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Chapter Text

Emma has about three seconds to breathe freely before she can resume her normal schedule of thinking I should stop jinxing myself… This is around when the honeycombed purple void shield shatters and everything starts shaking like Cysero’s lab on a particularly explosive day - like the kind of day that leads to Warlic’s initiation of yellow line policies.

Tomix’s sharp “Hold ON!” rings clear through the rumbling void, but for Emma it only registers faintly. She’s too busy thinking of all the destruction that will tear through the ship and the people on it if nothing can be done. Of Izaac, whose already lost an eye to the void, of Mazurek, who lives to sail and has to be in tip-top shape in order to lead her crew of pirates, of Riadne, whose already been hurt so much, but will still fight and struggle to stand to the aid of the others. The people of this crew, for the most part, willingly volunteered for this trip knowing the danger, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s nothing but reinforced wood protecting them from the force of the infinite since the shield is failing.

And, she knows that Tomix will break a little bit more, feeling the weight of all of their pain on shoulders already stooped with the ghosts of his past, because Tomix is kind and guilt-ridden and won’t see the choices of his crew but only the danger he has led them to. Everyone on this ship has their own struggles and hardships that she can’t know, encased in a glacial prison as she was, but Emma does know that she doesn’t want anyone on this ship to be hurt any more.

She clutches the beam in front of her, and thinks, There has to be a way to protect them!

There’s a flash of icy-blue, and the voice that echoes in her head is now a friendly chill that exclaims, I’m here, Emma.

Emma knows that voice, even if she's not used to hearing it echo in her head. It’s the voice of valor and ice, of a protective heart and her precious Soul Ally, one of the few voices of light that was able to filter through her wintery prison.

Aegis! She calls out, Can you shield the entire ship, or at least the crew?

The ice spirit pauses, gaze distant as he evaluates the situation. Finally, Aegis gives Emma a hesitant nod. Since I’m stronger now, I can probably shield the whole ship, but… for something this large I’d need to have my symbols on it to focus my power, since I’m a being of the Elemental Plains and not the Physical plane. 

This is the part he doesn’t like - Aegis pauses, but knows that no matter what the cost is to herself, his Soul-Ally will want to know how she can help, so…The only way to run my power through the ship itself for the shields is for me to use a physical conduit thats connected to the ship. Since I don’t have the physical symbols, the only link I have to the ship is through you.

Emma finishes the thought. And channeling enough power to shield the whole ship would be really stressful, probably harmful, and potentially deadly, right?

Yes, Aegis answers, And in the worst case scenario, if you channel my power for too long… you might freeze. I could shield each individual person by tracking their souls, but the chances of missing someone is higher, and the ship would still be wrecked so you’d still be stranded.

The choice left to Emma is silent but clear. She can choose to channel Aegis’s power and possibly revisit her glacial grave, or she can sit back and hope Aegis is able to cover everyone - and she has mere seconds to make the choice. Aegis, bound to her very soul, knows that her icy prison has affected her deeply no matter how she might hide it and will not judge what she chooses. Spirit of Valor he may be, but he doesn’t want her to freeze anymore than she wants to be frozen.

The entire conversation, at thought-speed, takes the span of a breath. Emma hesitates for a breath more. She feels the rumbling ship in her grip and under her boots, and glances at Aegis. Stress, harm, and potential death? Just a normal day for the hero of Lore. Lets do it!

Aegis complies. He phases through her and his already complex armor changes again, becomes more elaborate as he strengthens his tie to the physical world and augments his power through his bond with Emma. His charm spins wildly in front of him as his insignia appears faintly glowing periodically through the ship. Translucent blue shields manifest with the signs and shift to cover the ship, accompanying a ten degree drop in temperature. The cold may be uncomfortable to many of the passengers, but it definitely beats being ripped up by thunderous void gale storms.

Emma has her own task, beyond standing as conduit for Aegis’s power. As a soul-weaver, no matter how inexperienced she may be, she can sense the Soul Threads that run through each living being. This means that she can track the threads to each person and strengthen the shields around them, though only to a small degree for that many people. Shields aren’t really her specialty, they never last too long with her. 

