub, now half-full of hot water. She stopped it there, and it slowly dawned on him that they were going to bathe together. Tazaro didn’t realize he was surprised about such a commonplace activity until he saw himself in the mirror.

  However, as he saw his state, Tazaro wished he hadn’t, as he was more covered in blood than he previously believed.

  The first step into the bath snapped him to a moment of serenity, and he sighed as he sat down and sunk, then melted even more when she got in and sat down opposite him. The hot water risen up to his collarbones burned away the caked blood, and as Sheeva began to wash in silence, Tazaro figured that washing himself would be an excellent first step.

  He found his hands still trembled when he reached for the loofah, and as Tazaro clenched the poofy thing in his hands and worked the thing across his skin, he scowled. Though his skin was now clear, he still felt filthy and undeserving. He grasped the pumice stone in a firm hand and raked it across his forearm, feeling a wave of relief at the harsh purification the stone signified, but as it felt too similarly like the leather-strapped handle of the knife he’d plunged into the man’s chest, Tazaro flinched again.

  He raked the stone across his skin harder, feeling the rash of scraped skin and satisfaction of his previous, long-abolished self-destructive habit. He only managed to get away with it once more before Sheeva noticed, and as her hands pried the stone from his and dropped it on the tray next to her and out of his reach, they scowled sternly at each other.

  “Tazaro, stop that. You know your self-effacement does not help.” She demanded angrily, then softened with a forlorn sigh. She reached for the loofah at her side and lathered it up with soap, then reached for his other arm.

  He moved it out of reach, unwilling to be "pampered," if that was what Sheeva was trying to do.

  "How can you pretend everything's alright? In case you don't understand: I just-I killed a man. Two!” He blurted, then swallowed back his guilt as he realized it had been much more than two.

  "N-no, Sev–Several," He sighed in self-depreciation, wringing his hands through his unkempt hair as he curled into a ball of misery.

  Sheeva didn’t point out that if anyone were to understand what he'd just been through, it would be her, and reached for his arm again. Her touch was gentle as she worked the loofah across his arm, onto his shoulder, and down his chest. Initially guarded and still defensive, as he felt the silkiness of soap etch beyond the film of filth and shame, Tazaro relented into her hold, even turning around so she could wash his back.

  At least, this way, she couldn't see him weep, innocence stolen by his own, angered self.

  “Oh, Tazaro,” She sighed as she pressed her knuckles into a tense muscle along his spine. “You did what you had to do to survive. We both did. There is nothing wrong with defending yourself, but unfortunately, sometimes it ends in death.” She whispered, cupping handfuls of warm water to rinse off his back.

  “I, I only wish I could have spared you the heartache and disgrace of this side of my adventures. It is not something I ever wanted for you.” She murmured, pulling him back to lie against her. Her breasts pressed into his back as her slender hands wrapped around his torso to hug him tightly to her.

  “And, if you still believe you deserve punishment or that...anything is your fault, please, don’t. Forgive yourself. I already have.” As she placed a chaste kiss on his temple, Tazaro broke further.

  His heart ached, withered in his chest as the sobs racked his body, whimpers tearing past a taut throat and echoing into the stillness of the room. Once calm, the purity of the moment brought with it clarity, and Tazaro rationalized that, since he felt this much remorse, he was indeed still a good person at heart. As his eyelids drooped, he sighed and sank further into her embrace, and if not for her suggestion to move towards the bed before they “fell asleep in the tub,” he would have let sleep carry him away into a much-needed slumber.

  “Sheeva, what about you? Don't you need to–

  –Please, don’t. Not-not right now.” She hissed defiantly in a bare whisper.

  Tazaro frowned but didn’t reach for her hand to take it.

  “Sheeva…please.”

  –I…I need time.” She said shortly through pursed lips and downcast rubies.

  “Time? I don’t believe you.” He argued. "I think you're afraid to talk about it. But, we have to."

  Sheeva’s telling scowl deepened before she turned her head away and sat up, shuffling herself towards the edge of the bed. He reached out and grabbed her wrist to stop her, but she pulled her hand away and towards her chest, an icy, masking-her-pain glare directed his way. Instead of shrinking back like it would have made him, it ignited a well of anger in Tazaro, and he sat up.

  “Sheeva, come on. We have to talk about your–

  –we do not need to discuss anything about my mis– She stopped, feeling the heat burn on her face. “Feh!” She huffed, grabbing the throw blanket and an extra pillow.

  “I will sleep on the couch!” She barked, standing out of the bed.

  “What? Why? Because you don't want to face your stubbornness and–

  As Sheeva barked out a command for a spell, she threw a cloud of grey in his face, and Tazaro felt his body go limp in an awkward sprawl on the mattress before he unwillingly slipped away into the cradle of sleep.