day one: celebration
if there is one complaint that crow has about the darkness clan’s arena, then it’s the noise.
they holler at anything. each strike of her scythe into the man’s side sends a ripple of cheers down the crowd. they were too eager for blood to be shed. crow hates how they shout any time they see crimson.
so that is why she finds herself atop one of the many cliffsides that litter the darkness clan’s cavernous landscape. it is quiet here, the air just a touch clearer than anything they might find below; she inhales, eyes shut as she enjoys the silence...until the soft sound of footsteps reaches crow’s ears. they sigh once.
“if you’re not here with a drink to celebrate my victory, then walk away.” they are glad the dark words no longer scratch at their throat the way they once did; clearing their throat after such a sentence might negate their threat entirely. those in the shadows take any opportunity to jump on any weakness.
“the darkness clan doesn’t exactly do celebrations. they’re too...heart-warming.” the voice says.
but crow only laughs in response. “yes, of course. but you do celebrate with me, on occasion.” then she is tilting her head back to finally meet fahrin’s gaze, a slight smile tugging the corner of her mouth upwards.
fahrin scoffs, but she pulls out a flask from somewhere inside her coat all the same. crow can’t help but wonder just how long fahrin spent digging through that mountainous pile of junk in her room to find it. she watches as fahrin twists off its cover, lifting it to her lips to drink from it, before she passes the flask over to crow. they sniff at it before they mimic her movement, bringing the flask to their mouth to drink.
whatever liquor is inside of the flask burns crow’s throat; she scowls at the taste. “that’s horrible.” she reaches up to wipe at her mouth before tossing the flask back to fahrin. “is that truly the best you can offer me after the exhausting fight i just went through? what a shame.” she puts a hand over her heart.
“haha! always with the dramatics.” fahrin snatches the flask out of the air. “it didn’t seem so difficult from where i was standing. you swing that scythe of yours around like it weighs nothing.” then she shoves the flask back into her pocket, replacing it with her pipe. purple fire gathers above her fingers as she lights it.
they can’t help the smirk that crosses their face. “enjoy yourself, did you?”
“it was quite the treat. when was the last time i had the joy of watching you fight?” fahrin taps idly at her chin with her pipe. “it’s been so long, i can’t help but wonder...why did you choose today, of all days?”
damn. of course fahrin had to ask. though there is no reason to hide the truth from her, crow still finds herself hesitating before she admits, “i knew the man i was fighting. yorick and i saw him tormenting some children a few moons ago. i thought it best to teach him a lesson in public – in front of his kin.”
“you’ve always been too soft, crow. that is why you will never be one of us.” fahrin’s eyes narrow. crow’s mouth suddenly feels so dry — she looks to the side so that she can break away from the other’s sudden exasperation. though they can still feel her gaze, it is much easier to ignore it when they aren’t staring at each other. then crow hears fahrin exhale quietly. “are you heading back to the surface soon?” she asks.
“hm.” crow tilts her head at fahrin. they know that their silence won’t phase her in any way, but they want to know what does. what will it take to crack the reaper herself? it must be a fascinating sight. “curious today, aren’t we? so many questions.” she holds her hand out, silently asking for the flask again.
but fahrin only leans forward, baring her teeth in a wide grin. “let’s fight before you leave.”
crow heaves out a sigh. “fahrin. how many times must i tell you that i cannot?”
to her credit, fahrin takes crow’s refusal in stride; her smile does not waver in the slightest. “what a shame. you know, i can’t help but ask! perhaps next time your answer will be different. who’s to say?”
something stirs in crow’s chest. this is certainly not a new conversation – they can’t even begin to count the number of times that fahrin has made such a request of them – but perhaps it is the adrenaline running through her, or the liquor still burning in her throat. crow stands up to face fahrin.
“you...listen to me,” crow starts to say, but when fahrin keeps staring at her with that cheeky grin, crow lashes out to grab her by her chin. “i said listen to me. if there ever comes a day where we must fight, then one of us will die by the end of it. that is not a day i wish to see. do you understand me? i cannot fight you.”
then they are stepping away from her, crow's gaze dropping to the floor before she can instinctually examine the other’s expression. she cannot even begin to imagine what emotions are crossing over the reaper's face right now, nor does she want to. “goodbye, fahrin. i hope our paths cross again soon.”
day four: family ties
crow cannot believe that she is late. they – or perhaps, one of them in particular – will never let her live it down if she does not make it to their side within the next few minutes. from her shoulder, yorick huffs.
as crow pushes her way through the curtains that lead further into the restaurant, she reaches up to pass a hand over her face. she sighs when her fingers ghost over the scar that still lingers on her cheek from that day’s earlier fight; willing some illusory magic to surface, she traces a hand over the scar, hoping that the magical sheen will prevent prying eyes from recognizing that crow is, in fact, little more than aches and pains right now. from somewhere behind her, yorick softly mumbles a reluctant, “they will still know.”
