When Banshee's boots hit the floor of the pit, she knew something was very, very wrong.

There was a sharp tang in the air that bit the insides of her mouth with each breath. It felt wrong. It prickled her skin and latched onto every hair on her body. If the Serpent's aura was a fruit that had gone rotten with time, this new feeling was like a fruit that had sprouted from a tree with roots in a well of poison. It had been born wrong. It had never been anything else.

Banshee shivered, trying to shake the feeling as it settled into her bones. Down here, the pit felt a lot darker, but this darkness wasn't woven of shadows but the sheer presence of the pit, pressing down on her like a tonne of rock. Though Banshee knew she could jump or climb out of the pit at any point, the walls felt a thousand metres tall around her. It was at least five metres across at the lowest point with its conical shape, but it felt confined. Restricted.

Starlight only knew how Harpy had kept her will to fight.

Needing the comfort of something real, Banshee drew Joy and, with the dagger firmly in hand with its tip pointed behind her, she approached Harpy. Fae's flecks hovered behind her, cautious.

The once-elder Luminary lay on her back, her eyes closed and her chest heaving. Her body was tangled up in the ragged blue fabric of her 'wings'. Her nails were torn. Blood came from the corner of her mouth and her hair was a wild mess. Despite it all, these was still a strength on her face. This woman, despite being Wyvern's age, looked ten years younger. The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes were shallow and at odds with the dark circles under her eyes.

Banshee crouched down beside Harpy and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Harpy?"

Harpy's eyes flashed open. Quicker than Banshee had realised she was capable of, Harpy twisted her body and was up on her feet, stance wide and ready to fight even as her legs were shaking beneath her.

"Harpy!" said Banshee, holding her hands up. "Harpy, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Harpy's gaze flicked to Joy, still held in Banshee's hand. With a silent curse, Banshee went to lower Joy and sheath the weapon, but halfway through the movement, Harpy launched herself straight at Banshee's midsection.

Only a shadow shifted sidestep at the last moment saved Banshee from being knocked flat. "Harpy! Stop, it's me! Banshee! Shadow of Skypillar! The one who asks all the annoying questions!"

Harpy spun on her foot and snarled. "Illusions, all of you! I will defeat this one just like the rest!"

Again, Harpy attacked and again, Banshee dodged. Clearly, Harpy was under some hallucination. No surprise, given the length of time the Serpent had held her captive, but it posed a serious problem. How was she supposed to convince Harpy that she wasn't an illusion?

"No, Harpy, it's really me!" said Banshee as she continued to avoid Harpy's strikes. She was fast, faster than any mortal should have been, but she wasn't a Luminary. "You know the couch in the Lumi common room? It has a stain on it because you spilled coffee on it!" No reaction. "And, remember Ella and Andrew? You sent me and Cryo after them to check on them. I thought I was doing something really important, but it was just busywork. Then we ended up finding a nest, which really started this whole situation but--"

"I will not listen to you!" screamed Harpy. "I am Harpy, the Fury of Skypillar itself! No matter what your illusions pull from my mind, I will not tell you what they say, Serpent! I will fight them and defeat them until I go Dark, and even then I will resist you! My talons will gouge your eyes!"

Banshee ducked low under a punch. "Seriously, Harpy! It's legitimately me!"

Banshee jumped up the wall, driving Joy's tip into the starstone and perched on top of the dagger's hilt in her shadow shift, well out of Harpy's reach.

"Fight me, illusion!" demanded Harpy.

Testing the waters, Banshee went with something ridiculous. "But hanging around is so much more fun. I mean, I get to watch you chilling down there, I get to chill up here. Everyone's happy!" She pursed her lips. "Except Cryo. Despite being the Aspect of Frost, he has a remarkable lack of chill most of the time."

"What?" said Harpy, clearly taken aback.

"Well, I mean, I don't know if you're up to date with the terminology, but you definitely look like you could use a break."

Harpy threw her head back and laughed. "A break, you say? Fine thing for you, Serpent. You sought to crack me with your lies and your trickery, but I will never betray those I care about. I will die before you break me!"

"Yeah, but I don't think you can die in there, can you?" said Banshee. "I heard some guys talking before. Something about as long as you have the will to fight, this pit will keep you going. Does that mean you're going to be down there forever?"

Harpy paused before she replied. She directed her gaze towards the ground and closed her eyes. Her hand went to her heart. "If that is my fate, then I will accept it for an eternity to protect him."

"Him?" said Banshee. "Who, Wyvern? Cos he's wandering around here looking for you. We came after him, but, welp. What can you do. Old bat won't listen to anyone but you."

