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Chapter Text

Imposing walls of pure roiling shadow stood before them, an ominous and inexplicable rumbling coming from the writhing abyss those native to Ravka called the ‘Unsea’. The sight was unlike anything Atlas had ever seen before in the century they'd been alive. It stretched as far, and much farther, than the eye could see. It was like a giant of old had stabbed a finger into the ground and clawed the land in half, a darkened mark smeared into the world. The ever constant smokey wall loomed way above them all, towering high enough to just barely brush against the clouds.

Golden beams of sunlight fell against the Fold, seemingly dispersing the minute the light came into contact with the shadows. The sun had yet to set, shining brightly as it bathed the land in afternoon rays of warm light, and the cold wind had started to pick up.

Atlas took a step back away from the edge of the dock, idly watching as the Grisha around them prepped the sandskiff they, and their travel companions, would be boarding. They watched as soldiers in red and blue coats milled about, a thoughtful frown tugging at their lips. They pulled their cloak a little tighter around themself when a particularly cold breeze blew past, the wind drawing stray ivory curls out from their half braided hair.

“Your dad said we'd be boarding soon.” Atlas turned, their eyes finding Leónidas, who was practically hugging himself to starve off the cold.

“Already?” They asked as one of their brows rose in question. They glanced over to the skiff in question and sighed. "Looks like we won't find any reprieve from the cold on that."

"Fat chance in hell." Leó grumbled as he eyed their soon-to-be ride through the Fold.

The skiff was a rickety looking thing. It had one large sail that had yet to be let down, almost the same length of the skiff itself. The railing on the skiff seemed more like an after thought, thin and spindly as it looped along the edge of the large sled. It brought a slight frown to their lips as they looked at it; there was a distinct lack of cover for the riders.

Leó adjusted the collar of his coat, popping it up so he'd be a little more protected from the cold. He crossed his arms as he looked over to the skiff, a skeptical expression tugging at his features. "Is it just me or does that thing look real unsafe?"

"It looks like it would fall apart if there are too many people on it." Atlas commented as they brought a gloved hand up to their face to push stray curls out of their face.

"They should call it the sandskiff of doom and despair," he muttered, earning a snort from the princess beside him.

"Well," they turned to walk, patting his arm as they passed him before gesturing toward the skiff. "Not too many people would get on them if they did that."

He followed and he drew his hands together for a moment, summoning a small flame to stave off the cold breeze. "I already don't want to get on it and it has a perfectly innocuous name."

The two passed heavily armed soldiers that flanked two Grisha in blue keftas, and they momentarily eyed the rifles the regular soldiers held. Atlas offered the two Grisha a small smile as they passed before they turned their attention to where their father was standing.

Beric Dondarrion may not have been too tall of a man, but he held himself with the grace of someone entirely too knowledgeable. And he most certainly was. After all, living for so many centuries is nothing but an opportunity to learn. He turned when he heard the two approaching, a warm smile breaking out on his features.

"There's my darling girl," he said warmly as he held out an arm and Atlas automatically tucked themself under their dad's arm, much like they did when they had been a child. Beric looked over to Leó, still smiling. "Find everything okay?"

"If I ignore the fact we're going into that, then yeah. Everything's pretty cool," Leó responded, pointing toward the Unsea. "Pun not intended." He amended when Beric opened his mouth to speak.

"I wasn't going to say anything." The older man responded placatingly, raising his free hand in mock surrender.

A shout from a foreman on the dock interrupted whatever else he'd been going to say and a crew of rather burly men began to push the skiff onto the colorless sand on the outskirts of the Fold before they left, leaving the vessel unmoving. The sandskiff gave a jolt after a few moments of stillness, the Grisha up at the mast guiding air into the lowered sail.

It surged forward into the Fold and silence was quick to blanket over the crew. The sounds from beyond the Unsea had been dampened to the point of pure silence. Being in there was odd; it felt like traversing through a large cloud of smoke that lacked heat. Or a smell.

Then it took their sight as they truly entered within the Unsea.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness that surrounded the skiff and Atlas moved, reaching blindly for wherever Leó was. A quiet 'ow' let them know where he was, after accidentally poking him while reaching for him.

"When are you going to file those fuckin' cat claws of yours?" He grumbled as he rubbed his side, looking over to where they were.

Atlas hummed, tapping their chin with their finger in mock thought. "Hmm. Never. I like them too much to do that. And they are not 'cat claws'. You just complain too much."

"You'd be complaining too if you kept getting poked with those," he gestured toward the guilty hand in question. Atlas rolled their eyes and shook their head, an amused smile on their lips. He then held up a hand and they went quiet at the focused expression on his face.

"Do you hear that?" He whispered as he looked at them, very clearly uneasy. Atlas slowly shook their head as he walked a little further near the mast and they watched him as he gestured in one direction.

At first, there was nothing, only the steady and soft hiss of the skiff dragging across the sand. Then, slowly, faintly, there came another sound; an almost silent yet relentless flapping of wings.

It was unsettling and Atlas automatically grabbed onto their dad's arm, fingers clutching at the sleeve of his coat. Quiet metallic clicks could be heard around them of rifles being cocked, as well as the soft tapping of arrows being knocked. There was then a soft whisper, "Be ready." The skiff went silent after that, the wood below their feet creaking out a warning as the sound of wings beating grew louder ever still.

A moment passed.

"Burn!"

The command broke the blanket of silence over the skiff and there was a series of crackling, the sound of something striking against stone, before rippling currents of flames erupted on both sides of the skiff.

Atlas squinted at the sudden light although their eyes adjusted quickly. Illuminated by the firelight, swarming the vessel they stood on, were these huge leathery looking creatures. Some had various rows of teeth, others had teeth that protruded from their bottom jaws, the large teeth tusk-like. They were grotesque, ugly, completely deformed.

Not only were they absolutely monstrous to look at but the calls they made? Horrendously ear-splitting and grating as arrows and bullets made contact.

Then the creatures dove.

One of the creatures, the Volcra, dove straight toward where Atlas and their father stood. They pushed their father out of the way, away from the Volcra's path of terror.

A pained swear left Atlas when the creature grabbed them by their shoulder. Pure light burst from the wound, rushing out and encasing the skiff and a mile beyond the vessel, swiftly disintegrating and indiscriminately vaporizing all of the Volcra swarming around them. They doubled over in pain, grasping at their shoulder to somewhat stem the bleeding, their focus split between keeping the light going and their own injury.

They straightened up slightly, waving off their father and Leó's clear concern as they continued to hold their injured shoulder. Unfortunately for them, neither their father nor Leó were healers, so they'd just have to tank through the pain until the skiff exited the Fold.

Keeping a hold on the dome of light around the skiff would've usually been easy enough, but the throbbing in their right shoulder was a little distracting. A lot distracting actually, but, they managed it regardless. Another thing they eventually noticed was that the skiff just wasn't moving. Atlas looked up toward where the Grisha with silver embroidery stood on the upper level of the skiff, who were staring back down at them, seeming almost baffled at Atlas's existence.

Either they'd never seen a princess actively helping people or sun summoning wasn't entirely too common in Ravka. They couldn't find it in them to care for the reason; seeing the two doing nothing irked them.

"What the hell are you waiting for?! A sign from the gods?" Atlas shouted from below, their expression twisting into one of annoyance. "Start fucking summoning; I can't hold this forever!"

And perhaps they were a little ruder than need be but you try being injured and focusing on keeping up a protective dome of light at the same time. Either way, their words seemed to spur the two Grisha on as the skiff finally started to move again.

Forever seemed to pass before they finally exited the Fold. The sun was still up when they made it out, bathing all of them in golden light. Atlas finally let go of their hold on their light, the dome dispersing now that they were safe. They felt drained and they were hurting, the pounding in their shoulder a lot more pronounced as the adrenaline started to slowly seep away.

Atlas withdrew their hand from their shoulder, their gloved palm bloody. They glanced at their shoulder, a disgruntled frown pulling at their lips at the bloodied puncture mark on their cloak. They were then turned to the side, swaying a bit as they were spun to face their father.

His worried expression made them sad. Atlas hated worrying their dad, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

"Fucking ow." They swore as their cloak was pulled off, the fabric of their dress sleeve moving against their injured shoulder.

Leó examined the wound as he automatically folded their cloak over his arm before he glanced up toward their face. "You, miss 'I-do-what-I-want', need a healer." He held up a finger and wagged it in their face. "And don't even try to say you're fine. You're making that stupid face you usually do when you're actually hurting."

Atlas scowled almost automatically at that, the passing insult enough to make them ignore the pain in their shoulder. "I do not make a stupid face."

"Mmh, yeah you do. It's this one," he said before he pulled a very clearly over-exaggerated expression. "That's what you do."

"I literally do not make that face-"

"I've known you for over ninety years, yes you do."

"You're lying. I do not—"

Their father then came back with a healer before they could really get into it with Leó, drawing their attention away and toward the new Grisha in front of them. She looked young, perhaps twenty, although Atlas was never particularly great at guessing ages. They'd be right every once in a blue moon.

"I need to see your wound," she requested in a clear voice.

"Go right ahead," they answered, brushing their hair to the other side before standing still as the woman tended to them.

Getting healed by a healer never failed to feel strange, that familiar itching feeling as the injury smoothed over, leaving unmarred skin in its place. Atlas smiled in thanks, dipping their head at the young woman as they pulled up the collar of their dress back into place, idly thumbing at the fabric.

It was then that they noticed the stares. And the whispering.

Now, Atlas was no stranger to either of those things. That usually came with the territory of being a royal. What they were a stranger to was seeing a group of soldiers approach, albeit a small group, some with their rifles half-cocked. Their father stepped somewhat in front of them and Leó straightened up next to them, any teasing demeanor falling away at the sight of the newcomers.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and pointed toward Atlas.

"Miss, you're to come with us. Immediately."

Chapter Text

The three non-Ravkans stared at the soldiers for a few long moments before Atlas's father spoke.

"And on what grounds would that be?" Beric asked, his expression seemingly unreadable. "You have no business with my daughter."

"Your daughter appears to be Grisha." There was an odd emphasis with how the man spoke, like the label of Grisha was something to be frowned upon, something unnatural. "And, allegedly, she was at the center of the light source on your skiff. We're under orders to bring her to the Black General."

Atlas's gaze flitted between their father and the soldier as they slipped off their bloodied gloves from their hands. They kept their eyes on the people in front of them, tucking their ruined gloves away in the pocket of their dress, recognizing some of them as people that had been on the skiff with them.

Their father stood straighter and he took a step forward. Atlas grabbed onto their father's arm to stop him from moving any further, looking at the soldiers as their father spoke again.

"You can tell that general of yours to-"

"Papà," Atlas interrupted in an almost chastising manner, voice softer so only their father could hear it, their gaze shifting between the Ravkan soldiers and their dad. "Leave it. They're only doing as they were told. At least let us see what it is the General wants?"

They then turned toward the men in front of them, a polite smile on their face. "We'll go with you. Please, do lead the way."

The man eyed them for a moment before he huffed and turned, the other soldiers only starting to walk once the three of them followed after him. One of the Grisha from the skiff joined them, donned in a red coat similar to that of the healer, only this one was with black embroidery. They were led off the skiff and through the camp, people gawking at their little entourage as they continued walking.

Leó glanced at Atlas, his brows disappearing under his hair, speaking lowly. "Really? 'Oh please, do lead the way officers'."

"Shut up."

He snorted and cocked his head, bumping his arm against theirs. "It was a nice save, though." He paused and leaned down slightly, a little closer to their height. "But the Black General? Sounds kind of ominous, don't you think?"

"Reputation to keep with, perhaps?" Atlas responded with a small shrug of their shoulders as the group approached a large black tent. There were red-coated soldiers standing at the entrance, alongside some soldiers dressed in charcoal black.

Leó eyed the tent, murmuring as they came to a stop. "Shit seems a little pretentious to me."

"You actively live with us in the palace back home and you find a namesake like that pretentious?" Atlas questioned as their expression shifted to one of slight disbelief.

The Grisha from the skiff and the leading soldier conferred with the guards at the front of the tent, before the two disappeared into the tent itself. Leó was silent for the best of four seconds before he spoke again, crossing his arms, Atlas's cloak still in hand.

"You know, I'm feeling real judged right now and I don't appreciate that."

He was saved from an inevitably snarky Atlas response when the Grisha and the soldier came back, and they were all led into the large tent. The interior was surprisingly grand, for a tent in the middle of a military camp. Shimmering bronze fabrics were draped along the inner walls of the tent, catching the candlelight. Rugs and well placed furs softened the ground beneath their feet, and someone nearby played some kind of a string instrument, the soft melody drifting all throughout the tent.

