Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She stood there, in utter awe, as the world fell apart in front of her blurred vision due to the tears she was so unfamiliar with. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; the stars never wrote this future down. So, as fists clenched and eyes closed to try and wring dreams out of this situation, the dismay of her failure stung her more than her own electricity surging impatiently through the veins, too potent to be trapped in her mortal being. She was mortal. Why was this her job? Why was this her failure? The world she built was falling like how she will be from her apparent guaranteed spot in the heavens.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves with that, Indigo Blue everybody! No applause? Well, that’s fair enough. Indigo Blue, I bet you’ve heard the name. No? Related to blood thirsty murder perhaps? An unheard-of lack of remorse? Or maybe even her inability to follow her set future that was even written down for her?! No?! Well, my reader, as I deep dive into the girl the earth barely knew, I’ll start you off with this question:
How can we hate someone we never actually knew?

Indigo Blue; or the unworthy prophet, either works on her behalf. Her name reeks of the beauty and life of the blueish colour; the blue blood she far from possessed. Yet, her ability to wield such heat forced a much harsher tone to stain her being, so much so ‘Indigo Blue’ seemed too calm for the thirsty omnipotent prophet she had always seemed to be. People say she changed from the Messiah to evil, yet I think she was always that way. So, due to the calmness of blue she repelled, people called her ‘Ultraviolet’. And she loved it.

Her skin was like sandpaper in the sense of discomfort over looks. Physically, her piercing green eyes and pink freckled lips and sharp attractive face were structured with unearned charisma with a charming tongue that spat her way through society. People say her hair was dyed with blood yet I’m sure that was only an illusion due to the unique summers glow her hair had the ability to catch, or perhaps it was the fire on her fingertips that she soon developed on her heart. As she hit the ripe old age of fifteen, a cold scar ran from her ear to just above the dimple she possessed when she grinned, and bloody bandages wrapped around her arms like armbands to assist her in the juvenile swimming pool. Long eyelashes, a seductive smirk, fanglike teeth, sharp jawline; she was so desirable she was feared. She became so powerful as the years went by that people viewed her in the Godly light she soon dimmed due to the benevolence she couldn’t provide. She became like the prophet of a blood cult, a rumour she however never actually addressed to be untrue.

So, let's begin with the roots of the tree the world wanted hacked down. The homelessness of our prophet. The neglected soul of a poor child destined for greatness. The girl who was so unfairly abandoned by her cold and heartless excuses for parents. Seven-year-old Indigo Blue.

Clark, strutting around with his spider-like legs and waving his thick floppy brown hair in front of his emotionless face, stepped carefully through the mist of the alleyways ‘his kind’ would stop at nothing to avoid. But that was on the casual day, today was nothing of the sort. Clark, of Clark Academy for the Young Warrior, was scouting out, with the oversensitive nose hairs he stuck in everyone's business, for his next batch... class... of young warriors to shape into the new heroes he could profit from teaching. Auditions were soon, the same powers shown to him over and over with the occasional student gifted enough already to make it through and the even rarer student to have the ability and right to challenge Clark, earned a scholarship to the best Vocational education centre around. That had only ever happened once however, to a young boy, and he wasn’t expecting it to ever occur again. Besides, the kids in those days were lazy and unproductive as their rich parents who could afford the course, the loveless parents who only married and reproduced to create a new warrior who could earn them more wealth, could and did do everything for them. So, he picked up his pride and hid his ego in his shirt pocket as he waved the fog away with his dominant gloved palms. He would find stragglers to audition, even if just to amuse him, in these poor parts close to the city. The infection could more easily spread throughout the cage and restraints of the city, so more rural places such as these poorer towns held some of the most extraordinary warriors as there were more little unmoulded warrior brains to train.

Before the infection, everyone had the ‘warrior gene’ which of course in those days was just a normal trait. Humans were always meant to wield the sword of natural fighting abilities. You saw people walking on the oxygen in the air, fly with their grown wings, breathe the fire they were born with in their lungs. That was, until the infection took hold of their apparently weak veins and genetics, the virus murdering the powers within those infected. The lack of knowledge about the deadly virus meant any offspring with at least one parent who possesses the infection will be born powerless. Only pure-blooded children wielded these abilities and were exposed to the world as warriors as now they were all the world had at justice. Therefore, providing the races name, the warrior race. And the race was rapidly dying due to the love laws (which provided warriors legal ability to marry outside of the warrior race).

So, as Clark strode proudly through the dingy streets, his eyes squinting harshly at the dirt that flew around the atmosphere so that water grew on his waterline, yet he blinked it away quickly. His eye bulged too, stinging with red veins seeping through the white purity of his pupils as he burned with desire, he knew there was someone around here, he could sense their hidden ability by just stepping on the same uneven ground as them. But, for the first time, he couldn’t sniff out his newest minion. His feet couldn’t follow the trail anymore, so much so that he questioned his own aging potence. He shook it all away, potence doesn’t age, especially not his. This child, whatever brat Clark was blindly following like a loyal annoying puppy that moves like a dead fish along with natural instinct instead of thought, was tricking him in the strangest way one can be tediously riddled. It was like the child's feet controlled the vibrations in the earth and the untold whispers lingering in the air. He swore he heard the child laugh in the distance yet dissed it as him getting drugged by the ugly sight of poverty. He spat on the graves he refused to care about in this town, the graves probably dug by his past students.

There was a tingling hint of unnatural electricity in the air. Vibrations in the ground, sound passing unnaturally through the air and electricity surging through something that cannot normally conduct it. There must have been many children around messing with him, many children who could have had it all if they hadn’t mess with Clark.

“I am more than any of you combined you little brats!” He scolded harshly, breaking the barely audible whispers that poisoned him with his loud statement. “You have no idea who you’re messing with, I’m sure you can already smell the blood on my tongue!” He stuck his snake like tongue out and laughed a laugh deeply rooted in cruelty.
“Money...” Replied the air in a snakelike manner, matching the look of Clark’s gesture. “I’ll stop for it.” The voice, a young females plead, echoed throughout the narrow paths and wouldn’t stop until Clark began to speak again.
Clark nearly belly laughed at the request. “You cannot be serious my child.”
The air stayed silent.
“Look.” He sighed, guilt somehow invading his pores. “Come out and come with me, I’ll...” He pondered his plan for a second, I mean, he wasn’t completely selfless, why would he provide a child with a hot meal if he couldn’t wring something useful out of the thing? “I’ll cook us both some food, hot food. In return however, you must tell me about what you’re doing to me. I’ve never experienced something quite like it.”
Suspicious of his kindness, the child hesitated yet as she hadn’t been completely trained yet, the wind grew into a swirl of a weak hurricane from her anxiety.
“I can feel your fear, I promise I won’t hurt you.” His now genuine eyes were ones that rove, still unsure where he was supposed to be looking to be facing the child. “You are one child, yes? A complete miracle of a warrior you must be then, let me help you.”

It stung that she had to trust this man, she didn’t know who he was and didn’t care to, yet he was right; she could smell the blood on his tongue. He was dangerous. But so was she. But she wasn’t made of porcelain, she was made of scars and hate. She was made of everything he projected, meaning in theory, he could never hurt her. So, still wearily, a timid shadow became present round the corner, slowly getting bigger as it entered further into the light of the flickering, damaged lamp post. She stepped with care, just waiting for an ambush, yet it was one that never came. As she rounded the alley with her head held high in the pride she wanted to be buried with, she came face to face with the welcome mat of a man on one of his knees with a hand reached out to the mysteries of the night. She looked forward in confusion at Clark sitting on one knee like that, so vulnerable and weak looking. She almost belly laughed.

“Take my hand.” He attempted not to sigh in embarrassment. “I won’t hurt you.”

The shadow now disappeared with the child’s new full exposure as the air tensed around them both. Total control of the air, well maybe not total yet she is just a child. She tenderly reached out a shaky hand, one masked with dirt and dried blood, and allowed his soft fingers to run down her damaged touch. The embrace felt strange, as though surges of lighting were lurking in her fingertips, ready to possess whoever they touch next. Yet, her eyes buzzed in horror instead of the excitement one would assume her to have, it was as though she feared the fingernails she grew, feared the power she far from understood. It was like she recognised herself correctly as an unexploded mine; all Clark had to do was avoid the nerve he should leave alone as if he didn’t, the mine of raw vulnerable death explosions would set off. She was dangerous. But so was he.
Feeling her eyes still buzz in the ground's connection to her emotions, he noticed a red tint shield her eyes; they were burnt with the colour of rage, the old, preserved state of amber. He swore he recognised the ability in a tale of many ears, the tale of moons ago. The heat of electric rage stung his slowly scarring hand as she tensed her feared relaxed being.
“Who are you?” His raspy crisp voice attempted to sound as calm as the colour blue, yet the pain had his nerves in a chokehold. But he refused to let go.
“Indigo, sir.” She shivered as though projecting such pain hurt her as much as her accidental victim. “Indigo Blue.” The sound echoed throughout the passageways like a murmur from someone higher than humans, a status that mere mortals can’t comprehend.
“How are you doing this?” His voice raised a couple octaves in the pain he was enduring; she must be doing this on purpose. “Stop that!” He grunted before she could respond, his grasp, not wanting to let go because Clark never stepped down, slowly withering away into submission.
“I can’t!” She yelled back just as loud, now grasping him back as she wanted him to feel it. She wanted him to understand her when no one else did. “I don’t know what this is! I want you to help me!” Her breath reeked of desperation, and it shined as bright as it can in the dingy alley they remained in.
He breathed in deeply to try and make her stop such torture. “Hello Indigo Blue,” He finally said. “My name’s Clark.”
“Can I still come to your house for some food?” She said quietly with glossy eyes.
“Yes, my child.” He smiled as warmly as he could, as not even his thermal jacket kept him hot in a place so cold. “Come with me.”
He took this excuse to remove his burning palm for hers, using the pained body part to point the way to his dwelling. She either didn’t realise the excuse or (probably more likely) didn’t care to hold onto him anymore. He wasn’t her saviour; in her selfish eyes she saved herself with such people skills to make him want more of her company.

The house was large and next to an open fighting ring that she assumed to be his as well. The brick walls stood tall and the far from rusted metal gates were perceived by Indigo as something to regard his safety meaning the existence of his soul was deeply acknowledged and either adored or wanted. She assumed wanted due to observing him brush her touch from his hand onto his trouser leg muttering “filthy” as he did it. She followed his long legs as he stood in confidence, awaiting the comfort of such a mansion with annoying impatient feet tapping. The roof was high and very classic for a house, it was so high however if you were to leap into the heavens from it, you would certainly succeed in the intent. A window was placed in the middle of the roof that had the light in the room left on and trying to escape through the glass. It illuminated the streets more than the cheap streetlamps at least.

“We’re here.” He said bluntly, sighing as they reached the tall locked up fence. He growled down at her, making sure her eyes couldn’t catch the quick combination he punched into the padlock to allow his fancy door to be in her sight. Clark acted as though it was one of her greatest honours to be here and no matter how much Indigo didn’t want to feed his already morbidly obese ego, he was correct about that. This was an honour, she still couldn’t recognise who he was supposed to be in this world, yet she knew she should bow at his polished shoes next time she saw him. She wouldn’t. But she should.

Perfectly placed gravel crunched under their feet as they walked towards his door, she could feel the heat from just standing outside of it.
“You have heated rooms?” She asked, thinking he was fond of her enough for small talk.
“Yes.” He spat and stopped the comment there, not wanting to amuse her poor childish wonders.
“What do you do, sir?”
He glanced down at her in curiosity over disgust for the first time so far, she felt a warm sense of pride because of it. He seemed to be used to the name ‘sir’ as his reaction to it appeared fitting and natural. A teacher of some sort? He must have been. “Ah my child, save the questions for inside when I have put a hot cup of tea in front of you and dinner is on the stove.”
She nodded along with him as she didn’t want to aggravate the man helping her so selflessly out. Yes, he wanted her to tell him everything she knew about her warrior traits in return, yet she far from knew herself, let alone enough to be able to describe it to another soul in great depth.

The door creaked open which she assumed would sound like the screams of hell yet instead it sounded gentle and welcoming, matching his hand and grin when she first saw him.
“Go and sit on the sofa through that door.” he pointed forward towards a slightly open door in the corner. She went to follow his request, yet his large hand gripped the thin and shaggy clothes on her shoulders. “But take those shoes off before infecting my things child.”

So, as she obediently removed her footwear and placed them away from his clean ones, he led her into the living room where he immediately swung another door open to the kitchen. “Ten minutes Indigo.” He spoke. “Sit down and be quiet until then.”
She nodded and waited, darting her still buzzing eyes around the room to try and scope out a potential threat that could be waiting for her. Yet as she shifted uncomfortably, the ten minutes of silence had passed, and she has passed the task too. She was quiet the whole time. What a shocker for a girl who ran her mouth into death scares constantly. It was his eyes that made her nervous, it was his mannerisms that made her want to cry. He was a man of great power; she could feel it in the ground when he walked and well it was so intense she could feel it even when he stood still and so did she.
“Indigo..!” He sung with his eyes closed, bringing two bowls of steaming food into the living room with him. “Now it’s time for you to uphold your end of the deal.”
She gulped. “Yes?”
“Tell me my child.” He sat down and handed her the heat making her flinch yet after realising he didn’t care, hid the pain deep down within her. “What is it exactly that you can do?”
Indigo shrugged and smirked at him. “I’m not sure.”
His eyes narrowed in annoyance, his fist turning blue as he clutched his glass of rancid alcohol too tight. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?!”
“I have electricity in me and i can use it, I know that. I can feel things in the ground too.”
“I heard the whispers.”
“I don’t know what that is though.”
“You can travel through the air.”
“Like flight?”
“Like elemental manipulation.”
She blinked.
“Do you know what that means?”
“Yes.” She licked suspiciously at the surface of the soup on her lap, yet she immediately got strung up into agony as her tongue burned inside of her and soon went uncomfortably numb.
“Is that too hot for you Indigo?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed one leg over the other as he sipped his poisonous drink.
She shook her head in pride. “No hotter than my touch.”
“I noticed, what’s your relationship with water like?” He got closer and closer to his desired answer. This had to be a dream, someone with power like her should be cherished in the finest academies, not left to rot on the dingy streets. She had the omnipotence he craved to either be his or in his possession. She was everything his image needed for worldwide fame. His heart thumped harshly in his nearly broken ribs, his pulse quickened as his blood seemed to try and break from his thinning skin as it was magnetically attracted to the power inside the girl opposite him.
“I don’t use it much.” She said.
He darted his eyes around like he was pondering something deeply, yet his plan was always set out. She was aware how hot this soup was, he could see the red spots darken on her swelling tongue from it. After her confusion at his mannerism lasted a couple seconds, he used the opportunity to hold his bowl in the air and throw the contents of the scorching food intro the direction of Indigo Blue. She screamed in utter fear and disbelief of the notion and in the split second between his throw and it making contact with her, he noticed her eyes burn red again. And he finally understood what it meant. She swirled the idea of what he had done in her racing mind, he saw her make the earth bellow in hunger and the air snap into near suffocation. She rose in milliseconds to her feet that dug into the ground, she pushed her hand up and produced a slight flame from her fingertips to match the heat of the flying danger. She passed the now neutralised liquid through her hands and up her arm, using her veins to redirect it back at the roof, burning an acidic like hole in the roof from the strength of impact. She breathed heavily, her eyes still glowing at the flame died out, now the electricity of what she was used to remained staining her nails.
“How dare you?!” She roared. “I knew you would try and kill me here!” She was still bronze, piercing his own eyes with the hate in hers.
“I was testing out a theory.” He said nonchalantly, trying to hide his overpowering excitement at the prospect of such a child.
“The theory of my immortality?!” She used the earth to move her closer to Clark, the world under her unfair control like she was the puppeteer to every form of life.
“Listen to me, have you ever heard of a man named Lozes Pretnick?” He put his hand out and the force field of his safety made her stop in her revenge fuelled tracks. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes now fading back to emerald.
“No.” she said less confidently. Clark harshly cut the invisible barrier and created a much smaller one to only cage her. She hovered in the air from it as it clasped to her neck and her face and wrists and ankles, so she was fully defenceless against him.
“He was a wise man, so wise that he predicted your arrival here on earth.” He laughed and tightened the force field with his hungry curling fists. “He said you would save the world.”

