Wind Sage

Pinching the edges of her latest NightingBolt doll (no ™ because she changed the name like a genius), Daisy clipped it with her pin and told herself that once she landed she could use her sewing kit to actually finish them. Airliners, despite claiming to work fine for 'superhero business', still didn't allow sewing needles apparently. She was headed to Zhengzhou. Not to sight-see, sadly, but to save the place from...an entire fucking citadel? The real supers had taken the fast flight to try and move it to a different location. Meanwhile, Daisy was going to be part of the evacuation team to make certain everyone was out of the city like they were supposed to be.

Basically, she was back to her college job of RA'ing the building when there was a fire. Knock on doors, shout, and tell everyone to go down the stairs already because yes, it is illegal to stay inside the building, and yes, she will lose her job if they don't do it.

She sighed.

Putting away her stuff meant accepting that, once again, she was diving into a job where, for the past six years, she'd been doing her best to keep people safe and watching people die every single time. Damage control. They weren't there to save everyone. Just the lucky ones.

It wasn't something she ever thought she'd get used to, but as she packed away her toys a sense of calmness overtook her.

One second she closed her eyes, and the next she was in Zhengzhou. An urban city, Zhengzhou was full of beautiful blue water and huge towering buildings that were as futuristic as New York always dreamed of being. There was grass, too, but not near the airport and as she landed, she saw that there was a huge line of vehicles near the airport. Apparently, some people didn't know what 'evacuate' meant, as the airport was the busiest place she'd ever seen. People were screaming about not being able to get to their meeting and 'Do you know who I am?'

When they saw Daisy and Null exiting instead of them, the riots got increasingly worse.

"This is going to be killer," Null said.

Daisy nodded. "You ready for crowd control?"

"Oh, you know it."

Outside, the hovering citadel really closed the deal.

This was it. The big job.

Save people from being crushed or fail miserably and read news reports days later of all the little children crushed in their beds.

Daisy closed her eyes, and opened them to Null looking at their radar.

"I'll get the west half if you'll take east," Null said.

Daisy nodded.

"They gave us jet-packs, think you can handle that?" Null said, already pulling hers out. It looked complicated. It looked cool as shit.

It looked real.

Too real.

Daisy nodded.

Before she could say anything, Null was gone. Headed west. Time to strap in, Daisy thought. She swallowed hard. The jet-pack stared at her. It looked dangerous, not cool. It looked like something out of some stupid science-fiction movie that would end up with her getting stucked into a plane engine and dying.

No. It looked like something she'd use to save the day.

Because she wasn't Daisy. She was Wind Sage. She had on her suit, with the little wind figures that she saw all too often on the morning news weather channel. It was blue, like the sky would be if there wasn't a fucking citadel in front of it.

She breathed in deep, strapped in, and Wind Sage took to the sky.

I am the breeze, she thought as she directed traffic towards the outside of the city. She shouted at vehicles to move faster, all without use. She didn't speak their language. They didn't speak hers. They were lost, unable to communicate, but her pointing at the sky and red face as she yelled held more weight than anything else. When she pointed again towards the exits, the vehicles moved faster.

She pushed her air against them, giving the cars a gentle bump. A reminder. A promise.

In the city, she avoided all buildings that looked like businesses. That was hard in a city. Everything looked like a business. There were no American signs. No way to tell what was what. She couldn't read anything.

So instead, she looked in windows. Zoomed past buildings until she spotted them, one by one. Their eyes confused. Their bodys stilted.

An old woman on oxygen. She didn't want to leave home. Wind Sage made the choice for her.

Two old men with broken legs. They couldn't leave. Wind Sage made them.

A room full of children--all young, too young, and one-by-one she lifted them out and brought them to the cars leaving. Forced the people to take the children with them. They had to leave. They had to.

Issue was, where would they go?

Traffic was backed up for miles.

I am the air, she thought as she lifted a young girl out of her bedroom and took her far, far away from her home. She left her in the group of people, only hoping that she'd find her way back home. Grateful that, at least, one more child wasn't being crushed.

There wasn't enough time. "They're not going to be able to leave the city in time," Null shouted through their headset. "It's too crowded!"

"It's too crowded here too. We have to get them out of her somehow," Wind Sage said. She breathed in, deep, and shook her head. "Can you create a portal that leads them to the airport? Get the planes to fly off--anywhere, just for a few hours. We need these cars to park there."

"Perfect."