It felt familiar, in a sense. The air was alive with the chattering of Grisha and the vibrant energy they brought. Laughter and music filled the air, a small place of peace in an otherwise tense and ragged base. But all the Grisha within the tent simmered down somewhat as their group was marched through the tent toward a raised dais at the end, looking on curiously as they swept by. Atlas caught only snippets of conversations as they passed by.

"… think that's her?"

"…I don't believe it…"

"… the Darkling wouldn't…"

What in the nine hells was a Darkling? Atlas frowned at that, starting to feel just a little off put.

They had all reached the dais and the room had fallen almost entirely silent, only the faint curious whispering could be heard from the Grisha around them. There were a few well dressed men standing around a long table and they all wore the Ravkan's king double eagle sigil, seemingly discussing whatever was on the maps with some red kefta-wearing Grisha. At the very head of the table, sat on an ornate high backed chair, was an individual dressed in a black kefta.

He didn't look much older than Atlas did but, then again, Atlas didn't quite look their age either. He was beautiful, to say the very least, with sharp features and clear grey eyes, his black hair combed back away from his face. He had the look of a man that would be a taste of something one could never have. It was… a little distracting, to say the least.

"How much d'you wanna bet he's a vampire?" Leó whispered as he fiddled with the sun-shaped brooch on his cloak.

Atlas fought back a smile at that, shaking their head as a quiet exasperated sigh escaped them. Their attention was mostly on the Grisha that had come with them, watching as she went up to the man in question, speaking in a low tone as for none of them to hear. They did, however, take notice of the crowd that had formed around them as they stood at the base of the dais.

"I'm not making another bet with you," they responded quietly as their gaze wandered around the room. "I'd rather not lose again."

"So you hate me."

"Don't put words in my mouth. Now hush," they shushed as the woman that had been conversing with the Darkling spoke.

"Bring them in."

Everyone turned to see a few soldiers leading in a group of somewhat battered yet definitely bewildered people. Atlas recognized some of them as the people that had been on the skiff with them when the Volcra had attacked. The group came to a stop a little left to the dais and one of the Ravkan soldiers at the dais, who looked to be of higher authority, perhaps a colonel, ordered, "Kapitan, report."

The captain stood at attention and he spoke, his voice flat. "We were approximately thirty minutes into the Fold when we were attacked by a flock of Volcra. We were pinned in place and were sustaining some damage. I was fighting on the starboard side when I saw…" He hesitated, sounding a bit unsure as he continued. "I don't know what I saw. It was like a burst of light. It was somehow afternoon in the Fold, like we were looking directly into the sun."

Murmuring broke out amongst the people in the tent; survivors agreeing with the captain's description and Grisha intrigued by the recount of events.

"And the woman?" The Darkling asked, his voice quiet yet it somehow managed to echo throughout the room.

"She was at the center of it, moi soverenyi." The captain continued, pointing to where Atlas was standing. "She made sure we made it all the way to this side safely."

All eyes turned to them and they gave a small polite wave, dipping their head slightly in acknowledgement of everyone just staring at them. They looked up to find the Darkling regarding them curiously. He stood up from his chair and had took only one step down from the dais, clearly intending on approaching them, but both their father and Leó stepped forward as to keep him from coming too close.

He cocked his head but he didn't move closer, his eyes shifting between the three before they landed on Atlas again. "What are you?"

His question was quiet and somewhat unassuming. Atlas stepped forward before they answered, tugging on their dad's arm so he'd back up. They answered easily enough, "A princess. And apparently the source of some kind of speculation amongst your soldiers."

"A princess." He repeated as his eyes narrowed, seemingly trying to place who they were. His gaze swept between them and their father, then to the sigils pinning their cloaks closed. There was a faint glimmer of recognition in his eyes and he nodded. "Care to recount your perspective of the events then, your grace?"

Atlas was silent for a moment as they thought about it, their gaze flicking from him to their father. He gave them a slight nod and they inhaled softly, letting any tension in their shoulders slip away before they even attempted to answer. "Everything had been going rather well, all things considered."

They brought a hand up to their face, brushing their stray curls out of their face.

“I’m not entirely sure how it happened but we ended up getting swarmed by…” They paused for a moment, their hand lightly gesturing as if they were trying to physically conjure up the word. “By the flying bat-like things in the Fold. It was just my luck that I was amongst the first to be targeted. The thing ended up injuring me when it grabbed me and, naturally, my powers responded.

“The one that grabbed me promptly disintegrated, as did all the ones within a mile radius of the skiff we were on. It was somewhat difficult to keep summoning, seeing as I was actively bleeding but I held it for as long as we needed.” They said with a small wave of their hand. "I'm unsure as to how long it took but we made it to this side all in one piece so I'd consider that a win."

The side of his mouth twitched, as though he were repressing a smile. "I suppose that would be considered a win."

He went quiet after a moment as he leaned back against the table with his arms crossed, seemingly examining them, grey eyes sweeping over their figure as he took them in. It truly felt like they were a particularly shiny shell that had washed up on the beach and he was debating on whether or not to take them home with him.

A few seconds passed and he leaned off the table, stepping down from the dais completely.

"If you would indulge me," he started quietly as he spread his arms out in front of him and coils of darkness slowly pooled in his palms. He tilted his head, a spark of something like interest in his eyes. "I wish to see what you can do."

He then brought his hands together, a loud sound similar to that of a thunderclap echoing throughout the tent. The darkness bloomed from his hands and swept through the room as they were all swathed in shadows.

Sweet Saints, it was like being back inside the Unsea; going from a lighted area to complete darkness with little time to adjust. Just a pure wave of shadow crashing over anyone and everyone.

Atlas startled slightly when a hand circled around their wrist and they went to tug their hand away out of instinct, which was only fair as they didn't recognize who had grabbed onto them. But an odd wave of surety and calm that washed over them kept them from pulling away entirely.

A familiar call rang through them and they realized that whoever was holding them must've been a living amplifier. They allowed the call to be answered, the light within surging forward to respond.

Beams of golden light pierced through the darkness, illuminating the tent in a wash of brilliant sunlight. The summoned light shone brightly upon all who stood in the room, bringing a previously missing warmth into the space. Atlas blinked when they saw that the Darkling was standing directly in front of them, his fingers curled around their wrist.

So it was him, they thought idly as they met his gaze.

What they found intriguing though was that he, unlike the others who shielded their eyes due to the brightness of the light summoned, kept his eyes on them. They were almost half sure he hadn't so much as blinked before he let go of their wrist, taking that sense of pure certainty with him as he withdrew his touch, switching to hold their arm with his gloved hand instead. The radiant light faded away, leaving only the candlelight to flicker and the familiar warm thrum of using their powers in its wake.

"Ravka has waited a long time for someone like you," he said as he continued to hold their gaze, although his eyes dipped down to their hands again, as if recalling the light that had been evoked forth, before he looked back up. "Come to the Little Palace?"

Atlas was almost certain that he'd meant that as a demand, but it came out sounding much more like a hopeful inquiry than he probably intended. In any usual circumstance, they would've said no. They would've refused because they had no responsibility tied to these people. But something within drove them to say yes, a sort of instinctual need to agree in this instance alone.

“I’ll go.” They nodded slightly, stray ivory curls falling back out of place from where they'd brushed them back, their voice having come out softer than they had wished. “Although, I do have one condition.”

The Darkling was quiet as he looked at them. They held his gaze for a long moment and they couldn’t quite decide if he was thinking about it or trying to intimidate them. Either way, they held their ground and his gaze. He gave a slight nod before he finally spoke once more. “And what would that be, your grace?”

“He is to come with me. I am in a strange and unfamiliar country and I do not know any of you,” they stated as they gestured lightly toward Leó with their free hand. "It's nothing personal but I don't have any reason to place my trust in any of you. So, he is coming with; it'd be foolish of me not to have him with me."

A small and brief smile ghosted over his lips and he nodded. "Of course. It would be foolish indeed."

He hadn't quite stepped away when he beckoned for one of the guards dressed in all black to come to where the two stood, as well as a tall red-coated Grisha. He passed Atlas's hand over to the guard, turning toward the Grisha beside him. "Ivan, get her to my coach. I want her-"

"They," their father corrected, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

The Darkling stopped and looked toward their father, his gaze going between the two. "They will have an armed guard with them until they reach the Little Palace," he amended, looking back toward Atlas. "Welcome to Ravka, your grace."

He dipped his head as he excused himself before he turned back toward the dais, where he was promptly swarmed by ministers and advisers. They watched him as he left before their attention was directed toward the Grisha, Ivan, as he offered his arm for them. They took his offered arm and allowed him to lead them outside of the Darkling's tent, their father and Leó following close behind.

The minute they exited the tent, their father turned to them, his brows furrowed.

"You don't have to go, mija. You have no obligations here," he said as he brushed their hair away from their face, his hand settling on their shoulder.

Atlas smiled and nodded, their free hand coming up to squeeze their father's hand reassuringly. "I know, papi, but I want to."

"And what do I tell your mother when I return home without you?" He countered as his brows rose in question. "Estelita, you know how she is."

"I'll write to her. Every few days, so that she knows that I'm fine," they answered placatingly. "Besides, she would've done the same if she were in my position."

Beric smiled at his daughter and he nodded. "That she would've." He leaned forward and placed a kiss to their forehead, before pulling back to examine them, a fond smile on his face. "I suppose I'll be cutting the trip short and returning back home. Stay out of trouble, okay mija?

"And you," he turned toward Leó, who only sighed in an exaggerated manner. "Take care of them. And yourself. And remember, if you two ever get homesick, I'm only a letter away."

He then drew the two of them into a hug, holding them tightly as he planted a kiss on both their foreheads. He then glanced over to Ivan, giving him a slight nod before he turned to leave, flagging down his own guards.

Ivan gestured for them to follow, leading the two of them toward the Darkling's coach. It was already waiting for them, surrounded by a ring of mounted Grisha in blue keftas, as well as an armed cavalry. Two guards dressed in all black stood on either side of the door to the carriage, waiting alongside two other Grishas in red keftas; a man and a woman.

As they approached, Ivan went up to the woman and spoke. "Give them your kefta."

The woman frowned slightly but she removed her kefta, handing it over to Atlas. They blinked as they accepted the garment, murmuring a soft thank you to the woman. They glanced over at Ivan when the woman left, raising a brow. "What do I need this for?"

"It's made with materialki core cloth. It can withstand rifle fire," he explained as he helped them into the carriage before he followed, slipping into the seat across from them. The carriage lurched forward as it began its trek out of the military camp.

Atlas examined the kefta curiously, letting Leó look at it as well, before they tugged it on over their dress. "You all wear this then?"

"When we're out in the field, yes." One of the black-clad guards answered.

"So you're pretty much covered?" Leó asked as he lifted Atlas's sleeve, poking at the fabric. "Unless you're shot in the head."

Ivan huffed out a laugh and he nodded. "Yes. Exactly."

The coach began to pick up speed, the sky outside steadily darkening. In the time it'd taken them to say their goodbyes and actually leave the camp, the sun had all but set. Atlas glanced out the window but the world outside had already become too dark to see. Thankfully, someone in the coach lit a lantern, bathing the interior in a warm orange light. On the windows, Atlas noticed, there was a symbol carved into the glass: two overlapping circles. They figured it must be the Darkling's sigil. After all, this was his coach.

"So." Leó's voice drew their attention back, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned back in the seats. "Who are you guys anyway?"

"I am Feydor," answered the newest man. "This is Ivan."

"We met," Atlas said with a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, though. This is Leó and I'm-"

The carriage must've hit a bump or some kind of dip in the road since it jolted.

"-Atlas." They finished as they shifted back in the seat.

Leó looked out the window and a slight frown pulled at his lips, his gaze going toward the two Grisha sat across from them. "Is it safe to be travelling at night?"

"No," Feydor shook his head. "But it'd be considerably more dangerous to stop."

Atlas and Leó shared a look and he spoke again. "And that's because?"

"For hundreds of years, the Shadow Fold has been doing our enemies' work for them. It closed us off from our ports, weakened us. If it's true that you," he gestured toward Atlas, "are truly the sun Summoner, then your power could be the key to opening up the Fold— or destroying it completely. Fjerda and Shu Han wouldn't just stand by and let that happen."

Leó let out a loud irritated sigh and Atlas frowned at that information. They raised a hand up to their face and massaged their temple, a displease exhale leaving them. "Right. Of course. Here's to wishing that we make it to the Little Palace before that inevitably happens."

"Here's hoping." Feydor agreed.

Chapter Text

The days passed by rather quickly, even though it had only been a couple that had gone by, and being on horseback had begun to feel somewhat uncomfortable. That, and the air was far chillier than it had been a few days prior. It was something that Atlas had made an offhanded comment about to Leó, just a quiet complaint. But it appeared as though the Darkling had heard because, the next time they'd stopped, he had offered them his cloak, murmuring something of how he'd rather they not catch a cold before they made it to the Little Palace.