“of course they will. but hopefully they will have the decency to say nothing of it.” crow responds.
it isn’t difficult to locate the couple that yorick is referring to; the bright shock of pink hair that belongs to plumeria stands out in the otherwise moody lighting of the restaurant’s interior. as crow wanders over to their table, she belatedly wonders if she might be able to spook glory, though she worries she has lost her chance to even try when plumeria suddenly lifts her head, her nose twitching as she sniffs at the air.
but when plumeria only grins, crow is quick to take her silence as permission. she could easily warn glory about crow’s encroaching presence; a quick greeting would be more than enough. but if she says nothing at all? then crow will absolutely relish the opportunity to torment glory in whatever way she can manage.
crow waits for glory to set down her drink, an obnoxiously-vivid amalgamation of oranges and purples with an umbrella floating in its center – some sort of fruity drink, most likely? – before she drops a hand onto glory’s shoulder. “now what have we here? you’ve certainly chosen quite the interesting drink, cap’n.”
beneath their hands, glory stiffens; a slight bit of pressure from crow keeps her from jumping out of her seat, and it takes glory a few heartbeats to recognize the voice, but when she does, a string of curses erupts from her mouth. crow laughs as she squeezes glory’s shoulder before she walks around the table. plumeria smiles at crow, but it fades as crow sinks onto the bench with a groan. “are you alright?”
“aye, i am. yorick and i were traveling when a beast came out of nowhere. i dealt with it.” they say.
crow shrugs their cloak off, wincing as the roll of their shoulders sends yet another sharp ache of pain through their body. she takes a moment to fold the layers over each other into a neat square before she drops the bundle onto the bench besides her; yorick is quick to clamber on top of it, curling into a ball.
“hey.” plumeria reaches out across the table to brush her fingers against crow’s arm. their eye drifts down to the contact as plumeria’s hand lingers there, but then her softer touch turns into an insistent tap as she urges crow to meet her stare directly. crow knows that plumeria will not continue to speak until their eyes meet. it’s only slightly infuriating how familiar plumeria is with their behavior by now; that she knows how crow will avoid the necessary conversations by merely looking away. “maybe you should get some sleep?”
glory snorts over the rim of her drink. “as if, dear. crow will have to keel over before she chooses to rest.”
“exactly,” crow hums in agreement, “so there is no reason to worry— ack! yorick!” she scolds. she twists to her left, scowling as her familiar retracts his claws from her thigh with an utterly-unrepentant expression on his face. but he just tilts his head at her, as if daring her to continue on with her neglectful remarks.
crow reaches down to curl a hand over yorick’s face. she scratches under his chin in a quiet apology, and it is only when he slowly blinks at her that crow turns to face plumeria and glory once again. “...it is just on these rare occasions that our paths intersect. let me enjoy your company for at least some time before chasing me off, hm? truthfully, i am fine. i am in no danger of keeling over, as glory put it.” she says.
“alright, alright,” glory grouches, “don’t start monologuing at us. just look at the damn menu.”
plumeria – in the middle of taking a sip from her drink – chokes; her hands shake with laughter as she quickly places the cup back on the table, freeing her hands to raise a napkin to her mouth. when glory rushes to fret over her, crow reaches over the table to snatch the menu from her grasp, still scowling.
the waiter arrives within a few moments, quickly jotting their orders down in a small notebook before they push their way back through the crowds. it is easy for the three to fall into another, far more benign conversation as they wait for their food to arrive. it doesn’t take much longer before a variety of dishes are set down in front of them. steam wafts up from the plates. crow watches as plumeria uses chopsticks to move an egg from her noodles into glory’s. she presses a quick kiss against plumeria’s cheek in thanks.
crow didn’t realize how hungry they were until the scent of soy sauce and crispy rice hits their nose. but before they begin to eat themselves, they take one of the riceballs from their plate to pass down to yorick. as he begins to eat, crow can only hope that the sauce will keep the rice grains from spilling on her cloak.
there is a lull in the conversation as they begin to eat. the realization that their time together is coming to an end begins to eat at crow; the ache in her stomach leads crow to inhale slowly before she closes her eyes. “...might we get desert?” crow whispers. she isn’t even sure if her voice will carry over the other conversations nearby, but when she feels two pairs of eyes on her, she knows that they heard her.
