The summer sun was bright, too bright. It stung at Mephisto’s eyes as she quickly rushed through the open flower fields, appreciating the beauty but seeking somewhere to escape the heat. Away, away she pressed onward, taking to the sky in a flurry of black, soaring over the Sunsurro Fields and toward the swamp once more. It wasn’t that the dark warg disliked the sunshine… only that this particular day was far too warm for her liking. Humidity hung in the air too, curling the ends of her mane and bringing a sheen of sweat to her opaque frame.
As she makes her way into the tree laden swamplands, there is an immediate sense of relief that washes over the Pegasus. The air turns cooler, pungent earthy smells rising from the gurgling water, silence enveloping the area. It is a place which brings her peace, much like the oceanside cliffs at sunset. As she lands and begins to walk along the edges of the murky water, Mephisto allows herself time to take in her surroundings.
Summer had touched this place too, bringing blooms to the lilypads and new-life to roost. Fish skittered where her feet touched the water, and a particularly playful river otter rooted through leaves along the banks in her wake. She heard the quiet honking of a mother mallard to her ducklings in the distance , and when the darkness settled in the right places, tiny fireflies blinked with golden light. With a smile, the dark Pegasus marched onward, deeper into the swamp than she’d ever ventured before, curiously discovering all that the dark kingdom had to share.
It is here, deep within the brambles and brush, that a curious sort of structure lays hidden in the glade. The Hospital was not a place the warg had known of previously, spending most of her time either with the Halcyon barracks or gliding over Novus’ coastline. As she walks through this place, something pulls at her, leaving an itching sort of sensation along the back of her neck which suggests that she is somewhere which is not what it seems. And yet, the mare does not immediately find the hidden entrances, even as she follows the lily plants winding paths.
A purr sounds nearby, and the dark mare’s head tilts slowly toward it, astute blue eyes searching for the source. In her peripheral vision, there is a flash of movement, which draws a quicker turn, as she struggles to make out the form of a lemur-like healing helper. Shivering with unsettled confusion, Mephisto finally speaks to the seemingly empty glade, not knowing that there were truly eyes everywhere – even watching her now.
"What is this place?” she murmured, settling among the blossoms to wait for what came next.
Atlas had come to appreciate the cover of the forest canopy like a lover drawing a blanket over one's sleepy head. He was more accustomed to the desert's naked sky and treacherous terrain, but, he had come to realize, he was nothing if not adaptable. His time in the Dusk courts had offered him the opportunity to learn much about new environs. While his homeland consisted of sandy wasteland, harsh rock, and was surrounded by the wicked open sea, here the land was lush and green, and warm in the summer and cold in the winter. He could now identify over a hundred new types of plants from root and stem alone, and his knowledge of the constellations was nigh unparalleled.
To Atlas, the trees concealing the night sky was perhaps the only drawback to the swamp. He loved the stars, and would always love the stars, and so he drove himself to discover a way to clearly see and map the celestial bodies above the Tinea Swamp. While Prastagia offered an unbeatable view of the night sky, Atlas found only by being securely centered in a place could he get the best grasp of the heavens.
Wandering was a crucial part of himself, and so it did not bother him to pick up and explore. A new camp every night was a refreshing break from the monotony of the Terrastellan citadel, which he frequently found stuffy and overcrowded. Years of harsh, open expanses had made him ill-suited for city living, even the impoverished type. He pressed his nose into an open swamp hibiscus bloom and inhaled. Absurd to think once upon a time he was a prince and slept on silk sheets.
The heat and wet of the day caused the tattered fragments of Nashira's cloak to stick to his skin; still, he bore not a thought towards taking it off. That bloodstained and threadbare relic would stay pinned to his throat till his dying day.
Atlas picked his way along the bank of a particularly murky stretch of water, his golden limbs caked in muck. He was a bit of a sight, mud-coated and more a dingy bronze than his true radiant tawny color. His hair was mottled and tangled and he stank of moons on the road. Still, every day brought him deeper into the swamp and closer to his goal-- but as he traveled, the tree cover became thicker and his hopes of finding a clear spot to see the stars from flickered and faded.