Chapter Text

In the beginning, all that existed were warriors. Every human baby had the ability to hold power, and every human adult had the ability to destroy. The earth was green and nearly pure air lingered around them as animals, now long forgotten, roamed the grounds humans ruled. They all lived in harmony with each other yet couldn’t seem to with themselves.

All this raw power with no way to either suppress it or train adequately, meant either many would be locked away in cages due to the sheer uncontrollable veins inside of them or their potential flew higher than they could ever dream of because no one had the knowledge to help them reach it. The world was chaos with humans; the world was doomed to be destroyed from the power deities had gifted humanity, because it wasn’t a gift, not at the time at least, it was a curse.

Lozes Pretnick existed at the beginning of time; he reeked of philosophy and the wise nature you link with the older generations. Well Lozes is close to the oldest generation one could imagine, and he had the ability of world domination, total omnipotence, yet instead he chose the omniscience of the Gods. There were no teachers to teach him how to conduct such a burden of a power, no true meaning to why he was saddled with it in the first place. He had to sit and ponder everything, yet he knew he was meant to be great, he knew what he could have if just born in another era of development.

So, as Lozes sat in his wooden splintered chair, twirling his knotted locks in his hardened fingers, he sighed in deep wonder at the potential he could feeling bubbling inside of him. He felt the electricity in his fingertips and taught himself how to conduct it in a way that makes it a mere flame to light his candles with. He could connect his song with the air and make it travel for miles in four dimensional patterns, he felt the power inside of him, he felt it all scream for him to not waste such an existence on a strive for omniscience yet Lozes had nothing better to do. Feet clasped to the ground like they were one, controlling the deep core beneath him, his eyes would glow red in rage and blue when he had reached his limit of ability. He could curl his fingers around the unbreakable structure of certain rock and slice it in half with his wicked stare. He was everything education wasn’t. So, he never lived up to what he always wanted to be. And it ate him alive knowing that about himself. “One day.” He would say to himself. “One day I’ll be a God.”

His cottage was pretty deserted in the sparse town he settled in. The bats excelled hearing could spot your every move and mistake, the autumnal leaves dropping aesthetically onto your heads in a calming claim. It was a sweet gesture from nature to humans that to some theorisers, meant the world was on their side- letting them know that it would all be ok. It will all be ok. Lozes’ large boots cracked the earth they trod on in dominance as the rocks awaited his next command. His weary breaths would travel through the air uncontrollably like he always wanted everyone to know everything about him. Sometimes his eyes would project the harsh dark red colour in his personal despise, just thinking about the lack of strings he had his own abilities tied up into made him hiss in the anger of self-loathing. Electricity gleamed in his eyes, the sparks shooting out of his bronze orbs that were once a fairy-like forest green. He slightly red hair that only contorted to such a shade when in the right shade of lighting, waved over his eyes yet as his outward annoyance rose at it doing so, so did the airs submission as the wind stopped almost as soon as the hateful thought entered his electric mind. His power had total control, yet he didn’t, if only he could learn then the earth would be under his demand. His mouth bubbled like a rabid animal's rabies in the thought of dominance, in the thought of stewardship towards his planet and his existence. He never told a soul of such selfish desires as, despite painting him in the bad sense of the word pious, he knew if other found out about his intentions, he would be boycotted as the wise philosopher he was. He wouldn’t be viewed as someone who lacks the ability to save the world, instead someone who fortunately lacks the ability to take Gods place in the sky. What a growing sinner's path? What a blasphemous soul?

The world was cursed to see someone with this power to rule it all. People roamed the streets in front of him, yet he saw them in the lenses of a selfish blur. He felt it in him, this wasn’t the end of Lozes Pretnick, this was just the beginning of the elephant's footprint he would dent the world with. He wouldn’t always be the jester; he would be the king. He was certain of it.
It was a series of thoughts that led to his eventual book, he constantly cooked imagery and milked ideas until there were thousands of perfectly crafted, (not too specific so people could think for weeks about his ideas, yet not vague enough for unoriginality to poison him), ideas to flood his sold parchment . So, as he walked through the streets on such a dark afternoon, his earworm was his own beautiful philosophical ideas. He may not have believed in all of them, yet he believed in wealth and that was all he needed to fuel the passion that was slowly dying from a phoenix of possibility and love into the ashes of the contract between his writing and people's money, the greying leaves of pure blinding gain. Pure blinding vain. The wind seemed to seep into his eyes as he strode, his long steps making his lungs pulse in straining pain and his envious mouth seemed to have literal metallic bubbling instead of the metaphor he would frequently use to describe himself. His head span in an unknown direction and he felt his veins burn under his itching skin. What was happening to him? What is happening to me?!
“Help!” He shouted to whoever was listening. “It...” He had never been so vulnerable before. “hurts...” His eyes squinted to try and wring out any tears to hopefully carry away the hurting burden, yet it came with no avail. “Help me!” He shouted louder with more anger; why did nobody care about their God-like omniscient philosophers' life?! He wanted everyone to drop their lives to care for him yet if he ever called them the bad words, he wanted to shout to the people ignoring his commands, the world would cancel his wealth and believed beliefs. He learnt that if he spoke long enough, he could make anything correct. And that began such a belief that he was as high as a deity; so, in his eyes people heard a God cry for them and they ignored it?! How dare these peasants behave with such freewill! But he couldn’t say that, even if he could speak as now the pain had reached up to his voice box and poisoned it with the virus of failure. He sounded as parched as the desert and looked as pale as the white sun blazing on the sand.

Eventually however, someone kind enough to lend a hand found his barely conscious body lying on the grass dying beneath him, he had loud and quick breaths that sounded as though he was breathing through a narrow straw. His fingers spasmed and his head twitched and blood seemed to seep tenderly from his reddened nose. Next thing Lozes recalled was lying in bed with a throbbing ache painting his entire body, a doctor and the man who saved him looked over him with a concerned scrunched expression shared between the pair.
“What- what’s wrong with me?” He croaked out yet it was barely a whisper, it was shocking the doctor understood.
The doctor went to answer yet stopped himself and touched his chin in a classic state of thought. “You...” He tried yet regretted it and tried another way. “We’re not quite sure what exactly happened this afternoon but... I checked over your overall health and it’s not looking good.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with a specific diagnosis, yet your body is shutting down and shutting down fast.”
“How long?” Lozes attempted to appear calm yet fear and anger took hold of his nerves.
“Mr Pretnick... I give you two weeks.”

Lozes’ eyes burned in disbelief; this couldn’t be happening to him. He began to breathe breaths he didn’t have the capacity in his lungs for. This must have been a mistake, he was supposed to turn into something; even if not omnipotent, he was supposed to be the best author in the world. Earn the wisest man award and have it never reassigned.

“If you wanted a new book out like how I’ve been hearing, then you need to work quickly.” The doctor continued despite his patient hyperventilating.

So, like the news was petrol, his eyes gleamed of determination instead of the rage of his condition. He knew something like this would happen; it always happened to everyone. Medics of the day couldn’t explain over half of casualties, so he really had no shock to project. He breathed in and thought, like he regularly did, and sensed the recoiling of his soul in years to come. He could picture himself in another body, his power surging like it did with him yet stronger than he could ever imagine.

Soon after, Lozes Pretnick would come to die. Saying his last undeciphered words fifteen days after the doctor's omen yet it didn’t matter that he slurred the words he could barely speak. Because his book did reach the shelves. And it included the most famous passage of philosophy in history, the constantly taught prophecy of:

“One day, when the earth needs a saviour from our current devious mistakes, I sense the revisiting of my soul back on this planet who matches my uncontrollable potence. My deserted powers will be shot into this new prophet, and they will learn to lean into the ability and bring humanity the promised lands of peace, ones that I cannot provide. They will bring good in a time of hate and destroy those using this gift from nature for evil.”

And that prophet would be Indigo Blue. It was written in the stars.

Chapter Text

Walking proudly through corridors with gleaming eyes held high. Hands in pockets with a perfect posture, short wolf adjacent hair flowing naturally behind her egotistically large head. Indigo Blue, fourteen years old and 170 cm tall, strode down the halls of Clark Academy with pockets overflowing with pride.

The school was strange; it was mainly part of Clarks house which was obvious due to the sheer size of the thing for one man seeming extortionate. The walls were grey with blue lines a couple inches from the floor and then more from the ceiling, lockers were available, yet no one ever had anything to put in them, so it seemed pointless, and the stairs were long and winding. The whole school appeared to be a massive optical illusion because of the strange and unnecessary interior choices Clark chose yet who was Indigo to judge? It wasn’t like she had a home to compare it to. Speaking of such a matter however, Indigo did have a bed and a table and a house to stay in. It was Clark’s. He had invited her into his home since viewing the severe states she endures, she was hesitant to accept due to his immediate threat on her safety when they first met, but she didn’t really have any other choice. So, she reluctantly said yes and moved in, making Clark her legal guardian. She loved it at times, the gentle chats they would have in front of the fire with the heavenly tea he would make for the pair and the embrace of the warmth he provided. Yet in other dark times, in the dark days where he no longer posed as her golden idol, she would cower in the corner of his wrath with his teeth that would indirectly inject venom into her insecurities. He got mad, he had the same anger she did, just less obvious as his eyes refused to change from the man he always was. They were each other's worst burden yet simultaneously the best thing that ever happened to them both. The pairs relationship was a double entendre in the best and worst way possible. It was the poison she craved and perhaps would one day benefit from.

Students Clark taught lingered in the corridors, staring at Indigo as she walked by. Their eyes were like owls and their heads turned like them too, she never acknowledged the wonder they held for her because practically, she didn’t care. She did try to, try to make bonds and true friendship connection yet they were the ones refusing to entertain her childish desires. She wanted friends and all she got was hatred. So, now as they stared at her with the eyes of daydreams, she snarled under her breath at them juxtaposing their past selves. They didn’t like her then so why would they like her company now? Because now they knew she was the prophet?! Because now they finally cared to find that information out?! She cursed her peers in the name of hell just like how they did to her, yet their power didn’t allow the potential connection to flow through them like an electrical circuit. She grinned to herself as she got closer to the outside of the building where physical training took place, she was beckoned due to her being favourited. She assumed so anyway. No matter the cause, this would show all her peers how great she could be.
The training ring was large and rich with possibilities, perfect for the privileged children paying to use it. The ground was pure stone with beautiful professionals only Clark could afford. Tables were stood off to the sides for more specified and detailed training; Indigo was primarily tied to it due to her inability to craft her electricity into a flame. Clark had told her Lozes’ first achievement was his heated fingertips, and Indigo burned like fire knowing such a pathetic man had beaten her. Knowing Indigos resentment, Clark would constantly discuss how all Lozes’ written words that visually appeared on parchment were also etched onto fate. “He was more powerful than you’ll ever be, how does that make you feel?” And she would respond with the fire in her eyes that Clark prayed would one day happily possess her fingers.
The training grounds also had seating beside it so people could watch the talented perform and attempt to mimic their technique. At least that’s the excuse Clark gave the students; Indigo was certain it was because of the competitive golden glimmer in his eyes. His star students got to perform with everyone else subjected to mere eyes just wanted to view the talent they didn’t have themselves. Everyone wanted to show off in the ring because that would give them the label of star potential, every warrior wanted fame; and Clark knew only he could provide their satisfied desire and played with that knowledge like building blocks. Indigo may have been the prophet, but he was these children's God. And religion is a scary thing.
Anyway, the training grounds were perfect for the young warrior, no matter how immoral some may view the set out.

She had been summoned to the area with a very vague command from Clark, she wearily entered yet with the presence of someone allergic to fear. This was going to show her peers that she was amazing, this should be full of pride.
“Indigo! My love!” He greeted with strange endearment in his speech. “You’re here! We were just waiting for your arrival.”
Indigo put up her thumbs awkwardly, spying the woman with a girl around her age in the training court. The girl was small, yet her age was clear by her face and mannerisms, she looked entitled, yet when don’t paying students? Clark, still with a fake grin rotting away on his face, grabbed Indigos shoulders and tugged her around to face the pair.
“This is Kim and her gorgeous sister.” He winked and flirted with the mother like how he usually did to charm his way through social interaction.
The older woman blushed and brushed his comment off as though she got it every day. “Oh, you’re too kind.” She looked through her eyebrows with the intent of charisma yet instead it appeared creepily murderous.
“This is my wonderful student, Indigo Blue.”
“The prophet?!” Kim interrupted.
Indigo nodded with pride, yet she didn’t want to come across as self-absorbed so made sure they were aware of her shyness.
“Wow! We learn about you in school!” She chirped louder like an annoying sycophant, but Indigo found it sweet.
“Honey.” Her mother placed a firm hand on her daughters’ shoulder and with force, saved her back down to their previous sitting position below Indigo and Clark. “Don’t talk about that school while we’re auditioning to such a nicer one.” She smiled throughout the whole statement, it was so fake Indigo nearly laughed, and she could sense Clarks mirrored reaction in the ground they shared.
“It’s okay my loves!” He gleamed. “So, because you’ve never been to a school like this before, I have brought my top student, Indigo,” The label stung her as she felt the eyes of her peers sting her for being better than them, yet they were eyes that she imagined. “To help with demonstrating the standard here.” He continued, unaware of her discomfort with his praise. Indigo didn’t react to his statement, she didn’t play to his script, so he met her with an uncomfortable nudge in her arm that made her wince privately.
“Yes!” He wringed out of her. “I hope you enjoy the show.” She cringed at her words, it was like she was a jester in the royal palace that she was too orphaned to be in, or even worse, Clark's puppet.
The mother appeared chuffed with the response so calmed down her anger with Kim and sat down, awaiting the prophets magic that she had heard so much about. Indigo shook off any fear and jumped high into the air she knew she controlled, she narrowed her eyes that were still green, but she could feel that changing soon if that mother kept staring at her with condescension.
“Are you ready my student?” Clark grinned in confidence making Indigo take the joke and laugh slightly.
“Of course, I am.” She smirked back and dug her feet into her favourite manipulated element, the earth she adored so very much.
“Three.” He spoke.
“Two.” She continued.
“One!” But they had already began.

It was intense, like dramatic classical music was playing around them and fuelling the heroic feeling of power. They were fighting for the same cause yet still fighting. And neither had enough disposable ego to hold back. Only a pathetic soul could consider creating peace through peaceful combat, it seemed contradicting, yet what with Indigo wasn’t? The teenager began with the earth boosting her forward, her leaning into the wind holding her back due to the speed she swirled around herself. While she travelled, Clark seeming far to calm to not have a plan, she clutched chunks off the earth she moved on and held them above her head with the threat of crushing her teacher with them. He smiled, knowing she’d do this, and put up a sharp arm, so sharp she could barely see it move, and brought a force field up with his fingers. Noticing this, Indigo leapt off the earth and used air to break her fall so she landed gracefully on her knees. He wasn’t going to make this easy, and she loved that. With Clarks new upper hand, he pushed the field towards the girl on the ground, yet she leapt up and over it, pointing her electric fingers at it making him feel the pain too. She had learnt that the field was like an extra limb, if she harms it then she harms him. It was the only way to beat him, wearing him out. So, with his damaged body sizzling slightly on the ground, she once again used the earth to summon two large spikes into the air and shoved them into him, he jumped to the side yet she was prepared for that too and used her leg to kick into his direction and shoot lightning into his unsuspecting body. He burned in pain but with glee at her success at the same time. He hissed and lifted his body up and charged his still working being closer to her as she broke the earth and rumbled the hidden stone instead, creating an earthquake to knock him over. Clark swivelled and jumped over the ambush, falling in front of his student's feet; he whipped his legs into hers to force her face into the ground and finally he succeeded.
“Burn me with your flame!” He shouted over the rubble, begging for her rage.
She growled and hissed at him as she fell, hearing his baiting words.
“Or do you not have that yet?!” He said too overdramatically emotional. She huffed as dust clouded her vision that had been taken over by reddened orbs now.
“Yes!” He noticed the anger in her eyes. “Use your anger, Indigo! Destroy me with your dark red hate!”
Her veins stung inside her skin, trying to be free from the barrier. She felt the power bubble inside her; she saw the Godly path to omnipotence in front of her. This was her time. She glanced briefly to the side lines where Kim stared in awe, yet her mother appeared less amused. This was a show, she reminded herself. She had to entertain. Fire spirted from her eyes as she rose from the dust cloud of her fall, she couldn’t fall again. So, like a demon had possessed her, or perhaps a God of fury that controlled her in such a powerful raging state, the earth was lifted again yet into the high sky with Indigo as the ringleader, on top of the creation. She looked down at Clark and felt the plants she held close seep from her blood stream into her palms and like it was nothing, directed the ropes of suffocation down straight towards him; she used the vines as extra, longer, arms to reach and clutch Clark before he could trap her in his force fields. Quickly lifting him up to her level, the wind blowing her hair out of her face as she stood in total control over the world, she squeezed her hands into the danger of fists making Clark claw at the vines tangled around his throat.
“White flag!” He shouted with rasp, that being their way of surrendering. “You win!” The words were full of more happiness than defeat which was a feeling Indigo could never imagine being able to obtain. She was as competitive as the sky was blue and was proud of it because it meant she never lost a fight. She was the favourite for good reason after all.

