"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
It is comforting, to speak to someone about the past and know that they recognize it. She has the same jungle growing in her heart. She has the same vines wild around her throat, the same memories of the same places of his youth. When she comes to his side, pressing her shoulder into him, he gives her a hazy smile, the edges of his ink-stained mouth turning upward in the corners, crooked and grateful for the kindness she shows him. “She is home, with her favorite jaguar. Of this, I am sure.”
Death had not held onto his father so deftly.
Then again, it had not held onto him that well either.
His smile deepens though as she talks of Tephra, of being willing to help him stabilize the kingdom, to nurture it into something fierce. Magnus has no grand designs of power, he has never thirsted for it to put it to his own name, but he does know that a weak kingdom is an invitation. He may believe in the dream of a sanctuary, a haven, but he does not prescribe to the idea of Tephra just being another common land.
And that’s what they are now.
And it makes his heart twist painfully.
He reaches out and presses the velvet of his nose into her neck, a silent thank you that he cannot voice.
It meant everything to him that another was willing to come to Tephra and help her stand. The fact that it was an Amazon of his past only makes it that much sweeter, and he has no way of thanking her for that.
***
The journey back to the volcanic kingdom is at times quiet and loud, Magnus leading her the relatively short distance. He gives her space for some of it. For others, he steals her attention, talking of the changes of Beqanna as they go, asking her questions, listening to her talk in that lyrical voice of hers.
It’s only when they reach the border though that his expression truly changes, something changing within him as he looks across the streams of water and thin lava to the land. The faeries had once gifted him this land, handed it to him and entrusted its care to him and his peers. He couldn’t fail it now.
Swallowing back the sentiment, Magnus turns to the mare by his side, gold-flecked eyes burning bright, before turning it back to the land that unfolds before them, vibrant and lush and warming with the day.
“Welcome to Tephra.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
A part of her mind dwells on the phrase, on his words: on the notion that somewhere beyond this world there is the old: the Sisters and the Jaguars, and all those who had come and now were gone. Yet her head lowers, and she closes her dark eyes, allows her ears to press back and the sound of familiar voices to linger in memory where they slept… Aysel, for precious seconds, dreams of her life from before and how it ended when Hel arrived. In the aftermath she lifts her head and looks to Magnus with an easy and relaxed smile, something soft and genuine: something she has not done for some hundred years or more.
The void, the beyond, whatever its name: she recalls it for a moment and she thinks of the endless forests and how vines had rotted on ruins and statues: how gravity lapsed and all the world seemed to be a bizarre mirrored husk of what was.
Death did not exist there, and time was only a rumor… and she shudders to think that may be the end.
Still, she feels the plush, soft nose and the warmth of his breath- the gesture causing her to chuckle and in turn she waits before leaning just slightly against him, enough to perhaps convey the small affection it was meant to give.
On their way, she follows, watches and waits- listens and takes her time to see the changing landscape and all the wild of Beqanna reformed.
Field becomes forest and sand, and soon enough the trees become mossy with lengthy vines clinging to their branches. Stone and soil are mixed with ash and she can smell the moisture and salt… the touch of volcanic sulfur that briefly tinges the air and fades. Her eyes dart and she notes the glossy plants and brilliant flowers, the low mist on the ground and all the shadows that slither this way and that.
For a brief moment she breaks ahead of him, only to step off the pathways and to dart between tree and brush- to return with ash spattering the whites of her stockings and a flower clasped between her lips: delicate and strange, a dark purple almost black that resembled a sort of bat. Playful in essence Aysel returns to him and continues moving: preening the bat flower into her own mane. “I remember these, they are a hardy flower if odd. But, ah, I see,” she stop as he does, the warmth spreading through her.
“It is beautiful, I could not have expected to see such a thing again. My heart, ah- it aches.” the latter, she sighs at, swallowing as if not meant to say it aloud but, too late to take it back. “And yet, it is a pleasant ache, a pain I have not long felt before.”
A Y S E L
so you can throw me to the wolves tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
His gold-flecked eyes warm with pleasure as she takes in Tephra, noting the wildlife and the rich vegetation. There was not a place in all of the new Beqanna that boasted as gorgeous of plant life as the jungle except Tephra, of this he was certain. There was something about the humidity in the air, the thickness of it that sat in your lungs and coated your throat, tempting you further into it. He hadn’t ever experiencing something this lush, this beautiful, this intoxicating since the jungle.
He hadn’t been sure that he would ever experience it again.