While Null created the portals, Wind Sage went through the city again. There were so many areas she didn't have time to check. So many people she couldn't find.

But there was one more. A little boy crying. Shouting something and holding out his hands. He ran from her, deeper inside, and she broke the glass to follow him.

You don't have a choice.

Heroism wasn't pretty. It was scratches and blood and strained muscles and the inability to get the jet-pack to start up or slow down in time. It was hot tears and cut clothes and a child pulling on her hair and biting her shoulder as she forcibly removed him, shouting at him to shut up, and blowing air into his mouth. When her jet-pack wouldn't start, she cursed.

Then, she breathed.

I am Wind Sage, she thought.

Wind was fluid. Wind was disastrous. Wind wasn't flight.

But powered enough, wind could carry them far, far away.

As she brought the last child out of range the citadel fell. Towers toppled. It wasn't destroyed in one blow--it was agonizingly slow. It was painful. She could hear screaming--metal on metal, metal on skin, skin bursting in open air. She could hear shouting--those around her, crying for their lost homes, gasps of disbelief. They spoke languages she couldn't understand but their eyes all spoke of loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Null

The citadel rests two miles above the ground, sleepy and silent. It's been there for hours now, and as the minutes pass it gets closer and closer to the ground. Bryn feels a sense of existential dread just looking at it - something this big's going to take a lot of work to fix. A lot of work that Bryn will have to do. But for right now, there's not much she can do besides evacuate citizens.

Zhengzhou is a packed city, made no less cramped by the citizens crowding behind the ropes, peering up at the strange object in the sky. Police officers try to usher them away but it doesn't do much good, because they just keep coming back to see it again. Bryn rolls her eyes. Curiosity killed the cat. Talking to people wastes too much time - they'll never listen to you. You just have to take action sometimes.

"Out!" she yells, and she's not sure whether they understand her, but she makes grandiose gestures away from the citadel and hopes it gets through to them. After a while she develops a game plan. When someone won't move she drops them through a portal and lands them by the wall of a storage building, far enough away that hopefully they won't be tempted to return. The process is slow, but it's working faster than the police and her other Rescue teammates are. One of them glares at her as she sends an older man through a portal, albeit a little suddenly, but she tries to ignore it. It's her job, right? This is all to protect them.

The job is tiring. Something about the citadel has a heavy aura to it, like its existence weighs you down, makes you sluggish and slow. Almost like you're underwater. Bryn finds herself struggling to keep her eyes open after a while, and so she takes a coffee break, but half an hour later and she's even more tired than before, the caffeine having no effect on her. It's getting late, and the police are setting up tents a mile or two from the citadel. The obvious psychic presence within the structure is a bit of an issue, but Devi tells her that as long as they keep a good eye on it they should be okay.

Normally the Rescue division gets a nice hotel on long trips, but this is too strange of an occurrence to abandon even for a few hours. It's too unpredictable, and the crowds of people need constant supervision. More like a class of schoolchildren than adults. After a while, the police get antsy. They're speaking Mandarin, so Bryn's not sure what they're saying, but citizens keep returning to see what's going on and she can tell they're getting tired of it.

"You can go rest," Devi tells her when the sun's fully set. "If there's any big issues we'll wake you up." Bryn's not one to refuse an offer like that, so she heads out to nap for a few hours. The tents are cramped, but she doesn't mind because as soon as she lays in the cot set up for her, she's out like a light. The dreams come just as fast.

"Bryn," Ben says. He's standing far away, mostly shrouded in fog, but she knows it's him. He takes a step back, she steps forward, and they move in unison like that, never gaining or losing distance. She hasn't seen Ben in years, hasn't really wanted to, but now that he's in front of her she can't seem to think of anything else. He keeps moving away, faster now, and Bryn tries to place a portal to get to him but the fog thickens suddenly, obscuring her vision. She can't see him anymore. She starts to run.

"Bryn," says someone else, behind her. She turns and the fog clears. Her mother had been a beautiful woman, tall and sleek, eyes bright and cheerful even in the worst of times. She looks no different now. "Let's take a walk," she says. Something about her voice is off, but Bryn doesn't care right now, just wants to listen to her. So they take a walk. The world is blank and grey, shapeless and void. She doesn't know how long it's been but suddenly her mom steps away from her, and the fog thickens again. She vanishes without another word.

"Bryn," says a third person. She's disoriented, not sure where the voice comes from, but it lulls her forward. For a brief moment she wonders where it's taking her, but there's no time to find out.

