Chapter Text
–Prologue–
Miles had begun to like mornings.
This was a new occurrence, a sudden change of heart sparked by circumstance and a new perspective. His eyes opened to his and Phoenix’s shared home, a suburban beauty with high ceilings and warm walls. The mattress below him was comfortable, massaging into his every ache with the caring touch of high quality memory foam. He let his eyes shut for a moment longer. The blurred nature of the room around it made it easy to drift off again, making a comfortable little pocket for him and himself alone.
Alone. Phoenix wasn’t in bed beside him.
Miles breathed slowly through his nose and opened his eyes, vision cast high up toward the warm ceiling of the bedroom. It wasn’t abnormal for Phoenix to disappear in the mornings. It was more than normal, actually. For that to happen between the two of them was completely expected. ‘Phoenix is an accomplished prosecutor with a stable government job and an office of employment. I haven’t had a case in months,’ Miles acknowledged as he tossed the covers away from his body. The silk comforters fluttered against the air cartoonishly before slumping beside him anticlimactically. ‘He’s just at work,’
He pushed himself up to a seated position and reached for his glasses, which sat folded on the bedside table to his right. His vision returned to him in a series of blinks, and Miles could finally admire the room to its fullest.
It was old and warm, like the aged benches in his childhood park and the old creak of a dusty bookshelf. The floors were hardwood, strategically aged beneath his feet as he moved to a full seated position. The walls were a cream color, and the seam between the floor and walls was lined with a strip of dark wood carved smooth and uniform all the way down. The red drapes were open, crimson and not nearly as obnoxious as they had been when Phoenix first had them installed. Miles remembered being against the purchase, but now that he had been with them for a while he felt like he could finally see the vision. They looked like stage curtains.
Miles ruffled his unkempt hair and glanced across the floor, decorated in piled old clothes he needed to take care of eventually. They were all his shirts, never Phoenix’s. He let loose a yawn and looked toward the door.
“Phoenix– huh…” He attempted to call out for the missing soul, hopeful that he had woken up just in time to wish him a good day, but something bright caught his eye.
There was a plate sitting on the ottoman.
Miles blinked, and his hand fell from his head at a slow descent and landed on his lap. It was a full plate of breakfast, sitting carelessly on the brown leather ottoman… ‘It’s not like it for him to make me things,’ Miles pushed up from the bed and padded toward it. ‘No, it’s just strange for him to leave it here, of all places,’
‘It’s strange for him to leave it anywhere but the kitchen,’ Miles noted as he lifted the plate of pancakes.
They looked poorly made, lumpy in places but still golden brown over the top. They were cooked. A note had been placed beside the small plate, laid underneath a single fork from the kitchen. Miles took the note in his hand and turned it over a few times; a folded piece of cardstock. He could feel the indent of a ballpoint pen’s writing on one side, but whatever Phoenix had written was hidden from first glance.
Miles’ gut instinct was to be suspicious, but he scolded himself. Miles’ worst habit was being untrustworthy, and Phoenix had done nothing to be treated like that. Miles just had issues to work through, that wasn’t new information.
So, he sat down at the ottoman and started to eat.
The pancakes were cold.
He swallowed them down anyway.
The pancakes were extremely cold, actually, like they had been sitting in their bedroom for hours. The note held the same chill, like it had soaked the frozen air deep into the night. This wasn’t something left for him less than an hour previous. The breakfast tasted like it had been waiting for Miles since before midnight.
Determined to continue trusting Phoenix, he swallowed another bite, then moved to open the note.
‘Miles Helena Edgeworth,’
Strange start.
‘I am sorry. I’ve suddenly realized I’m never going to change,
and neither will anything else,’
Miles dropped the fork.
‘After months of trying and failing to be happy,
I’ve realized I will never be able to feel it again.’
Miles abandoned the plate and the bedroom in favor of running, running as fast as he could for a phone, a computer, or anyone at all. He could barely read the last line. In fact, he couldn’t manage until weeks later, weeks after his name was marked as missing and the case was dubbed cold.
‘I, Phoenix Wright, choose death.’
June 18, 12:20 PM
Northern California Mountains
Train
He could simply just ignore the text, he knows that. He also knows that assholes say that kind of thing. Granted, there’s not a lot of evidence refuting Miles’ status as a bumbling asshole. He was a lawyer, after all.
‘But lawyers don’t stereotypically ignore messages, they just respond with too many words,’ Miles narrowed his eyes at the opposing window of the train car, now angrily eyeing the air before him like its opinion mattered. The scenery around him shuttered and morphed beyond the high speed of the train, and the winds sent a muted whistle through the still air of each car that made Miles’ back shiver. Miles realized, with shame, that he looked ridiculous. He slumped back in his chair and pressed his head back against the window behind him, back to glaring at the text message.
The message was concise. He was over thinking things.
Lotta H: Are you on your way? (sent 2 hours ago)
‘It’s been too long to respond to this directly,’ Miles thought absently. The train rattled in the beat of silence. Miles chewed on his lip.