She placed Clark down carefully, the earth settling down back into the floor as she calmed from her angry state and when she finally reached the steady ground, he was set down as well. Met with a hug from her teacher, she finally let out a nervous laugh that was mainly relief. She had done it. She had proved her title in front of visitors.

“That was incredible!” Kim shouted from the side, standing in utter shock at the show she just got to witness. “If you can teach me to be like that then this is my dream school!” She squealed; the words more directed to her mother who was still seated yet looked so impressed it rendered her speechless. She refused to make the feeling obvious however and tried to flatten her expression back to emotionless, but Indigo could feel her gradually racing heart in the ground's vibrations.
Clark grinned in pride. “This is my star student! The prophet has decided to learn from me so your daughter could become the next best hero with my care!”
It was rehearsed; he said the same thing every time someone wanted to transfer. He said it so often it didn’t mean anything anymore and sounded more like gibberish.
“Come to this school if you want success.” She coughed, far from as enthusiastic as Clark expected her to be. “I could only learn such abilities through his warriors' word.”
She was waiting for her teachers scolding voice to dent her ego due to her expression, yet it never came. He nodded at her instead, and she knew he would be in a good mood when school closes for the day, it was a relief children shouldn’t have to feel, and she knew that, yet she still found herself tensing at the prospect. Clark was dangerous. And Indigo was too guilty to be obvious to him that she was truly dangerous too.
“I’ll check the application when we’re home honey.” Her mother smiled softy at her daughter's excitement, Indigo did too because it was the maternal love she lacked so harshly. She felt it when it was cold at night mainly, but she felt it stronger than ever now.

Clark waved them off as they left the training ring, making sure to keep his smile wide until he was certain they were gone. Yet, the mother, the one he truly cared about liking him, stopped in her tracks to look Indigo up and down. The prophet gulped at the attention, feeling unsteady in her supposed dominating stance. The mother was a tall woman; the height Indigo had been predicted to be when she grew fully. Her eyes were wide and owl like, like she was staring through thick lenses, she had slight freckles, but Indigo felt uncomfortable looking for too long. And then, as the feared moment began, she leaned forward with low eyes and pressed her breath into Indigos ear like she had punched her in the face. The warmth of the close breathing became words she tried to block out but the whisper was too loud, too painfully penetrating her ear canal.
“I see your eyes as permanently red and your overgrown grave abandoned, I hope those shadows can be altered, Indigo Blue.” She spoke ominously. Indigo shivered from the words and from the firm hand she had only just noticed clasp her newly numb arm. And just when she thought the woman would speak again, she left her with the thought and the warmth of her breath. She swore she thought the words lingered in the air, an ability she had only recognised herself possessing, yet soon dissed it off as paranoia. The woman was lying; she must have been. But... what if future seeing was her power? Kim must have been a warrior or she wouldn’t have been able to come to the academy which means her mother must have been pure blooded too. No! Indigo, stop it! Think of the present! Think of the present...
“Indigo?” Clark’s expression became real again and she realised how different it was to the facade he put on in front of students. “Alright there, sweetheart?”
She smiled but everyone who saw could tell it was just to get out of confrontation. “Yeah.” She said but it wasn’t audible instead a whisper. “Yes.” Her throat was cleared. “I am all good, just tired.”
“You can take the rest of the day off; you’ve done well today my love.” She cringed at the words even though it was just parental endearment. Six years. Six years in his company and she still hated the fatherly love he would provide. What is wrong with me? She was as miserable as sin but never wanted to be such a way, so she tried to flay the skin from her peers and wear it naturally. But different skin never fits. Kind skin was never meant to fit her.

Her bedroom was cold and dark, the light switch was lingering in the corner, but Indigo felt too used to the dark to want it to illuminate her room. She wanted to be in the dark about everything so the light was never preferred. She never wanted to be the prophet; she never wanted to be stuck with the burden of studies in a fancy school with the owner as her guardian. It was weighting down on her shoulders constantly and she couldn’t take the restraint anymore! She couldn’t stand the pressure and the fighting and the attention. Letters were flooding her drawer like the one God sent to earth to wipe the evil unholy souls out, they were asking for her presence at events she would be either ostracised at or stared at like she was a display at a museum. Like she was there to be merely viewed instead of known or understood. Her tears were common now; they stained her cheeks so frequently that Clark asked about her wellbeing when she hadn’t been crying because that had become the rare occasion. She was so sad all the time, her eyes were red in sadness over anger, she was so full of upset bones that they gradually became harder to wield. It became harder to use her powers, everything that was supposed to get easier, only ever got harder and harder to the point where she had the firm belief that nothing mattered anymore. If something made her feel this alone even though she had constant company, then it couldn't have been good for her. But omnipotence, even if just a potential, was a toxin she was never meant to become immune to. So, she sucked in her depression, breathing it in so deeply that it got hopefully permanently buried in her body. She felt her swallow it and it hurt her throat, but the feeling should pass. Why hasn’t this feeling passed?

Chapter Text

Clark had his hopes in the cabinet above his kitchen stove. He kept it there for safe keeping as it was too fragile to carry around with him, especially when Indigo would succeed with such hidden failure. She couldn’t create a flame, why couldn’t she create something Neanderthals had the brain power to? He huffed in the fumes of the pot of food he cooked, allowing the boiling smoke to flood his lungs like cigarettes used to. He missed the sensation, the dancing flame on his beckon of happiness. He loved the poison coating his lungs, the adored the safety it granted him in a time so dark. In the dark ages, when nothing mattered to him, or now in the golden era where Indigo was probably crying upstairs. He was immune to his child's cry, he was immune to it all if cigarettes were on his rotting mind. A locked in, chained up, soul selling, deal was made with Indigo not too long ago yet to him it might as well have started when they first met; it was that he wouldn’t smoke a single cigarette until she can make flame to light it. It was the worst thing he ever agreed to and now he had to live with his choice, his clean choice to give up such a dirty habit. She had him on a leash, a leash she abused. He knew she hated him; it can’t have just been paranoia, and she was sabotaging her own progress to make sure he never feels such happiness again. “You should feel such glee from living with me!” She would sing when she would notice his burning red eyes from the lack of his pride and joy. “Don’t get high on such horrors Clark, get high on my success.”  
 
“Indigo!” He shouted upstairs to an assumed to be sobbing teenager. “Come downstairs!” 
“No!”  
“Indigo, it’s time to eat!” 
She rolled her eyes like a brat. “Fine.” She said more quietly, aware Clark probably couldn’t hear her. 
“Wipe your tears first princess!” Was shouted again evilly.  
She snarled at him under her breath. It was so difficult to be a benevolent Messiah when you live in such a toxic smoky house. So smoky she could barely breathe and so toxic she was scared to. 
 
As tears began to fade away when feeling started to become numb, Indigo gazed around aimlessly until her eyes that rove landed sharply on her pile of unopened mail. One letter stood out among the letters were its throne. She related to the royalty and resonated her attention with the words that now attracted her. It was dark parchment, like it had been stained with purpose, and there were intricate illustrations circling the perimeter of the envelope. The name was in the fancy cursive she always wanted her name to be associated with, so her curiosity forced her to gently reach over and thumb the ink that shockingly refused to smudge. It must have been important. Clark had recommended her to stay out of the evil eye of the press, but he could barely control his selfish Tabacco desires let alone the prophet's despotic mind. She could do whatever she wanted and if he had a problem with it, that would be his fault.  
After flipping the note around, she brushed her nails gently on the seal, unsure how delicately she should handle it, yet ultimately decided to peel it away with care. The actual thin paper reeked but she didn’t take much notice as it began with the same handwritten font saying, ‘dear Indigo Blue’ instead of ‘dear the prophet’, which was the dehumanising norm she had gotten used to. So, she pulled the paper from its cage and ran her eyes quickly over the words, wanting to know the royalty they associated her with and the blue-blooded event they thought she would attend. A term hit her like she had just been shot with a crown jewel, “gala” she had only seen the word in story books; and “special celebrated guest” made her flush in a deep shade of pink, the colour that was the mascot of pride. 
 
Dear Indigo Blue, 
It is my honour and pleasure to invite you and your guardian to the palace on the 14th evening of November for our annual gala. You will be our special celebrated guest, and many people will be here to meet you in person. You will be required however to attend a meeting with the members of the council nearing the end of the night to discuss some local matters. The gala will be an invite only event and you are required to attend wearing formal attire, if this standard is not met by either you or your guardian, then we will have to ask you to leave. 
Sincerely, Everest Luna 
 
Everest Luna ran the council in the palace. She had long flowy hair that matched her tall slender body and pale untouched skin. She was an artful witch, an attention merchant, a skilled manipulator of the spoken word, a humanoid seraphim. She was everything the lustful eye desired and everything the hungry follower wanted to hear. And a handwritten letter, a marking of the pen that was wielded by such a delicate hand, had been addressed to Indigo in such an intimate way. She was personally invited to an event by Everest Luna; the honour was seeping out of Indigos veiny eyes. She felt her hands rumble in excitement, the fourteenth evening of November?! That was the night she was about to stand in!  
“Clark!” She shouted, her body crashing through her weak wooden door as she fled for the staircase. “Clark!” 
“What?!” He yelled back; a high-pitched bird-like call that sounded as though he was so annoyed he could shapeshift into an entity who could be the omega. “Food Blue! I’ll talk when you sit your ass in my chair!” 
This time, feeling less annoyed at the man and shockingly excited to spend such time in his unholy company, she turned the corner and walked with a skip to reach the kitchen. Clark was standing there by the stove with his eyes sleepily hanging on by a thread and his beard acting like needles as it hadn’t been shaved in several days. She noticed the peculiar hole in the armpit of the t-shirt he was wearing, posing as an oxymoron to the designer clothes he adored showing off on the regular occasion. 
“Okay, so.” She began, rocking back and forth on her chair like a young child with her eyes popping out of her head like she was the same child who was on the dreaded sugar rush. “We’ve been invited to a gala tonight!” 
“A gala?” He turned around to face Indigo’s excitement. “Why would we want to go to that?” 
“Because it’s an opportunity for publication.” The teenager leant over the table and handed the note to Clark who snatched it from her loose grasp. He skimmed it but squinted harshly like he was someone who needed glasses yet lacked the very thing, and he allowed his fingers on his free hand to lead his eyes correctly across the page. “The council want our input; people want to meet us.” 
He rolled his now relaxed eyes. “They want to meet you Indigo, not me. They call me your guardian; I don’t even get a name.” 
“I mean, I am the prophet.” 
He spluttered for words at the inappropriate statement, slipping over his stunned lexicon like he was running on ice. "Have I rubbed off on you that much Blue?!” He could finally make out. “Has the very person in me that I despise, asexually cloned and hidden in you too? Like a selfish virus?” 
“What? I am!” She protested, reaching for the letter back so she could read such praising words again. She didn’t pay much notice to the insults he spoke because the children she attended school with came up with much harsher and creative ways to make her question every choice she had ever made. 
“You’re a fallen angel, Indigo. Decide whether that’s a good thing or not.” Clark huffed and placed a plate of stale looking food in front of her perched body before angrily storming out of the room. His feet were like elephants and his breathes matched one of a lung cancer patient. He sounded like he used to when he would dance the tango with cigarettes, dance the Charleston with drugs and the Waltz with the passionless romance he would get from the nights he regularly forgot.  
“So, are we going or not?!” She called out for his word as he left with fire shooting out of his fingers and ears.  
“Wear the dress you were gifted last week!” 
She grinned and fiddled with the strands of hair that would fall in her face. Her vampire teeth shone as they bared out of her lip, she had gotten her way. But... how? He didn’t like much social interaction and was so communist he hated class, so would hate for an upper-class gala to take him hostage. Unless... he would have liked the company of some posh warriors. Of some female posh warriors to be specific.  
 
Clark hadn’t seen the goddess of valentine in a while; he didn’t have constant lonely nights, yet no feeling held his company for long. Clark had lacked the kiss of such a love lady and wished the touch of love missed him too and would return one day with rosy lips. He spoke with the salty tongue of poetry, blessed with the words he formed into crafty insults rather than the beautiful romantic words cupid intended him to use the gift for. The gala would be full of the woman's touch he craved, their fingers owning the power he wished for. Perhaps the drunken night would be an ego boost or a chance for him to spit love potion, either way he wasn’t doing this for her. But their arrangement wasn’t for favours, it was a contract signed by the devil. In his eyes in Indigos opinion at least, they were a relationship of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less. 
 
Indigo’s dress hung from her cupboard, hidden behind her boring training clothes. If she has received it before last week, dust would have been dressing it due to the lack of attention she paid to glamorous gifts. The tailored dress was stunning though, even someone blind to fashion like Indigo could see that, and it hung with the glow of the heavens that she knew would dim when married to her skin. It was a navy-blue colour, an indigo blue, and sparkled against the deep shade of the fabric. It was like a pit with no light yet someone with the gifted view could see stars. Indigo knew the design was simple with the sparkles, but she liked to think of it as magical. The neckline was a V-neck, allowing and encouraging the presence of a necklace that matched the gold it projected. 
 
She stood by the door with her dress uncomfortably framing her body, in her opinion that is because to the unbiased viewer, she was absolutely stunning. Eyeliner stretched out like it had been through a black hole, lashes black like coal and eyes deep like a miner's workhouse. Her hair was pushed back and flowed down her neck, the red tint returning for the occasion. The dress was perfect for her, whatever sycophant who had designed it must have been a genius. With such looks, she was coupled with the newly fixed up man. His t-shirt was changed to a fitted shirt and a brown bowtie; it tucked it nicely to his brown trousers that matched the tie like it was meant to be. His blazer was swung over his shoulder and his rings shone in the sun. He had shaved his face yet quickly as Indio had to make him bend down so she could wipe off some excess shaving cream. She giggled at his looks which could have appeared mean, but it wasn’t supposed to be, she had never seen him in such an outfit. It was old fashioned and looked like he was about to foxtrot out of the door.  
“Ready?” He grumbled but she could tell he was hiding a smile.  
She nodded and fiddled with her earring, allowing Clark to act as a prom date and open the door to allow them into the cold late autumn air.  
“They better not all want conversation.” She shivered as he handed her his thermal blazer with a smile.  
“The tongue of humanity is scared to say your name, my sweet.” 
 