"Bryn!" Someone shakes her awake. She's standing underneath the citadel, a long ways away from the rope barrier. The structure casts shadows across its span, even closer to the ground now. "We've been trying to wake you for ten minutes." It's Devi. She doesn't look pleased, brow furrowed in concern. "Something weird's up with the citadel. Everyone who's fallen asleep so far has sleepwalked right towards it. Like it's...leading them to it. Stay alert. Even if you feel like sleeping, resist it."

She's still dazed after Devi takes her away from the citadel. Everyone else is, too, eyes empty and tired. What the hell is this thing doing to them?

She spends the next two hours dully moving more citizens out of the structure's way. Her mind is too blank to even bother with how messy her hair is, or the broken nail on her ring finger that digs into her skin when she touches it. She sees it in the eyes of the citizens too, slower, duller, sleepier. Best to usher them away now instead of finding them at the citadel later in trances.

Her next three hours are spent hopping between jobs. First, to the buildings surrounding the citadel, evacuating as many people as possible. She finds herself in an apartment building that reaches all the way to the clouds, knocking on doors and handing them notes written in Mandarin. She hates not being able to communicate. Maybe she should've picked a job that stayed in the U.S.

Then, there's an update from R&D. They don't say much (not anything Bryn understands, anyway), but they look just about as tired as everyone in Zhengzhou. She hopes they find it soon, because the citadel isn't slowing down.

Next she's on sleepwalking duty. Anyone walking with their eyes closed needs to be awakened, and it's harder than you'd think. Their resistance is strong to the point where it's almost scary. Citizens and policemen alike find themselves mindlessly headed towards the structure, and it seems like they'd rather die than turn around. Eventually there's an overload of them, and Bryn finds herself being pushed closer to the citadel as she tries to pull them back, becoming sleepier and sleepier every inch closer. When things start to get desperate, she starts bear-hugging them and creating portals to move them away, but every portal she makes just loses more of her energy. There's too many of them.

"Keep trying," says Devi when they run into each other. But there's dark circles under her eyes, and her voice slurs like she's drunk. "We need to wake them up."

It's ten minutes later when she collapses on the ground, too tired to move. The citadel takes her without hesitation, and she doesn't have the energy to resist. For a moment she wonders if she'll wake up again, but the thought fades out. Her dreams fill up with fog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightbolt

The clock on the wall read 3 A.M. but sleep had never felt like more of an impossibility. He'd been watching the unreleased press conference on a loop for what felt like hours, staring at his own lips as they moved silently over words he spoke but didn't believe. Nothing is wrong, said the man on his laptop screen. We're taking care of it. The Nightbolt in front of him smiled, but the authenticity was gone. He was tired, face devoid of color and still shaking with adrenaline. His hair was matted with drying blood, ruining the perfect image that the public would see. You are safe, he told the sea of reporters in front of him. It was a lie, a dark spot of rot and decay that threatened to devour him— no, not him, Nightbolt— entirely.

But that wasn't why he watched it, why he stared mindlessly into his own face. As he mouthed each word leaving his double's lips, Santiago's eyes rested heavily on the air right behind him. Nobody should have been able to get that close. His heart fluttered in his chest, anticipating the moment it would appear. Fingers ached, stretching over the keyboard to wait for the right time to strike. There it was— his fingers came down hard against the spacebar, pausing the video. His eyes strained, fighting off sleep as he stared at the grey blur beside him. It was less than a flicker of movement, gone in a single frame, but Santiago could see it clearly for what it was. A boy stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. His body was distorted, a half-smudged pencil sketch with the details all faded away. But it had to be him. It had to be.

Nightbolt's eyes flickered to the window overlooking the city. Even in the dead of night, it was still alive. Light illuminated every corner of the world for as far as he could see. He followed the roads with his gaze, letting them lead him into the streets below as far as they could go. But every road brought him back to the citadel— waiting on the horizon.

A shiver coursed through his body as he shoved his laptop away from him. Swinging his feet off the edge of the bed, he carried himself over to the glass and the five-story drop below. I should be there now, he told himself. Each spire and brick seemed to stare back at him as he watched the foreign building. Studying it for movement. For anything. Is he there? Anxiety gnawed at his nerves, chewing through them until they were nothing but exposed wire and electricity. Santiago put his hand to the glass, watching his fingerprints smudge the window. His head throbbed.