‘It’s been much longer since I spoke to Lotta.’ His mind bit back. He couldn’t argue. It had been almost a year, in fact, since he had cut off contact from everyone. It had been a full year since he had moved all the way to Sacramento, and even longer since he had worked on an actual case in a real court of law. Lotta deserved some kind of answer, or acknowledgement. He had been mulling over answering the entire train ride. ‘I ought to stop being a coward,’ He decided, and moved to message her back.
… That was the case, until the train entered a tunnel, and all cell service dropped the moment before he was going to hit ‘send’.
The blackness behind the opposing window cast Miles’ reflection back at him, and he felt nothing but shame.
Miles was 26 now, but that maturity hadn’t really grown on him. In fact, he probably lost some of his manners over the years, since he had long abandoned slacks and dress shoes in favor of sneakers and jeans. His button up was crumpled around his chest, unbuttoned loosely around his neck. He was wearing a maroon tie, one he thrifted but rarely properly wore, and he had left it to hang loose around his neck like a cheap scarf. His outfit sat pathetically underneath his torn up trench coat, a thing he had resewn countless times in the last year. The only nice part about his outfit was the watch on his wrist, but that had broken years ago.
He could barely recognize his own reflection. He looked like a wide eyed sob story, watery eyes hidden under wire glasses. He hadn’t shaved in days. Even from a distance, he could tell. Ashamed, Miles fidgeted with his knuckles and looked away, only for the tunnel’s exit to sweep his reflection away just as instantaneously. Light settled back into the train car, and Miles stowed his hand into the pocket of his coat.
He didn’t have to come.
‘Well, I did,’ Miles reminded himself. ‘Lotta threatened me.’
Though, he only wished he had made it hard for her to find him. He hadn’t actually run away, he was still working in Sacramento under his own name… He just changed his phone number, and moved apartments. He hadn’t even sold the old office. Miles gulped. It was just… a storage unit, now. Something his father would be proud of, surely.
Miles pivoted his train of thought. There was a hole in his coat pocket. He’d have to sew that up when he went back home. He fiddled with the fraying edges of the hole, absently.
After another two minutes passed, Miles finally made an effort to text Lotta back.
Miles E: I’m 10 minutes away (sent now)
The message history buffered, noted it as ‘seen’, and all Miles could do was watch as the minutes passed. Soon, a full two minutes had passed since the text had been sent, and Lotta had not made a single effort to respond. ‘Of course,’ He put his phone away. ‘I can’t go being a hypocrite again,’
Why did he come all the way here, exactly? Lotta had threatened him, sure, but she never meant that kind of thing. He could’ve just not come. He could’ve lied. It wasn’t like that was outside his reputation, or whatever remained of his shuttering moral compass. Maybe he felt ashamedly committed.
Besides, it was only a few hours of conversations, then maybe he’d be able to stop in LA, grab a few things from his old office, then go home and wash his hands of the entire night. It would be easy. It would all be so, so easy. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Miles looked up and glanced back over his shoulder. The train was gliding along the side of the mountain, encroaching on the little mountain town of Khura’in that was just coming into view. If he squinted, he could spot the cobble road that led to the station, or the general store, or the Fey Manor behind all of it. The trees were fluttering in the summer, like bundles of brilliant green butterflies hidden from the snowy mountain tops only a few miles away. The last time he was here, it was Christmas, and he remembered the snow passing over them in the dead of night. It was beautiful, the first time he had ever seen snow. He remembered sitting by the window with Phoenix, admiring–
Miles blinked.
He remembered sitting beside Phoenix on the first train ride to the village. He remembered walking him back to the station the next day. Miles swallowed hard and looked away from the village, which was closing in on him as the seconds passed. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t think about anything related to Phoenix the entire visit, not once. He furrowed his brows and promised himself, a commitment he could only pray to keep.
For the first time in hours, the train began to slow, and the frequency that had once hummed through the cars so consistently began to shutter and lower in pitch. It all screeched to a halt at the train station, and Miles was eager to haul himself up and run to get fresh air. He plucked his satchel from the ground and pushed through each door, passing car after car until he finally reached the exit. There were no other passengers besides himself and two strangers, both of whom were strangely dressed and muttering in a collected huddle by the main door. Miles barely spared them a glance, and they didn’t stop him as he stumbled off the train car with his bag on his shoulder. The fresh air was a grating but welcome change.
All he had to do was get through the next night, and he’d be on his way home before he knew it.
It couldn’t be hard. Miles had notoriously good luck.
June 18, 12:20 PM
Northern California Mountains
Khura’in Mountain Village
The Khura’in train station was a tiny patch of concrete covered by a rickety wooden covering, one that had been in the same place for decades. It was barely noticeable in the sea of trees. The forest of Khura’in village looked like an ocean of green, a fine mixture of assorted flora smeared along the base of the radiant mountain like the splattering of brilliant paint against a dark canvas. It was hard not to admire the stretching evergreens as they arced up toward the brilliant sky, mingling with the clouds like they were old friends. The greenery seemed to curve over the cobble path, a tunnel-like archway that obscured the village from view as Miles climbed.
He was quite familiar with the cobble path he was climbing, an uphill slope built with uneven rock and evened out with thick moss and packed dirt. His sneakers found their footing with ease, and Miles’ vision bobbed along with him as the trees parted and the strangest town in California was finally revealed. The old cobble path blossomed into something more coordinated as the ground leveled, and Miles watched as the surrounding greenery was parted by foreign architecture.
