Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Jun 12, 2022 5:53:43 GMT
Co-written with Velania Kalugina 💚🤍
Random fey tea flavour by Anthony 🍵
The eleventh day of Kythorn. One month and two days since they departed for Phlegethos.
It’s late afternoon. Zola walks into a sparsely-populated Castleside, barefooted as usual, wearing a sleeveless dress with a belt carrying The Twins, sheathed, around her waist. It isn’t difficult to spot silver-haired Velania, sitting on a white marble bench, not far from the Temple of Selûne, in a peaceful, sunlit corner of the square. She is dressed in a simple summer dress with the sleeves rolled up and has brought a book out with her but has clearly just been absent-mindedly people-watching, letting her thoughts wander.
She has a bit of a resting stress face but as soon as she sees Zola approaching, she smiles warmly and stands up to embrace the drow. “Zola! You’re back.”
“Hi Velania,” Zola greets back, returning the smile and the hug before unclasping the belt from her body. “Sorry about this. I heard there’s an invasion coming, so I thought I shouldn’t go unarmed…”
“It’s been a bit of a stressful time around here. The whole city is on high alert the whole time.” Velania frowns a little. “Everyone’s armed — and tensions are high. It’s… It makes me wish for simpler times.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You look a little… tired.”
“Hah. I am generally. But I just got back from Galavir yesterday, so I’m in need of a quiet day today. But tell me… how was your trip? Are you back for good, or just passing through?”
“I’m just stopping by for now. I wish I could help but I’m no use to anyone in this state.” Zola’s smile turns a little sad. The two women sit down on the bench, Zola placing The Twins next to her as she does. “I’ve just been resting at home now. I’m… I’m learning Infernal.”
Velania chuckles at that, then looks at Zola fondly. “You’ve earned a rest. That was an experience I… I don’t think any of us were ready for.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it’s been over a month already. It feels like just yesterday we were fighting for our lives in Hell… How have you been holding up? How’s everyone else?”
“Well…” Velania leans back and exhales slowly. “Sorrel’s around. She’s doing okay. Kavel’s around. I haven’t seen Silvia, though I think Sorrel would have said if anything huge was up.” She pauses. “I haven’t seen Marto at all, though. Have you heard news of him?”
Zola has been nodding along with a smile, relieved to hear that everyone is doing fine, but frowns worriedly at the lack of news on Marto. “Umm… No. Maybe he went back home to his family?”
Velania shrugs sadly. “And of course, Kháos just vanished. Just like they always do.” She rolls her eyes.
Zola nods again, turning her head to stare ahead as she thinks of the changeling. They never really did get to know Kháos well. “I think that moment in Portal Plaza was farewell for them,” she murmurs, then looks back at Velania. “Have you heard anything from Rholor? The Jackal? Or… An’Ahkrim?”
Velania stares into the distance, and there’s a frisson of excitement in her eyes. “So… I was a bit out of sorts when we parted in Portal Plaza, so I probably didn’t explain it very well, but Jackal wasn’t just Jackal. Obviously you gathered that much already. His name — his true name — is Je’Sathriel. There are old stories of the angel Je’Sathriel falling from grace, and being cast out. It’s always struck me as some sort of myth or exaggeration, because, well, it was just a story, really.”
“What did he do to get cast out?”
“All I can gather so far is that it was something to do with the Unending Word. It was needed for him to break the cycle. I’m still trying to get to the bottom of that. I think there’s texts around here I can delve into, but to be honest”—she gestures to the book beside her—“I am still a bit out of sorts. So I can only get my head around light reading at the moment. Trust me, I am going to get to the bottom of this, though.” Velania stares at Zola with a sudden ferocity. “We helped an angel, Zola. We helped save him. Yes, we saved Rholor, we saved the Dawnlands. But we also shook up the Celestial world. Possibly in a big way.”
Zola nods, blinking as she recalls Je’Sathriel’s words in Phlegethos. “You seem very excited about all this, Velania,” she observes.
“Yes, I suppose I am…” Velania grins and shifts restlessly. “It’s not every day an angel comes to visit. Tell me, Zola… Did you like Jackal?”
“Ummm... I caaan’t say I did?” she replies a bit sheepishly — her voice going up an octave — but honestly.
Velania nods immediately. “I didn’t like him either. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say I hated him when I first met him. He seemed a cruel man to me — perhaps angry, perhaps bitter. And to be honest, even as we worked more with him, I didn’t exactly warm to him.”
“Oh yeah, he’s a dickhead,” Zola adds quickly when she’s sure Velania isn’t offended. Velania grins sideways at that.
“But I started to feel an understanding,” the aasimar continues. “He was a wounded man, Zola. People who feel hurt inflict it on others sometimes. And none of that is what you’d expect from an angel, right?”
“Not exactly. Though I don’t really know much about them anyway. The Heralds called themselves angels too,” she muses out loud.
“Hah, true. So… We find ourselves in the position of having helped a man who we don’t particularly like, but yet, he is still a good man. It’s very disconcerting, feeling glad for him. Continuing to dislike him seems too cheap, too easy. Something I no longer have the energy to maintain. Does that make sense?” Velania’s expression becomes pensive. “He sacrificed so much for us — for the world — and now he has a chance at finding his own peace again.”
Zola gives her a gentle smile. “It does make sense, Velania. And yes, that does explain a lot about him. But I have to say — I think the credit for ending the cycle should go to you. Whatever you said to An’Ahkrim must’ve gone through.”