The building had fallen so rapidly, descending to the earth like a meteor from space. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the damage it did. Trees shredded down to nothing. Buildings collapsed into rubble. People screaming. People crying. With his free hand, he traced the gash along the back of his head. Every ounce of pressure sent new waves of pain spiraling through him. He'd been stunned by falling debris, unable to move out of the approaching shadow of the citadel as it forged its path to the ground. Someone had pulled him out of the way. A figure that blinked into existence out of nowhere, tugging him out from beneath the falling building. When he'd grabbed onto him, Nightbolt saw his face for the first time. Saw his dark hair and deep brown eyes that mimicked his own so perfectly. It was the boy from Guatemala, the one doubled over in pain and trembling with fear. It was the boy he'd seen in London, staring at him from the ground below.

It was Miguel.

But it couldn't be.

He pulled his hand off the glass, stepping away from the window as he pried his eyes off of the citadel. They were rotating guard shifts now, keeping the area secure, but he wanted to be there. Something about it was pulling him closer, as if it knew something he didn't The closed doors mocked his paranoia, taunting him with their secrets.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, feeling the cold plastic case of his phone. Santiago's fingers ran over the frame, not quite ready to retrieve it. Do I really want to do this? They tightened quickly, pulling out the phone before he could answer that question. The screen was bright in the dim room, spreading light across his face as he scrolled through his contacts. There was a single name at the very bottom, tucked away where nobody would go looking for it. Nightbolt paused for a moment longer, eyes jumping back and forth between the number and the citadel in front of him, and then he pressed dial.

It took two rings to get an answer. For the crackle of a cheap, dollar-store phone to come onto the line. "¿Hola?" The voice that answered was rough, years of substance abuse giving each word a paranoid edge. "¿Quien es este?"

He ran his hand across his face, letting it tug through his hair before he replied. "It's Santiago, mamá."

"Santi!" Laughter sparked from the other end of the phone, delight illuminating each word as they entered his ears. "My boy! ¿Cómo estás? ¿Estás comiendo? Donde estas ahora?"

"I'm okay, I'm—" His eyes went back to the citadel, its darkened windows gaping at him like a thousand hungry mouths. I just have to know. "I'm in China right now." I have to be wrong. "Listen..." The words stuck in his throat, threatening to strangle him with every second that he choked. "Is Miguel there?"

She paused. A second stretched on into an eternity as he drummed his fingers against the phone. "Miguel? Sí, where else would he be?" Relief broke through the dam of emotions inside of his body, cutting the cords of tension that wound through him. He's home. "He broke his leg yesterday. Jumping off a car." Santiago could hear her shift the phone to her other hand, muttering as a door slammed shut behind her. "Pinche idiota." His lips pursed, ignoring the remark as he forced the conversation forward.

"Can I talk to him?"

"Not now, mijo. He's resting." Something in the words left a bitter taste on his tongue, twisting his stomach into a tight knot. His mother sighed, and even from thousands of miles, away he could still smell her breath as the sound of a bottle clinking against her teeth echoed across the empty space between them. "The hospital bill is going to ruin us. Eight thousand dollars to treat him, can you believe it?"

He struggled to hold back his exasperation, trying to listen patiently to each word as they rolled off her tongue. I offered you insurance, he wanted to tell her, but his mother had never believed in those sorts of things. "I sent you a check last month," Santiago reminded her. "Can you use any of it to help?" Even before the words had left his lips, he could picture her face— bleary-eyed and leaning against the wall of their house, lips melting into the immature pout he'd lived with for eighteen years.

"I put all of it into his college fund, Santi," she whined. "It would break my heart to take any of it away from his future."

Something isn't right. "All of it?" A heavy frown settled over his brow as he pulled the phone away from his ear. It took less than a second to leave the call screen, opening up the banking app on his phone. Fifteen thousand. The balance for Miguel's account stood the same as it had for months. Santiago's feet carried him from the window and back, pacing as he spoke, as the gears whirred and clicked in his mind. "Are you—"

She cut him off. "Al mal tiempo, buena cara," his mother told him sternly. It was an easy phrase to abuse, one that sowed seeds of doubt deep in his brain. Miguel isn't there. The thought was a bullet through the chest, forcing all the air from his lungs. "We can get through this, mijo. We always do."

"Can you wake up Miguel for me? Please?" Desperation leaked into his voice as he struggled to keep his eyes off of the windows. The Citadel seemed closer than before. Its eyes were staring into him, reaching with empty hands to tug at his exposed flesh. They'd rip him apart if he let them, shredding him down to nothing but bone and muscle. "It's important." I need to know he's safe. I need to hear his voice.

