The Chronicles of a Fallen Star

It had been several days since Poca returned from Valarian, and the cottage felt emptier without Selene. Poca moved through the disheveled and organized mess that was her small home, searching through cabinets, lifting papers, and peering into corners. She took a deep breath, not wanting to summon Carter. She knew he hated doing anything unrelated to the cart. But she had little choice. With a resigned sigh, she called for him.

Her voice rang out clearly, and within moments, Carter burst through the door, nearly taking it off its hinges. His hollow eyes and oversized smile looked around wildly. Poca laughed, shaking her head at his eagerness.

"No, no, Carter, not zat kind of emergency," she said, her accent thick with amusement. "Something is missing, and I need your 'elp finding it."

Carter’s shoulders drooped in what seemed to be a display of disappointment. Poca chuckled, patting his wooden frame. "Stop being so sad. You will 'elp me, oui?"

His wooden form straightened up at her words, his grin as wide and unwavering as ever. Poca glanced at him, considering his naked—or unclothed—state. She pondered briefly on the nature of nakedness, glancing down at her own bare form. Is he truly considered naked? Is a dog naked? Not that carter was a dog, or not that dogs were bad. But... Was one naked only after being clothed and then undressed? The thought was amusing but distracting.

"Carter," she started, refocusing, "I need 'elp looking for something zat was right around 'ere. I swear I saw it ze ozzer day, but now... it is gone."

Carter didn't move, his hollow eyes fixed forward. Poca sighed, realizing she hadn’t been specific. "Right, right, I didn’t tell you what it is. I'm looking for a small bag of seeds, Buttercorn."

She giggled at the name, a twinkle of delight in her eyes. "I always love zat name, such a simple name for such a divine plant. Anyways, Carter, I need to germinate zem now, but I can't find zem anywhere."

Carter stood unmoving, his smile unwavering. Poca's amusement turned to mild frustration. "Carter, 'elp me, s'il vous plaît!"

Still, he didn’t move. Poca's eyes narrowed. "Carter, are you disobeying me?"

Carter remained still, his smile mocking in its permanence. Poca’s shoulders drooped. "You are not going to 'elp me, are you?" she said, her voice even but tinged with disappointment.

Carter shook his head slowly before turning and leaving the cottage. Poca mumbled something about teenagers and rolled her eyes, resuming her search. She rummaged through drawers and boxes, her frustration mounting. The Buttercorn seeds were vital for her winter preparations.

Her mind raced back to the day she bought them. She remembered the friendly boy who had been so eager to help her. Her eyes widened as a realization struck her. The boy—he must have taken them!

"This cannot stand," she muttered, her voice rising with determination. "Zose seeds are essential!"

She grabbed her potato sack dress, not bothering to put it on yet, and stormed out towards the cart. "Carter!" she called once more.

Carter responded much more eagerly this time, clearly aware of the snap and change in her tone. His hollow eyes seemed to take on a sharper focus, his stance more alert.

"Come, we must go back to Valarian," Poca declared, her voice firm and unyielding. "Zose seeds are crucial, and I will not let zis theft go unanswered."

Carter’s grin seemed to widen, his readiness to protect and serve evident in his posture. Poca didn't waste any more time. She clutched her dress in one hand, leaving her body bare to the cool air, and marched towards the cart, Carter following closely behind.

The tension was palpable as they moved with purpose, Poca’s determination fueling each step. The garden, the cottage, the quiet life she had carved out for herself—they were all threatened by this single act of theft. And she wouldn’t let it stand. Not now, not ever.

As they approached the cart, Poca's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. The boy had seemed innocent enough, but he had taken something precious. She would find him, retrieve her seeds, and ensure that he understood the consequences of his actions.

She pulled the potato sack dress over her head, adjusting it and tightening the rope belt. Carter was already seated in the driver's seat, waiting patiently. Poca climbed onto the cart and gave him a curt nod.

"To Valarian," she commanded. The drive into Valarian was a short but eventful journey. Poca sat in her cart, Carter at her side, his wooden frame as steady and unyielding as ever. The road was familiar, a path she had taken many times before. The fields and sparse trees gave way to the outskirts of the city, and soon, the towering walls of Valarian came into view.