Velania’s face creases into puzzlement. “I thought it was all Je’Sathriel’s doing, surely. Or yours — maybe An’Ahkrim saw you coming and thought twice.” Her face falls as Zola purses her lips. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
Velania continues. “An’Ahkrim was… not like the others, I think. He questioned his deeds. He had doubt from the outset.” She stares into an empty patch of sky, as if the purple half-moon might still be there. “He was lost, and we helped him find another way. But I’m still worried about him. He abandoned his companions. He betrayed them. That isn’t something you walk away from lightly.”
Zola follows her gaze and sighs. “Yeah. The rest of them are dead but where even is he now? I can’t imagine the followers of Shar are happy with him doing what he did.”
Velania grins mischievously. “Who knows, maybe he’s sitting on a cloud with a goblet of ambrosia and only Je’Sathriel for company. That might be enough to send anyone back to Shar.” Zola laughs heartily at that. “But yes, I’m concerned he might be in danger. Certainly from others, or even just himself. And us… We’re connected to his betrayal, after all. There may be others who wish to seek revenge. Even to attempt to restart the Unending Word.” Velania sighs. “It’s never really over, is it?”
Zola’s face scrunches up suddenly. The rusty gears in her head are starting to turn. “Do you remember that lot out in the desert?” she asks. “Themis. The Unending Ones. You don’t think they might try to restart the cycle, do you?”
Velania purses her lips in a frown. “This is how I look at it: if an assorted bunch of righteous do-gooders turned up and criticised your core beliefs, and then took the artefacts you gave them and used them to shatter your whole raison d’etre… Well, what would you do? I rather think Themis has some serious choices to make here. And I don’t like to think what they are. She lectured us about being polite, Zola. When she was willing to help the Heralds commit torture, murder, genocide. And she was concerned that we weren’t being polite.”
The sword dancer casts a look down at Castor and Pollux next to her, brows knitted together in concern. “You’re right,” she says quietly.
“She had some notion of balance, or something,” Velania says. “Who knows what the cosmos wants. Perhaps there were other reasons to empower the servants of Shar. I wouldn’t presume to second-guess things far beyond our comprehension. If Rholor knows more about such things, perhaps I can seek his counsel when he’s well enough.”
Velania realises her voice has escalated. She’s been speaking with force, with anger. She takes a breath, then speaks more calmly. “I suppose we can only deal with what’s in front of us for now. You’re right — we need to find out more about Themis. You earned those”—she gestures to Castor and Pollux—“you earned The Twins the hard way. You paid a heavy price, Zola.”
The sun has slid through the sky into the early evening, and the spot they are sitting in is now falling behind the lengthening shadows. Velania casts a glance across the square, then turns to the drow. “Can I make a suggestion? You promised me some good tea leaves, Zola. How about we go put a brew on? I want to hear how you are faring. But first, I think it would help if we had something to hold.”
Zola was still staring at The Twins as Velania spoke, her face unseen to the other woman. After a beat, an empty pause, she turns back to Velania with a cheerful smile. “Why, of course! My mother Lillian picked some choice strains for us,” she chirps as she unties a small leather pouch from the belt. “She’s something of a connoisseur, you’ll see.”
The kettle hanging over the fire whistles cheerfully. Zola takes its handle with a rag and brings it over to the small table in the centre of the bare kitchen, where she pours hot water into two cups, each with a strainer stuffed with leaves sitting at the bottom.
“So, what do we have here? I don’t think I’ve ever had tea from the Feywild before,” says Velania. “…In fact, I don’t know an awful lot about the Feywild. What is is like, where you come from?”
“You’ve never been, huh?” Zola says, stirring the fragant tea, pouring drops of milk, and dropping spoonfuls of sugar as appropriate. “Everything is brighter and more colourful than in the Material Plane. You feel emotions more strongly there. Passions run high, time flows haphazardly, and everyone trades in deals, songs, and stories. It’s wonderful.“
“I visited only once. I was there for the Ascension of Queen Nicnevin. I even voted for her appointment.” Velania glances at Zola’s eldercross, the crystal crest growing from her forehead, then leans in conspiratorially. “I have to confess, they all seemed wise and powerful and extraordinary to me. I voted based on her being the most beautiful. I hope that doesn’t make me shallow!”
Zola breaks out into giggles. “Velania!” she gasps with a mock-scandalised palm over her mouth. “That’s something I would expect from Ophanim, not y—”
She suddenly stops, and her smile falters once she realises that she’d blurted out his name without thinking. Velania had shared the laughter but when Zola’s smile fades, her face becomes neutral again.
“Well, you aren’t wrong. Queen Titania is majestic and all but even she doesn’t hold a candle to the Moonweaver,” Zola adds quickly, feeling conspicuously awkward as she passes Velania’s cup to her.
“We share that connection, don’t we? The power of the moon. I imagine she’s even more intense in the Feywild. There’s a lot of… sensuality in the worship of Selûne. Even a touch of the erotic… but compared to fey lunar circles, I imagine the version of worship we have here must seem a little tame,” Velania muses absently, before blushing in surprise at herself.
She snaps back into the conversation. Suddenly, she fixes Zola with a certain stare. Her face becomes kind and tranquil, but her gaze is determined. She does not let up, and allows the silence to stretch between them for a moment, before she speaks.
“So. Infernal, huh?”
Zola gives her a sideways stare as she sits down, cupping her hands over her tea to feel the warmth emanating through the china. It’s obvious what Velania is trying to get at.
She gazes down at her blurry reflection in the tea water for a long moment, not sipping it, not speaking a word. Velania sits still, comfortable with the silence, giving Zola the space to dig deep and develop words for her feelings. When the aasimar does this, her youthful demeanour all but fades. She radiates maternal warmth, patience, acceptance.