A scoff rang out sharp and clear on the other end, followed by the shuddering sound of teeth against glass. "I told you, baby, he's resting. I'll have him call you when he wakes up." How many times had he heard those words? His feet were pacing faster now, all but colliding with the glass each time he walked towards the window. She's lying. He's not there. He's not— Santiago couldn't breathe. From the abandoned laptop, a gentle chime started to play, beckoning him towards the illuminated screen. "What's that? ¿Estás en el trabajo?"

His words felt hollow as he spoke, eyes finally pulled away from the citadel. "Yes," he answered. "I've got to go, mamá." Nightbolt pulled the phone away from his ear, still talking even as he moved to end the call. I'll see what I can do about the bill." It was a Hollywood promise, only pretty on the outside but empty underneath.

"You're my angel, Santiago."

The line went silent before she could say more, phone abandoned on the floor as he crawled back onto the bed. With the laptop in his lap, he could confirm the call trying to come through on the other side. For a moment, the screen was dark, before a familiar face flooded the camera. One that, for the first time, wasn't his own. "Did you find it?" His whole body felt rushed, fingertips shaking as the girl on the other end looked him over in alarm.

"Are you okay?" Sadie's voice crackled through the speakers as she pushed a few strands of stray hair out of her face. "You look sick, NB. What's going on?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered sharply. "What did it say? Is he here?"

Her eyes narrowed only for a moment as she pulled her camera closer, highlighting the envelope on the desk in front of her. "Sebastian," she began, worry seeping through the edges of her tone, "there's something you should know first—" His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the computer, and she paused. Sadie sighed, pulling forward the manilla envelope. "You're lucky he's only got his eyes set on your messes right now, and not doing interviews with other metahumans." She reached inside, fingertips flicking through each scrap of loose paper as she searched for what she needed. "He hasn't even looked through these." A scrap of paper was pinched between her fingers, pulling out the glossy image of a young man. "Does this look like him? His name here is Shift."

All of the air left his body as he stared at the face she held up to the camera. Santiago knew the scowl, the deep-set eyes, the scar barely visible against his bottom lip. Beneath it was a name, barely visible through the lens of the camera. Miguel Iglesia— Shift.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much for this." He struggled to form the words, eyes bolting towards the door as he started to stand. "I- I have to go. I have to go."

"Nightbolt—" Sadie's voice was sharp, trying to break through the haze that clouded his brain. Slowly, he looked at her, struggling to focus. His whole body shook as she looked away, desperate to stare anywhere but at his face. "They know about Freefall," she said at last. It was the final nail in the coffin, sealing him into the grave he had dug so long ago. The citadel was waiting. Watching. Hungry. "It's going to be all over the news by tomorrow." Santiago couldn't bring in enough air to answer her. "What are we going to say? About the body? About the note? You were supposed to—"

He spoke at last, cutting through her words. "One disaster at a time," he told her. "I'll handle it tomorrow."

Another promise. Always broken. Always empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pocket Watch

ATTEMPTED DEVI'S WORKOUT REGIMEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nyelia

After London, Nyelia was quiet. It was difficult to enjoy what she once had when the faces of the dead waited for her each time she closed her eyes. Nothing was the same. Nothing was different. Somehow, the fact that both were true made it so much worse.

The Citadel had fallen hours ago and the sun was beginning to set across the horizon. Nyelia stood in her bedroom, unready or unwilling to change into the combat uniform that was stretched on the bed in front of her. Her fingertips moved over the cloth, feeling its sturdiness in comparison to the gentle silks she adorned herself with. I am here now, she told herself. I must protect these people. Even still, the shiver of cold breath that waited against her neck was a reminder that even in the future, Nyelia was stuck looking back. There could be no moving forward. No action. Only reaction. Only patience. If he is alive, he will come for me. Somehow, the thought gave her comfort— the promise of an end, if no other could be achieved.

The door opened behind her without warning, a quiet shape slipping into the room without a sound. She needed not to turn around— the familiar tug of the bond between them was enough to inform her of who waited for her attention. "Nyelia," Rilla's voice was soft and uncertain, "can we talk?"