Miles’ pace slowed as he walked, and his eyes scanned the sprawling town with familiarity. The buildings looked like they were ripped straight from a story book. The town was built from blocks of glossy-wood buildings and ivory outer walls. The wood was stained an earthy black, a tone flushed with red purple like an obscured sunset. The roofs were similarly colored, built from assorted dark shingles and traditional thatching. Khura’in seemed to be a strange mix of homeland architecture and western construction, a combination forged by circumstance. The shops that Miles passed were adorned in colorful signs in assorted languages, and the residents walked across the neater cobble in the same variation of styles as the town around them.
Despite the familiarity, Miles stuck out like a sore thumb.
It was hard to ignore the way people glanced at him, a newcomer with no company, no obvious purpose. The most he could do was hold his head up high and maintain his pace. He knew where he was going, after all.
The center of town approached, and the Fey manor’s walls came into view. They were pristine walls of concrete, topped with gorgeous umber shingles that seemed to glitter where the sun hit. Garden greenery peeked up from behind the walls, and the bright green leaves of the twisting summer trees shuttered in the passing breeze. The concrete bricks of the wall were adorned in strategically placed ivy, along with beautiful carvings depicting brilliant symbols and sigils to represent the family that resided beyond the walls. Miles felt his eyes catch on the sliver of roofing he could spot beyond the wall. He didn’t know why he had come.
The entrance was just beside him, two gorgeous wooden gates adorned in brilliant bronze designs that looked perfectly polished after generations of care. He would’ve reached for the knocker and announced his presence, but something else caught his eye.
A red camper van.
It was parked off to the side of the manor. He nearly missed it, as it was shrouded in the shadow of a nearby tree. Miles blinked and watched it for a moment, haunted by the knowledge of who owned it. He knew the stickers that littered the front bumper like the back of his hand, and he knew the person who had placed them to an even closer degree. He knew the woman with the miniature cowboy boots dangling from her rearview mirror, and he feared her even more… This was the bright red camper van of Miss Lotta Hart.
“Howdy, Edgeworth,” The familiar voice of the harsh woman sounded from behind him, and Miles’ soul nearly jumped out of his body. He spun on his heels and made eye contact with the glaring Lotta.
“Lotta!” Miles grinned anxiously on instinct and clapped his hands together. He felt his entire body tense in fear. The woman’s eyes only narrowed further.
She hadn’t changed much. That was Miles’ assessment, but it was hard to focus on anything except the way she was eyeing him with her arms crossed so violently. Her puffy head of bright red hair was nearly the same as when he had last seen it, but she had shaved an undercut onto either side to form a brilliant mohawk of fiery red curls. She wore a black tank top with a cropped military green vest overtop, which was decorated with carefully embroidered designs on either pocket. Lotta shifted her weight to her other leg and pursed her lips. She was wearing shorts and combat boots, a significantly better outfit for summer compared to Miles’ feeble attempt.
“Can’t even manage more than my damn name, hello to you too,” Lotta commented darkly. Miles opened his mouth to respond, but another, much more excited voice cut him off.
“EDGEY!!!”
In a moment’s notice, a lanky man had clambered out of the van behind them and ran to tackle-hug Miles like his life depended on it. Miles could barely breathe, caught between the icy glare of Lotta Hart and the loving hug of his childhood best friend, Larry Butz.
“Edgey, Edgey, Edgey!!!” Larry hoisted Miles up with strength he didn’t remember him having. All he could do was yell and grip his friend’s shoulders, a feeble attempt at escape before he was plopped back down like a toy in the dirt. He wobbled, stumbling to find his balance again so he could dust himself off and adjust his glasses.
Larry’s wide grin glittered dizzily into the sky as he came into complete focus. Miles stood under his tall friend’s gaze, completely dumbfounded by how much he had changed in the last year.
Larry had since grown a beard, one that grew comfortably along his jaw like moss on a river-gray boulder. He was dressed in a similar silhouette to Lotta, a plain black tee underneath a worn down flannel on top of a pair of faded patchwork jeans. He smiled with his entire face now, eyes brighter than Miles had ever seen them. Just the sight of Miles made Larry’s shoulders raise with excited tension and his cheeks flush with red, fluttery adrenaline.
“God, dude,” Larry laughed and exhaled deeply. He pressed his hand to his face as he chuckled, almost with an air of relief. “Where have you been?” Larry’s hand rested against the nape of his neck, and Miles stammered.
“Uh-” He fidgeted with the clasp of his watch and adjusted his stance in the dirt. “Well,” He wasn’t really sure where to start, and Larry didn’t seem to know what had happened. ‘I don’t think Lotta told him anything.’ As the thought passed through his mind, he suddenly found it difficult to keep eye contact with his friend.
“I was worried,” Larry continued. Lotta was still lurking behind him. Miles could see that now, eyes hastily attempting to direct themselves anywhere else. “You haven’t called in ages, I was starting to think you forgot I left.” He laughed to himself. “Or you just caught up in work…”
“Yeah, uh,” Miles muttered dumbly. “Yeah,” Lotta was glaring daggers into his heart. “Very busy.”