(Tomix, being the master Soul-Weaver that he is, can tell that Emma is searching and helps to guide her along. Even if he’s distracted by the rumbling ship and can’t use Aegis’s power, he’ll still help where he can, when he’s not lying to her and launching her from catapults)

Their work is not perfect by any means, but as the glowing blue shields handle the brunt of the void, Emma and Aegis know that their work isn’t meaningless. Ice creeps its way up Emma’s fingers like a living gauntlet, but the grim satisfaction in her expression doesn’t fade. Frost caps her nose and ears, but Emma can see see everything settle, feel the tremors of the ship die down to a hum, then vanish. They’re floating safely through the Ynnungaap, and though the ship and its inhabitants are somewhat battered, everything is a lot better off than it could have been, had Aegis not arrived.

And, since the rumbling has stopped, Aegis can fade back to his normal state outside of the Elemental Plains. His armor melts into its simpler form (though nowhere near as basic as his armor from ten years ago, and Emma still can’t quite believe how much he’s changed), and Aegis becomes a little more ethereal. Though he can still interact with the physical plane, he’s less of an avatar of protective arctic cold and more of a strangely solid storm cloud - powerful, to be sure, but nothing so rigid and absolute. 

He staggers, unused to maintaining that strong a bond to the physical plane for so long. This kind of pales in comparison to Emma crashing gracelessly to the sleek wooden planks below her, physically as well as magically spent and maybe three degrees away from hypothermia.

Tomix appears at her side, frowning as he inspects Emma’s soul threads. While it may appear that he’s fingering the air, he’s in truth pulling gently at silver string lined with glowing cyan filigree. Even with soul-formed ‘hands’, his touch is gentle and patient as he teases at the strands and strengthens some of them with his own power. His exhausted gold eyes have a touch of softness to them that's rare like amber. 

Aegis, focused on Emma’s phantom shivers as he is, still can’t help but notice when Riadne peeks at the scene with a bittersweet curve to her lips. She quickly shakes herself out of it and continues to patch up Izaac, leaving the ice spirit to wonder about what he just saw.

Emma struggles to sit up under Tomix’s careful gaze, but still searches for the strength to call out, “Is everyone alright?!”

Ignoring Vaal’s answering, “I am!”, Tomix murmurs, “Better than we would be, thanks to you. But, we’re still checking.” 

He turns around to the others who have gathered and asks, “How are things, Riadne?”

Glancing at Tomix, the Arachnomancer replies, “Things aren’t looking too great. There are at least 15 people injured, but I think we can manage. Possibly. As long as people stop panicking.”

“Aye, the lass be right,” Mazurek adds, “Tani, Marey, and two others are missing. I fear they be down in Davey Jones’ locker.” She’s leaning against a pillar looking like she not got a care in the world, except her face is lined with anxious energy and her cream blouse is spotted with tears and soot.

“We don’t know that yet, Maz.” Tomix counters, standing to face her. “They might be under the deck.”

The dark-skinned pirate sighs. She forces herself to relaxes and moves to go back to the crowd to help with damage control when Eirn approaches at a run with a grim scowl marring his face. His expression is soon mirrored by the others who now expect nothing good.

Eirn complies with expectations, barking out as he nears, “Bad news! The Void Drive is functional but has been severed from every link that connects it to the ship. I can’t repair it with the tools and materials that we have.”

There is a pause as everyone digests this inconvenient little tidbit. Izaac is the first to speak up. “What… do you mean by that?” His lone eye is wide and disbelieving, knowing the answer and hoping that he’s wrong.

Eirn, no more enthusiastic, sighs, “We’re… stranded. Adrift, in the void.”

“Oh Avatars…” Riadne swears from where she’s still working, kneeling in a pool of spiders and silk.

Under the spider queen’s healing touch, Izaac lights up, “The portals! Here and Ravenloss! I linked them, remember? We can use them for supplies!”

Tomix stands shadowed next to the blond. His eyes, always tired since he doesn’t actually sleep, have deeper bags under them born from stress, and his face is scraped up. He snaps, “You think I didn’t check that first? There are no portals!” Sighing as he tries to release his temper, the silver-haired man continues, “You must have forgotten them.”