So focused is he on not falling victim to sink hole or massive snapping turtle that Atlas doesn't realize the strangeness in the trees until he is halfway up a trunk. Stairs, he realized at the absence of mud beneath his hooves, I am walking up a set of stairs. Around him, the massive tree bends and undulates in an unnatural fashion. It darkens the summer sun and the shade cools his dirty skin.
He presses on, driven by innate curiosity and the absence of fear that can only come at the disparaging of one's own life. Atlas climbed up as the trunk bowed in a half-circle, emerging in some semblance of a room. It smells of dank and wood and yet is comforting-- and, most importantly, the canopy above is broken enough to let the light come in from above. He can see the sky from here!
He keeps a cap on his jumping hopes as he explores a bit more and finds not all of the 'rooms', with gnarled walls and worn floors, are open like that one. Perhaps it is newer? He nudges himself across a threshold and jumps a bit at the sound of a voice; here, blending into the darkness of another chamber, is another equine. Their voice stirs the unfurling leaves.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Atlas says, friendly but quiet. He felt the mare's words were not meant for him as much as they were just a verbal thought, but he could not help but join in the wonderful camaraderie of confusion. "It's old, though. Very old. And it probably wouldn't be too far off to say imbued with some strange magic, as all this land seems to be." He came up beside the stranger, shorter than her by nearly a half foot. "Curiouser and curiouser, of course."
She hadn’t expected her question to be answered, for Mephisto had thought she was the only creature here. It was a foolish musing, now that she thought about it, heart fluttering in her throat as she startled at the man’s voice. She turns to gaze at him, drawing in his appearance with studied observation. Her cobalt eyes roam unabashedly over him, resting briefly on the scarf which knots at his neck, before she clears her throat to address him. “You don’t know the half of it.” Magic, that is. For Mephisto had seen firsthand the strange magic in this world. It flowed through her veins, raw and untamed, something dark and wild.
She does not elaborate, but simply falls into step beside the male, exploring with a quiet curiosity. The Pegasus keeps her wings tight against her frame, though every inch of her is poised to flee, not entirely trusting of this new and strange world the two had stumbled upon. She knew most parts of Terrestella now, having spent a considerable amount of time roaming its craggy peaks and exploring its secrets. For a time, she had even lived in this very swamp, during the months she had strayed from the citadel and the Halcyon units, trying to learn to harness the magic within her. Of all the places in their land, she knew the swamp to be the most mysterious.
Some claimed that there were healing properties to the water here, and she knew that many healers felt drawn to this land. Rumors had even suggested there was a hidden hospital in these parts, and as they stepped through rooms and through twisting halls in the trees, she had to wonder if the rumors were true. “Are you Terrestellan?” She didn’t know the male, and yet he did not smell like a stranger. He had the scent of familiar places on him, even though she couldn’t remember meeting him or even seeing him around. The warg hadn’t always been the most present here though, so it was entirely possible they had never crossed paths. What little time she had spent in the capital was during her training, with days filled running drills and practicing combat. It hadn’t left much time for socializing.
Stepping into a nearby room, she is taken by an array of instruments splayed across a simple bench. Though unfamiliar, it is not a stretch to think they might have been medical devices. Further, against a wall, she finds a small table cluttered with books, crystal vials, and a golden set of scales. “I think this is the hospital.” Her words hold more certainty now, as she flips through the pages of a nearby journal, finding impressively detailed anatomical drawings within its pages. “The court is known for its’ healers, but I wasn’t sure that the hospital was real or simply a rumor. In all the time I’ve wandered through this swamp, it’s a wonder I haven’t found it before…”
She turns back toward the door, her gaze falling on a helper who now stood in the doorway, watching their intrusion curiously. For a moment, the warg meets its green eyes, her own gaze warm and unthreatening. “It’s okay, she murmurs softly. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble…” Flicking a glance at her companion, she tried to judge his expression, whispering under her breath for only the male to hear. “That is, I’m not… I presume your curiosity is simply that?” She is not unkind, simply curious as she questions his intentions. After all, Mephisto had never been one to blindly trust strangers, even those who appeared to know Terrestella as she did.
