Chapter Text
The magical dome over Las Nevadas pulses arrhythmically, shimmering vaguely like a mirage on the horizon – not that there was much beyond it.
A flat, dead desert. A world destroyed by a calamity that the citizens don’t talk about. Or don’t remember. It’s hard to know which, exactly. Information is hard to come by without revealing he doesn’t belong here.
Tommy walks close to the dome’s walls. Far on the outskirts of the city. It’s easier to get around here without prying eyes. Stares that linger on his out-of-place clothes and the hood he keeps firmly tugged over his head.
Speaking of – Tommy lifts a hand to make sure it’s still in place. He exhales in relief, a bit of tension unwinding that his ears are still covered. Just in case, he brushes some of his hair over them as an added layer of concealment.
He pauses, fingers curling into the strands, measuring their length with a shock of surprise. His hair is almost to his chin. How long has he been running…?
His time here passed in a blink of an eye. All he needed was a quick respite. Keep his head low for a few days, build his mana reserves, then he can bolt.
His breath hitches at the thought of leaving. Again. Fuck. He’s done this over a dozen times, and he’d thought it would get easier.
It doesn’t.
It’s dangerous to stay, Tommy reminds himself. He clearly doesn’t belong in this city. One unfortunate breeze, his hood falling off; getting worked up and releasing his magic-
He can’t get attached.
He won’t lie. The city has a seductive effect. With the shiny prospects of gambling; the chaos the streets thrived on…. The part of him that craves adventure itches to join.
He could join. It’d be that easy. All he has to do is stay.
That’s as far as he allows those daydreams.
Las Nevadas is interesting. Fast and wild; rings of complex politics and technology that catch his eye at every turn. He’d say it’s perhaps one of his favorite places so far, but, still, it isn’t home.
Although Tommy can imagine himself having fun here. It’d only be brief happiness; a quick distraction.
(There’s always the threat of Dream finding him looming over his head.)
Besides. The city gets under his skin too much to stay forever. He shudders, goosebumps rising on his skin.
Metropolis. The word is foreign on his tongue, the definition hard to wrap his mind around.
Drawing on mana here is fucking painful. There’s no natural stone, it’s all too smooth and cut perfectly. Unnatural. He hates walking on it. It feels like he’s going to slip and fall at any moment. Where’s the texture? Where does he grip with his toes to remain steady?
He misses life and trees. Long grass to tickle his shins and fat roots to climb over. Rubbing his hand over the softest moss, peeling it off the bark to examine and place in his pocket, so he can run his fingers over it continually during the day.
Tommy looks up, and he can’t see the stars.
He stares at the void of the sky, mouth parted; not in awe, but with horror.
He shakes his head and drops his gaze quickly. Just because he can’t see stars here , doesn’t mean they’re gone completely. He can go somewhere where they’re more vibrant; even if the constellations won’t be the same.
Tommy picks at his lip. Yeah, he’s sure now. His mana reserves are lower than when he first arrived. There’s no benefit to staying, and wasting time in one place only increased the chances of being found.
Mind made up, Tommy stops at the edge of the magical barrier. It’s the exact same spot from when he’d arrived. It’s a silly ritual of his. Technically, he could leave from anywhere, but there’s something cathartic – fulfilling – about stepping out at the same spot he’d entered.
Returning to close a door he had left open.
“Well, it’s been fun,” he tells the silent street.
Las Nevadas is a city that doesn’t sleep, but at least here, at the very edge, it seems to doze.
The street lantern flickers and distantly, a bang of magic exploding. A common occurrence, strangely enough. The citizens barely twitch when one goes off. Tommy clutches his arms close, fighting a full body flinch.
“You fucking suck,” Tommy sighs. Partially a lie, partially not. It’s goodbye, nevertheless.
His chest aches. Tommy gazes down the darkened street as if something or someone will emerge and convince him desperately to not leave. That he is wanted. That’s he’ll be safe. That this place could become home .
It’ll never replace his real home, but lost and running as he is, somewhere is better than nowhere. A place to stay is worth more than the world.
More than every world, he snorts to himself.
As expected, no one comes. Silently, lonely, he draws every drop of his mana forward, gathering it in his chest. It’s not a lot – only enough for a quick hop.
He focuses, bringing up his hands to guide the flood that encircles his heart. A shard within his being and soul glowing bright and hot. He dips his power into the flow of mana, sharpens it into a knife, and cuts .
A rift parts around him, and Tommy walks into The Void.
His first trip through this space was wild and messy. He’d spun uncontrollably, stumbling through time and space, splitting through veils of untapped mana that scorched through his veins like lightning. Now he knows better than to try to take from the energies here.
He hates The Void. It’s an unending nightmare. Though it’s a realm beyond physicality – there’s no temperature or landscapes; there’s not even ground that he walks on – yet he swears it’s freezing.
Its silence screams in his ears. The absence of sense and direction and gravity tears at his mind with its impossibility.
The lack of anything is nearly maddening.
His hands tremble at his sides, but he continues to stride forward.
Tommy moves faster, following the maze-like trails of pure energy and mana. Aether.
A trickle of mana becomes a stream, a river becomes an ocean and Tommy can sense it coalescing; swirling around a new world, a heartbeat driven by life.
Thankfully it isn't too distant, he steps into its shores and tears through the barrier into this new reality-
It's hot. Humid. Midday; dual suns bearing down on him.
The dull roar of voices swirls around him. Merchants shouting wares from bright-colored stalls. Bartering and raised voices. A musician plays a stringed instrument, pausing the flow of traffic as people of all races stop to listen. The loud jangle of coins being thrown onto the cloth at his feet, piling higher.
There's firm trampled earth under Tommy's bare feet. He senses the hum of mana, ripe for picking and so sweet after the week on the desert nightmare of Las Nevadas.
A tall human slams into his shoulder and he stumbles with a grunt. “Hey, watch it kid!” They shout.
They merge back with the crowd before Tommy can respond. The gap is immediately filled. People try to edge around him amongst the rush. Some glance at him curiously. Some glower in annoyance, huffing as they slip past.
The nearest merchant meets his eyes, face screwed with irritation. Tommy’s blocking their stall and potential customers are avoiding the area because of him. Tommy rubs his shoulder, lurching forward with a grimace. He keeps his head down and tries to slip into the rhythms of the crowd while simultaneously holding back his sense of awe and nervousness.
It's a bad habit. Each new world freezes him in shock. Sounds and smells and colors all fraying at raw senses. The differences astound him; the similarities are sweet and refreshing.
