Sheeva sighed deeply as she sat down on the fallen tree, holding out her hands to warm the chilled fingers by the fire Tazaro built to keep them cozy overnight. The waters in the oasis behind her lapped at the rocky bank, reminding her of her almost unslakeable thirst. As she reached for her canteen, she paused and then took a careful, dainty sip.

  She glanced at the makeshift filter, layers crafted from pebbles plucked from the shore, a few handfuls of sand from the billions the desert had to offer, and chunks of charcoal scraped from the remnants of the previous night’s fire. It was still processing the pots of water Tazaro added to the wash-basin-sized reservoir, a thin, steady trickle of water pouring into a kettle Sheeva had shrunk from the Hafez’s kitchens.

  Satisfied with the amount in the kettle, Sheeva tipped her head back and drank greedily, announcing her content with a “pshew!” She stopped it with the cork plug, screwed on the safety cap, and looked for Tazaro.

  He was to her left, pouring over the eyepiece of the Stargazer. A soft, yellow ball of light hovered over his head as he jotted down notes on a spare piece of parchment, muttering to himself about something. The grey emergency blanket they’d replaced in Anidelle was draped over his shoulders to shield himself from the cold night air, something he’d mentioned he was surprised at.

  She’d had to remind herself often that he was out of his element here, considering he’d never been off the mainland, nor to a climate so drastically different from his own.

  She stood and headed toward him, offering an apologetic smile for breaking his concentration. When he happened to get in the zone of working on the skies, he could scan the heavens for hours. Sheeva chuckled at a spot of fondness for her husband’s dedication.

  “Here. You should drink water. Best to drink now while we’re not sweating it all out shortly after.” She insisted, handing him the canteen. He nodded and took it, also hesitating briefly before taking a sip.

  “We’ve got enough in the kettle, now?” He asked, glancing over her shoulder at the poorly construed filter. It wasn’t his best work, but he had to give himself credit for doing well with what was available around the watering hole they’d been camping at since yesterday afternoon.

  “Tam, there’s plenty. Maybe enough to last us through to the capital.” She assured, hoping she was right. There was no room for ballpark answers with a good three-day journey ahead.

  Tazaro gulped down water until breathless then took another couple of refreshing gulps as soon as he caught his breath to make up for the tiny, unsatisfying sips they’d forced of themselves throughout the journey. He wiped the droplets of water off his lips, sorry to waste such a precious commodity he’d previously taken for granted.

  “Thank you.” He handed her canteen back to her, then glanced at her face, illuminated by the glowing ball still hovering nearby.

  She was deep in thought about something, eyes darting to and fro behind more frequent blinks. It didn’t seem to be a pleasant thought, evident by the nervous nibble of her bottom lip as she warred it between her teeth–as though the arm draped over her waist and the other hand twirling the loose lock of black hair wasn’t telling enough.

  He reached up and took her hand, brought it to his lips, and placed a kiss on the back. He hoped she wouldn’t mind how still miserably dry and chapped they were against her rough knuckles.

  “Come here. Sit with me for a while.” He bid with a gentle tug of her hand. He tried not to focus too much on how cold her fingers were in his palm.

  Sheeva took a deep breath and sighed, then knelt on the blanket next to him to sit.

  “This desert isn’t too bad. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to see any trails or trailheads–not with all those weird creatures out there.” He commented, giving pause to recall the overly large, black-feathered buzzards that could pluck them off the ground with ease or the skittish, brown-furred, non-poisonous nidoru with bristly antlers that Sheeva insisted were “cute.” Sure, he could suppose the things were cute…when grilled with vegetables and slathered in spices.

  "So, all things considered, we could be doing much, much worse than we are. We could be dying of thirst or painfully plucking needles out of our asses." He laughed, grateful for their last-minute mannequin shields to take the brunt of spines that the crop of flowering, giggling, dark-blue desert urchins threw their way after Sheeva had lobbed a Tetrudo Basiliska aside with her boot. In all honesty, the idea of “involuntary acupuncture” frightened him more than paralysis and eventual suffocation from the poisonous snake bite, rationalizing that he wouldn’t feel the bite’s pain after a few seconds…or any pain at all. Rather, he might come to welcome the tingly spasms of his muscles in his dying moments.

  He briefly wondered what was wrong with himself and shook his head.

  He picked up on Sheeva’s snort and chuckle and watched the half-smile–that didn't stay long–fade to accompany her darkening, thousand-yard stare.

  Apparently, the distraction wouldn't do well here.

  Tazaro took a deep breath in through his nose to gorge his lungs on the stuffy, dwindling heat of the surrounding desert, then sighed slowly. As his breath came out in a white wisp amid the chilling air, he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close and pressed his cheek to her head.

  "What's worrying you?" He asked, certain it had to be one of three things: Zakaraia's looming menace, the daunting, faded memories of the orphanage, or the now not-so-distant recollections of sufferings under a madwoman's tyranny.

