Chapter Text
“Should I redesign the salt flats with sinkholes and sarlacc-type monster pits?” Roman bounces on his heels as they make their way across the edge of the taiga, winding around the occasional bioluminescent mushroom cluster and low-hanging aspen branch. They’re yet to run into the nearest fairy line, where word is a number of chasms have opened up as a part of the recent destruction.
Virgil keeps his expression neutral, lifting one of his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “Do what you want,” he says. “I’m not in charge of the Imagination.”
“Oh, come on—have a heart, President Franklin Pierce the Veil,” Roman jabs, narrowing his eyes playfully at the anxious Side. “I know you’ve got plenty of creative energy in you. Pessimistic, yes, but creative.”
Virgil huffs, blowing his hair out of his face. “Sarlacc pits would be cool,” he admits after a moment. “Maybe with mandibles like spiders.”
Roman laughs in triumph. “I knew it!”
Virgil can’t help but smile. He watches Roman hurry onward, skirting gracefully around boulders and fantasizing about what grand new changes he can make to the varying landscapes. He’s content with watching the creative Side prance about and amuse himself easily on his own, trailing a little ways behind.
Virgil pushes through a cluster of undergrowth, after a while, to draw up short as he nearly stumbles into the prince’s back. Roman has frozen at the edge of a break in the woods, only a few steps out from the tree line, all of the mirth and excitement suddenly vanished from his frame. Virgil falters, surprised, then looks out past the creative Side at the landscape ahead.
Roman’s standing at the edge of a wide, jagged gulf that cuts through the earth like an open wound, fallen trees and uprooted shrubbery tipped and piling into the chasm. It sprawls laterally across a grassy clearing and vanishes deeper into the forest, intercepting a dry streambed lined with a collage of circular river-stones. The ground is several yards lower on the side opposite the two of them—it’s as though a rift had formed between two tectonic plates in a massive earthquake, the northernmost sinking downward as the other was pushed toward the sky.
Oh.
Birds chirp and leaves rustle quietly overhead, but somehow the landscape still feels empty. Virgil swallows, nervous. His eyes trail down across the dry water track, and it takes him a couple of moments to notice: there are some decimated structures scattered amidst the rocks along the riverbed. A few stone cairns remain standing, but most lie collapsed in little heaps, nearly impossible to parse from the random scattering of pebbles that surround them. What seem like tiny caves that bore into the larger stones are half-drowned by freshly-strewn debris; small piles of leaves and twigs lie strewn amidst the little stretch of ruin.
All of these constructions seem abandoned—there’s no sign of life along the streambed, or anywhere else that they can see in the clearing. Virgil picks it up after a little while: there’s a quiet, infrequent tinkling of what sounds like tiny wind chimes in the breeze, though he can’t tell exactly where it’s coming from. The noise contributes to the hollow, sorrowful ambiance in the air, as though the wind itself is mourning the destruction.
Virgil sneaks a glance over at Roman. The prince is staring out at the deserted little hamlet, a quiet and an uncharacteristic heaviness in his eyes. Knowledge, awareness, memories—he’s carrying them, he has them associated with this place, though Virgil hasn’t any clue what it had been or represented.
Virgil doesn’t know what to say. He shifts a little awkwardly on his feet, and a silence stretches thickly between the two of them.
Roman raises an arm, all of a sudden, and the landscape trembles. Virgil staggers, caught off guard, and braces against a tree as the split in the earth starts to weld itself back together. Dirt and stone churn up into being out of nowhere, jumping to life eagerly at the prince’s will. The slant between the two sides of the rift doesn’t realign to level ground, but the chasm itself is smoothed over in a matter of moments.
Virgil blinks, then looks back down at the now-healed riverbed. Some of the stones at the bottom of the shallow incline have vanished; the wreckage from the fallen rock towers is gone, and the tiny scattered belongings have been gathered up and tucked carefully into the mouths of the tunnels.
A pulse of scarlet light illuminates the rocks from below, then, and a tiny stone arch erupts out of the ground close to the nearest remaining cairn. Virgil can just make out the shape of small letters engraved into the rock’s surface, something of a runic language that he can’t decipher.
Roman drops his hand, swaying backward a little on his feet. Virgil pushes off of the tree and steps back over to his side, worry twisting in his ribs. “You okay?”
The rise and fall of Roman’s chest is a little heavier than normal, but his jaw is set. “Fine,” he says, stabilizing his stance and meeting Virgil’s eyes. “I’m fine.”
Slowly, the sound of birdsong resumes. There’s a brief stretch of quiet, and then a distant thudding of wingbeats thunders lowly overhead, drawing both their gazes to the sky.
A large shadow flashes over the landscape from above, streaking by like a ghost, there and gone in an instant. Virgil freezes, filled with the distinct impression that the terror in his chest is not unlike that of a mouse under the circling path of a falcon.
Roman, for his part, just grins, looking like a cloud has lifted from his face. A moment passes, then two, and then a great rush of wind and pressure blasts their hair back as a massive form plummets to the clearing floor from the sky, tossing out the giant curtains of its wings to catch its fall. The impact makes Virgil stumble, but Roman’s already moving forward, his face still glowing with a smile as he steps down the sharp incline.