He eyes a pair of elves bartering with a goblin merchant, their backs straight and tall. The air of aristocracy about them.
Hesitantly, Tommy pulls back his hood, finally revealing his own pointed ears and wild, golden curls.
There are some differences between them. These elves' ears are longer, and more curved. They look like they've never had a fun day in their life which is a fucking shame.
Tommy grew up in the wild forests of Essempii, where trees were known to uproot themselves at their own whims. Sometimes they would wake up and find their entire village relocated miles away from its origin point.
These fucking elves look as if they’d pass out if someone stepped on a blade of grass in front of them.
Tommy edges as far away from them as possible, relaxing by the second as he recognizes more and more familiar races and peoples.
Between hops, Tommy has learned a lot about what kinds of worlds are fit for certain races.
Humans are practically universal constants. On almost every world they find a way to survive and build and grow. It does feel a bit unfair. Tommy would say elves aren’t exactly known for being pansies.
On second thought- not on Essempii, at least. Here though…
Las Nevadas had no elves, so he had to be more careful hiding his pointed ears or else risk drawing attention. Some places do, but like here, they're vastly different. Recognizable in some aspects, perhaps distant cousins; but with strange new cultures and ways of life.
Some don't even live in forests!
It makes no fucking sense.
Fuck Dream for not explaining anything. Tommy hopes he dies and rots in a ditch.
Then he wouldn’t have to keep running.
Tommy weaves through the crowd, making his way to the end of the marketplace, down a steep hill to a quaint, bustling bay town, and gets his first true glimpse of this world
The locals call it Business Bay. A steady trading center between the small country’s inland and the open seas.
Tommy has seen worlds with oceans before. Some with only tiny spots of land and overtaken with merfolk. The open water makes him uncomfortable. The incomprehensible vastness reminds him of The Void, and he imagines being out in the middle of it, nothing but waves on the horizon and darkness under his feet and shudders.
The mana that flows within its currents is untappable to him as well. He prefers solid ground, thank you very much.
Thankfully, natural stone and nature isn’t hard to find. Business Bay is nestled between crescent mountain peaks; the bay filled with ships and flags from all across the world.
Tommy doesn’t have to leave town to reach into the aether, scooping much-needed mana into his reserves and soothing the ache that forms from hopping.
It’s a much nicer place than Las Nevadas too. The local races, though with slight physical differences, are familiar enough that he feels at home.
He enjoys a few days of rest: exploring the town; pinching a few coins to buy some bread and cheese that he eagerly scarfs down. All his meals in Las Nevadas had to be picked out of restaurant bins, shoving against other people just struggling to survive. Most nights he settled onto the roofs' of abandoned buildings, his stomach an aching pit; curled up and shivering, puffing on his fingers to keep them warm. Who knew deserts were freezing at night?
There are fruit trees that grow all across Business Bay, and Tommy grins in delight. Climbing was an essential skill on Essempii, between the elves' treetop homes and the floating islands or sheer cliff faces that frequent the landscape.
Little fruit trees behind some stupid fences are nothing.
This is definitely going into one of his favorites, he smiles, biting into a round red-orange fruit. He dips his bare feet over the edge of the center fountain, cooling off and enjoying the sticky sweet juices running down his chin. Tommy doesn’t wipe his chin and kicks, creating small waves to amuse himself with.
Things couldn’t be better-
Like a heavy rock being dropped into a pool of water, the mana streams become displaced, rippling outwards in sharp waves.
Tommy's head whips around, automatically turning in the direction it came from. The fruit falls from numb fingers, forgotten as it splashes at his feet, bobbing listlessly to one side.
What was that?
His first thought is Dream.
His mana bucks, panic making it wanting to release protectively. Tommy grips it tight, bundling it closer, preparing for an attack, yet also wary of setting it off.His eyes dart back and forth in the plaza.
He waits on edge; every muscle locking with how tense he draws them.
Dream doesn’t appear. The people go about as normal. A group of children race across the square, darting quite near past him, squealing in excitement.
Tommy forces himself to inhale; to draw his shaking hands to his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart and willing it to calm.
He needs to be rational about this.
For all he knows, this is a natural occurrence in this world. He'd once heard the village elders discuss how the living land of Essempii was possibly due to “mana quakes”. Maybe there's something similar here.
Slowly, he unwinds from his seat, standing stiffly.
He'll just… he'll make sure . No need to panic yet. He'll check real quick, see if there's anything else he can sense nearby and hop into The Void at any hint of danger.
Yeah, he nods to himself, swallowing thickly. Nothing to panic about.
Self-assured – but only slightly, he slips into one of the side streets, heading in the general direction, using his internal sense of aether flows.
He starts jogging at one point. Then, he sprints. Despite the initial chaos of the disturbance, the mana settles itself fairly quickly, and the ripples are getting smaller. If he wants to get a true lock on the origin, he has to get there before the aftereffects stop entirely.
He edges his head around the corner of a tavern closest to the docks. It’s bustling at high noon. People carry heavy boxes and trunks up and down ramps. A group of sailors passes by, bandanas tying back long, rugged hair; their faces weathered from sea salt and wind.
A pair of official guards stomp nearer and Tommy slinks back into the shadows, pulling his hood tight around his face and listening as the metal of their boots clank past.
He peers out again.
He doesn’t spot a smiling mask. A flash of Dream’s neon green magic. A sharp crack as it searches for him .
A cabin boy sprints past, yelping an apology to a couple sailors walking side by side. The kid, only a little younger than Tommy, beams, mouth wide in an unrestrained smile.
It makes homesickness crash into his chest hard and he takes a step back, blinking back tears. Fuck. Tommy remembers being just as carefree once. Shouting and running around being a fucking nuisance. No wonder they wanted to get rid of him.
Part of him wants to dash after the stranger and warn him: nobody likes someone who can't be serious.
Tommy stops himself though.
There's still the mystery he's trying to solve and besides– He narrows his eyes down the gangway. In his distraction, he'd lost them anyway. He huffs and returns to searching for Dream.
The mage has a flair for dramatics. Like a total wrongen, he loves being the center of attention – can easily gain it too. Through charm, or, Tommy shivers. Destruction.
When one is so powerful, there doesn’t seem to be much need for subtlety.
Tommy waits a bit longer, keeping his aether sense open and active.
Nothing happens. Dream doesn’t jump out of nowhere like a boogeyman from childish stories.
(Tommy’s not a child. Dream said so.)
He swallows thickly. His throat small, his tongue thick and heavy like lead.
