12-30-2024, 12:32 AM
“Oh!” The word popped out on a small puff of quiet surprise, to herself rather than in response to him. Given all the things she didn’t know about their time in the dream, she wondered then if Tristan might think she’d asked expecting flattery, but she was only rephrasing what she’d wanted to know when he’d seemed so unmoved by the guardian’s reunion with her child. About why they were both here. She continued watching him long after he returned his attention to study of the horizon, eyes softened by emotion she didn't care to hide. He wasn’t the first person who’d crossed the physical barrier of her dream-self’s desires in order to find her – both Calvin and Patricus had told her it was Nimeda who sent them. With some trepidation she considered that it was Nimeda who Tristan actually meant; that she was lost in the shadow of another conversation entirely. But if Tristan was frugal with words, he was not with meaning. And she felt the things he did not say.
He did not come to sit beside her, but she was content in the quiet that lingered while he worked through whatever stoic thoughts stirred behind that brow. When he outlined their new situation she didn’t tell him that she understood all those dire things. She had a talent for silver linings, but it wasn’t because she just didn’t see the shadows; it was that she accepted darkness as she did light if it seemed the right path. Sending him into the dream with a task to do was the only mercy she could think to offer, for it had to be a kinder way than the exposure or starvation that would come for them here. And maybe if he should pass in such a place it would even be where his soul stayed, sheltered from the fate he feared waited for him.
She was relieved when he said he couldn’t do it, though; that he wouldn’t just close his eyes and leave her behind to face it alone. Because she knew she would not sleep here either, even if she knew how to navigate herself into that dreaming world. It would have been a lonely vigil.
The plan he did decide on did not exactly inspire her with confidence either, not least from what little she had seen before she stumbled back from the cave mouth. She wondered if the calm with which he spoke was real or just for her benefit, but either way she resolutely placed her trust in him. Thalia didn’t find that a difficult thing to do anyway, sometimes to her detriment, but there was something about Tristan’s entirely impervious nature that made her feel like she would plod after him to the very ends of the earth just to sit in his shadow at the end of it. It could literally be the end, and given the isolation outside their cave maybe it really was, but watching the stars wink out one by one that way didn’t seem such a bad way to go.
While he was gone she tried to rub some feeling back into her legs, then pushed herself back to her feet, an entirely inelegant process she was quite glad went unwitnessed. The warm light went all sorts of wonky when her concentration dipped, but she persevered despite realising it was sapping energy she didn’t really have to spare. In part because she needed the heat it supplied, and in part because the slow pulse of power inside at least gave her the illusion of strength. The rest was sheer stubborn gall.
Adventurous as she was, the journey was not pleasant, even by Thalia’s standards. She gripped onto the anchor of Tristan’s forearm like it was a literal lifeline. Curiosity at the desolate landscape around them paled under the concentration of a bowed head. The power-wrought radiator fizzled to nothing, though she didn’t drop her hold on the magic. It was burning a little, but somehow her surrender to it counteracted the violent shivering. One foot after the other. Try not to fall. It consumed an eternity.
She practically tumbled into the station after him, less concerned with the dark than getting out of the elements. It felt like walking into the stillness of a refrigerator, which at least meant the wind couldn’t reach them here. Thalia’s eyes roamed the shadows as her vision adjusted – it was bright daylight outside, but there wasn't much in the way of windows aside from a platform at the rear. The glass was grimy with age, even at this distance.
“Hello?” She wasn’t expecting an answer but for the dull echo of her own voice, and that was exactly what happened. Her breath fogged from her lips. Around them the desks were strewn with paperwork, some of it looping reams of seismic charts that buried the old tech underneath. Chairs were overturned. The dead screens of old-fashioned computer screens stared back dark and unblinking, a few fallen from their perches and cracked on the floor like an angry giant had rattled the roof. She began padding around without caution, touching things – it looked like it had been evacuated in haste. She couldn’t read the station’s name; it wasn’t in English, and its logo featured an old country flag, though she wasn’t sure which one.
“Pre-Custody?” She glanced back at Tristan. Not that she supposed it mattered. With the happy little sun on the flag, it did not seem to be where they were. At least it meant they were embedded back in reality. Nothing felt Other.
She twisted about, wrapping her arms about herself, eyeing the platform with a longing sort of curiosity to climb up and peer out, though she refrained. Better to think practical, because she could feel the ebbing flow of her energy, sustained by the adrenaline of bright-eyed (not feverish) curiosity for now, but she was going to have to drop the power at some point. Even hunger was distant, buried under the layers and layers of bone-deep cold. But exhaustion was a sly shadow; she was going to need to sleep eventually.
She bit her lip and darted off, distracted by that new thought – not entirely logical, in terms of survival, but clearly important to her. Though to her relief the first desk she checked had a pencil (several actually). Her numb fingers wrapped around it like a talisman, and by then she was drifting into her own world, heading into the shadows underneath the platform where she had just seen another door. She pressed on it, and it shuddered, but something must have fallen on the inside to prevent it opening wider. Thalia couldn’t peer through the shadows of the completely darkened room, but she was small enough to squeeze through the gap – which she did without thinking.
In other circumstances she might have been pleased with how easily the spiral of light conjured itself to her waiting palm, but as it was the first thing she saw coalesce from the darkness was the pale lines of a mask, so the only thing she felt was startled. She paused, at least consulting caution, though it didn’t stop her reaching her free hand out to where it hung strangely suspended.
It tilted at her, like it considered her back.
