CW:

  BULDERII POV! Um... slaughter and blood and torture of body and soul and talk of identity loss and rebirth as blank husks.

  The manor is still and silent as I finally return. The gentle, nearly impossibly quiet, noises of my removal of shrouding clothes and the pitch about my darkened Amwella core a scream to my senses.

  And it’s even a little… cold. Like how a limb grows chilled when devoid of blood.

  Which is the aspect that sets my senses to twitch in worry that something is different. Shifted. Wrong. Not just because the city without mewls sweetly with nothing but soft souls and unsoured gentle muses but…

  Amwella has wasted away within this space recently. And not just that which sheds when Reaver’s feast or rut. This stench is that from a slaughter.

  Bow is already drawn to pair with my arrows, but… I move with caution. Favoring silence and full understanding of the places I would walk into instead of the darting speed which would gift me only a moment’s notice to danger. Others of the brood may favor haste before foes can know we’re attacking, but my commands from our Hr?daya were explicit.

  “Remain alive. Above all else.” She’d told me the last time words could be spoken between us. Even hiding my truer shapes beneath not as important to her as my continued survival. Long past are the days of total hibernation of my long dead aspects.

  The only other one she’d ever demanded bear this burden now wanders the Sapana alone.

  Shiver and shift as I use those remembered words from Thendra to pulse through my thoughts like blood from a heart. Forcing the changes best to keep myself hidden. Unfurl extra Naranggas and focus their perceptions. Reaching around corners and into seemingly empty rooms. Even crack out a few more arrows from the bones folded deep within. Keep all else hidden, but not beyond easy reach.

  And moving like a careful scavenger tasting fresh death on the air, I find the first corpse soon enough. Approach carefully, and never get so near as to even touch the still warm flesh.

  Hundat. Broken and ravaged. Chest torn open to give free access for her soulflame to be bled. Its bounty must have been sprayed across the one that killed her in such a fountain for all to taste.

  Then… Jekrariish. Nearly atop Grelopra and Nitrarush. Limbs twisted backwards and throats torn. Kellita’s body is barely connected at the waist. Such great unrestrained fury ripped that Reaver nearly in two.

  The rest are along the pathways leading back and into the deepest bowls of this manor. A trail of slaughter woven like a tapestry of a maddened beast tearing through weak and unprepared prey. Each body is more rent apart than the last. Left to bleed rotting ichor to be drank up by this manor until the full corpses can be dropped into the mulching pits.

  Not a trap. Or a lure. Simply… slaughter. Uncaring for the flesh left to Rot in its wake.

  Walls begin to show the wound that laid low this manor many uncounted centuries ago soon enough. Solid hallways buckling and breaking beneath the weight of its slowly growing end. A spiraling twisting etching that makes little sense to the eyes and less to those that are foolish enough to look upon them with their Amwella sight. Only the senses of the Naranggas can lead one true and safely through. All others risk slipping between and becoming lost in the endless depths of this place's agony.

  And soon… I find the last Reavers alive in our home at the room which holds this home’s weeping core.

  The space is smaller than many others. As if… this manor is as any other deeply hurt creature. Curled upon itself around the most delicate and aching parts. The spiraling dangerous wounds which mire the pathways here are present, but small. Barely the width of my arm and difficult to fall into now.

  The eyes and thoughts and deepest aspects to our home. A large bulbous leaking thing rooted to the corner. The heart of the manor mewls the Sapana-cracking wound like our dead Brood now bleeds useless blood.

  And there, just before it… lays Twital. Not dead, but… wishing so much she was as her head sits upon Thendra’s lap. The body of this Reaver unfurled to full monstrous shapes with all manner of torn spines and talons and claws and long shredded Naranggas. Each tooth broken and shattered and scattered. Eyes gouged out. Tongues shorn away and laid to their side.

  Paralyzed. Toothless. Blind. Only able to express even overwhelming pain of body and soul through shallow and weak breaths.

  But it's her Amwella that bears the most cruelly appropriate wounds. Twitches like some… perfectly dissected heart. Cut and torn apart at all the places to drown her in endless agonies, but also ensure she can survive so long as gifted steady dribbles of soulflame are found.

  Which… Our Hr?daya provides with nothing but patience and care. Each droplet is gifted in perfect rhythm to keep this Reaver alive as Jade eyes stare down at her with such… Terrible affections.

  Things of of a being tending to one of twelve souls she has moved through the Sapana with before memory can recall. Before Warmth was ignited. Before even the Fae’s Broken Dream took root, I'm starting to believe. And… I cannot help but wander what other understandings our Hr?daya has reclaimed from feasting upon her wretch’s Amwella.

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  Soul still brims and screams with the violet flame claimed and shorn so willingly away.

  Wordlessly, I move to kneel before them. Only my knees even disturb the blood that pools. Don’t even need to ask what happened as all the extra parts I allowed to twist free my flesh, now settle back into the hidden places beneath and behind once more. Showing to all with eyes that I am simply a tall woman. Nothing more.

  Easily and completely understand the shape of Twital’s mistake.

  She moved against Thendra’s most important command.

  “Restrain yourself. Keep your nature hidden. We are old and seasoned and well-bred Reavers. Nothing more. Even here, in this manor. Never consider yourself unwatched.” Are always the first things she purrs to them as the young Reavers discover their hidden aspects.

  Even the slaughter of this brood would only bring a smaller punishment while cultivating the new strength found in the act. The attempt to kill Thendra after just… expected. And she'd be more disappointed if Twital left to wander with stolen soulflame instead of attempting to claim the Hr?daya’s life.

  No, this torment is a gift. A promise. Something for Twital to find and consider the next time she rises from the Pit and grows enough to remember this event.