“Well that makes sense,” Larry sighed knowingly. Lotta was still staring at Miles, looming ominously behind his friend like a watchful crow. She knew why Miles hadn’t called… He almost wished she had told Larry of his wrongdoings, it felt infinitely worse to be caught in the middle like this. ‘I guess I did this to myself.’ He brought his gaze back to Larry.
“Actually–” Miles cut Larry off. “I uh,” He attempted to hold himself a little higher. “I moved,” He explained.
“...” Larry blinked. “Why?”
“...” Miles squinted and turned his head away. “Work stuff,” He mumbled dumbly.
It was hard to explain. Well, it wasn’t hard to explain, it was just embarrassing. It was one of Miles’ impulsive decisions pushed on by… grief, notably, as well as a newfound wealth from a source he hated acknowledging. Miles fiddled with the strap of his bag and watched the surroundings move in unison, like an incohesive kaleidoscope that never stopped. Everything moved like a stupid metaphor, present and meaningless. Miles felt distant from all of it, unable to read it to its fullest capacity, even in hindsight. Larry’s face scrunched, and he moved to say something, but Lotta interrupted.
“You wanna head inside, pumpkin?” She nodded toward the gate doors. Larry pivoted and smiled.
“Yeah, don’t wanna keep Mia waiting.”
Miles gulped, then followed.
The gates opened rather easily, despite their perceived weight, and a fraction of the brilliant manor garden was revealed. Miles was bombarded by almost painted trees, the kind with billowing leaves that raised natural canopies over the emerald grass. Flowers flowed naturally with the wind, practically glittering in the summer sun. Each tree looked ancient, varying in size. Their trunks twisted naturally up toward the sky, each ring folding inward to form the reaching branches that stretched overhead. Each tree was planted along the gentle gravel path, which led up to the front door of the manor.
The manor itself had been hidden by the surrounding wall, but it was somehow even more brilliant than the garden. The house’s structure was defined by a frame of dark wood, topped with a triangular roof covered in glittering black shingles. The house was lined with a walkway, one that looked brand new despite its implied age. The walls of the house that lined the walkway were a cream color, framed with flushed red wood that brought the perfect contrast to the outside of a beautiful manor.
Miles’ eyes moved up toward the rooftop naturally to spot the intricate engravings along the largest structural beam. He remembered those details, vaguely. They were even more beautiful now, when he wasn’t exhausted by stress and the winter weather.
Lotta knocked on the front door distantly. She didn’t call for Miles, which left him in the front patch of gravel to examine the surrounding garden. His eyes passed from tree to tree, bush to bush, completely enamored by the quiet serenity of it all. When his eyes returned to the house, though, he spotted something strange.
Just beyond the billowing trees, one of the sliding windows had been opened, and he could see a little girl sitting on the wooden walkway. She was clad in billowing robes, and her braided hair was positioned high above her ears. She was staring at Miles, tiny hands clasped around the lower railing. Miles stared back and felt his breath leave his lungs, as if he was looking at a sign of doom. He did what his brain first thought of, and that was wave. He waved and attempted a smile. The girl did not reciprocate, she only stared–
“Edgey?” Larry called from the front door. Miles jumped, looked at Larry, then back at the girl– who had completely disappeared. The window slid to a gentle close, and Miles was left to stand dumbfounded under the trees.
“...” His feet stuttered. “Sorry,” He muttered, then stuck his hands in his pockets. With that, he turned toward the front door and joined the others.
Together, they entered the Fey Manor.
June 18, 12:34 PM
Northern California Mountains
The Fey Manor
As Miles entered the interior of the manor, his mind was flooded with memories of a happier time. For just a moment, as he examined the rafters above, he remembered that night in December that he had spent so happily, so long ago.
The structural beams of the manor were stained red like the walls around him, and each beam was decorated with intricately folded paper crafts. The decor was hung from thin string and wrapped around the width of the beam, and the light from the summer sun flew in from the open window and made the colored paper glow like fiery lights. Miles slipped his shoes off and stepped up into the main room, which had a plush woven floor that sunk subtly with his weight. Lotta set her boots beside Larry’s sneakers before joining him.
One of the windows was slid open and Miles could see the summer breeze wafting through the glittering garden in the center of the manor. His eyes scanned around him to examine the posters in multiple languages, each explaining the intricacies of spirit channeling, likely for visitors or newly accepted students of the spiritual school.
In the Fey manor, you could rarely hear someone walk across the floor. The plush carpet that rested over the dark wood paneling prevented visitors from hearing approaching residents through the halls. It felt ghostly, that way. It made the manor feel empty, but hauntingly welcoming; an attendant could be around any corner waiting to aid a confused newcomer. But for Miles, that ambiguity marked his downfall, specifically when the acclaimed Mia Fey entered the room without a sound and addressed Miles with fire in her eyes.
“You,” She spat at a near whisper, a violent, icy whistle that pierced Miles’ ears and made his face flush red with embarrassed guilt. He stared at her, wide eyed; a guilty puppy in her shadow.