Atlas knew there were several reactions people could cycle through when surprised, and a quick jump to combat was frequently one of them. So when the night-hued mare did not attack him, he breathed a sigh of relief he did not realize he had been holding. She takes him in with no regard for hiding her gaze. He tilts his head curiously in response, wondering what she could be looking at. In truth, he had spent too much time by himself and was unused to company, though he can hardly imagine he is at all interesting compared to the dark-tree room they found themselves in, particularly covered in days worth of travel muck and smelling as sweet as swamp cabbage.
"Oh, certainly not," he admitted, in good humor. He was devoid of magic, himself-- and he did not mind it whatsoever. Atlas enjoyed the boredom of being... well, perhaps standard-issue was a good term to call it. His homeland had been more a place of science and discovery than any spellcraft. He-- or, Azimal, he should say-- would surely have been fine. Lauded, honored. But there were no magical bloodlines in Zukai, and those rumored to possess the skill had been persecuted and destroyed, at best; at worst, branded and sold into slavery. Too many times, he had seen mere whispers of magic destroy lives.
The adjustment to magical culture on Novus had been a large one, to say the least. He found himself more than capable of admiring from afar, as he did now with this stranger's wings as she came up beside him. Surely they were powerful tools, but now she pinned them against herself, tension quivering through her primaries. "I think if I knew anywhere close to half of it, life would be quite boring." He offered a polite smile as they proceeded on their strange, treetop tour.
Her question caught him off guard, and he hummed a note in his throat. "Officially, I think, I am, ah, Deluminian? Is that the correct term?" he murmured, sniffing a nearby shelf that was bare save for a thick covering of dust and pollen. It smelled of wood and sap, and the cloying scent took his mind off the fact he still felt like a stranger in this land. "But I have always been prone to wandering. Recently, I have been exploring Terrastella in hopes of mapping its seasonal stars."
He realizes midway through his musings that his new companion had found something of interest. He pauses politely behind her, waiting for his chance to peruse the discovery. He listens when she speaks, though his brow furrows. "Ah, the... hospital? Forgive me, but I am unfamiliar with the local lore here. Is that supposed to be... special?" His voice trails off as he follows her gaze to a strange creature. It is watching them with gentle intent.
"No, no trouble," he adds, hastily. "In all honesty, I was just looking for a better place to see the sky. The swampy lowlands make for a skewed perspective, and observation is often hindered by fog." His rambling is fueled by his nerves; he had not realized he had stumbled onto someplace that was not only curious but... tended, revered. But now that he was here, he wanted to learn more-- why had the mare called it the hospital instead of just a hospital. Terrastella was a land known for the healing arts... certainly, there was more than one place for the infirm?
What she wouldn’t give for her life to be boring. Mephisto chuckles some under her breath at his words, the sound dark and rich, as a touch of warmth enters her eyes. She liked him. Despite his awkwardness, there was something about him that brought a sense of peace to the mare. So she largely ignores him as she explores, comfortable enough in his presence to turn her back to him as she rifles through the rooms of the hospital, eager to know more about it.
Officially, I think, I am, ah, Deluminian? Is that the correct term? He answers her question and she nods in understanding without turning from her task. “There is much beauty in the Dawn Court. You’re fortunate to have such a lovely home.” While it didn’t have the appeal to her that Terrestella did, the mare had found herself in their northern neighbor’s lands many times. “Are you familiar with the great library there? I’ve spent many nights there, learning about the histories of Novus. And, about the magic.”
While there wasn’t much written about Tempus’ magic, loosed upon the world, what she had found were many theories. Most of them pointed to the mysterious island as the source of the magic, a place she had explored in search of answers, time and time again. But her searches had ended in disappointment, Tempus always staying one step ahead of prying and questioning mortals, toying with their lives with little regard for the consequences.
He mentions the stars, and she turns to study him a bit closer this time. “They say the stars are brightest in Caligo’s realm, and the mountain tops bring astronomers and causal star-gazers alike to their peaks. If you are truly curious to know about the stars here, I would suggest a trip to Denocte. There is a tribe in the Night Court known as the shed-stars, said to be descended from Caligo herself. I’m told they can read the past, present, and future in the stars. That some sing and make the stars rise and fall with their voices alone.” Even if it wasn’t true, there was a certain poetic romanticism to the thought, one which a pragmatist such as herself didn’t buy into. Still, she could see the wonder in such a thing, and if the magic was any indication, perhaps the stories were truer than they seemed.