But it was here and his heart could explode with joy from it. She moves further into the kingdom, darting away to find a beautiful treasure, and he grins, unable to contain the happiness that seeps across his chest.
“Perfect,” he muses, lacerated lips lifting into a crooked smile. “You look perfect.”
He turns his head from her to look out at the volcanic isle that spreads out before them, the shadows dipping in and out, the wind fluttering the edges of it, the volcano standing tall and proud over it all. “I know what you mean.” His voice is quiet but his chest constricts painfully. “After the Reckoning, when everything imploded on itself, I thought I would never see something like the jungle again.”
It had been painful beyond words to lose his childhood home.
A scar he bore to this day.
“When the faeries granted us Tephra, and led us here, I knew it was home. It’s not the jungle. Nothing will ever replace the jungle in wildness and history, but there’s an echo of it here. A spirit that lives in the wind and in the soil.” A chuckle. “Or maybe I’m just an overly sentimental fool of a man.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
“And yet, here you are: here we are.” she purrs in response, those dark eyes locked on him and her posture unchanging for the moment- instead there is follow up and a heaviness in her voice: a smokiness that conveys the rapturous emotions in a subtle way. “Standing in the thick brush, and vines, and dewy from the moisture in the air. The smell of rain and life, of this ash, and of a home that while not ours truly, is what Beqanna has given us… given you.” she pauses after that, tilting her head and striding forward, allowing her body to lean in close and to brush shoulder against his own (so long as he allowed it) and to circle him whilst brushing against… touching the soft nose to his neck in an attempt of comfort.
Aysel closes her eyes for a second, unconsciously mulling over memories and thoughts, sighing and allowing her voice to carry before peering up at him with a faint, mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “We are creatures of sentiment, of nostalgia- we ache for what was and what has been; but do not discourage what is and what has to be. Foolish, maybe, but not for that: no.”
In that moment she lingers, lazes and even takes seconds to stretch legs and shift her weight. “That flattery with your tongue though,” she begins, chuckling and thinking of the flower she has preened into her hair. “Perhaps for that you may be foolish, after all, as much as I enjoy hearing it: I am far from perfection or perfect. If anything I am like a ruin, the marble is crackles and ivy-ridden, vine tangles and sunken into the earth… an unmoving remind of what was. It is beautiful, breath-taking and inspirational; but the ruin is just that, it will never have the life it once had.”
She sighs.
“So, perfect? No. But, I possess a beauty of my own… and I appreciate you speaking on it. After all, you are pleasing on the eyes, and I have enjoyed our conversations, Magnus.” the vermilion hair falls across her face, those curled and lengthy locks of her mane and tail dragging and her varnish body seemed shaggy; but likely from the turn of season. Aysel shakes her head to brush it out of the way, allowing the sun to briefly glare into the dark blue eyes and catch the silver flecks hidden in them.
Singsong and as she is, Aysel lifts her gaze to the lad spread out before them- contemplative and quiet before continuing from the elongated and heavily pregnant pause. “You’ve brought an old jaguar to the new jungle, I think that’s a start to feeling more at home and easing the sentiment… thank you, Magnus.” the latter was heavy, breathy and she lifted her head again; but this time, she looked to him and nestled against him- thankful and content.
A Y S E L
so you can throw me to the wolves tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
It is easy to fall into this conversation. Easy to let himself pick up the natural rhythms of it. He has always enjoyed the company of women best, charmed by their intelligence and their sharp tongues or their kindness or their bravery. He had been taught from an early age the beauty that they all possess and it was natural for him to relish the time spent with them. It brought out the best sides of his personalities, made him more charming, more patient, sharper. And thus, he eases into this conversation now, letting his gold-flecked eyes warm with affection as he listens to her talk, ink-tipped ears swiveled forward.
“May my tongue fall off before I ever say something untrue,” he teases, grinning a crooked smile down at where she nestles into his shoulder. It has been a long time since he has felt the warmth of a woman there, pressed into the sun-heated flesh of his side. It causes an ache in his heart as he thinks of those who have once laid their head against his shoulder. His heart twists painfully, the ghosts rising up his throat, but he turns from them, giving her his full attention. Carefully he reaches out to brush her forelock away so that he can better see her eyes. “All of these things you say, they are what make you perfect.”