Atlas's interactions with him were few and far between despite having ridden with him the first day. It wasn't often that he spoke to them, not that they could fault him for it since he seemed to be busy with keeping track of everything else that went on. Although they did catch his gaze on them on numerous occasions, his eyes cool and unreadable.

It was on the fifth night that they'd stopped to make proper camp; an abandoned farmhouse settled on a small hill, surrounded by woods.

Atlas dismounted from their horse, patting the white stallion's flank as they thanked a soldier who had come to see to their mount. They pulled up the hem of the cloak as to not let it drag against the ground, and they wandered over to a gurgling stream at the foot of the hill. They knelt down on the mossy bank after a moment's hesitation, letting go of their hold on the cloak's hem. They figured it'd be fine.

They pushed up their sleeves before they dipped their hands into the water. It was cold, which certainly woke them up as they freshened up, splashing some water on their face before they rinsed off their hands in the stream. Atlas stood and dried of their hands, taking a moment to finally stretch out all the stiff muscles from being on horseback for so long.

Dusk was beginning to gather and they watched the sky darken, thin streaky clouds of orange-pink drifting by. A particularly cool breeze waved by, ruffling their hair and they pulled the cloak a little tighter around themself. They turned and nearly jumped out of their skin, hands out as a beam of light sliced through the air and whipped past the Darkling, just barely missing him as it hit the tree behind him.

He raised a brow, turning his head to look at the singed trunk of the tree that had a piece missing before he looked back at them.

"Oh gods, I'm so sorry. You startled me." Atlas smiled apologetically, their gaze flitting between him and the tree.

He let out a quiet hum and cocked his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Perhaps you could use some work on your aim." He said as walked down to the stream, crouching down to splash water on his face and through his dark hair.

"I- What? My aim is perfectly fine, thank you."

"Oh is it now?" He asked as he glanced up at them.

"Yes."

He looked at the tree then back at them, his gaze almost pointed. Atlas let out a huff and blew a stray curl out of their face. "I wasn't aiming toward you so that cannot count."

"Mmh. Whatever you say, your grace."

The Darkling rose and he began to walk back up the hill, only after making sure Atlas was following behind that is. They made a gesture behind his back but they shook their head, walking slightly behind him for a moment before they caught up to him.

The beaten down barn of the abandoned farm came into view as they approached, the soft light of a lit fire illuminating the faces of everyone there. There was a small, defeathered bird being spun above the flickering flames. It would make a rather poor meal to be shared amongst all of them but the Darkling had made it clear he hadn't wanted anyone straying too far to hunt.

Atlas had parted ways with him as they wandered over to where Leó was sat. They plopped down next to him and the two sat in silence as they waited for the food to be done and dished out.

"I'm never getting on a horse after this," Leó grumbled as he stretched his legs out in front of him. He slumped against one of the barn's post and he looked at them. "You?"

They sighed as they unclasped the cloak, not quite taking it off. "I never thought I'd get tired of riding a horse but the longer we're riding, the more likely it's starting to become."

"This country has been a literal nightmare since we left that camp and it's been, what, a week? Why'd you have to drag me into this? I could've been on my merry way home," he lamented. He offered one of the soldiers a small thank you when he handed them their portion of the food. Leó eyed the portion, a disgruntled frown on his lips. "I could've found a bigger bird."

Atlas snorted and nodded. "Oh yeah, for sure. You can totally see in the dark unlike the others."

"Hey! Don't patronize me," he said as he waved a piece of his food in the air in front of them. He then popped it into his mouth as he leaned back against the wooden beam. "Anyways. What's up with you and dark-and-brooding over there?"

"Who?"

Leó gestured over to where the Darkling was sat next to his men on the cold ground, the low firelight dancing along his features. "Like I said; dark and brooding. So what's the deal?"

"There's nothing. I don't think. Why do you ask?" Atlas said as they finished off their portion, taking a cloth from their pocket and wiping off their hands.

"Well for one; he gave you his cloak unprompted so you wouldn't be cold. Two, he's coming over right now so good luck."

"Huh? Wait, where are you-?"

Leó stood up, offering them a thumbs up before he left, vanishing from their view. Atlas turned and found the Darkling kneeling down to sit near them, like Leó had said.

He offered them the flask and they took it, after hesitating for only a second. They eyed the flask and then brought it up to their lips, taking a small sip. Their expression twisted with distaste and they quickly shook their head, as if doing so would get rid of the taste.

He looked a little amused as they hand the flask back to him, taking a sip from it himself.

"Was it not to your tastes?" He asked with a small tilt of his head, the corners of his lips quirking upward.

"You could say that." Atlas said as they coughed slightly, covering their mouth.

He screwed the top back onto the flask and he set it to the side. "I take it you have questions," he said as he looked at them. "Ask me."

They were quiet for a moment as they mulled over their potential question, of which they truly had none. At least, none that had been floating about in their head. So they asked the first thing that came to mind.

"How old are you?"

He blinked.

"I'm not entirely sure."

Atlas raised a brow and they sat up a little straighter, leaning a smidge closer to him as they rested on their hand. "How can you not know?"

He shrugged. "How old are you then?"

"One hundred and six." They answered immediately, head tilted to the side. "Now you."

He exhaled, something soft in the imitation of a laugh. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity. You look young yet you're the general of an army. Color me intrigued."

"One hundred and twenty." He finally answered. "Give or take."

They hummed in response and nodded, idly curling a lock of their hair around their finger. They eyed him thoughtfully before they spoke again, having remembered a question they had wanted to ask prior, only truly wishing for some clarification. "You're a living amplifier, are you not?"

"I am, yes."

"I figured." They said, a small pleased smile pulling at their lips at the confirmation. They then frowned. "Does that not mean that there are people out there who'd want you as their amplifier? Is that not something to worry about?"

He gave a slight shake of his head. "I have other things that take priority over that."

"Like strengthening this army of yours?" They asked.

"That is one of them, yes." He regarded them as he glanced their way, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "What exactly do you know of me?"

"Other than the fact I know you're a shadow summoner, and an amplifier? Next to nothing, really." They paused, tacking on something else to their sentence, sounding more like a question than a statement. "That, your age and the knowledge that you're the General of the Second Army?"

He nodded. "I am."

A momentary blanket of silence feel between them as he looked away, seemingly contemplating something. Atlas watched him for a moment as they adjusted the cloak on their shoulders.

"My great-great-great grandfather was the Black Heretic," he started and they sat up a little straighter, intrigued. "He was the Darkling that created the Shadow Fold. It was a mistake, an experiment born of his greed, maybe his evil. I don't know.

"But every Darkling since has tried to undo the damage he'd done to our country. I am no different in that regard," he said as he turned to look at them, his expression serious. "I've spent my whole life searching for a way to make things right. You are the first glimmer of hope I've had in a long time."

"I am?"

He quietly sighed and it was as if there was an invisible weight sitting heavy upon his shoulders. "The world is changing. Muskets and rifles are only the beginning. I've seen the weapons they're developing in Kerch and Fjerda. The age of Grisha power is coming to an end."

"Does the First Army not have rifles? Or the appropriate weapons?" They questioned as a small frown formed on their lips.

"Our rifles, and our ammunition, all come from West Ravka. Every time—" He took a breath, a shadow flickering over his features. "Every time we cross the Fold, we lose lives. A divided Ravka will not survive the coming new age. We need our ports— our harbors— and only you can give them back to us."

Atlas's hand rose almost automatically, resting lightly against his arm, out of habit. "How? How am I meant to do that?"

He glanced down at where their hand was placed on his arm, grey eyes flicking back up to their face. He cocked his head slightly before he spoke, "By helping me destroy the Fold."

They held his gaze for a long while as they gave a minute nod, silence falling between the two. They then remembered their hand placement and they were quick to retract their hand, clasping their hands together on their lap instead. They fiddled with the cuff of their sleeve, absently thumbing at the violet fabric.

Atlas leaned against the wooden beam behind them, head tilted back as they glanced up. The barn's roof was broken, a fragment of the starlit sky visible. Beams of moonlight spilled in through the broken beams of the roof, offering a little more luminance to the otherwise poorly lit barn.

"What was that thing you did?" They asked quietly as they looked back toward him, breaking the silence that had fallen. "To the Fjerdan."

His gaze darted away and he stared into the fire as he answered. "It's called the Cut. It requires great power and great focus. It's something few can do."

Atlas nodded and hummed in response, eyes cast to the side in thought as they fiddled with the cloak instead. He must've mistaken their contemplative silence for unease because he spoke again.

"If I had cut him down with a sword, would that make it better?"

They looked to him and shook their head. "No. To be honest, I don't think you would've made it it time if you had used a sword. The Cut was your only true option, and I'm glad you used it. It saved my life, after all. So thank you."

Something akin to surprise flashed across his face and he glanced away for a moment before he looked back at them. "You're welcome," he murmured.

The conversation came to a lull before Atlas started again.

"You know, we never really had the chance to introduce ourselves to each other." They mentioned as they tilted their head, their eyes on his face. "My name's Atlas. Princess Atlas Estela Celistía, if you wish to use my full title one of these days."

"I know it is." He said quietly, a small upward quirk of his lips.

They blinked and cocked their head back slightly as they looked at him, before they remembered. "Ah, yes. I forget my name is public knowledge. Written in history books and everything."

He actually laughed at that, and it was surprisingly sweet sounding. Atlas had already gathered, in the little time they'd been with him, that he was a man that didn't seem to laugh all too often, so the sight of him doing so was something of a treat. It made them smile slightly, their eyes on him.

"So what do I call you?" They asked as they brushed a stray lock of their hair away from their face.

He was quiet for a while, the firelight playing over the perfect planes of his features. "Kirigan," he said, his gaze flicking along their face. "You can call me Kirigan."

"Kirigan?" Atlas echoed his name back to him, their brows raising curiously. "Is that your given name or your surname?"

He answered, after a few seconds of silence.

"It's my surname."

He then took notice of just how late it was, the moon a little higher in the sky than it had been when they had sat down.

"I should let you rest." He said as he rose, offering his hand to help them stand. "We still have quite the ways to travel before we arrive in Os Alta."

They took his offered hand, fingers curled around his palm as they stood, that distracting rush of certainty running through their veins once more. "Can I ask just how much longer it'll take?"

"Two days," he answered before he finally released their hand, taking that sense of surety with him. "We should be there after the dawn of the second day."

"Okay. Oh, do you wish for this back?" They asked their hands went up to this cloak around their shoulders, lifting it slightly as if to pull it off.

He stopped them and lightly tugged the cloak back around their shoulders. "No, it's alright. Keep it on until we arrive at the Little Palace." The corners of his lips lifted faintly as he looked at them. "I can't have my only glimmer of hope getting sick before we arrive, now can I?"

Oh Saints, he was distracting.

A half-smile pulled at their lips as they let out a soft, exhaled laugh and they felt warm in the face. They prayed it wasn't visible in the low firelight. "Yeah. That wouldn't be all too ideal."

"Goodnight, your grace."

"Goodnight," they murmured as they watched him walk away.

𖤓

The sun barely peaked out over the horizon, the sky lit up with pinks and purples, when they passed through a massive gate and the double walls of Os Alta. It was the dawn of the second day when they arrived, just like Kirigan had said. Their entourage passed by the shuttered windows of the shops that lined the road, a wide marketplace where a few vendors where already setting up their stalls. It looked to be that they were in the market town of Os Alta.

Crowded rows of narrow houses could be seen as they continued forward, eventually giving way when they came to the bridge. It arced over a large and wide canal, small boats and narrow canoes bobbing in the shimmering water below. Far beyond the bridge, rising above the misted grounds, was what actually looked like a capital of a country.

Fountains and well decorated plazas where everywhere, bright and vibrant parks nestled between tall and perfect rows of manicured trees. It sort of made them frown, how different the outer circle of the city was to the inner circle. It rubbed them the wrong way because it was clear they had the resources, yet it was distributed so unevenly.

House became larger and more imposing, the road beneath them sloping upward as they continued, all leading to another wall and gate. This gate, however, was wrought in gleaming gold and had the king's double eagle in the center. Heavily armed guards stood at their posts along the wall, a reminder that despite the extravagant sight before them, this was still a country at war.

The gate then silently swung open.

Elegantly trimmed trees lined the path they were on, paved with smooth gravel underfoot. Manicured gardens spread across the grounds, hazy and glimmering in the early morning mist. Above it all though, sitting atop numerous marble terraces and a absurd amount of golden fountains, loomed the Grand Palace.

They had just reached one of the fountains when Kirigan rode up to them, his horse right beside theirs.

"What do you think of it?" He asked.

Atlas looked back toward the palace, squinting slightly when they noticed the frankly ridiculous amount of statues that dotted the terraces. The palace stood tall, slim and shining in the morning light, three stories and rows of reflective windows. It was certainly ornamented very extensively. With what looked to be real gold no less.

