The Chrysí and Her Soldier from The North

Astraea dearly looked forward to the day where she does not wake up in a new place the moment she opens her eyes from darkness.

At this point she wanted both scream and wrangle someone and the closest thing near her is a woman dressed head to toe in what seems like a fabric made of soft-stone – which, in an ideal world, shouldn't be possible.

Her skin was a pale shade, almost as white as the sands of the Dunes with pale blond hair to match. Her eyes were wide and almost owlish, a stunning shade of yellow ochre as she looked at Astraea intently as a child would. She blinked slowly and cat-like, tilting her head curiously.

"Hello…?" Astraea says unsurely.

The woman makes a gesture, hand outstretched and thumb folded towards her palm, and waves enthusiastically. Astraea blinks in confusion, tilting her own head.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, "I don't think I know what that means. Is that a custom greet for your people?"

The woman frowns softly before making a whole flurry of gestures like pinching her fingers and raising her palms that leaves Astraea even more confused. Then it hits her.

"Oh…you're mute." She wanted to slap herself for how insensitive it sounded.

The woman merely shakes her head. Instead she raises one of her hands and points at Astraea and then points at her own head earnestly. Astraea isn't quite sure what she wanted but she thinks it is harmless. Maybe.

"Um…I don't entirely understand you," she said empathetically, "why don't you just show me?"

The woman lets out a breath that could almost pass for a sigh before touching her forehead with four fingers. Instantly a static sensation zipped through her skull, almost like a bolt of lightning before vanishing just as quickly.

The fingers leave her forehead only for a soft melodic voice to ring in her ears.

'Now, can you hear me?'

Astraea yelps embarrassingly, fists clutched and eyes wide like a spooked cat. She barely restrained herself from screaming, "You…y-you! You're in my head!"

'Not really', the woman speaks with a shrug. Absently in the back of her mind Astraea realized that she was trying to communicate with her in the only way she knew.

But she hated the idea of someone looking in her mind.

"You won't…you can't see my memories right?" she asked tentatively. A stranger part of her hope the stranger could, just for some sliver of assurance that she wasn't in a fever dream. 

The woman shakes her head, 'Not unless you want me to.'

This soothes something in her.

But then Astraea realized something, "Wait can you hear my thoughts?"

The woman merely gives her a serene smile. 'Not unless you want me to,' she repeats and somehow it only unnerved her.

"So you are not mute, then who are you?"

'I am Riah and I am a Conduit. I cannot speak in your tongue but my mind is capable of helping us both understand and communicate. It is believed our mouth is to be used seldom, nothing more than a defense or nourishment. Our minds and ears are meant to be open to the world hence why I do not speak. It is not that I can't, it is simply because I won't,' the woman, Riah, answers.

 "That sounds difficult," Astraea says solemnly. As someone with a raging temper at times and a penchant for disaster and complain she can't imagine what it was like to not speak. If she were to feel injustice, she will very much make all parties involved aware of it.

'To you, perhaps. This has been my way of life since birth, my powers flourish with my mind,' Riah says with a touch of amusement.

Curiosity bites at her, "Can I ask how?"

Riah gives a light smile, 'When a Conduit is born, the newborn baby is placed underwater blessed by Elem for four days. These waters are placed with special minerals and rich in mana prepared through ritual seven days before birth.'

'Placing a baby underwater?!" Astraea gasped in horror, "won't it affect their breathing? It could kill them!"

'The pressure of the water replicates life in the womb, enriching the child's pathways and heightening their individual senses. They will not die,' Riah says calmly, 'Once brought out of the water, when they reach a hundred days, the mark of Elem is placed on their tongue, sealing their speech and completing the process of opening a new pathway, the one of the Mind. It is a different form of awakening that allows Conduits to be the bridge between the universe and living beings.'

"Oh," Astraea says, utterly awestruck. "That is very different from Gifted folk.'

Riah frowns delicately as if tasted something sour, 'Gifted people are an anomaly that did not exist till a few hundred years later. They continue to grow for different reasons and are not pure magi. They are a different breed alone.'

"I see."

That brought a completely new perspective to how she felt. She thought about her own strange Gift and Cyrene's.

Cyrene….

What happened to her?

The very thought of her name created a deep yawning put in her chest, unable to fill itself with a strange grief intertwining with it. She felt helpless and endlessly worried.

She licked her dry lips, vaguely remembering she still had no food or water, "Have you or your people seen my, er, companion?" why was she hesitating on what to call her?

Wait, what were they even? Friends? Partners in crime? Companions? Ex-friends? Ex-partners in crime? Ex…something? Exes??

Riah eyes her like she could read her head without her powers.

'You were with someone?'

Astraea nods, "Yes. She and I were both stranded in the desert." Because a coven leader decided it was a good day to take revenge. She does not say this.

'I see. I don't suppose she is pale, tall with an arm bearing a large burn mark, is she?' Riah says with a touch of curiosity. Astraea felt herself perk up immediately, relief instantly flooding her body.

"Yes! That's her! Do you know where she is?"

Riah looks at her for a long moment, brows furrowed ever so slightly, 'Why do you ask, Chrysí?'

"She helped me, so why wouldn't I?" Astraea said ignorantly, missing the strange glint in the other's eyes.

Riah stands from the floor, 'Follow me then.'

Astraea nods and gingerly gets up, her bones oddly weary and her wrists and ankles having a very faint burning sensation in them. Riah's words suddenly reminded her of the healer back at the Silver Lion Coven, leading her to the vengeful Paprika. Her body tensed, palms sweating as her mind ran with dozens of possibilities and plans to escape.

But for now, she needs to make sure her insufferable companion was alive.

The hallway from the room where she had been in with the Conduit was narrow and short, dark brown earthen walls surrounding them in every direction. The only source of light were the luminous topaz crystals that sat atop their heads like chandeliers. Soon the hall widened to a larger hallway, the roof a good fifteen feet high and the walls a lighter color.

Astraea then realized, "We're underground…"

Riah's eyes glowed just like those stones in the dim lighting of the hall as she glanced at Astraea. She was exactly her height.

'Yes Chrysí, we live underground.'

Astraea felt endlessly fascinated yet baffled, "But, what is this place?"

'These are the old catacombs from the time of the Crimson Crusade,' Riah narrates, 'they were built by the original people of Brilansis long before the country was born, or any other for that matter. This was the home of the refugees seeking asylum from the horrors of war.'

Catacombs. Cyrene had mentioned something like that last night before summoning the beast skeleton. "So these are like bunkers?"

"Yes, Chrysí."

Astraea halted abruptly, startling the Conduit as she frowned heavily at her, "Alright, what is this?"

Riah tilts her head meekly.