“What?! No!” Izaac scrambles to stand upright, face to face with Tomix. “The portals have to be there, I’m positive I conjured them.”

“Well, they’re not there!”

Indignant at the accusation, Izzac plants his hands on his hips and says, “Bu- but that isn’t possible, Tomix. I know I conjured them, and if they’re gone, then that means someone must have dispelled them!”

Tomix is about to say something when a grey-skinned, horned unael interrupts, bearing a feathery tawny prisoner bearing a strong resemblance to a jungle fury with a humanoid face. Yashta rumbles, “Its her. I found her unconscious below the deck. She’s not one of the crew, so she must be the saboteur.”

Now Tomix looks ready to burst a vessel. He’s gaping at the prisoner, and barely restrains himself from screaming when he interrogates her. “Why… Why would you - who are you?!”

Nonplussed, the feathery monkey-wrench answers, “I think my name is Beige. Hello” with a childish, high voice.

“Hel- what?” Tomix sputters. “Did you do something to our ship?”

Beige answers blandly, “Yes. I was supposed to delay you.”

If he was angry before,the handless Soul-Weaver is now apocalyptic. He fumes and gesticulates wildly with his dark hand-constructs that leave violet afterimages in his wake, reddens with fury as he shouts, “You- People died… might have died, BECAUSE OF YOU!”

“I think I’m sorry. Should I be sorry?” Beige says this with juvenile confusion, like she doesn’t even understand what she did is wrong. Its becoming worryingly clear that she really can’t see the problem.

Tomix is panting now, speechless and ignoring the wary glances of his makeshift audience. He’s wild and distraught, gold eyes twitching like he can’t decide if he’s angrier at the Fury look-alike or himself or the universe in general. He doesn’t notice Emma, still paler than normal but looking less like a ghost, pushing herself up to stand until she’s next to him asking, “Tomix… ?”

He snaps, “WHAT?!”

Knowing that Tomix isn’t mad at her but is rather just reacting to the first thing to catch his attention away from his self-deprecating brooding, Emma continues in a soft voice, “You must calm down. Take a deep breath, everything will be okay, alright?”

She puts a friendly hand on his shoulder - possibly the first amiable touch he’s received in ages, since he can’t touch others and is a master of keeping up walls around himself - and Tomix sags at the contact. He raises a hand to pinch at the scar on his nose before he remembers that he can’t really do that right now. 

Instead, he drops his hand and lets out a deep breath. “I… need a moment. Emma, I know you’re tired, but please take charge…”

Tomix waits until she nods, “Yes, of course” before he turns to stalks below deck, away from the vast majority of the people on deck. 

Emma squeezes his shoulder gently before letting him go, then turns to the people around her.

“Alright… ” she starts, “Yashta, I need you to interrogate the subject, see if you can find out who she’s working for and how she got here. Don’t be too harsh, if you can.” Good, her voice wavers only barely at the beginning, and it smooths out to a sturdier tone.

The Atrean nods and carries the prisoner off below deck, holding her by the scruff of her neck as if she were a fidgeting kitten rather than a saboteur who could potentially have doomed the whole ship of people to the rest of their life in the Ynnungaap.

Turning to the captain, Emma continues, “Mazurek, check to see if we can still set course, and get the people who are able to work started on what they can.”

Captain Mazurek grins, “Aye-aye, captain” and saunters off calling to her crew, “Hey, all ya land-lubbers out there, if yer not busy or injured, you’d better get your boots over here now! We got stuff to do.”

As able-bodied sailors gather around her for further instructions, Emma looks at Riadne, who is understandably stressed, and Izaac, who appears to be fine aside from an unsure gaze and some spiderweb bandages. She orders, “Izaac, help Riadne with the injured crew members, and between the two of you see who can still work and who should maintain bed rest.”

Riadne, tired she may be with deep lines in her brow and rumpled hair and robes, nevertheless replies, “Of course, Emma” in a clear voice and leaves with Izaac in tow.

Emma’s probably being too curt right now, but she’s still shaken. Aegis is her Soul-Ally and friend, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world, but that much contact with his power still reminds her hauntingly of years lost to frigid crystal and fragments of distorted vision. Letting out a sigh, the de-facto leader is interrupted by a curious, “Is there anything I can do?” before she can address Eirn.