  As expected, she remained mute for a few moments, and Tazaro waited it out by occupying his thoughts with the fire across the way. He wished he’d started this conversation over there as a breeze swept over them, but no matter; a warming spell would work just as well.

  Sheeva deeply relaxed as his thumb caressed her cheek to deliver their spell, and as she leaned her head against his shoulder, she decided to shuffle herself into his hold. A quick adjustment left her feeling more secure, with long arms that held her frame and a warm neck that she could peck or press her forehead against.

  “I love you, Tazaro.” She whispered, fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. She chuckled to herself, suddenly realizing, even more, how much they had both changed over the past year-and-a-half, and continually, for the better.

  Tazaro glanced down at her, mildly confused, but as he noticed the thoughtful expression furrowed in her eyes, he held his tongue. There was more to be said.

  “I love how supportive you are. How straightforward you are. You keep me grounded and encourage me to face the issue.” She began, tiredly smiling as he gave a squeeze to acknowledge her out-of-the-blue musings. He hummed cheerfully, pleased to note the progress that he hadn’t thought of himself. Though, if he were being honest with himself, it wasn’t often he looked so deeply inward, and when he did, the wee hours of the morning left his thoughts in jumbled puffs of smoke.

  Unsure if this statement warranted a response or if there was something more, he pecked her temple and waited, used to the lengthy time it would sometimes take for Sheeva to admit her inner thoughts.

  Her sigh turned dour, and she recoiled in his lap, curling tighter to his chest.

  “I imagine myself suddenly facing my past, and I worry I will not be able to…contain myself. When I faced Llyud for the final time, I did not fight honorably.” She huffed at her past, immature self. “That was a pain I had been carrying for eleven years. With…Marina and the orphanage, I wonder what I might do, and I worry that I’ll...” She trailed off and sighed again.

  “Worried that you’ll ‘exact unnecessary revenge’?”

  Sheeva blinked and looked up at him, feeling the phrase familiar.

  “Is that what I’ve said?” She asked. Tazaro nodded.

  “Mm-hm. Verbatim,” He stressed with a confident smirk.

  After huffing at herself for her choice of words, Sheeva hummed to herself in mild distaste, still unassuaged about her upcoming stressors.

  “I don’t want to kill anyone.” She decided. “Ah–besides Zakaraia.” She added quickly, not leaving room for Tazaro to swoop in with a funny comment.

  Tazaro kept quiet for a while, wondering if his comparison to what had happened with the confrontation with his father and what might happen with Sheeva’s mother were even fit to be set beside one another. With a bracing breath, he voiced his suggestion anyway.

  “Short of, uh, murder, I’ll stand by whatever you decide to do. If you want to avoid all confrontation, then so be it. When it comes to Marina, I'll be there, too, if you want to try to talk about it. As you did with Luka and me.” He promised. He nodded and sighed, nearly forgetting that, sometimes, talking things over didn’t always work, proven time and time again with frustrating, one-sided conversations with Kirin.

  “That being said, if it happens to be that you’re talking to a wall, perhaps it’s better to say your piece and leave.” He added. “Either way, it’s best to just…get it done–and I am not trying to be insensitive when I say so. It’s like, uh, yanking a thorn out of your skin. Be quick, be effective, and move on if it doesn’t yield the outcome you need.” He sighed, rubbing the back of her hand with a thumb as he pecked her temple again.

  Sheeva slowly nodded against his chest.

  “I didn’t think you were being insensitive, no. You’re being honest.”

  Her lips curled into an earnest smile.

  “I appreciate that, more than anything, you know. ‘Cannot progress on a foundation of lies,’ which includes withheld information.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear,” He answered, combing his fingers through her hair. She gave him a grateful squeeze and rested her head against his shoulder again.

  Satisfied that Sheeva’s worries were abated, Tazaro held her close and fell back to lay on the blanket, casting a pacified look towards the heavens. He looked towards the northwestern edge of the horizon, where he’d spotted the edge of the ring of celestial bodies, suddenly reminded that he’d wanted to point it out the previous night. He hadn’t, unwilling to interrupt Sheeva as she poured over the dissecting scope in scrutiny of one of the desert urchin needles, mesmerized by its “barbed insanity.”

  “At least they can’t uproot themselves and give chase,” he recalled her muttering to herself, and after staring at her for a moment, Tazaro shoved his baffled discomfort aside and returned to the Stargazer.

  “Hey, I forgot to mention it last night, but we’ve passed the ring of the gods! I’ve started mapping some new constellations! It’s freaking cool!” He barked, sitting up so suddenly that it startled Sheeva. She sat up, too, and watched as he pointed out an unfamiliar collection of stars further towards the eastern horizon.

