feeling of dread washed over the Pegasus, as her wings fold tightly against her body. She walked the familiar roads, shirking the places she knew would be crowded with others, and straying toward the shadows. It would not do for the citizens of the Dusk Court to see her like this – returning to the place which had been welcoming before, now defeated by her own self-doubt. Mephisto hadn’t been in this place long, but she had taken an oath to serve their cause… and then she had deserted them. What had transpired since, she could not know. But she knew one thing – they would not welcome her back with open arms… nor should they.
She could make excuses, or try to explain the strange phenomenon which had overtaken her mind… but it wouldn’t brush away the sting of betrayal. Carefully, the mare sidestepped the Halcyon barracks, cerulean eyes searching for the few familiar faces she’d seen during her brief stay within the barrack walls. In a way, it was ironic that Mephisto even found herself back in this place. She had never really been one for community and culture, much preferring the wilds and the unknown. Still too, she needed them. She needed a place to belong, and a cause to stand for once again.
And so, she makes her way back to this place. Drawing a steadying breath as she steps into the summer sun and her wings unfold in reflex, Mephisto comes. She comes to the seat of power in Terrastella, climbing up the citadel steps, each fall of her hooves against stone an ominous sort of sound. Her voice is a little more than a quiet whisper as she speaks to the keepers which guard this place. ”I wish to see the king.”
Queen., they correct.
One eyebrow quirks as she wonders where Asterion had gone, musing quietly to herself that she must have been away longer than she thought. Padding along silently beside them, Mephisto chokes back her pride, tossing her head high and imposing a humbled apology into her eyes as she is led down a long hall of shale and sandstone and into a waiting chamber. And then, she waits for the lashing that would come, for the explanation to be demanded, and for her fate in this place to be decided once more.
In summer the citadel gets hot, hot, hot. The high stone walls bake in the light of the sun and let the rooms grow warm, beating with the midday pulse of a heart. Sometimes Marisol’s temper rises with the temperature, and today is one of those days; by the time the knock on the door comes announcing that someone has asked for a visit, the Commander is already prickly from the heat.
It’s a pegasus, says the page who comes to find her, dressed in shades of brown and blue. Asking for an audience with (here he smiles awkwardly) the king. It takes Mari a minute to think of who it might be. And when she does she can’t help a blink of surprise, a startled question—“Mephisto?”The messenger only shrugs, meek in his lack of an answer.
The Commander nods to dismiss him. When he disappears from the doorway and back down the hall, she lets out a soft sigh—frustration mingled with a true, insistent curiosity—and follows in his path; trailing slowly down the spiral staircase, through the long shale-walled hall and into the foyer, whose stained-glass windows, shot through by beams of sun, spill pools of pastel-colored light onto the ground. Mari’s dark skin becomes iridescent as she passes through their tinted glow.
The chamber is silent when she enters it, filled with a calm, dusty yellow light; and it is indeed Mephisto that she finds waiting there, wings held loosely at her sides, head held high but a glint of worry in her bright blue eyes. Marisol’s mouth twists slightly as she comes to a stop in the middle of the room, tail swishing sharply back and forth. A heartbeat passes in surprised silence.
“Mephisto,”the queen offers finally. “…Her mercy meet us.” Her expression is cool but not unkind, and in the sunlight her gray eyes narrow with a look of unguarded puzzlement.
lone with Marisol in the hall, it would be easy for Mephisto to feel guilt. Indeed, she did – and yet there is a quiet hopefulness that stirs within her when she realizes that the queen did not flay her where she stood. Surely, she would not appreciate deserters – but then, Mephisto wasn’t a deserter… not really. Instead she had simply been lost. She’d told herself it was to protect the others from the strange magic which befell her, but in reality, she’d been afraid for herself. As always, the dark Pegasus was afraid to show her vulnerabilities to the world. Would Marisol think her weak, if she realized how naked the magic left her, exposed to all the world to punish her?
The warrior queen greets her with grace – far more grace than she deserves – and Mephsito bows her head in deference, murmuring back the words ”Her mercy meet us.” When she raises her head once more, there is a quiet set determination in the eyes which had previously shown her weakness. Now, they are hopeful as they seek Marisol’s and hold.
“It is fitting that you should take his place – for no one loves or serves Terrestella better. It will be an honor to serve you and yours.” Never one to beat around the bush, Mephisto stops herself from pacing (though her body desperately seeks the comfort of motion, bluntly explaining her absence to the queen. “I’m sure you’re wondering where I went, and why I left without a word… as you should be. It was wrong, but I didn’t know where to turn or how to explain what was happening.” She sighs then, the first signs of vulnerability washing away her usual pride.