She is the jungle and the vine and the panther and it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t feel the life that brims within her because he does. She is not just a ruin, although there are monuments of the past built within her. She is alive and simmering with passion and his gold-flecked eyes spark as he traces the lines of her face. “I should be the one thanking you.” His whiskey voice is low and he looks away from where she leans into him to the rest of the land that spreads out, lush and beautiful, teeming with the same life that he hears echo in her heart. “Tephra will be better for having you in it. I’m so glad you’ve come home.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
All tease and play, she can’t help but allow the smile to draw across her lips nor can she stop the way her brow seems to set and the mischief that gleams in those dark blue eyes. Aysel can only exist in that moment with those features, with red wavy forelock spread across her face and the mane dripping down her neck: splotched with areas of gray to break the vast earthy coloration. Built more akin to her Criollo roots she was muscular and compact, a creature whose body moved with lacking grace but a degree of strength. Such was seen as she shifted her weight, flexed the muscles well beneath the skin and allowed for her Magnus’ very own touch to brush away those wild hairs.
Dark blue and almost black, silver flecks circled the iris, and more so notable were the silvery almost lavender rings that looped the edges and seemed to shimmer in their own way. Peering calmly and quietly Aysel does not resist the touches to her face, the brush of a nose or breath that crosses her skin- instead she minds it with patience and a sort of intrigue. Still, it crosses her mind how the golden skin is warmer and Magnus’ form seems heavier and much bulkier: how by comparison his strength seemed so assured, just as his movements.
When she speaks its with the same lilt and accent, but there is a soberness to it- not an unpleasant or shock one, just something more grounded. “I look forward to seeing her blossom more, grow and become what she is meant to be- what she could’ve been many years ago. Are the residents younger? More untested? Or are they familiar with campaign and conquests?” she pauses, and waits for minutes, allowing him time to answer as she looks at him more directly than she had- to lift the great head and perk her ears.
“You can thank me when that day comes, flourish and growth.” more playful but still carrying a degree of subtly ferocity she inhales and steps forward, looking out and noting cracks where jungle and forest schismed and split: blackened by obsidian and frozen earth- ash. She smells the faint volcanic touches of the air and her gaze circles before turning to him with a distinct sort of feline voracity. “I ought tell you to mock battle me, test my old legs and self before I speak like the Warbringer I was… I could be.”
There is tease but also a devious challenge, a low rumbling that exists in her throat and chest: a smokey quality in her speaking that makes her voice different and yet the same. Not far from him, she still feels herself close and the touch of his side: the sun warmed skin and the heart that beat beneath his ribs. For a moment she is quiet, leaning to preen and brush the curve of his neck and shoulder, gentle kisses that were a thank you and more. “You still smell like the old Jungle, the moss and rocks- the vines and all the primal things. You’ve brought them here.” compliment or flattery, it mattered little, she enjoys it: enjoys his company.
A Y S E L
so you can throw me to the wolves tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
She does not take long to ask more questions, and he is glad to appease her. He settles into a more comfortable position, a back leg casually cocked, his short, sun-bleached tail casually flicking at his sides. For a moment he is quiet as he looks from her to Tephra, worry beginning to churn in his gut but such concern not reaching his eyes. “It is a mixture of things.” A muscle jumps in his jaw as he considers it.
“When the Reckoning happened, and the lands of old folded into Beqanna, we were left with nothing but fear and uncertainty. After several days of chaos, I made my way up the mountain alongside Offspring, the last King of the Tundra. We petitioned the faeries for a home to draw together members of several kingdoms and were granted the first land of the new Beqanna. We called her Tephra.”
He pauses, mulling over the history, spreading it out and mapping his way back.
“At first, it was led by committee by Offspring, Malis of the Chamber, Eight of the Valley, and myself, formerly of the Gates.” It had burned him to ally with the Valley, a bitter pill to swallow to join with a kingdom for which he held such historic prejudice, but it had been what was right for everyone and he had eventually found it in him to overcome it. “Eventually, the three others stepped back.”
He had not minded that they wanted to lead their lives in quiet, in private.
He had simply wanted to do what was right for the land they founded.
“Tephra grew strong in number. We were a peaceful, neutral land with room for private citizens to simply live here and a central caste for those who wanted purpose. We were home of Kings and Queens of old, of warriors, of magicians. We did not want for security.” He frowns here, the scars within him aching as he peels them open, letting the fresh air wash over them. “Eventually, I stepped back. I…I struggle with time sometimes. When you have lived as long as I have, when you have spent years dead beneath the sea, it is difficult to hold onto time in the same concrete way that it feels for others. It becomes…fluid.”