"That word. You have been calling me something and I don't understand what it is." Astraea sighed deeply, "What am I accused of this time? Murder? Being a conqueror? A secret concubine to a Lord of one of the Houses? Spit it out please."

Riah blinks slowly. 'Chrysí. It is what you are.'

 "And what is that?"

The Conduit lets out a soft exhale which sounds like a sigh of her own.

'You bear the mark of the old blood, during the days of Eden's destruction. The first ancestor of your nation bore a mark just like yours.'

Astraea felt dumbstruck, "I…I am?"

'Yes.'

"That means…?"

Riah looks at her directly, an unknown emotion glittering in them, 'You are the last Chrysí to be born in the world since the magic collapsed, and it bears great importance to our culture.'

Astraea stared her long and hard, trying to process the new information given. It felt like her limbs were turning to water while her head was suddenly dizzy. She pressed her lips to stop the manic laughter that was bubbling from the darkest depths of her chest.

First she was called 'The Black Sun', then a colleague, now a 'chrysí'. What other names were there for her? Not one person she had met so far, had asked for her real name, if that even was her name, instead prattling on about a life-story that they expect her to know. The life that she had lived for the last fifteen years that tied to her name was suddenly empty like a dream.

Her own name, Astraea Ravenwood, was slowly diminishing in its existence.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

 'Let us meet the chief,' Riah says, her voice echoing in her brain with an empathetic tone. 'He will explain everything.'

For some reason, Astraea didn't believe her. "Alright."

They walked down the many hallways, before entering an enormous central atrium, great four pillars boxing the area to which the center stood a wide raised circular dais made of marble, the steps created with each circular platform stacked atop each other from largest to smallest, and a throne made of obsidian stone seated right in the middle.

The pillars were as black as the throne, carved with strange lettering and topaz stones glimmering as torches. The floors were also black, reflective in their surface. Astraea felt her mind buzz with excitement and apprehension, eyes greedily taking in the tapestries in the side of the walls and the architecture of the place.

It baffled her how all of this had been built underneath the very ground they walk on from the surface. Something caught her attention when she looked up, eyes widening in shock. 

The center of the four pillars lie a stunning painting of red and gold depicting a being with delicate black and gold wings outstretched the entire width of the atrium ceiling. The dress was bright red like blood and the figure was faceless, with midnight hair flowing down their shoulders. Their arms were clutching their chest where the diamond shaped insignia was drawn in the form of a gaping wound that was gory in its detail. Little figures of various people and beasts were strewn across like stars, surrounding the faceless winged figure.

She couldn't take her eyes away from the picture, eyes utterly enraptured by the image with a powerful pang of nostalgia settling in her gut. This made her almost bump into Riah who stood still, placing her hand behind Astraea's waist to steady her.

'Careful,' she said causing Astraea to flush in embarrassment.

It was then she realized they were before an audience.

Around over a hundred people stood in the atrium, all dressed in varying shades of black, white, red, yellow, orange and brown linens and glittering jewelry adorning their necks and wrists.

They were silently observing her with an expression that deeply unnerved her.

Her mouth was glued shut, too tongue tied to speak; her eyes caught the corner of the dais where a figure stood kneeling, spine bowed deeply. The clothes were too familiar.

"Cyrene!"

All her fear suddenly evaporated at the sight of that infuriatingly mesmerizing pale face and red irises looked at her after so long (it really wasn't that long). Cyrene looked pained, hands manacled by the same shackles that had been used on her. She immediately bolted, ignoring Riah's pleading hand and rushed towards the former General.

She knelt beside her, frantically checking for any injuries.

"Astraea," Cyrene croaked, clearly dehydrated. Her eyes were endlessly soft as they wandered her face over and over as if she were checking if she were alright too. It made something warm settle in her chest despite the raging anger and worry burning in her.

"You fool," Astraea snarled emphatically.

Cyrene winced. She opened her mouth, but Astraea beat her to it, "You absolute, mother-trodden fool!"

Cyrene watched her quietly. Astraea absently realized her face was wet with tears.

"Don't, don't you DARE do something so utterly stupid again!" she yelled, gripping the folds of her collar as if she could shake the threat directly into the other's bones.

Astraea took deep breathes, forcing the sobs down her throat. Perhaps it was the immense relief that the other was alive and she wasn't the reason for her death. Perhaps it was because she wasn't truly alone now, a semblance of comfort finally back near her.

She never realized how much Cyrene's presence had impacted her.

The culprit flash a small smile, eyes apologetic yet gentle, "I'm sorry." Her words quiet and soft, laced with the weight of her sincerity that it soothed something inside her.

I must be going mad, Astraea thinks as she offers a weak yet genuine smile back, but I don't think I mind it at all.

Cyrene's eyes latched onto her forehead as if just noticing something before her eyes widened in shock. But before she could speak, another interrupted her.

"Step away from the bnetha aykkayj, Chrysí."

Astraea whipped her head violently to see a new person standing before them on the dais. He seemed ancient, gold colored skin that glowed with vitality despite the wrinkles that marred it, his silver hair done in a simple crown. Paired with the long flowing white beard, the bronze medallion on his forehead and blue eyes he seemed like a deity arisen from slumber.

His eyes were the most unnerving part of him. It was devoid of the iris, instead completely the shade of ultramarine blue that added to his inhumane demeanor. His eyes matched a portion of the people that lived under here, bearing something in them that made Astraea more and more nervous.

"Why?" Astraea said, feeling recklessly brave for a brief moment. Beside her Cyrene tensed.

He stared down at her unblinkingly, "She is a threat. A knanpo[1], she will bring much chaos upon us."

Astraea felt defensive, "You don't even know her. How can she be a threat?"

"But do you know her, Chrysí?" he replied curiously.

This made her freeze involuntarily.

The man had a point – did she truly know Cyrene?

She looked at Cyrene for a moment whose demeanor had turned as rigid as stone, eyes blank and careful as she looks right back at Astraea unflinchingly as if she had nothing to hide.

A part of her didn't trust Cyrene, perhaps even blamed her for falling at her doorstep causing a chain reaction that has changed her life permanently. She doesn't know her roots, even barely knew her real name until it was coincidentally revealed. She was labeled at a threat back home and now she same words were being repeated to her face.

'There is a fugitive on the loose, girl. An escapee from the prison camps outside the Jericho'

'I am escapee'

'And yer decided it was a good idea to host a mother-trodden escapee? From the very prisons from Jericho?'

'I can only think of two possibilities why they would come there: either your girlfriend there is a high level criminal wanted by the Monarch, or a deserter from the ranks.'

