[Flame]

“…I’m pretty sure that’s wrong, Wren.”

The voice belonged to a young woman who was currently lounging in a comfortable chair in a spacious room, her voice echoing faintly against the whitewashed walls. The space was softly lit with skylights which let in the natural light from outside, bathing the carpeted floor and matching furniture which looked equally as comfortable as the cushioned lounge chair the woman was sitting in. A pool of brighter light cascaded down upon her from a standing lamp above her, illuminating the sketchbook propped on the arm of the chair she was seated in in which she currently seemed engrossed. Her fingers moved with a fluid and delicate, yet deliberate grace as they guided the pencil across the once-blank page, slowly unveiling the figure of a person whose face had yet to resolve into any particular individual.

Although she seemed perfectly calm and at ease, her motions unhurried and measured, there was a distinct note in her voice which said that this discussion had been going on for longer than she’d thought necessary. In fact, it was one which had been had more than merely once or twice in the past, but still, she continued to humor it with the patience of long years of friendship.

“But how can you know that for sure, Zi?”

The second voice belonged to another woman, one slightly younger with a higher, more song-like manner of speech. She was currently seated on the floor, legs extended before her on the plush carpet, arms propped behind her back. Her clear, gemlike aqua eyes were pensive, apparently deep in thought about the discussion, as if the past iterations of this conversation had never turned up a satisfactory solution to her questions. “Don’t you think that everything has a purpose for existing?”

“No? I mean, why can’t some things exist just because they do? For example, what purpose do parasites and natural disasters have for existing but to cause pain and suffering? Or rocks? It’s not like they are even aware of their own existence. So why not mortals? Their lives come and go as brief and fickle as a gust of wind, and leave even less impact after they’ve passed.”

Serenity didn’t seem to find this argument resolving in any way either, which reflected in the mild frown which furrowed her brow. “But wouldn’t you say that they’re at least self-aware? That has to count for something, right? Even if it means only living to discover the futility of life?”

Zion shook her head, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at her younger companion. The pencil had paused in its trek across the paper momentarily, a half-drawn outline of a hand outstretched, as if patiently waiting to be completed. “I’ve visited the mortal realm once, a few years ago with mother. It’s actually where I made Sketch, based on one of the creatures I saw there. He’s actually considerably smarter than his living counterpart, if that says anything for the intelligence of mortal beings. What would make you think that humans would be any more advanced than these huge, ancient lizards which have existed longer than they have?”

An odd, rustling rumble – like that of rough sheets of paper rasping against each other – from beside Serenity elicited a motion of her hand, absentmindedly reaching out  to stroke the feather-stroked pencil-marking head of the strange beast lying by her side. Sketch, who had apparently heard his name in the conversation through his catnap, was an odd creature by any stretch of the imagination. He was a Lusikross (as the mortals liked to call them), or rather, a very good likeness of one. His body had the strange appearance of being non-corporeal (although that was disproven by the hand Serenity currently had resting on his head), as it was entirely made up of what appeared to be light orange pencil marks floating in midair. This evaluation wasn't untrue, as Zion had the unique ability to animate whatever she drew and bring it to life off of the page. Although she'd done so with many of her past works, Sketch was the only creation which she'd kept with her, at least in physical form.

Serenity was pretty sure that Zion's last statement was a roundabout way of saying that she hadn't actually had any contact with any humans herself, but that wasn't a matter of great surprise. After all, there really wasn't any reason for their kind to meddle in the affairs of mortals, and only very specific individuals within their community were allowed to have any contact with them. Her brother was one of those people, but she knew better than to expect answers from him regarding his "occupation". He reported directly to Velius, and spoke to no one else about what he did regarding the mortal realm. She loved him with all her heart, and he wanted nothing more than her well-being, but she worried about him more often than not. As quiet and reserved as he was, she still had the distinct feeling that there were many things he hadn't told her about his life, and most likely for the wrong reasons.

“Anyways, that’s just how the world is. Why worry about it if it’s not ever going to affect you anyways?” Zion’s sentence ended on a definitive note, as if her final statement settled the matter. To drive the point home, her gaze fell back to the drawing pad in her lap and the sketching pencil resumed its journey across the page, adding joints and shadows to the fingers of the hand she’d been working on. Serenity merely made a small, neutral sound in the back of her throat, her thoughts still apparently on the discarded subject but now turned inwards instead. She knew she’d probably been driving her childhood friend up a wall with this sort of existential talk, and decided finally to take mercy on the poor soul. “I’m gonna go see if Valk is back yet,” she finally said, breaking the momentary silence.

As she rose to leave, her movements elicited a disappointed sound from the Lusikross beside her, but she merely gave him a last, affectionate pat on the head and made her way towards the door. “I’ll catch you later at dinner!” she called over her shoulder at her friend, who merely waved a spare hand briefly in dismissive agreement before returning to her drawing. Valkyrie, her brother, had been gone for a few days now, no doubt on an assignment from Velius. Wren knew better than to expect him back so soon, but she was bored, and hope was a better form of entertainment than sitting around. Her mind still pondering the discussion she’d been having with Zion, she meandered leisurely down the halls of the compound towards her brother’s quarters, lost in thought.

[MillietheWarrior]

It was cold. But it was always cold in the darkness.

Even when he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything, so most of the time, he kept them closed. He could hear the rustling of the other inmates asleep or shivering in their cells. He knew that he was the one who made it cold, made it unbearable for them. But he didn't much care for their comfort; it was a dungeon, and judging by the shackles on his wrists, ankles and neck, it wasn't supposed to be comfortable. A thin, vapor-like mist seeped from his cell, coating the floor in the thinnest layers of ice; not even the guards dared to creep by the bars, worried about freezing in their boots or being seen by the prisoner within.