“Right before I received Castor from Themis,” Zola finally says, her voice quiet, “I was losing faith in The Jackal’s ability in ending the cycle. So the night we got back to Daring Heights, I asked Ophanim to run away with me. I wonder, had he said yes, if that would’ve broken the cycle the same way An’Ahkrim did…?”
“And he said no, didn’t he? Why was that?”
“Because he sought a beautiful death. He cared little for Shar’s goals or even his comrades’. That was all he wanted. And he wanted it to be me.”
“So you wanted to spare him. To persuade him otherwise. Do you know what set him on this path?”
“He said he was bored. And that… that crossing swords with me again — fulfilling a prophecy, emulating an eternal, divine conflict — and dying at my hands would be the greatest work of art he— we could ever create.”
Zola lifts the teacup and sips from it calmly. It is a light infusion that tastes of mint, charcoal, a tiny, dried sprig of a blue, woody plant, and a touch of crushed stone that has been washed by rain under a waxing moon.
“And he was right,” she whispers.
Velania sips her own tea quietly. She waits. “So he believed in this divine conflict too. Was it Rahmiël’s doing, do you think? Persuading him to pursue this fate?”
“I think Rahmiël just wanted him to do what she wanted: to kill us all. I don’t think she knew what his real plans were.”
“He really got into your heart, didn’t he? I could sense some of it. I didn’t realise how badly it was affecting you.”
Zola lets out a scoff, a wistful smile spreading across her face. “I love him. I wish I didn’t. He was a horrible person. He was a murderer, a… a cruel, awful, remorseless, stupid, self-absorbed, shallow jerk of a fiend. But I do anyway.”
She casts a glance at The Twins, lying over each other on the side of the table. Inseparable since their separation. “We’re complete opposites. Yet when we talked in that dream with the machine, it felt so natural, and afterwards I just wanted to see him again. When we fought, it was the most sublime thing I have ever experienced. And when we made love, it was…”
Her voice trails off, and she turns to look at Velania with a subtle wet sheen over her amber eyes. “I suppose you’re judging me for loving someone like him.”
“No, Zola,” she says, very, very gently. “Never. I saw how much pain you were in. I felt it too… Whenever I looked at you, before we left for Phlegethos. I was… afraid for you. And I couldn’t reach you…” Velania’s voice tapers off. She sounds hoarse. “The important thing is: are you judging yourself?”
Zola takes a deep breath. Then she shakes her head with a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
“‘The heart wants what the heart wants.’ We’re all ruled by the whims of this strange, little machine beating inside our chests, no matter how much we try to defy it. I believe he, too, didn’t understand why he loved me.” She chuckles. Her eyes are bright as she meets Velania’s gaze. “I don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made. In the end, we created something beautiful, something extraordinary, and we are whole for it. Balanced. Like Castor and Pollux. Like… like Shar and Selûne once were.”
Velania laughs bitterly. “That dream device. It was their downfall, wasn’t it? That’s when it all started spiralling out of control. If you hadn’t diverted Ophanim from his path, and I hadn’t changed An’Ahkrim’s, and Marto hadn’t changed Adhyël’s focus… I shudder to think. It cost you dearly though. To earn that balance. Like Jackal, you paid a painful price.”
“Yes,” Zola says, sighing softly and drinking more of her tea. “He had to die and I had to live in order for the balance to be struck. It’s how it should be. I just wish… I just wish I could touch him, hear the sound of his voice, speak to him again… I miss him so much. But well, I can’t have my cake and eat it.”
Velania is silent for a while, and when Zola finally looks over at her, she sees the other woman blinking hard, focusing her gaze on an empty spot on the wall ahead. “It is hard to carry unspoken words in your heart. One of the hardest things…”
The paladin shifts in her seat to face Velania fully. “Sounds like you have experience in that department.”
Velania exhales slowly. In a sudden moment of distraction, she looks at her writing desk, as if an important task is waiting for her there. She looks at the floor. Then she glances at the stove, as if she suddenly needs to get up and make another brew. Then she turns and sees Zola studying her carefully. She slumps back in her seat in surrender.
“Yes. There’s lots of things I haven’t been able to say. I wanted to talk to Sorrel. I wanted to talk to Marto so badly. And An’Ahkrim… There’s a whole list of people, really… But… gah! Look at me! I’m still avoiding the issue, aren’t I?” She huffs in laughter and centres herself…
Zola lays a gentle hand on top of hers. “What’s the issue?”
“I think I’m in love too, Zola.” Her voice cracks, but then her fingers curl around Zola’s, and she grips her tighter.
She continues, “But then, we’re at war now. And there’s no room for that kind of thing anymore. This emergency going on around here? Everyone’s talking about town raids and pirates and all that, but I have a horrible feeling that the one thing they’re after is Coll. They want whatever he has in his head. I don’t understand the first thing about it, but they’re hunting for him. He’s in danger, and every day I am living in terror that he’s going to disappear.”
Velania’s breathing quickens. There is a tremendous fervour and energy overtaking her. “I only wish I had your bravery, Zola. You fell for a guy, and you did something. At least you did something. But I spent months doing nothing but thinking about him. And then, finally, I got the nerve to say something about it. And then he… he got sick. And I lost my chance to tell him. And when we went to Phlegethos, all I wanted to do…”
She is fighting back tears, and exhales raggedly to steady herself. “I couldn’t see him to say goodbye…” She sinks into herself, exhausted. “Not even goodbye.”
Velania laughs ruefully. “It sounds strange, saying that out loud to someone who can hear me.” She smiles sadly at Zola. “I love him. But I’m terrified.”