The palace was boring as sloth, yet the party was alcoholic and active with bright white lights blazing over the importance of the gathering. No one around was her age, they were withered with bark like skin with sap like words that had been repeated so often it become gooey and meaning less to other older ears but to the newer mind, the words were the most philosophical and life changing ideas. It was curious. 
Indigo scowled and tossed her eyes in a circle as she glanced around the golden plated walls, Everest Luna hadn’t made herself the idol of pilgrims as hands didn’t caress her palms like they usually did. But Everest was usually everywhere, her manipulative eye watching the sinner's world like she was biblically accurate angel lingering in its human form. But she wasn’t anywhere.  
“Where’s Everest Luna?” She spoke with moderate volume, not caring about eavesdroppers.  
Clark shrugged without looking down at her, instead staring at the bar with chatter engulfing it. It had jolly women and laughable men and bellows echoing from the last clever joke passed around the circle. Of course, Clark wanted away from a child and instead in a group of alcoholic friends, this always happened. 
Before Indigo could say whatever and leave Clark to his own side quests, people had begun voicing their realisation of her arrival.  
“Indigo!” The first voice exclaimed so friendly that you would assume they were old friends despite Indigo recognising approximately zero faces. 
“The prophet!” Another yelled, the name that she held getting lost in her status. “The prophet is here!” 
She reached out her hand for her teacher, yet he had already faded into the colours of joy despite his oxymoronic outfit. “Clark!” She shouted but it was drowned in the overpowering call of her name. What he said when they left the house was lies if this was going to happen to her all night. They weren’t just not scared to say her name; they seemed to adore the sound. 
“Oh, Indigo Blue! I’ve been dying to discuss some things with you! Do you have a second?” 
“Prophet! What are your plans for bringing peace?!” 
“My leader, what are your thoughts on social status?!” 
She felt as though she was being infected with journalism. Yet no cameras desired her face, and no microphones envied her voice. It was raw curiosity of her. She slightly smiled at that, at her opinion being wanted for more than publication.  
Indigo, Indigo, Indigo, Indigo! INDIGO, INDIGO, INDIGO!!! STOP IT! QUIET! 
But her name aggravated her more than her peers and more than Clark, it felt like severe Tinnitus. A constant loop of noise, the same noise repeated over and over and over until she lost the very mind that caused such annoyance! 
“Indigo, my sweet child, you are looking absolutely stunning tonight! What did you want to achieve by attending?” 
She cleared her throat, trying to abolish all uncomfortable feelings or at the very least banish them to the void she contained all public emotion in, preparing to answer and as her cough blessed their perked ears, no one else spat another syllable in waiting for her. “Thank you.” She began. “And I came here today to visit Everest Luna in her element and perhaps discuss the whole peace thing with her. Do any of you know if that’s possible?” She spoke informally yet they expected nothing more. Everest however, if she was around, would have punished her until she didn’t have the capacity to speak so childishly as she wouldn’t have the ability to speak at all.  
“Everest Luna?!” A voice shouted. “Is it her you require?! She’s in a room far from here, talking with Tenz Grabowski!” 
Somehow, it was helpful. Tenz Grabowski was in fact someone Indigo would associate Everest with, and he was part of the council too. She was aware of his manipulation of gravity; one deeply rooted in the ground with heavy soil holding him down to earth due to his tendency to prefer the soft company of clouds than the earth he was chained to. He matched his last name with the greyish hornbeam tree he was usually associated with, yet perhaps that was just a pun. Indigo didn’t have the humour for such comedy so didn’t care for it. His name also meant grave keeper which he lived up to enough for people to fear his name.  
“But!” The voice called again. “While she’s away right now, you should stay and talk with us!” 
She grimaced slightly yet decided that her image wasn’t worth getting destroyed just to avoid being social. So, she nodded, hesitantly however and people weren’t dumb enough to not notice, but they ignored it for the chance to speak with her.  
“Indigo.” The closest person to her spoke. She was important, you could tell by her outfit and confidence, but then again everyone here was somewhere in the upper class. “May I pick your brain for a second?” She tilted her head to the side. Indigo nodded and followed her to the corner closest to the jolly drinkers Clark had gone over to. “Okay so, Indigo, I have heard how well your training has been going. Do you mind telling me how you’re planning to use your power after you leave Clark Academy?” 
After Clark Academy? 
“Uhm, I hadn’t really thought about leaving Clark.” For some strange reason it hurt her heart to think about it, it strained like it was being blended, and the heart strings were being pulled out.  
“You haven’t thought about how you’re going to fulfil the prophecy?” The question was a shock, but the woman tried to appear calm and collected, something Indigo could far from achieve.  
“I have! Just not in such great detail. I kind of thought... Clark would be there too?” 
She laughed. She laughed. She laughed in the posh condescending way that made Indigo want to be swallowed by the earth and never be spat out again. “Clark would be there too?! You cannot be serious my dear, Clark has a job and so do you, but they differ, you cannot rely on anyone to get you to your prime. Only yourself.” 
“So why do you speak to me?” 
“Because right now you do need help, and I want to help you reach that stage in your life when you do go off alone.” 
The closing word struck her like her own lightning. Alone. What a frozen word? After everything, after all the hate towards everyone, she didn’t think she’d ever have to be alone.  
“Or you could join a warrior's team.” She interrupted Indigo’s crisis. “If you don’t think you should go out alone, which is in the best option in my opinion, then you could join a team and have them assist you. But you’d have to assist them too. And from what I've heard about your social life, you need to tuck away your selfish ego if you want to go down this path.” 
She scowled automatically at the insult; it had always been that way. Yet, after the action she realised that she had just completely proven this lady's point. She groaned at herself, burying her embarrassing face in the grasp of her rough, calloused hands. “I apologise.” She cringed. “I just don’t want... to be perceived in such a way.” 
“I understand that.” She replied, looking less and less keen about the conversation the longer it went on. “But people will make rumours about you Indigo, and if that rumour is instead true, then you’ll have an even harder time. I suggest abolishing the idea that you are so full of it before it becomes so widespread it ruins you.” 
Indigo opened her mouth to speak yet she was silenced. “You also appear like you cry at lot, based on your lack of makeup, your big, sleepy eyes and your hunched shoulders. You are a good-looking girl Indigo, chin up.” 
In reality, she burnt original poems in the fires harsh flame, yet she didn’t want to admit that to such a knowing soul. “I try to keep it real.” Was the only thing she could think of saying to keep her image intact. 
The woman smiled at her but didn’t look at her, instead chuckled as she brushed past her and back into the banter of the centre of the palace. “You would rather burn out right? Rather than fading away? Keeping it real doesn’t allow that.” 
“I don’t plan to burn out because my flame will always linger. Even after death.” 
She seemed pleased with that and walked fully away from the girl. Indigo let out all the breath stored in her lungs when she was sure she had vanished, afraid of losing the oxygen for good if she let it frolic around the woman when they spoke. The prophet was far from the most influential person there and had just realised that she wasn’t even close to the title. Her hand brushed her cheek, tickling pink onto her cheeks from the harsh touch. This was deserved. Her eyes darted around again like a hawk stalking prey, desire flooded her burning eyes for the one face she wished to stare at for longer, Everest Luna, such a tall name for such an under the ground person. She swore she was everywhere apart from where you wanted her, that was the beauty of her I suppose. She was as unpredictable as the future and that’s what caused her popularity to surpass the monarch so much that she was in the Godly light Indigo was promised. She was the most influential, and if Indigo could wring the label from her than she would be able to chain Everest's halo to her own head instead. 

And then she saw her. She looked disturbed as she trailed behind who she could only assume to be a chuffed looking Tenz Grabowski, his smirk was higher than her hung head despite her being taller than him. She was taller than most to be honest because when she spotted the man alone again, he appeared to stand around 188cm tall which engulfed the rest of the room. But that didn’t matter, the only voice she wanted to hear was now available.  

Chapter Text

Everest Luna looked a bit different in person than in paintings and in advertisement Indigo had seen her in. Instead of pure white hair, it was more greyish, and her skin was darker than the light it was supposed to be viewed it. Indigo’s eye had been so deceived, she thought for a second that she had locked her eyes onto the wrong person. But she was correct in the beginning, it was definitely her, no one else had the posture or the glow or the name that was called from all corners in her specific direction. Perhaps the camera distorted her because she was so beyond human invention? Yeah, let’s go with that.

She stood in front of a painting of large white angelic wings that had been intricately worked on with blood and sweat mixing with the paint, you could tell from the realism it shone and how rich the rest of the palace seemed. Perhaps it was symbolic of her, the wings a seraphim possessed, the seraphim people constantly related her to. If anything, her standing in such a place made her seem even more ethereal in Indigos eyes.
“Everest!” She called like they were old friends, blindly matching the behaviour of her fans earlier in the night that she rejected.
The woman turned sharply at the call. No one ever called her just Everest. It was new, yes, and definitely unprofessional and inappropriate. Everest was everything a mere child like Indigo wasn’t, and Everest was everything. Indigo wasn’t wrong in her words technically, because it wasn’t a social standard to call someone like Everest something informal, but she would be sorry for it none the less. The thing people didn’t understand about Everest was that she did hold the same social class as the rest of the guests, therefore bowing and formal chatter wasn’t actually necessary. She had control over the council and that was it, no countries or laws or anything people actually got bowed to for. Yet people assumed she held herself to the same standard, and even though she wanted to, she couldn’t. Because that would mean she had the power to, and she didn’t have much power at all.
It was Indigo Blue! She realised when spying that unique hair and sharp features coupled with the youth only a couple other guests possessed. “Indigo Blue!” She greeted with closed and gritting teeth, still slightly put off by the call. “It’s great to see you made it! I heard that you rarely respond to your mail.”
Indigo gulped, realising how bad at being a good social person she was. This called for another quick excuse. “Training is getting so busy I just don’t have the time! But as soon as I noticed the envelope you left me, I knew I had to make time.” She was so charismatic it somehow made up for her tardiness. It was a blessing to be her.
“You flatter me.” Everest laughed. “I knew you were a good choice for this event.” She placed a tender hand on her shoulder and Indigo swore she felt her heart lodge itself halfway up her throat... in a good way. “But I’m sure you didn’t waltz up to me to compliment me.”
Indigo shrugged and fiddled with her earring, twirling it around her fingers. “Believe what you want.”
Everest laughed again and waved her off. “Stop it my dear.” She smiled. “I’m sure you are here to talk about your invitation to tonight's council meeting.” She didn’t even wait for Indigos conformation. “You will be the topic of discussion, the prophet and your purpose, the entire council will be here tonight, and you are not to silence a single one of them at the table just like how they cannot silence you. This may be good for joining a team like how you wish.”
Indigo was jolted a bit by the closing statement. Even if Everest had heard her conversation, which was nearly impossible, how could she know what she was thinking about it? Everest Luna could speak the mind of the past, summoning their spirits to possess her mortal body, nothing there had anything to do with the reading of other minds. “Can you read my mind?”
Everest chuckled and patted the shoulder her hand was still comfortably resting on, the gloved palm caressing hope into her veins like her hands weren’t just seeping through the fabric, it was also penetrated Indigos flesh in the most comforting way possible. “Something like that.”
“I feel like I won’t enjoy the meeting.” Indigo admitted, feeling pressured with the honest touch to spill her whole thought process.
“Name ten, no five, things you enjoy about being the prophet.”
She found herself hesitating, not having even a snarky comment waiting in the side-lines. Her mouth opened as though to speak but she was looking for the optimistic words she had lost as she grew older. But that was the point Everest was making after all.
“Do I hold you in a chokehold?”
Not really knowing what she means but not wanting to seem academically below her, Indigo replied quickly. “No, but you do hold me to morals that no one else provides me with.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied.”
“I’m glad you think that.”
But before Everest could either get confused or offended, a more overpowering voice ate the palace. One that reeked of worry and panic and everything that makes bones shake, and vigilant warrior ears perk in preparation.

“What is wrong?!” Everest pushed Indigo back so she could dart her dilatated eyes around the room. Her fists clenched as though she would physically dominate the threat, yet her ability refused to allow it. Indigo shoved the hand keeping her back away from her chest aggressively and opened her stance in confidence.
“What are you doing?!” Indigo shouted over the new chaos.
“Stay back Indigo!” She spoke with the tone of many generations speaking in harmonic rage. The voices overlapped, all of it directed at her downfall. She cowered backwards, stumbling slightly, something she never did, and reached her hands for a surface to break a potential fall.
“What’s happening Luna?!” She shouted again, not wanted to stand down. This could be her chance to prove herself to people; to prove she had the power they all hoped she could wield with confidence.
There was a crash, a bone crack and a yodel type shriek. The image of cowboys with guns in the wild west painting Indigo’s imagination at the sound because the panicked bodies that thrashed against each other were barriers in her eyeline. And then something happened that she prayed to the Gods she didn’t believe in wouldn’t happen to her. Her eyes burned red. Not light amber. The dark red of pure hate. It was uncontrollable, at least at the time it was, she craved the art of control that she knew she could one day receive from Clark. Yet for some reason he kept postponing the lesson.
“Everest Luna!” She roared, metaphoric devil horns sprouting from her hair. “Tell me now!”
She spluttered over the sight, realising the secrets weren’t worth it. “Help us my prophet!” She said “The rebels have bombed!”
The rebels have bombed? “What?!”
“The ones that want to abolish class!” She yelled over the shouting, trying to summon voices to raise her concern in the loud pitch she lacked. “They’ve bombed Indigo! Get out of here!”

The rebels weren’t idiots. That was clear. The impressive public bombing without getting caught in the process must have taken multiple critical brains to ponder it for weeks. Only one however stood tall and proud in front of the explosion, slicked back hair and flashy black streaks of makeup like he was a savage young boy in the scouts. His teeth were more like fangs than any other sharp canines Indigo had ever seen, they must have been modified somehow so he appeared more feared. His stance, if you looked carefully which Indigo always did, was thin and his feet were light and agile. It was almost like they hung from the sky instead of resting on gravity, like he had levitation to assist his every need; which he probably did, and it probably allowed such success.
He did a bird call loudly with a large gape and powerful sound waves projecting from his throat. Other unknowns repeated the call with loyalty; the group dotted awkwardly around the room yet that must have been the plan. “Everyone! Your class is so special right? So much so that you deserve the gold you’re used to seeing and the drinks I cannot even pronounce! Are you satisfied upper class?!” Of course no one spoke a word. “And tell me rebels, are you satisfied too?!”
“No!” Echoed throughout the room and it bounced off the plated walls and back into the ears of anyone unlucky enough to remain stuck there. The united sound was piercing as it mixed with the fading away yells due to the shock of the rebel leaders’ confidence they had been shown.
“Oh no! I don’t hear very happy people!” He twisted his body and contorted it strangely, yet it was to allow his power to be stored and projected from his feet to blast his body into the air. “Do you hear happy people Everest Luna?!” He spread his arms out to show off his wingspan like they were the wings of heaven.
“Leave us be Corvus!” Everest hissed in her own voice this time, wanting him to know they she spoke the truth rather than her being exploited by the blurred opinion of the past. But she knew him, knew him well it seemed, that was probably the reason she was struck into a petrified state when she was frozen with the sight.
“Leave you be?!” He mocked with the drama of the theatrics. “Is this what the upper class think of us mere commoners?! They want us eyes sores out of their sacred vision?!”
“You’re twisting my words!”
“I thought you were the master manipulator here, Luna? I thought you pulled the strings!”
The rebels roared with wicked jeers; people now looking around aimlessly to try and identify who in the crowd was a traitor. None of it came to any avail, the rebels were masters of disguise, that’s how their illegal large rallies hadn’t been chained down yet.
Corvus was amazing, Indigo stared with awe even though she was still looking through the red lenses of wrath. She did hate him, of course, yet he had the voice of authority that she craved so badly, she itched for a public presence like his and almost grinned while watching his speech of passion. She could hear the funeral bells ring around her because as he floated there with a tight death grip, the idea of his dominance engulfed the room so that no one even thought of laying a hand on such a life-threatening soul. The bells became so loud, Indigos ears began to beg for mercy. No one was doing anything! Had the world become so weak in its pride that warriors refused to work in practice rather than in moneymaking entertainment?! Were they willing to dig graves as long as they didn’t have to fight?!
“What do you want?!” Everest shouted in vibrations as Indigo could feel the earthquake she created surge through the floor everyone stood on together, apart from the person she was talking to. How ironic.
“What do we want?!” He repeated with a large baring grin. “We wanted a little invitation to this event! Or we want this golden palace to be burnt to the ground!”
“What?” Everests voice fell into something more unstable than the confidence she coated herself with before. The party guests gasped as Indigos admiration turned back to the hate it was supposed to be all along.
“You heard me!” He said. “You heard my request my friend!”
“We are not friends, and we never were Corvus! If I’m the reason you came here, then I’ll leave! Juts don’t destroy anything you cannot rebuild!”
“That’s the point! No rebuilding but there will be remoulding! We will be equals again Everest! Everyone will be!”