Tommy edges out of the building’s shadows.
Other than being waved away from the tavern doorway. (“Oi! Nice try kid. You’re not fooling anyone!”) He is left alone. Tommy shivers on the boardwalk, scanning up and down the rows of ships, watching them bob with the waves.
People pass by. He gets a few curious glances for just standing there, but nobody rushes to attack him. A woman asks if he’s lost, and it snaps him out of his daze.
“I’m fine,” he reassures, finally uprooting himself and shaking his head. He stumbles a few steps, ignoring her concerned eyes. “Just… lost in thought. Thank you.”
He rushes away before she can call out to him and gratefully drops the tight, burning grip on his magic.
He doesn’t want to have to use it. Only as a last resort. He promised himself.
Tommy ducks down one of the gangways. It’s the best guess he has for the epicenter of whatever magical disturbance there was. It was here, at the end of the dock, he’s fairly certain. Not out in the middle of the bay.
Tommy examines the area the best he can, crouching behind a stack of wood crates. He tugs at his lip.
Weird. He doesn’t see anything unusual. No sign of a creature or magework in sight. Of course, he probably is missing something . He’s never been trained in magics. It just bursts from him wildly and without solid direction other than a feeling .
Not the best foothold, but at least he doesn’t have to spend half his life hunched over stupid books and stuffy scrolls about technique and connecting to aether-
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” a tenor voice caresses the back of his neck.
Tommy yelps, rolling away and scrambling back, drawing on mana as he turns-
A merfolk smiles at him. Male with sapphire blue scaled skin; antlers of gold coral sprouting from his forehead as dark brown curls fall around his ears.
“Scared you?” he laughs, annoyingly melodic. He rocks back on shiny black boots and stands, offering a webbed hand out. “Sorry, you piqued my interest. Thought I’d say hello.”
Tommy doesn’t like the look of him.
He focuses on the sharp claws at the end of the merfolk’s hand then his attention drifts to the man himself, and he inhales sharply.
The man’s mana aura is insane.
Tommy’s jaw drops at it.
It’s- it’s-
The merfolk – he’s still fucking smiling like a creep – waves his hand slightly. “Sorry,” he repeats, utterly unrepentant. “Here, let me help you up, and we can start over. How does that sound?”
He takes a step forward and Tommy hisses, scooting back with a hard shove. Mana pools in his hands; the wet wood bucks slightly under his touch.
Oh, fuck. Ok. Calm down. The guy isn’t threatening him, just being a bit weird. Tommy just needs to get himself under control-
The man’s smile twists with disappointment, but he stops advancing and Tommy relaxes. Quickly he puts a lid on his leaking mana. Shit that could’ve been a disaster. This guy is clearly a mage. And fucking powerful at that. Tommy is blessed with the natural abilities Dream helped awaken, but he’s certain he’s nowhere near that level.
He gets to his feet, wiping at his wet pants with a scowl and making sure to maintain distance.
“I can get up myself,” Tommy grumbles, drawing back a pace further. “It’s fuckin’ rude to sneak up on people, innit? Bitch,” he tacks on.
The merfolk smiles thinly, a hungry gleam in his eyes as they stare at each other. Dream looked at him that way too and Tommy hated it. He crosses his arm and peels his eyes away, darting down towards the guy’s polished boots.
The first thing the guy said finally clicks then.
“You know everyone here or something you creep? Huh? Write everyone’s name down in a little notebook and memorize it as a party trick?”
There’s a pause in which Tommy almost glances up to see his expression. But then he laughs again. All pleasant, like Tommy actually said something funny. It makes his brow dip lower in annoyance.
“No. Admittedly, I don’t know everyone here, you’re right. I shouldn’t assume either.”
Good. Tommy jiggles his foot anxiously. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “Nice… whatever this was. I’m going to go.”
He moves to brush past and the bitch steps in his way.
“I’m Wilbur,” the guy says. He’s smiling again. Tommy wants to punch him. “I’m really sorry.” His expression goes all soft and pleading. “Let me make it up to you. Lunch on me?”
Tommy regards him suspiciously. “And why do you care? I’m some dirty street kid for all you know.” He bares his teeth.
Wilbur’s eyes flicker, and he tilts his head, a golden earring studded with an emerald in his right earlobe swaying with the motion.
“I’ll admit,” he hums softly. “I’m rather curious. I’ve never met an elf as young as you.”
Tommy jerks, hands flying up to his head and realizes that at some point his hood had fallen back. Though it wasn’t necessarily a huge deal, the way Wilbur’s attention is fixated on him…
“My treat,” Wilbur insists. His weird humming laces underneath his words, gently crooning like a lullaby. “Anything you want. It’s on me.”
Tommy’s resistance wavers.
He shouldn’t…
It's been a long time since he's had a full meal. One not made through pinching pockets or swiping off plates that have already been touched. Stealing fruit that doesn't belong to him.
Wilbur's offer is tempting. Very tempting. And that's exactly why Tommy should say-
“Yes.”
Wilbur beams .
Tommy frowns. That was weird. It's like the word was compelled out of him. But when he tries to open his mouth and retract his acceptance he can't remember the word for… for…?
The opposite of yes.
It. Um.
Yes.
Huh?
“Here, follow me,” Wilbur says, taking Tommy's arm while his brow is furrowed and he's distracted, grasping desperately for a concept that has suddenly disappeared from his mind. “I know the perfect spot.”
Tommy blinks and they're seated across from each other in a brightly lit dining hall. They're in the corner, far from prying eyes and Tommy is sitting with his back to the wall and Wilbur leaning forward, smiling pleasantly.
“You alright there? You seem a bit out of it.”
“I…” Tommy shakes his head, something calming coiling around the base of his skull making him all-
“What were we talking about?” he asks, shoving a roll into his mouth without regard for manners, and even makes a point to smack his lips as he chews.
With a great deal of grace, Wilbur slices into his steak slowly, allowing steam to burst from the rare, bloody pink inside. “I believe you were just telling me about yourself. Like your name.”
Tommy chews more slowly and thoughtfully. Wow. They've been talking for this long, and he hasn’t even shared his name? That's fucking rude.
“It's T- Theseus,” he changes his answer at the last second. Better safe than sorry.
“Theseus,” Wilbur purrs. “It suits you.”
Tommy’s face heats. “Thanks,” he mumbles and shoves another bite into his mouth.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Tommy screws up his face. “Not much there really,” he shrugs. “Nothing you’d find interesting anyway.”