“Even now, I cannot explain what has come to pass – not fully. It appears that a magic has risen within me.
At first, I didn’t know what it was, only that the world would fade to black and I would wake up shaken and weak with no recollection of how I’d gotten there. Now, I have come to discover the magic could be a boon to Terrestella, if I should learn to harness it better. I am only now beginning to understand it more clearly.
It appears that I can see through the eyes of animals – right now, at random times and durations, and it leaves me in a weakened state. This gift could be useful – for now, I find that I can have eyes everywhere… but I have needed to learn the signs so I can take shelter. It can leave me in most compromising positions, as I seem to leave my earthly form during episodes.” It was a strange thing, indeed… harder still to explain. But in time, Mephisto had come to appreciate what she first saw as a curse. She could only hope Marisol would do the same.
When Marisol has thought of Mephisto in these path months, it has been in fleeting moments only.
A second of worry when she walks past the warrior’s empty quarters, her room a dark spot in the lit hallways of the barracks. A brief prickle of anger when she gazes into her crowd of cadets and doesn’t see those brown and blue wings. Once, on a particularly frustrating night—some evening in winter, cold purple and black, when everything seemed to be going wrong—Marisol had felt personally slighted by her disappearance. Abandoned. Victimized, even.
To see Mephisto standing in front of her brings up a mess of emotions. Even worse (although Marisol dislikes herself for thinking about it in this way) is that she does not seem to be injured: at least that would be a cut-and-dry, satisfactory explanation.
Things are never that simple. And Marisol is not easily impressed. Something deep inside of her warns that what Mephisto has to tell her will be enough to heal Marisol’s distrust. Another part wants desperately for that not to be true.
It is fitting that you should take his place – for no one loves or serves Terrestella better. Marisol ducks her head for a split second. Despite herself, she is flattered. The position lost its sense of novelty long ago, but it still weighs on her; perhaps it is even heavier nowadays. The praise of her people means more than it ever has. So perhaps she is just a little warmer, a little softer, than usual when Mephisto begins to speak.
She watches the blue-and-brown pegasus with a carefully leveled, smooth, steel-grey gaze. And as the warrior explains herself, Marisol’s only reaction is a slight narrowing of her gaze here, the brief flickering of an ear there; and although her first reaction is suspicion, curiosity, even shock, she holds her tongue until Mephisto trails off and even then waits a moment to respond.
“Well,” she says, and swallows. “Mephisto. Thank you firstly for your candor, and for your apology; it is much appreciated. It… it does seem that your gift might be a boon to the court. But if it comes at the cost of leaving you weak or vulnerable, then I cannot in good conscience ask you to use it.”
A brief pause as Marisol lets out a held breath. “If you would like to rejoin us, then I will require your service, as I do of all other Terrastellans.. But how you choose to serve can be discussed.”
She swishes her cropped tail behind her, where it makes a brief whipping sound against her legs. It’s rare for Marisol to talk this much, especially all at once, and by the time she closes her mouth her throat is beginning to hurt.
She reaches for a cup of tea on the side table and offers one to Mephisto, too.
er discussion with the queen was surprisingly easier than she’d thought, for though guilt weighed on Mephisto, there is something comforting in the shrewd gaze of Marisol. Perhaps one creature of candor recognized another, she decided. While it had taken her time to find the words and the courage to explain herself, now they came freely and she stood with a level gaze before the queen, not hiding her weaknesses but stating them as matter-of-factly as she could. The queen’s next words surprise her, for Mephisto found them laced with more empathy than she’d expected.
"I must use this newfound magic for Terrestella, for why else would the gods have seen fit for me to yield it? With every passing day, my control grows stronger. Soon, I think I will have it harnessed to the point where it can be directed… where I can choose the place and timing to our advantage. I am beginning to note a warning sign, not long – but perhaps long enough to find a shelter… or perhaps it is a gift best used when others are near, so my earthly form is not left so unguarded and vulnerable.
Nevermind that now though – Now, I have come to find my place once more, wherever it is you see most fit to have me.” It had never occurred to the warg that Marisol would leave it up to her, for Mephisto had always envisoned that she would simply be directed to a task which needed doing, loosed upon the world for the purposes of Terrestella. So she thinks for a moment, weighing the tasks in a manner as one might choose a vocation, before finally sighing with a shrug and a smile. She takes the tea offered by the queen, stirring it only once before beginning to sip at it, soothed by the warmth it gave.
