Chapter Text
The Protector and The Unknown have lost someone, this is simply a fact in The House in the Leys. They make space for a third The Forest and The Fire have never met. The pictures along the wall show a third person, alway just too blurry to see.
In all the years The House in the Leys has held four, fall is always the worst time for memories. The Unknown spends the height of fall hidden in the shadows and The Protector spends long hours in their den.
The Fire and the Forest spend the long week of mid autumn playing in the acres of woodland behind their house.
Currently The Fire, Spite, is pinned under their sister. He weighs their options for a moment before answering. “I give up!”
“Ok, Spite, I'm going to let you up now.” The Forest says very slowly.
Spite is lying through their teeth. Obviously.
The moment The Forest, Nicole, rolls off. Spite taps her on the arm and spreads his wings, launching into the sky.
“Tag!”
Technically they didn’t lie, they aren't running.
Even so, Spite’s smart enough to stay low to the trees to avoid being seen. They're almost convinced they got away. That is until a blur of purple and orange slams into him. Arms wrapping around them in a crushing hug.
___
Spite takes flight the moment Nicole takes her weight off.
In hindsight, she should have expected it.
“Well if your going to be like that”
Within the span of one breath and the next She who belongs to the forest and the grass becomes something lighter than before. Wings unfolding in an autumn touched mimic of The Fires’ own.
She takes to the sky with grace, easily spotting Spite above the tree lines.
In what is probably not her smartest move, The Forest dives, slamming into The Fire and taking them both down.
Branches crackle around the pair as they crash through the tree top canopy, a mass of feathers and facsimile wings. They land in a giggling heap of limbs, sprawled across the forest floor.
Out of breath, Nicole forces out, “Tag!” which just sends the two of them into even harder laughter. Eventually though, The Forest and The Fire untangle themselves and get up off the ground.
The two of them take a moment to catch their breath before looking around the clearing they’ve landed in. It's picturesque, with little red flowers growing through the mossy carpet despite the fall chill.
Spite glances at his sister, she's dropped the wings, replaced with the curling horns she prefers, “Weird. Looks like your circle, almost.”
Nicole pauses, frowning at the ground, “That's strange.”
“What?”
“It's? Not Wild?”
They share a look of confusion. Nicole goes to take a step farther into the clearing, but almost immediately trips and falls. Whatever she kicked makes a dull sort of chime.
She swears from the ground, accepting Spite’s feather tipped hand with a glare when he laughs at her.
Through a crackling laugh Spite asks, “Are you good?”
“Yah yah shut up.” She grumbles.
He drops her hand, moving to inspect the ground, “What was that?”
“No clue. Made a cool sound though.”
Spite’s hands brush up against something smooth and solid buried in the moss. “Look, it's like porcelain or something.”
Nicole leans over his shoulder. Sure enough, dark grey earthenware shines up at them from under the moss. “What is it? It's a weird shape.”
He brakes off another chunk of moss, brushing off the shape underneath. Above him, Nicole sucks in a breath at the same time he does.
That is an eye. Looking up at them, unseeing, is an intricately painted red eye. Set into a grey porcelain face.
“Spite thats a fucking person.” She's not looking at the face under their hands though, she's looking around them. To the clear impression of very large body parts scattered under the moss all around the clearing.
It takes them all day, but they dig the body up from the ground. The torso is as big as Spite is tall. “What do we do with it?”
Nicole looks over to where they’ve arranged the body, clearly meant to work like a ball jointed doll. The glaze is fractured from its time in the ground. But you can still make out the intricate winding designs painted in shades of grey all across the body. There's even a heart painted in red centered on the chest.
The face alone looks like it probably took days of work, a long nose with a high bridge. Bright, unseeing red eyes. A sharp smile. Delicately carved hair, artfully tousled.
“I don’t know!” She throws her hands up in frustration.
Spite frowns, fire licking along their hair idly. The flames in their chest snap.
(Wake them, spark of life, earth and fire, one in the same, wake them.)
Spite gestures to the forest around them, “What do your friends say?” By which he of course means the sentent flow of magic beneath their feet that apparently Nicole can speak to. He tries not to think too hard about it.
She tilts her head, dropping maple leaves from her hair with the motion “They’re being unhelpful. Keep repeating ‘The Earthen’. Which, duh. It's a terracotta body. You?”
“They keep saying ‘wake them’ I don’t understand.” He’s getting frustrated, can feel the blues and reds push their way through to the surface. “Wait, what did you just say?”
Nicole glances between him and the body, “They’re saying ‘the earthen’ why?”
He takes a step towards where they’ve laid the body out. Then another. “They have a title. They’re like us.”
(The flames under his skin practically scream. Yes, provide the spark!)
“I don't understand. The house has a name Spite, it's not alive.”
Spite frowns, at this point they’re at the figures chest. “Yah but this is different.” His fingers itch, steaming where the cool evening air makes contact. On a whim, he presses his hands to the heart in the center of their chest.
Instantly, there's a flash of light and a burst of heat from under their fingers. It would hurt, if Spite was anyless born of fire and flame.
Distantly he can hear Nicole shouting, but they’re too distracted by the way the clay giant begins to move. Arms and legs, loosely arranged where they should go, move into place as if they were suddenly magnetic. The head tumbles over and slots into place with a click.
The body sits up.
It sits up.
It Sits Up.
When they don't move by themself, Nicole pulls Spite back, “What the fuckkkkk.”
As if they simply woke up from a particularly long nap, the clay giant stretches their arms over their head. Their joints scratch and clink, which prompts a presumably pleased rumble from the giant.
The moment is so absurd, Spite laughs, despite Nicole's attempts to shush him.
This of course draws the attention of the frankly massive statue. Who looks over to them with suddenly lively red eyes.
“Well hello there! My name is Rorion!”