As if pulled from her stupor at last, the goddess moved. "Of course," she answered. Reaching for the back of her neck, she undid the golden clasps holding up her robes. The cloth slipped away like a ghost against her skin, leaving her body bare as she grasped the combat suit. "Speak, soulmate." There was a pause after her words, a hollow silence that seemed to stretch on for lifetimes. Nyelia could feel her friend's hesitation, her worry radiated off her skin like heat generated from a furnace.

"I know what you saw," Rilla said at last. "In London. With the psychic."

Of course. Nyelia's eyes fluttered closed for less than a second, chest rising as she sucked air into her body. "Then you know." She tugged her shirt on over her head, feeling the fabric cling to her body with stiff, ridgid movements. "I was telling the truth." How many times must I tell them I cannot be wounded? Not unless she is. Even still, the material protected her vital organs, hugging her as she dressed.

Rilla's voice trembled as she spoke, like thunder too distant to fear, like the first shiver of an earthquake beneath the sand. "What I know is that there's no way those things happened, Nyelia." It was her turn to pause and look over her shoulder at the woman who stood in her room. "I found you at least eighty kilometers away from anything that could have resembled an ocean." Her pants came next, pulled from the bed and held close to her body.

"I don't understand." Nyelia fiddled with the fabric, turning to face the other woman as she tried to make sense of the conversation. She moved quickly to finish dressing, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she watched Rilla struggle to speak.

The other woman wrapped her arms around her waist, leaning backwards as she shrugged. "Geologically, it's impossible." Impossible. The word echoed in her ears, each syllable a little more warped than the last. Nyelia sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her hair over one shoulder. Impossible— but she saw it? Each time she blinked, Hanalas's face was there to greet the backs of her eyelids. His smile was bright and malicious, eyes an intoxicating molten gold that threatened to swallow whole every soul who looked into them for too long.

We don't have time for this talk. Nyelia's fingers moved quickly through her dark hair, braiding it with practiced hands. She needed to be at the Citadel soon. Too much destruction had already been caused— this was her chance to prove that she was better than London. To protect instead of hurt. But Rilla's eyes were firm and unmoving, blocking her path to the door, demanding explanation. "I cannot tell you what happened after," she told her firmly. "I was not there."

"Or, more likely, you made it up."

Her lips pursed, argument already poised on the end of her tongue. "Rilla—"

It was a warning, but the doctor didn't listen long enough to hear the rest. "I care about you. You're my friend," Rilla told her. "That's why I need you to understand that..." She stopped, arms dropping to her sides as she stepped closer in a gesture of peace. "You're sick, Nyelia." Her voice was soft now, a sickening concern seeping in through the cracks and raising bile on the back of the goddess's tongue. "I want to help you, but I can't if you keep holding on to this."

From the small window in the corner of the room, Nyelia could feel the wind whipping against the trees. It was a knot inside of her gut, pulled so tightly that she could barely breathe. "I know what happened." Each word was sharper than glass, sharper than the spear she longed to have tight in her grasp right then. Not for violence. For security. For comfort. "I was there."

Slowly, Rilla shook her head. "No, you weren't."

Something began to boil inside of Nyelia's chest as she listened to her speak. "How long must we go through this?' she snapped, rising to her feet. "What you saw— what we saw, is the truth." Anger was a snake coiled inside of her, hissing and striking at the empty air.

Her friend shuddered to take in a breath, eyes darting around the room as she tried to look anywhere else. "Look, I know you. You're strong. You can see through this—"

"I am a goddess, Dr. Manco." She towered over the mortal woman, but her size could not intimidate her.

Finally, Rilla's voice broke, frustration pooling into each word as she struggled to hold on to what she hoped was real. "No you aren't!" she shouted, shoulders shaking with each word. "Because you've convinced yourself that these things happened when they didn't. There were no children! There was no cave. No ocean. None of it. If you would just listen to me for two minutes—"

"I have listened!" Nyelia's voice cracked, strength crumbling away as she stepped towards her friend. "I have listened and watched and all I have learned is that you believe in nothing." Something warm trickled down her cheeks, dripping off of her chin as her breathing shuddered. All at once, a wellspring of emotions bubbled up into an impossible storm, and she could not stop the words that echoed from her throat. "Everyone I know is dead. Everything I ever cared about is gone." A cold sob wracked through her shoulders as she shook her head, fury and grief forcing the warning through her body. She shoved past her soulmate, headed to the door with her hair still half-braided and her eyes swollen with tears. I have a job to do.

"You do not get to choose what is real," Nyelia told her. "You do not get to take what I have left."