Approaching the south gate, Poca slowed the cart as a guard stepped forward for a brief inspection. The guard, a burly man with a thick beard, glanced over her small cart, his eyes lingering on Carter for a moment.

“What’s your business in Valarian?” he asked, his tone gruff but routine.

Poca smiled warmly, her accent thick and inviting. “Just 'ere to get some supplies back. I 'ad a bit of a mishap with some seeds.”

The guard nodded, satisfied with her explanation. “Alright, you’re good to go. Just keep to your business and don’t cause any trouble.”

Poca nodded, urging the ox forward. The cart creaked as they passed through the gate, entering the bustling city. The streets of Valarian were alive with activity, vendors calling out their wares, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, and the hum of countless conversations blending into a vibrant symphony.

Ragpicker's Square, the largest market in the Slums, was a place like no other. It was a chaotic blend of stalls and booths, storefronts and shops, each offering a unique array of goods. The square was a patchwork of colors and sounds, with merchants hawking everything from fresh produce and exotic spices to handmade crafts and curious trinkets.

Poca moved through the streets with casual indifference, her presence a familiar sight in these parts. Ragpicker's Square had its share of shady characters and merchants, but it also had its charm. The market was a tapestry of life in the Slums, a place where the desperate and the resourceful thrived side by side.

She made her way to her usual spot, a modest stall run by a wood elf who went by the name of Lirien. As she approached, she spotted the boy who had taken her seeds. He was in the same place, helping another merchant with his cart, clearly his routine scam.

With a determined look, Poca approached the boy. He recognized her immediately, his eyes widening in fear. Without a word, he turned and bolted, weaving through the crowded market with practiced ease. Poca didn’t hesitate. She pursued him, her bare feet slapping against the cobblestones as she kept pace.

The boy was fast, but Poca was faster. She moved through the streets with a relentless determination, her eyes never leaving her quarry. He darted around corners and through narrow alleyways, but she was always right behind him. Finally, he slipped through a broken window of a dilapidated building, the glass long gone and the frame barely holding together.

Poca didn’t slow down. She crashed through the door, nearly taking it off its hinges. Inside, a frail old man on a couch jumped at the commotion, his eyes wide with surprise. The boy cried out from behind the couch, his voice filled with fear.

“She’s going to take me!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face.

Poca stared at the old man as he struggled to get up, his movements slow and labored. “What is zis woman doing barging into my 'ouse?” he demanded, his voice trembling with age and anger.

Poca’s voice was calm but firm. “Zis boy 'as been plotting and stealing from everyone.”

The old man turned shakily to the boy, who continued to cry, accusing Poca of being a witch. “She lies! She’s a witch! She’s here to take boys!”

The old man sighed, grabbing his cane and bopping the boy on the head. The crying stopped instantly, the boy’s ruse revealed. The old man turned back to Poca, a look of weary apology on his face.

“I’m sorry for the behavior of this child,” he said, his voice softening. “He does his best to take care of me, but… he does so in ways he should not in this city.”

Poca nodded, her expression understanding. “I just want my seeds back. Ze Buttercorn.”

The old man smiled, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “Ah, yes. I know exactly what you mean.” He moved with surprising speed, retrieving the seeds from a small cabinet. He handed them to Poca, his eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said. “I knew the boy did not get those from a couple hours of work.”

Poca smiled, impressed by the man’s honesty. “I need to get back to my cart,” she said, turning to leave.

The old man’s eyes lit up. “A cart?” he asked, his tone suddenly eager.

Poca nodded, curiosity piqued. “Yes, a cart.”

He looked to the boy, then back to Poca, stepping outside with her. They stood in front of the door she had just broken into. “Would you be so kind to do this dying grandfather a favor?” he asked, his crooked, toothy smile on full display.

Poca narrowed her eyes, wary of his sudden change in demeanor. “What kind of favor?” she asked, her voice cautious.

The old man’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Just a small favor,” he said. “One that will benefit us both.”

Poca waited, her curiosity battling with her caution as the man prepared to reveal his request. The air was thick with tension, and the future of their encounter hung in the balance.

