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Eleanor Arconis was a lot of things. She was a paranoid abuser, and a protective mother. She was a dangerous outcast, and a self-sacrificing savior. She was a monster, and a slayer of monsters. But above all (and this she took pride in when she could take pride in nothing else) she was a fighter. A stubborn survivor who flinched at nothing and would stand until her opponent fell. Scars rippled over her body from decades of fights to the death, and she stood proud as others shuddered.
She's familiar with death. More so than the cowards that send her out, throw her pay at her while quivering at their doorways, then mock her and discuss showing her her place when they think she's out of earshot. She likes to turn around and see them jump. She kills for her living, and she's nearly met her own end many times before. She's seen firsthand the horrors of rogue fae who take short and fragile human lives as an excuse to use them as they please; for hunting practice, for art, for cruel games. She's killed those fae and given their mangled victims the best burial she can.
But the end of the world brought terrors she couldn't fight. It wasn't so bad, before she knew what was happening. The first sign was simply remembering all of her past lives. It was a delight, really, to realize that in all lives, she had been a warrior of some kind (she ignored the lives where she was a fae. she ignored the lives where she went rogue). And wasn't it something, to lie in bed and compare lives with Benjamin, and to slowly realize that she and her husband had been drawn together life after life after life? But the memories of more lives only highlighted an uncomfortable fact.
Eleanor was aging. Her late nights and early morning patrols were growing more difficult. Her scars and her old wounds ached in bad weather. Her hair was graying badly. Benjamin assured her that it was okay; the two of them had lived long, difficult but fulfilling lives, and there was no shame in their bodies beginning to show the wear. It was proof that they had lived this long, and that was no small feat given Eleanor's job. Eleanor's father (and he would always be her father to her, no matter what claim that murderous bastard Warren laid) had died relatively young from a curse, her mother following soon from grief.
Eleanor had just been old enough to fend for herself then. But now she had no successor to continue her work. Nadie was a toddler, of course. Aspen was grown now, but he was nothing like his mother. He didn't have the stomach to kill. And it wasn't like Eleanor could ask Phoenix, of all people. (She hadn't believed him at first, when he told her that he had had no idea he was a changeling. How could he not understand why she wanted him to fear her before he could hold a knife or strange her in her sleep? How could he not know that he wasn't human? She didn't get it. And then she felt a tail pull from her spine, felt her nails harden into claws and her teeth stretch into fangs. And then she got it.)
That stopped mattering much, as the gods began to war. Their fighting didn't take them very far north, at the beginning, but the world still shuddered at the conflict. The death of Silvanus was a turning point. The life drained from the land, and Hephas's thirst for revenge made the sun scorch the land with a ferocity rarely seen in a place this cold. The fae realm began to fall, the magic fading from some places and spiraling out of control in others. Eleanor lost contact with Briar, as the queen struggled to evacuate affected areas and fight back against the deep forests devouring the fae that once called them home. The two of them would never see each other again.
Briar had clearly lost control of the rogue fae in the chaos. After she ascended to power, fewer and fewer had slipped through to the Overworld. Now, they swarmed, desperate for the thrill of killing before they lost their own lives. Eleanor fought back as many as she could. But she was tiring. She dug too many graves, in those last days.
In the end, her efforts meant next to nothing. The earth had been heating up for the last couple of days, the last of the snow melting away and the roots of trees withering. At one point, Eleanor had nearly burned herself standing barefoot on the grass. It was unnatural, to be sure, but the world was ending. A silent dread had settled over the village, the collective knowledge that the end was coming for them all. Ironically, Eleanor felt herself being pushed away harder as the community settled in to make their final arrangements and find peace while they had the time.
But as long as she wasn't physically turned away, she would still go to the market. She needed more than what she could grow or hunt, especially with a hungry toddler. She woke early that morning, before sunrise. Benjamin was still asleep, so Eleanor kissed him on the forehead and left a note. She woke up Nadie, carrying her daughter as she sleepily clung to her. She'd promised her a toy from the market today.