Emma starts, then turns to face the blue ice spirt. “Oh yeah, Aegis! You’re here!” she pauses, then muses, “And how did you get here, anyways?”

Aegis replies, “Oh, I can be anywhere you are, with a bit of energy. Since we’re linked and all.”

Grinning, Emma exclaims, “Thats fantastic! Can you create a portal to Ravenloss?”

The spirit droops like a snowman left out too long. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that…”

“Oh…” Of course it couldn’t be that simple. Well, its not really Aegis’s fault, anyhow. “How did you get here then, exactly?” Emma asks.

“Through the Plane of Elemental Spirits.” Aegis says. Anticipating her next question, he continues, “And no, I can’t transport living people.”

Recalling her experience with the plane, being unable to fight the massive Uthuluc due to being nothing more than a useless floating ball of light, she pouts, Yeah, I remember that…

Its a shame that he can’t really do transport, but Aegis has already proven helpful and is definitely a welcome ally in the deep darkness. He is a sign of safety in the void, and has probably already made the difference between trouble and a disaster. (Also, Emma idly notes that she should really try to learn more about Aegis’s powers, when they’re not facing potential doom. It might be kind of helpful for the future, and the future will come for all of them) 

Emma swallows her disappointment, knowing its unjustified and irrational, and says, “Ok, Aegis, can you keep a lookout for anything unusual? And, after Izaac is done helping Riadne, can you see if he can work something out with you about portals? It may be a long shot, but its better than nothing, right?”

Aegis lights up, cheerful now that there’s he can help the rebuilding efforts, even if indirectly. He chirps, “Aye aye!” and vanishes in a pillar of phantom ice, reappearing perched impossibly on the mast of the ship.

The hero of Lore smiles up at her companion before muttering, “…Wait. Where was I?”

Seeing the red-head gnome in her line of vision, she remembers, “Oh! Eirn, update me on the ships status. Is there anything besides the Void Drive connections that needs to be fixed?”

Eirn answers, “The hull is damaged, some of the sails tore, and we lost a lot of the food supplies and some people… We do have the extra Trithril, though, so if we can patch up the ship we can reapply the protective coating.”

“There’s that, at least.” Emma rubs at the spot between her eyes. “Ok, I’ll go find Tomix. Send for me if any trouble comes up.”

With that, she heads off towards the lower deck. As she passes by, clusters of people stop what they’re doing and urgently ask her how things are looking. She answers quickly as she scans the area. Yes, we have lost some supplies and people. No, the Void Drive isn’t broken, its just not connected at the time. Don’t worry, we’ll fix what we can and we’ll find everyone who is missing one way or another. Just keep up the good work, and sorry, but I have something to check up on.

The people on the ship are panicked and confused, and they’re looking to her for news and hope as their leader, since Tomix is nowhere to be seen. Lauded as the hero of lore despite her inactivity by ten year ‘cold’, Emma is still a shining beacon through the dark void that people can tether their faith on to. This is the knowledge that has her swallowing her frustrations and her fraying temper at the interruptions, answering briskly so that she can stay in motion as she makes her way towards the window that Tomix had unofficially claimed for himself.

Sure enough, the agitated Soul-Weaver is there. Sensing her approach through the web of Soul-Threads surrounding him, Tomix speaks up without shifting his gaze from the swirling void, “It’s not getting any better, is it?”

Emma weaves as much cheer as she can into her voice and replies, “Well, the ship’s pretty damaged, but at least we’re not sinking!”, hoping to maybe get Tomix to crack a smile or something.

“I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you into this whole mess when I should have gone after Envy alone… especially since you’ve just…”

Yeah, that didn't work, Emma ruefully thinks, didn’t think it would. Out loud, she scolds, “First off, this isn’t your fault. Secondly, we all volunteered for this. Don’t beat yourself up. We’re all big kids, we can make our own choices.”

Tomix just glances at her, doesn’t reply. Its not an agreement that she’s right and he doesn’t need to blame himself, but its not an outright refusal of the idea either, so when he abruptly says, “Lets go see if Yashta has made any progress with the… creature.” Emma takes what she can get and trails behind him as they head up the stairs. 