It doesn’t strike him that he hasn’t told her about his death, his resurrection, and she he just continues. “When I returned, Kromium had just challenged for and taken the throne from a friend of mine, Warrick, who is sick and left to be with his family. Kromium is young and untested and I have seen him little since our initial interaction.” He swallows, bitterness on his tongue. “I hope he lives up to the task of it all.”
Finally, he grows quiet, the weight of his words, the reminder of it all pushing down on his spine. He turns his gaze back from the horizon to her, watching as she steps away. His voice grows huskier when he watches her. “Careful who you challenge to a mock.” She comes back to his side and he nips playfully at her neck as she presses kisses up his own. “I do not play nice.” His eyes spark at this, knowing that if she is anything like the Amazon that he knows her to be that she will not play kindly either.
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Imagine if you will a great cat laying upon a log, its tail swaying idly beneath and behind it: so lazily one might note the slow curves and patterns of how it bends. The beasts head lifting from crossed paws but not with malice nor hunters intention, rather it peers and watches: waits, and takes a breath that is deep and long and exhaled in a manner that its throat rumbles with a cacophonous purring. Those beautifully smooth shoulders rolling back and its body drawn up as it sits on curled haunches with its ears twitching and muscles rippling beneath the furred and patterned skin.
Aysel is, in the moments he speaks, much like the very cat. Her posture still and body language settled as her full attention is given to Magnus and his tale. She notes each pitch change and rumbling, each breath between words: her head leveling and ears leaning forward at the very mention of the Valley, and even of the Chamber. She minds this, but, there is a strained look of conflict in her dark blue eyes- one that fades away as she considers many thoughts and things: many truths.
“Time is a lie,” she interrupts, purring and yet half growling- the sobriety of her words mirrored in her very expression. “A strange myth, it exists differently for all of us. Many see it as the sun rising and falling, as the number of times that cycle occurs and how many we see.” shrugging, she peers at him with no greater change to her nature at present. “But for some of us, we cannot count. We do not exist in the spectrum of it: I stepped out of a voidal place, of somewhere where it feels like you’ve blinked and suddenly fifty years has passed. You and I? This is our curse and our blessing.”
At that she pauses, waits and listens- adds no more in or out and merely notes the way the sun illuminates the curves and muscles of his body. Notes the scars and all the world of experience written across his skin. When finally she does speak up, it is with the flicking of her ears and the gleaming of something ancient and war-like in her very eyes. “You are not the only one to die and return, to freeze and fall into darkness: returning as you had been centuries ago. My mother was a woman named Soraya,” she speaks with no love in the name, only bitterness and anger.
“Soraya and her brother, her twin, Stelios- they conceived myself and my siblings. Kadir, Savas, Damla, and Mehtap… we were gifted with power over the elements. Of Water, of Air- it was the nature of the place I call home. My grandmother, Larxene, was a Queen and an Oracle whose power over Fire gave her such skill that no man or woman tested her and she ruled the reborn Summerlands without challenge for years. She raised me and my brood, because my mother was a wicked creature who slaughtered every female and their child who lay with my father: and in time she tried to kill the Kings and Queens of the Reef, of the Sands.” she pauses, lifting her head and glancing away with furrowed brows.
“I came to Beqanna many years ago and found my elemental powers gone, I walked upon this place when the Chamber was young and the rulers were masterful in their ways. Yet it was Asylum who brought me to the Jungle, and she asked that I serve Prague as I did her- and of course I bowed to my new Sister, my Queen. I remember the first time I vanished, when I saw the depths of the forest and walked into them. Time was frozen and strange: it did not exist, and there was only the wilds of the jungle. When I emerged again there was Pangea and Sylva: the Taiga. Shiv told me to go with him, he asked, and I for a time did- because I was lost and I could not remember the Jungle. Carnage, his father, I was told has become or been revered as some God; but shiv was merely a man and for him I bore a son named Tithe.” in this pause, she delays- considers and thinks.
In her silence she tries to recall her pale son and how sickly he had been: how anguished she was when he could barely lift his head; but in those breaths she turns back to look at Magnus once more with a degree of warmth hidden in her severity.
“I took Tithe into the depths of the forest and he grew; but only for so long before all the world froze again. He is man now, doing as pleases; but I am frozen and aging again, lacking powers still, and recalling ancient things as if they were yesterday. You are not the only one to know these strange realities, but, never fear Magnus- General, and once-King… I have no desire to turn away from you or Tephra with these things said. If anything, I understand now more than ever why it is you seek to bolster and grow her. Your passion… and desires.” the latter prompts her to wink, to offer a coquette grin.