It felt like such an ordinary day. Eleanor carried Nadie to the market, letting her down as they arrived, ignoring the way the other villagers kept their distance. She had just walked up to a stand, the shopkeeper shuffling nervously as Eleanor browsed, when the world broke. She heard a scream in the distance, where it started, and cracks spiraling out from there. The earth heaved, knocking Nadie off her feet as the ground broke apart. Eleanor pulled Nadie off of a forming crack, watching as molten rock began to spurt from the ground. People fled, but there was nowhere to go as the cracks widened and the lava flowed freely. Nadie buried her face in Eleanor's chest, beginning to cry in fear as the world tore apart.
Eleanor grit her teeth. She would not allow for her daughter to die here. She ran, clutching Nadie tightly as she sprinted across splintering ground and dodged falling stands. She hissed as a vent opened up behind her, throwing lava into her tail. Her vision went dark around the edges from pain, her tail beating against the ground to fling off the burning rock. She couldn't feel the end of it at all, and what she could feel was in agony. By the time her vision cleared, she was on an island of ground, split open on all sides.
She saw Benjamin. Pushing against the crowds, running towards her and Nadie, eyes wide with terror and relief as they saw each other. He opened his arms. Eleanor had no options. She held her daughter tight for the last time. "Mommy-" Nadie whimpered, crying.
"Shh. You're going to be okay." Eleanor promised. She kissed Nadie on the top of her head, steeling herself. She ran as close as she could to the island's edge, and threw Nadie over. She landed in Benjamin's arms. Eleanor felt about ready to collapse from relief. "Run south!" She shouted. "Phoe's kingdom, it's still intact-" The ground cracked beneath her.
She heard her family scream. This crack was deep, running down as far as she could see. She dug her claws into the side, slowing her fall to a halt. She could feel the heat radiating up, scorching her. Nadie was crying, she could hear her now. Eleanor grit her teeth, struggling to climb. It was so hot. Her hands shook, claws scrambling to find purchase in the stone and packed dirt. She slipped. She fell several more feet, twisting and wedging her body between the sides of the crack. It was so hot. She couldn't hear Nadie any more. She couldn't hear anything anymore. Had they made it? Or was her baby burning right now? She grit her teeth, scratching at the air. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. It was so hot.
She was slipping, slick with sweat in the widening ravine. It glowed at the bottom, that warm pulsing. They had a fireplace when she was little. She clawed at the side of the ravine, pulling herself up.
It was so hot. They had a fireplace when she was little. She clawed at the side of the ravine, pulling herself up. She felt so strong, so light. Odd that she wasn't getting any cooler, as she climbed. She couldn't hear. But Benjamin and Nadie were up there. And there was Benjamin now, pulling her up and smiling like the day he met. He had brought her flowers she appreciated, and bread she had appreciated more after the day's long hunt. He was so handsome. She couldn't see.
It was so hot. Why was it still so hot? She felt so much lighter, without her tail. She blinked blearily down, a blackened weight swinging from her spine. She felt so much lighter, without her tail.
Nadie wasn't crying anymore. Of course she wasn't crying. Eleanor hugged her, and Aspen, and Phoe, and had she said her apologies to Phoe? The words had come rough from her throat, barbed and painful for them both. I'm sorry, Phoenix.
They had a fireplace when she was little. They drank hot chocolate in the winter. She'd stopped lighting it after her dad died, burned to ashes by his cursed fever. I'm sorry, Phoenix. It was so hot. She clawed at the side of the ravine, pulling herself up. She had no claws anymore.
Eleanor hugged Nadie, and Aspen, and Phoe. I'm sorry, Phoenix. Benjamin was so handsome. Her dad was laughing, holding her arms steady as she fired a crossbow. She hit herself. She felt so much lighter, without her tail. She clawed at the side of the ravine, pulling herself up. She was going home. She was home.
She was home. She was home. She was home. She was home. It was so hot. She was home. She was home. She was home. She was home.
(She slipped.)
(And Eleanor struggled no more.)