That was it. Indigo agreed secretly but the way he conduct such feelings was dangerous and messy, easy to take down. And if no one was going to take advantage of his exposed presence, then the prophet sure would.
“Stand down!” She shouted, the room was already silent, so her bellows seemed even louder. She sent the message in a continued whisper, so no one could ever forget her intentions.
He cocked his head to the side at the sound, eyes widening at the threatening call. He lifted something from the floor, a shard of some sort, meaning he could levitate any item he wanted to as well as himself? Good to know. He held the knives like shields, spinning them around himself as he still couldn’t spot the girl. Not wanting to appear weak, he didn’t voice the confusion, making her success even sweeter. She lifted blocks of earth from the ground beneath her and raised herself up on a stone pedestal that she dug her feet into the soil to achieve. The blocks stood beside her, as equals, and her eyes matched the devil. The devil was the king of sin; he didn’t care about equality. So, she split the blocks into smaller spikes and sent them to rain over him, the violent sleet of blades whined in the air that still sung Indigo’s word and caressed the thinnest layer of his clothing and brushed against his bruised cheek. He wasn’t stupid, interfering now would make it worse, so he waited until she had no more to give and directed the shards of newly identified glass into the girl he could now see clearly.
“Oh, Indigo Blue!” He squealed. “What an honour!” He danced ballroom on the air he could effortlessly walk on; he leapt across the floor only he had access to and somehow could also hold up the objects he planned to corner her with. Killer strength. Once again, good to know. “Is the young girl on top of it all planning to silence me?! Tell me Indigo, when you were rotting on those murky dark streets all those years go... would you be trying to silence my voice then?! Or would you cheer me on because I am the voice of the homeless! The voice of the people who don’t fit in here! Tell me Indigo! Do you think you belong here?!”
She spluttered over it and held her fists so tight they became purple and blue. She had to say something that wasn’t a weak response to his questions, she didn’t have the answers he wanted! She didn’t have the answers to anything! “All I know is you are not welcome here! Not because you’re a poor jobless joker, but because you don’t have the brain for the meeting this was organised for! Perhaps if you spent a little longer with your head in a book instead of other people's business then you’d be dining with the kings too!” She swayed her hands back and forth, electricity flowing through the movement and growing stronger the longer she did it. Her head bowed yet her eyes still stared harshly through her eyebrows so she could keep the sense of trepidation strong. The earth she still held began to liquify, yet it remained the same element, she snapped the ground keeping her up high as she sharply brought her fists to her waist, cracking a chunk of it out and pushing it towards Corvus’ unsuspecting feet. He jumped at the sight, swirling himself in circles to keep the air on his leash yet the shock had made him shaky and control was the only thing keeping him in the skies. Her fingers were stuck out and moved with such fluidity she thought they had grown over twice their original length; this was the position Clark had taught her when she would manipulate liquid yet she hadn’t gotten confident enough to use it in action, so she squinted her eyes and attempted to change the movement to something she preferred yet it was precious time wasted. Crucial time wasted. She had the upper hand by knocking him down, yet nothing stopped him rising back up from his defeat. It didn’t kill him, so it made him stronger in his attacks, he knew what she could do up close now, yet he knew what he could do more. He snapped his wrists around and glass from the sturdy chandelier began to fall into submission of his lead, he stepped forward with the soundless feet so silent it felt as though they were in a blackened void, as though things were going on Indigo didn’t know about. As his stance widened, is back leg rested on his toes as he pushed his torso forward, shoving the priceless glass into Indigo but more importantly, into the crowd behind her.
“Run!” Indigo shrieked. “All of you get out of here!” She tried her best not to follow her natural survival instinct of intricate manoeuvres to dodge the flying danger, instead she revived her dying whispers in such a heartful shriek they wrapped around the glass that bolted for the taste of royal blood. Spoiler alert: it was the same shade as the blood spilling from the graze on Corvus’ cheek.
“Why are you doing this?! Murdering them won’t prove anything but the rebels’ lack of basic empathy. It will paint you as the monsters you are!”
“You speak the word ‘them’ so confidently! Do you not speak of ‘we’ the same?! Do you not associate yourself with them Indigo?! Well, you’re here at this gala tonight! You are everything they are and nothing they aren’t!”
“Shut up!” She cried, peeling the tears off her face to perform a simple water trick. It was banal, but it was all she could bring herself to try.
“You look weak!” He shouted with a mocking tone, looking her up and down yet especially at the awkward flowing movement of water that she attempted to mimic.
“I am not weak!” She roared as the glass came to penetrate her flesh again, but she didn’t care, so overcome by hate she refused to feel pain or fear or anything adjacent to weakness.
“Indigo!” It was a deep yell, breathy and tired. People were huffing as someone barged through them, running with purpose and with utter concern. “Indigo no!”
She refused to acknowledge him, no matter who it was they couldn’t have authority over her!
But just as she expected to be harmed with glass and other objects meant to harm her... she was met with an anticlimactic calmness before gasps took the room hostage. The rebels had now crowed around the fight, making their identities obvious yet that wasn’t what the shock was about. A man, with an ugly brown suit on and thin black hair, long legs and straining veins and muscles... and a force field in front of him being held up by his raw strength. It was Clark. “Indigo!” He shouted. You could tell the strain in his voice as he tried to push and redirect the shards, even if not back at Corvus, the purpose was to make sure they don’t even graze Indigo’s young and tender skin. “Indigo, you idiot!” He yelled shoving the field forward, away from his hands and into Corvus’ feet as they hovered. Corvus leapt away yet Indigo brought a line of electricity through her body and out of her fingertips in a perfect stance, shooting the volts into Corvus’ body as it now lacked stability from Clark’s move. He screeched in agony, falling from the heights onto the reality of the dust covered floor. Glass flooded the ground now he dropped his dominance, landing onto his limp body. He groaned in pain yet not for long as the rebels realised their defeat and scooped him from the floor, rushing him out of the hole made from their original explosion. His wings weren’t just clipped; they were ripped off. Corvus shouldn’t be returning for a while, that wasn’t to say however that they wouldn’t find a new leader to speak smack and attempt to destroy class. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. Everyone was ok and the enemy was defeated, if you were to ask anyone, that was exactly Indigo’s fate.
Clark huffed, not impressed by the success which confused Indigo for the second before he slammed his body weight into her, pinning her to the ground. His foot stabbed into her leg and his hands pushed on her collarbone like they were heavy boulders being stacked on her. “Indigo!” He shouted even though his breath were all the teen could smell. “You absolute... you! Jesus Christ! You stupid girl!” His eyebrows narrowed at her as she winced on the floor, glass getting caught in her messy and sweaty hair. “What is wrong with you?!”
“It’s my job to do this Clark!” She spat acidic words at the man she was supposed to be at the feet of yet instead she spoke to him like his primary school teacher. Like she had to spell it all out, and she was happy to do so if it meant she appeared superior to Clark. “Unless you forgot what you teach me!”
“This wasn’t your fight! It was Everest's!”
“Everest wasn’t going to do shit!”
“Stand down or I’ll close your filthy mouth permanently, you idiotic teenager!”
Indigo sighed and relaxed her body under Clark, leading to him standing up and looking down at her like he was disgusted at something so pathetic. Indigo rested on her forearms and blew a strand of hair from her face in dismay, trying to push herself to her feet but knowing she would just get pushed back down again so didn’t bother. This way it would appear to be her decision.
“Leave her alone Clark.” Everest emerged for the first time since telling Indigo what was happening before the fight broke out, Indigo labelled it as piteous, anyone who refuses to fight was weak in her filtered vision. “You’re right that it was my fight, yet it was one I didn’t do anything about... she should be celebrated for taking it. If she didn’t step in... who knows?”
Clark opened his sarcastic mouth to contradict yet Everest pressed an elegant finger to his chapped lips.
“Don’t speak.” She snapped. “I am like a speaker of the lord; your word is like an old forgotten language when compared to mine.”
“If you speak the future so well then why do you request the voice of the past?”
“Because they understand.”
“And I don’t?”
“No. You don’t. You are Indigo’s guardian, Clark. I learnt your name this evening. I bet you were born knowing mine.”
“We can discuss this in the council meeting.” He smiled like a misogynist. “When we’ve all calmed down a bit.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re coming to that.”
“It was in the invitation?”
“Indigo is coming, not you.” She shooed him off with such a dismissive hand, Indigo couldn’t help but laugh. He scoffed yet more automatically than if he was to mock her, he seemed either shocked or sadly offended. Indigo would really get to hear the rampage of what Everest had just said back at home, she couldn’t wait.
Indigo however mainly pondered the fact that the meeting was still going ahead; well to be honest, following such a scene, it would make more sense for a council talk to take place. The hole in the wall was seeping blood, like a memory that couldn’t be forgotten despite how resented it was. Indigo had lived up to her expectation, her worthy title, she was the blessed idol, the human version of the adjective's fans used to describe her.
She begged for the meeting to be centred on her praise, yet she would never make such a narcissistic wish known.

The meeting was not at all what Indigo expected it to be. The table was long and brooding, foreshadowing long and mentally exhausting nights. The walls were dark, not black but a child would mistake it for the shade, a bit like eigengrau, the greyish colour of sleep behind tired eyelids. The room was like a sleepy drug, a boredom drug, a humdrum cell. Everest had fixed her posture and look, going back to the appearance of a queen rather than a weak link. It was an impressive glow up, yet a scary one due to the fake intent behind it. Around eight other people made up the council; Indigo didn’t recognise any of them except Tenz Grabowski who sat with a smug look painting his face and, in that moment, she realised that not one member of a group of powers interfered with the threat of the rebellion.
“You appear addicted to the prophet's word, my dear.” Everest spoke at the head of the table, searching through papers Indigo didn’t recognise. It did seem like the chat was focused on her, yet perhaps her victory wasn’t as a much of a success as she anticipated due to the serious tone in her voice. “Yet such an obsession can cause your angelic future to blur. Clark predicts that you’ll be a fallen angel after all.” Indigo scrunched her face as her heart ached from the term. “So, I recommend your appearances at more social events for a pure view instead of your clearly scrambled one now.”
She didn’t want to be subjected to anything, so responded in the same way Clark did when he couldn’t craft an answer quick enough. “You know nothing.”
“Allow me to assist the prophet.” She somehow didn’t take offence, instead kept it professional. It was a gift to be such a way in this world. “Just because you hold omnipotence doesn’t mean you equally possess omniscience.”
“Lozes did.”
“Lozes died in the weakest way one can and unless you want a similar fate, I suggest your cooperation. You did well out there, I admitted that and I stand by it, but this cannot be a common occurrence.”
She pouted like she was used to being spoiled with unearned victory. Yet she pictured Clark sit opposite her, like how she expected him to be, and imagined his angry look and how he usually held her at gunpoint with it. So, she fixed her attitude, she did care about Clark’s opinion deep down... no matter how much she hated to admit it.
“Of course.” She spoke with fake genuine eyes, eyes she prayed every night to possess. “I apologise for being so...” She looked back at her hallucination of Clark who seemed to usher her on, “hostile.” It was bitter but painted in a sweetened coating.
“I think,” A woman began, early 20s from sight yet with the social position and posture of someone much older. “If the prophet's wings prevented a murderous riot, then why clip them?” So many references to wings, to them being snapped in half... perhaps it was them evilly introducing her to dramatic irony... the idea that everyone could predict her downfall. Just like that woman in the ring that day... just like her greatest fear.
“Because they’re young.” Another young soul spoke in response; he had the look of a teenager and sat uncomfortably in his chair with the intention of appearing cool. He just looked stupid to Indigo. His hair sprouted like thorns, spiking up from his scalp and freckles had settled like gentle seeds on his Dracula-like skin. “If anything, young power is far more dangerous than controlled power directed against us.”
“What is Alastair doing here?!” The same woman snapped, lifting her desirable figure up from her chair, showing off the deep green dress that draped over her body in a very flattering way.
“I’m part of your team Orla.” He spoke with clearly put on rasp to make him seem more affected by testosterone. “You provided me with such status.” Orla's team was the most legendary team in their nation, the names of the members were blurry, yet it was called 'Nonpareil', and the people loved them.
“I wish to provoke it.”
“Why am I part of Nonpareil then?”
“Because of your ability, you’re worth the money we lack.”
“Aww, Orla the flattery is unnecessary.”
“Shockingly, I meant it literally.”
“Enough!” It sounded plosive despite the lack of specific lettering. “If you subject your power to petty bickering then perhaps you have the young mind rather than Indigo.”
They nodded their heads in apologies and shame and Everest sighed in tiredness, deciding not to peruse their punishment. It was a long evening after all.
“Her powers are sentient,” She continued with the original point. “Separately from herself. No matter how able she is, Alastair is right- she's still extremely dangerous.”
“Heck yeah I am.” Indigo scoffed proudly, glancing over her nails. Yet by looking up from her little world, she was met with horrored resentment at the informal narcissism. She pictured Clark foaming at the mouth by what she had just said. Thank God he wasn’t actually there. “I uhm.” She coughed and straightened her posture, sitting more forward in her chair. “I mean... I don’t believe I hold the mental ability to uncontrollably lash out.”
“Of course she would say that.” Tenz butted in, suspiciously quiet beforehand. “If you subjected me to that same thing when I was fourteen, no one would hear the end of it! But if they had, they would have been correct, and my power is nowhere near the potential Indigo has. Trust them Indigo.” He was now only looking at her, his pointer finger pressing harshly into the table as he stared. “I know it’s not a very nice label, but in this business it’s better to be correct than to be flattered.”
Tenz was so brooding. His aura felt like the lungs of a miner, his tall body was even creepier than Clarks as his rib cage almost melted into his waist to the point where it didn’t seem like he had one at all. “Am I correct Indigo?” She was shaken out of her trance and nodded with haste, not wanting his deer in headlight-like eyes to blind her anymore.
“Y-yes! Totally.”
“Doesn’t mean we need to hold her down though! If we agree on that, then we are chaining her to the boundaries of the earth, when she should be able to reach the heights of the universe!” Orla stuck her hands out and rose slightly from her chair yet not enough to appear like she’s giving a motivational speech. Indigo took it like she didn’t truly care and only wanted a point to argue.
“In due time.” Everest settled her down, still keeping a tranquil atmosphere around the room. “But for now, we must make those boundaries, so she doesn’t accidently kill us all.” Orla went to debate again yet she was shunned. “That will be all, Orla. In fact, that will be all for all of you, you are dismissed.”

Chapter Text

Indigo couldn’t get the meeting out of her mind, it was spinning like a hurricane, appealing standoffish, yet not due to the points made against her opinion. It was Orla, the young and stubborn leader; Alastair, the master of weaponry and creation; Tenz, the mysterious power; and the quiet intelligence with a name she didn’t catch beside the other three. They did speak about her like she was an object, a nuclear bomb, which caused eyes to glow, yet they spoke without bias, without the desire of her favouring them. It was human; and after everything, Indigo was human and adored being treated as such.
Yet even though the meeting was a profound part of the evening, she couldn’t suppress the burden of the thought that the rebels were correct, it was something she tried to swallow yet it hurt her throat and got caught on the lump that made her cry. The rebellion was never spoken to her as though it was grey; when she was young and dying on the streets, the rebellion was the lightness of white and now as she’s bowed to by the upper class, the rebellion is the blackness of death. Now they blur together, they merge into something scarier than unfavoured opinion- no opinion at all. The prophet was supposed to be the purity of white, so why does her vision go grey and is predicted to keep getting darker?