they do not answer crow. their heart beats against their chest for no apparent reason; it is not as though i never ask for anything, crow thinks to herself, a bit reproachful of their ongoing silence. was it really such a surprise that she would ask for something? why were they acting as though it was the end of the world?
then glory laughs. “sure! i mean, nothing on the menu is going to be as sweet as my dear plumeria, but—”
“—shut the fuck up, glory.” crow sighs into her drink. of course, they are only joking, and glory knows this, but she gasps all the same. it is absurd, how quickly glory’s pout vanishes as soon as plumeria gently pats her shoulder, distantly saying that she appreciates the sentiment, sweetheart. crow groans again.
still: despite their constant, sickeningly-sweet behavior, crow will always be glad to see them.
day seven: curiosity
today – as it is most days – the graveyard is deathly silent.
perhaps this makes sense. there is only ever a singular, lone soul who walks among the graves, and it wouldn’t even be particularly difficult to mistake this soul for one of the ghosts that linger beneath their feet, for they carry themselves like a phantom. the only noise that breaks their silence is their occasional gasp, as though the soul sometimes forgets that they themselves are not truly a ghost, despite their presence here; that they are alive, that they must continue to fill their lungs with the heavy air.
and so, even now, it is quiet: the sun is just beginning to dip below the far horizon, the afternoon’s earlier blues scattering into reds and oranges against the grass as the last flickers of sunlight manage to pierce through the trees overhead. it is among those shifting hues that █████ currently kneels in front of a grave; moss blankets most of the marble, and there’s a mostly-illegible etching of the owner’s name and their lifespan – by no fault of the soul’s, of course, but of the few centuries for which this particular stone has stood within the graveyard, with the rest of its brethren – on the grave, but this does not seem to concern █████. neither does it seem as though the encroaching darkness does, for that matter.
█████ claws at the earth. weeds tumble out from the dirt as he yanks the larger leaves up, tossing them aside to discard later, though his motions slow when his hands brush over the flowering herbs. there’s a soft sigh from █████, then, as he carefully snaps the yellow bulbs from their stems.
he knows they are useful – he would not be picking them, otherwise – but he must find some way to cull their growth. yellow is beginning to pour out of all corners of his kitchen, and while the color isn’t...unwelcome, necessarily, they will begin to rot soon if he does not use them.
█████ opens one of the pouches on his belt so that he can carefully tuck the flowers away before his hands return to the ground. he smooths some dirt over the wound he had dug into the earth, doing what little he can to heal the damage done, before he dusts his palms on the front of his pants. thunder rolls in the distance; █████ knows that there is a storm coming, and he would rather not be caught in it.
he makes a quiet, crooning noise in the back of his throat, and at the sound, the two crows that obediently wait nearby are quick to heed his call; the pair hops towards the cane that rests not too far from where █████ had left the birds. it is easy enough for both of the crows to wrap their beaks around it; between the two of them, █████ soon has his support within his grasp. “thank you, dears.”
█████ braces the cane against the dirt before pushing himself to his feet. the ache in his leg has been especially painful today, but the thought of neglecting his graveyard brings with it an even sharper twinge (though in his heart, and not his leg, and perhaps he should prioritize one over the other, but alas).
humidity hangs thick in the air. wisps of █████’s hair cling to his forehead; when he reaches up to brush them away with another exhale, his hand sticks against the damp sweat that has already begun to gather there. no sooner than █████ thinks storm does the sky open up. there’s a crack of lighting – █████ blinks twice as white overwhelms his vision for a single, terrifying heartbeat – before thunder rumbles. the din brings with a heavier rain that begins to pour down in sudden earnest.
the trees offer meager protection from the deluge. though the willow leaves merge into a thick canopy overhead, the sharper rain cuts through the branches far more easily than the sunlight ever does; when the storm begins to beat incessantly against █████’s face, he brings a hand up over his head, a low incantation on his lips as he pushes against the rain, forming a smaller umbrella out of the water he can gather with the spell. he inclines his head towards the crows, a quiet invitation implicit with the motion, and they are quick to fly towards him so that they can perch on his shoulder. the two squeeze next to each other, allowing for █████ to keep one hand above his head to maintain the umbrella, while the other pushes the cane into the dirt. he sets off towards his home at a brisk pace; anything to get out of the rain.
still, it does take █████ some time to truly make his way out of the graveyard. the forest and burial grounds bleed into one another, the roots consistently tangling together beneath his feet – as if they are the only thing holding this fragile earth and its ghosts together – though █████ is nothing if not familiar with his home. he will not stumble: not over these roots, nor the bones that lie further below.
eventually, the green and brown blurs of the grove’s scenery give way to the rougher grays of his home. █████ dismisses the spell with a quick wave, freeing his hand so that he can push the door open. luckily, the fire that he had left burning earlier still radiates with heat; █████ moves towards it, wanting nothing more from this moment than to simply sink into a chair with some sort of drink.