'General Castedras…'

'She is a threat. A knanpo'

Despite cacophony in her mind, the man's words repeated relentlessly, as she stared at the other's face, another part of her couldn't seem to bring herself to antagonize her.

'I am a stranger.'

'Don't speak with your mouth full.'

'I was locked away. I don't remember most of what happened to me. I am…looking for someone.'

 'I…I don't think he meant anything bad'

'I will guarantee that I will do everything I can to keep us safe.'

'Someone unforgettable.'

Every moment they faced a harrowing dilemma, Cyrene had always put herself forward without an ounce of hesitation. She remembers the fierce protectiveness in her when Astraea was being attacked by the Jaeger and Paprika. The fearless way in which she shielded her with her whole body, protecting her. The whole reason Cyrene was shackled next to her was because she went out to provide for them.

A part of her said that Cyrene was good. That she had no malice towards her.

How can she hate her?

She looked at the man head on.

"I may not know her," she said coolly, "but I trust her."

The crowd began murmuring softly, astonished at her words. The older man frowned deeply.

"I am sorry Chrysí, but that is not a valid reason for us. You see, she bears the blood of the murderers of long ago. We refuse to let her walk among us, it is our duty to purge such anomalies."

Astraea felt irritated. "You cannot kill her! I refuse."

The crowd held their breath as the man raised an eyebrow. His expression was drenched with displeasure.

"Tell us why. If you can give us a valid reason, perhaps we can reach an understanding," he demanded.

Astraea blanched. She racked her brain trying to think of a good excuse, eyes avoiding all the others who were watching her closely.

What could she tell them? That they were partners in crime? Good pals?

Then a tapestry on the wall of the side of the atrium caught her attention. It seemed like being created from willow vines, stars and nebulas twinkling inside them. They had two heads facing each other with four arms outstretched gracefully and the rest of its body curved before disappearing. It sparked an idea.

"Because she is my wife!"

A possibly bad idea.

The whole room fell deadly silent, every onlooker bearing varying shades of shock on their faces. The elder himself looked at her, completely flabbergasted

"I beg your pardon?"

Summoning the little courage left in her Astraea boldly tips her chin in defiance as if daring the man to question her. "Yes, she is my wife. Are you telling me that I must give away the hand of my lover to death? How dare you think so?"

She pointedly kept her eyes away from Cyrene, barely keeping the heat away from her face.

"We are only orphans who lived our lives scrapping resources to survive. But we didn't care about our blood, nor did we know anything of it. All I know is that we love each other and we married in secret with a poor ceremony just to be together."

Astraea Ravenwood, you are the most foolish woman alive, she thought nervously through her ridiculous speech.

Something akin to understanding and sympathy rose in the elder's eyes, "Why are you here in the Dunes then?"

Astraea bit her lip, looking every bit like the woeful wife wronged by the world, "I don't know. We had gone to the market only to be ambushed by a couple of dirty rogues who tried to sell us away outside of our state. Somehow, we ended up lost in the Dunes having barely escaped."

She looked at the elder earnestly, "We are Gifted but we know nothing of our blood or how it works. I am a humble author and my wife runs errands. We only know so little of it all." She gathered tears in her eyes, "Please I beg you, don't kill my wife. She is all I have."

The elder looks at her for a moment before he looked at Cyrene, blank eyes sharp and scrutinizing every move as if assessing her worth. Astraea prayed that he would buy her story.

After a long pause he nods though the prejudice still lingers in his eyes. "Very well then, you may stay as long as you need to Chrysí. You and your bonded will be accepted in our territory by right of your blood."

 Astraea breathed a deep sigh of relief, "Thank you very much. I hope to repay your generosity someday."

"There will be no need," the elder says, "I am Shyaîz[2] Alem Rabbhah of the Arerorua, you may address me as Shyaîz Rabbhah. I wish you great comfort in our home."

He walks to Cyrene who stood as tense as stone, muttering a simple word under his breath causing the chains to suddenly melt away from existence. The woman seemed shocked, gingerly moving her wrists and straightening her spine. She looked at the man who merely gave a curt nod and walked away. Astraea seized the opportunity to take her hands properly and examine them. She almost cried in relief.

"You're ok," she whispered gratefully. Cyrene gave her a small smile.

"I am."

They turn to see Shyaîz Rabbhah who now faces the people, hands raised and palm's upturned, "Knaf yr̩npe dh̤eṇ kho pochr̩n. Enaiku yayboch fr̩k kaynpa, jajuk maf. Thaych mehwe![3]"

The people stared at the elder Shyaîz Rabbhah and herself with a look mixed with confusion yet reverence before a dawning realization, something she has never seen before and could not understand. One by one they began folding their palms together and bowing, possibly in unanimous agreement.

"Enaiku!"

Their language was so starkly different, something Astraea had never heard before. It sounded vaguely of the old dialect of Brilansis she had heard rumors and whispers of but she never imagined it sounded like this. The words were almost like harsh purrs that were so strange yet utterly fascinating. It made her wonder even more about the culture in the Dunes.

The chief, Shyaîz Rabbhah, looked back at them with a bow of his own that made Astraea feel a strange curl of emotion in her gut at the gesture.

"Enaiku mafkuj[4], Chrysí."

Astraea smiled.

Soon following that Astraea and Cyrene were led to their own quarters that they would share by one of the worker women who enthusiastically said in rapid fire about the dinner that was to take place at the lower hall and they must attend. The action brought a small smile on her face.

The room seems sparse and tastefully decorated, one large bed and a dresser to keep their things (not that they have anything) and more tapestries hung upon the grey marble walls. The topaz lights gave off a soft amber lighting that felt almost like daylight. As they had walked along the hallways Astraea noticed the lights were almost lethargically dimming, turning into a warmer orange tone very very slowly. At first she thought she was hallucinating, after the atrium however, the more time passed the more she noticed it.

It seemed that the lights mimicked the light of the rise and fall of the sun during a full twenty-four hour day. Riah had told her, as they walked, that once the point of dusk has reached, then the jade stones that were right beside the topaz would awaken to mimic the moonlight, illuminating the halls with enough light for the watchmen to patrol the tunnels. When dawn approached, the topaz stones awaken instead, its light brightening and dimming as if they were on the surface. The genius of the catacombs never ceased to impress her.

Despite the fact that they were underground, it felt as if she was on the surface in a regular home. The reality of it was so jarring. The room was very comely and clean ensuring that they would be comfortable for the long term.

She can see from her peripheral vision that Cyrene was examining the tapestries. Good, let her.

Astraea walked calmly to the bed before sitting down on it. Cyrene began walking towards her to follow her lead only for her to tut harshly.

"Uh, uh," Astraea says as she reigned in her simmering anger carefully.