Things were awkward back at the academy. Clark, bitter about Indigos recklessness and not being invited to the council yet also internally conflicted about his lack of hesitation to risk his life for a mere student. He chuckled at that thought, pressing two fingers into his temple in shame at it. That wasn’t true. Indigo wasn't just ‘another mere student’, she was the prophet and more importantly, Clark's child. She was mean and bitter and rude and callous, but her heart wasn’t in the least bit shrivelled and still pumped bright red blood around thriving body; and she was his. He believed that the unfair shadows he sees can be altered; besides, an angel has not yet fallen until heaven banishes them. And from impression alone, Everest has far from dismissed Indigo. Even if she falls however, Lucifer is a fallen angel, yet also the king of hell.

The gala definitely didn’t help with the rumours even though they were known to be canon anyway. Indigo was Clark's favourite, outside and inside the classroom. People scattered the corridors with ugly expressions conveying how displeased they were at her invitation and her opportunity to publicly show off. To them, all Indigo was ever meant to do was show off and she was darn good at it, everyone hated her. And she, for some strange reason, didn’t mind the resentment. She took it with confidence and stored it in her archives, waiting for the moment in a fight where she needed rage to show her its guidance and then she could pull it out like a blessed sword and destroy her enemy with the hate she endured and held so dear. Yet, despite all of that, Indigo couldn’t wait to leave Clark Academy, not Clark, but the Academy drove her insane. She cried mainly because of it, because of the emotion she feared showing in the walls, because of the students who ignored every word she spoke like she was just a delusional ghost begging for recognition; begging to be alive again. To be human again. They were the children of heaven when she was the child of limbo, they scribbled the lyrics of poetry and music, smudged letters Indigo couldn’t make out. She assumed it was for the purpose of her ignorance yet perhaps she was just deflecting her isolation. She waved down potential getaways when she noticed them communicate in a language she couldn’t cleverly decipher, and a murder of crows would land on her extended arm. She reeked of the boredom of tumbleweed as her peers refused to amuse any word she had ever sung.
“Indigo! I need my star student!” Clark would try to warble yet instead it sounded like someone running unkept nails along the dusty surface of a chalkboard. If you couldn’t have guessed, such flattery made her ostracism even worse.

“Indigo, honey, if you hate being the favourite so much then stop acting like it.” Clark laughed as he shook the dark cherry liquid in his lipstick-stained wineglass. He threaded it through his fingers as though it was part of his body and pressed it against his lips like a lover. The fire blazed beside them, roaring like the king of the animal kingdom as the pair sat opposite each other on large Victorian armchairs. They looked like curtains, Indigo shuffled uncomfortably as she sat in one, even just looking at the cover made you feel the itch it decided to provide.
“Listen back to what you just said and decide if that’s what you meant.” Indigo made her eyelids straight as they drooped tiredly over her eyes. “Because there’s no way you just said that to me.”
“Look I’m just saying, it shouldn’t be a bad thing to be my favourite, anyone would kill for the title. I’ll stop if you stop being a star, but that’s something I know you won’t give up. I’m these children's God; they would love to be where you are.” He leaned forward in his chair like a therapist. “Cherish it.”
“Shut up.” She spat at his condescension. "Aren’t Gods supposed to be benevolent?”
“In theory.”
“You don’t even hold that.”
He scoffed and sat back down in his chair, sipping lightly from his glass in such a manner she swore she caught the liquid form into a melting skull before it was pushed down Clarks thirsty throat. “I saved you, didn’t I?”
“For public image.”
He shook his head and didn’t utter another word; he just finished his glass by burying his sorry head in it and set the glass down sharply on the table beside him. Clark crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands pressed together on his lap as he shifted his loose slippers on his feet. After a few minutes of deathly silence, only the harsh whisper of burning warmth in the background, Clark waved his hand in her direction. “Go to bed.” He said without emotion, sounding like he had just had every emotion drained from his now weakened body.
“But I’m not tired.”
“Go to bed.” But she didn’t, of course she didn’t, melancholia screamed manically in her ears every night, forcing insomnia to pull the reigns.

The morning still didn’t seem right with Clark, at times he smiled in pride at Indigo yet others she would catch him scowl at her from afar. Yet she never thought about it for longer than a second because the memory of such a team still dented her mind, distracting her from most simple tasks she was asked to complete. Orla had the voice of the people, the voice people wanted to hear personal praise from, she was young yet the perfect leader. Alastair was fit, not slim like Tenz and more muscular than Clark, and he used the weapons he could create from thin air like they were a constant extension. He was quick and quiet and stealthy and dexterous; ignoring his attitude he was probably the most talented asset one could request. She couldn’t tell much from Tenz, only that he could manipulate gravity yet that was from old word. His hair nearly covered his eyes, it was black and slightly curly, falling over the bright light that seemed to be shining through the ditches of black where his eyes should be. He was so tall, like a tree, like a hornbeam tree. He had the ominous look and the social standing that made trepidation fall like a sheet over the group wherever they went. Then the quiet intelligence. She was by far the strangest. Dressed like a poet from the 1920s with hair from the same age and a motherly face, the woman was noticed by Indigo to be an observer. She had enhanced intelligence, anything she consumed could be stored for her use, she never forgot and never mis recalled. Yet she only knew what she consumed, so Clark told her that she consumed everything she could, constant reading... constant listening. It caused an unwelcome shiver to slither up Indigo’s back and grab at her neck when it reached it, making her airflow less regular. She could tell things, of course she could. And Indigo bet that she knew everything there was to know about her, and Indigo didn’t even have a clue on her name.

Looking out the window at the gloom of life, connecting her eyes like magnets to running droplets, competing for the quickest to scale the pane. She had blocked out the background, subjecting it to a blur yet it was mainly melting shades of grey anyway; until an unknown shape merged into it, attracting her vision with a stranger force. Short, dark blonde hair resting by strong yet slim shoulders, Orla. Ok she definitely needed to sleep more because now the hallucinations were taking over. Yet weirdly, blinking didn’t banish it, covering eyes with flesh for a couple of moments only caused dizziness. Orla was there. And as soon as she noticed reality, Alastair, Tenz and the quiet intelligence followed like army men behind.
Clark ran out, she was going to hastily react, yet he got there first. She knew he had a class, she could picture them waiting in the ring, either bored, angry or practicing uncontrollable power at each other. They were all she could think about, they were her earworm, they were her muse for her writing and spoken word and art; and they were here, perhaps they abused Clark's sight, but they blessed hers like a cross she wanted bestowed upon her. She wanted them to clear the path of thorns; all Clark did was act as a blunt blade that only had the capability to cut her own flesh and make her bleed.
“Indigo!” Alastair yelled, pointing past Clark’s outstretched arm at the window where she sat daydreaming about the rain. The flow of the water she played with on her fingertips like she was playing catch with herself. She could command the waters sleep and command the atoms that assigned them with the liquid state. Liquid training was her least favourite, yet the small tricks she could complete made her laugh at the funny nature of the fundamentals. Anyway, as the yell reached her ears, she snapped her head up with the attempt of pretending she never saw them prior to hearing his yell. “She’s in there!”
“Please can we speak to her.” Orla begged, trying to seem less hostile than Alastair yet you could tell in the twitch in her eye that she was becoming angrier. From what Indigo had seen of Orla, she appeared to be everything at once which could be viewed as overly emotional... or incredibly fake. She was the definition of superlative and refused to be anything else.
“No!” Clark choked on the word like it was teeth falling out of his mouth, her plead feeling like a kick to the face. “If you want a new member of your group, you should review all of my students.”
Tenz raised an eyebrow, lurking behind the other two like a greyhound on its hindlegs. “Clark.” He hissed. “If you want to keep Indigo then you can just say that.”
“What?! All I want is for Indigo to save the world! Not... save mine! I care about her learning, not her personal life! If you want her then take her but I want the best for all my students... I think you’re being unfairly bias because she’s the prophet.” He seemed like a proud lawyer while saying this, resting his curled fists on his waist with a stance of a stereotypical superhero. Indigo tried not to choke on her laugh as she held her hand to her face to supress the urge. Alastair looked back over at her again, peering past Orla as she held Tenz’s arm so he wouldn’t lash out on someone he viewed as so far below him, Tenz’s spit acted as Clark’s rain. The teenager noticed Indigo hear the words and giggle at them to which the boy smiled with tooth and laughed slightly. Indigo’s eyes softened and her lashes felt full as her eyes narrowed sweetly, he ran a hand through his hair and looked back to Clark.
“Ok then, take me through your students.” Orla sighed. “But maybe we want the prophet because she is the prophet, because the prophet is amazing. There’s nothing corrupt about that sir.”
He didn’t say anything after that, at least anything that Indigo could make out. He put his arm out, his right one and pointed sharply towards the ring to which the four adults turned their heads swiftly to meet his gesture. “Here.” He grumbled but she could have just misheard the wind. “Most of my students are training right now, you can sit on the side-lines and watch if you have nothing better to do.”
It was offence, of course what Clark said was offensive, it was him after all. Orla stepped back and raised her eyebrows as though she attempted to make them tower him which in spirit worked as Clark began to fiddle with his wrist awkwardly, a habit Indigo had never seen him do before. Tenz narrowed his eyes, the opposite of what Oral tried to do. His hand snapped around, gravity at his demise, pulling down the galaxy and heavens as he dragged his hand slowly and painfully lower towards the floor like he was dragging a raw and upsetting note on the cello.
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head like he was trapped in a noose. “I- I don’t know why I said that.” You could sense the sweat forming on his brow as he looked to the floor in dismay, Tenz’s hand held up the skies and if his straining veins relaxed in the name of Clark then the future had a clear ink stain smudging it. Tenz controlled the future in his bulging veiny hands, playing with potential like how Indigo played with water droplets. He was the puppeteer, and no matter who controls who in this world, Tenz fiddled with chance which was the ultimate mastermind.
“Be quiet now my sweetened boy, dance with our amusement to a river song. Or was your Latin tail severed when you grew older?” Tenz spoke with a spreading smirk.
“I don’t dance, especially not in the rain. But I do apologise, I understand why you ask.”
“Indigo is sat inside like a sickened Victorian poet yet lacking her entertaining quill, may we see her too? You know, to cure such boredom.” Alastair gazed back into the window where Indigo rested with her hand as a structure to hold up her head before she fell onto the desk in exhaustion. Alastair chuckled while noticing this and made sure they locked deep eyes before he pressed his pointer finger into the bottom on his chin, pushing it up, indicating that she needs to keep her head held high. It was a joke, supposed to be funny, a gesture Indigo never understood with friends before, yet she grinned at Alastair and entertained his surprisingly sweet laugh, the one she imagined being bitter and wicked.
“I’ll allow your judgement but be fair.”
Tenz nodded with evil and invasive intentions. “Strong words from the teacher famously known for being under the ideology of social Darwinism.”
Alastair didn’t waste a second before opening his eyes wide and summoning Indigo to leave her seat inside and join the damp atmosphere outside. She nodded, only really paying attention to the interaction for the inevitable conclusion of her joining them. Alastair seemed appealing, she would keep that in mind. Tenz was dangerous, she couldn’t keep that out of her mind.

“So... are you just going to sit down or...?”
“Your students are known for not being...” The intelligence dabbled with her wording options, walking swiftly past Clark as he led them into the ring. “too careful, at least your credit card debt says that, yeesh.”
“What?! Shut up!”
Orla snorted, a sound someone so small shouldn’t be able to make. “Leave him be Genevieve, we may only judge once we see the scores.”

The students seemed prepared enough, they struck each other with their watered-down powers in both desire and fun. Rumbles in the earth like a vibration on the telephone, passing through techniques like electricity through wire. Clark grinned in pride, his teeth shining the word, yet the light wasn’t noticed by the four judges following him with already prepared dirt sticking to the tip of their tongues, ready to spit on the shoes of poor teenagers.
Clark bellowed his voice as the ringleader of the circus of dreams. “My dear students! This wonderful team of warriors would like an addition and anyone,” He glared behind his shoulder at the word he needed them to understand, “Is up for sale!” Silence. “I mean... up for victory!” Good enough!
Children scattered like bones in a massacres great demise, shooting shots they’ve never had before and will never have again. For Indigo, this was a shot she’s always had yet always knew she’d miss. They looked into the great goat's eye, looking for a friend yet the opportunity of war was worth more than the universes plan. Tenz’s striking posture, Orla’s great avatar, Alastair’s sinful gleam, Genevieve's unsettling knowing stare. It all! It could all be theirs!
“My children! Show them everything!” He declared like he was a leader of their cult, and oh how his word shook them like the idea of being baptised into his ideas.
Wings growing, literally this time, and snakelike hisses emerged from the commotion of visitors. A boy on fire, a girl with hair of medusa, fire growing in background, the illusion of nightmares. They had buckets of back up blood meaning they weren’t afraid to hold back. Not this unholy time. Face covered in running mascara yet from the sin of envy over distraught. Indigo sat on the side-lines; she may as well have been sipping tea yet instead she privately critiqued their technique. The insults Clark fed them with constantly now had a new direction! Their departure from him! Morality? No, mortality instead! The brushes of death they all wielded, the slowly clearing end of them being the chosen one too. Their eyes smelled of coal as their abilities grew into hybrids. They were everything Clark stood in line with! They were the future! Yet, as their power-hungry heads turned back to see the faces of the deciders, the felt their ego be ripped like unwanted wires. Orla looked like she wanted to sleep, Alastair just laughed as Tenz tutted. The only one who looked the slightest bit interested was Genevieve, yet she was the only one who didn’t have true physical judgement. They weren’t here to pick apples from Newtons tree; they were here to play.

They all rose from their seats making Clark follow them with fear, they stepped into the dangers of the ring, and they began to speak like they were reading a script.
“Tell me Clark, do they stand on a pentagram?!” Tenz dragged himself across the ring like he was a gliding on ice-skates, flipping his blazer’s tail behind him as he moved.
“A what?!” Clark choked out, you could barely hear the question! Yet an answer still came...
“Well Indigo does!” They all carolled with the same matching laughs Indigo thought Alastair would possess. They laughed as they interfered with the teenagers flicking them off balance, Orla sending their blasts of energy into void like portals.
“How does a guilty soul plead their sins?!” Alastair sung, his vampire teeth baring with his smile so wide the ratio on his face felt off. “Tell us Clark! Did you teach your students the only lesson you’re yet to learn?!”
“N-no! Stop!” He spun around in circles, doing multiple 360s yet too fearful to even ponder dizziness.
“If she requests sleet rain, a hurricane storm! Lightning to strike the tree you always hide beneath! Will you be satisfied then?!” Genevieve predicted with her hat held high into the air like she was begging lightning to strike it and surge directly through her body like she begged to be a vessel. To assist something much bigger than her.
“Clark! Over here!” Tenz laughed like he was roleplaying a journalist. Like it was clockwork, Clark turned without hesitation into the eye of the camera that was instead Tenz’s zooming lens of a stare. “Name one student you adore! And hey now!”
“Don’t say Indigo!” Alastair continued, linking his arm with Tenz’s. “Name one,”
So much pressure! So many voices! Spinning round and round in circles with no aim, circling his own pity. His flame of vain being spat on as he watched in horror of the light running out. The hurting throbbing party lights made him nervous, the deep bass of the music he swore he was being ambushed with. “Uhm.”
“Oh! Do you hear that students?! He doesn’t know you!” Alastair cried to the wind that picked up dramatically upon his sentence, like he controlled it all, like he was so poetic he could summon pathetic fallacy with just the thought.
“N-no! That’s not right.”
“Clark you may need a backup! Because one day Indigo will glow so bright she won’t be able to see you anymore!” Genevieve cackled behind her wrinkly brains mask.
“Stop it!” Clark pushed a field out of his anger, his straining heart. He spread his fingers and shoved it into Tenz causing him to lose sense in stability and crash into the dust of the ground. “I know and love all my students! That girl there!” He pointed to a girl with wings spouting like angels from her back. “Her name is Jayna; she’s thirteen and joined here two years ago. She can fly like an angel from the heavens and can speak like one too.”
Tenz blinked, the first time anyone had ever seen him to do it. Orla wrapped up her mockery and stuck out a hand to cage Alastair.
“That boy over there, the one with the claws, that’s Tozer, he has the speed of sound injected into him! He’s sixteen and he’s been here since he was eleven and he’s got the potential to be more than any of you!”
Tenz growled as he sat on his forearms, coughing up something he refused to acknowledge as speechlessness.
“Do you want me to continue?! Do you believe me now?!” He panted as he towered over Tenz, biting his lip until it bled down onto him. His hair was messy as he pushed it back, standing powerfully with force fields slowly forming on his palms and wrapping around his wrists like the clutch of an attached young child. Like the shadow of Indigo’s old hand squeezing his yet it disintegrated into dust nearly as soon as the thought infected his heart. He couldn’t think about Indigo with paternal instincts anymore. No matter how many choices Nonpareil had, they would always crawl back to the piety of the prophet, well the alleged piety at least.
“Your students are great Clark.” Orla sighed. “But you know what we came here for.”
He gulped in something he never wanted to before, swallowing a procrastination. He nodded, too upset to even form the words in his dried-out throat. “I know.” He said in a grating voice, one matching his thirst.