  “There’s something that I think resembles a giant bird, and I was thinking, with the reddish hue around–if it’s not already named–I could coin it Firebird. Like the creature reborn from its ashes.”

  Sheeva’s eyes followed his arm, down his finger, and out toward the skies, and, sure enough, there twinkled the collection of stars that outlined a giant bird with outstretched wings and beak open in a mighty call to action, or perhaps, mournful outcry of its perfected, infinite swan-song. With the red-orange cloud background, she likened it to the latter situation, a billowing funeral pyre reducing the creature to the ashes it would be forever rebirthed from.

  They found themselves suddenly dwarfed by the vast state of the heavens as Tazaro continued to point out new sightings beyond the ring of the gods, and Sheeva caught herself in a moment of distaste for Vivroan history. Considering the Arc de Raynak and the history spanning years of exclusion of outside forces, why wouldn’t Vivroans continue to be so…literally self-centered?

  She shoved aside her musings and listened as Tazaro pointed out other fascinations: a blue-backed collection of stars that looked like a crab, something that reminded them of a majestic warship, and a purple-hued lupine.

  “This has been…incredible. I mean, yeah, we have a goal to meet, but getting to be out here in the wilderness and learning all this new stuff? Discovering new stuff? It’s amazing and… not something I ever imagined doing.” Tazaro stated, filled with thrill and giddiness. He sat back a little and turned to her.

  “Do you think we could, uh, make a living with this? Uh, research, I mean?” He asked earnestly, stomach fluttering with nerves. It wasn’t the nerves about the thought that she would say “no” that bothered him, but the fact that neither of them really knew what to expect or where to start had him on the fence about the idea. To be fair, both of them had been so wrapped up in the goals in the near future that they hadn’t taken much time to plan out what they might do afterward.

  Sheeva held a mildly worried look, lips pursed and brows furrowed in thought.

  Sure, she’d discovered many things with the dissecting scope, and with Tazaro’s promise of “building a better one later,” she held no doubt that they would continue to learn things she couldn’t possibly imagine. But, the real question lay in whether or not people would accept their findings or if they would both be written off as insane.

  “Where would we start? Where would we even begin to present our findings?” Sheeva asked. Tazaro frowned briefly, then sighed and sat back. He supposed that if anywhere, Raynak’s college would be a good place to start.

  “Raynak. I might be able to talk to one of my old professors.” He suggested.

  As she chewed on it, the suggestion seemed to satisfy, and Tazaro waited with bated breath. When she nodded and gave an “okay,” Tazaro’s beaming smile spanned his cheeks, and he planted an excited kiss on her lips, chuckling at the surprised squeak she let out.

  “Alright!”

  As they settled back onto the blanket and stared into the stars, Tazaro couldn’t help but notice a deep, azure cloud of stars that reminded him of the crop of desert urchins they’d disturbed. Letting his mind wander, it dawned on him that they hadn’t seen the monstrous “Cambria Drakeflies” that Sheeva had warned him about, and upon further musing, he ‘tsk’ed his teeth.

  “I have a feeling you were pulling my leg when you told me there were man-eating bugs that could pinch a man in half with their pincers. Were you?” He asked.

  Sheeva looked over at him, momentarily confused, then chuckled.

  “Nope. No, we’ll find those in the ravine. Maybe even in an underground spring, should we happen across one, and considering we’ll have to travel through the ravine to reach Torde, we’ll have the opportunity to examine them up close. They thrive, hunt, and reproduce in shady, wet areas.”

  Tazaro groaned and scrunched his face at the fact.

  “I take back what I said. This desert sucks.”

  Sheeva had to admit her pleasant surprise when the outskirts of Torde were dotted with lush, green plants, and as they made their way towards the inner city, the thick, verdant, sun-resistant foliage only grew. Many stucco houses were lined with some form of ivy, whether growing in the rugged cracks of stone bricks or with the help of a trellis, and she gasped as Tazaro pulled her quickly aside.

  “Sorry, you were about to step in a, uh...” He paused as he stared at the ditch on the side of the sandy, cobblestone-brick road. “A gutter?” He finished questioningly, following the water with his eyes as it flowed through the crevice, shielded from unaware passersby with a solid, beveled, metal grate.

  They stopped to watch as someone began to pump water from the flowing stream into a bucket, then promptly poured a gracious amount into the trough the vast-leafed plant crawling up the side of their house was growing from.

  “Oh,” He realized. “It’s an irrigation ditch.” He pointed out, following it towards the source. Beyond the tops of houses, they could see a stretch of colorful floodplains along the side of the lake, formed by the two streams flowing toward the mainland. Tall, jutting wooden structures that Tazaro figured were water lifts dotted the lakeside, and off to the left, a fishing wharf could be seen.

  Hoping the residents inside wouldn’t mind, Sheeva and Tazaro climbed the set of stone steps onto the matching stone roof to net a better look.