Despite being their captive, he knew they feared him, feared what he could do and what he had done. None of them wanted anything to do with him, and that was perfectly fine by him. He sat alone, in his cell, in the darkness, lost in his thoughts and his memories; he did not sleep, and he did not eat, for someone who was a being of ice had no need of such things unless he wanted them. And so his mind was filled with dark thoughts and darker memories, ones that tortured and haunted him and rent shallow, rasping growls from him in the strange, cold nights.

The walls seemed to creak and groan from the weight of the cold; the shimmering, diamond-steel that bound him popping and snapping as if it might bend; it was only steel ground with diamonds and infused with magic that could hold him, but he had no interest in escaping. He saw no point in it; this prison was nothing more than metaphorical, as far as he was concerned. The walls and bars he could break free of easily, the shackles he could destroy if he truly, truly tried, but he did not.

For the real prison lay not around him, but within, and it bound him as surely as any chains; his regret and his sorrow and his madness and anger kept him locked away in a cage of his own doing, and though no mortal or immortal chains could hold him, his mind kept him bound, shackled by his past and lack of future. So he lay in the darkness, welcomed it, embraced it.

And he said nothing, and he ate nothing, and he was nothing.

[Flame]

Wren should have known better than to have gone wandering alone to the quarters where the makeshift “barracks” were located. Of course, she knew very well what she was doing was forbidden, but this wouldn’t be the first (or the last) time she’d snuck off to visit her brother in his quarters. She got scolded by him for it every time, but she knew deep down that he was just as glad for her visits as she was to see him. She felt as if she never got to see him any more these days – he was always on one mission or another, and when he wasn’t, he was simply too tired to do much more than sleep. She missed his visits, the days when he and the two girls got to just spend the day together. Those seemed like nothing than fading memories, but ones which she held as close as she could. Plus, it wasn’t as if she’d ever been caught doing this in the past, and she was quite confident that she would hear anyone approaching before they even knew that she was there.

As she wandered down the quiet, empty halls of the huge complex, she reached into her pocked to pull out a small object. It glowed with a faint warmth in her hand, and she smiled, opening her palm to reveal a small, smooth red pebble. It seemed simple and harmless enough, nothing more than just a round stone, but it held much more meaning for her. She’d had it for as long as she could remember; for all she knew, it was the last gift she’d received from the parents she’d never known. To the unfamiliar eye, it was just a rock, but in reality, it was intimately tied to her and her emotions. The stone itself warmed and cooled depending on her moods, much like a mood ring would, but instead of changing colors, it shifted temperatures. Right now, it emanated a soft, content warmth, and she tossed it experimentally in the air, only to catch it once again.

Maybe…

The stone left her hand once again, but this time, as it fell, instead of landing in her palm as it had the last time, it vanished just a breath away from her skin and almost immediately reappeared at the apex of its arc up. This elicited a grin from the young woman, and the stone grew warmer as it fell once again, only to be teleported back to continue falling. With each iteration, the stone fell with greater velocity, without anything to stop it from picking up more speed. Wren’s face was a quiet picture of delight as she walked and “juggled”, taking even greater pleasure from the idea that this too was forbidden of her. There weren’t many who knew of her abilities, and even she couldn’t begin to understand even a fraction of them, and as such, she was strictly told not to exercise her powers without supervision. But who would tell on her for such a harmless deed anyway, especially if there wasn’t anyone around to see it?

The stone had turned into all but a pinkish blur when all of a sudden, the soft sound of voices and footsteps in the distance drifted to her ears. There was brief moment of panic, knowing that being caught for breaking two major rules at the same time would warrant severe consequences, and for just a split second, Wren’s concentration on the stone broke. There was a soft “oh!” of muted surprise and just a faint pop and suddenly, both girl and stone were gone, vanished without a trace.

Wren’s first thought was that she’d gone blind. Everything around her was dark, and she couldn’t see even a glimpse of her surroundings. She held breathlessly still for a moment, frozen in anticipation of an unseen punishment, sure that she was being reprimanded for her rebellion. A few moments passed, however, and nothing interrupted the quiet save for the rapid beating of her heart (which she was convinced had managed to lodge itself in her throat in an attempt to flee her doomed body). Slowly, shapes began to resolve in the darkness and a room came into view, full of sharp corners and cold surfaces. It really wasn’t all that dark after all – it was merely the sudden change in lighting which had given her that impression at first, but still…this could hardly be called mood lighting.

Gradually feeling her pulse slow, bit by bit, Wren looked around, realizing that none of her surroundings were in the least familiar. That was followed by the revelation of just how frigid the air was in the room, something she hadn’t noticed at first through her initial adrenaline rush. She became aware of the fact that her pebble was still clenched in her hand, cool due to her trepidation, but still warmer than the atmosphere around her. She gradually began to make out what looked like plain walls and what looked like…prison bars, the only thing aside from the occasional torch to break the monotony of the décor. She was so dead. She was definitely being punished for her wrongs – there could be no other explanation for this. She hadn’t even known that a dungeon existed in the building, and the only way she even knew that she was in the same building in the first place was because she recognized the metalworking on each of the torches, held in braziers along the wall.

When her panic subsided a little more, reason returned enough to show her that in fact, the bars weren’t holding her in anything. In fact, she stood on the outside of the cells (thank the lucky stars), and with a start, she realized that more than one pair of eyes now rested upon her from within the units which surrounded her. Peering back into them with less caution and fear than anyone who knew what (and whom) they were dealing with would have, she slowly began to move around the perimeter of the room, taking in an array of creatures and beings that she couldn’t even have begun to imagine existed in the world. Indeed, they all looked more like things out of Zion’s sketchpad, and she was enthralled by them. All of a sudden, her foot slipped on an unfamiliar surface, and she almost landed flat on her back, had she not caught herself at the very last moment. Her pulse suddenly racing again at the unexpected turn of events, she glanced down to see a thin layer of ice coating the ground before her. Following it with her eyes (and more carefully with her feet), she saw that it led to yet another cell, the one from which the cold was undoubtedly emanating. She shivered lightly, but merely wrapped her arms around her torso and inched closer, trying to see what – or whom – was occupying the cell in question.

