An Age of Mysterious Memories

I’m still not doing great, despite Te and Lil helping anchor my thoughts in the now, preventing me from descending into self-doubt, self-loathing, and endless introspection. They’re both perfection incarnate to someone like me, yet they can't assist with the deluge of sensory data I'm sifting through, juggling, both in the immediacy of the moment and through retrocognitive analysis. They do definitely help in my coping with the anxious nature of everything going on, in, and through my mind right now at least.

My fears, however, are rapidly gaining on us—literally. My thermal senses reveal at least four figures moving swiftly through the lower levels. While they’re moving systematically behind us, their search is purposeful, patterned, methodical, and targeted. It's a relief they're not the full legion of eight to twelve thousand that could be swarming after us, but it's troubling nonetheless.

With a sigh and a furrowed brow, I pose the question, “Guys, there’s at least four enemies following us, or at least searching the bottom floors for us. What do you think the odds are better for? Heading back and taking them out so that they can’t find and report on our position, or trying to outmaneuver them while continuing forward, hoping they don’t catch up or catch on to where we are? If we go back to take ‘em out, and one gets away, it’ll have been worse than a waste of time, it’ll be us screwing ourselves.”

I should have expected Teuila bursting into laughter at my phrasing. I rest my cheek on my thumb, cradling my forehead with three fingers, shaking my head in disbelief. Lil's snicker joins the chorus, resulting in me loosing a dry half-chuckle while continuing to shake my head. These two goons were not made for assassination missions, yeesh heh. No wonder I always stumbled into them alone before. Hah.

Oof. Now I’m depressed recalling how often I’ve figuratively and literally fallen into situations or locations in which I had to assassinate a leader figure of some region. A patented Reggie Shellcracker accidental assassination attempt this is not. Thinking of those lonesome solo missions though, they’re not exactly a highlight reel I want played to anyone if one were to sum up my life.

After they’ve had their brief laugh, their giggle fit, I wait for their amusement to subside. Shooting them a pointed look, I seek a serious response. Te crosses her right arm beneath her breast, rests her left elbow on her forearm, and cups her chin with her thumb, stroking it. The fact that she dons the classic thinker pose essentially is a bit endearing in and of itself, as Te gives the question thorough consideration. Lil sticks his tongue out derpily and gazes up-leftwards while contemplating. Despite only a few moments passing, and me not begrudging my beloved inner circle time to process or think, we’re in more of a time crunch than ever, with that thorough, well-organized search party looming behind us.

Hm, crap, I left out, or rather, didn’t know or think of, some useful data. I need to make sure Te doesn't underestimate our pursuers. Given that they're moving unimpeded through the rooms—judging from the constant updates of their thermal signatures—they're probably Spellknights or even archmages. They haven't sprung any of the traps we've carefully avoided, which suggests they're among Al’pa’ca’s elite, branded, trusted, and likely very powerful minions.

Before I can impress this upon Teuila, she crouches ever so slightly, leaning just noticeably forward. Pounding her right fist into her left palm, Te cracks her knuckles upon impact. As I’d expected from Te, her eyes narrow in focus as she answers, “Airhead, Reggie," she says with a steely edge, "if we take them out, we buy ourselves more time before we’re doing a fighting retreat against thousands. Yeah? I can zip back, handle it, and catch up before you even notice I'm gone. We can't have tails wagging behind us, not when we're this close."

Lil first casts a glance at his own wagging tail, and blushes. Recovering quickly, and shrugging his large draconic shoulders, Lil offers up, “Maybe, but do you remember where all the traps are, It’s-A-Secret? Yeah, me neither. Rej is the only one that can see ‘em. There’s like three big prophecies that might all happen today. One or two might be about Momma, but one or two might be about you. What if you going off on your own—,” Lil pauses, his voice cracking. Despite their rivalry, each of us is so deeply enamored of the others that they’re etched into our hearts and souls. Gulping, Lil finishes, “What if that’s the thing that triggers the one vision Rej had in their brain-time thing, when your dragon-causa thingy was manifested?”

The weight of his words hits hard. Teuila's silent, and her eyes slowly lift to lock with mine. I can see the 'oh crap' written all over her face. Her usual bravado is replaced by a tangible sense of guilt. I clear my throat, the gravity of the situation settling in, the idea she’d leave me behind, or be the cause of my grief and sorrow. Gulping back dry, sticky mucus, I nod to her, agreeing with Lil. It’s plausible.

Continuing on that point of plausibility, I ask, “Te, what’s your plans if they’re archmages? If they have teleportation spells? Or— or dominating psychic spells? Mind whammy stuff?”

My heart sinks through the pit of my stomach at the horror in Teuila’s eyes as she realizes what that would do to me. Seeing her realization mirror my fears, my eyes well with tears. She knows how devastated I’d be to have to face any version of her turned against me, real or illusion. She knows I might, once again, simply instantly cave inwards on myself, mentally speaking. I’d fall into despair and retreat into my own mind, going catatonic, comatose maybe. The thought alone threatens to send me spiraling into a dark recess of my mind, a place from which I might never emerge. It’d be like reuniting after the beaver dam tunnel complex the first time all over again.