  A plot of tall, well-rooted pomegranate trees lined the shore, followed by the golden glow of chickpea plants, a light-green plot of soybeans, and the tall, thin stalks of corn, no doubt set for yearly rotation with the two bean plants. Another row of trees shielded the town from harsh sea-side winds, and as Sheeva squinted at them, she noticed the small, purple rind of figs. More trellises grew beyond the fig trees, and judging by their shape and size, she took them to be eggplant crops.

  “Wow. I…I don’t remember Torde looking like this at all.” She admitted, feeling sheepish. Had it simply been a matter of distorted childhood that made her believe the town was decrepit and defeated?

  “Maybe it’s just come a long way since you left.” Tazaro offered, crossing his arms as he continued to look around.

  Sheeva opened her mouth to respond but snapped it shut as a voice carried up to them from the base of the steps.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?” An older, balding gentleman asked, visibly grumpy and scowling at them beyond a thick pair of bushy eyebrows.

  “Ah, no, my apologies, we were just trying to get a better look.” Sheeva blurted, taking Tazaro’s hand and hurrying down the steps and past the owner of the house. They shuffled through the crowd as she led him blindly toward the center of town.

  When she stopped, short of breath, and fanned herself with her hands, Tazaro wiped at his brow with a sleeve while he also caught his breath.

  “I take it the people haven’t changed much.” Sheeva chuckled, and Tazaro shot her a long-sided look.

  “I dunno; I’d be grumpy, too, if I had strangers on my roof.” He grunted.

  Sheeva acknowledged the comment with a quickly muttered apology, then averted her gaze to the luscious garden of grasses and flowers planted in the city square. Patches of Zinnias, Button-mums, Lavender, and Phormium Delight adorned a bronze statue, and as she studied it, she noticed it was the same man they’d seen memorialized in Rascal’s Cove. She dropped her gaze to the placard at the wealthy man’s feet.

  In memoriam of Baxter “Nello” Thornby, founder and developer of “Tour-de-Greens.” Helped to spread the joy of plants into even the most uninhabitable places, promoting the greening of Cruinia, the purge of its blemish in history, and the rejuvenation of its tainted soil.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Sheeva felt a spot of humility for her previously harsh theories about the man immortalized by the statue and offered a silent apology for her misinformed, judgemental thoughts. Perhaps this was a more recent development than she assumed, and the man's dedications hadn't quite reached Rascal's Cove yet.

  “Where were we supposed to meet Bartholomew? Did he even say, or is he planning on sneaking up on us again?” Tazaro asked, peering over his shoulder for the disguised Ta’hal. He gave himself a sheepish look as he remembered that Bartholomew couldn’t perform his favorite pastime anymore.

  Sheeva pulled out the tattered notebook that retained scribbles of useful information, snippets of history, and things to “see and do after Llyud.” She stared at it for a few seconds, realizing that it might be the last she’d need to flick through it for dire need’s sake. It was an emboldening thought, and she smiled at herself for all the progress she’d made over the last couple of years, regardless of whether the outcome had been favorable.

  “The Swaying Shanty,” she read, snapping the book shut and shoving it back into her pocket. Tazaro arched an eyebrow, a funny feeling that the name of the building was a subtle nod to something perversely sexual but managed to maintain a straight face as he looked around for the suggestively named building.

  “Towards the oceanside?” He asked, tipping his head in the direction. Sheeva nodded, leading the way blindly despite the cornerstones. She couldn’t recall the colors being different as a child. Perhaps, in their efforts for radical change, the alternating stones labeled with the names of unfamiliar streets were another new addition.

  They passed by a hospital conjoined with an apothecary, ripe with more greenery and thankfully quiet, and upon Tazaro’s suggestion that they return to gather some medical supplies, Sheeva agreed and made a note of it in the rudimentary map she was sketching in her notebook.

  As though planned, a giant greenhouse was conveniently located next to the medical building. Accompanying the stained-glass roof, the building was rigged with pipes to charter water that drained into a giant reservoir. Not only was the reservoir tapped to serve the greenhouse, but it had also been tapped to provide filtered water to the residents, which made Sheeva even happier. Perhaps, through their hard efforts, Cruiniaians had ample opportunity to “rejuvenate its tainted soils.”

  Ignoring the itch to explore the greenhouse, Sheeva pressed on, taking a deep breath of the clean, salty ocean air as they meandered towards the bayside. The chime of church bells rang, and as the chatter of passersby sounded as a group shuffled past, she stilled suddenly, feeling the immediate rise of the hairs on her arms and back of her neck as they stood. Her heart ceased beating in her chest for a few seconds before overclocking to catch up as the prickle of adrenaline and fear stabbed into her stomach.

  Rather than to Abraxas, her hand flew to Tazaro’s. His rough hand lightly grabbed hers but held tighter at the alarmed and breathless: “Tazaro, wait.”