Zola’s expression becomes deeply saddened. She squeezes Velania’s hand and puts her other hand on the priestess’s shoulder, rubbing up and down comfortingly. “Velania… I had no idea you were carrying this burden this whole time. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “That’s why the geef-yankee are invading this place? Gods…”
Inching forward a little, she fixes the other woman with a kind gaze. “Velania, have you even had a chance to just… process your feelings? To stop and let yourself cry?”
Velania leans into Zola’s side. She sounds very tired. “I… I try. When I’m alone, sometimes. It’s so hard to make space. I’m being pulled in so many directions all the time. Everyone needs things. The war is ongoing. People need evacuating, care, counseling. I’ve found myself essentially mothering people in the church. It is exhausting. But as the most annoying man I’ve ever met said: All you can do is keep on doing the work.”
Zola gives a melancholic smile as her hand moves from Velania’s shoulder to her back. “It’s alright to lose yourself in work, but you need to balance it out, Velania, you need to give yourself a break before — gods forbid — your body or your mind breaks. Take some time for yourself. Ask others for help. You’ve been through so much. You’ve done so much good already. You deserve it.”
Velania nods slowly. “Maybe I do. Maybe. But I’m not leaving his side. You said it yourself, Zola: the heart wants what the heart wants. No matter how much love takes from you, you still wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She wraps herself in her arms, as if a chill has entered the room, and sits in silence for a moment. “This might sound perverse, but I think I realised I was in love when I understood how much it would hurt…”
Velania leans her head onto Zola’s shoulder, and her body is wracked by sobs. Zola holds her as best as she can.
“When Je’Sathriel teleported us out of Phlegethos, I saw a dream,” Zola murmurs in Velania’s ear, “I saw three young ladies in a lake under a full moon, and they told me, ‘There is no shame in loving someone. Love is never a weakness. It is the only thing worth having, even though it hurts more than anything.’”
Velania acknowledges this through her tears. After a while, she sits up straighter, blowing her nose. She laughs. “Look what you’ve done, Zola. You made an angel ugly-cry.”
Zola grins at her. “Even angels should be allowed to cry sometimes.”
Velania returns the grin. Then snorts loudly and unangelically into her handkerchief.
“You saw a vision when we left Phlegethos? Then you have been touched by the gods. That’s a powerful blessing. I’m certain of it." She clasps both of her hands over one of Zola’s. “Someone is looking after you. You know, when we left Phlegethos, I saw something too. I felt the embrace of… my ancestors, I think. Of the highest servants of Selûne. I was surrounded by warmth and kindness. I felt a great sense of peace. They aren’t all like Jackal up there, you know.”
“That’s a relief. This world isn’t big enough for more than one Jackal, that’s for sure. Here, drink your tea before it gets cold.” She picks up Velania’s cup and puts it in her empty palm. “I don’t know anything about Coll’s situation, but for the other items on your list… Perhaps you can take it one step at a time? Talk to Sorrel the next time you see her in the temple. Marto… Well, I think he’ll return when he’s ready to, like me. As for An’Ahkrim…”
Zola inhales a long breath through her nose, contemplating. “I think we know how to reach him,” she says slowly. “But you should save that for after this is all over, okay? Don’t overwhelm yourself with too much at once.”
Velania sips her tea, then forgetting herself, takes a large draft and exhales loudly afterwards. It seems to calm her. “You’re right. There are so many questions. A lifetime of them, to be honest. But one thing at a time. With Coll, I think I’m just going to follow Aurelia Archselon’s lead. She is very wise, and Coll is close — like a brother to her. So she is doing all she can. I am certain she’ll let me know if there are any developments.”
She looks up at Zola, her eyes deep pools of green. “When are you next coming through? If you see Marto at all, will you let me know? You don’t have to tell him anything from me, but I’d just like to hear if he’s doing alright.”
“Of course, Velania. As for when I’m next coming through, I don’t know yet, to be honest. But I’ll certainly drop by for another spot of tea. That’s a promise.”
“I would love that. Zola, I’m so glad you came to see me. I’m glad you’re taking space for yourself. It’s something I should have done too — I’m clearly not as self-aware as I imagined. And this brew is a delight. The flavour even flourishes when it’s cooling down. My compliments to your mother.”
“I’m glad you offered the invitation to me. I needed this, more than you know,” Zola says with a light sigh and a smile. “That dumbass fiend must’ve rubbed off on me, ‘cause I’m beginning to think that it’s okay to be selfish and take time for yourself sometimes.”
Velania chuckles ruefully. “Then he had more sense than either of us, in some ways.”
“Ha! Maybe he did.”
Velania regards Zola with warmth. “Thank you for listening, Zola. It wasn’t an easy conversation, was it? But I’m glad we both shared, and I was grateful for our connection. Perhaps there’ll be a moment when I can take a holiday from all this. And maybe… one day… you could show me the Feywild? Not necessarily the court or all that… I’d love to see your Feywild.”
The drow’s smile turns into a vibrant grin. “I would love that. In fact, my 158th birthday is coming up soon. Twenty-ninth day of Kythorn. We’ll be holding a picnic by the lake in the Witching Woods. But…” The shadow of guilt suddenly passes over her face as she realises how insensitive it would be to throw a party whilst Daring Heights is fighting a war. “Well, things might not be over by then, so I won’t be offended if you don’t come.”
Velania’s eyes pop a little at the number, and then she grins as widely as Zola. “I’d love to. Let’s do our best to make this happen! I will send word to you if there are any developments here, and if not, then before your birthday I’ll check in again.”
Velania stands up and opens her arms to give Zola the largest hug imaginable. “Like you, I needed this.”
The two of them share a long, warm, tight embrace. As evening falls upon Daring Heights, the moon rises over the skyline of a quiet town, full and bright.