█████ hates this sort of weather; not only for the way that the heavy rain pelts his windows, but for the way it churns the dirt below his boots into a muddy mess that his cane constantly gets stuck in, and even greater still, for the way that weather like this...well, how it never fails to remind █████ of her.
it had been storming on that fateful day, too, when first they met.
smaller raindrops had been trickling down for quite some time, and so █████ didn’t give much consideration to the sharp scent that was lingering in the air around him – for a moment, he had thought it strangely reminiscent of burning ozone, of the sort that precipitates a dangerous storm – and so he was content to believe that was all it was: a foreboding warning of the incoming deluge. but then, for no particular reason that █████ can recall now, he had taken another sniff of the air. no, not ozone, █████ began to realize, but a sort of...salty scent.
what, the ocean? how strange for such a smell to carry its way here, of all places, █████ had thought.
then the crows had begun to croak from where they were roosting between the boughs of the willow trees above, though their raucous warbling did little to dissuade whoever it was stepping towards █████. he remembers thinking that perhaps it would be best to face the person directly, if the crows were not enough of a deterrence. (he laughs about this now: as if mere crows would be enough to turn away anyone who sought his aid. it will take far more than his eerie familiars to frighten those who sought the sort of death that only █████ can provide).
but it is only in that moment, when █████ turns to properly face the person who brought with them the smell of the sea, that he realizes – no, it’s not the scent of the salty brine, but of blood; of the crimson ichor that pours in rivers down from the figure’s right eye. █████ felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight in front of him.
a spirit – he could always tell – stood before the iron-wrought gate that swung into the graveyard, and █████ couldn’t help that he found their exact placement...ironic, for lack of a better term: they were lingering on the border between the forest – for the living – and the graveyard – for the dead – as though they weren’t quite sure which side was the appropriate one for them to stand on. it often was that way, for those who sought █████’s assistance.
still, the spirit did not speak. their silence was not unusual, but █████ would not speak – would not assume anything of the figure – until some sort of noise left their lips. so until that moment, there was nothing more for █████ to do than to study the spirit: he could not make out much of their face beneath the mess of brown strands of hair that curtain their features, but still, beneath the disarray, he could feel the spirit’s intense gaze.
their hair fell all the way down to the floor; █████ hadn’t meant for his eyes to linger there for too long, but neither could he help his wince upon noticing the flecks of mud and burrs caught in their hair. how long had it been since this person had taken care of themselves? though, if the dry blood caking their clothes was any indication, then it had been quite some time indeed. but: if most of the crimson on their clothes was dry, why was ichor still dripping from their eye? █████ recalls that he had finally taken a step towards the spirit at that specific realization.
“you are the gravekeeper?” the spirit finally spoke. █████ froze. their voice was low, a near rasp, and stranger still was how that was not the particular language that █████ was expecting to hear on their lips – not from the way they held themselves, their knuckles bone-white from gripping the strange, sinister scythe that they wield.
yet even in the face of such a weapon, █████ knew this: he was not in any danger. “yes,” he had said.
“then i must ask you for your help.” the simple remark had a suspiciously-heavy weight behind it. but who was █████ to question it? he knew nothing of this spirit, of what had brought them here. he would learn, with time, as he always did, but until that moment, █████ could do nothing more than invite the spirit into his home. (if only he knew then what such a choice would bring; joy and heartache in equal measure, awfully potent).
so: that same heartache continues to pulse in █████’s chest in this exact moment, as it always does whenever he thinks about her, and before he really knows what he is truly doing, █████ is rising from his chair so that he can step over to the glassy, obsidian basin that sits in the adjoining room.
█████’s curiosity – his worry, really, if he is being honest with himself – over whether she is alright, if her journey is faring well, will always win over any rational thought. no matter how often █████ reminds himself that she has yorick with her, it never seems to make a difference. he frets all the same.
as soon as █████ crosses over the threshold into his tower, golden threads begin to materialize in the air; their glimmering, nearly-metallic sheen is in stark contrast to the low, purple candlelight of the room, the flames casting deep shadows across the floor to create the strangest amalgamation of colors.