  Her hand felt clammy in his as her fingers tightened around his palm with a fierce tremble, and as her eyes widened and began to dart, Tazaro glanced around, wondering if she had seen someone she knew and wanted to avoid, or worse yet, Zakaraia.

  “Sheeva, what–

  –I grew up around here, somewhere. This block. I can smell the-I could smell the ocean. Hear the bells. The people.” She interrupted, voice taut and breathing fast.

  Tazaro bit his tongue to prevent the “ah, okay” of understanding from leaving his lips.

  Urgently, he tried to direct her out of the way of passersby and beside the clothing shop they’d stopped in front of, but at her distressed “no,” Tazaro stopped and looked back.

  The tremble in her hands had reached the rest of her body now, and to see her panic like this was something foreign. Tazaro had to admit, he was surprised that they had gotten this far in before her brain decided to play its not-so-funny trick down memory lane.

  “Ok. Ok, Sheeva, what can I do? What do you need?” He asked, daring to step forward and encircle his arms around her shaking frame. She recoiled at his touch, and the tremble grew stronger, as did the now painful clutch of his hand.

  Thinking fast, Tazaro formed the sigils of their bemusing spell with his free hand, then squeezed hers as tightly as his crimped hand would allow for deliverance. It seemed to work–in that it stopped her panicked state altogether and left her appearing dazed and in some sort of hazy trance.

  As her death grip on his numb hand ceased, Tazaro pried his hand from hers to finally step forward and pull her into a hug, holding her tightly to his chest. He shook her gently in hopes of bringing her to her senses and combed a comforting hand through her hair, to which she violently flinched. He voiced an apology and immediately dropped his hand to press against her lower back.

  “Zvezdaya. You’re alright. It’s alright.” He murmured, still casting glances over their shoulders at anything that moved, as though even the shadows would rear up and attack them. He pulled closer to the building to press his back against the cool stone, thankful for the vines growing up the plaster that seemed to envelop him and provide the fortitude he needed for Sheeva’s sake.

  “No. No, it’s not alright.” She grunted, her hands clenching into fists on his lapels. “You shouldn’t have to–

  He held her tighter, not surprised that she was angered; it seemed she still struggled with forgiveness of the self for experiencing even a smidgeon of basic emotion. Feeling secure within the verdant vines that tethered them in place, Tazaro took a deep breath.

  –‘shouldn’t’ and ‘want to’ are two very different things, Sheeva. Are you mad at yourself for this?” He asked.

  He looked down at her as she pushed herself up and out of his hold, and, sure enough, she held that furrow-browed, fiery, red-faced look that would betray her adamant “no.”

  “Yeah, I’m mad.” She admitted with an indignant huff. “I’m pissed.”

  Tazaro’s eyebrows raised, not expecting her openness about this. Perhaps they’d truly made progress.

  “You shouldn’t have to do this for me, Tazaro–at all.” She insisted again, stepping out of his hold. She paced for a few seconds, thinking hard about something, and instead of protesting what Tazaro felt like he should and shouldn’t do, he waited it out, wondering what conclusion she’d come to on her own.

  “I’m not blaming myself this time–to hell with that!” She began, growing more and more vehement with each second. “I’m blaming her!”

  The chiming bell of something dockside rang out, and as Sheeva shuddered again, she doubled back with seething fury. With an aggravated grunt, Sheeva bore her wings and took flight, darting up onto the rooftops before Tazaro could call out to stop her.

  Fearing her rashness, Tazaro bore his wings and gave chase, not far off her heels as she bolted towards what looked to be more residential areas, zig-zagging between chimney posts as she searched for what he figured to be her early childhood home.

  “Sheeva, stop!” He called after her, watching as she dove down into the clearing of a dilapidated backyard.

  By the time he reached the clearing, he had heard her sharp cry as she kicked down the back door and rushed inside.

  Tazaro less-than-gracefully landed on his feet, still stunned by her absolute recklessness, then pounded his feet into the dusty, barren soil as he stormed up the steps and into what appeared to be a hoarder’s home, look completed with rickety, broken furniture on the back porch.

  The inside was musty, and Tazaro brought his sleeve to his nose to cover up the stench of animal feces and what he hoped wasn’t rotten animal carcasses. Broken bottles and glass crunched beneath his boots as he stepped further in, searching for his wife and listening for–on a more positive outlook–heated conversation rather than the terrified screams and wailings he had imagined in the split seconds before entering the house.

  He slipped on something mushy and stumbled to the side, knocking over a pile of newspapers and boxes stacked as tall as he was. Behind the stack, nailed into the wall, a painting of a family he didn’t know stuck firmly, though askew. The white of the wall behind the picture was slightly less yellow than the rest, and Tazaro scrunched his nose in distaste, all too familiar with the degradation that could only come from years of tobacco smoke.