Why was she angry? She doesn't know for sure but all she knows is that the woman standing before was so utterly infuriating that she wanted to make things firm and clear. Astraea was not some little clueless lamb.

Cyrene moves again only for her to glare darkly, "Move and I walk out of here ordering another room with your name on it."

That gets her to halt abruptly.

"You have been putting on quite the show for me," Astraea says, examining her nails as she tried to paint a picture of nonchalance, "must have been very entertaining for you isn't it? Seeing me fumble around?"

 Cyrene frowns and opens her mouth only for Astraea to bring up a single finger in reprimand. "Not one word. I am the one speaking here."

The taller woman's jaw clicks shut, red eyes glittering darkly with an unnamed emotion that Astraea decides to ignore.

"You know, all these days I've been desperately trying to understand," she says with a tilt of her head, "but you must be allergic to explanations, isn't that right dear?"

Cyrene merely watches her, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. She makes a move once again.

"Aye," Astraea barked sharply causing the other woman to freeze. "If you can't stop moving then kneel."

To her utter shock Cyrene kneels without hesitation, knees thudding slightly on the floor. Something about the display makes her stomach coil pleasantly. She refuses to leave the mask on her face.

"So you can listen," Astraea says with a raise of her eyebrow. "Yet all these days you refuse to give me a proper name till I had to learn it out of you, you refused to give me a proper reason as to why you're out of Jericho in the first place while mindlessly throwing yourself in danger. Tell me, general, did you have fun making me worry?"

Cyrene seemed to shudder slightly before watching her closely as she crossed her legs. It felt like they were caged in a strange brawl that was meant for them to tear each other's limbs, the soldier's gaze was almost a caress.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline of her earlier encounters rushing back inside her, or her pent up frustration lurking to spill out of her but she felt as if she wore a second skin, slightly giddy at the imbalance of power before her. Cyrene was more than capable of walking away and killing her where she sat but she didn't. It endlessly puzzled her.

With a small nod she lets the other speak. "I wanted to tell you."

Astraea tilts her head again, "Oh? Then why didn't you?"

The fighter falls silent, jaw clenching tightly, "I couldn't. If you remember correctly we were chased down constantly."

That strikes a nerve. "Yes and if I remember correctly they were there in the first place because of you," Astraea sneers slightly, "I have the right to an explanation after you dragged me into whatever this mess is."

 "I know," Cyrene replies, this time her eyes had a touch of desperation on them that Astraea refused to pity.

"Good," Astraea says darkly, "I will not force it out of you."

Cyrene seems to visibly relax making Astraea smile wickedly. "But until you do tell me, you can sleep on the floor."

The woman's face fell slightly making Astraea feel delighted. Before she could protest Astraea merely hopped onto her feet and patted the other in an almost pitying fashion.

"Don't worry, I'll ask Riah if they have extra sheets," she says impishly, "I'm not that cruel to let my wife sleep in the cold."

She sauntered away in satisfaction, leaving the other to stare blankly at the floor.

By the time dinner had arrived Riah had guided them to the lower hall where a massive stone table laid heavily with food lay, hundreds of people gathered around and taking their fill of food and sitting on the ground nearby in groups and families, laughter and chatter filling the air.

Beside her Cyrene seemed to be brooding since their earlier conversation. The red and brown matching robes they were given suited her almost unfairly that Astraea decides to ignore, pushing down the fluttering feeling in her gut. By custom they were wearing single matching earrings with turquoise and gold and a long red tassel, an ornament worn by married couples usually.

Astraea quite liked hers. It felt warm as it hung from her ear making her feel centered. It was a strange feeling of satisfaction that curled inside of her that she couldn't ignore. With the help her Riah they had braided her long hair into a low braid with silver hair clips helping them lock their design. Now they both looked a part of the rest of the Areroruans.

Except for the mark on her head.

When she had gotten ready, she looked in the mirror to check herself only to almost scream at the reflection. There was a diamond shaped insignia on her forehead, as black as obsidian, with diagonal lines beside them almost like wings. It resembled the mark on the chest of the winged figure in the ceiling painting at the central Atrium.

She had called Cyrene in a panic who gently took her face in her hands to examine the mark.

"It's a mark of magic," she had said with a grimace, "but I don't know how you acquired it. When did it happen?"

"After the fight with the Dune soldiers," Astraea had whined, wondering if she could remove it.

Cyrene's eyes widened, "You were attacked?"

Astraea scowled, "Yes, trying to rescue your sorry ass after leaving me starved in the middle of nowhere."

That had shut her up very quickly.

The large crowd felt almost overwhelming making Astraea feel self-conscious. Beside her, Riah placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

'Don't worry," she says in her head, "everyone is welcoming of you and your wife. There is no need to be afraid of any prejudice."

 Astraea nods shortly before glancing at Cyrene who was sporting an unreadable look at Riah's hand on her shoulder. The Conduit seemed to have noticed this and quietly retracted her hand.

Astraea sighed before tugging Cyrene's robe. Red eyes flew to her face as if surprised that she was talking to her at all. Idiot, Astraea didn't say anything about not talking.

"Stay close," Astraea says softly. Stay with me, don't move away from me.

Cyrene nods before smoothly grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together tightly. Astraea did everything in her power not to yelp in shock and keep the flush at bay. Absently she notices Cyrene has delicate hands.

They reach a group of people who enthusiastically greet Riah with a flurry of hands signs that makers her head hurt trying to understand. Riah smiles at them all and turns to face the couple.

"These are my family," she says. The group of four all bowed in respect, the smallest of them blinking in confusion.

"Why are we bowing?" she asks. One of them, a woman with wooden brown skin and long thick black hair braided in intersecting loops neatly, forced her head down. She seemed older than the others, rather tall and beautifully plum that made her exude comfort and safety. Her countenance was decorated with a delicate chain of amber with a thick gold necklace around her neck and bracelets to match. Everything about told that she was a protector and well-loved in return.

"It's the chrysí, Leya! We must bow to her in respect as we do to all guests," she hissed quietly before straightening with the rest of them.

She looked at Astraea with an apologetic smile, "I am deeply sorry, Chrysí! This young one doesn't know any better."

Astraea couldn't help but laugh, "Ah, children are like that. They speak what is on their minds without fear that is an admirable feat in itself."

The woman chuckles, sunset colored eyes twinkling before bowing once more, "Of course. I am Amba, this young one is my little girl Leya," she drags the other boy and girl closer, "This one is Zorri and the scrawny one over there is Geta."

The taller boy, Geta, squawked in indignation, "I'm a growing man Amba!" He smiles sheepishly before bringing his palms together and bowing politely, "I am grateful you are well Chrysí."