[MillietheWarrior]

The infinity of the gates of Time and Space stretched on to eternity, but they could certainly get quite boring. Pluto, their guardian, was idle a good majority of the time. She had long ago been tasked with keeping peace in the realm of mortals and immortals alike, and ensuring that both time and space were uninterrupted and functioning and flowing properly. Velius alone was her master, and he alone commanded her to do as she saw fit to keep the very fabric of the worlds in order and in line. On days like these -which weren't really days because at the Gates there was no such as a 'day' or even a month or a year – she was content to idle herself in languor, doing nothing more than watching the comings and goings of the mortals on earth below. But her senses, as her life, was bound to the fabric of time and space, and she could tell when something went wrong.

And it just so happened that when Serenity 'slipped' in her game, alarm bells rang loud and clear in Pluto's mind. Floating along in the endlessness of her realm, she glided through the air to the gates, a frown etching itself onto her face. Her silver brows drew together as she summoned a portal, watching as a swirling mass of clouds appeared before and opened to reveal...nothing. Her vision was blocked by some kind of magic, magic she was all too familiar with. She could not get past it, not yet at least; whatever the disturbance was, it was far too small for her to force her own brand of magic through and find out what it was. But she knew where it had come from; Loki's fortress and his realm, and she knew that whatever the God of Lies and Deceit and Tricks had hidden there would be very worthy of investigating. So Pluto watched, and she waited, and she gazed into the portal and searched.

---

His eyes were closed, as they always were, but he could sense her. He could feel the very air around her shift to make way as she moved; He felt the magic coiled within her, the very 'inhumanness' of her being, and hew knew that she was not an ordinary creature. He did not stir when he felt her presence within the halls of the shadowed and beleaguered prisoners, and so he did not care that she moved quietly down them. He heard her slip, had known it was coming, somehow, even before she did, but still, he did not open his eyes. His breathing was slow and even, and wisps of white mist swirled in front of him with each breath her took. His hair, white like the snow, shimmered in the vague glinting of the hall torches, glancing off his pale, ivory skin and the glistening shackles that bound him for only the briefest of moments. That was all that illuminated the inhabitant of the cell, and in the next moment, he was shrouded once more in shadow.

He anticipated that the girl would continue on her way, do the wise thing and seek a safer place to linger. But she did not, and he found her both incredibly stupid, and faintly intriguing. Yet his apathy towards the world meant that he made no move to open his eyes, even when he felt the air stir with her approach, and knew she was drawing near. He could hear the faintest of catches in her breath, the slightest movement that indicated her curiosity, and at last, he opened his eyes to gaze at her through the misty haze of the cold and the ice and the hard, unforgiving bars that lie between them. He could see her plainly enough; a simple girl, with the wide-eyed and innocent look of someone who did not know the world. He had seen that look often enough reflected in his own sister's eyes, and he retreated from that painful thought as though it burned him.

His gaze narrowed, shimmering molten pools of blue that watched her with a listless disregard. Ice clung to his lashes, dusted his cheeks and skin and coated his body, and his lips were the faintest of blues when he opened them, cracked and parched and so little used. When he spoke, it was the softest, barest hint of a whisper, as though he had not done so in many years; he did not know how long he had been here, but he knew it was long enough for many lifetimes of mortals to have come and gone and the world to have changed in his absence. That was how long it had been since he had spoken, and his voice was like the wind, soft like a sigh but broken and cracking like a sapling in the wind. “You should not be here. Go. Now.”

[Flame]

Shivering in the frigid cold, her breath spiraling in small, vaporous puffs of mist as they stole heat away from her body, Wren stubbornly ignored her body’s complaints in favor of quenching her curiosity. Her silvery, pale blue hair cascaded around her shoulders, seeming to sparkle in the flickering light, giving the impression of liquid frost flowing around her features as she peered forward into the foggy darkness of the cell before her. One hand reached up to tuck the loose locks back behind her ear absentmindedly, oblivious to the fact that a few strands rebelliously refused to be restrained.

If the main hallway had been dark, the actual prison cell itself was even darker, and between the absence of light and the mist which shrouded the entire area in and around the unit, it was almost impossible to make out anything aside from the few inches of ice-coated floor directly inside the cell. Wren remained standing where she was though, sure for some reason that there was someone – or something – behind those bars, and a few moments later, was rewarded by a glimpse of movement from within the depths of the concrete prison. If she strained her ears, she could just make out the faint sound of breathing emanating from the recesses, and she got the distinct feeling that whatever it was in there knew very well that she was out here.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft and somewhat hesitant, as if afraid she might disturb the tenant inside. The last thing she wanted to do was to wake a stranger from their slumber, and for all the signs of life that were coming from within, they might very well have been. She held the stone in her hand tightly, the only familiar thing in this cold room filled with nothing but shackles and strangers. It radiated a comforting warmth, as if it knew her need.

Wren almost jumped as a quiet, rasping voice spoke out to her in reply, genuinely startled by the response. She honestly hadn’t expected an answer in return, and the one she got wasn’t any that she might have anticipated (although she wouldn’t have known what to expect in the first place anyway). The voice sounded so…brittle, so tired, filled with half-buried emotions and jaded memories which she couldn’t have begun to understand. It was so ancient and young, weary yet commanding, and for a moment she stood, at a loss for words. The meaning of the words was clear, but something told her to stay, a draw beyond simple curiosity, one which she couldn’t explain, but chose to humor.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” There was genuine apology in her voice as she spoke, this time her voice a little louder than before. The voice which had spoken out to her was male, of that she was certain, but beyond that, she knew nothing of its owner. She thought she could just make out the faintest glitter of eyes through the mist, but for all she knew, it could have been a trick of the dim light. She considered leaving, but finally decided against it as a shadow of concern crossed her mind, triggered by another compulsive shiver which ran down her spine from the blanket of cold air surrounding her. “I know I shouldn’t be here – it was actually an accident that brought me here, but…Aren’t you cold?” Her train of thought seemed to have halted mid-track as the concept hit her that while she might be chilly now, this…person (she’d decided the voice sounded like it belonged to a person) was likely living under these dark, frigid conditions every hour of his life. That would have to be miserable, if not impossible, for any being to survive in. Was that how these people and creatures were being punished?

