Chapter Text
Mythra sipped delicately from her wine glass, appreciating the subtle slightly tangy and lightly fruity flavors and scents of her favorite vintage. You could talk trash all you wanted about Indol or Amalthus (and she did), but the quality of their wine was proportional to Amalthus’ ego. This particular wine had been bottled a little over a century prior in one of Indol’s numerous vineyards. It had an especially long and difficult to pronounce name (typical of Indoline wine) that she refused to even make an attempt at. She simply called it ‘the good stuff’.
The good stuff was Mythra’s go-to for days when she was feeling antsy or irritable. Not that she was feeling that way now. Of course not. It was just that she needed something to help alleviate a little stress. Pyra was making her special Meatball Pot-Au-Feu tonight which would help once it was done, but until then she would just appreciate her favorite wine. She never drank enough of it to become intoxicated. Just enough to relax. The stuff was pretty expensive after all.
She stretched her legs, feeling the muscles tense up and relax as she propped them up on the far arm of the couch. The arm opposite she was leaning herself up against. She was currently wearing white sleeping shorts with green edges that came mid-way down her thighs and a baggy blue shirt. Good for lounging, although she had a different outfit in mind that she could create over herself in an instant for when…
A tiny blur rushed through the room, leaping over the coffee table in a single bound. A small pale skinned bare foot planted itself on the edge of the couch, centimeters away from stepping on Mythra’s lap, and then propelled the owner of said foot into the air in a dramatic flip over the couch.
With a big sigh Mythra sat up, setting her wine on the coffee table. Then, after a moment of imagining Pyra giving her a hard time about it, she moved it a few centimeters over to sit properly on a coaster. That finished she leaned over the back of the couch to peer down at the small form crouched behind it. She was greeted with a mop of messy blonde hair, cut short and a little ragged after a spontaneous decision and easy access to scissors.
“Yo. You hiding?”
“Shhh. Don’t draw attention to me or Auntie Pyra will catch me.”
“Uh-huh.” Mythra shot a look over her shoulder into the kitchen. Pyra was happily stirring away, humming to herself as she often did. “I don’t think that’s a problem. Anyway, if you want to hide, don't make such a dramatic entrance.”
Still whispering the little blonde said, “But Uncle Zeke says~”
Mythra reached down and grabbed the top of that little head, ruffling that blonde hair, identical in color to her own, roughly. “Don’t take advice from Thunderdweeb, okay?”
“Stop...stop!” She awkwardly batted Mythra’s hands away and then tilted her face up, glaring up at Mythra with her light yellow eyes. Those round cheeks puffed up in what Mythra recognized as a very deliberate pout. “Mom...you’ll give me away if you keep doing that.”
With a grin Mythra reached further down and lightly flicked her daughter in the forehead. “Then you know the rules. You want amnesty, you split the goods.”
Clara grumbled in the exaggerated manner only a child could and then reached into her pocket, revealing a cookie. One of the ginger cookies that Pyra had made earlier in the day to act as snacks for after dinner. Clara was forbidden from eating sweets until she’d eaten dinner, but the little rascal always tried to sneak some. That's why they had established a rule. If Clara managed to snag any treats then she split them with her mother or she didn’t get them at all.
Mythra winked and snapped the cookie in half, taking her portion. “Nice doing business with you.”
Her daughter mumbled something incoherent as she stuffed the remaining portion of cookie into her mouth and started chewing. As Mythra turned around to settle back into the couch she saw Pyra lightly shaking her head. Unsurprising. Pyra was well aware of Mythra and Clara’s arrangement. It was tough to get stuff past her sister.
Clara jumped over the back of the couch and landed in a pile, jostling the cushions. Then she edged over and snuggled up against Mythra’s side. “Say Mom, how come you always know when I’ve managed to pilfer goodies from Auntie Pyra?”
“Because with Foresight my victory is inevitable,” she said dryly.
“Foresight?”
Mythra shook her head and wrapped an arm around the little rapscallion. “Don’t worry about it. Just Aegis things.”
“Aegis things? What’s that?”
Mythra smiled and squeezed Clara tighter against her side. “Stuff only old people think about these days. Never you mind.”
Clara settled in even more, stretched out so she was laying down on the couch with her head in Mythra’s lap. Mythra put an arm over her daughter’s waist and reached out to pick up her wine glass. As usual Clara eyed the wine with curiosity. Mythra smirked. “Want a taste?”
Those brilliant yellow eyes lit up. “Really? You never let me have any!”
“Sure, but this is just a sip. I doubt you’ll like it.”
“I will!” Clara hurriedly sat up and extended her hands. So Mythra passed her the glass, keeping her features as neutral as possible.
Hurriedly, in case her mother took it back, Clara took a long sip of the wine. Then Mythra watched as Clara’s face contorted, her mouth puckering up and her eyes narrowing. Slowly she handed back the wine glass and, her voice sounding withdrawn like she had tasted something violently sour, she said, “It’s...delicious.”
“Liar.” Cracking a smile Mythra took a drink of the wine and sighed as she savored that intricate flavor.