Random fey tea flavour by Anthony 🍵
The eleventh day of Kythorn. One month and two days since they departed for Phlegethos.
It’s late afternoon. Zola walks into a sparsely-populated Castleside, barefooted as usual, wearing a sleeveless dress with a belt carrying The Twins, sheathed, around her waist. It isn’t difficult to spot silver-haired Velania, sitting on a white marble bench, not far from the Temple of Selûne, in a peaceful, sunlit corner of the square. She is dressed in a simple summer dress with the sleeves rolled up and has brought a book out with her but has clearly just been absent-mindedly people-watching, letting her thoughts wander.
She has a bit of a resting stress face but as soon as she sees Zola approaching, she smiles warmly and stands up to embrace the drow. “Zola! You’re back.”
“Hi Velania,” Zola greets back, returning the smile and the hug before unclasping the belt from her body. “Sorry about this. I heard there’s an invasion coming, so I thought I shouldn’t go unarmed…”
“It’s been a bit of a stressful time around here. The whole city is on high alert the whole time.” Velania frowns a little. “Everyone’s armed — and tensions are high. It’s… It makes me wish for simpler times.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You look a little… tired.”
“Hah. I am generally. But I just got back from Galavir yesterday, so I’m in need of a quiet day today. But tell me… how was your trip? Are you back for good, or just passing through?”
“I’m just stopping by for now. I wish I could help but I’m no use to anyone in this state.” Zola’s smile turns a little sad. The two women sit down on the bench, Zola placing The Twins next to her as she does. “I’ve just been resting at home now. I’m… I’m learning Infernal.”
Velania chuckles at that, then looks at Zola fondly. “You’ve earned a rest. That was an experience I… I don’t think any of us were ready for.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it’s been over a month already. It feels like just yesterday we were fighting for our lives in Hell… How have you been holding up? How’s everyone else?”
“Well…” Velania leans back and exhales slowly. “Sorrel’s around. She’s doing okay. Kavel’s around. I haven’t seen Silvia, though I think Sorrel would have said if anything huge was up.” She pauses. “I haven’t seen Marto at all, though. Have you heard news of him?”
Zola has been nodding along with a smile, relieved to hear that everyone is doing fine, but frowns worriedly at the lack of news on Marto. “Umm… No. Maybe he went back home to his family?”
Velania shrugs sadly. “And of course, Kháos just vanished. Just like they always do.” She rolls her eyes.
Zola nods again, turning her head to stare ahead as she thinks of the changeling. They never really did get to know Kháos well. “I think that moment in Portal Plaza was farewell for them,” she murmurs, then looks back at Velania. “Have you heard anything from Rholor? The Jackal? Or… An’Ahkrim?”
Velania stares into the distance, and there’s a frisson of excitement in her eyes. “So… I was a bit out of sorts when we parted in Portal Plaza, so I probably didn’t explain it very well, but Jackal wasn’t just Jackal. Obviously you gathered that much already. His name — his true name — is Je’Sathriel. There are old stories of the angel Je’Sathriel falling from grace, and being cast out. It’s always struck me as some sort of myth or exaggeration, because, well, it was just a story, really.”
“What did he do to get cast out?”
“All I can gather so far is that it was something to do with the Unending Word. It was needed for him to break the cycle. I’m still trying to get to the bottom of that. I think there’s texts around here I can delve into, but to be honest”—she gestures to the book beside her—“I am still a bit out of sorts. So I can only get my head around light reading at the moment. Trust me, I am going to get to the bottom of this, though.” Velania stares at Zola with a sudden ferocity. “We helped an angel, Zola. We helped save him. Yes, we saved Rholor, we saved the Dawnlands. But we also shook up the Celestial world. Possibly in a big way.”
Zola nods, blinking as she recalls Je’Sathriel’s words in Phlegethos. “You seem very excited about all this, Velania,” she observes.
“Yes, I suppose I am…” Velania grins and shifts restlessly. “It’s not every day an angel comes to visit. Tell me, Zola… Did you like Jackal?”
“Ummm... I caaan’t say I did?” she replies a bit sheepishly — her voice going up an octave — but honestly.
Velania nods immediately. “I didn’t like him either. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say I hated him when I first met him. He seemed a cruel man to me — perhaps angry, perhaps bitter. And to be honest, even as we worked more with him, I didn’t exactly warm to him.”
“Oh yeah, he’s a dickhead,” Zola adds quickly when she’s sure Velania isn’t offended. Velania grins sideways at that.
“But I started to feel an understanding,” the aasimar continues. “He was a wounded man, Zola. People who feel hurt inflict it on others sometimes. And none of that is what you’d expect from an angel, right?”
“Not exactly. Though I don’t really know much about them anyway. The Heralds called themselves angels too,” she muses out loud.
“Hah, true. So… We find ourselves in the position of having helped a man who we don’t particularly like, but yet, he is still a good man. It’s very disconcerting, feeling glad for him. Continuing to dislike him seems too cheap, too easy. Something I no longer have the energy to maintain. Does that make sense?” Velania’s expression becomes pensive. “He sacrificed so much for us — for the world — and now he has a chance at finding his own peace again.”
Zola gives her a gentle smile. “It does make sense, Velania. And yes, that does explain a lot about him. But I have to say — I think the credit for ending the cycle should go to you. Whatever you said to An’Ahkrim must’ve gone through.”