"He and his Know were the one of the people who brought you in," Zorri cuts in earning herself an embarrassed shove from the said boy.

Amba rolls her eyes at the display as if she were used to it. "Anyways, Geta's grandfather, Kahlem, looks after him since his parent's passing while Zorri is an orphan. I took her under my wing from the streets of the outskirts near the border cities of the old Rosegarde."

Astraea's eyes widened, "The outskirt cities of Brilansis? But how? They're must too far away and close to Dead Men's pass!"

Amba shrugs, "These catacombs extend underneath the entirety of Brilansis from the border to the sea in every direction. It was built during the days of Eden so I am not surprised at how far they were built."

The new piece of information mystifies Astraea who feels weightless in the face of the knowledge, her existence feeling small. It was a rather juddering thought, how far could these catacombs truly extend? Their depth and layout was almost unimaginable.

Geta nods, "Yes, the lower hall is only one of the many extended spaces that dive much deeper underground. They say it extends until the Great Below where nothing exists and all life ceases to appear."

The boy flushes when Astraea meets his stare who was fascinated by the information she had been told. Beside her Cyrene bore a perpetual frown.

The little girl, Leya, tilts her head at Cyrene, "Do you never smile? You seem grumpy."

This brings out a laugh out of Astraea, raising her hand to ease the panicked people, "You're not wrong. She's just a little upset because of our little row a while ago."

Riah raises an eyebrow, "Oh? What happened, Chrysí?"

Astraea waves a nonchalant hand, "Ah nothing worrisome. Though now we will not be having any more misunderstandings in the future, isn't that right dear?"

Beside Cyrene nods stiffly, ears pink under her stray hairs, "Yes."

Amba winces pityingly at Cyrene, "She must have meant well."

"She'd better have," Astraea replied lightly. "Now, why don't we eat?"

Soon they all gathered around their own corner, Amba and Zorri eagerly filling their plates and offering it to the couple while recommended their favorites. Riah seemed to be in a deep discussion with Geta in a flurry of hand signs while Leya munched on a full mouth without a care in the world, her little hands and face covered with crumbs and gravy enough to make a parent sigh. 

From her peripheral view, Astraea noticed some heavy stares lingering on Cyrene who ate her meal serenely (very much a noblewoman, Astraea thinks for a moment, a noblewoman who was jailed. However did that happen?). A few men and women clearly didn't like the soldier in their midst.

"Amba," Astraea asked, "why do the people hate Cyrene?"

The woman blinks mid mouth, "Eh?"

"Their stares are full of bad intent, it is like they loathe her very existence and I can't understand why."

Amba takes her time to reply, slowly chewing on her food before swallowing. "I don't know."

"I beg your pardon?!"

The Areroruan simply shrugs, "I have not been here very long but from what I had been told, your wife is a bnetha aykkayj, something that the folks detest along with Shyaîz Rabbhah." 

 "I know that, but what does it mean? That word, netha akaj?"

"Bnetha aykkayj, it is what we call those of the North who dwell on the surface," Amba replied. "All I can guess is the lineage that your woman was born into has bad blood with the Areroruans, particularly the older generation. The reason is what I cannot say."

"I see." Astraea glanced towards Cyrene who moved almost robotically as if uncomfortable in her own skin. She was biting slowly into her own bowl of large brown biscuits with the bowl of stew abandoned. Astraea almost wanted to berate her for not eating it with the biscuits.

Shaking herself slightly she picked her own bowl of stew with the wooden spoon and dug in to be pleasantly surprised at the taste. It was greasy yet full of flavor from the potatoes, beans and corn and just the right thickness with chunks of what seemed like meat yet distinctly different. It wasn't quite like anything she had eaten but not unpleasant. Dipping it with the brown hardtack biscuits made it taste all the more better.

 Riah seemed to notice her relish and grinned, "Good isn't it, chry- Astraea?"

"Mfph," Astraea replied intelligently. Finally faced with a proper meal she had not realized how starved she had been since her escapade over Jericho.

Swallowing a large mouthful she said, "I want to speak with Shyaîz Rabbhah on some matters. How do I find him?"

Amba and Riah look at her curiously before sharing a silent look at each other.

"He usually mediates in the deepest parts of the catacombs during this hour when the sun hits its lowest point in the afternoon till the darkest part of the night. I don't think you can today," Riah says. 

Astraea frowned slightly in disappointment, "Ah, I see. When will I be able to see him then? Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Is it urgent?" Amba asks while shoving a spoonful of stew into her daughter's stubborn mouth.

Astraea looked at Cyrene and then back at the Areroruan and opened her mouth only to be interrupted by an excited Zorri who seemed to be unable to keep quiet any longer. The girl had been silently watching the chrysí with awe and excitement, eager to talk to her yet she couldn't bring herself to be rude and interrupt her sisters. Finally she succumbed to her need.

"How did you destroy the Manacles of Fawĝhî[5]?!"

"Zorri!"

"What?" the girl complained, her accent was thick and sonorous; Astraea firmly believed her voice was meant to command legions. "You had your turn, now it's mine. I have questions too!"

Amba berated her with a pinch on the year. "Younglings don't interfere with adult conversations. You're being unruly in front of the Chrysí."

"I've already reached the age of womanhood, why are you treating me like a child? Even Leya has more freedom than I!" protested Zorri, eyes ablaze in defence. 

"I don't mind," Astraea says peacefully. She turned her head to the young woman, "What is your question?"

The girl seemed to be buzzing with excitement to finally speak while her guardian sighs in defeat. "How did you resist and destroy the Manacles of Fawĝhî?"

Astraea blinked slowly in confusion, "Um the what?"

"The manacles of Fawĝhî," the girl said, "They're supposed to penetrate deep into the soul and shackle you whilst burning you inside out," she says as if were a completely normal occurrence. "I was one of the people who used it you know, it took me a long time to master. How did you break it?"

"I…" Astraea felt extremely flustered and confused. In fact she doesn't quite know how she did it in the first place. "I was…lucky?"

"I don't believe that!" the girl exclaimed loudly with a wag of her finger as if she were an old lady. By this point Amba seemed to be aging a few years from worry while Riah watched her with a bemused expression.

Zorri barreled on, pointedly ignoring Geta and her guardian's glare, "Those manacles attach to the very fabric of your soul! No mortal can slip from them so easily unless they were of god blood, but I cannot fathom how you escaped. How did you do it?"

Astraea chuckled nervously. The sensations from the chains were a deep unpleasant memory that sent shivers in her body just thinking about them. It made her muscles tense and her teeth ache from when recalling the sensations. It was an agony she had never felt before.

"I will be very honest with you," said Astraea with an apologetic smile, "I truly don't know how I did it. My mind simply just went blank and I lost consciousness. If I ever did anything, I will not know of it."