"You taunt me," said Harpy through clenched teeth. "Quiet your tongue and fight me, fiend."

"I'm pretty sure I read that in a temple textbook once," said Banshee.

She shivered again and rubbed her arms. The feeling was in her bones now. When she glanced up, the walls felt impossible, but there were shadows up there, still watching over her. Fae's flecks still hovered around her hand--actually, there was an idea.

"Fae?" said Banshee. The flecks didn't respond, continuing to hang in the air. "Fae, can you help me break this hallucination on Harpy? It seems pretty strong. I have no idea how to convince her that I'm the real deal."

Still, Fae's magic continued to hover and wink at her with its violet light. Banshee waved her hand through it, hoping to get Fae's attention, but the effort was for naught. Wherever DragonFae's attention was, it wasn't in this pit. She couldn't rely on it for help.

And speaking of help, where in this Other-damned city was Cryo?

Banshee glanced back at Harpy, still pacing the floor below her.

"I realise this is probably a pointless question," said Banshee, shifting on Joy's hilt. "But is there anything I could actually do to convince you that I'm actually Banshee?"

Harpy considered that for a moment, her cunning gaze never leaving Banshee.

"You could come down here and free me of my shackles."

Banshee looked Harpy over. "I don't see any shackles."

"They aren't made of metal or anything physical, but your daggers will sever them just the same."

Pretty much every part of Banshee screamed at her that it was a trap. "What if I just throw Grief down there with you and you sever them yourself?"

"No," said Harpy. "You asked how you could prove yourself. This is the only way, and you have to do it now, before you think of a way to convince me that my mind has finally snapped in this forsaken pit."

"Promise that you won't attack me as soon as I get down there?"

Harpy remained still, so perfectly still that she resembled one of the starstone statues scattered around the city. "As long as you hold your promise."

Banshee's mouth set in a firm line.

She had to try.

"Okay. I'm coming down."

Banshee took Joy's hilt in her hand and in one agile movement, pulled its tip out of the wall and flipped down to land on her feet. She stood at the bottom of the pit for an eternity of a second, watching Harpy for any giveaway that she was about to strike. When Harpy didn't move, Banshee gave out a little more of her trust.

"Where are these shackles?"

"On my ankles," said Harpy. "They chain me here and prevent me from flying out."

Banshee bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from telling Harpy that she wasn't... well, Harpy. She could get to that after they were both out of this pit.

Harpy placed her foot out towards Banshee, who, after a moment and a steadying breath, stepped forward. She knew that if she threw the dagger, Harpy's fragile trust would break, but slicing through this invisible shackle would put her in a precarious position if Harpy was attempting to deceive her.

Banshee held Harpy's gaze as she stood an arm's length away. "I'm trusting you. Can I trust you, Harpy?"

"You asked me that once before," murmured Harpy. The lines on her face softened. She stretched out her arm, gaze flicking to the tattered material before she frowned and folded her arm away once more, her expression hardening like stone again. "Your time is running short if you wish to prove yourself."

Banshee nodded. Then, wary of every little detail and as deep in her shadow shift as she could go without falling through the floor, she crouched before Harpy.

She brought Joy to the side of Harpy's gold-wrapped foot. The material was filthy, ripped and torn. Harpy's skin was no better off. "Where is this shackle?"

"Around my ankle."

Banshee leaned forward and, uncertain, brought Joy down in a quick motion from the outside of Harpy's calf down to the floor. "Did that work?"

"Partially," said Harpy. "You'll have to cut behind my ankle, too."

And lean even further forward, thought Banshee, though she did it without hesitation. She reached behind Harpy's ankle with Joy, and just as she was about to bring the blade down on the supposed invisible shackle, the weight of Grief disappeared from its scabbard on her lower back.

Banshee's heart plummeted as she threw herself forward and rolled through Harpy's legs, just managing to avoid the slash of Grief in Harpy's hand. She opened her mouth to speak but Harpy was on her again, driving her back against the wall with one of her own daggers.

Not only that, but Banshee found her shadow shift failing her. There were no shadows down here for her to shift into, not when the walls of the pit were getting smaller and smaller and climbing higher and higher. Harpy attempted a downwards strike with Grief, one that Banshee had no choice but to deflect with Joy.

"I am the Fury of Skypillar!" screeched Harpy. "I cannot be quenched, and I can never be silenced!"

Banshee struggled to adjust to the sudden change in pace as the shadows abandoned her entirely. Grief flashed down. Banshee tried to duck to the side, but she wasn't fast enough. Harpy's claws came from the other side, keeping her confined, corralled. Wherever she turned, Harpy's gleaming talons were waiting to stop her and push her back in.