Velania’s face creases into puzzlement. “I thought it was all Je’Sathriel’s doing, surely. Or yours — maybe An’Ahkrim saw you coming and thought twice.” Her face falls as Zola purses her lips. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
Velania continues. “An’Ahkrim was… not like the others, I think. He questioned his deeds. He had doubt from the outset.” She stares into an empty patch of sky, as if the purple half-moon might still be there. “He was lost, and we helped him find another way. But I’m still worried about him. He abandoned his companions. He betrayed them. That isn’t something you walk away from lightly.”
Zola follows her gaze and sighs. “Yeah. The rest of them are dead but where even is he now? I can’t imagine the followers of Shar are happy with him doing what he did.”
Velania grins mischievously. “Who knows, maybe he’s sitting on a cloud with a goblet of ambrosia and only Je’Sathriel for company. That might be enough to send anyone back to Shar.” Zola laughs heartily at that. “But yes, I’m concerned he might be in danger. Certainly from others, or even just himself. And us… We’re connected to his betrayal, after all. There may be others who wish to seek revenge. Even to attempt to restart the Unending Word.” Velania sighs. “It’s never really over, is it?”
Zola’s face scrunches up suddenly. The rusty gears in her head are starting to turn. “Do you remember that lot out in the desert?” she asks. “Themis. The Unending Ones. You don’t think they might try to restart the cycle, do you?”
Velania purses her lips in a frown. “This is how I look at it: if an assorted bunch of righteous do-gooders turned up and criticised your core beliefs, and then took the artefacts you gave them and used them to shatter your whole raison d’etre… Well, what would you do? I rather think Themis has some serious choices to make here. And I don’t like to think what they are. She lectured us about being polite, Zola. When she was willing to help the Heralds commit torture, murder, genocide. And she was concerned that we weren’t being polite.”
The sword dancer casts a look down at Castor and Pollux next to her, brows knitted together in concern. “You’re right,” she says quietly.
“She had some notion of balance, or something,” Velania says. “Who knows what the cosmos wants. Perhaps there were other reasons to empower the servants of Shar. I wouldn’t presume to second-guess things far beyond our comprehension. If Rholor knows more about such things, perhaps I can seek his counsel when he’s well enough.”
Velania realises her voice has escalated. She’s been speaking with force, with anger. She takes a breath, then speaks more calmly. “I suppose we can only deal with what’s in front of us for now. You’re right — we need to find out more about Themis. You earned those”—she gestures to Castor and Pollux—“you earned The Twins the hard way. You paid a heavy price, Zola.”
The sun has slid through the sky into the early evening, and the spot they are sitting in is now falling behind the lengthening shadows. Velania casts a glance across the square, then turns to the drow. “Can I make a suggestion? You promised me some good tea leaves, Zola. How about we go put a brew on? I want to hear how you are faring. But first, I think it would help if we had something to hold.”
Zola was still staring at The Twins as Velania spoke, her face unseen to the other woman. After a beat, an empty pause, she turns back to Velania with a cheerful smile. “Why, of course! My mother Lillian picked some choice strains for us,” she chirps as she unties a small leather pouch from the belt. “She’s something of a connoisseur, you’ll see.”
The kettle hanging over the fire whistles cheerfully. Zola takes its handle with a rag and brings it over to the small table in the centre of the bare kitchen, where she pours hot water into two cups, each with a strainer stuffed with leaves sitting at the bottom.
“So, what do we have here? I don’t think I’ve ever had tea from the Feywild before,” says Velania. “…In fact, I don’t know an awful lot about the Feywild. What is is like, where you come from?”
“You’ve never been, huh?” Zola says, stirring the fragant tea, pouring drops of milk, and dropping spoonfuls of sugar as appropriate. “Everything is brighter and more colourful than in the Material Plane. You feel emotions more strongly there. Passions run high, time flows haphazardly, and everyone trades in deals, songs, and stories. It’s wonderful.“
“I visited only once. I was there for the Ascension of Queen Nicnevin. I even voted for her appointment.” Velania glances at Zola’s eldercross, the crystal crest growing from her forehead, then leans in conspiratorially. “I have to confess, they all seemed wise and powerful and extraordinary to me. I voted based on her being the most beautiful. I hope that doesn’t make me shallow!”
Zola breaks out into giggles. “Velania!” she gasps with a mock-scandalised palm over her mouth. “That’s something I would expect from Ophanim, not y—”
She suddenly stops, and her smile falters once she realises that she’d blurted out his name without thinking. Velania had shared the laughter but when Zola’s smile fades, her face becomes neutral again.
“Well, you aren’t wrong. Queen Titania is majestic and all but even she doesn’t hold a candle to the Moonweaver,” Zola adds quickly, feeling conspicuously awkward as she passes Velania’s cup to her.
“We share that connection, don’t we? The power of the moon. I imagine she’s even more intense in the Feywild. There’s a lot of… sensuality in the worship of Selûne. Even a touch of the erotic… but compared to fey lunar circles, I imagine the version of worship we have here must seem a little tame,” Velania muses absently, before blushing in surprise at herself.
She snaps back into the conversation. Suddenly, she fixes Zola with a certain stare. Her face becomes kind and tranquil, but her gaze is determined. She does not let up, and allows the silence to stretch between them for a moment, before she speaks.
“So. Infernal, huh?”
Zola gives her a sideways stare as she sits down, cupping her hands over her tea to feel the warmth emanating through the china. It’s obvious what Velania is trying to get at.
She gazes down at her blurry reflection in the tea water for a long moment, not sipping it, not speaking a word. Velania sits still, comfortable with the silence, giving Zola the space to dig deep and develop words for her feelings. When the aasimar does this, her youthful demeanour all but fades. She radiates maternal warmth, patience, acceptance.