  He stole a second glance at the picture, recognizing the mother’s eyes and her thin smile. They were his wife’s, and, if not for the pointed ears and beveled, plus-sign pupils stemming from Sheeva’s Ta’hal side, it could easily be said the two were the spitting image of each other. He searched among the patrons for the young version of Sheeva amid the children here; one a young boy with dark hair and the same ruby eyes as Sheeva and the other a young girl with curly brown hair and red eyes that matched the father. Tazaro’s search ended when he found Sheeva wrapped in swaddling cloth and bundled in the arms of the man.

  His stature was grand; elegant, with bright, red eyes and flowing black locks, and an almost devilishly handsome smile that jumped out of the picture.

  They all seemed cheerful and hopeful, and Tazaro realized that the painting had been made before Belias’s–no, Mathias’s, he corrected himself–unlawful capture and untimely death and before Marina’s insanity and eventual filicide of the two other children.

  He pulled the frame from the wall, and the picture easily slid out, its canvas warped and color faded from the elements. Still, he coiled the painting carefully and tucked it into his pocket, figuring Sheeva might appreciate having a picture of the family she never got to have, or at least, during a time when they were at their happiest. However, if Sheeva decided she wanted nothing to do with it, they could sit and watch the thing burn.

  Tazaro continued the search for his wife, taking the growing, eerie silence as proof that no one was in immediate danger, and as he scraped the remains of whatever was squished into the treads of his boot onto the frayed remains of the ugly brown carpet, he didn’t dare look at what it had been.

  Through the path cut into a living room piled high with more discarded things, Tazaro stopped as he found her, staring into a room, petrified. He made his way carefully amid the sea of trash and halted at her side. He looked toward the room behind Sheeva; it had been previously painted pink, though the lustrous color had grossly faded over the years thanks to harsh sunlight.

  Tazaro glanced into the room Sheeva gazed into, then looked away, cursing his imagination as it worked to fill in the gaps, attributing the face of the young girl he’d seen to what he knew of her unfortunate demise. The vivid pink tub, tiles, and eventual floral wallpaper must have haunted Sheeva in nightmares ever since. His stomach churned as his brain imagined garbled screams of a young girl struggling for dear life, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he forced a clearing breath.

  Thanks to the dank, putrid smell of the place, it wasn’t helpful and further aided the sourness of his stomach.

  “Elle…died here. I could…hear the screams from down the hall.” Sheeva murmured, dark and woeful behind an arms-crossed stance that he figured she held to comfort herself.

  “I…I’m sorry.” He attempted to console, unsure of what to say. He didn’t even want to acknowledge his own growing discomfort, evident by the chill of his bones and growing dizziness.

  Sheeva turned to look at him, anger replaced by a morose, mournful expression.

  “You…don’t have to subject yourself to this. It’s…it’s my past.” She attempted to dismiss him, a sad glow of apprehension behind her shielded look.

  “I know,” He replied, hoping his voice carried the determined inflection he’d intended. “I’ll stay. I’ll be here–as I always have and always will be.” He added.

  This seemed to satisfy, but his words did not bring any cheer to her face, nor did he expect them to, considering what hellacious events she was currently recalling.

  She turned towards the rest of the hallway and merely glanced at the pictures on the wall, seeming disinterested in them as her eyes glazed over one for a second before jutting to the next. Tazaro, however, allowed himself the curiosity; some were askew, others torn and shoddy. He reached for one hanging off the wall that had nearly been torn in twain and, upon holding the pieces together, he stared at the face gazing back.

  It was a well-done painting of the eldest boy, appearing a few years older than the young child he had been in the painting near the entrance. His eyes matched Marina’s while the rest of his face matched Mathias’s; however, he did not smile. Instead, he frowned with almost as fierce a scowl as Sheeva could manage, and Tazaro didn’t blame the boy–a long, jagged scar stretching across the young man’s face marred the once dashing features of an up-and-coming young male that the ladies would have swooned and fawned over.

  As he peered closer, he noticed similarly pointed ears and seemingly pronounced incisors, further suggesting that all three of their children had resemblances to Ta’hal.

  Tazaro tore his focus and looked for Sheeva once again. She had stopped in front of another room but hadn’t entered, staring fixedly at something inside, arms yet again crossed.

  He stepped close to her and glanced inside.

  The room was glaringly painted teal and reminded him slightly of his old room at his mother’s house, but he refused to say anything about that. As Sheeva huffed to herself about something, then sighed deeply, Tazaro felt she’d just had the same unsettling realization.

  “It’s…odd, the things that we convince ourselves we’ve dreamed of.” She sighed, clearing her throat. “This was Ren’s room. He was the oldest of us, and therefore…the first.” She announced. The implication drove a stake through Tazaro’s heart and made him quiver, and as his stomach dropped to the floor below his feet, he shuffled his hands into his pockets to prevent their tell-all fidget about his nerves.