[MillietheWarrior]

She was a girl; a small, stupid girl, if her appearance here was anything to judge by. She was young, younger than any of his own memories of the world, and her face, cast in shadow, illuminated by the faintest of torchlight, reminded him of his youth. She was fresh in face and eyes, most likely sheltered all her life and knowing nothing of the outside world and it's horrors and evils; he could see that in her pale, unlined face. It had been a very long time since he had met or seen anyone who was unblemished by cruelty and sorrow, and it was a startling blow for him, he who carried his burdens on his face and in his eyes.

He stared at her a moment, peering out of the darkness of his cell, felt the stirring of the evil, uncomfortable creatures around him as they lazily woke from their imprisoned slumber and sensed her presence. The ice and the room seemed to grow colder with his unease, and he could hear the occupants of the cells slink back into their darkness, afraid of the power that slowly crept out of his cage. Ice watched her for a few long moments of silence that stretched between through the vast space of the cell, before he finally leaned forward into the faintest of lights, and his ice shimmered and glowed, casting a pale, blue hue into his cell.

It revealed a man lined with scars who wore no tunic, skin pale as snow and hair as white as clear ice. His eyes were blue, shimmering and seeming to glitter like crystals as he regarded her with an empty face whose youth and smoothness belied his ancient age. There were markings on his skin, dark and brilliant against the whiteness of it, that told stories numerous and vast about who he was, and each tattoo had a meaning, or a memory attached; they moved as he moved, shining in the glow of the ice.

“I am not cold,” he said at last, and he could hear the creatures in the cells around him shifting again, scurrying feet afraid of his voice, moving away as though he struck and burned them, when he did nothing but freeze. The vapors of freezing mist seemed to surround them, obscuring her from view from the others in their cells, closing in around her like a cloak of cold. The ice glowed bright, and it illuminated his shackles, the glittering steel winking brilliantly in the dark.

“And you are not supposed to be here. Leave, little girl. This is no place for an innocent soul like you. It is twisted and filled with hate, and it will extinguish you if you remain too long.” The ice seemed to grow colder, following the sound of his voice, and his gaze narrowed into glowing, angry slits. “Leave,” he repeated, his words low and harsh. “Go back to your warm life and your happy ignorance and forget what you have seen here.”

[Flame]

Serenity didn’t know exactly what she had been expecting in regards of a response from the person hidden within the depths of the cell before her. Perhaps a prickly retort? An angry warning for her to leave? It never even occurred to her to think that he might (or could, for that matter) strike out at her from within the confines of the concrete and metal cage. She couldn’t have known that certain precautionary measures were built directly into the very fabric of these prison cells, to keep the inmates from escaping, or otherwise harming each other, but that wouldn’t have made a difference anyways. This particular captive seemed impervious to the effects, or at least powerful enough that the magics on the cell weren’t powerful enough to completely contain his abilities.

When the air itself within the cell suddenly seemed to glow blue, Wren merely tipped her head lightly to the side and peered harder into the mist, hoping that perhaps the light might illuminate the interior enough for her to catch a glimpse of its origin. This time, she was not disappointed. The soft yet cold light bathed her face and unveiled the silhouette of a man within the prison cell, staring directly back at her. Bright, crystal eyes of sapphire met those of cold blue steel, and she could feel them boring into her, as if reading her very soul with the wisdom of countless years. The look alone was almost enough to make her draw back, a feeling amplified by the ripple of energy she felt flow around her from within the cell. There was great power lying at the source of those waves – that much she knew, even with her extremely limited knowledge of supernatural abilities.

The figure slowly moved closer, closing the gap between the two of them, and the unexpectedness of the movement caused her to shrink back instinctively from the unknown in spite of the solid metal bars which separated them. However, as the man moved closer, his features resolved through the shroud of fog, and Wren just barely managed to bite back a small, startled gasp. The man’s pale, almost snowy skin was covered in markings, but it wasn’t those that shocked her. No, those intricate designs were overlaid with yet more patterns, but these weren’t just ink. They crisscrossed his skin in raised ridges of pale flesh, webs of scars which painted a picture with shades of countless painful memories.

It took several moments for Wren to come back to her senses, but when she did, she realized that one hand was outstretched, almost touching the icy metal bars, as if to touch the rugged flesh through the cage, to know that it was real. It had been instinct for her, as if she could wash away the past anguishes with but the gentlest touch, take them all away with but a brush of her fingertips. She caught herself, pulling her arm back to cradle it against her body, more for the comfort than the warmth. She could not begin to imagine what those eyes had seen; they were dark with thoughts beyond her fathoming, but there was an ache, an unspoken pain which needed no explanation in their depths.

“I don’t believe you.” The boldness of the statement took even herself aback, and Wren seemed surprised that the words had come out of her mouth. His next words, however, cut through her surprise and wariness and elicited a spark of almost affronted indignation from the young woman. “You’ve never met me before, let alone known my soul. How could you possibly say that with such certainty? Perhaps I’m not as easily extinguished as you might think.” As if to directly contradict her words, another shudder, this one more noticeable than the last, ran down her lightly-clad frame. The air around her had become significantly icier than it had been when she’d arrived, but she stubbornly steeled herself against it and continued to ignore it to the best of her abilities, not wanting to undermine her point right after she’d made it.