Mia’s face twisted in rage, her eyes lined with mature wrinkles that made her all the more intimidating in the mood he had found her in. Her silk dress hung just an inch above the floor, hovering almost still as she walked, barely bothered by the air. It was white, decorated in delicately dyed flowers and tree stems that wove up to the purple wrap around her waist. It was tied with an ornate rope, which was decorated with beads and intricate knots that looked like a blooming flower from a distance. Mia crossed her arms and stood proudly in the doorway, eyes glued to Miles like he was some kind of beast to beware.
Miles suddenly became aware of himself when he realized just how many people were staring at him. Lotta expressed her anger in her glare, and Larry watched him with confusion. Mia stood front in center, staring him down with the kind of vitriol that would make anyone else shrivel toward a corner. But Miles didn’t retreat, not because he was stronger or smarter by any means– but because he could not move.
“So,” Lotta narrowed her eyes at Miles. “You gon’ start explainin’ what you did, or do I have to?”
“... Miles?” Larry muttered, confused. He glanced from person to person, then looked back at Miles in concern. Miles stood stiffly, his feet rooted to the ground like the trunk of a dead tree.
“...” Miles opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced from person to person, watching as their expressions twitched the longer he remained silent. He kneaded his hands together and began to rock back and forth anxiously. “I- Uh… well, you see…” His breath failed him again, losing stamina before he could get more than a word in.
“I’ll tell you what you did,” Mia decided. Miles’ heart sank as he watched Mia approach him, tall and foreboding in comparison to him. “You disappeared.” She settled a few feet in front of him.
“...” All Miles could see was her. His heart shuttered, and his hands twitched against the air.
“You disappeared when we needed you, and left no explanation. You moved a full city away. All without a call, note, no nothing. I would’ve accepted an email , Miles.” Mia tilted her chin up, eyes still glued to Miles’ shadowy face. His head began to drift down toward the ground in shame. “Where did you even move? Had to be nice, since it was apparently worth giving up family–”
Suddenly, the doors opened, and everyone but Miles spun on their heels.
In the doorway stood two men who were complete and total opposites of each other. The one on the right was short, and dressed in bleach-washed overalls over a baggy white knit sweater. A duffle bag was slung over his shoulder, and Miles noticed his glasses were tinted yellow. The man next to him was significantly taller and dressed entirely in black. They hovered together, the darkly-dressed one looking particularly unentertained while the smaller one straightened his posture and took a breath to announce their arrival.
“We’re here for a meeting with Khura’in Master Fey!” He wobbled up onto his tip toes for a brief moment, then settled back down. Miles looked at Mia, whose expression wilted into confliction. She sighed deeply through her nose and stepped away from Miles to greet her guests.
“Yes, yes, of course Mr. Parah,” Mia smiled despite her remaining anger. “This way, I’ll bring you to my office so we can discuss things.”
Lotta shared a glance with Miles for only a moment before she moved her head to watch as the strangers followed Mia toward the door. Mia paused for only a moment to wish the others goodnight.
“Lotta, Larry,” She began. “Feel free to let yourself in for food, if you need it. And Miles?” She glared at him. “Find the guest room yourself.”
With that, he was left alone. Lotta and Larry wandered back toward their van outside, and Mia led the two guests toward her office on the other side of the manor.
Minutes passed and he found himself walking through the hallway, the opposite direction that Mia had taken. The mediums that lived in the house seemed to silently glide over the floorboards, but Miles’ footsteps were loud, and the boards beneath him squealed in complaint. It was like the house knew he wasn’t welcome.
The hallways were lit up by sunlight through the thin screen walls. The screeching floorboards were stained a dark brown, almost black, and contrasted greatly against his worn gray socks. He watched the floor for a little longer as he walked, only for his eyes to draw to a doorway just a few feet away. He examined it for a moment longer and determined that it was the door to Mia’s office. He paused and stared at the door.
The last time he had been in Mia’s office, she had given him one of the trinkets he held so near and dear to his heart. She had given him his mother’s magatama, which was burning a hole in a compartment in his bag. Those were the days when she was much kinder to him, and when he was much kinder to everyone else.
He stepped away after lingering for a moment and left the main manor through a parted door. He found himself on a covered walkway that connected the two parts of the manor, which cut through the garden. It was a brilliant green in the summer, but he remembered it being just as beautiful in the winter. His eyes were drawn to the still pond in the center of the emerald garden, where Maya had given him his father’s watch. His hand moved to fiddle with the clasp… The watch had long since broken, but he still wore it every day without fail. It had become a part of his body. It was one of the last connections he had to his father.
He shook himself and continued toward the living quarters, which was the second part of the manor. This was what the Fey’s called home.
The door to the building opened up into the kitchen. It was rather large, mostly defined by hand carved cabinets and glittering countertops. The brand new fridge was a strange contrast against the stuck-in-time nature of the manor, which was a little hilarious. The fridge door was covered head to toe in magnets of varying ages, some of which held up old calendars, photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, and children’s drawings. One of the drawings looked to be a depiction of the girl he had seen outside the manor… So she was a Fey, interesting.