“Try me,” Wilbur says. A challenge. He sets his knife and fork down and leans forward on his elbows. “Start with something small. Like… how long you’ve lived here.”
“I wouldn’t really call it living,” Tommy replies before he thinks twice. He tenses but Wilbur gives him a comforting nod and hum, showing that he was listening and Tommy’s defensive shoulders relax.
He swallows, skating his fork around the edge of his plate. “I’m just passing through, really. I… I should probably leave soon.”
“Why’s that?” Wilbur asks. His head tilts curiously.
“I need to get home. I… I’m lost. I miss it.”
His fork stops. Tommy crinkles his nose. He feels like he’s said too much. Tears well in his eyes and he scrubs at them with the backs of his hands. What has gotten into him…?
Wilbur croons empathetically. “Where’s your home? Perhaps I can help you find it.”
Tommy meets the merfolk’s eyes. All sandy brown mixed with glints of gold. They’re nice eyes. The kind he can trust. He blinks, long and slow, not wanting to break contact with them.
Prime, he’d love help. He’d love to take up Wilbur’s offer, but this isn’t something a regular mage – even an extremely powerful one – can help him with.
It’s just him alone in the universe. Well… him and Dream.
Predator and prey. Maybe forever. Across the entire universe and back. Hysterical laughter bubbles in his throat at the thought.
So though he longs to say yes, Tommy has to shake his head. “No,” he whispers. (Strange. It sparks déjà vu in his head. A small jolt in his body like lightning.) “You won’t find it on any of the maps here.”
Yet, Wilbur smiles. “In my own travels, I’ve come to possess many special and rare maps. The kind you won’t find anywhere else in this world . I can help you a lot more than you realize.”
“Thanks… but, I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I have been for a long time now.”
Wilbur’s expression darkens and a trill of fear carves up Tommy’s spine. He sets his feet on the floor, knees bent to slam his chair back and bolt at any hint of danger.
It’s like the partial fog over his mind suddenly disperses as he becomes acutely aware of what position he’s in.
Fuck! Why did he let himself be cornered? How did he let himself be cornered? Now if he needs to escape, he has to get past Wilbur, who has the advantage. He’s taller and though thin, there’s wire in his arms.
Tommy’s eyes dart to the merfolk’s knife, so close to his hand resting on the table. In a grapple, Wilbur could win. Or he could entirely forgo a physical fight. His mana well is definitely huge as shit, judging by his aura. Maybe he’ll hit Tommy with a lightning bolt. Flambé him. Make ghost swords cut him up in teeny, tiny pieces.
He doesn’t fucking know!
Tommy draws his mana, trying to keep his breathing steady.
“Hey, hey,” Wilbur sits up in his seat. “It’s alright, kid. I’m just trying to help.”
That’s what He said. Right before He hurt Tommy. For “his own good.” To make him “better.”
“Helping”
Tommy curls further into the corner. Now that he really thinks about it, why did he trust Wilbur enough to come with him?
Wilbur starts to rise from his seat, hands held out placatingly threateningly. In a panic, Tommy drives his power into the floor. Silently he screams, “don’t touch me!”
Wilbur flinches, pulling back, his eyes widening. There’s a beat of silence. The merfolk starts, “Thes-”
A rock wall juts between them with a boom . The table shattering as the foundation underneath them groans hollowly. Distantly, Tommy hears a scream.
White-knuckled, Tommy grips the seat of his chair, his power pausing to rise just enough – a swell before a crashing tsunami – and pounds through the earth, making the entire bay shudder.
The mana rivers and streams flow out of their banks, rushing backwards and across the landscape unnaturally to come to his aid.
The wall next to him buckles, and he yelps, darting to the side as stone and earth churn, building high above him. Wood planks bend, what was supposed to be dead wood suddenly gaining life and sprouting saplings that rapidly grow in size and thickness, turning into full branches in heartbeats.
Tommy heaves, head spinning. He curls on his knees, a vortex of the broken building and the land swirling uncontrollably over his head.
Fuck. Fuck! He’s doing it again. He’s destroying everything! Dream was right!
A voice calls at the edge of his thoughts, “ Theseus! It’s ok, you’re safe! Please stop!”
Wilbur. His voice is in his head. How-?
Tommy looks down, dirt caked under his fingernails. He let go of the stopper on his magic, and now it won’t stop. It gushes out of him, ravenous and eager. It takes from his mana well, draining it dry, then latches onto the aether he can sense, clawing through him to fill itself.
“Theseus, you need to calm down!”
Shakily, Tommy clamps his palms over his ears and howls.
“Leave me alone!”
The earth bucks, Tommy’s shoulder slams into a rock, and he bites down on his tongue. The iron taste of blood slides across his tongue, wet, pulsating liquid filling his mouth. He spits blindly and hears it splatter just before his face.
Fuck. He can’t stay here. He can’t turn his magic off.
Fighting the pain, the wooziness; he closes his eyes. Just a short hop. He’ll drag himself to the next world.
Shit.
“Theseus!”
He can feel a tendril in the back of his head. Wilbur’s presence trying to tug at him, attempting to soothe him back into blind trust.
Not again. Blood flies from his mouth as Tommy roars into the earth, aether splitting beneath his will and he touches The Void.
Tommy loses consciousness.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
His eyes crack open. No point. No light to see. Light doesn’t exist.
He forces his muscles to move. Is he moving? There’s no evidence of his progress. The Aether pulses. Mana hums.
He’s lost.
He has been for eternity. For no time at all.
It’d be easier to float. Drift. The Void is rapidly becoming the most familiar thing in his existence.
Is it his new home?
His ribs expand. No air enters, no air leaves. It exists in limbo. Perfect limbo where nothing changes, nothing remains the same.
Is this real? Is he real? What is… real? Reality.
Doesn’t make sense.
Tired. Exhaustion. Go back to sleep.
No.
Mana condenses, bright and spinning, dragging him into its vortex. A new world. Hopefully one of the less shitty ones.
Tommy reaches out and screams-
His entire body feels like it’s melting; the slightest sensation painful.
The clothes against his skin feel like they’re chafing, tearing him raw and blistering. Tommy curls his fingers into coarse dirt and dead leaves and hisses at the sharp prickling sensation. Like thousands of needles shoved into his palm. A breeze hits the back of his neck, and it burns.
Fuck.
He can’t move. He lays sprawled out, gulping in air and whimpering.
How long was he in there?