[MillietheWarrior]

Ice was not surprised at her response; the ignorance of youth might have been long ago for him, but he had never forgotten it. Her face was fresh and young, and he knew that she had no idea what she was meddling with. Perhaps when he was her age, he would have behaved the same way, but the years had long ago eroded such foolhardy behavior. He watched her quietly, like a predator observing oblivious prey, and stalked from side to side in his cell. His shackles clanked together as shadows fluttered across his pale face, his eyes and the ice the only glow in the darkness.

“I do not have to have met you before to see what you are in your eyes. They are a gateway to your innermost being, and they tell me that you know nothing of the darkness in these cells.” The mists roiled and glowed, seeming to respond to his anger as they closed in closer around her. He did not lessen the cold, having no feeling towards whether she froze or not; it was her own folly that would kill her, but eh would warn her while he could. If she choose then, not to heed his warnings and died, he would do nothing about it. That was her choice. He finally stopped his pacing, leaning heavily against the wall with his pale, bare arms folded across his chest. He had not missed her stares; he knew what he looked like, what he was, and he knew, to one such as her, he would appear a frightening thing indeed.

“You are young,” he said at last, after a long beat of silence. He turned his head away, is breath fogging in the air. “You know nothing of the world. I can see that in your eyes as well. There is nothing good for you here. I don't know why you have come, but if it is to satisfy some morbid curiosity, then consider it sated. If you are caught in here unawares, the cold will be the least of your concerns.” His voice was harsh, his words meant to scare her away; she was stubborn, though, and this he could see in her eyes as well. She would not leave so easily, and this too was caused by her youth. It seemed that youth and stupidity often walked hand in hand these days. And yet....

He had not spoken to another living soul in so long, save for one, but the God of Lies and Deceit was hardly a good conversation holder. Despite wanting her gone, he could not help but want to hear her speak a few moments longer; she reminded him of Caroline, with her soft voice and her gentle eyes, and even though much of him recoiled from that, there was a hidden, buried part of him that longed to have that to himself, if only for a few moments. If his eternity would be this darkened hell, left with only his thoughts and the immortal God of Tricks for company, then so be it; perhaps this was something he could hold onto in the vast eternity that awaited him within his cell. At last, he looked at her over his shoulder, one glittering blue eye narrowing and watching like a great cat in the dark. “Why are you here?”

[Flame]

For a few moments, Wren was at a loss for words. In truth, this was the first time in her life that anyone had spoken so harshly to her, and while the words stung, she tried not to let it show on her face. Perhaps it was instinct which led her to hide pain from the man who was the source of it, but although it was but a mere slight, careless words with nothing more to them than the weight of their meaning, even the simplest of creatures knew better than the let weakness show on the exterior. Of course, she’d never had to mask her emotions before in the past, so what she thought was a mask of imperviousness might as well have been a freshly cleaned window, for all she knew. Nevertheless, she was convinced that no person would be so prickly without some reason for it, and she was determined to at least figure out what that origin was. A small part of her whispered to her that he lashed out merely in self-defense, but she hardly considered herself a threat to him, and thus dismissed the idea.

“Young?” she echoed, part defensive and part confused. It wasn’t as if the man, as grizzled and scarred as he was, looked much older than her. Her smooth features also gave a false impression of youth due to her immortal lineage, although she was indeed much younger than he by many years. However, aside from the tiredness in his eyes, the stranger looked no more than a few years her elder, and for that, she treated his words with a measure of skepticism. True, she hadn’t wandered far from this compound in her living years, but how could one who didn’t know anything of the world outside possibly fathom the idea of their own ignorance? Indeed, she’d read many things of both the immortal and mortal realms, but although she hadn’t traveled herself, she didn’t consider herself as oblivious as this man seemed set on making her out to be.

Her original curiosity now somewhat muted by her confusion and injury, she’d drawn back from the bars slightly, teetering on the fence about leaving this cold, dark place and forgetting all about it. Perhaps this acerbic stranger’s suggestion wasn’t so bad after all. Zion was waiting for her up there somewhere (at least, she assumed it was up), and as the man had made so abundantly clear, she wasn’t particularly welcome here. Now, if only she could figure out how to get back out…

The man’s abrupt question belay suspicion, but at the same time, he seemed genuinely curious about the answer. Wren had expected him to fall silent for sure after his last stinging comment, and so a question demanding an answer from her caught her unawares. “Why…? Well, why not? Who are you to say where I can and cannot go?” Honestly, she was just grasping at straws at the moment, flustered, and not wanting to admit that she’d wound up here as a result of her own folly. Her hand warmed as she flushed slightly with embarrassment, and she glanced down at it, suddenly remembering that she still had her mood stone with her. She opened her mouth, trying to find a clever retort for the prisoner’s question, but when nothing came out, she shut it again, sighing lightly at her shortcoming. Perhaps the truth couldn’t hurt so much after all. It wasn’t as if this man was about to tell anyone about it, and perhaps it was just a mistake on her part, but it almost sounded as if he wanted someone to talk to. To be honest, she wanted the same as well – of late, it seemed Zion was beginning to tire of the same conversations they’d been having day-in and day-out.

“Well, like I said, it was actually an accident,” she finally said, shrugging lightly as she tried to keep her teeth from chattering. “I was…practicing teleporting this stone when my…my concentration slipped for a moment and I wound up here.” Of course, it wasn’t the entire story, but that should have been enough of an explanation to satiate the stranger. She somewhat reluctantly opened her clenched palm to show the small, smooth pebble, sitting harmless and unassumingly in her hand. It still radiated the warmth of her embarrassment, but to the eye, it was just a round red pebble.