The other side of the room was dedicated to the dining room, which looked exactly like it used to… He still looked back to sharing dinner with the Feys with a fondness in his heart. That was probably the happiest he’d been in years, sitting at the head of the table enjoying every nuance of Misty’s delicious food.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and delved further into the building. The guest room was nearby, just past the hallway of family photographs. There was a photograph dedicated to every single member of the Fey family, from the founder to the youngest generation. Mia looked happy in her photo, and Maya…
He stopped at Maya’s photograph. She was much younger in it, maybe 13. She was smiling pleasantly, her hair was braided in the photo and looked wonderful. His heart panged with guilt. He had abandoned her, and now he was back with barely a word. What words could he say? What on earth would absolve him of his wrongdoings…
Miles didn’t know. But he had made this mess himself, he had to live with it.
He turned on the light to the guest room and set his bag down against the wall.
‘I have a headache.’ He realized with a grimace, setting the coat down on the floor beside his bag. He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead for a moment, hoping to will away the pain that was beginning to spark in his temples. ‘This is what I get.’ He scoffed and turned away toward the closet. ‘What does that even mean?’
He started to set up his bedding, which he found folded in the closet just across the room. As he worked, his mind began to drift into familiar memories… Unpacking always brought him back to this. A scene of joy, one of the last ones he remembered.
—
“You have… got to be kidding me…” Miles heard Phoenix whine from the door to their new apartment. He approached the man to note the giant box taking up space in his arms. He adjusted its weight in his skinny arms and swore under his breath.
Miles approached him with a slightly smaller box in his arms.
“Something up?” He asked quietly.
“Door’s locked…” Phoenix stepped away from the door and leaned back against the wall to give himself a break. He breathed loudly, like he had run a mile. Miles blinked and stood still in the center of the hallway.
“... Can’t you just set the box down and unlock it?” He watched as Phoenix’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“...” Phoenix looked embarrassed. “Well, no, because then I’d have to pick it up again.” He stated obviously. “My back is too delicate for that–”
“You’ve been lifting with your back?” Miles scoffed. “You’re supposed to lift with your legs.” He bounced the box in his hands and caught it, flexing his legs as an example.
“...” Phoenix heaved the box up to maintain his grip. “My legs are also too delicate.”
Miles laughed and guided his own box to the floor, then reached over to pluck the apartment keys from Phoenix’s pocket.
“You’re gonna blow away in the wind, aren’t you?” He took a moment to unlock the door and stepped into the empty apartment to hold it open. Phoenix heaved the box inside with a pathetic whimper, before setting it down in the center of the living room unceremoniously. He stayed in a bent over position and breathed heavily while Miles brought his box inside and set it beside Phoenix’s.
Miles watched Phoenix breathe and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“We have quite a few more, do you wanna take a break? I can take over for a bit.” He offered.
“No, no-” Phoenix pushed himself upright. Miles’ hand remained on his shoulder, beginning to slide down his back. Phoenix stared at the boxes in quiet contemplation for a moment, then looked at Miles. “I’ve never really put the care into moving in, I want to try it.” He smiled softly. Miles’ head spun. “Even if it means being sore for the next week.”
“You don’t have to push yourself, I’m the one who brought the most stuff.” Miles assured him.
Phoenix’s hand reached up to cup Miles’ cheek. “And you’re the only one of us who’s been living like a person, mon cheri. I’d like to put a bit of work in, for once.”
“And you’re rich,” Miles reminded him. Phoenix tore his hand away from Miles to laugh. When Phoenix laughed he laughed with his whole chest. His shoulder’s moved with every noise, and his smile was so beautiful it made Miles chuckle along with him like an idiot.
“Money isn’t everything,” Phoenix finished as he turned toward the door. “Let me get another box, I’ll be back.”
“One more kiss for the road?” Miles followed him for a footstep and pouted. Phoenix turned again and scoffed.
“I live with you now, I’ll be back.” Phoenix rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know that!” Miles exclaimed jokingly. “You could get picked up and flown away by the birds, since you’re so light and delicate,” He gestured out toward him and started to laugh. Phoenix joined him in the joy before stepping up and planting a kiss on his cheek.
“I promise, nothing’s going to happen to me, I’ll be back before you know it.” Phoenix smiled again before stepping away. He disappeared through the doorway. Miles was smiling, but he was alone.
Phoenix was gone. Gone. He was gone. Just as quickly as the memory had formed, it corroded, and the real Miles felt his heart swell with indescribable pain.
June 18, 5:22 PM
Northern California Mountains
The Fey Manor
Miles’ consciousness returned from its solemn place in the sky in only an instant, just as he shut the flap of his bag and pushed it off to the side with a series of stubborn thunks. The evening was beginning to settle on the manor, and Miles sat under it like an insomniac under a comfortable blanket. Despite the quiet, and the way the golden light comfortably filtered through the open window frames, he still felt out of place.
He didn’t like letting himself think about Phoenix, because whenever it happened he always came out feeling lost. It wasn’t the same as memories of his father, which had been tainted with grief so suddenly after his death– memories of Phoenix had been stained with an undertone of confusion. Every time he looked back at those joyful moments, the only thing Miles could think about was how he could’ve gone wrong. It was nauseating. He trusted his gut instinct, he always did, but the only ‘instinct’ his soul could muster was one of guilt and exhaustion. No instinct came, not because he hadn’t done anything wrong; simply because he was too exhausted to figure out what he had done.