Chapter Text

“What are they talking about Clark?” Indigo chuckled yet only over nerves. “Are you done fighting?” She heard the conversation outside, but she thought Clark would never let her go so soon.
“It’s hardly a war.” Clark pulled the collar of his shirt feeling the heat from the chat rather than the flame one of the students still had around them. “You are the prize; one I was never meant to hoard. Do what you want Indigo.” It was the weakest she had ever heard him; she even questioned if it was truly him stood next to her. Well, he barely could be seen to be standing with her, it was like his subjected himself beneath the feet of the five. The bell rung, the funeral bells of dignity, and it cursed the thick air they breathed in.
“Clark-”
Alastair rested a comfortable hand on her shoulder, a smirk shining down at her like he was a lamp post in dimmed streets. “It really worked!” Indigo shrunk under his grasp, rejecting the rash of warmth he infected her with, instead missing the hand she felt safe beneath, Clark’s.
“We’d like to see some training if that’s okay.” Orla noted a quick sketch on a crinkled book she had scrunched up in her back pocket. “You know, to make sure you’re bright enough to keep up with us.”
Indigo would have smiled at this in pride at the potential show she could give them, but this wasn’t supposed to be entertainment. Their little act before, their insolent tongues that reeked of the darkness below the surface. It was a puppet show, a performance of a lifetime, and they did it all for her. It wasn’t real, none of them were real. Their smiles were made of Tipex and their sweaty palms were gloved, they were asking for a show, but she wouldn’t dress up for them.
“Alright there, Indigo?” Genevieve crooked her head to the side. She was asking a question, and, in her case, they were always rhetorical.
“If I lie, will you leave me alone?”
Genevieve hummed and looked down with her eyes shut, it was a vulnerable state, yet it must have been her way of recollection. She was blueprinting the day they just had, mapping out what Clark and all those children could achieve. She was the archives, the deep red archives Indigo always dreamed of having the key to. Perhaps this audition was the key. Not to success, she could do that herself, yet to the power of centuries that she craved like heroin. She would be the greatest warrior to ever exist; she would be greater than the stars that held her fate! Meaning it was her duty to get to where she wanted to stand. Step one: have access to the brain locked away in the depths of Nonpareil.
“We’re sorry about hurting your teachers' precious feelings.” Tenz crossed his arms like he was creating a pentagram. “But it was what we had to do. You understand.” Tenz patted her shoulder yet also pushed past her, leaving his group in the shadows. “I’ll watch your audition when I return, don’t begin without my eye.”
“How do I know you’re not messing with me like you always do with everyone else?” Indigo turned to face his long, dry posture leaving the ring. “I won’t wait for you.”
“I worked with Martin and Megan, and I stayed in their business for a long time. If I couldn’t keep my word, I would have been dropped like the weight they believe is slowing their hike.”
Martin and Megan...?
“He’ll be back.” Alastair shrugged and walked away yet in in a different direction, while Tenz floated into the distance, Alastair was making for the house. “Come on, I need a beverage after that! Perhaps one of my greatest performances if I do say so myself.”
“It’s nice to let our blood lust rule once in a while.” Orla said, following with Genevieve. “And we got permission to possess our newest member.” She glanced back and raised an eyebrow at Indigo making her gulp. This was so objectifying, almost the opposite feeling as the one they gave her the last time they spoke. It made her feel dead, like her legs were alien to the rest of her body, like she would collapse. This was so degrading... they were bringing her to their knees, but she should have been the one pulling the strings. She should have been the one pushing their shoulders to the ground so their knees graze in order to worship her! “You coming, Indigo?”
“Yes...” Not here. Not now.
“So Tenz will be back in anytime between like ten minutes and a few hours.” He nudged Indigo and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “From experience at least.” She didn’t really want to know what that meant so didn’t entertain his clearly humorous comment that she didn’t understand.
“From my experience here, the average time is forty-eight minutes yet that includes very high outliers.” Genevieve listed like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hey, do you know where Clark went?” Indigo asked timidly, twirling her earring quickly around her fingers as it was lodged in her earlobe.
“Clark?!” Alastair hit her back, and she almost choked on her drying out heart. He laughed and wiped his eye. “Gosh I already forgot about him. I don’t know honey, but how about you join us for a sip of tea, and a little chat about us.”
Honey?! “I’d rather talk to him... you know, because he raised me. He’s my friend.”
The boy now couldn’t supress his laughter. “That man finds his friends in his wine, drinking away his empty thoughts through carelessness. Indigo you are with us now, the people Clark bow beneath.”
“Stop it, Al.” Orla reached out her bony hand and clutched Alastair into her demand.
“I’ll join you for tea, and alcohol isn’t an option here. It’s a school.” It was a lie, but white lies and white purity merge together, right?
The nineteen-year-old seemed sceptical as he walked into the warmth of the house, away from the bitter breeze of an arena full of crushed dreams, Indigo lied a lot and despite how white this one was, it didn’t make her heart grow any less black. She was a selfish manipulative child, he was sure of it, and it was his duty to protect the group who loved him when the universe had other plans.
“I’ll put on the tea.” He said dryly. “Sit down.” He spoke as though he ruled the house. Where is Clark?
“You’re just letting him penetrate the walls of my house?!” Indigo stood strong. “I thought you were hero’s.”
Orla narrowed her eyes as she listened closely. “We are.”
“Why did you hurt them then?”
“The kids? For you.” It was stern. It was honest.
“You just crushed those children's dreams, how is that heroic?”
“You don’t understand the boundaries of this; heroism is something humans aren’t supposed to understand.”
“I’m not a human. I am the child of the skies.” She didn’t believe it, it actually pained her to say such things, yet lying was everything she ever was, especially if it was to get what she wanted.
Orla smirked and turned back to the door. “Well perhaps the villain in this scenario isn’t us, instead your narcissism.”
“Why do you want me then?”
She sighed like it was obvious, a burden due to the simple nature of the question. “Why wouldn’t we want the prophet?”
“Because I’m a narcass-”
Genevieve shoved a finger to her lips abruptly. “Shut up, she’s not listening. Don’t waste your breath.”
“How many sugars?!” Alastair shouted from the kitchen, the kettle slowly getting louder like a ringing that wouldn’t stop. “Indigo! How many sugars?!”
“Ugh I don’t know! Like one?”
The atmosphere was friendlier than what Indigo thought a personal interaction with Nonpareil would be like. There weren’t cards shoved up sleeves, at least not ones she could sense, and the hot tea filled the air with a similar feeling. She still cautiously slithered her way into the house she grew up in yet with a fear of her life not leaking into her mind. She had the instinct when Clark threw the scorching food over her head so many years ago, yet while she thought the natural caution would be stronger here, she didn’t actually attract it at all.
“So, Indigo.” Orla began, her notebook still clutched in her hands, waiting for a worthy muse. “Tell me about your hopes and dreams.”
“My what now’s?”
“Your divine plans?”
“Um, well...” She breathed in and out again. Be confident now, honesty doesn’t matter yet public presence means the world. “I hope to achieve world peace through unknown empty threats firstly, you know, to make people originally conclude their villainous ways. Then, when I become humanity’s beloved Messiah, they will learn through my holy word from my rallies that heroism and peace are what provides the earth with a halo.”
Orla and Genevieve exchanged knowing looks. Indigo’s lip quaked in suppressed annoyance, like there was a lingering snigger from a joke she wasn’t blessed enough to be let in on. “Threats?”
Sweat ballroom danced down her face in beautiful patterns yet ugly intentions. “I have so much potential Orla, why not use it?”

Alastair whined from the walls; Indigo was about to help yet she noticed Orla’s eyes roll meaning his overdramatic tendencies must be casual.
The girl took the opportunity to ask about Tenz’s whereabouts, it was with fiddly hands and tapping feet, yet the voice was loud. “Where’s Tenz even gone?”
Genevieve decided to take lead. “We don’t know, and don’t really care. It’s annoying, of course it is, but he’s his own person.”
“Why is he even part of your group? He’s so big in this world anyway.” It came across as rude, but if they took it as offensive then they reeked of the blood of hypocrites.
“Because he likes to fight.” Tenz said. He had merged into the dark background, only his magnetic piercing eyes making any obvious appearance. “Hello.” He waved, stepping forward elegantly into the brightness of the room.
“Tenz.” Orla stood. “We’re just sitting for some tea; we can audition her after.”
He nodded. “No milk in mine Al!”
Alastair grumbled yet obeyed, like he always did. And soon, he walked in with three cups, one black, for Tenz, one dark, for Indigo and the other was the colour of soft autumn, for Genevieve.
“Where’s mine?” Orla raised her eyebrow.
“Give me a chance!”
Orla seemed to drool over even the idea of Alastair messing up just so she could scold him. Yet, he proved her worries right, as when he finally came awkwardly from the kitchen into the living room with two mugs in his hands, his stance wasn’t stable enough for proper balance and as he passed Tenz’s nonchalant posture and Genevieve's knowing eyes, the mug was already lost from his panicked fingers.
Orla screamed, a gut wrenching one, it did seem overdramatic for a warrior hero, yet Indigo wouldn’t mention that. The tea had flooded her lap, spreading around like a dangerous red rash. Her arms were in the air and alert, stiff as they stayed in shock. She stared him down and he stumbled more over his words than he did when he dropped the liquid. He apologised, she recalled that, yet all she could think about was when Clark threw soup overhead... yet she could save herself. If she had foreseen this or even cared more, then perhaps Orla wouldn’t be burned and incredibly scarily mad. Her stare was sharp and personal, as though he had just handed her a black ace. Furrowed eyebrows, curling lip matching her closing fist. His Velcro fingers making such a childish mistake couldn’t have caused such welled tears mixing with bulging red eyes. Something lurked under the surface, some rejected memory was beginning to attract again.
“I said I’m sorry Orla; I’ll make you another.”
“Don’t bother.”
“You sure?”
“Just sit down and don’t touch anything.”
He scowled and sat heavily down beside Tenz and Indigo, he crossed his arms and pouted.
“You treat him like a kid, you know?” Tenz sipped his tea lightly with slightly pursed lips. His posture juxtaposed Alastair's as he crossed one leg over his knee.
“Because he acts like one.”
No one spoke to Tenz with stern answers, only responses; and just as the room rumbled in preparation for his wrath, it all went quiet as he merely closed his eyes and shrugged, blowing the tea he still held delicately in his hands. “Fair enough.”
"Ugh can we just watch Indigo already, I’m bored of such formalities.” Alastair complained.
“Stop talking like an old person then.”
“God forbid I’m educated!”
Indigo narrowed her eyes and pruned her emotions yet with failure. Her eyes cut off for a second, like bad a Wi-Fi television, and they could see the raw nature behind them. The natural feeling of instinct hiding out underneath the mask that was beginning to mould to her face.
Alastair analysed her body language and stared deep into the voids of emotions she briefly brought light to. Then it hit him like a bus. “Oh shit, are you not educated? I was kidding Indigo, I’m sorry.”
“You’ve never been to school?” Orla gasped, shocked at such an articulate girl being deprived of such a necessity.
“Only ever training school.”
“Oh honey-”
“No, it’s okay.” She shrugged it off, drinking her tea so messily Tenz had to avert his eyes. “I never desired knowledge; I have the wisdom Lozes bestowed upon me at birth.”
“School is something everyone should experience.”
“You know what else everyone should see? Indigo’s audition, now can we hurry this up?!”
“Let me finish my drink!”
He choked on his annoyance and glared at Indigo like it was her fault. “Indigo, can I speak to you in the meantime then?”

She walked out idly, him storming away in front of her into the ring. She hung back, cautious of his tone of voice. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t respond, only turned quickly with anger ruling his body, he ran forward and clutched to her shirt, swinging the fabric with her in it towards a pillar, pinning her against it so tightly she could barely breathe. She gasped for air, strung up to the idea of fear when he had the eyes of hate that she usually possessed.
“We’re not your stepping stones Indigo; we are your destination. Your desired result. I know your game, I can see past your lying eyes! You want us like you want toys, like you want cheat sheets; for your own selfish gain! We are not toys! We are more than you, and you have to fall in line.” He hissed, spitting slightly on her face making her flinch.
Indigo tried to breathe. “I didn’t say anything about using you.”
“You think it! You’ve thought it since we came to the gates! You thought it when you saw our position in the hierarchy, and you're still thinking it now.”
“I won’t lie and say I haven't spotted your weaknesses throughout the day and in that council meeting. But Alastair... it doesn’t mean I’m planning to use you. I’m the peacemaker, the God-given Messiah and messenger from the heavens; I would never abuse our agreement.”
Alastair leant his weight onto his back leg and pushed from his toes forward, propelling his arms so they would clutch her wrists in a threat to snap them. “You better not, you hear me?! I can see you in the future!” Indigo flinched. “Yeah! You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?! You’ve been through the pain of the alerted prophecy! What if Lozes got it wrong? What if a monster was all you were ever meant to be!” Why was he doing this?! He was so nice when she met his eyes at the gate?!
“No!” Indigo pushed her feet apart, making the earth aware of her lead. She kicked the dust and spikes of dirt shot into the air and dispersed as they cried around Alastair's head, making him a delusional halo. The sand like textures made it hard to see, made it impossible to move. He thrashed and tensed his hand muscles making them seize and drop Indigo to the floor where she petted the electricity she allowed to be released from her hungry veins. Then, like the universe had caused slow-motion, the bright blue snap of lightning folded into the redness of her eyes and the softness of the clouds. But it wasn’t soft. It was fire.
In a desperate attempt to reject the burns of vulnerability, Alastair closed his eyes and curled his wrists around until something metal formed in his scarring hands. He ducked, now drenched in confidence and shoved the circular shield in front of his mortal body so it could redirect the flame either to be absorbed or back at the prophet. Indigo stood down, making her hands limp as they fell to her side. Her eyes gleamed green instead of old red and her knees hung loosely. “You’re wrong.” She huffed, trying to expel tears from her vessel, her eternal detention of a body. Al looked up and over the shield, slowly showing his face beyond the metal. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. He just walked away, back to the house, back to the safety and familiarity of his group. Indigo was the opposite; and in the moment, in the laughing access of fire illuminating the usually dull ring, she felt the sadness of rejection. The sadness of the future she couldn’t bear. Eventually, after she had time to wipe the tears she didn’t want to be seen associating with, she joined him inside yet by then, they were ready to audition her.