Fortuitously, Yashta is also arriving on deck, so they waste no time in meeting up with him. He greets them with a no-nonsense, “I was just about to send for you.”

Tomix, just as brisk, asks, “What have you learned?”

Yashta only manages to get as far as, “She was created by someone named Aspar…” when he’s interrupted by Emma’s and Tomix’s tandem, strangled chokes.

“You… didn’t tell him?” Tomix frowns when he can talk again.

Emma shrugs. “I though you did.”

“I didn’t,” he grimaces.

“Right…” Emma trails off. Yashta is watching the two of them like he’s questioning their sanity, or he wants to ask what in Lore is going on but won’t because its impolite. So, turning to the blank-faced Atrean, she fills him in, “Yashta, Aspar is the bad guy we’re chasing. He’s in the Deep Void core, our destination.”

Yashta nods and continues without preamble, “Very well. She was created by him for the sole purpose of sabotaging the ship.”

The hero of Lore blinks. Just about speechless, all she can really say is, “Huh?” 

Yashta takes that as his cue to elaborate, “She said it was her only purpose in life.” His voice is minimally softer, like he empathizes with the feathery intruder, or pities her. It makes sense to Emma, seeing as he’s supposed to be destined to help her in future adventures (she’s still working on changing that pesky little ‘servant’ part of the whole thing), that he would know what it’s like to have a set destiny looming over him.

Tomix frowns, digging deeper lines into his brow. “What do you mea- where is she?”

“She died a couple minutes ago.” Yashta explains, eyes closed and head bowed in mourning respect for the dead. “She dissolved into liquid.”

“This is baaaad,” Tomix frets. His eyes are wide and unseeing as he processes the utter disaster that this is. “Very bad. I didn’t know Envy was capable of such a thing…” And, he doesn’t want to think about what exactly Envy would do with such a power - what he’s probably doing right now, if he’s read his former friend correctly.

Emma doesn’t quite understand all the implications of this news, though she can guess from what she knows of Soul-Weaving (and, more obviously, from Tomix’s abject horror). Still, Tomix is liable to spiral into another despair-laden disaster which his flailing self-esteem definitely does not need, so she tries to nip it in the bud and firmly states, “We will get him, Tomix. We will!”

The silver-haired man glances at her gratefully, then blinks and turns to look behind the hero. Thats all the warning that Emma gets before a cheerful block of ice pops up behind her and drops off its friendly spirit passenger before departing. Emma is starting to suspect that Aegis likes freaking her out for the heck of it when he says, “Umm… excuse me?”

Silently thanking Tomix for the cue, since it saves her from one of her strange startle-spasms, Emma turns to Aegis and asks, “Whats up?”

The icy spirit gestures to a distant patch of darkness in the distance, bobbing gently in the void. “We’re heading towards a floating island. I thought you might want to know.” He offers them a telescope, which Tomix picks up after fiddling with a pair of thick gloves specially woven to let his soul hand impressions interact with the material world (and Emma still hasn’t forgiven Tomix for The Catapult Incident that first introduced her to the cursed things).

Peering through the metal tube, Tomix lets out an excited bark, “Eirn, good news! I see a forest!”

The gnome cheers, “Yes! That means wood. We’ll be able to repair some of the damage.” He scurries off to tell the other members of the crew the good news, and Tomix passes the telescope over to Emma.

Emma looks through the scope and takes in the sight. The void is beautiful, in an eerie way, and with the help of the lens she can see the faint, saffron bubble that surrounds the whole island, a stark vision in the purple expanse. She points out, “Its surrounded by a magic bubble of some sort,” wondering what the purpose of the barrier is.

Tomix replies, “We’ll deal with it when we get there, but now we need to form scouting teams.” 

A small crowd has gathered at the bow at the news of the island, chattering excitedly and brimming with tentatively hopeful speculation. Tomix addresses this crowd, “Who is available for scouting? Remember, fixing the up the ship is first priority,” and watches as the majority of the people hustle away with cheerier springs in their steps.

“I am,” Yashta speaks up first. He’s back to his impassive demeanor again, looking to no more than the mission ahead of him once again.

Matey has a roughish grin for them as he drawls, “Count me in.”