“Right before I received Castor from Themis,” Zola finally says, her voice quiet, “I was losing faith in The Jackal’s ability in ending the cycle. So the night we got back to Daring Heights, I asked Ophanim to run away with me. I wonder, had he said yes, if that would’ve broken the cycle the same way An’Ahkrim did…?”
“And he said no, didn’t he? Why was that?”
“Because he sought a beautiful death. He cared little for Shar’s goals or even his comrades’. That was all he wanted. And he wanted it to be me.”
“So you wanted to spare him. To persuade him otherwise. Do you know what set him on this path?”
“He said he was bored. And that… that crossing swords with me again — fulfilling a prophecy, emulating an eternal, divine conflict — and dying at my hands would be the greatest work of art he— we could ever create.”
Zola lifts the teacup and sips from it calmly. It is a light infusion that tastes of mint, charcoal, a tiny, dried sprig of a blue, woody plant, and a touch of crushed stone that has been washed by rain under a waxing moon.
“And he was right,” she whispers.
Velania sips her own tea quietly. She waits. “So he believed in this divine conflict too. Was it Rahmiël’s doing, do you think? Persuading him to pursue this fate?”
“I think Rahmiël just wanted him to do what she wanted: to kill us all. I don’t think she knew what his real plans were.”
“He really got into your heart, didn’t he? I could sense some of it. I didn’t realise how badly it was affecting you.”
Zola lets out a scoff, a wistful smile spreading across her face. “I love him. I wish I didn’t. He was a horrible person. He was a murderer, a… a cruel, awful, remorseless, stupid, self-absorbed, shallow jerk of a fiend. But I do anyway.”
She casts a glance at The Twins, lying over each other on the side of the table. Inseparable since their separation. “We’re complete opposites. Yet when we talked in that dream with the machine, it felt so natural, and afterwards I just wanted to see him again. When we fought, it was the most sublime thing I have ever experienced. And when we made love, it was…”
Her voice trails off, and she turns to look at Velania with a subtle wet sheen over her amber eyes. “I suppose you’re judging me for loving someone like him.”
“No, Zola,” she says, very, very gently. “Never. I saw how much pain you were in. I felt it too… Whenever I looked at you, before we left for Phlegethos. I was… afraid for you. And I couldn’t reach you…” Velania’s voice tapers off. She sounds hoarse. “The important thing is: are you judging yourself?”
Zola takes a deep breath. Then she shakes her head with a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
“‘The heart wants what the heart wants.’ We’re all ruled by the whims of this strange, little machine beating inside our chests, no matter how much we try to defy it. I believe he, too, didn’t understand why he loved me.” She chuckles. Her eyes are bright as she meets Velania’s gaze. “I don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made. In the end, we created something beautiful, something extraordinary, and we are whole for it. Balanced. Like Castor and Pollux. Like… like Shar and Selûne once were.”
Velania laughs bitterly. “That dream device. It was their downfall, wasn’t it? That’s when it all started spiralling out of control. If you hadn’t diverted Ophanim from his path, and I hadn’t changed An’Ahkrim’s, and Marto hadn’t changed Adhyël’s focus… I shudder to think. It cost you dearly though. To earn that balance. Like Jackal, you paid a painful price.”
“Yes,” Zola says, sighing softly and drinking more of her tea. “He had to die and I had to live in order for the balance to be struck. It’s how it should be. I just wish… I just wish I could touch him, hear the sound of his voice, speak to him again… I miss him so much. But well, I can’t have my cake and eat it.”
Velania is silent for a while, and when Zola finally looks over at her, she sees the other woman blinking hard, focusing her gaze on an empty spot on the wall ahead. “It is hard to carry unspoken words in your heart. One of the hardest things…”
The paladin shifts in her seat to face Velania fully. “Sounds like you have experience in that department.”
Velania exhales slowly. In a sudden moment of distraction, she looks at her writing desk, as if an important task is waiting for her there. She looks at the floor. Then she glances at the stove, as if she suddenly needs to get up and make another brew. Then she turns and sees Zola studying her carefully. She slumps back in her seat in surrender.
“Yes. There’s lots of things I haven’t been able to say. I wanted to talk to Sorrel. I wanted to talk to Marto so badly. And An’Ahkrim… There’s a whole list of people, really… But… gah! Look at me! I’m still avoiding the issue, aren’t I?” She huffs in laughter and centres herself…
Zola lays a gentle hand on top of hers. “What’s the issue?”
“I think I’m in love too, Zola.” Her voice cracks, but then her fingers curl around Zola’s, and she grips her tighter.
She continues, “But then, we’re at war now. And there’s no room for that kind of thing anymore. This emergency going on around here? Everyone’s talking about town raids and pirates and all that, but I have a horrible feeling that the one thing they’re after is Coll. They want whatever he has in his head. I don’t understand the first thing about it, but they’re hunting for him. He’s in danger, and every day I am living in terror that he’s going to disappear.”
Velania’s breathing quickens. There is a tremendous fervour and energy overtaking her. “I only wish I had your bravery, Zola. You fell for a guy, and you did something. At least you did something. But I spent months doing nothing but thinking about him. And then, finally, I got the nerve to say something about it. And then he… he got sick. And I lost my chance to tell him. And when we went to Phlegethos, all I wanted to do…”
She is fighting back tears, and exhales raggedly to steady herself. “I couldn’t see him to say goodbye…” She sinks into herself, exhausted. “Not even goodbye.”
Velania laughs ruefully. “It sounds strange, saying that out loud to someone who can hear me.” She smiles sadly at Zola. “I love him. But I’m terrified.”