  'Twital, I will keep the Names and Oaths the rest of you are unable to even fathom anymore. Never faltering. Never straying. Never wandering. Next time you consider this act, know the strength you’ll need to enact it fully. Consider how many times you’ve attempted this before in a moment of blind wroth, and failed.'

  In years past we’d simply rebirth them all. Feed the Brood to become as Thendra needs them. But… now?

  This Brood Sister’s mistake has cost our Hr?daya so much strength we very much needed. A full clutch butchered and laid to Rot just as their starvation and well-cultivated strength reached a point they could be loosed upon our prey. Might have even had the wit to hunt more than just the Fae I was sent to watch for…

  “Fourteen smelled the stolen flames, and wandered out.” I inform Thendra.

  She nods, only a hint of curiosity bubbling as she watches her Reaver with such intent. “Less than expected. Where did they go?”

  “Six prowl to the Morning Court. Four fly toward the Midday. Two swim the oceans about the Twilight. One even stalks toward the Highest peak of the Obsidian Wastes. The last… was found by the surviving. They scheme to enter Theradas as the Sapana calms Her Storm.” I answer.

  Our Hr?daya doesn’t sigh, only feels of… pointed focus. Rising wroth like I’ve never felt her radiate. An anger without kinship to anything but the affections to the Reaver sprawled before her. Then, without hesitation, she reaches down to grip Twital’s remaining Amwella with endlessly vicious Naranggas. And tears it apart.

  Leaving only two of the Brood remaining to consider how to hunt and Reave the Fae that now seek to hunt the Godling Wretch.

  “You will remain within Theradas, only leave to follow this Rift’s Godling. Slaughter any Fae or other dangers that my Lyra does not sense and end. Avoid her sight as you already have.” Thendra demands as she watches Twital's Amwella fades to nothing.

  “And… you?” I ask. “Will you wait here for her to return, or call for you?”

  Know the answer before her eyes drift up to meet mine. “No. I will hunt. Both for the ones I believe could be most… problematic. But also others to dredge up and distract these Fae.”

  Can’t hide my worry at that. Considering all the dangerous things our Hr?daya could inspire to hunt again if she used her hidden form as bait to lure the chase through the Fae Courts.

  “Is that wise? Those same would seek your prizes if they knew why you lured them to rouse.” I warn.

  “My Lyra remains hidden. Unable to even consider how to mantle the responsibilities her Watcher and Fae perform so easily. Wasn’t even pushed into unveiling and speaking with the Everflame Envoy despite that one's insistence. If she tumbles into showing herself outside her home that drifts through unburned Sapana… It will be brief. Pointed. Or an quick act of aimless affections.”

  “And… if you are wrong?” I ask quietly, leaving the rest unspoken…

  If she grows the desire to be known? Understood by not just her Rift’s souls but the wider Dream? If old and deadly things catch scent of what swims within her they’d like to devour? Worse still rouse from old and ruthless pits at the promise of rekindled blazes?

  My Hr?daya doesn’t grin like she might around others. Lets her cold fury billow out like the shredding winds as she growls. “Then… I will consider Reaving something important and drawing attentions away from a little Fae Godling.”

  I blink, surprised.

  A direct strike on another Godthing’s Rift… or a Fae Court’s Hearthflame? Such a blow would… The entire Sapana would howl in fury alongside those who seek to keep the Dream warm evermore.

  “Would you survive such an act?”

  She does grin then. Such… hunger roiling through her like I’ve only rarely felt. “Not likely. No.”

  Thendra could survive the attack. Probably even escape to resurface despite the wash of Blight that could consume both her and the target. But… The hunt for the creature that destabilized the Dream would be incredibly unifying. There would be no place for her to find safety. Even our home here in Theradas just a broken creature to be cracked and drained of ichor and information.

  I… Have no memory of what happens when our Hr?daya dies and is returned to the Pit.

  Who would rouse her? Could another take her place as Hr?daya so easily? Would we all be consigned to roam the Sapana an aimless empty husk of ourselves? Reavers in truth? Soon soul-drunk and mad without purpose beyond our hungers? Devoid of memory for ages until enough soulflame was gathered to spark the old Oaths?

  Or would we not escape the Pit ever again without her ability to draw us forth?

  “What am I to do, in that event?” I whisper. Don’t even hide my confliction at this.

  Would Undreka come for us when I fall? Or would she simply ensure none exist to draw us back to the Fae’s Broken Dream?

  Jade eyes bore into me then, “Exactly as I told you before, Bulderii.”

  Remain alive. Above all else.

  “Then that is what I will do.” I agree, and let my worries settle. Trusting our Hr?daya to lead us true. Even as I only barely understand her goals. “To the best of this flesh and soul’s abilities.”

  She nods and turns back to regard the dead whose head lies cradled in her lap. “Go, begin your vigil. I’ll ensure this place consumes these corpses before I step from this Rift.”

  So I rise, and move to leave the home we claimed long before even this incarnation of my spirit. Step past the cold corpses while reweaving flesh into cloth wrappings, Naranggas into a tight wound shroud, then… twist Amwella to seem nothing but a soul of respectable size about the bundle.

  Something even the pointed and Rift tuned gaze of my Hr?daya’s wretch won’t know is deceptive unless I unfurl to slaughter. Or… defend her from errant hunters she cannot simply strangle or toss into the Sapana beyond the Fae's Broken Dream.

  Welcome to ARC 4!!!

  To Embrace A Dream Healer

  Also also! We just did right up a new lil story about a living weapon and her Witch!

  Clickie the pretty picture below to go read it!!!

  Just a reminder, the will always be 3 Chapters ahead for both Lamentations and !!!

  Our other story is BIG happy and support and Smexy Lesbian Polycule with a VERY Trans MC.

  Go read it for the GOOD FEELS.

  All art is by/collabed wiff

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