They glanced back to him.

"It certainly presents quite the… visual," they answered tactfully, eyes shifting between the building and him.

A small smile played on his lips. "I think it's the ugliest building I've ever seen," he said before he nudged his horse forward.

"Amen to that," Leó muttered as he pulled up next to Atlas.

They snorted and they guided their horse to follow after Kirigan, the taken path curving behind the palace and deeper into the grounds. They passed by a hedge maze, a beautiful rolling lawn with a columned temple in the center, and a vast yet picturesque greenhouse whose windows were clouded with condensation. They all then rode through a grove of trees, almost large enough to be a forest in it's own right.

Faint sunlight was what they emerged to when they exited the stand of trees, standing at the top of a sloping hill. At the bottom, in a spacious clearing of well-kept rich green grass, was a building quite unlike anything they had ever seen.

"Welcome to the Little Palace." Kirigan said, looking far more relaxed than Atlas had seen him be.

They could see why it had been named that. At least, when in reference to the Grand Palace because it was still quite a big building. It stood tall, rising like it had been craved straight out of a fairytale, dark wood walls and golden domes. Every inch of the walls had intricate details carved into them: birds and flowers, twisting vines and mythical beasts of old.

On the steps stood a group of people, servants by the looks of it, all clad in charcoal colored clothing. Atlas dismounted from their horse and one of them came up to take their horse. The others pushed open the large doors of the Little Palace that led inside. Atlas linked their arm with Leó's as they passed through the doors, essentially pulling him along while he dragged his tired feet and grumbled under his breath.

"Leó look," they whispered as they pointed towards the walls, the carvings sparkling faintly in the morning light. It looked like crushed mother-of-pearl had been inlayed into the carvings.

"That's nice, Atlas." He said tiredly, cracking an eye open to look where they were pointing. "Oh wait, that's pretty cool actually."

"It is, isn't it?"

They continued walking, passing through the large entry hall before slowing as they entered a large hexagonal room where four long wooden tables were arranged in a rectangle at the center.

Atlas looked up and spotted the golden domed ceiling. "What is with the obsession with gold?" They murmured as their brows furrowed.

"Ask me that again after I've had a nap," he muttered as he dragged a hand over his face.

"Your grace." Came Kirigan's voice, catching their attention and they looked toward him. There was an older woman standing next to the general, dressed in a charcoal grey dress. "She will be taking you two to your chambers. I have things to tend to so I'll be taking my leave."

He gave a small bow before he turned, striding down the hall as his men followed after him. The older woman the led the two through a smaller pair of double doors and into one of the smaller towers, being a greeted by a flight of stairs. A long flight of stairs the spiraled upward.

Leó groaned and Atlas could only sigh. It wasn't like they had another option, unless they wanted to just slump to the floor and sleep there until the next day, so they followed up the stairs. Leó grabbed onto the bannister and dragged himself up the stairs, Atlas beside him. They had only just reached the landing yet the servant kept striding down the hall.

Door after door was passed before they finally— finally— reached a chamber, a maid standing next to the open door.

"This one is yours, miss." The older woman said as she gestured to the room in front of them. She then pointed to a door across from theirs. "And that one is for you, mister. Do you two need anything? Perhaps something to eat or drink?"

"No, it's alright." Atlas said politely, shaking their head.

"Very good," she said and she nodded to the maid, who curtsied and left. "Then I'll let you rest. Make sure to lock your door."

They blinked and Leó frowned, puzzled.

"As a precaution," she said before she left, leaving the two to their own devices.

Leó untangled his arm from theirs and trudged over to his bedchamber door. "Let's think about that somewhat ominous warning tomorrow. I'm too tired for this."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Sleep well," they said as they entered their own bedchamber, closing the door behind them, locking it before they drifted over to the four poster bed.

They glanced down at their riding uniform and sighed. They'd shower first and then sleep. They'd sleep until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

It was a little before noon the next day when Atlas woke up. They had just slipped out of bed and wandered over to the vanity when they heard banging on the door, nearly jumping out of their skin at the loud noise.

"Coming!" They called out as they walked toward the door, ignoring the slight ache in their legs from the past week. They reached out and unlocked it, hand on the door handle. "Who is it?"

The door had barely been unlocked before it flew open. Atlas took a rapid few steps back to avoid getting smacked with the door, eyes on the tall woman that breezed past them. She was easily one of the prettiest people they'd ever seen, with auburn hair that fell in waves over her shoulders, her eyes the color of sunlight through honey. She was almost statuesque in a sense, her features smooth and flawless. She wore a cream-colored kefta, embroidered with gold thread, and lined with what looked to be red fox fur.

"All Saints," she said as she looked them over. "What happened to your face?"

"I had an impromptu meeting with the ground," they replied dryly as they raised a hand to their cheek, the backs of their fingers brushing along the small scratches on their face.

She was already ordering the servants that had followed into the room. "I'll be needing my kit, and get them out of that nightgown and into a new dress."

Their brows rose but they didn't protest as the servants tugged them along to stand behind an ebony screen that had some mother-of-pearl stars embedded into it, mimicking the night sky. Within minutes they were clothed in a new dress. The fitted bodice ended just below their bust, the gathered skirt made of a silk chiffon that was pearl white in color. They stepped out from behind the screen and the servants promptly left.

"And who are you?" Atlas asked as the redhead threw open the curtains and drew an elaborately craved wooden table and chair toward the window.

"My name is Genya. In less than an hour, you'll be meeting the king and it's my job to make sure you look presentable." She explained, gesturing toward the chair. "Sit."

They did as she asked, taking a seat in the offered chair. A small open trunk sat on the table, it's contents scattered over the tabletop; small jars filled with berries, leaves, and some colorful powders. They didn't really have the chance to examine them too closely since Genya took a hold of their chin, turning their face toward the light. She passed her fingers over their skin, a prickling sensation similar to the healer's tending on their face.

Genya eventually took a step back and handed them a small golden hand mirror. Atlas glanced at their reflection, noting the lack of scratches. They smiled at her, dipping their head slightly as they set the hand mirror down on the table. "Thank you."

They made a move to stand but Genya pushed them back into the chair.

"Where do you think you're going? We're not done here."

Atlas blinked and opened their mouth to say something. "Are—"

"If General Kirigan had just wanted you healed, he would've sent a Healer."

"Well if you're not a Healer, what are you?" They asked curiously.

"I'm a Tailor."

They stared at her blankly for a few seconds, not quite computing. "Sorry but what does that entail exactly? I'm not too familiar with the terminology here." They said with a slightly awkward smile.

"It's alright. I don't make big changes, just small ones," she said. "Even out skin, add colour to your cheeks, alter your hair. Freshen you up a bit. I've perfected myself but I've had my entire life to do so."

Atlas nodded at her explanation, their expression thoughtful. "Is it really necessary?"

"Yes." Genya reached for a pair of bobbing pins to pin their hair away from their face. "The King loves beauty and General Kirigan knows that. When you're in the King's court, appearances are everything. If you're to be the salvation of Ravka… well, you already look the part but it doesn't hurt to add a little more."

"Alright then, go ahead."

Genya smiled, clearly pleased. "Thank you."

She tilted their head up once more, her thumbs running along their under eyes. She then reached for one of the jars on the table, opened it and plucked a coral-pink petal. She held it up to their cheek, the color bleeding from the petal onto their skin, leaving them looking a little more sun-kissed than usual. She repeated the action, except on their lips this time.

"It'll only last a few days," she said as she removed the bobbing pins from their hair, setting them down before plucking up a long comb from the trunk and a jar of something shimmery. "Now the hair."

Atlas raised a brow as they eyed the jar curiously. "And you're using gold?"

"Of course," she replied as she lifted a lock of their hair. "Do you not use gold?" She asked as she shook the gold leaf onto the crown of their head, pulling the comb through their hair and leaving shimmering ivory strands behind.

"Not ever, really. I rather the finish of pearls," they said with a slight smile. "We prefer to leave the gold in the vaults for when it's needed."

Genya laughed as she finished off the last section of their hair, winding it around her finger and then letting the curls fall back into place. "You could say that the Ravkan nobility can be a little heavy-handed with their use of gold."

She took a step back, a proud smile on her lips as she examined her work. "Better, no?"

Atlas looked in the mirror, regarding their reflection. Not too much was altered, just a touch of extra life breathed into their features, the lack of proper sleep from the week before seemingly erased.

"You're quite the talented Tailor," they said, a small smile tugging at their lips.

"It's only the best I can do with the time constraints," she said offhandedly as she waved off the praise, although she looked rather pleased. She continued, her voice light. "Besides, you wouldn't want to attract too much attention from the King."

An odd shadow flickered over her features and Atlas frowned slightly as Genya strode over to their vanity, picking up their hair comb. They didn't press the subject, just watching as she walked back, pulling their hair into a simple braided up-do before nestling the dark wood comb in their curls.

"Time to meet the King. Let's go," she said as she pulled them from the chair, her arm linking with theirs.

The two women exited Atlas's bed chamber only to be met by a very cross, yet well dressed, Leó getting pushed out of his own room by one of the servants. He batted her hand away when she reached up to fix his unruly hair and she curtsied, leaving. He sighed as he rubbed at his eye, adjusting the shoulders of his shirt.

"It hasn't even been a day and we already have to meet the King. I'm going to-" He blinked owlishly when he saw Genya. "Who are you?"

"Genya. Now walk and talk, we have places to be." She said as she pulled Atlas down along the hall, a bewildered Leó trailing after the two.

"Oh yeah, no, that absolutely clears things up for me." He muttered as he came up beside them.

All three went down the spiral stairs, bright sunlight spilling in through the tower windows. When they reached the bottom landing, Genya whispered, "If anyone asks, I only helped you get dressed. I'm not supposed to work on Grisha."

"Oh?" Atlas turned their head slightly to look at her. "Why is that?"

"Because the ridiculous Queen and her even more ridiculous court think it'd be unfair."

Atlas raised a brow but they didn't say anything since she seemed entirely unconcerned. They all entered the huge domed hall, where Grisha in colorful robes crowded around chatting. Many of them looked to be around Genya's age, although there were a few older ones milling about, silver-haired and gracefully aged.

One thing they noticed was that everyone seemed to be almost unnervingly good-looking.

"I'd hate to agree but the Queen might have a point," Leó said as he crossed his arms, eyeing everyone in the room.

"Oh no, this isn't my handiwork."

"Oh so people are just freakishly attractive here?"

Genya smiled slightly and she simply shrugged, earning a faint scoff from him. Someone must've spotted when the three of them entered because the room had gone silent, all eyes on them.

A Grisha in a red kefta broke off from one of the groups and he approached the three of them. He bowed lowly in front of Atlas and he introduced himself, "I am Sergei Beznikov."

"Oh! It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Atlas." They greeted, a smile on their lips.

"I know who you are, of course." He smiled, white teeth flashing. "Come, let me introduce you. You'll be walking with us." He held out a hand, gesturing toward a group of Corporalki.

"They're a summoner, Sergei," interrupted a woman in a blue kefta. "They'll walk with us."

Murmuring broke out between the Etherealki, all nodding in agreement to the woman's words.

"Marie, you can't possibly be suggesting they enter the hall as a lower-order Grisha."

Atlas raised a brow at that, watching as Marie's alabaster skin reddened and several summoners rose to their feet. Marie stepped toward Sergei , a scowl on her lips. "Need I remind you that the Darkling himself is a summoner?"

"So you're ranking yourself that same as the Darkling now?"

Marie sputtered and Atlas figured they should interrupt before things could escalate between the two Grisha in front of them.

"How about I go with Genya instead?" They interrupted as they glanced over their shoulder to her, holding their hand out and gestured for her to take it.

"With the Tailor?" Sergei questioned, clearly aghast as snickers from others could be heard.

Atlas cocked their head back slightly as they stood a little straighter, brows furrowed as their grip on her hand tightened faintly. "She has a name. Is there something wrong with me walking with Genya?" They asked coolly.

"No, of course not. It's just… you belong with us." Marie started, her gaze flicking between them and Genya for a moment, and an argument broke out around them.

The room then went silent as a low voice cut through all the arguing, "They'll walk with me."

Atlas turned to find Kirigan standing under the archway they'd just entered through, flanked by Ivan and a few other Grisha. He surveyed the room, his gaze finding theirs for a moment and he gave them a slight nod before he looked away.

"We are expected."

The room quickly broke into activity as all of the Grisha began to file through the double doors that led outside; Materalki first, then Etherealki, and the Corporalki last, all lined up in pairs. Atlas and Leó watched it all happen. Ivan approached Leó and said something about how'd he'd be walking with him in the line up.