The last thing he remembers is fear and magic and pain and Wilbur-
Tommy groans. What was that guy’s deal anyway? He’ll never know. Good riddance. That fucking creep. At least he can’t follow Tommy into his hops. He’s safe now.
The Void Overstimulation - Tommy decides that’s what he’ll call it – it begins to fade fairly quickly. Soon he can wiggle his fingers. Then with effort, he extends his arms, pushing his upper body up shakily until he can sit somewhat without toppling over.
“Well,” he says to himself when it feels less like he’s being torn apart into tiny Tommy-pieces and more like he needs a huge fucking nap. “That was shit, innit?”
There’s no answer to his sarcasm. Thankfully no one was around to witness his embarrassing display as he tries to relearn how to move.
A tiny sliver of moonlight peeks its eye down on him. The wind blows; empty, skeletal trees rattle their branches looking quite depressed and shriveled. Tommy wrinkles his nose at them. Usually, he’s all for plants, but they’re very ugly without their foliage. A little too naked.
“Ugh,” he mutters, quickly retracting a hand he set on the bark of one. “Dead.”
They all look dead, he realizes, narrowing his eyes in the darkness. At first, he’d just mistaken their black trunks for darkness, but he sniffs his fingertips and recoils.
Some kind of fungus or mold. He doesn’t know. He was never good at identifying that stuff. But even he could identify the smell of rot and death.
Tommy wipes his fingers off on his pant leg with disgust.
Just his luck. He hops into a dead forest. Great. Hopefully this world has better things to offer than this.
He checks the position of the moon in the sky. Near the horizon. 50-50 chance that it’s either late evening or early morning.
Not wanting to sleep in some nasty ass sick tree, Tommy takes the gamble and begins walking.
He takes a curious look at the mana streams and adjusts to follow the direction of its flow. Why mana runs in certain directions has always evaded him, but Tommy knows important junctions like to meet at towns. Or towns are always built on top of them. Whatever.
It’s the best guess he has for finding civilization. That is, unless he finds a road. That would be great, actually.
The dry snap of branch in the distance.
Tommy frowns.
Red, glowing–
Tommy whirls around, breath caught in his throat, and peers between the tree trunks. He swears he saw something…
He rubs his arms, goosebumps racing up his spine. It’s fine. It’s just nighttime. He’s not a pussy that’s scared of the dark. The forests of Essempii were way more active and loud.
But… it’s not just that, he realizes as he continues walking.
It’s quiet, so very nearly silent. And once he picked up on it, the hair on the back of his neck only stood up straighter. Tommy shudders and picks up his pace. The sooner he can get out the better.
A howl picks up in the distance.
That makes him pause. It… it had to be far away right? Wolves don’t normally attack people?
Except… in a dead forest, with no other signs of prey…
A cold bead of sweat trails the length of his spine. He needs to find a road. Now.
Another howl. Was that closer?
Tommy turns fervently, eyes bouncing from tree to tree. He dips curiously into the land’s mana only to recoil just as quickly.
It reeks of death and desolation. Just looking at it feels dirty. Trying to draw from it makes Tommy’s skin crawl ; worms burrowing under his skin, squirming along his blood vessels, and nestling around his bones.
Disgusting.
Death is necessary for the natural order, but this is too much; tipping the scales. It’s not for him. He can’t use it.
Tommy hears the crash of sticks and leaves underfoot; panting so heavy and loud it booms like a drum. A bark. Multiple voices raised in bone-chilling howls. Not just behind him anymore. They circle to either side, fanning out.
Red eyes gleam between the trees’ shadows. The pale shine of a maw stretching wide.
Werewolves.
Tommy bolts.
His sides heave. His lungs burn. Fright pushes him forward. His feet fly over the ground, he slips on a pile of leaves and nearly tumbles. No, no, no, no! Run!
Tommy doesn’t look back. He can’t afford to. The man-beasts on hot on his heels, snapping teeth closed around the space he only just vacates. They’re wheezing with exertion as well. They didn’t expect prey that would run, but it turns into gleeful barks and snarls. Too human laughter that tears from their lips as they race after him.
This is a game to them. And at the end-
A wolf leaps down at him from a treetop, tongue extended, eyes glowing with starvation.
Tommy screams, rolling out of the way. The adrenaline that fueled him strangling him before snapping.
He gasps, trying to twist and get his feet back under him. A heavy clawed hand that could encompass his entire head lands on his chest, decisively pinning him in place.
Tommy stops breathing.
The werewolf grins down at him, a stream of foul drool budding between yellow, cragged teeth and dripping down blackened lips. The others circle around, howling in victory. Panting and clawing at the ground, eager for their own fill.
Oh, Prime. This is where he’ll die.
Hot breath washes over Tommy’s face, and he resists the urge to puke. If these were his final moments, that would undoubtedly be unpog.
Tommy mouths a silent prayer to Prime and closes his eyes, bracing for the excruciating pain of being eaten alive.
Suddenly, the claws pressing into his sternum lighten just slightly. The pack’s cries fall silent and there’s the sound of large, flapping wings.
Tommy tilts his head up and opens his eyes. What-
A light bursts, so white and sudden his pupils contract into pinpricks and Tommy is the one that howls.
His hands fly up to press his palms into his eyelids. What the fuck! He’s gone fucking blind by Prime!
He’s half aware that the weight has left his chest and there are voices around him. Human ones. There’s the wet crack of bone breaking and the whimper and yelps of werewolves fading into the distance.
A hand touches his shoulder and Tommy jerks, scrambling on his hands and knees backward. His eyes are open, but he can’t see shit. Colorful spots wriggle in his vision and he squints.
“Hello?” he demands.
“It’s alright,” a soft feminine voice responds. “We drove off the wolves, young one. You’re safe now.”
The world is spinning. Or just Tommy is. He holds his tense position, blinking and praying the spots will disappear, and his sight will return.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Clara. My companions and I are angels from the nearby church. What are you doing in the forest so late at night? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” She tuts, but not scolding. More like a worried mother.
“I… sorry,” Tommy mumbles. Slightly, he relaxes. Angels. Of course. They don’t hurt people. It’s not in their being to be cruel.
He swallows and uncurls from the ball he had formed. “I- I got lost.” Technically not a lie. “The light – was it you?”
“Yes. I see it affected you as well. That was unintentional. Please accept our deepest apologies.”
“It’s… it’s fine.”
“We shouldn’t linger any longer. There are much more dangerous things than the werewolves who roam these forests.”
Tommy shivers, and pushes away the sudden dread of what else exists among the disease-ridden trees.