  “I was confused at first when I was young, but eventually understood that she stabbed him to death. I remember watching her attempt to clean up. Suppose that’s why she did what she did to Elle.”

  Tazaro gasped in a short breath at the implication, uttering a disturbed “gods” under his breath. His hands tightened on the fabric of his pockets as he fought to still his shiver.

  Sheeva frowned, and dropped her head, then shook it sadly, conflicted with the consolation her brain threw out at her. Had it been her first, instead, might Ren have been able to take Elle and flee to safety? She scowled and forced the terrible “what-if” from her mind. It would do no good to dwell on it, for anyone’s sake.

  She cleared her throat again and continued down the hall, stopping in front of a final door.

  This door had been severely altered, given the addition of a deadbolt, a chain lock, and a wooden bar. Slowly he began to understand that this door was not crafted to keep something out but rather to keep something in. As he worked through the process of elimination, Tazaro stared at Sheeva in utter shock and disbelief.

  The final piece–the final, heart-shattering piece–made his chest ache, and he couldn’t begin to fathom the loneliness she must have endured as the tears began to roll down his face.

  “Sheeva, I, I’m so–I’m so–gods be damned, I...” He stammered, unable to form a full sentence, girdled and choked by snapping heartstrings.

  Sheeva, surprised to hear the gravelly voice and sniffle, looked at Tazaro in question, then sighed. She’d had years to come to terms with the depressing gravity of her upbringing, and though she’d told him the extent of it all, he didn’t have the same terrifying experiences nor the hazy memories to accompany the information, so–naturally–seeing physical proof would be a much more raw reckoning for him than it was for her.

  “Oh, Tazaro,” She sighed, pulling him into an awkwardly received hug with how deep his hands had been in his pockets.

  “There’s nothing you can say, nothing to do. It just is, now…and it never will be again.” She whispered, beckoning him to rest his head in the crane of her neck with a press of her hand.

  He shuffled his feet and retrieved his hands from his pockets to hold her tightly, one arm secured around her waist while the other pressed between her shoulder blades while he poured every ounce of sincerity he could as he wept into her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry–it just, it’s not fucking right, Sheeva! I mean, how could–how could someone do–how could a mother do–

  –Shh,” She shushed, reaching up a hand to comb through his hair. With the soothing rub she added at the base of his neck, Tazaro felt himself become calm, finally able to let go of the stagnant breath of air stuck in his chest. His body sunk as he leaned on her for a moment, weary as the storm of emotions subsided.

  “Please do not burden yourself with my past. It’s not anyone else’s stone to throw. Alright?” She asked, pulling away from him after he shifted to support himself again.

  Tazaro’s eyes were puffy, and he felt the sheepish look span his face before he could stop it–here they were, in the belly of Sheeva’s childhood torments, and he had the nerve to be the one weeping? He felt even more silly as he realized that she would not think this of him, to begin with.

  “M’kay. M’sorry.” He mumbled, wiping at his eyes as he collected himself. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily to release the anguish lingering in his chest.

  Sheeva turned back to the locked door, then stepped toward it, unbarring and unlocking the chain and deadbolt. Boldly, she stepped down the steps, fighting not to gag at the moldiness of the basement.

  It seemed she had not forgotten the darkness that dwelled beneath the house despite the light of day bleeding in through the window, and as she looked around, the room seemed much smaller than she remembered. She frowned at the sight of a tattered blanket and scrawny pillow piled by the water-heater, where she vaguely remembered curling beneath in the winters. Harsh winters, when frost would form on the window and her breath would come out in frightened white wisps.

  She looked for her husband, certain he’d followed her down the steps. She found him intently staring out of the window as though for a shred of optimism in the otherwise dreary situation. She hadn’t seen him this blue since his mother’s death, and as his far-off gaze simmered with sadness, she found herself fixing on how much she appreciated his willingness to suffer through this. At least…suffer much more than she had been able to express.

  Sheeva crossed the room and took his hand in his.

  “You…should wait outside. Perhaps in the marketplace. I’ve got something I want to finish here.” She suggested, bringing his hand to hers and kissing the back of it.

  This brought his face to life, and he blinked at her, confused. Was she worried he might pass judgment if she were to also weep as bitterly as he had shamelessly minutes ago?

  “I can wait with you.” He answered with a nonchalant shrug to show his lack of “fucks given.”

  Sheeva tsked, telling herself she should have expected his immediate support.

  “Mm, I’d prefer you go. I don’t want you to be labeled as a witness.” She tried again, avoiding his gaze as she tried to think of a reasonable excuse. Noticing the nibble, Tazaro squinted his eyes at her in thought, wondering what she was attempting to do in his absence.

  “That’s…oddly and bluntly gallant of you. Why?” He insisted.