Leó glanced over to Atlas and they gave him a nod, and he walked a little ways away with Ivan. Atlas momentarily looked off to their side and back to the crowd before they did a double take, finding that Genya had fully just disappeared. A moment later though, Kirigan appeared right beside them, his grey eyes on them.

"You look well rested," he said.

They laughed slightly and tilted their head, looking up at him.

"I certainly feel well rested." They said, a small smile on their lips. They paused, their gaze sweeping over the room before returning to him. "Are there other Tailors here?"

"Genya is unique," he answered as he offered his arm. "Like us."

They took his arm, ignoring the small flicker of something smug in their chest at his use of 'us'. "Why doesn't she walk with the rest of them, then?"

"Genya must attend the Queen."

"Oh must she? Why is that?"

"When Genya's abilities first began to manifest, I could've had her choose between becoming a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik. Instead, I helped her cultivate her particular affinity and made her a gift for the Queen."

"A gift?" They repeated as they cocked their head, a faint furrow in their brows. "That makes it sound as if Grisha are no better than serfs."

His expression soured briefly, lips pressed together and he looked away. "We all serve someone." His features then cleared, his tone just a little lighter as he added, "the King will expect a demonstration from you."

"A demonstration? What am I, a performer?" They asked almost indignantly as the two of them moved forward, following after as the last Corporalki left through the double doors.

Kirigan smiled slightly as they emerged into the afternoon sun, the gravel path crunching underfoot. A cool breeze swept past, drawing a few stray curls out of the up-do Genya had done for them. Atlas blew their hair out of their face, a faint scowl on their lips, and they glanced back up at him.

"Is it commonplace for your King to demand such things of people?"

A shadow fleetingly flickered over his features and he cocked his head. "It's not unusual for the nobles to demand things of us Grisha."

"I'm not sure I like that," they said, their scowl fading to a small frown.

"No one does," he murmured, "but we make a good show of it."

"Because you have to?"

He gave a slight nod. "Because we have to."

"You know," Atlas started quietly, their eyes flicking up to his face. "With everything I learn about how things work here, my tolerance gets a little lower."

A smile ghosted over his lips at that and they reached the white marble steps of the Grand Palace, moving through the spacious entry hall into a long corridor. Lining the corridor where numerous mirrors and it was ornamented in gold. It was jarringly different from how the Little Palace was furnished: walls of white and pale blue, gleaming chandeliers, liveried footmen milling about, and polished parquet floors. It was bordering on exhausting on the eyes. They walked past a jade tree embellished with leaves made of diamond and that only cemented their thoughts; the resources here were distributed horrendously uneven.

The throne room was three stories tall, wide windows on each story with the King's gold double eagles etched into the glass. A long pale blue carpet was laid out on the floor, leading up to the raised dais the throne sat upon. The men were dressed in their military attire, black trousers with white coats covered with medals and ribbons. The women wore silken dresses that sparkled in the light, with puffed sleeves and low necklines. All the Grisha stood in their separate orders, flanking either side of the carpeted aisle.

A silence rippled through the room as every face turned toward Atlas and Kirigan. They kept to a rather leisurely pace as they approached the golden throne. The King sat up straighter as the two drew closer, evidently excited. He looked to be somewhere in his forties, slender and round-shouldered with large watery eyes and a pale mustache. Beside him on the raised dais stood a man with a long, dark beard. He seemed to be wearing priest's robes, the King's sigil emblazoned on the chest. One the King's other side sat, who Atlas could only assume was the prince, since he looked near identical to the King.

Kirigan gently squeezed their arm to warn them they'd be stopping and they let their hand fall from his arm.

"Moi tsar, your highness," he addressed both royals in a clear tone. "Princess Atlas Celistía, the sun summoner."

Atlas curtsied as murmurs rushed through the crowd around them. They'd only just risen from their curtsy when the King beckoned them forward, waving impatiently. "Come, come! Bring her to me."

They felt their eye twitch faintly at the demanding tone but they kept their expression relatively pleasant, walking closer to the dais alongside Kirigan. The King scrutinized them the minute they stood at the base of the dais, a slight frown on his lips.

"I thought you'd be taller." He said before he waved his hand. "Show me."

Well fuck you too.

The thought was fleeting because Kirigan drew their attention toward him instead, his arms spread out as ribbons of shadow coiled in his hands before they seeped into the air. He brought his hands together with a resounding crack and darkness quickly blanketed the room.

Even though Atlas knew it would be happening, the sudden dark was just a little bit disorienting. They stuck a hand out and waved it around, their hand making contact with someone. A quiet 'ow' left Kirigan and he grasped their wrist, his bare hand slipping into theirs. That same certainty washed over them and, even though they didn't need his help in the slightest, they didn't pull away.

The warm thrum in their veins strengthened as they called on their powers. Light flooded through the throne room, shattering the darkness like glass. Applause erupted from the court; people were weeping and hugging each other, there was a woman who had fainted. The King was clapping the hardest, rising from his throne and stepping down from the dais, the prince and the priest right behind him.

"Brilliant! A miracle!" The King shouted, taking Atlas's free hand and raising it to his wet lips. "My dear girl. My dear, dear girl."

It took everything in them to not snatch their hand away and they smiled, although it didn't quite reach their eyes. They remembered what Genya had said about the King's attention as he let them go, and they discreetly wiped the back of their hand on their dress, disguising the movement as if they'd been smoothing the fabric of their dress out.

"Miraculous, simply miraculous," he praised as he clapped Kirigan on the back. "Come, we must make plans immediately."

The King and Kirigan stepped away to talk, leaving Atlas with the prince and the priest. The priest stepped forward. "A miracle indeed," he said, his eyes boring into them with a disquieting intensity. He did eventually walk away to join the king.

"Princess Atlas," the prince started, lifting their hand to his lips. "I'm Prince Vasily Lanstov. It's a great pleasure to have you here."

They offered him a smile and a small dip of their head, their gaze sweeping around the room for a moment before it landed back on him. "It's a pleasure to be here," they said politely as they pulled their hand away when he let go.

"How have you been settling in?" He asked.

"Very well, thank you."

"That's good," he said, "the rooms in the Grand Palace would be a lot more to your tastes, your grace. It wouldn't be difficult to move you into one, you are our guest after all."

Atlas smiled. “Your hospitality and kindness are very appreciated, your grace, but I must politely decline.”

A silence seemed to blanket the throne room at their words, heads turning to the two, but they continued on unperturbed. Atlas kept their tone clear and even, a softer lilt to their voice in a subtle attempt to assuage any wounded royal egos, their gaze flitting over to where Kirigan and the King were standing.

“General Kirigan had previously offered me a room in the Little Palace and I’ve accepted already. It would be in rather poor taste if I were to go back on my word after I’ve said yes, no?”

It seemed to work well enough, seeing as Vasily settled in the slightest bit. “That it would be. Well, if you were to ever change your mind, the offer will still stand.”

He then bowed before he walked away, towards where his father stood. The minute he left, they were quickly surrounded by the men and women of the court, all wanting to make their acquaintance or simply to just come in contact with them. Thankfully, Leó came to their rescue, marching right through the crowd to them.

"Alright people, keep your hands to yourself. Don't be weird," he said he finally got to Atlas, shooing people away from them.

He managed to create a decent amount of space between them and the nobles of the court, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips as he glowered at the people to keep them away. Genya then also appeared by their side, taking Atlas's arm as she whispered.

"The Queen wishes to meet you."

Chapter Text

Atlas looked at Genya when she said that, Leó only heaved another sigh and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh for the love of— Alright let's get this over with," he said as he gestured for Genya to lead the way.

The two of them steered Atlas through the crowd, maneuvering through the mass of onlookers. Genya led them through a smaller door that led out to a hallway, then into a sitting room where the Queen was reclined on a divan, a small dog with a pushed in face snuffling on her lap.

The Queen was beautiful, almost uncannily so. Her glossy blonde hair was pinned up in intricate curls, loose locks of hair settled over her shoulders. Her features were delicate, cold and lovely. But something about her was a touch off: her hair was a little too yellow, eyes a little too blue, skin far too smooth.

Just how much work had Genya done on her? Atlas wondered as their gaze swept over the other ladies in the room with the Queen. She was surrounded by women in gowns of petal pink and powder blue, the low necklines of the dresses embroidered with shimmering thread and small glistening beads. But, even in all their splendor, they couldn't outshine Genya in her simple cream kefta and burning auburn hair.

"Moya tsaritsa," Genya announced, dipping into a low, graceful curtsy. "The Sun Summoner."

Atlas mimicked Genya's curtsy, although they didn't go as low, just enough to not seem disrespectful. Leó gave a short bow and all three of them rose. The Queen eyed Atlas for a moment, blue eyes sweeping over their frame in a scrutinizing manner.

"I thought she'd be Shu," she said as she surveyed them. "Well, I guess she's Shu enough. Tell her… oh I don't know, good afternoon."

Atlas blinked.

"I don't speak Shu, your majesty." They said, a slight confused furrow in their brows. "And I am not Shu either."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

Was she… being serious?

"Yes. I am very sure."

"Hm." The Queen leaned back, lounging against the arm rest of her chair. "If you aren't Shu, then where are you from?"

They held back a sigh, keeping their expression pleasant. "The southern continent Latinav. From the country Borikén if we get into specifics, your majesty."

"Oh. Is that not the same thing as Shu Han?" She asked.

"No, it's very different." Atlas gently corrected, keeping their tone somewhat sweet as to not have the Queen think they're insulting her intelligence. "Two separate continents across the ocean from each other, your majesty."

The Queen nodded and she examined her nails for a moment, her gaze flicking back up to them, seemingly examining their every feature. "You're rather pretty. You must be the diamond of your court with those looks."

"Why thank you, your grace." They smiled at the compliment, a little skeptical as to where this was going.

"I take it you're rather versed in manners of court then, yes? Or at least yours. This one might seem a bit strange to you. Do take care that the life in this court doesn't corrupt you the way it has others," she said, her blue eyes sliding over to where Genya stood. It was clearly meant as an insult but Genya didn't raise to the bait, only standing there with a blank face, something which did not please the Queen. She dismissed them with a ringed finger. "You can go now."

Atlas dipped their head slightly, their gaze focused on the Queen, a smile on their lips that held very little warmth. "It was a pleasure, your majesty."

Genya led them out into the hall, Leó trailing slightly behind before he stepped in time with the two of them, and she muttered something under her breath, "Old cow." It brought an amused smile to their lips and Leó snorted at that. They had only just stepped into the hall when Kirigan appeared from seemingly nowhere, steering the three of them down an empty corridor.

"How did you fare with the Queen?" He asked.

"It went rather well. I'm almost certain she doesn't like me but I can't say I'm all too fussed about it," Atlas answered as they linked arms with Genya. "While everything she said was perfectly nice, if a little strange, she spent the entire time staring at me with an expression as though I was something her dog had thrown up.

"And, on top of that, she asked me if I was Shu. While it isn't the first time it's happened since I've stepped foot in Ravka, I am still baffled by it." They said as they looked between Genya and Kirigan.

Genya leaned slightly toward them. "Well, the Queen doesn't leave the palace often. She's not used to seeing people that don't look like her," she whispered conspiratorially.

"You don't say?" Leó quipped dryly as he raised a brow and he crossed his arms. "I don't fuck with the Queen. Or the King. Or the prince for that matter."

Genya laughed at that, and Kirigan's lips quirked into what might've been a smile.

"Welcome to court," he said.

"I don't think either of us likes it," Atlas added.

"No one does," Kirigan admitted. "But we work with the hand we've been dealt."

"Well, at least the King is pleased, isn't he?" They asked as they cocked their head, eyes glancing over to Kirigan.

"The King is a child. But today you've made him a very happy child."

"Oh is he now? How wonderful," they replied wryly. "Anyways, who was the bearded man next to the King? In the priest-like robes?"

"The Apparat?"

"Sure. Is he a priest or?"

"Of a sort. Some say he's a fanatic. Others say he's a fraud."

"And what do you say?"

"I say he has his uses," Kirigan answered. He continued, addressing Atlas first before speaking to Genya. "But I think we've asked enough of you today. Take them back to their chambers and have them fitted for a kefta. The both of them.

"You two will be starting instructions tomorrow. It'll mostly be tests to find out what level you're at. Nothing too strenuous," Kirigan explained. He cocked his head slightly, grey eyes flitting between Atlas and Leó. "Just to see what you can do."

Genya nodded and she gave a slight bow, turning and lightly tugging on Atlas's arm.

“Genya,” he turned to her as he spoke, fixing the cuff of his glove. “Their kefta will be black.”

She drew in a startled breath but nodded and she placed a hand on Atlas’s back, an attempt to guide them away. But Atlas slipped from her grasp with relative ease as they turned back toward the general before he left.

“Wait!”