[MillietheWarrior]

His eyes sharpened as they looked at her; she was a magic user. He had felt something strange and different coiled within her, felt the magic reach out to him and whisper against his thoughts like dark promises and ancient words. He would know magic anywhere, and as a being who's race was born of the magic in the ice, he understood it better than most. But to hear that she could teleport...that was a surprising thing indeed. Teleporting magic, the ability to warp space and time at the user's choosing, was a strange and dangerous magic, one that he knew would not be overlooked, especially not in a place like this. Ice knew very well what and who lay in the upper levels of his prison, and the immortal God who dwelled there was not likely to overlook such a young magic user.

“I see,” he said at last, and in his private mind, he knew her for what she was: a trophy. She belonged to Loki, even if she did not know it. Perhaps she thought herself a guest in his house, perhaps a friend or a child, or something of equal relation. She could not know the naivete of her beliefs, could not know how she would be twisted and used to fit the God's purposes, or how dangerous the line she now walked was. If Loki should ever discover that she had found her way down here, into the deepest, darkest parts of his secrets and lies and shadows, then she could be in grave danger. Yet, what a blow to the God to know that the very creature he sought to lock away would wind up with his trophy in his clutches. Ice had long ago chosen this cold prison of solitude over death, but no one, mortal or immortal, was fooled. He stayed of his own accord, and though the magic binding him and his powers was strong, it could never truly keep all of him contained.

To use that magic, to reach out and to enclose his fist around her throat, to deprive the trickster God of his jewel and his plaything, it was a sweet thought in his mind. Why not? He had done it so many times before to lesser beings, and she was naïve, young and stupid. Loki would be angry that his plaything was stolen, furious that something of his had been taken by a man who was supposed to be a prisoner. The ice and the mists seemed to close in closer around her, and tendrils of cold, of ice and snow, began to form around the bars, creeping, creeping towards her and slowly snaking their way along her shoes. “I am nothing,” he said at last. “I am nothing and no one. I am a great secret, a terrible burden, a blight on the world. And still, I am nothing.” His hand lifted, and he turned fully to her, his fingertips just reaching out, barely, briefly touching the skin of her neck and freezing against the pale smoothness of it like icy fingers encircling her.

“And you stand at my cell, unafraid and foolish because you do not know how dangerous nothing can be. Tell me, little girl...why do you think it is a good idea to come so close? Do you know why I am here? Do you know what this place is? It is a dark prison, a cell for those who Time wishes to forget but cannot because their danger and their power are too great. So why do you think you are safe here, safer here in the jaws of the lion?” His eyes drifted down to her open hand, to the smooth stone that lay in her palm, and as he gazed at it, his hand fell away from her throat and he turned his gaze to the far wall, his eyes glowing with rage at himself and at what he wanted to do. She would have been dead if he had less self control, if he had not learned, long ago, to weep and feel sorrow for the mistakes he had made in the past. But there was still so much beast left within him, and it was the creature that slept in his heart and mind that he feared most of all to wake. If he killed her, it would never sleep again. “If you truly can teleport, you should do so now and leave.”

[Flame]

Something different now ran through the stranger’s alien, glowing eyes. There was no telling what thoughts and demons raced through his mind, whispering sweet promises of blood and tender flesh. To this, the young woman was oblivious, but even she, as naïve as she was, could feel the sudden tension in the air, a shift in the way the mist seemed to move, slipping across her body like ephemeral chains of vaporous frost. For just a moment, the stranger stared for too long, the silence dragging on long enough to bring unease into her aqua eyes. She got the distinct feeling that she was being looked at, not as a person, but almost like an article of food.

Wren drew back, but something held her in place, this time, a sensation more physical than mental. The stranger’s eyes upon her were unsettling, and now she found herself wishing that she’d chosen to leave when she still had the choice. She was a fly caught in a spider’s web, and he’d begun to weave her into what could be a deathly cold cocoon. She still didn’t resist though, held enthralled like a mouse staring into the eyes of a hungry snake, unmoving, merely watching as impending doom approached. However, as ominous as the situation was, Wren still didn’t think that the man would harm her. For what purpose would he have in hurting or killing her? He was already incarcerated, and the idea that a person could kill simply for the sheer pleasure of taking the life of another didn’t even cross her mind. The very concept was beyond her, which perhaps would ultimately be the cause of an untimely demise. In this day and age, the world was cruel, and was wont to take advantage of creatures of innocence; a vicious cycle which slowly snuffed the light out of the world and replaced it with blood and violence.

Blue eyes followed as a pale, icy hand reached out from within the confines of the cell to touch her neck, the slightest touch the equivalent of an iron shackle around her throat. The cold was sudden, so sudden that the shock of it masked any pain she might have felt, and she shuddered, wanting to pull away but powerless against those slithering words and hypnotic eyes. For the first time, Wren was afraid. The solid metal bars holding the creature in meant nothing, and even she knew that in her heart of hearts. There was a faint clink as the pebble fell from her hand to the icy ground, dull red against the cold gray of the frosted concrete.

Then, just as quickly as it had happened, the hand was gone and the face had turned away, and suddenly, Wren found herself free of the stranger’s influence once again. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the scarred, tattooed back facing her and she slowly began to back away from the cell, her movements speeding up as she found use of her muscles once again and adrenaline flooded her system, warming her against the frigid cold which still sought to embrace her. Suddenly, her back bumped against a cold, stone wall – a passageway leading out of the dungeon. Blue eyes flashed to the dark, mist-shrouded cell once more, then she turned away, rounding the corner and vanishing almost without a trace. All that was left of her presence in the cold, silent prison was a small pebble, melting a small clearing in the ice outside of the lone Ice Maker’s cell.