She chuckles, her body leaning and resting against his in the a relaxed and aloof manner, comfortable. “And if he does not live up to it, so be it: another will replace him more deserving and capable. That is the nature of kingdoms and Beqanna.” she’d have shrugged but there is a crooked way she tilts her head- a fire in her eyes that grows and smolders. “Ohh, I hope you don’t, I would hate to see you pulling punches… such a turn off, and so foolish. Mhmm, after all, you seem a bit rougher- I like it.”
I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound
He has heard such stories before, these tales of lands beyond Beqanna, but he finds that he is just as fascinated every time. His lids droop slightly as he listens to her speak, concentrating on her words,, letting the richness of her accent roll through him, the edges of it as warm as the sun that covers his back. One corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile, his ears perked and angled toward her amongst the mess and tangles of his forelock. He imagines the worlds as she describes them, envisioning them as she tells of her family, of the powers they wielded, of the kingdoms they ruled and lived in.
So similar to the worlds here.
So different.
He wishes that she could take him there. Wishes that she could walk him through these places that she knows so intimately so that he could see it for himself. But hearing it from her is enough and he finds himself enthralled, his golden gaze smoldering when he lifts it finally. “You have a way with words,” he manages in whiskey-voice, dipping it her way. “You’re right, of course. Kingdoms are like the tide. They rise, they fall, they weaken and strengthen.” He cannot stop himself from reaching over to bump the ink of his nose into the crook of her neck where the skin curves to her jaw. “Although, I feel Tephra’s rise.”
At her words, teasing and coy, his eyes darken, something of the Amazonian wildcat still lingering in their hungry depths. White teeth flash against the soot of his muzzle and his voice drops, taking on a huskier edge. “You know enough about me now to know that the one thing I never do is pull my punches.” He is many things, but weak is not one of them. He couldn’t afford to be in a world that was constantly stacked against him. He never has had gifts to level the playing field. He never had the ability to turn the tide in his favor through the strength of powers rising up like him in an ocean tide. He’s just had his own grit and his own training and his own reliance of muscle and sweat.
“But you have no idea how rough I can be.”
I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine
she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Something lingers in her mind, something dark and strained: a memory that she considers as she speaks. Darkness spread across the vast green fields, weaving through sparse trees and tall grass: the scent of ash and fire, the feeling of harsh wind and pressure: crackling thunder and lightning that pierced the earth itself. She remembers the black colors and bizarre storm, the water the began to rise around her and how her very legs moved whilst she ran- fled, and carried herself far from. The edges of the reef were frozen and the ice was so thick that as she stepped onto it, she was able to hold weight.
They had all fled, all of them: hundreds of denizens running and the chorus of screams in her mind; but above all she remembered three figures.
Elemmírë, Alcatraz, and Kalleis.
A spattered blue roan woman whose body was utterly composed of rock and soil, of thick vines and flowers… a dark man with static snapping and crackling around his form, and the golden-haired child whose eyes blazed with living fire. Three servants, three faces: the Stone’s very own minions.
Yet she is brought out of her trance when Magnus responds, when is content to offer compliment. She smiles, briefly, and had she the ability she might’ve waved a hand in front of her to gesture for him to stop; but that is a life not here and not now. So she instead is quick to respond in kind, to speak and to maintain rapt attention. “It’s not so much a way with them as a perspective of someone who has seen too much.” shrugging at the truth of it she notes the way he touches her: how he reaches over and speaks with contact… with assurance.
Aysel, in turn, sways idly- thinking and mulling over what she sees. “I could tease you and say that Tephra will not be the only thing rising.” playful as it is, she winks to add and grows quiet for a moment to consider all words and actions. “Larxene held a tournament of sorts for her fighters, and alongside it the diplomats and thieves were tasked with other challenges. This was made to measure the strength of her people and her kingdom- it made certain that all were prepared for whenever the Reef chose to sink its claws into our home and people. Kromium may wish to do this to measure the strength of his growing nation.” the addendum is terse and to the point, lacking flirtation.
Her ears twitch and Aysel finds herself surveying him with the same feline hunger- the same Amanzonian harshness she once possessed and had long left forgotten. “I know that you say it, and I trust you to follow through; but as to your roughness, your edges… your strength. Don’t you think for the woman I am, that I can not handle it? We’re creatures of war, or fighting, or struggle: you and I.” she lacks the webbing of scars, but, still possesses them- and in that second in an almost playful manner she snaps the length of her rich red tail and seeks to catch his body as if to give a gentle; but purposeful gesture.
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