They called as they reached out almost automatically, grasping his wrist lightly. He stopped and turned to face them, his gaze flitting down to their hand before he looked back up. “Could I perhaps have it in another color like yellow? Well, maybe orange, but my question still stands.”

Kirigan looked at them blankly for a moment and his lips parted. He held a hand up when Genya went to interrupt, his eyes on the woman in front of him. “Why?”

“Well, for one, black seems to be your color. And black doesn’t exactly scream "wielder of sunlight" all too much,” they stated with a tilt of their head.

The corner of his lips quirked up slightly at that. “You make a fair point, my lady. Your kefta shall be whichever you choose then.”

Atlas smiled and they let go of his wrist, their hand looping back around Genya's arm as they waved to him. He dipped his head slightly before he turned and left, leaving the three alone. Genya stared at them, aghast.

"What?" They asked, raising a brow at her reaction.

"Atlas," she started slowly, "no other Grisha has ever been permitted to wear his colors."

"Well, yes, I could see that. I do have a pair of working eyes, Genya. But he didn't seem angry about it," they mused as the three of them started walking again.

"That's hardly the point. It would've been a mark of your standing, of his esteem. It would've placed you high above all the others."

Atlas smiled slightly and placed a hand over Genya's, gently squeezing it. "Regardless of what I wear, I'd naturally be above the others. Besides, it's not like I'll be wearing blue like the other summoners, now am I?"

"I guess you're right," she relented as she sighed, leading the way through the palace and to the main entrance.

"I'm more surprised you didn't ask for purple," Leó said.

Genya's head snapped up and she looked almost affronted. "That color is specifically for Fabrikators! Why would you—"

"Woah, chill out. You're way up here and I need you to take it down to here," Leó said placatingly as he lowered his hand. "I was just saying since that's their favorite color."

"Oh."

The three passed two liveried servants as they walked out the main doors, the doors having been opened for them. Atlas noticed that they were wearing white and gold, the same colors as Genya's kefta, which were clearly servant's colors. A cool breeze swept past, the setting sun washing over the three of them as they started the long walk to the Little Palace.

"Okay, this seems to be a bit of a touchy subject so let's just relax, yeah?" They suggested. "If it weren't for the very clear orders you guys get divided into, I would've definitely asked for purple."

"You should see their bedroom back home. It's almost entirely different shades of purple, with some white and green sprinkled in." Leó added as he waved his hands.

Atlas huffed out a laugh, rolling their eyes. "You say that as if your bedroom isn't just red and black."

He opened his mouth to defend himself, a finger raised and then he closed his mouth. The corners of his lips down-turned almost comically so and he crossed his arms. "That wasn't an invitation for you to target me but okay. I see how it is," he said dryly.

Genya laughed, properly laughed, at that and they finally entered the Little Palace. By the time they'd all climbed the spiral stairs up to the right level, dusk had already fallen and night was steadily approaching. They ended up in Atlas's bedchamber, with Atlas situated at the window seat and Leó sprawled out on one of the nearby armchairs. Genya rang for a servant, whom she sent to find a seamstress and order up two dinner rays. But she paused before she sent the girl away.

"Would you rather wait and dine with the Grisha downstairs later tonight?" She asked.

Atlas shook their head. "No thank you. But would you like to stay?"

She hesitated.

"You don't have to if you don't wish to," they said as they pulled the hair comb from their hair, setting it down beside them. "You can go eat with everyone else, I don't mind."

"No, not at all. Dinner for three then," she stated, and the servant raced off.

Genya closed the door and she walked to the small dressing table from before, picking up their hair comb and placing it on the tabletop, and she started to straighten out the items on the table: a brush, a pen and a pot of ink. She still had her back to the two of them when she started to speak.

"You should understand that, when you start your training tomorrow… well, Corporalki don't eat with Summoners. Summoners don't dine with Fabrikators, and—"

Leó lifted his head, his brows furrowing. "That sounds like on overly complicated way of saying you don't wanna stay for dinner."

"No! That's not it at all! I just—" She sighed and turned to face the two of them, leaning back against the small table. "I'm only trying to explain how things work. It's a great honour to be asked to dine with you but the other Grisha might not approve."

Atlas frowned and they sat up a little straighter, placing down the pillow they'd been toying with. "And why is that, Genya?"

"Because I'm the Queen's pet," she answered, a bitter undercurrent to her words. "Because they don't consider what I do valuable. A lot of reasons really."

"Well, I've never needed anyone's approval when doing what I want. I'm certainly not going to start now," they said as they patted the space next to them, gesturing for her to join them. "Whether or not they approve matters very little to me. They'll just have to deal with it."

Genya smiled at that, her expression clearing. A knock at the door drew everyone's attention and Genya went to answer it; it was the seamstress. In very little time, both Atlas and Leó were being measured and fitted. Measuring tapes were pinned in place and pieces of muslin fabric were draped over them, everything taken into account. Leó would be getting a red kefta, complete with the black thread. Atlas, on the other hand, still didn't quite know what color to choose.

"What do you guys think? Because the yellow, I think, is sort of an obvious nod to my being the Sun Summoner."

"Not going to lie, that's a little on the nose." Leó pointed out.

Atlas hummed as they nodded, worrying their bottom lip between their teeth as they thought. "The other option is a sort of lighter bronze orange."

"That one actually reminds me of home. So it could work as an homage to our colors," Leó replied. "The yellow would be cool but I think pairing gold and yellow might be a visual nightmare. Just saying."

"You're so right. A darker orange for my kefta would work nicely, thank you." Atlas told the seamstress, a smile on their lips as she bowed.

The seamstress gathered up all her muslin and pins, Leó immediately heading back over to the armchair. Genya was setting up their dinners since it had just arrived, and the seamstress left. They all gathered around the table near the arm chairs, chatting and laughing as they ate their dinner: sweet pea porridge, roasted quail drizzled in honey, and fresh figs. Genya maintained a steady stream of chatter, telling them all about the gossip that went on in and out of the Little Palace.

Eventually, when they'd all finished their meals and the last of the servants had left after taking their dinner dishes with them, Genya rose from her seat.

"I'll come get the two of you for breakfast in the morning. It will take a while before you memorize the layout of the Little Palace, it can get a bit maze-like if you don't know your way." A mischievous smile then curled on her lips. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow you're meeting Baghra."

Leó had been in the middle of yawning and he frowned. "Baghra?"

"Oh yes. She's an absolute treat," she said, a wicked grin on her lips.

Before either of them could ask her to elaborate, she gave a small wave and slipped out the door. The two of them stared at the closed door before at each other, identical confused expressions on their faces.

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

Atlas shook their head, their shoulders raising into a shrug. "I haven't the faintest but I already do not like whatever that's going to entail."

"So we're just in for a possibly mean surprise tomorrow?" He asked as he slumped in the armchair, dragging his hands over his face.

They smiled slightly, a wry thing. "Guess we'll just have to find out."

𖤓

Atlas woke early the next morning, the first dredges of sunlight spilling in through the opened curtains. They'd forgotten to close them the night before. They briefly thought about just closing them and returning to sleep but, well, they were already awake. Instead they walked over to the large vanity, rummaging through the drawers for some paper; they had a letter to write to their mother after all. There were a few loose pages of paper and the picked up the pen that had been left for them, dipping it into the dark blue ink.

They'd written about half of their letter before they heard a soft knock at their door. They stood and walked over to the door, opening it to fins a servant waiting just outside. She was holding a stack of clothing, a pair of boots, and a copper-colored kefta. They had just barely gotten their thanks out before she curtsied and disappeared. So, they closed the door and placed down the clothing, draping the kefta over the dressing screen.

They weren't sure as to when Genya would be arriving, so they figured they'd get dressed sooner than later. The clothing consisted of a pair of riding breeches that looked similar to the ones they'd already had, a thin long-sleeved cotton blouse that tied closed with a dark blue sash, and a pair of black boots that ended at their calves. Before donning on the kefta, they brushed through their hair, braiding back the long ivory curls so they wouldn't get in the way.

Atlas glanced over to the dressing screen where the kefta lay draped over, and they thumbed the material. They pulled it off and slipped it on, the fabric lighter than it looked. They fastened all the small hidden buttons at the front of the kefta, admiring the deep copper color in the mirror. It was quite long, falling just above their ankles, the gold embroidery shimmering softly in the morning sunlight. They were brought out of their musings at the sound of a knock on their door.

"It's open!"

They called out, briefly glancing over when the door creaked, the large wooden door swinging wide open. Genya strolled in, a half-asleep Leó right behind her.

"Very nice," she said, nodding approvingly as they turned to her. "But you would've looked better in black."

Atlas rolled their eyes and laughed, allowing Genya to herd them out the door and be swept down the hall. They'd reached the landing of the stairs and she'd begun to make her way down. They grabbed onto the sleeve of Leó's kefta, stopping him from following after her too closely. She noticed and she shot them a quizzical look, her head cocked to the side. "You're coming, are you not?"

"Yeah, we'll be right there. I just have to ask him something real quick. You go ahead, Genya." Atlas said as they gave her a nod, a warm smile on their lips.

She looked between the two, her amber eyes narrowing the slightest bit, but she nodded slowly. "Of course. Just don't lag too far behind; wouldn't want you getting lost."

She then turned on her heel, continuing her descent down the stairs. They waited for a few seconds, watching the space between them and Genya grow a little wider until she was out of earshot.

"When we go in for training, just stick to heartrending yeah? Let's keep the other stuff to ourselves for now." They said quietly, their brows arching pointedly. "As lovely as they've been, we can't just go trusting everyone all too willingly."

He nodded as a small sigh escaped his lips. "Yeah, I know. But what if someone asks? You remember that I summoned fire when the attack happened right?"

"I don't think anyone will. They would've been too busy fighting for their lives during the attack, remember?" They raised a hand, fingers idly fiddling with the small sun pendant necklace they usually wore. "But if they do, just lie. What are they going to tell you? That you're wrong?"

"You've got a point."

"Obviously I do," they said. "Now let's go before Genya thinks something wrong happened."

The two of them descended down the stairs hastily, easily catching up to her. She led them through to the same domes room where everyone had gathered the day before. It wasn't as nearly as crowded as it had been, but there was still that lively buzz of conversation. Grisha were scattered all about the room: some lounging on divans or clustered around elaborately tiled ovens. Others were having their breakfast at the four long tables at the center of the room. A quiet sort of hush fell over the room when the three of them entered, although the Grisha were a little better at pretended to continue their conversations as they passed today. Plenty of eyes were on Atlas once more, mostly on the unusual color of their kefta.

Two women in Summoners' robes swooped down on the trio. Atlas recognized one of them as Marie, the one who'd gotten into an argument with Sergei the day prior.

"Atlas! We weren't properly introduced yesterday. I'm Marie, and this is Nadia." She gestured to the smiling, apple-cheeked woman next to her. She looped her arm with theirs, deliberately turning her back toward Genya. "Come sit with us."

They frowned and made a move to de-tangle themself from her hold, looking over to Genya who only shook her head and said, "Go on. You belong with the Etherealki. I'll fetch you after breakfast to give you a tour."

"We can show them around—" Marie started.

Genya was quick to cut her off. "To give you the tour as the Darkling requested."

"What are you, their maid?"

Genya eyed her as she responded. "Something like that," she answered before she turned, walking away to pour herself a cup of tea.

"Far above herself," Nadia muttered with a sniff and Marie nodded.

"Worse every day," she said as she turned to Atlas. She'd opened her mouth before they raised a hand, effectively silencing her for a moment.

"Do take care as to how you speak to and about Genya. I happen to like her," they started as they looked between the two women, gaze frosty. "If you are going to speak ill of her, do not do it in front of me. Is that understood?"

Both of them nodded, looking affronted yet properly chastised at the same time. Atlas smiled cheerily since their point seemed to be driven home perfectly. They clapped their hands together and pointed towards the four tables. "How about breakfast now? We're absolutely famished."

They said as they linked their arm with Leó's, gesturing for the girls to lead the way. They all approached the tables, and two servants stepped forward to pull their chairs out for them. Atlas thanked them, their eyes flicking over to Marie as she spoke, and they tugged Leó into his chair, earning a disgruntled grunt from him.

"We sit here, at the right hand of the Darkling," she said proudly, gesturing down the length of the table where more Grisha in blue keftas sat. She then shot a disdainful glance toward the table opposite them, where a glowering Sergei and few other red-coated Grisha were having breakfast. "The Corporalki sit there."

It all looked pretty much the same to Atlas but they didn't comment on it. They noticed that Kirigan's table was empty, a lone ebony chair placed there. Leó noticed as well and he propped his elbow on the table, leaning against his hand.

"Is he late for breakfast?" He asked.

"Oh no. He hardly ever dines with us," she explained.

Atlas and Leó shared a look; all this fuss over getting to sit next to Kirigan and he barely ever ate here? What a… dedicated bunch of people.