Banshee surrendered to instinct as she fended off Harpy, but Joy wasn't enough. Harpy's Fury-fuelled strikes with Grief were slowly overwhelming her, suffocating her. With every strike, a little more of the feather-flecked material binding Harpy's arms transformed into majestic, battle-ragged wings. The golden material that bound her hands, legs and feet became toughened scales and claws that could eviscerate anyone through the toughest armour. Her beak--

Banshee lashed out with her foot, catching Harpy in the stomach and pushing her back, giving Banshee two seconds of breathing room. Something wasn't right about Harpy's beak. It was--it was hanging around her neck, not on her face, over her mouth where it should have been.

Grief clashed into Joy in a clang of shadow-formed steel once more. Grief gave Banshee shallow cuts along her tunic when she wasn't fast enough as her mind raced, trying to work it out. Harpy's beak wasn't on her face... because it wasn't real. It was a gag, designed to mock of her former glory. It'd been hanging around her neck before she'd jumped in the pit, and--the wings weren't real either. Neither were the talons that slashed at Banshee's sides.

It was an illusion. Harpy's transformation was an illusion.

Banshee used that realisation to ground her as she found her rhythm with Joy. Whatever enchantment was on the pit fought her for every second of truth. It tried to drag her back down, back into Harpy's illusion that she was still the Fury of Skypillar trapped in the pit a million metres deep, but Banshee refused to believe it.

The shadows were not beyond her reach. They were there, and like a breath of fresh air, Banshee took them in. She shifted into their presence like a warm blanket on a cold night, and with them at her side, she met Grief easily.

"This illusion is stronger than the rest," said Harpy with a grunt, but she didn't relent. "Is this your plan? To lock me in endless combat? Why pick Banshee of all people? What do you mock me with this time?"

"I'm not your enemy, Harpy," said Banshee. "I came to rescue you. Cryo too. And Wyvern. And Golem. All of us, guided by Fae's magic."

"I will not believe it," said Harpy, the words like a mantra as tears spilled down her cheek. "I will not believe you. Ever."

Though Banshee was now faster than Harpy, she still couldn't see a way to win that didn't involve attacking Harpy. She needed to get Harpy out of this pit, but how? In Harpy's mind, this pit was inescapable. The walls were so high, and--

Banshee cut off the thought before it finished, but it was too late. The pit's enchantment dragged her back down. The walls were too high. She would die down here. She would be locked in combat until she was ready to die, but the pit would not release her to death unless she yielded to its power and let it inside her mind, her heart.

Her shadows slipped. Another gash, this time with blood as Grief broke through her skin in a stripe of pain.

"Harpy, please!" called Banshee, but the Fury of Skypillar lived up to her name. Her face was a mask of beaten-down rage, the coals of a once beautiful fire just clinging onto life. A fire that had been vibrant and wild, that had heated the world around her like the braziers above had heated the metal. The Fury of Skypillar was not a physical Aspect of Skypillar, not like Frost or Shadow, but it was vital, born of care and passion. It was a driving force, an integral part of life, no matter how unpleasant or unwanted. When invoked, Harpy was Skypillar's right hand.

Banshee heard the song calling in her ears, and with every scrap of belief she had left to muster in this pit, she sang.

The Furysong filled the air, a perfect tempo to the raging tempest of Harpy's strikes. Banshee moved with it. She let herself be swept up in it and answered Harpy back with strikes of her own. Harpy swept her wing out from the right, following up immediately with a lunge from Grief in the moment that Banshee was blinded by feathers. Banshee stepped back and brought her knee up, colliding with Harpy's wrist to knock her off balance. The elder Luminary turned her fall into a twist, sweeping her leg under Banshee's, who jumped to avoid it.

The two of them met in a perfect storm. Their blades crossed and sang like thunderbolts. Fury and Shadow, Grief and Joy, trading blow after blow to the melody that had defined the last twenty years of one of their lives.

Together, they pushed through the violent, savage strikes until finally, they whirled around one last time and met in the eye of their storm.

Grief rang out against Joy one last time with a final, pealing note that ended the song on Banshee's lips. She stood side on to Harpy, blades crossed, chests heaving, and gazes locked. The walls of the pit felt like their actual size. Harpy was once more garbed in the tattered material, but despite her rags, she looked far stronger than she had before.

"You are truly the Shadow of Skypillar," said Harpy.

"I did try telling you in the beginning."

Harpy looked to her outstretched arm, the material covering it. "And I am no longer the Fury of Skypillar."

Banshee swallowed. "No."

They stood there for a long moment, neither of them willing to move.