Zorri looks at her skeptically, "So, you don't remember snapping at us in a booming voice and mocking our mortality and sending a shockwave of power that almost killed us?"

"I DID WHAT?!"

Several heads turned, startled by the loud screech but Astraea was too engrossed to care.

"Don't you know?" Zorri asked quizzically, her stare mimicked by Riah and the others. Beside her Cyrene's expression seemed to sear on the side of her skull, filled with stony anger and shock.

Astraea could not find the right words to explain herself. "I…I don't know! I don't remember what I did, I…"

Beside her, she can feel Cyrene's warm hand placing itself on her spine as if trying to provide some form of comfort. The small gesture unexpectedly melted her heart a little, a small patch of forgiveness creeping itself inside.

"However she accomplished that I believe you already have your answers. Sometimes at our lowest we find ourselves committing acts we never knew we were capable of," Cyrene interjects in a gentle but firm tone that sent a clear message to the others: Astraea had been asked enough questions and any more won't be tolerated.

Zorri pouted. Before she could answer Amba interjects her sternly, "Yes, it's true. The soul is an unpredictable thing after all. There is nothing quite like it. You must have a truly remarkable soul Chrysí."

Astraea smiles weakly while her mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts. For now, they seemed bearable as Cyrene's hand never left its spot. It felt nice to be supported, held steady through her waves of anxiety that tended to wash her sanity away. Without her knowledge she leaned onto the escaped General, soaking in the subtle warmth for the rest of the meal.

Later they retire for the night, bidding their goodnight to Riah and her little makeshift family before heading to their room. True to her word, Astraea has asked one of the workers beforehand for an extra mattress and sheets and pillows to place next to the bed, declaring that she couldn't share the bed with her wife as she was injured and needed space to heal properly.

The workers found no fault in this; the beds were built quite low to the ground only leaving roughly half a foot's distance in between despite its width with a relatively thick mattress and simple sheets and pillows to match. This meant having a spare mattress next to the bed wouldn't be an oddity, not when the bed was impossibly short.

As they changed into the navy sleep robes offered Astraea sat on the bed for a moment, braiding her long hair when Cyrene promptly sat next to her with a stern expression.

"What happened in the Dunes?" she demanded.

Astraea bit her tongue to rein the sudden flush on anger inside of her. How dare she ask so brazenly? Who did she think she was?

She opts to continue her braid, nonchalantly replying, "Nothing much. I used my Gift to puppeteer the beast skeleton you reanimated and went to search for you. I got caught by the Areroruans and they shackled me and I lost consciousness. Simple."

"And you didn't tell me?" the former General growled lowly.

Astraea bared her teeth in return, "Did it look like I had the time with you throwing your life constantly?"

Cyrene opened her mouth to reply, "But that–"

"No!" Astraea says loudly, "no excuses. You could have been bloody dead Cyrene! Dead and I wouldn't have known! Do you even-" She snarls in frustration, the stress of the past few days finally seeping out little by little, "Did you even check on your own wounds?"

 Cyrene stiffened at the mention, fingers twitching as if resisting touching the mentioned injuries. Astraea twists her hair angrily.

"See? You only showed up beaten and bleeding out on my garden just four days ago and now you think you're in any shape to run around and be my knight in shining armor? I bet you haven't even checked your wounds properly yet, let alone bandage them. Do NOT think that I didn't notice how you favored your left as you walked."

The former general's expression suddenly seems pain, her browed furrowed and red eyes glittering fanatically as she simply stared at her hands.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," she says so quietly that Astraea almost couldn't hear it. "I failed you and I…" her words seem to stick to her tongue, unable to express herself properly.

It was almost as if all the anger from earlier was washed away in a moment, replaced with a sensation of defeat and woe. Astraea felt her own anger cool at the look only to realize – Cyrene was worried.

As poorly as she was in communicating in her feelings, Cyrene's body language spoke more than her words ever could. From the tightened lines of her mouth to the muscles that subtly spasm in her face and jaw, they all spoke rather loudly for her which made Astraea draw the conclusion that the woman was no used to having to express herself in such a manner.

She couldn't deny that from the rigidity of her body when they walked in to the frantic movement of her eyes all over Astraea's face, she realized she was worried. Worried about what would have happened to her while she was away. Her words weren't mean to insult, they were meant to interrogate which unfortunately doesn't bode well with Astraea's defensive nature.

It seems the escapee knew how to channel anger better than any other emotion and plainly worried about her.

How strange isn't it?"

Her mood changed faster than a storm at sea, riling her own temper. Someone needed to teach this one how to communicate properly.

With a long suffering sigh, she finished braiding her hair meticulously before jabbing a finger on Cyrene's bicep. The general raised her stare to meet hers before Astraea nudged her gently, gesturing her head towards the floor.

"Sit."

Cyrene raised an eyebrow, her nose crinkled slightly like a lost pup that made Astraea want to swoon at how adorable it was. Badly. Oh dear…

Ignoring her train of thought she scoffed indifferently, "To braid your hair you silly woman." Seeing her hesitance she tapped her hand again with the wooden comb she had been using, "Go on, I'm not going to bite your head off. Have you never braided your hair before?"

 Slowly Cyrene lowers herself onto the ground, plopping herself right between Astraea's legs. She exhales quietly, the tension in her muscles instantly released while Astraea's tensed.

Astraea felt her cheeks heat slightly, her belly flutter at the new sensation. Cyrene was fit yet had a softness that could be described as silk over stone. She was warm as alive and a very comfortable weight between her thighs that were secure either side the other's ribs. Something about the position made her feel shy and incredibly embarrassed. However, if you were to ask her to move, she wouldn't.

'I have lost my mind,' Astraea laments silently, combing her fingers through the black locks to detangle it before running the wooden comb through.

She uses her fingers as gently as possible to untangle the knots in the hair and coming from root to ends in a soothing rhythm that left Cyrene completely lax in her grasp, as if all the hardwired tension had melted away.

It made something inside her chest twinge at the thought. When was the last time she was ever taken care of before being imprisoned beyond Jericho? Did her mother do this for her too?

Astraea does not know if she had a mother or father or if any of them ever braided her hair when she was little. She hoped it wasn't the same story for Cyrene.

"Will you tell me?" Astraea states as she runs her fingers again through the straight locks.

Feeling Cyrene stiffen she mindlessly tapped her head in reprimand, "Calm down, why are you tense? I simply asked a question." She separated the hair into sections. "Now, tell me everything, starting from how the bloody hell you came to my house in the middle of the night."