Clara grumbled and stood up from the couch, putting her arms across her chest. “You knew I wasn’t gonna like it.”
“Like I said. Foresight.”
With a loud ‘bleh’, Clara stuck her tongue out. Then she started to amble towards the kitchen, but paused and looked back at Mythra. She gave her mother a once over and then grinned wickedly. Out loud she said, “Auntie Pyra, is Dad really getting back from his trip today?”
Without looking away from her cooking Pyra replied. “That’s what his letter said. Should be home in time for dinner. That’s why you shouldn’t eat those cookies. He likes them too.”
Clara gawked at her Aunt for a moment, surprised as always that she had been caught in the act. She quickly shook that off and kept talking. “Hey Auntie Pyra, do you know how I can tell that Dad is getting back tonight and Mom is antsy about it?”
Mythra blinked rapidly. When had this suddenly become about her? “Hang on, who said anything about me being antsy?”
Her daughter slinked closer and batted playfully at Mythra’s hair, which hung behind her and over the side of the couch. “Mom only puts her hair in a ponytail when she hasn’t seen Dad in a while. Because she misses him. Because she’s in wuv…”
“Are...are you trying to bully me? Your own mother? You’ve got a lot of nerve, you little so and so…”
Clara stuck her tongue out again and pranced away and into the kitchen. She tugged at the end of Pyra’s apron. “Hey, Auntie Pyra, don’t you think it’s funny how tough Mom acts and then she gets all flustered when Dad says nice stuff?”
“Occasionally.” Mythra could hear the amusement in her sister’s voice.
Mythra growled and downed the last of her wine, standing up suddenly. She started to stomp into the kitchen, but remembered after a moment to set the wine glass down onto a coaster. “Come here you little brat…”
“Eeep!” Clara dashed away, but Mythra converted her body into light and teleported in front of her daughter, grasping her around the waist. “No fair! Ether powers are cheating!”
Pyra looked over her shoulder at the pair. “No wrestling in the kitchen.”
“Right right.” Without another word she picked her daughter up and jumped directly from the kitchen back into the living room and heaved the little girl up into the air.
“Wait, Mom, think about this for a second!”
“Seventh Rule of Mom’s Code. Never leave a debt unpaid!” With a wicked laugh she tossed Clara onto the couch and dove in, viciously tickling her daughter’s sides. Clara giggled and shrieked, desperately and ineffectively trying to fend off Mythra’s attack.
In that singular moment Mythra felt perfectly happy.
Her fingers slowed their tickling and her shoulders slumped, her ponytail sliding over her shoulder, the tip of her hair brushing the floor. “Mom?,” Clara asked tentatively.
Mythra’s hands slipped away from Clara and came to rest on the couch cushion, which she gripped tightly. Tears slid down her cheeks and she felt her throat tightening. “Stop...please just stop it…”
“Mom? What’s wrong? Mom, you’re scaring me.” Clara’s hands came to Mythra’s shoulders and shook them. Her hands were so small. So soft.
Words choking in her throat, Mythra bit out the words one by one. “I don’t know...whether I should thank you or hate you…”
“Mom? Please...what’s wrong? Mom?” Clara’s voice cracked and grew higher with each word.
“Stop it. Damn it...stop!”
The couch, the floor, the walls, the kitchen, the house, and Clara burst apart and faded away, like ash in the wind. Mythra stood in a circular room, facing the half a man that had created her. Her Father. The Architect. She scrubbed the tears from her eyes with her forearm, glaring at him.
Behind and to her sides were her friends, all standing still as the grave, staring directly ahead. Likely locked into worlds and thoughts and strange scenarios of their own. “Why?,” she demanded.
“It was not intended as a cruelty. Just as a reflection of possibility and desire. You could even call it a father’s foolhardy attempt to reach out to his daughter.” Father’s voice was old and weak, but full of wisdom. And sorrow. A sorrow Mythra knew all too well.
“So you thought you’d show me something I could never have? Was that a kindness?” She hated the sound of her own voice in that moment, filled with fury and aching with despair.
“That was not my intent.”
Mythra turned in a circle, taking in the view of her friends stuck in their own worlds. Her eyes fixated on Rex. In that dream, that desperate plea for a future that could never happen, had he been…
Gently she reached out and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Rex…”
Determination flooding into her she spun around to face Father. “Send me back. Send me, send us to Rex.”
“Is that what you want?”
“He needs us.”
“And?”
“Yes, that’s what I want.”
“Then so be it.”
Mythra found herself sitting at a wooden table. A familiar one that she recognized from their visit to Fonsett Village. Corrinne’s house. Corrine’s kitchen. Pyra was working at the stove, just as in the previous dream. Instinctively she knew that this was truly Pyra, not some facsimile.
The door slowly creaked open and Mythra smiled as her sister greeted their Driver. Greeted Rex. Turning her head to look at him Mythra pushed aside the memories of a sweet child, with her blonde coloring and Rex’s messy hair and all the tenacity and vibrancy of youth.
“You’re late, Rex. Where did you wander off to?”