Persephone clicks and rumbles joyfully as Roman rushes up to greet her, tossing her scarlet head back and rattling the spines along her neck. She folds her wings and stoops down to nuzzle his face with her own, smoke billowing from her nostrils in thick plumes. Roman coughs a little through the haze and laughs, hard and happy and earnest, stretching both arms to cup the sides of her jaw. The sounds give Virgil just enough courage to start inching forward.
Virgil makes his way down the slope in the direction of the two, swallowing back the shaky fear in his throat. He casts a fleeting glance over at the freshly-repaired ruins along the riverbed, and is amazed to see that nothing’s been knocked down by the shockwave. Maybe Roman had been protecting it as she had landed, unconsciously or not.
“Who’s a good girl,” he hears Roman crooning, scratching at the palm-sized ruby scales beneath her chin. Persephone purrs—or maybe snarls endearingly? It’s hard to know with dragons—and presses up against him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Her tail thumps the dirt, rattling the branches of the trees and sending another sharp judder through the forest floor.
They both look up as Virgil steps within reach, his arms pulled up nervously to his chest. Persephone swipes her tongue across her cheek, then cranes over to examine him—oh Iero, he’s barely as tall as her shoulder. She shoves her nose into the front of his hoodie, her nostrils flaring and contracting as she sniffs loudly, her black eyes only an arm’s length from his own. She smells like ashes and cardamom, and her breath burns hot against his chest.
There’s a lengthy pause. Persephone’s ear twitches, the gold rings looping through it glimmering faintly in the sun. Then she lowers her eyelids, chuffing a deep, humming noise that vibrates through Virgil’s ribcage. She folds her arms underneath her body like a cat, forcing Virgil down with her, thudding to the ground and curling her tail in the dust.
“Whoa—oh,” Virgil hears himself gasp, some of the air pushed from his lungs at the movement. His legs are pinned a little awkwardly under her face, now, but she seems to know how much weight he can take. Her massive fangs are only inches from his stomach, but she’s being so gentle that he can almost forget about them. Almost.
Virgil glances at Roman, nervous, who nods in encouragement. Gingerly, his breaths high in his chest, he brings an arm up to the dragon’s ear and scratches the scales underneath it, like he saw Roman doing. He earns a syncopated warble of pleasure for his efforts, Persephone closing her eyes completely and tipping her chin against his legs. Her face radiates warmth against his fingers like a steaming mug of hot cocoa.
Oh, wow.
“She likes you,” Roman calls, smiling, stepping over beside them. He sits down and leans back along the side of Persephone’s neck, resting against the smooth scales below her large rack of horns. “She doesn’t kneel for everyone.”
“…Yeah?” Virgil wouldn’t really call it kneeling, in his opinion. It’s a little more like…loafing. He keeps the thought to himself, though, and scratches closer to her ear.
The prince doesn’t continue, and there’s a comfortable stretch of silence. Then Roman sighs, drawing his legs up to his chest, a little bit out of Virgil’s line of vision behind Persephone’s face.
“It’s gonna take a lot of work,” he says.
Virgil doesn’t like the note of exhaustion in his voice. He pauses his scratching. “I know. But it’ll be worth it, right? You get to try new things. You like new things.”
“Yeah.” Roman sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself. “Yeah.”
Virgil hesitates for a moment. “And you won’t be able to get rid of us, either.” He isn’t the comforting type, but he tries to push as much sincerity as he can into his words. “We’ll be around if you need new ideas or anything.”
“Mmm.”
Things fall back into quiet for a little while. Virgil resumes his ministrations on the side of Persephone’s face. Her eyes have reopened, at some point during their talk, and she watches Virgil calmly.
“Thank you,” Roman calls at some point, his voice low.
Virgil smiles. “Don’t sweat it, Brave Sir Robin.”
…
It’s a good while before Persephone lets Virgil up again, and about an hour after that before they make their way back through Roman’s door and into the Mindscape apartment. The prince has regained some of his usual spark after reshaping a damaged watershed basin between two mountain ranges and conversing with the inhabitants of a cliffside elven village. He makes Virgil promise he’ll be at dinner tonight instead of sneaking downstairs after everyone’s gone to bed and eating half a family-size bag of Chips Ahoy.
“Fine,” Virgil concedes, when Roman doesn’t let him leave his room until he says yes. “And that was only one time.”
“Twice,” Roman retaliates. “Logan says he caught you doing it again a month ago.”
Virgil sighs, shooting him a mostly good-natured glare. “Twice.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you then, Not-Silent Nightmare.” Roman bids him farewell with a flourish of his hand, flashing him a smile.
“Okay, Prince Charm-Lacking,” Virgil retorts, grinning back. He ignores the gasp of half-feigned incredulity behind him as he turns and makes his way down the hall toward his room, summoning his headphones and pulling them up over his ears. He hears the little chime go off as the Bluetooth connects to his phone immediately.