“Always,” Emma replies.

Tomix frowns at her. “Are you sure that you’re up for it? I mean, I don’t doubt your strength, but you kind of… overworked yourself protecting the ship. Your threads are still more faint than normal.”

Emma sighs. She expected this, to be honest, since Tomix is the kind of guy who worries about everyone except himself. This time, though, she’s not going to just sit back and let the others handle this mess (she studiously ignore the fact that she literally never sits back when anything happens, regardless of her general state of health).

She instead says, “Tomix, I’m fine. I don’t really know enough about ships to be much help on board, anyways.” Seeing that he’s still hesitating, she continues in a whisper, “And, I don’t really think I can handle staying still right now.”

Something in her voice resonates with the Soul-Weaver, vibrates through luminescent threads. Tomix can tell just by the tone of her voice that this is one of Emma’s rarer serious moments - even after all these years, her mannerisms and behavior are as memorable as ever, unchanged through the long gap (obvious enough, since she herself is a living relic of ten years past.)

It’s thinking of the ten year gap in her life - at the bittersweet reunion when it finally sunk in that he, at 28, was thirteen years older than a friend he’d only been three years older than previously - that finally jolts the realization. Hypothermia, or the nearness of, is chilling enough to trigger memories of the prison of ice that stopped her cold for that endless decade. Tomix huffs and finally answers, “Alright.”

Louder, he continues, “Yashta, you go with Matey. Look for usable materials and anything edible. Especially look for anything that might make for a good hull or good fibers. I’ll go with Emma to do the same.”

The Altrean and the pirate both give their affirmations and get themselves supplied with bags to carry supplies in. Emma and Tomix are about to do the same when Aegis floats over to them and asks, “May I go, too?”

Emma thinks for a moment. Charting unknown territory in the void, she would feel a lot safer with her living shield by her side. At the same time… “I’d rather have you on the ship,” Emma admits, holding his hand briefly in her own two hands to give it a reassuring squeeze. “We don't know what to expect from the island, so you should stay here and protect the crew.”

Letting go of his hand, she adds, “You can take the time to have your glyphs put up throughout the ship. And, there’s no one I’d trust for protecting more than you, Aegis!”

Aegis looks slightly pouty still, but he grants Emma a thumbs up and exclaims, “Understood!”

Tomix glances at Emma. They’ve got their stuff and they’re ready to set out. 

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

"Promise you'll protect them"

"I will" 

oOoOo 

There's a lot to learn on the path of heroism. One of the harshest lessons is this - you can't save everybody. There will always be that one second, that one lapse in attention, that one enemy that you can't quite beat - and then one more life is gone. It hurts, leads to sleepless nights of "What could I have done?", burns the seconds that made a world of difference in the scape of your mind until all you can see is the pain and despair and blood blood blood staining the world red...

Emma learns this the hard way.

oOoOo 

"You... you were supposed to save them! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A HERO"

"I... I tried."

"You failed."

oOoOo 

The problem with promises is that they can't always be kept. Whether you simply forget, or you try and fall short, or you’ve struck a bad turn of fate, there's always a chance that the oath will fall through. Crack like glass and shatter to fractured prisms, leaving only sharp edges and wounds in its wake. It doesn't make a difference if you're a hero or not, because every being in existence, save one, can make earth-shattering mistakes.

Emma doesn't realize this until she's faced with her own weakness and mortality.

oOoOo 

"You didn't keep your promise."

oOoOo 

The chains of regret are an anchor that weigh down the heart and soul, drown you in what-ifs and no longer existent possibilities. They trap you in an endless spiral, taunt you with the idea that you could have been strong enough - should have been strong enough, to save everyone you meet, that it's your fault that they didn't survive.

Emma knows that well-meaning lie is no more than the cruelest falsehood, the ultimate pride of a mortal who believes herself to be perfect.

oOoOo 

"I can't save everyone. I still remember those I couldn't save, but I can't live my life in regret! There are still those who need me and I'll be the best hero I can be!"

oOoOo

One of the most important lessons of heroism is this - you'll fail, you'll crash and burn and make mistakes, and you'll helplessly watch the world crumble before you. You'll also succeed, soar above the world thats putting itself back together, and see smiles and dances and joy.