A natural breeze had picked up since they were last out in the climates of the ring, the wind Alastair seemed to call upon had dissipated and now only natures calmness remained. It was so vulnerable standing in the middle of that ring, the earth had been put back into place like nothing had occurred, yet the judges stared at her with such hope that she didn’t think the ring would be unaltered for long. This was everything. She could fly by herself, her wings were already there, she just needed a boost into the sky. This could be it.
"Whenever you’re ready Indigo.” Orla smiled warmly, nearly making Indigo not notice Tenz and Alastair’s burning stares that would forever haunt her nightmares.
She breathed in and out, pressing the air down with her hands to calm the shake that had ran through her nerves. And then she began. Simples first, to make sure they knew she had technique. She locked eyes with them, nodding to let them know that she wouldn’t give up. White flag? Not this time.
Fire in her palms, fire in her veins, yet they only outwardly showed at electricity, she spun it like web and cracked it into the pillar on the outskirts of the training grounds.
“Do something more interesting!” Alastair whined like her electricity did after its collision with the stone.
She ignored him, knowing Tenz and Orla probably appreciated it; yet out of fear that they didn’t, she didn’t check. Next was earth, this was her zone, her everything, her most favourite element had to be the ground she stood on, the stones that kissed her feet. She brushed a foot across the floor, kicking up some dust as she did so, and then twisted her ankle to which the earth shot up yet with a short height, it stood still and stayed as caution. She then positioned her legs over the spike and pushed it forward before turning her feet in and flicking her arm into the air. The earth obeyed her command and flew high to her hands; she then curled her fists and punched it into the side of her waist with her other arm still outstretched, this action made the stone fly into the same pillar, breaking into pieces. Orla raised an eyebrow, but Indigo wasn’t done. The commotion on the ground from falling rock made dust swirl around in patterns, she lifted the dust up and similarly swirled her hands around to form the shape of a dragon, one with scales and a wicked toothy grin. Standing in front of the beast, she acted like a conductor and waved her finger up and down and to the side where the dragon opened its mouth wide and roared a roar, she had left to the wind to enhance. To finish, she snapped her hands to be fully extended beside her shoulders and grabbed, plucking the water droplets straight out of the sky. She jumped into the air and crashed to the floor, smacking her hands into the earth so the water fell like hard rain on top of the ring, punishing the dust dragon back into the soil it was made of. Indigo breathed heavily as she stayed knelt on the ground, she awaited applause, yet it was praise that never came.
“Point your toes!” Came from Orla.
Indigo rose in offence, like she hadn’t quite heard her properly. “This... this isn’t ballet?”
“It might as well be,” Genevieve sniffed and sat up straight. “This is entertainment.”
“Dancing is, fighting is not.” She panted, speech not getting easier as breath had rejected the cold feeling of her lungs. It was like she had to explain basic maths, correct such a wrong mistake. Yet still, their haughty grins made her insecure about whether she was in fact the idiot.
“It’s an art.”
“The art of war is not the role of a jester!”
“You are a public figure, Indigo! You have to learn how to perform a lie!”
She breathed the fire she lacked.
Orla sighed, realising she wasn’t used to any of this. She probably didn’t have to audition for her scholarship at Clark Academy, her being the prophet would have been enough to cage Clark's fancy. “Do a flip.” She said, sitting back in her chair.
Indigo dug the front of her foot into the ground and looked to the sky. She somersaulted just as they had asked yet still, no praise came.
“Sloppy!”
She creased her eyes, a harsh cessation of her sight because she would rather be in the comfort of eigengrau than the blurry lens of rejection. She had never been critiqued like that before. “It’s a backflip, I can’t do much more with it!” She couldn’t make it obvious; it was such a huge weakness.
“That attitude won’t hold up well with the world!”
She didn’t even have time to bully her tears away before another voice annoyingly yapped in her ears. “Make a hurricane! Blow me away!” He called. He grinned at her, knowing what he had done to her. Indigo thought the childish request would be shut down yet Orla nodded and looked from Al to her, ushering her on.
Indigo picked up the dust from her hated dragon and spun on the spot.
“Hurry up!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” Her words were quickly drying out, all the water in her mouth needing to be used as tears. She lifted her hands up as the waves of wind rose as well. She glanced through the fuzz of the hurricane yet the four still didn’t seem very impressed. “Okay I quit!” She yelled, dropping the power abruptly with the stubborn nature of a young, spoiled brat. “If you don’t like what I do then you’ll never like what anyone does!”
“Keep going Indigo.” Alastair twirled his pen up and over his fingers like the potential tantrum wasn’t a threat. “I didn’t think you were so weak that you couldn’t stand up against criticism? How about fire? You can do that right?”
She froze. Fire. I mean; she had done it mere minutes ago... yet while in a rage she had never felt before. In a rage for the same man standing in front of her. “No.” It was fear she had always had, embarrassment. She wouldn’t risk it, not in front of the souls who seemed to get off on making fun of her.

Chapter Text

“Stop!” Like a hero, Clark burst through the gates, sweat reddening his face with a stare pinned to Indigo like she was the toxin that painted his skin red. Also, as she looked at him more, she noticed his lip bleed, she considered a drunk accident, yet a fight would have been a better guess in retrospect.
Orla scoffed, Clark to her being a small disturbance that was more of an annoying burden than any actual danger. “Oh, look now our hero returns.”
He was taken slightly aback by this, he was used to be worshipped as divine, not part of a mean sarcastic insult. Yet, for Indigo (and his dignity) he picked his spine back up into a straight line and put on his threatening face again. “I do not approve of this! Bullying me was something but this is unacceptable.” Such parental love was meant for movie screens, not an orphaned girl everyone hates.
Alastair groaned and rocked back on his chair. “Ugh, he’s ruining the fun! Besides, this is how proper training should go.”
"If she doesn’t get clean shots under pressure then perhaps you aren’t the best warrior teacher in the world Clark.” Orla stated as though it was an unbiased fact. Therefore, in the eyes of many, it made the insult genuine and much worse for one to hear.
“Leave her alone.” He said slowly, marking his territory with just a stare through his diagonal eyebrows. “She’s a child.”
“She’s the prophet, she’s no child.”
Indigo stood still, not daring to move. It was a strange sort of limbo to be chained down to. Like on one side was heaven, the place she craved, and the other was hell, the place she sought to destroy let alone join. But they blurred together, one was down below her and was torturous, the other up high and free of concern yet she couldn’t tell up from down... Clark wasn’t her saviour anymore, this group was. Or at least, they were supposed to be? Ugh! It was all so confusing, so she was glued to the spot not moving or saying anything. Pathetic. It was completely cowardly. Her foot shifted slightly in time with the wind's song, growing tired quickly yet deciding not to outwardly show it. Until, suddenly, the narrow passage of a cold war folded in on itself like a relaxed noose as the force fields Clark held dear circled up his forearm and Orla's fingers openly held the answer to every dimension and universe in existence. It was like he had to audition now instead of her. So, in a moment of solitary thinking and impulse nerve endings acting as the frozen hairs standing up on her arms, she pushed her foot forward and a wall of uneven rock shot from the ground in between the pair.
“No!” She shouted; they both looked round to her. “No violence please.” The voice of the people is the voice of God? No. The voice of Indigo Blue is the voice of God.
“Ignore her.” Clark blurted with immediate regret.
“The word of importance and poetry comes from the cords stuck in the restraints of my throat! To ignore me is consensual ignorance! Listen to me!” She shrilled yet with two different octaves behind it. “A cold war for my company teases both sides of the line it somehow stays on yet you’ve crossed it once violence corrupts your motivation!”
Clark huffed as he allowed the force fields on his wrists to unravel and dissipate into the atmosphere like excess energy. “Violence never corrupts me; I cannot however say the same for such a red team.”
Orla, on the contrary, didn’t stand down and couldn’t see past the wall of stone to notice Clark had. She scowled at his comment. “At least we fight.”
“At least I love.”
She scoffed in a shrill, pure, unfiltered, shock that expelled from her vocal cords. “Love?!” She cackled like a witch and stood in a powerful stance to give the illusion that she could summon a spell. “All you love is poison!”
He coughed up a lie.
“You’re addicted to the feeling! And you know what you’re not addicted to?! Helping your child!” Any tension that remained like weak rain smashed harshly at her cry. Clark dropped his heart like it was just an accessory for cosmetic reasons. His breathing hitched, catching on a cold phrase he wished the wind was teasing him with. The world spun above him, hinting the heavens above in his direction, how he was stuck in a liminal moment between what he has occurred and what is yet to happen; and how he no longer has hold of the keys that have now rusted in his decaying grip.
Indigo got punched with the words too, her mouth hanging open like it was allowing her teeth to fall from the harshness of the hit. Her throat dried up before she could release her feelings into the fresh air that had now adapted a thick smoky fog in the past few silent seconds. He helped her, more than she could ever have asked for, yet the idea only made it to the tip of her tongue, refusing to escape fully.
Alastair gulped, the only noise able to surpass the vacuum of tension, and Indigo snapped her attention to him. She viewed the now broken silence as an invitation for her to speak, so she crumbled her powerful stance and stood like a child of divorce. “I’ll join your group if you’ll have me; but take Clarks name out of your mouth.”
“I think we should all calm down.” Tenz stood.
“I think you should all stop being so horrid! You’re horrid to each other and horrid to those around you! All you do is hate and make other feel like shit!”
“Language.”
“Shut up Clark!” She breathed in and out, trying desperately to supress the red coating on her eyes. Indigo turned back to the table of warriors. No one said a word. “Why are you hero’s?! To me you possess all the attributes of the villains! What truly is Nonpareil?!”
Orla smiled, the complete opposite reaction that Indigo intended, and she put her hands in the shape of a white flag. “Nonpareil is something you my dear would like to be part of. You are no more moral than any of us, so acting like you’re better so we feel remorse won’t work sweetheart.”
“Join us.” Tenz hissed, his eyes glowing in his hopes for the future. “You’ll love us eventually.”
She glanced to Clark who still rotted her vision with his hate for this. “I fear joining you was always the plan.”
Orla smirked the grin of hades as she held out her hand, the interdimensional portals now completely wiped free of her palms. Indigo couldn’t look to Clark again; she could only imagine the face he was pulling let alone what he was truly feeling. She reached out the hand eagerly kissed by the devil and placed it in the chains of Orla’s.
“When I make fire.” Indigo began, directing it at Clark yet still not looking at him. “I’ll send you a cigarette in the post, Clark.”
He smiled at the humour yet for no other reason. “Indigo.” He sighed. “Before you leave, can we... have a conversation?”
She nodded, understanding that she at least owed him this.

“What is it?”
Indigo and Clark were now stood in the driveway of the academy, close enough to the ring yet far enough away so the four warriors couldn’t eavesdrop on what they were saying.
“I don’t know about this, you said it yourself, they’re awful people.”
“Yeah, but who isn’t?” She huffed. “I’m sick of pretending heroes are what the storybooks say they are, they aren’t good people, but neither are we.”
"Rip those words out of your mouth.” He whispered with heat. “Perhaps we are immoral, yet you are the prophet, all you’ve ever been is benevolent.”
“Lozes never explicitly said that.”
“He said you would be divine and the divine are all-loving.”
“It isn’t simple though, is it? Not everything I am is spelled out in ink.”
“Why are you doing this now?! You always used to say that you are everything the stars are!”
“I am! But... but...” I am a human. “Never mind, I shouldn’t be listening to you anyway.”
“What?” If he was a dog his ears would have folded. “Why?”
She considered what she was about to say, afraid of his power over her yet now they were split. She was now no longer a student, instead a master. “When my life gets imprinted onto parchment for the eye of the easily entertained, my life with you would be merely... the opening song. Not a forgettable one! But you are the notes that slowly fade away. You are the alpha; I am the omega. You have been, I am.”
“You are not a ventriloquist Blue; you are my child.”
“I am nothing but the prophecy’s outward image, I have never been someone's child.” Something cruel within her didn’t grimace at the comment, instead encouraged the feeling to infect her entire conscience. This badly tickled her spine.
“You are the child of the skies, and no child speaks to their teacher in such dirt, even if my influence was in the past.”
She spluttered, throwing her arms out without thought-out words to say, “Blasphemy!” was the only comeback she could conjure.
“I am not some occultist who will perish at the word you selfishly cry!”
“I’m doing this for the world! I do it all for everyone's greater good!”
“You tell yourself that and you believe it because you believe your voice is the only one not filtered by lies! But even that is a lie! I hear other voices in your words Blue! What do you want?!”
She was made of other voices, nothing she ever spoke had the same accent as her own. “Not other voices! Yours Clark!”
“So why do I disagree?!”
“Because you’ve changed!”
"No, I haven't! You're making excuses to clear your name!"
“Why aren’t you pleased at my departure then?!”
“Because I love you, Indigo!” It wasn’t a whisper or repeated in a different accent, it was raw and it was him and it wasn’t the filtered truth he discussed. For once, Indigo heard Clark’s true voice, the true raspy sound of it. The emotion wasn’t fake; the tears weren’t from prepared pepper spray. He meant it, and that was the first time Indigo took a step back from her wishes and hesitated her true wants.
She stuttered again. What’s he doing to me? “Screw you, Clark! Telling me you love me just before I leave?!”
“I’ve meant it ever since you moved in! You are like a daughter to me, a biological daughter! I love you; I love you; I love you! Leave if you please, anything for you to be happy, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never told my child that I love her!”
She licked a bitter tear from her lip. “I have to go...”
“I love you.”
“Clark.” She wrapped her arms around her torso as she walked away, the clouds now blocking the sun Indigo was sure had already been replaced with the moon. It was a cold night. “I love you too.”
His lip quivered into a smile yet also in the emotion that felt like he was in the same room as chopped onions. The peeled layers... the disgusting skin... the essence of the nucleus. It was all them.

Genevieve waited with a wave, of course already knowing about her departure. She leant against the table she judged upon, the only one who kept kindly silent during her audition. She smiled at her and somehow, even though Indigo lacked enhanced intelligence, she knew Genevieve would direct it back to her. “Are you ready?” She whispered with caring motherly concern.
Indigo breathed deeply and nodded sadly. Genny reached out a tender gloved hand for the teenager to take yet she refused the vulnerability. “It’s okay, let’s just go.”
The woman hesitated before accepting Indigo’s response, pointing to the other three who were waiting just past the main gate. Orla was staring intently at her watch, her foot tapping a hideous beat onto the gravel. Alastair played with his hair, trying to make it make up for the height he lacked in his legs. Tenz was off slightly to the side, looking only at the grass that outlined the path. He was an interesting character, strange shoulder length black curls that covered his eyes yet when you could see them, they seemed to have an unnatural glare. Indigo had noticed this before, yet she only really began to view it as particularly strange when she had to comprehend spending every second of every day with them. She’d have to become immune to the poison they breathe. Indigo looked back again, to see if Clark would see her out, if he wanted to see her face one last time.
I mean, of course he did.
“Indigo! All I ever wanted was for one of us to make it, to make it out of here with something.” Clark said with a smile that seemed genuine enough as he waved her beauty away.
She turned yet without the haste he wanted her to experience; it was instead a calm and understanding goodbye, she warmed his freezing heart with even just her gaze; he sensed a tear yet cursed himself for being so dramatic. Clark looked back at her with the eyes of the ghost of their friendship, she could see their old words of adoration pour out of his bloodied busted lip. They were the wounds that slowly healed, the scabs that eventually broke off, the words he used to sing to her as she slept...the words that she forgot. His soul was like parchment paper, and now hers is too so why can’t they trust once more?
He sighed a deepened bellow and lifted his shoulders like they carried the weights of the world's gym even though he knew they rested instead on Indigo’s. She sulked behind bars, so he began to bless with the softness of his voice. “Isn’t a lack of trust what we built our empire on?”
“We lack the lock that makes us something more than a marriage of convenience. I know you but you don’t know me… you can’t blindly trust that I won’t betray you.”
The green of his now even uglier suit and the green of her face, the red of the blood and the red of disgrace. The red of Indigo’s cheeks when she saw her teacher so kind, the red of his hands when he left his students behind just for the slight sight of her.
"I miss you my dearest friend, but we were never meant to be. I could never let relationships rule my teaching career, so I must allow your departure.”
So, she tried to ignore the dark days, instead recall the golden era called adoration. She spoke with the hesitation of a common awkward teenager, a label she refused to associate herself with. “The only way I can fix our troubles is by perhaps permanent separation?" Trees and wind jeered at her like she had bloodied their own knife, she controlled their every move, yet nature pulled the strings on her fragile youngling life.
Clark waved again, lifting a weary arm at the gates he couldn’t proceed; they trapped him in the same place he had always been, and it was fine, he was so fine with it, yet now as Indigo faded into a shadow memory, he couldn’t help but wish his future lay in her cradle.
"Lock me with the supernatural that knew us when we spoke. Look at me like flying pigs when you think you've already awoke.” He muttered, wishing a dream state would bring her back so he stared at the sun to wait patiently for it to bow to him and allow sleep to engulf his emotions.