"I don't know how long I've been down here, or how fractured I am, or long I will last have after I leave this pit," said Harpy. "I know only one thing: that you are who you say you are, and it is because of that I now entrust this task to you."

Harpy lowered Grief and turned its point towards her chest. Fear shot through Banshee. She reached out to snatch the dagger back, but Harpy only made a slit in the blue material, low enough to reveal the entirety of her tattoo. Like Wyvern's, Harpy's tattoo moved on her skin. It shifted and shimmered with an ethereal glow.

Harpy gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Don't worry. I'm not done fighting yet."

Banshee still found it hard to withdraw her hand as Harpy once more pointed Grief towards her chest and dug its tip into her skin at the centre of the Harpy sigil, right over the place where the wings met her body. A thin trickle of blood ran down the centre of her chest as Harpy pried loose a familiar crystal.

The aurorastone.

Harpy held it out to Banshee, along with Grief's hilt.

Banshee sheathed Grief before taking the aurorastone. "How did you--"

"A Luminary's tattoo is not entirely of this world," said Harpy. "It was the only place I could hide its aura from the Serpent's gaze, but I believe Fae's concealment spell on both yours and Cryo's auras will be sufficient to hide it. It is up to the both of you to protect it now."

"How--"

Harpy cradled her head with one hand. "I... already feel myself slipping. Without the enchantment on the pit--" She straightened up, blinking several times before she spoke. "Listen. This is not the true aurorastone. It is merely a focuser for the true aurorastone. Though Fae will know the ritual, she will not know that it is only a focuser. Tell her, but you cannot let the Serpent know. The Serpent cannot know that the true aurorastone is within the Core. Wyvern and I have deceived it for so many years after we learned the truth, but you--you know now. It is the aurorastone itself that the Serpent seeks. But it cannot--it... it can't--"

Harpy pitched forward mid-sentence. Banshee caught her.

"Harpy?" said Banshee, trying to support Harpy's near-deadweight. She sat them on the ground, holding Harpy's upper body in her lap. "Harpy, you still awake?"

Harpy's eyes rolled back in her head. Sweat was breaking out across her forehead. "Don't... don't let him take it. Protect. You. Him. Her."

Banshee tapped her tattoo three times, waited a few moments, then tapped it three times again, hoping Cryo would get the message. With no Featherbutt in sight, Banshee waved her hands towards Fae's flecks.

"Fae! You paying attention yet?"

The flecks flared, buzzed, and zipped through the air towards her.

Banshee breathed a sigh of relief.

"Go find Cryo. Bring him here. I think Harpy's alive but she needs medical attention. Fast."

The flecks zoomed off, out and over the top of the pit, leaving Banshee along with the nearly unconscious ex-Fury of Skypillar and a piece of crystal.

"I never thought to hear the Furysong anywhere but my heart during my lifetime," murmured Harpy, her eyes glazing over. Still, she had the strength to grab Banshee's tunic and pull herself closer. "This gift is precious. It was powerful enough to destroy the first civilisation. Keep it secret. Safe. The song... the song and the stone..."

Harpy fell back into Banshee's grip, this time completely unconscious.

Banshee could only bite her lip, her mouth still haunted by the melody she'd unleashed. First Wyvern's Poisonsong, now Harpy's Furysong. Both had reached some deep layer of existence that she didn't even want to try and understand.

Keep it secret. Safe.

Viri's violet eyes in her memory.

We knew he wasn't listening tonight.

When you two are together, he is always listening.

Banshee reached up to touch her tattoo, her fingers resting just above it as she felt a single tap echo across her chest. She replied with three of her own. Cryo had found Wyvern, and she had found Harpy and the aurorastone-focuser... thingy.

Something had worked out right for them, at least.

Banshee leaned back, eyeing the top of the pit before she looked back to Harpy. The woman was still feverish and there was probably a bunch of side effects that would hit her in the next few days, but for now, Banshee was just glad that she'd found her alive.

"Now the real problem," muttered Banshee. "How by the stars and sky am I supposed to get Harpy out of this pit?"

*+*+*+*

A/N - I'm really proud of this chapter T^T The whole Furysong / Poisonsong thing wasn't planned when I started writing it, but it's developed into a whole new thing XD 

FUN FACT: This chapter was a nightmare to write. Like. I tried to write it SO many times and it just... didn't work. Originally, Harpy was supposed to be unconscious, and after Banshee found her that was that. NOPE TURNS OUT HARPY WAS AWAKE AND THIS HAPPENED. AND I REALLY LIKE THAT THIS HAPPENED. 

THOUGHTS?