When he raises a question about the hospital, she stands poised to answer, but they are interrupted by a helper. They pose little threat to the creature, who seems to find comfort in the scent of Terrestella upon their hides, turning back to her tasks and chittering to others who peeked out from the brambles of branches above. The helper turns to look at them, as if asking for them to follow, which the dark warg does, following into an easy pace beside the primate.
“The hospital in Terrestella is unlike others of its kind. This is the only trauma hospital which exists in Novus, the place where healers come to train and perfect the art of their craft. Its halls have seen the deadliest of wounds, and for those injured in battle, there is nowhere more trusted or more safe for their care.” At least, this is what she has heard of the place, and as they wind deeper into the tree, it’s easy to see why the place is deemed the best.
They work their way into the heart of the canopy, where the hospital seems far busier than the rooms they had previously explored. Helpers and healers alike are busy here, treating to wounds of all types. They triaged the sick, filtering the most severe cases into large operating rooms, tended to by the eldest and most experienced surgeons. Trainees tended to the minor cases, applying salve with gentle hands or twisting bandages around open wounds. For all the bustle, it is a wonder the place stays so well hidden, Mephisto mused.
And she turns to stare at her companion, curious to see what he thought of the mysterious hospital in the trees.
Despite his claims to the contrary, Atlas's life had been far more exciting than he ever cared for. Still, his quip earns him a gentle laugh, and the room and their relations are all the warmer for it. His presence seems to slip away into the backdrop, a dirty, golden shadow tagging along under her wing. It is much to his preference-- his unassuming nature has snuck him under the grasp of trouble and danger more than once in his life.
You have such a lovely home. It is a simple phrase that catches him off guard and makes him pause in his perusing of their strange environs. For all their beauty, history, and charm, neither Dawn nor Dusk nor his expansive travels of the Day Court's fierce deserts or his dreams of Night Court's stars (for that land was his next destination) truly felt like home. His own home was a dusty old astrarium, the tower probably crumbled during the rebellion, trolling over star maps and laughing with Nashira. His home was under a canvas tent in the frozen midnight desert sharing a wineskin with Nathely as he and other grizzled veterans traded war stories of Zukai bloodfights. His home was a distant memory and bones buried in the sand.
Would Novus ever be his home?
Her questions jar him from his stupor. "I've visited the library, yes," he said, forcing a smile back into his tone, "I suppose this is much like it. Hmm." Now that he thought about it, the two places-- Delumine's grand library and this sprawling, tree-formed expanse-- seemed eerily familiar. "I'm not sure why I didn't see it before. Maybe it's because the library always seems... at least occupied, if not busy, and this place just feels... haunted." He catches the movement of another caretaker out of the corner of his eye. It is not a malicious feeling, no sense of doom or gloom... just the thought of an empty place that was somehow crowded. Somewhere liminal.
She mentions Denocte and its beautiful peaks and bright stars, and his eyes light up a little like an excited child. "Ah! Yes, so I've heard. That was to be my next destination. I hope the stories are true. About the vistas, at least." He had never put much stock in magic or stories, and the thought of an individual being able to sing or speak the stars from the sky was outlandish at best and downright terrifying at worst. "But I want to map the whole of Novus, not just the... the easy bits, as it were."
The helpers have begun to move about in earnest now, chittering and talking to each other in excited tones. The dark mare falls in step behind one of the leading primates, and Atlas dutifully follows step as he listened to her explanation of the marvel of the place. He was about to absent-mindedly agree, the kind of recognition one made when one was not truly convinced but did not want to be rude, but as they made their way further into the middle of the structure the world came alive with sounds and scents: the acrid sting of sterilized tools, the iron-heavy smell of blood, the rip and tear of gauze, the moans and grunts of the injured. Atlas froze for a moment in shock, having been completely unprepared for such a sight; he was amazed a place as busy as this could remain not just hidden but seem so utterly still from the outside.
He looks up at the mare beside him. "Incredible. Where did you learn of this place... uh.. I'm sorry, I don't know your name." He realized he had never offered his either. "I am Atlas."