Leaves and dirt shuffle, and he can feel the angel, Clara, leaning close to him. “May I carry you? The church isn’t too far. You can eat and rest there among us. We’ll keep you safe.”
It’s as if instinctively, he knows her hand is waiting, just a hairsbreadth from his cheek. He tilts and warmth cups his head. Smooth lips brush the space between his eyes.
Angels are holy protectors. He can trust her. And them.
“What’s your name?” she asks, slipping strong arms under his legs and easily lifting him.
“Tommy,” he says before snuggling close and feathered wings wrap him into their darkness.
It’s strange existing in a church to an unknown god.
Tommy sits far in the back corner, lips mouthing the words he wishes he could send to his Lady Prime. His prayer is silent, unheard. Private and just for him, in all reality – the last thing he wants to do is anger this world’s god, or their messengers.
She doesn’t exist in any capacity here and is unable to respond through the veils between worlds, Tommy knows, but he likes to imagine that she could still feel his devotion; sense the secret messages he whispers just for her in the dark when he’s alone.
Probably not, but it makes him feel just a tiny bit better. The automatic reflex to reach out to his god for comfort.
“May I join you?” a soft voice murmurs. Tommy glances up to meet the bright, golden eyes of Clara, the angel who’d saved him from the jaws of the werewolves; guiding him by the hand until the blindness from her spell wore off and giving him food and new clothes. A warm bath and soft bed to stay in.
Her generosity reminded him painfully of Clementine, an angel from his own world. They might’ve been sisters, if not for their wildly differing appearances.
He’d been taken aback, at first, when his sight cleared enough to witness the angels’ features. With broad, black wings and halos of gleaming metal and thorns, Tommy had first compared them to demons, shrinking back on instinct when they leaned out to touch him.
He braced for pain, for curses and thorns and bleeding, but was met every time with kindness, their magic brushing against his softly.
Tommy found himself relaxing. Angels are some of the purest of creatures, born directly from mana to serve humanity. They won’t hurt him.
(He misses the white wings and soft purple robes of the angels in Prime’s temples. The double halos that spin around their head, occasionally dipping and forming a wide X across their eyes: the sign of Exdee, the World-Creator.)
After a quick pause, Tommy shrugs and shuffles over. Clara lifts her wings smoothly, draping them across the back of the bench. Gentle as she settles next to him, stretching one length to cup around behind his back.
“Is your sight well?”
“It’s better, thank you. I’m not running into doorframes anymore, so that’s good.”
Clara laughs. “That’s true. I’m so sorry that I’d hurt you.” Her touch is cool against his cheek, tilting his head so she can check his pupils for the dozenth time again in worry.
“It’s fine,” Tommy shrugs, giving her a small smile, trying to reassure her apologies again. “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”
A pause. Clara purses her lips. A strange sight, to see so much emotion on an angel’s face when they’re known for having perfectly smooth cheer. “About that…”
Tommy flinches, knowing exactly what kinds of questions were about to come. Unfortunately, they’re all the hard ones with impossible answers.
It’s always the good people. The ones he really likes that make staying too dangerous.
Suddenly the mood is soured. Tommy pulls away from Clara, putting some distance between them on the bench, and says, before he loses his nerve, “Actually, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Clara frowns, wings rustling. “I… Oh. Where to? Perhaps I could escort you there. Or at least part of the way…”
Tommy winces. “No, it’s alright, I can get there fine. I’ve done it before.”
Clara watches him silently. Unnervingly staring. It reminds him of a bird – and not in a good way.
“Theseus,” she says, finally, after a long pause. “Why were you in the Dead Forest?”
“I dunno. Got lost.” His knee starts to bounce, and Tommy looks away, watching the other angels about the church.
“Theseus,” Clara repeats. “ Everyone knows the forest is dangerous. It isn’t just because of the werewolves. There are dangerous monsters, poisonous plants – it is claimed , Theseus. By Lady Death.” She gestures to a mural on the wall above, a woman, dressed in rich purple and black, her face obscured by a ghostly white veil. On one hand a crow perches, beak thrown wide in a silent scream.
“Our mistress may be kind, but even she may lose her temper. Trespassing is the most egregious to the gods, you should know.”
Tommy sunk down, curling into the bench. “I didn’t want to be there. It’s the truth. I got lost. I’m not trying to piss her or anyone off! I- I just-”
His breath hitches. Oh fuck.
Clara is quick to put her hand back on his shoulder. “Breathe, little one. I’m not trying to scare you, but it is serious. Please. I’m simply trying to understand. Do you remember what events brought you to the forest? Was someone with you?”
“I-” his voice cracks. Wilbur, his magic exploding, floating in the Void. He can’t say any of that.
“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t.”
Lie.
Clara observes him, golden eyes flickering. “Nothing?” she confirms.
“Nothing,” Tommy repeats, hoarsely. Another lie.
Lying to an angel? He can practically feel Dream’s breath on the back of his neck, his voice in his ear. “I thought you were better than that, Tommy.”
She hums. “That’s not good that you’re missing memories. Are you sure you must leave? Is it really that urgent?”
“Yeah.” He swallows his bitterness. “It’s for the best.”
“Then… we’ll prepare for your departure tomorrow,” Clara sighs, her eyes downcast in sorrow. “I’m still not so sure about all of this,” she murmurs. “Perhaps I’ll have to seek some advice from my Lady. For certain, though,” she lifts her face and forces a smile. “We’ll help you in any way we can.”
Tommy nearly slumps in relief. “Thank you, Clara. You’re seriously so poggers.”
“I’m not quite sure what that means,” the angel chuckles, “but I hope it’s a good thing.”
Tommy grins. “It’s the best thing. Just like you are.”
The day begins with a freezing bedchamber, Tommy huddling deeper within his bedsheets, blankets pulled over his head, and wondering if it was worth it to get up at such an early hour.
The low pulse of his magic, scraped raw from staying in the Void for too long and aching with hunger is finally the motivation he needs to move.
He’s not sure how far he’ll have to travel, he muses as he pulls a fresh cotton shirt over his head. All the land surrounding the church isn’t healthy for him to consume. To the North, the dark forest, a miasma of death. To the South, the village nestled in a small valley, the too hot mana burning his magic core; the opposing energies, light and dark snapping at each other at the edges.
He sighs, slipping the bag Clara had given him over his head, adjusting the strap so it crossed his chest, the weight pressing at his hip. Faintly, his fingers glide over the black wings and thorns stitched into the flap. The symbol of Lady Death’s angels. Her ingws and eyes of the world.