The light winked out (not helpful) and she half stumbled backwards (also not helpful). When she recovered, pushing the light bright enough to reveal the dishevelled remains of a dormitory, there was nothing resembling what she’d seen in the disarray. She packaged up the bright edge of her panic, and decided maybe it was better to stay closer to Tristan if she was going to be seeing things. She was shivering again, just a little, and she leaned on the door frame as she poked her head out.
“There are blankets and things in here,” she said, intending to gather said items up and throw them out.
He did not come to sit beside her, but she was content in the quiet that lingered while he worked through whatever stoic thoughts stirred behind that brow. When he outlined their new situation she didn’t tell him that she understood all those dire things. She had a talent for silver linings, but it wasn’t because she just didn’t see the shadows; it was that she accepted darkness as she did light if it seemed the right path. Sending him into the dream with a task to do was the only mercy she could think to offer, for it had to be a kinder way than the exposure or starvation that would come for them here. And maybe if he should pass in such a place it would even be where his soul stayed, sheltered from the fate he feared waited for him.
She was relieved when he said he couldn’t do it, though; that he wouldn’t just close his eyes and leave her behind to face it alone. Because she knew she would not sleep here either, even if she knew how to navigate herself into that dreaming world. It would have been a lonely vigil.
The plan he did decide on did not exactly inspire her with confidence either, not least from what little she had seen before she stumbled back from the cave mouth. She wondered if the calm with which he spoke was real or just for her benefit, but either way she resolutely placed her trust in him. Thalia didn’t find that a difficult thing to do anyway, sometimes to her detriment, but there was something about Tristan’s entirely impervious nature that made her feel like she would plod after him to the very ends of the earth just to sit in his shadow at the end of it. It could literally be the end, and given the isolation outside their cave maybe it really was, but watching the stars wink out one by one that way didn’t seem such a bad way to go.
While he was gone she tried to rub some feeling back into her legs, then pushed herself back to her feet, an entirely inelegant process she was quite glad went unwitnessed. The warm light went all sorts of wonky when her concentration dipped, but she persevered despite realising it was sapping energy she didn’t really have to spare. In part because she needed the heat it supplied, and in part because the slow pulse of power inside at least gave her the illusion of strength. The rest was sheer stubborn gall.
Adventurous as she was, the journey was not pleasant, even by Thalia’s standards. She gripped onto the anchor of Tristan’s forearm like it was a literal lifeline. Curiosity at the desolate landscape around them paled under the concentration of a bowed head. The power-wrought radiator fizzled to nothing, though she didn’t drop her hold on the magic. It was burning a little, but somehow her surrender to it counteracted the violent shivering. One foot after the other. Try not to fall. It consumed an eternity.
She practically tumbled into the station after him, less concerned with the dark than getting out of the elements. It felt like walking into the stillness of a refrigerator, which at least meant the wind couldn’t reach them here. Thalia’s eyes roamed the shadows as her vision adjusted – it was bright daylight outside, but there wasn't much in the way of windows aside from a platform at the rear. The glass was grimy with age, even at this distance.
“Hello?” She wasn’t expecting an answer but for the dull echo of her own voice, and that was exactly what happened. Her breath fogged from her lips. Around them the desks were strewn with paperwork, some of it looping reams of seismic charts that buried the old tech underneath. Chairs were overturned. The dead screens of old-fashioned computer screens stared back dark and unblinking, a few fallen from their perches and cracked on the floor like an angry giant had rattled the roof. She began padding around without caution, touching things – it looked like it had been evacuated in haste. She couldn’t read the station’s name; it wasn’t in English, and its logo featured an old country flag, though she wasn’t sure which one.
“Pre-Custody?” She glanced back at Tristan. Not that she supposed it mattered. With the happy little sun on the flag, it did not seem to be where they were. At least it meant they were embedded back in reality. Nothing felt Other.
She twisted about, wrapping her arms about herself, eyeing the platform with a longing sort of curiosity to climb up and peer out, though she refrained. Better to think practical, because she could feel the ebbing flow of her energy, sustained by the adrenaline of bright-eyed (not feverish) curiosity for now, but she was going to have to drop the power at some point. Even hunger was distant, buried under the layers and layers of bone-deep cold. But exhaustion was a sly shadow; she was going to need to sleep eventually.
She bit her lip and darted off, distracted by that new thought – not entirely logical, in terms of survival, but clearly important to her. Though to her relief the first desk she checked had a pencil (several actually). Her numb fingers wrapped around it like a talisman, and by then she was drifting into her own world, heading into the shadows underneath the platform where she had just seen another door. She pressed on it, and it shuddered, but something must have fallen on the inside to prevent it opening wider. Thalia couldn’t peer through the shadows of the completely darkened room, but she was small enough to squeeze through the gap – which she did without thinking.
In other circumstances she might have been pleased with how easily the spiral of light conjured itself to her waiting palm, but as it was the first thing she saw coalesce from the darkness was the pale lines of a mask, so the only thing she felt was startled. She paused, at least consulting caution, though it didn’t stop her reaching her free hand out to where it hung strangely suspended.
It tilted at her, like it considered her back.
The light winked out (not helpful) and she half stumbled backwards (also not helpful). When she recovered, pushing the light bright enough to reveal the dishevelled remains of a dormitory, there was nothing resembling what she’d seen in the disarray. She packaged up the bright edge of her panic, and decided maybe it was better to stay closer to Tristan if she was going to be seeing things. She was shivering again, just a little, and she leaned on the door frame as she poked her head out.
“There are blankets and things in here,” she said, intending to gather said items up and throw them out.
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)