She watches the bustle of the hospital, drawn by the activity of it. The place was alive and vibrant, with a sense of urgency and efficiency that the warrior in her could appreciate. She moves aside as a nurse clears her throat beside her, bumping into Atlas for a brief moment as the woman scurries past and begins to treat a patient. While they are not ushered on, Mephisto feels a sense that their presence was more a hinderance to the operation than a help, and so she moves along from the heart of the hospital, back the way they came with a quiet nod to the helper who had showed them what secrets the healing halls held.
“I hadn’t seen this place before, only heard about it… honestly, I couldn’t even know if they were true. For all the times I’ve been to these swamps, I never knew it existed.” It was a wonder, really, for there was much to see in the boughs of the canopy. A part of her is sad to leave it, but she knows that duty would bring her back to Terrestella’s court, her eyes needed to watch and be ever aware of the threats which may press upon them. Marisol had entrusted their people to her care, and Mephisto’s dalliances to quell her curiosity did little to advance their safety. Still, it was good to know about the hospital, she decided, descending the stairs until her feet find the murky ground of swampland once more.
“It is nice to meet you, Atlas the map-maker. I am Mephisto, Warden of the Dusk Court.” She nods to him, the sound of her title still strange on her lips, a smile following the nod. But she was not ready to leave the man, not yet. For he had seen far more than she, had many stories the once-spy would yearn to know. Namely, where he’d come from… for it was clear that Novus was a new place for the wanderer to see. For a moment, she reminisces on what it was like for her, when she had first come to this place. When the world was new, the magic unknown, the lands still holding wonder and surprise.
“What other places have you seen and mapped? I know there are many worlds beyond this one, with different lore, different gods, different faces. I myself have lived in a few before here, though it seems a lifetime ago.” And it had been – for so much had happened to the mare between the time when she was born and now. She had wandered alone through the wilderness, finding her way to the Riftlands, a place where magic broiled and turned the landscape at whim. She had made one home there, then another, and then everything she knew had folded in on itself, darkness swallowing them whole.
But she had led a rich life… a full life. And Mephisto had so much more she wanted to know.
And she turns to stare at her companion, curious to see what he thought of the mysterious hospital in the trees.
In Zukai Nashira had taken him to the bellies of the low streets to see the kind of healthcare afforded there. The doctors were uneducated, the tools unsterile, and countless lives were lost to sepsis and infection, foul water, and improper nutrition. Atlas-- Azimal, he thinks, but then, no. Once upon a time, he did good things. He should be allowed to take credit for those, even though he never would have done it without Nashira. She should get all the credit, for everything.
In any case, Atlas had helped teach them about using heat and light to sterilize equipment. Together he and Nashira had developed a system for purifying the lower town’s putrid drinking water. He had learned and been a healer, once, so his first instinct in the hospital was to throw himself into the bustle, absorb what he could, and help out where applicable. But someone with more important things to do bodies him aside and he realizes perhaps now is not the time.
“If only I could stay and learn more,” Atlas said, looking behind him over his shoulder as Mephisto led them back the way they came, “I’m sure I could be of use. I mean, it looked like they needed help back there, right?” His heart twisted when he thought of the emaciated and impoverished, and remembered his part in it, and wanted to whither and die.
“It is nice to meet you as well, Mephisto, Warden of the Dusk Court,” he said, trying to put meaning in it and trying to step out of the cloud of self-loathing he had begun to cultivate around himself. Much to his dismay, her questions aimed to pivot him right back to where he was trying to escape. “Ah, not so many places, as the stars above them. I came from a land far, far to the south, beyond the Terminus Sea.” His face became rigid, his voice somber. “It was a terrible place. The only god there was the coin, and it bought only by blood.”
He thought of Nathely less than Nashira. Perhaps because he had hope Nashira still lived. He had buried Nathely’s desiccated corpse in the rolling sands, why not his memories of him, too?
"You seem well traveled," Atlas said, broaching another topic for the sake of his sanity. "Have you seen all of Novus? For work or for pleasure?"