“Send a prayer if you run into trouble,” Clara made him promise. “I have to stay here and watch over the forest and town alongside my brothers and sisters, but if the need is great, I am bound to give aide.”
She gripped his shoulder, staring into his eyes. “Please don’t hesitate to ask for help.”
With force, Tommy pulls his fingers away. He inhales, sharp, stinging, and cold.
He’ll travel past the village, follow the mana streams just until he can find somewhere with energies more suitable for him. Preferably with more plants. A forest. A mountain. Less… flat.
A knock comes through the door, then Clara enters, bowing her head, the silver thorns of her halo gleaming in the soft candlelight.
“Are you ready?”
One, final glance around the room, making sure he didn’t miss anything. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
The angels gather to see him off. Though Tommy didn’t know them as well or even remember all their names, he still gets a lump in his throat as they bid him off. Some murmur blessings and spells over his head. Safe journeys. Move swiftly without fatigue. Wards against monsters. Others hand him bundles of food. Wrapped bread and cheese. A waterskin that stays cool forever.
Tommy thanks them all, bowing to hide the tears in his eyes. Prime. Why must they make leaving so hard?
At last, he turns to face Clara waiting beside the gate. A lump forms in his chest.
“Please be careful,” she says. Tommy nods silently, staring at his shoes. Suddenly it feels like being in front of Mum, Clementine, the high elders; putting all their hopes into him as the youngest of their clan.
He swallows harshly, mouth dry. “I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything.”
“You always have a place here, if you want it. Within our holy walls or in the village, we’d be more than glad if you stayed.”
If only.
“Sorry. But I have to go now.”
They embrace one last time, Clara wrapping soft wings around him.
The mana streams around them flicker. Something powerful striding through them as if they are nothing .
Tommy stops breathing. Clara goes stiff.
“Theseus. Get inside.”
“But-”
Clara’s wings fling open and she shoves him back toward the crowd of nervous angels behind them. “Get inside, now . He’s coming.”
Several angels pale, others flap their wings anxiously, looking as if they want to take off and disappear.
“What’s happening?” Tommy asks, raising his voice over the sudden buzz of overlapping murmurs as many pull at their auras, the air growing heavy with magic.
“No time to explain, get inside! Do not come out until you are told,” Clara shoves him towards the front doors.
Tommy stumbles, but still, he hesitates. “What is it? A monster?”
“Something of that ilk,” Clara says darkly. “Why the Lady would ever…” she shakes her head. “No matter. You don’t want to be caught by him. He’s not known for mercy, Theseus. Find a safe room and wait until I come for you.”
“But what’s going to happen to you?”
A dark creature appears on the horizon, growing quickly bigger by the second. Clara stares at it, frozen in terror. “Don’t worry about me. Just stay inside.”
Tommy doesn’t like it, but the angels’ palpable fear is getting to him. He squints at the shape, stomach roiling in fear and obeys.
He slams the main doors behind him, leaning against the wood as he feels its approach. It feels like both manas are reaching toward it, swirling into the thing like a great whirlpool and Tommy nearly throws up.
What could be so powerful, it’d pull at the streams like that?
He has to know. On shaky legs, he makes for the stairs, climbing to the second story and stumbling to a window to look down on the courtyard below.
He tilts his head curiously at what stood on the other side of the gate. Feet planted just beyond the holy border that kept out the dark creatures of nightmares.
Another angel.
He’s different. Not one, but three pairs of wings rise from his back. So big they curl over his and the gathered angels’ heads. Yet he doesn’t strain under the weight. He stands straight and proud, rather.
The metal of his halo gleams in the pale sunlight. Dark iron. The thorns twisted and overgrown, and if Tommy squinted, they almost appeared to spiral hypnotically into horns.
He’s powerful. Tommy eyes his aura uneasily, reminded of the mage Wilbur’s strange, excessive well of mana.
Tommy shakes his head. No, this is different. Clearly. Angels have closer ties to mana streams. It would make sense for their auras to be bigger.
Judging by this angel’s fancy appearance and greater magic, he’s probably some kind of angel boss. What are they called? Right. Archangel or some shit.
But why would Clara be so afraid then…?
Tommy presses his face closer to the glass, wishing he could hear the conversation occurring outside. Thick lines of tension outline Clara’s figure. She, alone, faces the newcomer, gesturing him away.
The archangel is impassive, seemingly bored by whatever she tells him.
The glass fogs under his low, hot breaths. Tommy examines the man’s aura closer.
Then, pale blue eyes lock on him. Tommy freezes. Slowly, with a wide smile, the archangel steps across the border.
The inhabitants of the church spiral into panic, multitudes rushing forward, magic attacks at their fingertips but the Archangel never even sways, unbothered as his gaze never moves from Tommy.
Jet black wings rise to their full height, opening smoothly.
Tommy bolts.
He has a feeling he shouldn’t have watched. His breath stutters, the Archangel’s aura passing just beneath his feet, and his knees almost buckle. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is he really as dangerous as Clara made him out to be? If so, he’s dead. He’s so fucking dead.
He runs for a random room, slamming the door shut behind him. His fingers fumble for the lock as shouts arise from the main chapel room. He spins, searching for a hiding place.
It’s useless. A piece of wood won’t stop whatever’s coming.
He runs – trips – crawls to the wood altar at the center of the small prayer room. Damnnit, he’s locked himself into a too-small space with nowhere to run. He opens the paneling, sliding it to the side, heart stuttering. The presence is growing bigger, lazily seeking him out. Like a cat playing with its food.
He squeezes into the small space; hitches his knees up to his chest. His head is racing with panic. He has to do something .
The thing pauses at the door.
Tommy pulls at his magic. He’s spent. He knows it. But all his instincts scream get away.
His core pulses, the world’s currents break, splitting a path-
A wall appears, blocking his exit and Tommy’s magic collapses into embers.
The hatch to his little hiding spot opens, and frozen blue eyes look down on him. The Archangel beams.
“Why hello there, little one.”
Tommy stops breathing.
His magic flickers uselessly. The archangel’s aura is so large it’s blotting out his vision, darkening it like a blindfold and in a panic, Tommy flings his arms out before him.
“Please-!”
Cool hands wrap around his wrists, pinning them together and tugs . “Shhh, quiet now. I’ve got you,” the angel purrs.
His heart leaps in his throat. Tommy snarls, kicking his feet as he’s extracted from his hiding place and dragged out onto the hardwood floor. He brings his hands up, trying to arch his neck around to sink his teeth into the angel’s wrist, but a firm press and he collapses flat, the other broad hand resting on his back.