Zola’s expression becomes deeply saddened. She squeezes Velania’s hand and puts her other hand on the priestess’s shoulder, rubbing up and down comfortingly. “Velania… I had no idea you were carrying this burden this whole time. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “That’s why the geef-yankee are invading this place? Gods…”
Inching forward a little, she fixes the other woman with a kind gaze. “Velania, have you even had a chance to just… process your feelings? To stop and let yourself cry?”
Velania leans into Zola’s side. She sounds very tired. “I… I try. When I’m alone, sometimes. It’s so hard to make space. I’m being pulled in so many directions all the time. Everyone needs things. The war is ongoing. People need evacuating, care, counseling. I’ve found myself essentially mothering people in the church. It is exhausting. But as the most annoying man I’ve ever met said: All you can do is keep on doing the work.”
Zola gives a melancholic smile as her hand moves from Velania’s shoulder to her back. “It’s alright to lose yourself in work, but you need to balance it out, Velania, you need to give yourself a break before — gods forbid — your body or your mind breaks. Take some time for yourself. Ask others for help. You’ve been through so much. You’ve done so much good already. You deserve it.”
Velania nods slowly. “Maybe I do. Maybe. But I’m not leaving his side. You said it yourself, Zola: the heart wants what the heart wants. No matter how much love takes from you, you still wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She wraps herself in her arms, as if a chill has entered the room, and sits in silence for a moment. “This might sound perverse, but I think I realised I was in love when I understood how much it would hurt…”
Velania leans her head onto Zola’s shoulder, and her body is wracked by sobs. Zola holds her as best as she can.
“When Je’Sathriel teleported us out of Phlegethos, I saw a dream,” Zola murmurs in Velania’s ear, “I saw three young ladies in a lake under a full moon, and they told me, ‘There is no shame in loving someone. Love is never a weakness. It is the only thing worth having, even though it hurts more than anything.’”
Velania acknowledges this through her tears. After a while, she sits up straighter, blowing her nose. She laughs. “Look what you’ve done, Zola. You made an angel ugly-cry.”
Zola grins at her. “Even angels should be allowed to cry sometimes.”
Velania returns the grin. Then snorts loudly and unangelically into her handkerchief.
“You saw a vision when we left Phlegethos? Then you have been touched by the gods. That’s a powerful blessing. I’m certain of it." She clasps both of her hands over one of Zola’s. “Someone is looking after you. You know, when we left Phlegethos, I saw something too. I felt the embrace of… my ancestors, I think. Of the highest servants of Selûne. I was surrounded by warmth and kindness. I felt a great sense of peace. They aren’t all like Jackal up there, you know.”
“That’s a relief. This world isn’t big enough for more than one Jackal, that’s for sure. Here, drink your tea before it gets cold.” She picks up Velania’s cup and puts it in her empty palm. “I don’t know anything about Coll’s situation, but for the other items on your list… Perhaps you can take it one step at a time? Talk to Sorrel the next time you see her in the temple. Marto… Well, I think he’ll return when he’s ready to, like me. As for An’Ahkrim…”
Zola inhales a long breath through her nose, contemplating. “I think we know how to reach him,” she says slowly. “But you should save that for after this is all over, okay? Don’t overwhelm yourself with too much at once.”
Velania sips her tea, then forgetting herself, takes a large draft and exhales loudly afterwards. It seems to calm her. “You’re right. There are so many questions. A lifetime of them, to be honest. But one thing at a time. With Coll, I think I’m just going to follow Aurelia Archselon’s lead. She is very wise, and Coll is close — like a brother to her. So she is doing all she can. I am certain she’ll let me know if there are any developments.”
She looks up at Zola, her eyes deep pools of green. “When are you next coming through? If you see Marto at all, will you let me know? You don’t have to tell him anything from me, but I’d just like to hear if he’s doing alright.”
“Of course, Velania. As for when I’m next coming through, I don’t know yet, to be honest. But I’ll certainly drop by for another spot of tea. That’s a promise.”
“I would love that. Zola, I’m so glad you came to see me. I’m glad you’re taking space for yourself. It’s something I should have done too — I’m clearly not as self-aware as I imagined. And this brew is a delight. The flavour even flourishes when it’s cooling down. My compliments to your mother.”
“I’m glad you offered the invitation to me. I needed this, more than you know,” Zola says with a light sigh and a smile. “That dumbass fiend must’ve rubbed off on me, ‘cause I’m beginning to think that it’s okay to be selfish and take time for yourself sometimes.”
Velania chuckles ruefully. “Then he had more sense than either of us, in some ways.”
“Ha! Maybe he did.”
Velania regards Zola with warmth. “Thank you for listening, Zola. It wasn’t an easy conversation, was it? But I’m glad we both shared, and I was grateful for our connection. Perhaps there’ll be a moment when I can take a holiday from all this. And maybe… one day… you could show me the Feywild? Not necessarily the court or all that… I’d love to see your Feywild.”
The drow’s smile turns into a vibrant grin. “I would love that. In fact, my 158th birthday is coming up soon. Twenty-ninth day of Kythorn. We’ll be holding a picnic by the lake in the Witching Woods. But…” The shadow of guilt suddenly passes over her face as she realises how insensitive it would be to throw a party whilst Daring Heights is fighting a war. “Well, things might not be over by then, so I won’t be offended if you don’t come.”
Velania’s eyes pop a little at the number, and then she grins as widely as Zola. “I’d love to. Let’s do our best to make this happen! I will send word to you if there are any developments here, and if not, then before your birthday I’ll check in again.”
Velania stands up and opens her arms to give Zola the largest hug imaginable. “Like you, I needed this.”
The two of them share a long, warm, tight embrace. As evening falls upon Daring Heights, the moon rises over the skyline of a quiet town, full and bright.