Cyrene seemed to fall silent for a while as if in deep thought. Astraea bit her frustration. "At least tell me something. You cannot keep me in the dark forever."

She finally said, "I escaped from Jericho with the help of an acquaintance."

Astraea hummed, twisting the three sections to form the first braid, "You were in the wall?"

"Yes," Cyrene replied tentatively.

Astraea twists another lock, "Then?"

Cyrene pauses again. She seemed to speak carefully as she said, "I'm not sure. I was asleep for so long."

"Asleep?" Astraea asked.

"Yes. They put in me in a cold sleep and I don't know what happened since."

Astraea paused her braiding, her heart falling.

To be put to a cold sleep for over decade of time not only sounded dangerous but it was rumored to be performed on war prisoners within Jericho. This brought an even greater question that Astraea decided she could no longer ignore.

"What did you do Cyrene?"

Cyrene fell quiet again which did nothing to cool her panic. "What had you done that subjected you to all of this? Who are you?"

The woman sighed deeply before slowly turning around to meet her eyes. Her red irises were pained yet determined as she gazed at Astraea in a way that made her hold her breath, heart thundering in her chest. She stayed at her feet, taking her hand and pressed it against her forehead in a sign of chivalrous respect.

"I am Cyrene Castedras, daughter of the Archduke of Brilansis, the King's Right Hand. I am the General of the North of Jericho."

Astraea felt her heart fall out of her chest. "I beg your finest pardon?!" she yelped in shock, tugging her hand that was held in an iron grip.

Cyrene blinks confused. Astraea felt almost hysterical.

"You were a mother-trodden General?! The daughter of the damn Arckduke!! What on earth are you even doing here?"

She had far too many questions: why was she in Earnest? Why didn't she tell that she was the Archduke's daughter? Why was she staying with Astraea of all people? Why was she put in to a cold sleep?

The knowledge that she was the Archduke's daughter did not make things any better. It was not unknown that the Archduke was the right hand of the Monarch. Only a fool wouldn't know that the House of Castedras was part of the military might of Brilansis as its governing house over the other three Houses of Earnest, Rosegarde and Thornfrost. Everyone knew of the King's Blade, everyone feared him.

He has been said to have conquered hundreds of cities beyond Jericho, singlehandedly taking down the city of Rosegarde and her military and commanding the King's forces to victory. He was also the former trainer for the Jaeger's in the name of the throne; with the knowledge that he was Giftless made his position even more terrifying as he was cold as he was skilled. Astraea had heard many-a war tales about the feared Head of the House of Castedras.

Then there was his daughter. Truthfully Astraea tended to avoid politics and all the jargon that came with it, but she had known the man had one child, a daughter who rose to the ranks in alarming speed. Her name had never been disclosed, instead addressed as 'The General of the Northern Wall' as she stayed posted there to attend her duties. No one within the wall of Jericho had really seen the girl since her birth had been announced, spare for the folks of the central town of Earnest where the wealthier folk lived who could have seen glimpses of her.

But Astraea lived in the more rural part of the state, she could have never seen nor known about Cyrene. She felt so embarrassed and flustered that she didn't quite know what to say, her face gaping like a dying fish.

"You! Y-you! What?!" she tries, "You can't just say something like that!"

Cyrene frowned, "Why not?"

"Because!" cried Astraea in exasperation and outrage. "You are the daughter of the bloody Archduke! The highest status that is closest to the monarchy, what am I to think of it? I've been running around with the damned Lady of Earnest!"

At this point Astraea was feeling a little hysterical. 

"Why are you even telling me this? And why now of all times?" 

Cyrene blinked slowly, "You said so. I didn't tell you my name and you asked who I was. Now I am telling you."

Someone really should teach this woman how to communicate.

Now with this information, Cyrene's actions and demeanor made more sense. Of course she was skilled, she the daughter of the country's military might. Her face and mannerisms all spoke of great power and grace like those of high birth. Suddenly Astraea felt uncomfortable.

'I have been having strange thoughts about the Lady of Earnest,' she laments internally. 'I ought to be hanged for it!'

Oh gods, she had even made her kneel and subjected her to sleep on the floor and teased and prodded her mercilessly. She had even dared to touch the other's hair so casually while keeping her kneeling between her legs and claim that she was her wife of all things!

Astraea could cry, she was practically marked for death now.

"I, um," she stuttered, eyes darting all around the room unable to look at the other in the eyes. The air felt tight and practically tense. "Uh, my lady I am so sorry I–"

"Don't!"

Astraea jumped to see Cyrene still clutching her hand with an almost desperate expression. "Don't…don't change."

Astraea blinked slowly, "What?"

"Don't change," Cyrene insisted, her grip turning into steel, "I didn't tell you this for you to view me as someone important. I told you this because I wanted you to know."

She looked at Astraea with glittering eyes that bore that strange intense expression again, "You asked me for my honesty, now I am giving it to you. So don't change, you cannot change now…please."

Logically speaking, Cyrene shouldn't even be allowed to hold her hand, let alone let Astraea touch her. Here she was, the daughter of the House of Castedras and Lady of Earnest, touching Astraea Ravenwood, the little author from the rural town of Evergreen with such familiarity as if she belonged. They were of starkly different class yet she still wanted her to be here. She wanted Astraea near her and continue to be familiar with her.

Well…that would be a bit difficult. Would it?

With a long suffering sigh Astraea relented, silently squeezing the hand that gripped hers. "Alright. I will try."

Cyrene's face lightened softly that made her want to swoon at how lovely it made her with her dark hair falling around her face and shoulders. She wished she could put it on paper. Oh dear, she was getting distracted.

'I had a point I wanted to say,' she thought dazedly before shaking her head slightly, finally yanking her hand out of the grip and opting to cross her arms over her chest.

"Don't distract me," she muttered, ignoring the small pout Cyrene had on her face. "Now, tell me. What were you doing in Jericho? How did you end up there?"

Cyrene let her eyes settle on her knees, "I…"

Astraea without thinking began to pet Cyrene's head soothingly, instantly relaxing the noblewoman who leaned into her touch without a thought. For a second she panicked, wondering why she was touching her like this. But eventually she simply gave into the urge, unwilling to think about it any longer. At least it seemed to coax Cyrene better.

"I killed the King's Battalion and destroyed half of the Imperial palace," Cyrene began. "It was during the siege in South of Dawnmore. I had gotten the message that the trope sent out there had been annihilated and there were no survivors left. Someone…"

She paused, worrying her lip briefly before continuing as if pained, "Someone I cared about was among them. They were taken away by the King's men but I didn't know why," she said the sentence as if she hoped for answers by speaking it. "When the dust settled I found out that…they were dead."

"Cyrene…" Astraea feels a deep pang of sorrow grow in her chest.