Plates of what looked like rye bread and some sort of pickled fish were placed in front of them, causing their nose to scrunch. While they were no stranger to fish, seeing as Borikén was an island, something about this just didn't quite sit right with their senses. Thankfully there was plenty of bread and sliced plums. A servant brought them hot tea and he placed down a small bowl, filled with sugar. They thanked him, taking their spoon and adding a scoop of sugar into their tea.

Another group of Summoners joined the table and, after very brief introductions, proceeded to bombard Atlas with millions of rapid fire questions. They ranged from where they were from to wanting confirmation they'd really been attacked by Fjerdans to details of the attack in the Fold.

"How many Volcra did you kill?" One of the younger Grisha, a boy named Ivo, asked.

Atlas paused as they considered his questions. "You know, I don't actually know."

"I heard that you killed hundreds of them when the skiff was attacked!" He exclaimed.

"I suppose that could easily be true. I wouldn't know though. I was a little too preoccupied to be counting how many I killed," they answered, an amused smile on their lips as they finished off the final sip of their tea.

Genya appeared a mere few seconds afterward, tapping on both Atlas and Leó's shoulders to get their attention. "Shall we?" She asked, fully ignoring all the others.

They both nodded and rose, Atlas cheerily offering goodbyes as they linked arms with Genya, exiting the room.

"How was breakfast?" She asked as she looked between the two.

"The food or the people? Because those are two very different answers," Leó said as he stretched his arms up above his head.

"Breakfast was okay, if a bit… interesting to look at." Atlas added.

Genya made a face. "Was it herring and rye?"

They both nodded at her question and she wrinkled her nose. "Absolutely vile."

"Tell me about it. I don't think I'm getting the taste of it out of my mouth any time soon. I should've never touched it," he said, a dismayed expression on his face.

Atlas raised a brow and they cocked their head, brown eyes narrowed in slight suspicion. "Well what did you eat, Genya?"

She glanced around to check if anyone was around or within earshot before she leaned in, whispering only loud enough for the two of them to hear her. "One of the cooks has a daughter with terrible spots. I took care of them for her and now she sends me the same pastries they prepare for the Grand Palace every morning. They're divine.

"But don't say anything about it," she continued. "General Kirigan is very keen on the idea that we all eat 'hearty peasant fare'. Saints forbid we forget we're real Ravkans."

Atlas laughed and patted her arm. "I swear I won't say a word," they promised.

Genya looked over to Leó, seemingly expecting the same promise from him. He sighed and raised a hand, his other placed over his heart. "I promise I won't say anything. Happy?"

"Good enough, I guess. If you two are very nice to me, I might even share," she said with a shrug, one of her eyes cracking open to look at the two of them, a smile on her lips. She then gestured to the massive set of double doors that stood in front of them, then to the right, then to a pair of double doors on the left. "Now, these doors lead to the library and the workrooms. That way to get back to your rooms, and then that way to the Grand Palace."

Atlas nodded as they looked to wherever Genya pointed to, their gaze curiously darting over to the closed double doors behind Kirigan's table. "What about those? Where do they lead?"

"If those open, you have to pay attention. They lead to General Kirigan's council room and his quarters."

"Oh, okay." They said absently as they nodded, filing that information away. They turned and saw Leó looking at them, clearly holding back some kind of smile. They raised a brow at him, "What?"

"Nothing," he said as he held his hands up, following after Genya since she'd kept on walking.

There wasn't a chance they believed him but they had to keep up with a very swift Genya. She led the two of them through the Little Palace, showing where the library was, which was where they'd be studying any history and theory— not that either of them needed it— and they kept walking. They all passed through and had exited into a dark hallway. Genya kept walking to the left but Atlas noticed a pair of red-lacquered doors down to the right, where two Corporalki emerged from before disappearing into the shadows.

"Come on," she whispered as she grabbed both of them by the arms, dragging them over to where the light shone in the complete opposite direction of those doors.

"Alright, we're coming. Please let me go," Leó said as he pulled his arm out of her grasp. He glanced back behind him. "Where do those doors lead?"

"The anatomy rooms." She paused for a moment, seemingly registering the red of his kefta once again. "You'll be going in those at some point. Not with me here though so keep walking."

Genya led them them to the Fabrikators' workshops, which were behind the doors at the end of the lit hallway. There was certainly a lot happening in the workshop. Worktables laden with bolts of fabric and chunks of glass, thin skeins of gold and steel, and oddly twisted hunks of rock. In one of the corners, there were terrariums that held flowers, insects and snakes.

The Materialki barely glanced up as the three of them passed, all too engrossed in their work. One table had two Fabrikators working on a molten lump of some kind of steel, and another where another Fabrikator was measuring out a dark, dense liquid that smelled of tar. They were briefly introduced to David, who spoke very little as he was absorbed in his work, before they continued on out of there.

"Don't take it personally. David is a great metalworker. He can fold a blade so sharp it can slice through flesh like water. But, if you're not made of metal or glass, he isn't interested," Genya explained, her voice light although there was a funny little edge to it. When Atlas glanced up toward her, they noticed a pink hue had graced her cheeks and they smiled.

"What?" She asked, having noticed both of their expressions.

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all," they said, smiling as Genya squinted suspiciously at them and then Leó.

They continued on, passing along the eastern wall of the Little Palace and windows that showed what looked to be more Fabrikator workshops. They turned the corner and the windows abruptly stopped. Genya began to walk a bit more briskly.

"Okay, really loving the lack of windows here." They said dryly as they strode through the darkened hallway. "What's with that?"

Genya glanced nervously at the solid walls, a half-hearted smile on her lips. "We're on the other side of the Corporalki anatomy rooms."

"Do they not use windows? Or light? What?" Leó questioned, his features twisting with confusion.

"There are skylights. In the roof, like the library dome. They prefer it that way. It keeps them and their secrets safe."

"Oh? What do they do in there?" Atlas asked as they eyed the solid walls curiously.

"Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumours," she hesitated for a moment before she continued, "that they've been working with the Fabrikators on new… experiments."

"Ah."

Genya walked a little faster, both Leó and Atlas lagging behind for a moment.

"You have to find out what's going down in there," they whispered.

He nodded almost immediately. "Oh definitely. Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging."

"Good."

They both hurried after Genya, falling into step with her once more as they turned another corner and the windows began once more. She eventually pointed something out in the distance by the lake, white structures that dotted along the shoreline. "That's where we're going. To the Summoner's pavilions."

"I take it that they're all the way out there because that's safer?" Atlas asked her as they descended the steps and started their walk on the gravel path once more.

Genya smiled and she nodded at that. "Mmhm. That way no overexcited Inferni will burn the palace down around us."

"Yeah. That's be so crazy if that happened," Leó said, scratching at his chin at the look Atlas shot at him.

Thankfully, Genya didn't seem to notice, the sound of children running and shouting drew all of their attention to a new building that had become visible on the far shore. Groups of kids, wearing red, blue and purple, running and laughing. A bell rang and all the kids abandoned their playthings, trickling back into the building.

"A school? That's were the children train and learn I assume?"

Genya nodded. "That's right."

"What do they do after school finishes?" Leó asked as they walked past the school, continuing their trek along the shoreline this time.

"They become members of the Second Army. Many are sent to the great houses to serve with noble families, or they're sent to serve with the First Army on the northern or southern fronts, or near the Fold. The best are chosen to remain at the Little Palace, to finish their studies and join General Kirigan's service."

Atlas hummed thoughtfully and they glanced at Genya. "Do they ever get to go home? To visit? Do you?"

"I haven't seen my parents since I was five. This is my home," she answered with a shrug.

They nodded and Genya kept on walking, past the stone pavilions the Summoners used to train. She didn't stop until they reached a path that wound from the shore into the woods.

"Here we are," she said as she looked at the two of them.

Leó peered up the path, then back to Genya, then the path again. "Okay..? And what is here?"

"Baghra's hut."

"In there?" Atlas asked, their brows raising. "That looks abandoned."

"It looks haunted."

"It is neither of those," she said. "I can't go with you. Not that I wanted to. Baghra's not that bad once you get used to her. But you don't want to be late."

"Right." They muttered as they stared at the path.

Genya clapped her hands together. "Good luck!" was all she offered before she walked away.

"You're coming with me," they told Leó as they grabbed his arm, pulling him along with them."And no complaints. It's literally your job to stay by my side."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah."

They marched up, or well Atlas marched up to the stone hut and dragged him with them, and they knocked on the door. There was no answer and they knocked again. Still no answer. So Atlas shrugged and opened the door, catching a blast of hot air the minute the door opened. It was incredibly dim inside the hut, both their eyes had to adjust to the darkness. A narrow bed, a basin, and a stove with a kettle on it could barely be seen. There was a pair of chairs at the center of the room, a roaring fire in a large tile oven.

"You're late," said a harsh voice from the shadows.

"Perhaps we would've been earlier had you just answered the door." Atlas responded, the suffocating heat already making them irritable.

There was a scoff. "Just shut the door, girl. You're letting the heat out."

They shut the door and it slammed shut. The only source of light now was the fire place. A shadow emerged from behind the tile fireplace, not quite in the light just yet.

"Good, let's have a look at you."

Atlas walked over to where the fireplace was, standing well within the light, Leó standing a little ways behind them. Baghra eventually walked out of the shadows, peering at Atlas, her dark eyes scrutinizing. Their first impression was that she was quite an old woman although, on a closer look, Baghra bore no signs of age. Her coal-black hair was untouched by gray, pulled back in a bun. Her back was straight and she carried herself with the posture of a powerful woman, one hand clutching a flat-headed cane. Her kefta was of an indeterminate color.

"So," she drawled out in a low voice, "you're the Sun Summoner. Come to save us all. Where's the rest of you?"

They rose a brow, a slight frown tugging at their lips. Was that meant to be a jab at their height? "There is no 'rest of me'. I'm in my entirety right in front of you."

"Oh good, you have some spunk to you unlike the usual kids sent my way." Baghra said, her gaze going over to Leó. "And you, boy? Why are you here?"

He stared at her for a solid few seconds and he crossed his arms, his eyes looking her up and down a little suspiciously. "I'm their guard. I wasn't about to let them meet someone new without me there."

"Hmph, competent. That's what I like to see." She gave a slight nod before she looked back toward Atlas, her gaze unfathomably bleak as she stared at them. She tapped her cane against the floor as she approached them. "Now, let's see what you can do."

Chapter Text

The morning spent with Baghra was about as nightmarish as one could think. The amount of times that Atlas and Leó had gotten struck with that old woman's cane… well, they didn't have enough hands between the two of them. There had been points where Atlas had been half tempted to snatch the cane from her and smack her with it, just to give her a taste of her own medicine. Or maybe even stave off her very insistent demands.

She had made them summon light and keep it for well over an hour, constantly demanding that they summon more and make it brighter. They had gone from being inside the hut to standing out in the woods, a large dome of rippling light around two miles wide illuminating the surrounding forested area. By the time that she shooed the two of them away, Atlas was ready to start swinging and it wasn't even noon yet.

The sun shone brightly upon them as the two of them exited the woods, a wash of warmth that chased off the coolness of the forest behind them. Atlas massaged their wrists, the familiar buzz of summoning still running through their veins, and they flexed their fingers before they glanced up toward Leó.

"I think I'm going to go to the Grand Palace tomorrow instead."

He looked at them, one of his brows raised. "Oh so you're going to skip everything?"

"Yes. I'm not doing this consecutively," they muttered as they strolled past the Summoners' pavilion. "I have some things I want to see."

"What are you going to the Grand Palace for? I thought the king and queen didn't sit right with you?"

They didn't immediately respond, eyeing the school as the two of them passed it. They only answered once they were far enough from the building, the ground below them slowly sloping uphill.

"I intend on mingling with the court. See what I can gauge from that," they answered quietly. "Besides, what better way to gain information than through word of mouth?"

Leó nodded and he fixed the cuff of his sleeve, glancing around for a moment before he looked back at them. "Are you going to need me with you?"

"No, I'll be alright. You should stay here and just… see," they answered with a small tilt of their head. "The Grisha here seem to like you well enough. It shouldn't be too hard to find things out. Two sources are better than one, after all. But enough about that; where did Genya tell us to go after this?"

"The library. Something about learning Grisha history and theory or something like that," he said as the two of them reached one of the open entrance ways into the Little Palace.

Atlas hummed. "So we're to be reading? Should be fun."

It was not fun. The two of them had been presented with tall stacks of books on Grisha theory and history each, then told that it was only a fraction of their reading. Atlas got about a few chapters into one of the books before they gave up, snapping the book shut and laying it to the side. The very concept of what Grisha did was simple enough, nearly identical to what they had been raised with, but then it got far too complicated with a myriad of other terms and rules and restrictions brought into the mix. It was something of a relief when lunch time rolled around. When they walked into the domed hall, Atlas practically shooed Leó over to the group of Corporalki and told him to mingle with them.