“Hm,” A hum wafted over the room. Miles jumped and turned, only to meet eyes with the small girl he had met out front.
Her wide brown eyes were glazed over and still as stone, like carved marble. Her small, pale face looked as if it was being watched by thousands in this empty room, her tiny body haunted beneath her billowing robes. She was standing in the corner of the room, far away from the doorway. ‘How did she get in here…’
Miles blinked and shuffled, already uncomfortable. The nape of his neck twitched anxiously.
“There are spirits hanging from your coat,” She whispered under her breath, and her brown eyes darted over his trench coat as if it was a specimen to examine.
Miles looked down at his coat, then back at the girl. The only thing he could see on his coat was dirt and scattered holes from wear and tear. The little girl continued to stare.
“I can see them clearly, can’t you?” Her head cocked to the side ever so slightly. She held herself like she was hovering. “Your eyes gleam like death. You see them. The spirits look like bunnies. Little bunnies… So soft.”
His shoulders shuttered as a cold sensation ran down his spine. ‘Your eyes gleam like death…’ She could tell he was related to a medium. She could see his mother’s affinity within him, but she didn’t know how unpolished the ability truly was. Miles was like anyone else, he had only made contact with the spirits once before… This little girl could see them everywhere. She talked like it wasn’t her choice.
“... Who do you see?” He whispered to her as he carefully approached her. The girl didn’t flinch. She smiled.
“They’re very kind,” She hummed. “They’re a strong little spirit.” Miles blinked. ‘She could be talking about any of my dead loved ones, honestly.’
“What’s your name…?” He asked gently and lowered himself to a stoop, just in front of the little girl.
She didn’t answer. “The spirits are very busy tonight,” She explained matter-of-factly. “They like it when there are guests in the manor, they like you.” Her eyes darted toward the door for a moment. “And the mystics are planning a channeling tonight. It’s a very special channeling. Mother is very excited. So are the spirits. The spirits are too excited to play with me, though, and that’s sad.”
“... What do you mean by ‘special’ channeling?” Miles asked her. The girl’s shoulders stiffened like she heard someone call her name. Immediately, she pulled the fabric of her robes up and ran for the door.
“Goodbye spirit-seer!” She called out before exiting the room and retreating to the garden with the agility of a street cat.
Miles was still standing near the corner of the room, now staring back at the door in shock. He blinked. ‘That was fucking creepy.’ Miles winced and stepped away. ‘No, that’s a child. She’s just weird.’ Weird was a gentle word to use. He shrugged his trenchcoat off his shoulders and threw it onto the bed, shedding his tie so he could relax the best he could in the Fey manor.
It was strange being back, ignoring the context of what he had done and the hostility of the manor residents… It was just strange returning to the Fey manor for seemingly no reason, just because Lotta had asked him to. He could’ve said no and continued his life, but now he was here. Mia would probably call him to her office to talk the next morning and he’d be on his way home. Multiple hours of the train and here he was, a footnote of the night.
He sat down on his bedding and sighed, staring at the wall. A footnote. He fiddled with the clasp of his watch. He didn’t like calling himself a footnote, but he had become that in the lives of the people he cared about. He hadn’t realized that in the time he’d been alone. Now that he was here, it really hit him. To his friends, he was just a vacant number in their phone. Someone they used to know.
A spirit.
The same spirit found himself in the garden after a few minutes. He needed air, and he decided to get that air in the grass beside the pond.
The water rippled with the wind. Heavy leaves of plants dipped into the crystal clear water and warped the reflection of the garden beautifully, blending emerald green with the purple of the evening sky. Miles rested his chin on his crossed arms, his knees tucked underneath them. The blanket of grass beneath him felt grounding. He missed the garden.
The breeze tickled his ears and ruffled his hair, calming him. He barely reacted when Mia addressed him from the raised walkway, hands resting on the railing.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” She noted calmly. “I thought you’d be collecting dust in the guest room.”
Miles didn’t respond. Mia didn’t care for an answer, instead descending the steps into the garden and meeting him by his side. She was tall. Miles could see the reflection of her white dress in the pond just in front of him. He watched her in the water. Mia’s eyes were glued to Miles, but she didn’t seem as angry. His eyes lifted from the water as she lowered herself to the ground.
“If I talk to you calmly, do you promise to answer truthfully?” She asked from beside him. Miles blinked and rubbed his eyes. He moved and crossed his legs, leaning back on his arms. He looked at her and nodded.
“Ask me anything you want,” He responded.
Mia watched him carefully. Her brown eyes were calculating and cold, but her face was as warm as a sister’s could be.
“I want to start by saying you’re still my family, no matter how angry I get.” She began. “But you did a lot of wrong to the people I care about. I don’t know if you’ve realized that.”
“I have.” Miles answered.
“You have?” Mia cocked her head to the side subtly, eyes still glued to him.
Miles moved his gaze to the water and sighed. “I realized I hurt this family a long time ago, but so much had been done I was scared to come back.” He admitted. “... I’m only now understanding that it only made it worse. I’m sorry.”