[MillietheWarrior]

Ice watched her retreat, watched her flee from him like a wounded, wild animal. He expected it. He knew it was coming, and he himself had wrought it. His warning had been heeded, and yet he could not help but feel as though there had been some light within her that had lit his dark world, and now that light was gone. His gaze drifted away from the place she had vanished to, and slowly settled on the pebble on the floor. It sat, so innocent and innocuous against the ice shrouded stone, and quietly, quickly, he called to his magic to bring it to him. The pebble twitched and then slid carefully across the ice until it bumped his cell.

He stooped, and his shackles pulled taught against his neck and his arms, but with a flippant thought, he sent a shard of ice up behind the pebble, and sent it skittering towards his outstretched hands. He picked it up, still feeling the warmth of the hands of the girl, and her emotions that fluttered through the pebble like a bird. He could hear the creatures around him stirring, felt their dark presence and oppressive silences, and one in particular, who's mind frightened him as she moved in her cell, eager and hungry for something she could not have. His eyes, briefly, flickered towards the cell opposite of him, and he saw a flash of movement in the shadows, knew that she watched, had seen all that had transpired. She hungered, and he could feel her hunger like a leaden weight over the prison. He knew what she was, what power lie within that coiled madness, and he knew that she would have taken the young girl if she could.

But he would not let that happen; if anyone would kill her, perhaps it would be him, though he might try readily to stop it. Yes, it was better that she was gone because the creeping hunger within the opposite cell would have consumed her, and perhaps he would have allowed it. But, he decided as he quietly turned the stone over in his hands, he would not let it happen a second time. If she was foolish enough to return, perhaps he would grasp for her light and try to keep it shining down here a little longer. Glancing again at the cell across from him and hearing the whispers of madness within, he turned and retreated to his own darkness with the pebble warm in his cold hands and hoped she would not return.

[Flame]

Time Jump

---

Serenity’s mind had been restless. Restless for days, restless since she’d ventured back up from the dark recesses of the compound where shadowy creatures lay, waiting, silently calling out in voices unheard. She’d gone on with her life as her nameless acquaintance had suggested, but now she simply went through the motions, eyes unseeing, as if her mind were constantly in another world. Zion saw all this and was concerned for her childhood friend. She knew that Wren was subject to spells of distraction when her mind was caught up on one topic or another, but this was…different. Usually, these daydreams were harmless, just the fanciful imaginings of a cooped-up mind, but somehow, the look in the silver-haired woman’s eyes was unfamiliar, more introspective. Wren had also fallen quieter than usual, and Zion began to worry that something was wrong with her friend. She wished that Valkyrie would come back – he always knew what to do when it came to his sister, and she had the feeling that this wasn’t a problem (if it was indeed a problem) that she could solve on her own.

As for Wren, her mind was filled with dark voices, dancing shadows, and glowing blue ice. Every waking moment was spent dwelling on that one brief encounter, one which continued to baffle her regardless of how she looked at it. The man had said one thing then done another…played the part of the lion, yet let the lamb walk out of its very jaws. He was immeasurably different from any other person she’d ever met in her life, yet at the same time, the chance meeting hadn’t felt as out of place as perhaps it should have. In a life of peaceful, muted hues, he had been a violent slash of vivid color which made everything else fade into the background. She knew she should have forgotten all about it, let it sink into the oblivion of suppressed memory, but every time she tried, it crept back into her thoughts in the spare moments when she wasn’t looking over her shoulder for it.

Much of her spare time was now spent staring out of the window in her room, lost in thought, and the few times she wasn’t, she could be found aimlessly (or seemingly so) wandering the halls of the building. Her feet drew her wherever the whim took them, but she always stopped before they could take her to their final destination. Each time, the route was different, more circuitous, but without fail, each time she found herself at the top of a staircase, lit only by torchlight from metal-wrought braziers.

If the…man had meant to harm her, he easily could have. And yet…yet he hadn’t. She’d been at his mercy, the very thread of her life beating in the palm of his pale, ice-cold hand, but still, he’d released her. Nothing made sense. His words were ice, his tone colder than an arctic winter, yet when push came to shove, he hadn’t harmed her. Occasionally, she touched her neck, as if convinced that she would find marks there of his touch, but there was nothing to be found. Perhaps…he wasn’t the villain that he claimed to be. In all that darkness, some whisper of humanity still lived, pleading to be recognized, freed. Chained in an eternal night, there could be no escape. And the thought alone ate at her every single day.

Days passed…a week…and the same thoughts still continued to echo through her mind. Along the way, something akin to guilt had grown in her heart as well, guilt for leaving a soul chained up alone in that blackness. Each day, her feet drew her ever closer to those fire-lit steps. One of those days, she finally stepped out of the light and back into the darkness below.

Her footfalls were silent, soundless against the hard concrete of the prison floor. Her breath began to crystallize in the air before her, and she knew she’d found the right place again. This time, however, she’d come prepared for the frigid cold, a warm, woolen blanket wrapped around her delicate shoulders. A mere passing glance was spared for the cells she passed, nothing more. Her feet knew where her heart wanted them to go, and they led her down the faintly familiar halls with little hesitation. It took only minutes for the ground to turn to ice, and she followed the slick pool until it was broken by the teeth of thick metal bars. There, she stopped, one hand clutching the opening of the blanket close to her throat, blue eyes sparkling faintly in the dim, flickering light.
Hence the lamb returned, once again to tempt fate.

[MillietheWarrior]

His days passed much the same way that they always had, in languid darkness, alone with his thoughts and the quiet rumblings of the prisoners in the cells. He had not opened his eyes since the day she left him, preferring to keep them closed and let his mind wander in languor. Always he held the pebble in his cold hands, still feeling a warmth that had long since gone out of it. He wondered if it was still tied to her in some ways, for at times he could feel her magic in it and it seemed to change in some way. He did not look at it, but he turned it over in his fingers, wearing smooth grooves in the pebble until it was worn into something akin to a circular gem. Sometimes he imagined he heard footsteps at the stairs that led deep into the underground cells; he could faintly feel her, moving near the edge of the darkness. But always she turned away and he knew it was for good reason and for the best.