Emma wakes up each day and walks forwards, looking back to learn but never to dwell in chains - this is how she studies, how she grows, how she carves out the path of a better hero, and a better human. 

oOoOo

"Promise you'll protect them."

“I will try."

Chapter Text

Emma doesn’t usually have free time, but even heroing come with slow days. 

The Hero of Lore generally relishes in these quiet snapshots. Sometimes she’ll pick up a book - fantasies about other heroes and their adventures or stories of magic-less worlds or tomes on the latest arcane theories or just an anthology of beautiful artwork - and sit at her ledge by Oaklore, reading until the sun is dyeing the sky a burning, liquid orange and the words on thick pages are nothing more than smears in the twilight. 

Other times, Emma will dig up her brushes and inks and she’ll choose a random town to wander from until she finds a scene that she’d love to recreate in pigment and brush-strokes. She’ll venture into the Sandsea and capture the burning desert heat that blanket Zhoom’s calloused hands or she’ll take a short hike through the glaciers of Dragsvard and trap the icy winds on canvas. After those days are done, Emma will give the finished print to the first person she sees whose willing to accept it, since the adventuring life isn’t exactly conducive to preserving delicate artworks.

There are days, though, when Emma does none of these things. She feels the weight of the lives she couldn’t save, a titanic darkness pulling her heart down and down and down and tugging at her soul when she has a quiet moment, body cleared of adrenaline and battle-sense. Its all Emma can do to drag herself through the haze of sorrow on these days so she can make her way to grave sites and memorials.

oOoOo

Emma finishes her rounds by a grave by a tree, under clouds so dense they might as well be filled with her grief. 

Rain beats a thick tattoo on her head, drags icy tracks across her cheeks and drips heavy trails down her back. The drops press down on her like the cadence of speech, words that will cling to her forever even as the teardrops dry.

“You didn’t keep your promise.” Accusation. Resignation. I know… I know. There’s nothing I’d have loved more than to be able to keep that promise. For me, for you… for him.

“Keep on helping people, just like you have helped me thousands of times. You are an inspiration.” Gratefulness, and satisfaction. But I couldn’t help you. In the end, there was nothing I could do. 

“A true hero.” Pride threaded through joy. Except you were the true hero…

“Don’t go…” “I’ll miss you.” Longing that dyes peace in deep violet blue. You shouldn’t have to, you should be living with your wife, getting your shop ready for business and kids. All you had was serenity in the end, didn’t you deserve so much more?

The torrent of celestial tears slows, then trickles to a stop. Soft silver pokes through the clouds, shooing away at the darkness that’s draped over Emma in a heavy cloak and replacing it with a shroud of silence. The air is crisp and clear as diamonds, chill enough to be discomforting, but not so that Emma would even think about moving. 

Feather-light footsteps rustle behind her. Emma doesn’t turn, though she closes her eyes and sharpens to attention. 

“This isn’t the kind of night to be out.” The voice is young and deliberately casual.

“Yeah...”

He continues with the same, light lilt as if he hadn’t heard her pseudo response, “You know, there are better ways to take your daily shower.”

Emma opens her eyes and turns. There is a boy standing three strides away, in the shadows of a straggling cloud. She addresses this boy, asking, “You sound familiar… Have I met you before?”

“Well, you’re a hero,” he answers cheerfully, “You’ve probably met everyone in Lore at least once in passing.”

The shadows shift, and the boy is dyed in moonlight. For a moment, his hair appears silver, and though she can’t see his eyes, Emma still has to shake the vestigial images of an old friend out of her mind. She brings herself back to the hill, away from the void, and its clear that his hair is actually a deep crimson red in the bright moon-glow. Also, he’s about 14 years too young to be her older friend. 

He continues, “Still, you should know me a little better, right? I mean, I don't think my good-bye was bad - or good - enough for you to completely forget about me.”

Emma narrows her eyes at the boy, disbelief clashing with trembling flickers of hope. He raises his gaze from the bejeweled grass at his feet to her face, and familiar topaz-gold glitters in her sight.