“... Can you tell me where you’ve been?” Mia asked.
“Sacramento,” Miles responded. “Beautiful town.”
“And that was too far to come back and wish Misty a good retirement?” Mia asked rhetorically. She knew it wasn’t. She’d lived here all her life, she knew how close Sacramento was.
“I thought I’d ruin the mood,” Miles admitted. “I didn’t think I would help by showing up. I was… in a bad place.” He sighed. He remembered receiving an invitation, too. It was months before he moved, but he knew for a fact he had thrown away the letter before even considering showing up.
“Why haven’t you been answering Maya’s calls?” Mia continued.
“...” Miles pressed his lips together anxiously. “I changed my number,” And he hasn’t been reading her letters. He’s been avoiding it, even after directing the flow of letters to his new post office.
“And you haven’t thought of reaching out and telling her?” Mia narrowed her eyes at him.
“... I’ve thought of it.” But he’s never gotten far enough to do it.
“Miles, what’s wrong with you?”
That was a loaded question. There were a lot of things wrong with him, he just didn’t know the source. He was difficult to talk to, he struggled maintaining relationships, he hurt people without realizing it, he had difficulty catching onto social cues and implications, he didn’t know how to comfort people, he didn’t know how to apologize. The real answer was that he didn’t know how to be a person, that was what was wrong with him. But Mia didn’t want that.
Miles leaned forward and sighed, cupping his hand over the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” That was the only lie he could tell.
“Why did you disappear?”
“I didn’t want to be found.” Miles answered stiffly. Mia sighed.
“Why is that?”
“...” Miles thought of a lot of people, at that moment. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”
The silence said everything. Mia had put things together, she knew what had happened. She didn’t say anything for a full minute, watching him with an exhausted anger that was just beginning to die.
“You’ve really hurt me.” Mia admitted, her voice raw with emotion. “And you’ve hurt our family, as well. I need you to know that.” Miles’ lower lip trembled. “I missed you more than anything, and it hurt me to know that I couldn’t get in contact with you unless I threatened you. That hurts, Miles. I need you to be mature and consider our feelings too, you aren’t the only one that was hurt when Phoenix–”
Miles balled his hands into fists and buried his face into his propped up knees. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want his name mentioned, he could barely handle thinking about it. A whole year and he hadn’t heard one person utter it, not once.
“...” Mia waited for the burst of emotion to plateau. “... I know you’re still grieving Phoenix, I miss him too. His death affected all of us.” Miles shut his eyes tight. It felt like he had been shot. “... But Miles, running away from us isn’t going to help you. All that does is prolong the grief. I know how death works, I’m familiar with it… You need to let yourself process it, you can’t run away forever.”
Phoenix just disappeared. It was a random day, a random morning. No buildup, no warning. He was just gone… Miles had thought about it from a million angles, but nothing indicated anything that he had done. He had to have done something to Phoenix, there was no other reason he could’ve left. Miles had investigated countless deaths. Murders, assault cases, robberies… This was the one case he couldn’t crack.
Mia lifted herself up from the grass and dusted herself off. “I’m going to go prepare the channeling room.” She sighed softly. “You should eat. You can have anything you’d like in the kitchen, but avoid the alcohol. The only alcohol we have here is for ceremonies. It tastes like shit.” Miles wished he had the energy to laugh, he just lifted his head and went back to watching the water. “Goodnight, Miles.”
“Goodnight.” Miles muttered.
He sat alone in the manor’s garden once again, watching as the water rippled against the breeze. The sensation in his chest was a strange one. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like a stranger in this house… he felt like a broken soul that the house was trying to comfort. Maybe Mia was right. He needed his family to help him overcome his grief… Maybe this trip was good for him, after all.
He finally looked up and admired the evening sky… Night would arrive sooner or later, and he was beginning to grow tired with hunger and emotion. But before he stood, he let one thought pass through his mind.
‘I wonder if Phoenix’s spirit is strong.’ It didn’t hurt passing through his head, for once. His heart beat steadily. He wondered if his spirit was strong too, after so long in hiding.
The night eventually arrived, and Miles spent it in the guest room trying to enjoy himself. After the conversation with Mia, he felt like he could finally be comfortable on the trip instead of dreading the morning after. He was looking forward to rounds of apologies, almost. It felt nice to get things off his chest. He wanted his family back, and he knew he’d have to put in the work to get that. However, beyond the guest room, as Miles drifted to sleep… a tension was brewing within the manor walls.
Beyond Miles’ internal conflict, plans changed, arguments sparked, and whispers were exchanged. The spirit-blessed Fey Manor was not all that it seemed, and neither was the mountain town of Khura’in… Miles shot awake when a piercing scream sliced through the still air of the manor. A body dropped, and the joyful night came to a close. Miles had work ahead of him. The swift hand of justice would wait for no one, not even Miles Helena Edgeworth .
— Dying Light: The Spirit-Seer’s Turnabout —
CREDITS
Poster Art: Dani (Charybdiaa)
Writing: Dani (Charybdiaa)
Logo: Dani (Charybdiaa)
Proofreading: Dream (Lotsofdreamboats)
Keeping the Writer Sane: Dream (Lotsofdreamboats)