Her presence stayed with him, sat in his mind like a stone and refused to leave like a leaden weight he could not cast off. It had been many hundreds of years since he'd thought of a singular person so intensely; Ice had long since cast off the need for human companionship and kept them far from his mind. But this one strange, fearless, stupid girl had managed to worm her way into his head and refused to leave. And yet, always the hunger and the beast inside of him gnawed at her memory, telling him to destroy her because her light was an affront to his dark. Why should she be free and happy when he was not? Why should he not crush her and take away something that the trickster God cared for, if he ever truly care, as Loki had done to him?

And yet, despite the shadows in him that rose and leapt at her memory like snakes, he refused to truly entertain the idea of killing her. She was a bright glow in the darkness of his mind, and she was enough to help him keep his sanity. The days did not feel like days and the weeks were nothing more than one continuous stretch of time; he could not measure it in his cell, and he never opened his eyes to gaze across at the cell where the creeping hunger emanated. He wrapped himself in a cloak of cold and mist, shrouded his cell in ice, and brooded silently on his own mind and how he did not know it any longer. And then came the moment when he sensed her nearer, when he could feel her magic tugging at him like a child on a sleeve.

His eyes finally opened, fingers stilling in their grooves on the stone, and he watched from the shadows as she approached, looking so fragile and pale in the cold darkness. She clutched a blanket over her shoulders to ward off the cold, and once more, as before, the mists surrounded and pulled her in, tugging her closer to the cell, to the bars as Ice gazed at her from his solitary vigil. “So,” he said at last, and his eyes narrowed, though not in anger. It was only curiosity that shimmered in their depths; curiosity, and something darker and yet hopeful that peered out at her, as if wondering what it was that had brought her here. “You have returned. I did not think you would do something so foolish.”

His hand moved, the barest flick of a wrist, and the stone skittered across the floor, slipping on the ice. When it reached the bars, a pale, glistening icicle extended from the frozen floor, lifting the pebble to it's owner as though presenting a gift to a lover on bended knee. Ice didn't move, didn't blink as the crystallized icicle stopped just high enough for her to pluck the stone easily from it's grasp. “Why is it you have come? To retrieve your stone?” He had kept it for her, and he was suddenly abashed and embarrassed that he had done something so silly; in his old life, he would have done such a thing, perhaps sighed and pined over the stone, waiting for her to return. Now he had no need for such ridiculous gestures. And yet he had kept it, turned it over in his hands, worn grooves in the smoothed out sides and wondered if she thought of him. Had he plagued her thoughts as she had his? He watched her silently; he watched and he wondered, and in silence he hoped.

[Flame]

Wren’s arrival was greeted with a familiar pair of glowing eyes which matched those from her memories, those eyes that seemed to see directly into her soul, that wanted to drink in everything that she was and that she embodied. There was no more fear in her eyes – weeks of endless dwelling had since stilled the restless, fluttering heart in her chest from her panicked escape, but there was a newfound caution in their depths, clear blue crystals that shone with a slightly different light. That encounter had been something of a rude awakening for Wren; the idea that there was darkness in the world was a concept still new to her, but she wanted to understand it instead of simply fearing it for fear’s sake.

For a moment, their eyes met in an unspoken dialogue which required no words. Their last parting still on her mind, Wren simply watched and waited, not knowing how the man would react to her sudden and unexpected reappearance. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would probably have blocked this dark place from their thoughts, let alone voluntarily wander back into the jaws of danger. Wren was different from most people though. Had the stranger actually physically tried to harm her, she likely would have left this place and not given it another glance, but he’d spared her, even when he had nothing to gain from doing so. It was that act of inaction that ultimately drew her back, the burning concoction of curiosity and guilt which led her feet back into the mouth of hell. She would rather risk death than leave a human soul to wither away in lonely darkness – knew that she could not go on with her blissfully ignorant life knowing that another suffered in silent injustice.

The words which finally broke the silence were rough and hardly kind in nature, but the edge which had been present in the voice before seemed to have dulled with time. She almost imagined that she could hear…a hopefulness in it, the tiniest flicker of light in what had been a bottomless pit of desolation and despair the last time she had come face-to-face with it. That could all very well have been a trick of her naïve, optimistic mind though. Suddenly, there was the faint, clear sound of a hard object against another, and a familiar red shape came to rest almost at her feet. It was her misplaced pebble – she would have recognized it anywhere – and a blink later, it stood upon a pedestal of ice at her fingertips, as if waiting patiently to be reclaimed. She looked at it, slowly melting a small puddle of water at the tip of the ice spear upon which it stood, then back at the stranger, unsure of his intentions.

He seemed to be awaiting her move though, and after a moment of hesitation, unsure fingertips reached out to wrap delicately around the stone, plucking it from its icy stand. It glowed warm to her touch as she gently caressed its surface, noticing with a start that it was smoother than it had been when she’d dropped it. She glanced up with surprise at the man behind the bars, who was still watching her with that glowing, unblinking gaze.

“I…no, actually.” Her words were as hesitant as her actions, as if unsure of how to continue this new train of conversation. Why was she here again? “I…honestly don’t know for sure myself.” Well, that was the truth. It had just felt like the right thing to do at the time, for whatever reason that was. She turned the stone over in her hand, looking at it thoughtfully, as if it held the solutions to all of her unanswered questions. A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell for a moment before she suddenly spoke up again, her words coming out almost in a jumble in her nervousness. “Do you still want to hurt me?” Her voice was uncertain, as if afraid to provoke him, afraid that she might have been too bold, gone too far. Her hand clutched the blanket to her throat anxiously, as if it would shield her from whatever his reply might be. But the question itself was an honest one, one which struck home at the heart of the matter. Either way, she hoped that his answer would shed some light on how she was supposed to cope with their current, complicated situation.