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken fears. I can almost hear the cogs turning in Teuila's head, the weight of past horrors pressing down on us both. I blink back the sting of tears, forcing my mind into overdrive. We need a plan, a good one, not just a reaction. I gather as many thermal sense imaging points as I can, and take a deep, smooth breath before diving into the non. I slip into the absence of the flow of time, the space between spaces, the moment between moments, and sit in my mind in frozen time.

Replaying all of my thermal scans like watching a 3-D movie, I start piecing together the enemies' movements, their patterns—there's a rhythm to their search, a predictability that we can exploit. But as I plot their trajectories, the ghost of that day—the day Teuila's face became a nightmare—claws at the edges of my focus. I can't afford to lose myself in that memory, not now.

I shove the recollection aside with a mental grunt, but it's like pushing back against a tidal wave with my bare hands. I can’t handle being alone here in thinkspace right now. I can’t fully use retrocognition with one of my worst fears so heavily on my mind, only a few minutes after a different PTSD-triggered panic attack. Sighing, I let go of the flow of time, or rather, its lack, sliding back into reality and its normal pace.

After a few deep breaths, and glances at my best friends for comfort, I return to analyzing the patterns. Teuila's watching me, her expression a mix of determination and dread. She knows what's at stake, what we've both lost to fear before. I continue with my analysis, yet another fear gnawing hungrily at my gut, as our time to react dwindles. Suddenly I’ve got it.

"We'll do it together," I say, the words barely scraping out as I explain, "Set a trap where they'll converge. We control the game, not them."

It's more a framework than a solid plan, but the reassurance I offer is as much for myself as for her. The thought of facing another Teuila, even a false one, chills me to the bone. Yet, I can't let that fear paralyze me again. I won't. The memory of my breakdown, the months lost to a catatonic haze, they're a hell all their own, and a reminder of what's at risk. I can't crumble, not when they need me, not when *she* needs me. My eyes meet Teuila’s, and through those emerald tunnels upon her face, I see deep into her soul, her literal ocean of emotions that makes up her mindscape, how tumultuous it’s suddenly become in the last few minutes.

Teuila nods, a silent vow passing between us. We've been through hell and back, but we're here, together, and that counts for a hell of a lot at this point in our lives. We'll face this, as we've faced everything else—with a determination to come out on top, and always be better, do better than we had in the past. And most importantly? Together.

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as the plan crystallizes, the dim light of the crystalline conduits in the corridor casting long shadows that dance with the anticipation of the coming conflagration. "Lil, you're our ace in the hole," I praise, the image of the fiery corridor already blazing in my mind. "Make it blaze, and make it big." I request, my voice echoing slightly in the stone-clad hallway.

The air in this alcove where we hatch our plan is already thick with the scent of old dust and the burgeoning tang of sulfur from Lil's growing excitement. The walls, ancient and etched with the stories of a thousand years, seem to lean in, as if eager to witness the fiery spectacle about to unfold. With the plan hastily forged between heartbeats, we each slip into our roles.

Teuila's fingers dance over her weapons while she performs a battle kata that will initiate her Mirage Flash, and she’s already poised to strike before we’ve even finished getting into position or locking down the plan. Lil's eyes gleam with a draconic spark, his youthful exuberance barely contained. "Remember, no resources except each other," I murmur, more to myself than to them. "We're in this together."

Lil's chest swells with pride, scales shimmering with the promise of the inferno to come, with his bulldog-esque build, he stands stands ready, his strong forearms and broad shoulders silhouetted against the flickering light escaping his nostrils. His underbite, crowned with upturned tusks, gives him a permanent look of fierce determination, despite how much of a goober he can be. The soft, rubbery ridge along his spine flops to one side, a whimsical mimicry of Teuila's distinctive haircut, signifies his adoration for her, how much she means to him, that his very form adopted something, a unique part of her.

The air around Lil already shimmering with heat, his grin a mile wide, he boasts, "I'll light up their world,"

Teuila nods, her smirk almost feral, her emerald eyes glinting like jewels in the light of Lil’s growing blaze exuding prematurely from his nostrils. Her fiery-copper peach-fuzz catches the light as she moves, a silent, graceful predator. Her armor, a sleek ensemble of silver accented with gold, clings to her sporty form like a second skin, the white and blue highlights shimmering with each subtle shift of her lithe body. The freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones, a rare sight, speak of days long past with a sun we haven't had much time under in ages.

Mischief and the thrill of the hunt glinting in her eyes, Te adds, "And we'll be smoke monsters."

Gazing at Teuila, as her side-flopped shoulder-length undercut frames her gorgeous face on her right side, I loose a contented sigh. Despite how whimsical and silly it is for Teuila to be flexing her muscles, showing them off, I can't help but feel a surge of confidence as she strikes a pose. We're a trio of fire-forged warriors, and this hallway is about to become a crucible. With Lil's fire to blind and bind, Teuila and I’ll be phantoms in the flames, unseen and lethally efficient. Our foes won't know what hit ‘em.