"I wish to defend Terrestella against her threats, as I always have. I pledge once more to be your eyes, and to watch over our people to the best of my ability, if you would have me still?” Of course, she knew the terms were up for discussion – but Mephisto was determined all over again to find her place. She would start by scrubbing pots in the Halcycon kitchen if needed, and work her way up as all good soldiers do. She owed as much to the queen and her people, for Mephisto needed Terrestella as much as they needed her… she needed the place of belonging, the sense of home, and the sense of pride that came with service.
Of course Marisol loves her country and its people. Oftentimes they have been the only thing to tie her down—the only thing that keeps her from taking to the sky, or tumbling into the sea, and disappearing forever. It is their need of her, their reliance on her leadership and strength, that gives her life any purpose at all.
That being said: she was raised more devout than most, and there are times when she wonders whether the average Terrastellan has forgotten what it is they are meant to worship. So often the churches are empty. So often Marisol finds her cadets sleeping in and wonders if every generation is destined to grow softer and softer, until they cannot protect their country at all—until they don’t even want to. So often, the Commander feels as though she is the only thread of the old world left in their tapestry. It is a feeling that chokes her up with fear.
But the look in Mephisto’s eyes, the candor in her voice; the strength in her shoulders and the proud tilt of her head, all tell Marisol they are cut from the same cloth. Something about that is deeply soothing.
The taste of mint still seeping over her tongue, she watches Mephisto take a sip of tea. Steam rises from the cup in the faint shape of a question mark. Between them the air is warm and still, turned a dusty gold from the bars of summer sunlight that fall in through the windows and skylight. Marisol listens to the warg’s explanation with an expression of cool reservation—eyes unwaveringly fixed on Mephisto’s, ears tipped forward, tail swishing behind her absentmindedly.
A minute later, when the explanation comes to a close, Marisol pauses before she speaks. It is a habit she picked up in childhood, one that often unsettles others—the long lapse of silence between the end of one sentence and the beginning of another, as she is nothing if not careful with her words. (And careful with her decisions. The one she has just come to is unusual—unexpected, even for her—but it is Vespera’s voice in her head, and the pure instinct in her gut, that pushes her forward.)
“I know such a… sudden promotion is unusual,” Marisol says slowly. “But our old warden has disappeared, and the people deserve a protector. I know you’re capable of fighting, and with your new—power—perhaps you would be well-suited to watching over everyone.”
o say Mephisto was surprised by the Sovereign’s suggestion is an understatement. She pauses, cup hovering just below her lips, steam kissing her cheeks as she considers Marisol’s proposition. Warden. It was a title she didn’t deserve, but the more she considered it, the more it felt right. What better way to serve Terrestella, she mused, than to protect them all to the best of her ability? It gave her room to grow and train in her new magic, to hone her craft and direct it toward a higher purpose. Nodding, she rests her cup upon the table, gathering her breath and offering the queen a cautious smile.
"You flatter me, my queen. But you’re right too – Terrestella needs an active and dedicated protector. It would be an honor to be those eyes, to watch for the safety of our people.” Much had changed, she mused, sighing as she thinks of all which had come to pass. Faces had come and gone, seasons changing with little care to the consequences of their world. A world at peace, for now… but for how long?
It hadn’t been long since Raum had led his revolt in the desert, and while their court had largely escaped the ordeal unscathed, the landscape of Novus was still changed by the events which had followed. It was only a matter of time, she supposed, until the peace would end. For conflict was inevitable where humanity was concerned. The people always seemed to want more, pushing their boundaries and infringing on the delicate balance. She couldn’t say they would be ready for such change, but perhaps this promotion was one ripple upon the face of the calm lake, one which would set off a chain of events (for the better).
“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly, gathering up the tea once more and finishing it with a few final sips. “I won’t let you down.” Or at least, she wouldn’t mean to. Mephisto knew such promises were difficult to keep, but the vow would keep her honest and on a straight path. For through the chaos of the last few months, Mephisto’s loyalty had never wavered – and the warg looked forward to proving to Marisol and her kingdom that the queen’s trust in her was not misplaced.
“I will report to the Barracks once more then.” She nods matter-of-factly to Marisol, turning toward the door and stepping toward it, stopping only once to flick a backward glance at the mare, offering her a warm smile before departing to her duty station with new-found purpose.
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