They glanced around for Genya as they walked over to the Summoners' table, with little luck in spotting her, and were promptly swarmed by the other Etherealki. Questions about their first lesson, about where their room was, if they wanted to go with them to the banya that night, were sent their way by Nadia and Marie. They answered most of the questions, and politely refused their offer to go to the banya, and asked them questions in turn. The others were studying advanced theory, languages, and military strategy. All of it was to prepare for when they left the Little Palace in the coming summer. Atlas was informed that most of them would travel to the Fold or to the northern, or southern, front to assume command positions in the Second Army. But the greatest honor, according to what Nadia told them, was getting asked to travel with Kirigan as Ivan did.

"Do you want to walk with us to the stables for combat training?" Marie asked as she looked at them.

Atlas blinked owlishly before taking a glance to the note of their schedule Genya had provided them with. Listed right after lunch was "Combat Training, Botkin, West Stables." They gave a small nod as they looked back toward Marie, a faint smile on their lips.

"Of course," they said as they rose from their chair, the servants springing forth to pull the girls' chairs out and clear the dishes. 

"Mene yaram," Marie said with a giggle.

Atlas glanced at her with with a quizzical expression, their brows raising slightly. "Pardon?"

"Hem sheva kadala."

Nadia grinned. "She said, 'Don't worry. It will be fun.' It's Suli. Marie and I are studying it in case we get sent west."

"Oh? How nice," Atlas said, a small bemused smile on their lips.

"Shi weh yenua Suli," said Sergei as he passed the three of them by out of the domed hall. "That's Shu for 'Suli is a dead language'."

Marie scowled at his comment and Nadia rolled her eyes before she leaned toward Atlas, her voice lowering to a whisper, "Sergei is studying Shu."

"So I've gathered," they responded a little dryly.

Marie spent almost the entire walk toward the stables complaining about Sergei and the other Corporalki and debating the merits of learning Suli over Shu. According to her, Suli was best for missions in the Northwest and Shu meant that you'd be stuck translating diplomatic papers. And, as she continued her rant, Sergei was an idiot who was "better off learning to trade in Kerch." She took a break to point out the banya, which was an elaborate system of hot springs and cold baths nestled in a birch tree grove beside the Little Palace, and then launched into another tirade of how the Corporalki were selfish and how they'd overrun the baths every night.

Atlas nodded placatingly as the two women walked ahead of them, and the hair at the back of their neck rose. They glanced off to their side, off the beaten path the three of them were taking. Standing near the trees, somewhat hidden in shadow, was a figure. It was no mistake who it was, what with the black beard and the long brown robes. Even with the large distance between them, Atlas could tell is was the Apparat. His intense gaze sent an uncomfortable chill down their spine and they picked up the pace, catching up to Marie and Nadia, although they could still feel his gaze on them.

They met up with Leó as they neared the training rooms, which where located near the horses' stables— large, empty, yet high-beamed rooms that had packed dirt floors and weapons of all kinds lined the walls. They got introduced to their instructor, who was named Botkin Yul-Erdene, and he was a former Shu Han mercenary that had fought in wars on any continent for any army that could afford his particular gift for violence. His hair was gray and straggly, and there was a gruesome scar across his throat where someone had attempted to slit his throat. The next two hours of training had Atlas seeing just why someone would have tried that.

He had started everyone off with endurance drills, much to their dismay, racing everyone across the palace grounds. Both Leó and Atlas were well enough off, having spent a solid portion of their lives just running across fields back home simply for the fun of it.

"You have excellent endurance, for a princess." Botkin said approvingly, nodding as they crested over the hilltop. His accent wasn't quite Shu, every word he spoke having a different inflection and accent due to the variety of his travels.

They only offered him a small smile in response.

When they were all returned to the training rooms, the other Summoners were paired off for sparring drills. Since there was an odd number of them, Botkin insisted on pairing with both them and Leó. The next hour was spent dodging what most definitely would've been painful jabs and punches. He would switch between the two of them, or have them spar with each other as he scrutinized their forms and stances. 

One thing they'd noticed, between keeping an eye on what and where Leó would be aiming for and whatever instructions Botkin would be yelling in their direction, was that no one was allowed to use their abilities within the training room. Which seemed fair enough because the rooms they were in were made of wood.

The class was eventually dismissed and Leó immediately dropped to the ground once they exited the training rooms, hands over his eyes as he shook his head. Atlas was half-tempted to join him, the dull ache of blocking hits with their arms making itself known once again.

"Fucking hell, it's like training with mom all over again." They complained as they rolled their shoulder, a grimace pulling at their features at the slight ache. They glanced down to where he was lying on the grass when he spoke.

"We got maybe four weeks of freedom from training with her. And now we're back in the same fucking position in a whole other country," he protested, dragging his hands over his face with a groan. He sat up and a scowl formed on his lips. "I think I'm gonna have to just have dinner in my room because I might lose it if someone so much as looks at me."

A slight snort escaped Atlas and they nodded. "Yeah, that sounds nice. You should do it. I think I'll have dinner with the others. I've got enough energy for that, I think." They helped him up. "Right, let's go then."

The two of them made their way back into that Little Palace, the two of them grumbling slightly as the stairs up to their floor came into view once more. Make no mistake, they did go up the two flights of stairs but they complained to one another the entire time. The two parted once the doors to their respective rooms were within sight and they bid each other goodnight since the chances of Atlas seeing Leó after this tonight were very slim.

Atlas bathed to rid themself of the sweat and grime from the day, stepping out of the bathroom with wet curls that clung to their face. They dried off, pulling on a simple white dress before toweling off their hair, summoning a bit of sunlight to dry it completely. Once their curls were no long damp, they picked up one of their pronged hair pins and tied the upper half of their hair up and out of their way. They slipped on a pair of white flats before exiting their room, taking the stairs back down to the domed hall for dinner.

"Where is Genya?" They asked Marie as they sat down at he Summoners' table.

"She eats at the Grand Palace."

"And sleeps there," Nadia added. "The Queen likes to make sure she's always available."

"So does the King."

"Marie!" protested Nadia, although she was snickering at the comment.

Atlas's brows furrowed, a slight scowl of disgust tugging at their lips at the implication. "That isn't humorous in the slightest. Especially if it's true."

"It's just a rumour," Marie said placatingly, although she and Nadia shared a look.

"Even if it is 'just a rumor', it's not a particularly amusing one." Atlas chastened the girls as their gaze was drawn to the servant who placed their food down in front of them, a quiet 'thank you' sent the servant's way before they turned their attention back to the two women beside them. "The King shouldn't be leveraging his status like that. It's an utterly disgusting abuse of power on his part and you shouldn't be laughing for it is not a laughing matter. Even when you don't like the person on the receiving end."

The two women went quiet as they looked at each other before Nadia spoke, "Sorry."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," they said pointedly as they picked up one of the figs on their plate, bringing it to their mouth.

The idea that the King, with his uncomfortably wet lips and the broken blood vessels in his nose, would abuse his status like that wasn't surprising. Especially against someone who had no choice but to go along with his whims. They drummed their nails against the side of their tea cup as they thought; they couldn't outright ask Genya for she had no reason to trust them with that if it was true.

Kirigan's words echoed through their head for a moment: 'I cultivated her particular affinity and made a gift of her to the Queen.' That would've meant that Genya was meant to be under the Queen's protection and yet… Because there was surely no chance the Queen was so unaware that this would've flown right under her nose.

They'd just taken the last of sip of their tea when the doors behind Kirigan's table opened and the hall fell silent. Ivan emerged from the hallway and he walked over to the Summoners' table, coming to a stop right across from Atlas, which drew them from their increasingly irritable pondering. He gave a small bow and spoke, "If you would come with me, your grace."

"Oh? Yes, of course." They answered as they rose, pushing back their chair and rising. 

Atlas swept around the table's corner, the other Grisha goggling at them as they walked past. Nadia's jaw was actually hanging open, something that brought a slightly bemused smile to their lips. They followed Ivan across the silent hall and through the large ebony doors, where he led them down a hallway and through another pair of doors emblazoned with Kirigan's symbol. It was fairly easy to tell that they were in the war room; there was a distinct lack of windows, the walls covered in large intricate maps of what Atlas could only assume was Ravka. The maps seemed to be made of animal hide. On any other occasion, they would've taken the chance to examine the maps properly and thoroughly. Instead, they focused their gaze on the general in front of them, a slight narrowing of their eyes. Did he know?

Kirigan was seated at the end of a long, dark wood table, carefully flipping through a pile of papers. He glanced up when the two of them entered, his quartz grey eyes glimmering in the flickering candle light.

"My lady," he greeted as he set down the papers he'd been reading. He gestured to the chair beside him. "Please, sit."

A slight smile tugged at their lips as they let their expression smooth out, approaching him and taking a seat in the offered chair while Ivan disappeared back through the door they'd entered. "Just 'Atlas' is fine. There's no need to be so formal with me," they said as they leaned on the chair's armrest.

He gave a slight nod.

"How was you first day, Atlas?"

"It was okay," they answered truthfully.

"Really?" He asked and he looked to be smiling slightly. "Even Baghra? She can be a bit of a trial."

Atlas huffed out a laugh and raised their hand to their face, smoothing the backs of their fingers against their cheek before resting their head against their hand. "That's putting it very lightly," they said as they absently rubbed their forearm.

"And Botkin's lessons? How did they treat you?" He asked, his gaze briefly dropping to their arm before it flitted back up to their face. "They weren't too harsh, were they?"

"No, they were perfectly fine. They reminded me of what my mother has us do actually. If a little less rigorous," they said, "but still relatively taxing. Especially after four weeks of leisure."

"You're tired then?"

"A little," they answered with a small dip of their head.

He nodded and looked at them for a moment, grey eyes scanning over them. He tilted his head slightly. "Do you feel homesick at all?"

"Not as much as you'd think. But it is taking me a while to get used to everything. I am in a foreign country after all," they said with a faint wry smile, fingers toying with the cuff of their sleeve.

"It will get better." 

A quiet exhale left them and they smiled somewhat, glancing up at him. "Well I suppose it's only up from here, no? Some fun to await me in the future." They spoke, voice light as they let their hand rest on the table.

The corners of his lips quirked up faintly. A soft quiet made it's presence known as their conversation came to a brief lull, his gaze flicking between their face and their hand resting on the table. His expression grew pensive and he minutely leaned forward in his chair.

"It will be harder for you," he started, his voice quieter than before. "It's rare for a Summoner to work alone. Inferni pair up. Squallers often partner with Tidemakers. But you are the only one of your kind."

"Like you are."

He paused, a brief flicker of surprise on his handsome features as he stared at them. He gave a small dip of his head as he spoke, "Yes… like me."

"I guess that means we can be the only ones of our kind together," they said with a faint shrug, their fingers idly running along the edge of the table before they came to a stop. That had sounded flirtier than they had intended. They continued though, wanting to breeze past that slight blunder, gesturing vaguely toward the papers he'd been reading with their pointer finger. "Although I doubt you'd have the time for that when this is vying for your attention."

That drew a chuckle from him and he nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the documents for a moment before he looked back toward them. "I am kept quite busy, yes. But if you need me," he paused as he held their gaze, "I can always make time. For you."

"Oh, there's no need to do all that. I wouldn't want to interrupt your work," they said with a slight wave of their hand, their gaze darting away for a moment before it returned to him.

"You wouldn't be," he stated. "You are important to me. And to everyone that knows about you. If you were to need anything, I'd come when you call."

Atlas could only look at him for a few seconds, a faint heat creeping up their neck and they gave a slight incline of their head. "I'll keep that in mind then."

The corners of his lips quirked up and he rose from his seat, holding out a hand for them. They took his offered hand, that wonderful sense of surety rushing through them, and he spoke once more.

"Come with me," he said as he gestured toward the entrance of the war room.

He led them out of the room and down another hallway, different from the one they'd come from. He then pointed to a narrow door that had been set inconspicuously in the wall as he walked them toward it. "Keep right and this will lead you back to the dormitories. I thought you might want to avoid the main hall."

Atlas laughed. "How thoughtful of you. Do you use it often? To escape the others?" they asked, a small amused smile tugging at their lips.

"What makes you say that?" He cocked his head to one side, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Do you find me so easy to decipher?"

"Let's call it a simple hunch."

He nodded and he let their hand go, opening the narrow door. He stepped aside and he gave them a bow, his eyes never once leaving their face. "Have a good night, Atlas."

"Good night, Kirigan."

They dipped their head slightly before they turned and slipped through the doorway that led into a narrow hall. The sound of a door closing could be heard and then they paused. They glanced back toward the door for a moment before they thought better of it and continued their way down the hallway.