"They were killed by the King for a crime they never did. I…I lost control of my Gift and I killed them. I killed them all, nearly destroying half of the Imperial Palace." This time, cold fury colored her voice, her red eyes lifeless as if reliving the memory. "I burned it all down and by orders of the King they captured me too."

 That would explain the imprisonment. By default, Cyrene should be dead; she had laid a hand on the King's forces and destroyed his palace. The whole affair was a death sentence for a common man.

"But they didn't execute you," said Astraea in a rhetorical tone. "Instead they put you in a cold sleep."

Cyrene nods mechanically, "Yes. It was…my father's doing. He pleaded the King not to. As his loyal subject and my position in his ranks he decided to grant a single act of mercy."

"Oh, Cyrene…" Astraea felt like crying. A part of her soul ached at the pain and loss Cyrene had suffered. It was truly unimaginable how she was able to bear it all, to lose those you love and a part of yourself in the process. She looks at the scars on the arm. "Is that how you got these?" she asks with a gentle, almost tentative touch to the mottled skin.

Cyrene merely nods. Astraea felt her eyes sting with tears.

It was like her own misery had curled itself in a corner of her heart. How could the King do something like this? To his own subjects? Astraea did not love the King as religiously as some of the people of Earnest, yet she held a form of common respect towards him as her ruler.

She remembered Paprika's outrage two days ago, her disdain towards the King claiming that the war had been a great hoax. The reality of it was finally settling, the intimidating nature of their world and the law and order their nation had been subjected to for the last fifteen years. It was a frightening yet truthful statement as to what was happening.

She looked at Cyrene beseechingly, "How could the King do that?"

Cyrene's face turns dark in hatred, "There are many things he is capable of."

"But I don't understand…" Astraea truly couldn't wrap her head around it. "He is our Monarch, our ruler. Yet still…this level of cruelty."

"The King was never a saint but a lecher," Cyrene spat with a stony expression, "there are too many lies that he has spewed, hiding the truth from us all." She looked at Astraea with a sad look, "Men in power have never hesitated to make themselves the gods of their law."

That statement alone cemented their present.

Astraea felt lightheaded, "Then where do we play in all of this?" where do I play in this scheme?

Cyrene tensed again. Astraea narrowed her eyes at her, "Tell me."

The General breathed heavily, "I cannot tell you that."

Just when Astraea opened her mouth to demand more Cyrene cuts her off, "I am not lying when I say that. Truthfully I know only little on the matter. The man who helped me escape had promised to explain everything to me but I haven't met him since. I have been trying to contact him since we left Little Yullard." 

Astraea blinked, "Was that why you were gone for so long at the Dunes?"

"Yes."

This made things a little clearer for the author now. So far what she can gather is that her companion was not only the Lady of Earnest but had been imprisoned by their own King who seemed to have been shrouding the people of the country under a great hoax that cost the lives of many. Cyrene had been in a cold sleep but she does not know any more details than that. Somehow Astraea, who seems to have an identity beyond her fifteen years of life, plays a role in all of this mess.

A small pang of worry resting in her gut at the anonymous figure that seemed to have helped Cyrene out of Jericho. What kind of ulterior motives could they have? The fact that Cyrene had tried to communicate with them without her knowledge made her a little irritated.

She lets out a deep sigh before smiling slightly, "At least you told me something now. Thank you for that."

Cyrene simply shakes her head, "You do not have to. You deserved as much."

"Damn right I do. Now, turn around once more, I haven't finished your braid yet."

They fall in a comfortable silence with Astraea repositioning the woman back to how they were before and combing through the loose hair, methodically twisting each lock into a full braid.

It felt almost numbing to realize that they really were so far away from home, beyond the very wall that they were forbidden from going over. No one, except for the King and his men, had ever gone over the obsidian wall, no one could have dreamt of it. Yet here she was, Astraea, in the very yonder, underneath the white sands of the once destroyed city.

It was almost discombobulating, a complete oddity to be subjected to, but it seems as if she would be involved with this longer than she realized.

The thoughts of going home as quickly as possible where become less and less of a reality and more of a dream.

Finishing the last braid, Astraea neatly tied the end with a ribbon and admired her handiwork; it might be her best yet. "Alright," she says with a yawn, "I think we should try to get some sleep. It has been awhile since we rested properly in a place."

Cyrene does not answer, turning head away and instead of lying in bed she chose to gather herself and lean against the wall behind the head of the bed and sit in the lotus position, body poised and eyes very much wide awake.

"You can sleep," she says, "I will meditate and keep a look out for anything."

Astraea frowned, "Cyrene, you need to sleep. I don't know when the last time you did was but rest is vital at a time like this. I know time functions here a little differently but we all need clear heads for this."

"I know," she answers.

"But you can't," Astraea says rhetorically with a quirk of her eyebrow. Cyrene simply nods.

"Yes." She looks at her lap, possibly looking at her scars on her forearm. "Being put in a cold sleep for so long had a few repercussions to my health. I can't sleep normally anymore." She says the last part softly almost as if she were embarrassed by it. Why, Astraea can't imagine.

"Oh," Astraea says, albeit rather dumbly. "I see. That's alright, it's quite understandable." It really was. Being frozen in time for that long obviously came with consequences to the human body, particularly their wellbeing.

Taking pity on the fidgeting woman she simply relents, getting up to sort the brushes and ribbons away and readjust the sheets to her liking. "If you want to stay up that's alright. But if you're ever tired, do rest up," she looks at Cyrene and opts for a grin in hopes of embedding a shred of optimism, "I can't have my favorite General exhausted you know, or who else will protect me from any possible barbarians!"

It works. It brings out a small beautiful smile from Cyrene that makes her thrum like a pleased cat, "Of course."

The topaz lights let out a soft amber lighting, bright enough to see around them but soft enough to fall asleep like the sun at dusk. Soon Astraea settled into the surprisingly cool sheets, exhaustion finally settling in her bones.

"Goodnight Cyrene."

"Goodnight Astraea."

Sleep finally came over her.

Notes and Vocabulary

Please note that these chapters are un-beta'd and still undergoing editing. Thanks for reading!

vocabulary:

[1] snake

[2] Means 'Chief' in Seraphim tongue. Dune culture uses the old seraphim tongue for titles especially among the elderly. The chief is a distant descendant of Seraphs who had mortal partners

[3] "The ancestral queen's kin has returned, the soldier of the North must remain unharmed. We must welcome them. Hope has now become possible."

[4] Welcome back/a second time

[5] God

extra: 'Chrysi' translates to 'Golden One' in Greek'. It's the old term for half born seraphs which magic blood in them. Astraea is the first and last of her kind.