As they walk away from the hospital, her companion looks back with something akin to regret on his face. He expresses his desire to stay and learn more. ”You should…” she offers with a soft smile. “Now that we know it’s here, I’m sure you could find your way back. There is always a need for healing…” She trails off, shivering slightly as she thinks of all the bloodshed she has seen in life. Too much… far too much. For in every part of the world touched by mortals, there would be conflict. It was simply the nature of the living, to want and be driven by greed. Greed would keep them from ever having enough of their stations in life – it would drive every war and conflict , that want for more.
“There is a healer in our land, Elena… she would be a good place to start. I’m certain the hospital would accept all the help they could get.”
The two walk away from this place, leaving the helpers to their tasks as the mood between them changes. She is surprised by the sudden shift in Atlas, stopping to watch him as he stumbles over the story of his past, obviously painful. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is earnest as she nods in understanding, for not all parts of their world were as welcoming as Novus. Too many places she’d wandered through had sounded just like his home, driven by unsavory motives and power-hungry leaders.
“I won’t lie and say that things have always been peaceful here, but there is good to be found in Novus. You’ll find that it’s a land of opportunity and duality. Whatever you seek, you’ll find… the good, the bad.”
He asks what all she’s seen, and Mephisto sighs, considering. “I have not seen enough of Novus to know all of its secrets. What I know is that it is a land ruled by the gods, that the magic which runs through many of us is weaved in the land as much as in our blood. You will find, in the sea, the island which is rumored to be the source.
The Courts are each unique in their own right, with their own values and cultures. Delumine has always been welcoming, and Denocte is always ripe with entertainment and fortune telling. Solterra though, I’ll admit to be a bit of a mystery. I simply haven’t had as much interaction with our desert-dwelling neighbors. They tend to isolate more than the rest, whether by intention or simply their nature.”
And whether for business or pleasure, she did not say… for her travels were a bit of both. It was her duty to know about the possible threats to Terrestella, which would drive her to know more of Solterra even, in the days and weeks to come. “Tell me, where will you go next?”
Mephisto’s words are reassuring, and they remind him of the existence of time. Not everything has to be done right this moment. “You… you are right,” he says, his tone lilting up at the end like a weight has been removed from him. It vindicates much about his change and his journey. He casts his eyes over her night-like form with a tremble of wonder in his gaze, for in that moment she reminds him greatly of Nashira. Not silver and painted with gold, of course, but, in mind and mentality, encouraging him to be better. “Thank you. You remind me greatly of an old friend whom I miss dearly. She also used to have to keep me down to earth.” He chuckles.
Mephisto informs him of a healer by the name of Elena and his ears twitch as he considers. For a long time, wandering has been his purpose… he has a motley collection of useful skills but nothing so quite as honed as his direction, and adaptability. Could Atlas the mapmaker really become Atlas, the healer? Certainly, that would be more helpful than silly pictures of stars and his project to map all of Novus. Someone had done that before. Probably.
He sighs a low note of acknowledgment as Mephisto extends her condolences at dredging up bad memories of his homeland. “You needn’t apologize. I’m pretty good at tormenting myself so I’m used to it.” He meant it to be amusing but instead, it comes off as a little… pathetic. He joins her in stride as they leave the hospital behind them, finding their way out of the winding rooms and interlocking boughs. “An astute observation, and one true of most everywhere, I think.” He thought of Nashira’s smile as they danced at his second wedding, the Astrarium rotating beautifully above him, and Nathely’s laugh. “There were… good things, in my homeland. However brief the experiences.”
His question to her seems to be a burden. She tells him of her thoughts of Novus and the island of magic from which all else resonates. He winces, visibly. “I suppose I shall have to get used to it, then. Magic, I mean.”
He listens as she speaks about her familiarities with the various courts and thinks of his own experiences. Denocte is his next destination. Terrastella was familiar. Delumine, pleasant. He knew the desert well. The desert dwellers… not as much.
Her next question brings him pause. “It has been so long since I’ve moved with true purpose. But perhaps I shall try and find this Elena you speak of. Honing a practical skill may be better than my usual incessant wandering.” He chuckles, then remembers the original reason he came here, to try and find easier access to the stars above the swamp. Maybe there was still time to slip away and see them… “Though perhaps I shall take a peek at the sky first.”
“And you? May I inquire as to your plans, or are those secret warden business as well?” He winks to show her the seriousness in his tone is a jest.