"Remember, stay sharp," I caution, not wanting to sustain any injuries or waste resources before we even get to the main event, "Sure, the fire won't hurt us much, but let's not give them a chance to regroup."

We scatter like shadows, each to our position. The corridor where we'll confront them is quiet, the stillness deceptive, almost seeming to hold its breath. The only hint of our presence a mild tang of sulfur beneath the strong sterile scent of ozone. The crystalline conduits carrying the lightning throughout the entire keep flicker and jolt with an endless stream of power. I can feel the thrum of my pulse, the electric anticipation of the impending clash. Either that or the lightning-spiritswarm symbiotically exploring my electrokinetic EM-field organ. Maybe both. Anyway, we've laid the bait, now we wait for the bite.

As we take our positions, I can feel the heat building. Lil inhales deeply, the prelude to the conflagration to come. Teuila and I exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between us. We're ready. In this breathless moment, I find a sliver of solace in the readiness of my companions. We’re a party, a family shaped by trials and terror, perhaps not unbroken, but always reforged. I nod to Te, her silhouette sleek and still against the flickering dim light. The trap is set, the stage is ours, and the fire is our ally. It's showtime.

Wearing a wry smile, I do have to giggle at myself a bit internally at how dramatic my brain is getting. I know it’s probably in response to edging near traumas, but still, I get a bit cliché and poetic sometimes. I alliterate, or go overboard hyping myself up, in a lot of situations. No wonder I’ve been called overdramatic, especially when near the edge of a trauma. I guess it’s another coping mechanism. Hey, coping me, are you here? Is that a good guess? No, I’m not there, but yeah, it is. Ah, thanks. Wait. Wha—?

Then, the silence shatters. The trap is sprung with a flash of flame, and the dance of death begins. There's no turning back now—only forward, into the fray. With a roar that echoes through the stone, Lil exhales, and the world turns to fire. The hallway becomes a river of flame, a barrier no ordinary creature could cross. But we're not ordinary. Through the blaze, Teuila and I move with purpose, guided by senses honed for situations just like this one.

The corridor ahead, bathed in the flickering light of the flames, reveals the silhouettes of our pursuers. Four Draconiacs, their scales colorfully diverse, stand ready, their eyes reflecting the inferno that roars behind us, the inferno engulfing us and approaching them in rapid order. In this split instant, I can take in their appearances as Teuila and I move with the flames to flank them.

The first Spellknight looms like a bastion, his scales a deep, oceanic teal, reminiscent of stormy skies. Ironic, or maybe the opposite of that. His armor is masterwork in quality, of course. The heavy plates interlock with the precision of a puzzle, each segment engraved with the swirling patterns of clouds. With one hand, he draws a great axe from its holster on his back, its blade etched with runes that hum with latent power. The haft is adorned with intricate carvings of tempests and lightning, and the whole thing begins to crackle with power, blueish sparks flying freely even in this split instant of sight. That would definitely hurt Lil if it hit him. Let’s prevent that from happening, shall we?

Plus, his counterpart, a Spellknight of sun-baked yellow scales, stands with a shield raised—a shield bearing the emblem of a withered tree, its branches barren and held together by a knotted cord. That cord and tree rely on a single thread remaining in a nearly bisected knot to hold together its fate. The sword in his other hand is no less impressive, its blade gleaming, intricately runed, and shaped uniquely.

The other two seem to be less Spellknights, and more just spellcasters. They’re a study in contrasts. One, draped in robes that flow like liquid magma, moves with grace. The fabric of her garment is vibrant orange. That same symbol of the withered tree is subtly woven into the hem, glinting with a metallic sheen. Her eyes, cold and calculating, scan the environment, taking in every detail in this split instant she has to survey everything before the fire engulfs her, as analytically quick as me.

The other mage wears assassin's leathers, similar to Errissa’s, Spymaster’s. I can’t afford to think about Errissa’s beautiful slate-gray features, the way her form was accentuated by her supple leathers, and the sway of her hips and serpentine tail—. I just said I can’t afford to think about that. Rattling my skull, I return to analyzing the leathered mage. He’s a sleek silhouette of practicality and menace. His scales are velvety maroon, the hue of blood and wine. The leathers hug his form, and each movement he makes promises swift, lethal magic. His hands, free of any encumbrance, flicker with the beginnings of his first arcane weavings, ready to unleash his fury. Thankfully though, the fire balks him, disrupting the runes of his first spell as he fumbles his mnemonics and somatics in surprise.

Together, they advance, a deadly quartet. Much like our trio, most of their resolve is unshaken by the fiery barrier that rages before and rapidly approaches them. The robed mage is likely about to weave a fire resistance or immunity spell. Heh, she’s in for a shock when she realizes Lil’s heat pierces resistances, and keeps ramping up the longer he breathes. The two in the armor are similarly probably sure of the enchantments on their plate armor to protect them from a blaze, they are trained to hunt dragons after all. Still, I can’t help a bit of a malicious grin, knowing that Lil, if given enough time, will cook them like sardines in a can. They’ve never met my best bud Lilagni, the Star of the Onyx Dawn before, a red dragon Aliased Sun, with his Latent, Solar.