She lunges at the red-head desperately and grabs at him in a reckless hold. He flails in surprise, then wraps his smaller arms around the soggy hero. He can hear her mutter, “Tomix… Tomix. You’re back." 

Emma eventually holds him out at arms length, idly noting that at his new age, Tomix is about her height (rather than being a head taller like he had been before). The Hero shakes Tomix’s shoulders, laughing and crying, “Where have you been? You were supposed to help me with the Rose problem, not go off and die. Moron.”

She hugs him again, and Tomix takes the opportunity to sink into her embrace, leaning into the warmth of his hero and friend that he can feel even through rain-soaked robes. He closes his eyes and promises past damp cloth, “I’ll try not to do that again anytime soon.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Emma grins. She makes a quick show of giving him a once-over, then teases, “I never expected to be older than you. Age doesn’t usually work like that, I’d think.”

Tomix pouts at the reminder, looking more like a wet kitten than a Soul-Weaver. The turn of his lips soon twitches up to a smile, though, and he answers, “Yeah, thats a bit of a story. Which you’re not hearing until we’re actually dry.”

Chapter Text

Once Emma scoops up the innocuous scrap of cloth with her handy-dandy stick, she hightails it out of the Deadlands (because the name itself is kind of indicative of how much she does not want to stay), refusing to stop until the cracked, blood-stained ground and charred trees have given way to miles of rustling leaves and whispering streams under flapping gryphon wings.

Spotting a clearing, Emma directs the gryphon downwards, leaping from its back and releasing it before driving the cloth-bearing stick into bare dirt. She marches around the perimeter of her new campsite, regularly stopping and setting her staff to the earth so she can lay down her strongest warding sigils - only after this is done does she feel comfortable enough to leave the artifact alone and gather firewood, which she desperately needs in order to chase the chill eeriness of the Deadlands away.

Its simple enough to set up the tent and fire after that - she has more than enough experience after four(teen, but only on a technicality) years of wandering adventures. 

Sitting down and ignoring the the scrap is much tougher. It has subtly mesmerizing pattern to it, barely shifting and swirling like its tugging at the shadows, luring the dancing wraiths thrown by flame light into its woven net. As the adrenaline from her fight with the cursed skeleton fades, she finds herself turning her gaze to the shifting blackness of the cloth.

The more Emma looks... the more she’s drawn in. And, the more Emma tries to look away, the more she feels the cloth’s pull, tempting her to turn around and observe just a little longer, because surely it can’t hurt to just look, maybe memorize the changing pattern so she can try to capture the mirage in color and paint.

Her fire snaps with a spray of cinders, startling Emma into shaking away the shadowy fog in her mind. She slaps her hands over her face, covering her eyes and taking a shuddering breath to calm her agitated blood. A few seconds more, and she might have been pulled in.

Without opening her eyes, she mutters, “Ok, keep it together, Emma” and focuses her thoughts to building a mental wall between herself and the cloth (she thinks of a flash of icy blue, thinks maybe it could help, if only she’d call, but then the whisper is swallowed up in darkness and she’s left with only herself and the cloth in her mind)

Hoping her imaginary wall can hold, Emma pulls her shaking hands from her face, folding them in her lap before turning her thoughts back to the fragment. It’s still staked by the fire, in the exact place she first set it.

Its almost surreal, how such a small thing can hold enough evil to draw the attention of cultists who want to use it, of Sepulchure seeking her help in keeping it out of their hands…

Emma wonders if she should destroy it, or keep it. She has a fire crackling right there, it would be so easy to drop the cloth in and watch the shadows burn away… but what if she held on to it? She could bring it to Warlic, ask him to look into this cloth and see what powers it holds, find out why its so dangerous…

(Emma doesn’t notice the artifact pulse with poisonous violet light. She doesn’t know that the light is reflected on the lines and curves of her face.)

But, if she keeps it… she could wear the cloth. It would certainly look beautiful, stark shadow against the pearly white trim of her collar… only for a day or so…

(The artifact gleams a clear purple despite the flickering orange light of the campfire. Its mirrored by the glaze on her once-brown eyes)

Or... she could keep the cloth forever…

She reaches toward the scrap of shifting gloam…

And dark energy spills through her outstretched fingers, violet light bursting past treetops with an echoing screech.