“You’re quite the wild thing, aren’t you?” A bemused chuckle. Tommy can feel the sharpness of talons trail lightly on his back, between his ribs.
He inhales sharply, trembling harder as the curious hand cups the back of his neck.
“So young too… Where did you come from, Spitfire?”
Tommy shakes his head marginally, biting his lip to keep a whimper from rising from his throat. The archangel sighs, long fingers crawling into his scalp, making his whole body break out in goosebumps.
“That’s alright. We have all the time in the world. You can answer when you’re more ready.”
His head spins. He thinks he might pass out. What is happening?
The sound of footsteps, and Tommy raises his head slightly, nose against the wood grain. Oh Prime, is someone coming to save him?
There’s the bang of the door hitting the wall. Without meaning to, Tommy flinches and the Angel growls, laying more wing weight against Tommy’s back.
“Please-” Clara’s voice gasps. “Please don’t hurt him! He’s done nothing wrong!”
The Archangel’s snarls soften. Fingers find the curved points of his ears and Tommy inhales, feeling as they nudge at the flesh, trailing down to poke the earlobes.
“Please,” Clara repeats with a whimper. Under the shuffling of cloth and wings, Tommy can hear a steady drip, drip, drip on the hard floor. His throat bobs uneasily.
“You’re right,” the Archangel croons. “He’s innocent. A lost little lamb.”
A cool hand ruffles his hair. Tommy jerks, biting back a fearful keen.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt him.” A warm chuckle fills the air. “Just the opposite, really.”
“Why?” Clara whispers, voice strained. “What’s your business with him?”
“I should remind you of your place,” The Angel snaps. Feather bristle into Tommy’s back and his breath freezes for a moment. Then, they relax, shaking out slightly to be smooth and soft. “That is none of your concern, but because I’m feeling generous…
“I’m taking him to the Dread Plains Temple to keep him under my watch. It’s a much better place there.”
The Archangel coos again, petting Tommy’s hair. A wisp of dark magic curling and nuzzling into his back like an attention greedy cat.
“To the Lady’s seat of power?” Clara questions. Her voice is wobbling, growing faint. Tommy hears her stumble a few heavy steps forward.
“What would my Lady want with him…?”
“That’s none of your concern.” Tommy flinches as the voice grows harsh again. Fingers tangle through the hair on the back of his head; the weight of gold and silver cool against his scalp. “I believe it’s time for us to depart. Step aside.”
A long pause. The smooth brush of feathers on the hardwood, gently creaking as a weight moves from side to side.
Tommy squirms, even as the cruel hand slides down to cup his neck, squeezing the sides just slightly in warning. Blunt fingernails catch on the rough wood grain and he whimpers.
“Clara, please-”
“Shh, my child. Relax.” The dark magic writhes across his skin making him shudder at its noisome touch. Tommy jerks, clawing in agony as it winds around his wrists, binding them tightly. It curls about his neck and he coughs, sputtering as it probes his face. Yet no matter how he fought, the deadly Archangel kept his hold firm. Not allowing him to move more than a few centimeters.
“Let me go!” Tommy screams, twisting his spine to aim a clawing hand at his attacker.
He flinches as it’s easily caught. The angel tsking softly as both his hands are tucked to his side and he’s carefully rolled to his back. Belly up. Helpless prey.
On instinct, Tommy stills, wide eyes following the Archangel’s movements. A warm palm falls in the center of his chest.
“Don’t-” Clara murmurs, then there’s a thump off to the side. Tommy jerks, twisting his head to see what happened, but the Archangel catches his face with long talons, forcing him to keep looking up.
“What did you do to her?” His voice shudders over the words. “Is- is she dead?”
“No,” the Archangel huffs. “I should’ve though,” he muses, eyes narrowing as he turns his attention briefly away.
Panic swirls in his chest, making every breath a chore. Tommy wheezes, unable to inhale fully despite the claws on his chest only resting, not pushing him down.
Silver-blue eyes return to him.
“It’s all right. She’ll live. I just gave her a little scratch. Nothing to fuss about.”
“Please don’t kill me.”
“Kill you?” the monster asks, tilting his head. The wing curls tighter around Tommy’s body. “Why would I do that? I’m here to care for you.”
“You’re so hungry,” he coos, a teasing smile stretching thin lips to reveal pointed teeth. “You poor thing. Good thing I found you.”
“N-no,” Tommy starts to say. Hungry? He’s not hungry. The church fed him well while he was here. And he’s gotten rather good at stealing and saving where he can.
“Oh?” the Archangel asks, amused. “You aren’t aching with want? I would, in your position. Perhaps you’re just used to being starved. Don’t worry, little one, I’ll set that right.”
Tommy opens his mouth again, to argue, to deny, but the angel’s magicks condense, as refined and sharp as a spear. He has no time to prepare before-
Unfamiliar mana forces itself through the spaces between his ribs. His veins crackle with fire and lightning; the earth buckles as his entire body twists itself into a coiled wire of pain. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong. He tries to inhale, but his breath seizes, and he chokes. It drills deeper, into a space that does and does not exist. It punctures into his magic and Tommy’s back arches as he screams.
“You did so well,” a kind voice tells him. Cool hands wipe his brow and cup his cheeks. “That’s better. Drink, little spark, that’s right.”
Something pulses into that hidden space inside his chest. Tommy whimpers, not liking the muddled texture. At times too cold, then too hot to be comfortable. After a few minutes, it settles, pooling into something more welcoming: mana
He sighs, collapsed, and half-asleep in the nice, strong arms as magic slowly pumps into his soul, filling his well and reserves to the brim. He tugs at the stream, wanting more, wishing it’d be faster.
“So greedy,” the voice laughs. “Alright, you can have more. As much as you’d like.”
Tommy hums, eyelids closing as he gets his wish. It’s starting to feel less bad. There’s a low, aching pulse in his chest, but it’s easily brushed off as his deeper pain, the rawness in his core from floating in The Void is given a salve.
He sighs and goes limp. All the mana is making him heavy. Tired. He kind of wishes he had the better kind. His mana that gave him energy. Not made him feel exhausted and slow.
His forehead creases, trying to open his eyes. But for all his attempts, they remain shut.
Light fingers rub at the tension on his forehead. “Rest, Theseus. I have you.”
No further permission is needed, Tommy's head lolls back and he gives into the exhaustion.
The last clear thought he has is how the Archangel knew his name, despite never saying it.