  Sheeva gave a long sigh and crossed her arms, holding a hand to her mouth as she prepared herself to voice her malicious intent.

  “Because I’m casting my stone into the fires of hell.” She admitted with another sigh.

  Tazaro’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows rose into the ceiling. The determined look on her face proved her point, though burning the place in a ritualistic pyre hadn’t been close to what he’d imagined. Rather than arson, he figured she was going to find a bat and wreck the place–in which case, he might be so inclined to join her in the…liberating, arduous endeavor.

  Ah, but still, this was his wife’s stone to throw, not his, Tazaro reminded himself.

  He closed his gawking, stunned mouth and nodded his consent.

  “We should, uh, disguise ourselves first–in case we’re seen. Brown eyes, maybe?” He suggested, already on the way toward casting their disguising spell. Within seconds, he had turned his eyes a decent shade of hazelnut brown and his hair a shade of blonde.

  Sheeva’s mouth popped open for a moment as she stared dumbly at Tazaro, somewhat astonished and somewhat impressed at his ready sacrifice and continuing support. Snapping to sense, she cast her spell and changed her appearance, her eyes mimicking Tazaro’s light hazel and her hair becoming a deep shade of chocolate brown.

  While she gave him a questioning look about the color suggestion, she didn’t voice her concern and instead set to business, urging him up the rickety steps. As soon as he was up the steps, she traced the flame sigil in the air and ignited the blanket and pillow beneath the water heater, then the rubble of crates and boxes filled with paper.

  She raced up the steps, then shut the door. Tazaro had already begun setting flame to the master bedroom to their left, and as he, too, finished setting fire to the mess, he shut the door behind him.

  While he headed for Elle’s bedroom, Sheeva stole a brief, final glance at Ren’s bedroom before tracing the sigil and spitting fire, catching the stuffed mattress aflame. The fire rose along the painted walls, catching as easily as paper and feeding the frenzy as flames tinted green licked at the ceiling. They slammed the respective doors shut, already feeling the heat rise from beneath the floorboards.

  A quick glance in the bathroom proved fruitful; the flames from the basement had already fed through the floor and were now overtaking the gaudy pink tile and mess, fueled by the piles of trash scattered around. They hurried into the living room, having plenty of things to catch fire as they stood near the entrance door and flung a fireball towards the stacks of newspapers, the molding couch, and boxes that fell over to scatter their contents across the floor.

  Sheeva flung one last fireball towards the back of the already flaming kitchen, then rushed out of the door.

  Feeling confident, Sheeva pointed towards the sky, suggesting they take flight, and Tazaro followed. They stopped to rest atop a roof, crouched behind a chimney stack as they peered over at the rising fire, a thick cloud of black smoke billowing into the air.

  “I. Cannot believe. What we’ve just done.” Sheeva commented, panting as she fanned her flush skin with a hand. Tazaro huffed, then chuckled and lay back on the cold bricks of the chimney. Eyes still closed in exertion, his hand searched for hers blindly, finding it laying slack in her lap.

  He stared at the smoke, grateful that the houses weren’t built so close together that it caused a chain reaction of smoldering homes, and suddenly wished he had something stronger than water to drink. Still, he sipped on his canteen and tipped it in a ceremonial toast.

  “That’s one hell of a stone, Sheeva. Think you threw it far enough?”

  “Mm. It’ll have to suffice, so long as no one else is harmed.”

  Sheeva’s glimpse of confusion did not go unnoticed as she looked at Tazaro and didn’t immediately recognize him. She waved her hand and dispelled her disguise. Tazaro did the same, sipped from his canteen, and turned back to the burning house, now beginning to crumble from the weight against weakened foundations.

  “Why brown?” Sheeva asked, taking his canteen and drinking from it.

  “Hm?” He asked, feeling the tire in his body from rapid spellcasting.

  “Brown eyes,” she clarified, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  “Ah,” he smiled to himself. “Cuz, if we were seen, and someone tries to report us, no one will believe them.”

  She stared at him tiredly for a few moments, piecing together the validation with how readily he held his suggestion.

  “One might think you’ve…daydreamed about this before, Tazaro Chorea.” She said carefully. The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was far too telling, and she clicked her tongue at him in mock disappointment.

  “You know,” He paused to drink deeply. “In some other universe, we’ve made an infamous name for ourselves as the next Nargiz and Maxim.”

  “Hm! Perhaps we have!” She agreed, allowing him to entertain his active imagination while she continued to contemplate the massive significance of what she’d just done.

  Sheeva took a clearing breath and held it for a few precious seconds before she let it out in a soul-clearing sigh. With the liberating soar of her spirit into the skies came with it the earth-shackling tears of despair, and as thick black, sooty clouds mingled with crisp white, she wailed her laments, soothed and consoled by Tazaro’s silent, understanding embrace.