█████ reaches up to pluck at the strings. he pulls the threads here and there, seemingly searching for a particular one. in the back of his mind, █████ can hear the dull tolling of bells, the lamenting chords of a funerary dirge, the ear-shattering cries of loss and sorrow and pure grief. he sets it all aside as he finally finds her golden light amongst the rest. he holds it for a moment within his hands; it thrums with life in his grasp, pulsing in a slow but sure rhythm, and █████ breathes out a sigh of relief.
then he yanks on the thread – once, twice, thrice, until he feels the string begin to fray beneath his fingers. it only takes one more pull before his skin splits open under the unraveling, sharp light.
blood begins to drip from the new wound, twisting its way down the twine before it gathers together in a single drop. it teeters above the basin for only a single heartbeat before dropping into the water’s depths. its surface remains still. no ripples scatter out from where the viscous liquid impacts against the clearer one, though the water begins to darken with deep crimson as the blood saturates the basin’s entirety.
subconsciously, █████’s hands drop down into the basin. he already knows what must come next, no matter how much he hates it, and it is easier to let familiarity take control of his body for these final steps.
█████’s eyes flutter shut. blood coats his fingers as he raises them to his eyelids, smearing the ichor onto his face. there is a bond between them, and though it is made from more than mere blood, it will serve its purpose of propeling █████’s sight from his graveyard to wherever crow currently resides.
his eyes open to a marvelous sight.
if █████ had thought that his golden threads were bright, then the view before him is even more blinding. two large mountains loom high above; it looks as though they are cradling the sun between them, and the sight of that alone is enough for █████ to know just where crow and yorick are.
the golden mountains. was it truly already time for their harvest festival? he doubts that the two had come here to participate in the race, but what else could have drawn their attention here? ...though perhaps he might answer his own question, once he actually finds them. █████ closes his eyes, knowing that it will be much easier to locate the connection that binds his soul to crow’s without any sort of distraction.
no– not here, either– oh. there she is, █████ thinks. the thrum of their energy is coming from...somewhere within the mountains themselves? ah. watching the races, then?
when █████ opens his eyes again, he is standing just behind crow and yorick, amongst some sort of benches. briefly – if only to situate himself – █████ looks beyond the pair to the roaring waterfall that blocks the cavern’s maw from the outside. though there are a few racers waiting patiently for the start, █████ is sure that there are more contenders still making their way to the opening line.
█████’s eyes flit back to crow and yorick. they look...well. more than well, really – though he doubts that the dark circles beneath crow’s eyes will ever fade, it does not seem as though their perpetual exhaustion is weighing them down in this particular moment. yorick, too, looks content.
in fact, he is even grinning up at crow right now. her hand goes to her hat – █████’s heart clenches at the sight – as she is caught halfway between pulling the brim down to cover her face (what sort of expression is she hoping to hide?) and knowing that yorick will see past her ploy, anyways.
they are speaking in the language of the dark, █████ notes, though this does not surprise him; despite crow’s own inclination towards...eavesdropping, to put it bluntly, they absolutely despise it whenever another person might do the same, and the darkness clan’s tongue is rarely spoken here.
he steps closer that he can hear the specifics of their conversation. “—i haven’t spoken with her since, so get that look off your face, won’t you? else i will wipe it off myself.” there is no genuine threat in crow’s voice...but there is the vaguest of blushes coloring her cheeks. hm? what is that expression all about?
█████ curses himself for not getting here sooner. what had they been discussing right before his arrival? what would bring the crow themself to turn pink like this? █████ sighs, silently acknowledging that he likely won’t ever know the answer to his question, especially as yorick only tsks before his focus is drawn away by another set of racers descending down the steps nearby.
“...my dear,” yorick starts with, “is that not—?”
“aye. that it is.” crow cuts yorick off before he can finish voicing the rest of his thoughts. “what is a beast from below doing up here? and that boy...he isn’t of the darkness clan, yet. there’s a story there, to be certain.” their voice trails off, as though they are considering something. “i’m quite curious—,”
this time, it is yorick’s turn to interrupt the conversation. “you always are. leave it for now, crow. no reason to go slinking back into the depths yet. don’t forget – we are here for a reason, after all.”
crow’s eye narrows, and for a moment, █████ wonders whether she will push back against yorick’s words. but then she inclines her head towards him in the slightest of nods, and █████ knows that they will say nothing else. that is alright. █████ came only to ensure their safety, and safe they are.