***

The group stood in the dimly lit room, the tension palpable. Selene, with her white hair disheveled and her horns prominent, looked tired but determined. Thrix stood nearby, his many eyes reflecting the dim light, his mandibles clicking nervously. Nathor leaned against a wall, his wings folded behind him, watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. The River Lurkers—Leonardo with his dual katanas, Raphael with his dual scythes, Donatello with his spear, and Michelangelo with his three-section staff—stood ready, their expressions a mix of readiness and caution.

Thrix took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice slightly shaky. "Clearly, I have made enemies. You've probably all heard about the rampage Ovochos' men went on as they ran through the slums." He paused, looking around the room to gauge their reactions. "I went into hiding to get away. In my meddling with Ovochos, I managed to meet and, well, get too personal with Lady Marcelline's surrogate daughter."

There was a murmur of surprise from the group, but Thrix continued. "I found out that Ayla was harboring a Fallen Star, and that information was valuable enough for me to get a hit put on my head. I assumed it was from Lady Marcelline."

Selene stepped forward, her eyes filled with determination. "I was able to acquire some information, which was exactly that. Once I got word, I came here. And, as it seems, just in time."

Nathor, reluctantly, nodded. "Yes, you did."

Thrix sighed deeply. "I thought I was more prepared for this, but I was not. No, I was not at all." He looked around the room, his eyes resting on each person before continuing. "I'm going to have to flee Valarian. If assassins could find my home outside of Valarian this quickly, it's not safe. I just need to send a few messenger birds, and my money will be moved."

The group looked at Thrix, waiting for the plan to involve them. Thrix hesitated before saying, "I will have to flee to Windmere. Everyone here is welcome to join."

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Selene spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension. "Thrix, I don't think you should do that. Everyone here is here for the same reason now. My original goal was to make sure you're good, and you are. Now..." She paused, thinking of the blood oath she made and the debt she owed. "Now, getting back at Lady Marcelline might be a good start. We could start by getting that star from her."

As Thrix scanned the room, it became clear that everyone seemed to be siding with Selene. Their expressions were resolute, their loyalty evident. He took a deep breath. "I spent several days with Ayla, getting to know her. More importantly, Paola was more... attached to Ayla. Quiet and reserved, clearly new to this world."

There was a long pause, and Thrix continued, "I saw it with my own eyes. They were odd... pink slippers, with bunny ears." He looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes. "I saw them just before they entered the city, too late for me to actually make a move on them. I used my appraisal ability on them. Diamond Tier. They were Diamond Tier. That's how I knew Paola was the fallen star."

Nathor’s eyes narrowed. "Diamond Tier slippers? How can you be sure?"

Thrix nodded solemnly. "It’s part of my merchant class. I use my appraisal ability that comes with my wagon. I know what I saw."

Nathor seemed wary but didn’t press further. Selene tried to wrap her mind around what she had heard, struggling to understand the simplicity of what Thrix was saying. Bunny slippers... diamond tier. It was an absurdity, yet the weight of the revelation was undeniable.

Thrix, sensing the group’s silent consensus, continued, "I have some runic scrolls. You'll write your message on the scroll and activate it with a specific rune. The message then appears on the paired scroll in real-time. This method allows for written communication and can be used for sending documents or longer messages. The scrolls are portable and can be stored in small cases or dimensional spaces."

He handed a scroll to each of them. Selene knew these things cost a fortune and could easily be sold for riches. Yet, she knew she needed to stop thinking that way. Thrix was clearly hesitant about everything, his first choice of running away kept creeping back into his mind.

Nathor pressed, "We need to come up with a plan. Running isn’t an option anymore."

Selene's heart sank as she knew she had a bypass to all this. She needed to go back to the Thieves’ Guild to get more information. But before she could voice that plan, Nathor spoke up, "I’ll go to the Thieves’ Guild myself. We need information on Ayla and Paola."

Selene was taken aback, not sure if the two of them thinking alike was a good thing or not. Before anyone could argue, shadow tendrils rose around Nathor, swirling like a dark vortex. In a moment, they dispersed like black smoke, and Nathor was gone.

Selene felt a wave of relief wash over her, but exhaustion quickly followed. She wanted to lay down, to sleep. But the feather in her pocket pulsed, a reminder of the oath she had taken and the debt she owed.

Thrix, seeing Selene’s weariness, tried to reassure her. "We’ll figure this out, Selene. Together."

She nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere. The Thieves’ Guild held the answers, but she dreaded what she might find there. The weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her, but she couldn’t afford to falter now.

The River Lurkers remained silent, their expressions grim. They had come seeking justice for their master, but the situation was far more complex than they had anticipated. Leonardo broke the silence. "We need to be prepared for whatever comes next. Thrix, if you have any more resources or safe places, we should use them."

Thrix nodded. "I do have a few contacts and safe houses. But if Lady Marcelline is after us, we need to be cautious. She has eyes and ears everywhere."

Raphael, ever the realist, added, "We’ll need to move quickly and stay one step ahead. Information is our best weapon right now."

Donatello, always the strategist, said, "We should set up a rotation for keeping watch and securing the perimeter. We can't afford to be caught off guard again."

Michelangelo, trying to lighten the mood, joked, "At least we have these fancy scrolls to keep in touch. Never thought I’d be using something so high-tech."

Selene managed a small smile at his attempt to ease the tension. "Yes, let’s make sure we use them wisely."

Thrix, still visibly shaken, hesitated before speaking again. "I just need to send a few messenger birds to move my money. Once that’s done, we can plan our next move more securely."

The group nodded in agreement, each understanding the urgency of their situation. Thrix left the room briefly to send his messages, while the others began discussing their immediate needs and potential strategies.

Selene sat down, her mind racing. She felt the weight of the feather in her pocket, a constant reminder of the oath she had sworn. The guilt and responsibility she felt for dragging everyone into this mess was overwhelming. She knew she had to be strong, not just for herself, but for everyone relying on her.

Thrix returned, looking slightly more composed. "The messages are sent. It won’t be long before the funds are moved," he said, more to himself than anyone else. He murmured about fleeing to Windmere, his voice betraying his lingering fear.

No one else spoke. The room was thick with unspoken thoughts, each person grappling with the weight of their own uncertainties. Selene felt the feather in her pocket pulse again, a grim reminder of the oath she had taken.

Leonardo stared at his katanas, deep in thought. Raphael clenched his scythes, his frustration palpable. Donatello leaned on his spear, lost in strategy, while Michelangelo’s usual optimism was dimmed, his three-section staff held loosely in his hands. Nathor's absence was a reminder of the danger still lurking.

Thrix’s nervous murmur filled the silence. "Windmere... maybe it’s safer there."

Selene felt the urge to comfort him, but the words caught in her throat. The weight of their predicament pressed down on them all, and the future seemed darker than ever.

After a bit of uncomfortable silence, the River Lurkers had managed to gather and speak amongst themselves. The room was filled with a quiet murmur as they discussed their plans and worries. Selene found it in herself to move to Thrix, who was still pacing nervously.

"Thrix," she said softly, "can we talk?"

He nodded but didn’t move to follow her, continuing his absent-minded pacing. Selene gently touched his arm, guiding him. "Privately," she added. This time he followed, his footsteps dragging.

They entered the only side room with a bed, clearly designed for him. The modest furnishings spoke of a hideout meant for short stays. Selene closed the door behind them, and Thrix's eyes darted around, his anxiety evident.

"Sit," Selene suggested, motioning to the bed. Thrix hesitated but complied, perching on the edge. Selene pulled out the feather, and Thrix’s reaction was immediate. He nearly bolted, his eyes wide with fear.

"No, no," he muttered, shaking his head. "This is too much."

"Thrix," Selene said firmly, trying to calm him. "I need to talk to you about this."

Thrix looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. "How much blood is on your hands for that? What did you have to do for it?"

Selene took a deep breath and began her story. "It's about Poca. She saved me. Truly saved me. I owe her everything."

Thrix jumped to conclusions. "Did you kill her for the feather?"

"No," Selene replied, shaking her head. "I found it. In a footrest. Just sitting there."

Thrix nodded, his eyes widening. "Then you killed her?" he asked in horror.

Selene shook her head again. "No, I didn’t kill her."

Thrix seemed to relax slightly, his mind racing. "I guess I’ll never know," he murmured, his tone oddly thoughtful.

Selene was taken aback by his sudden return of composure. "But when one of your only friends claims they simply stumbled upon a fortune, you might as well believe them," he said with a wry smile.

Selene smiled weakly, relieved that he was calming down. "What can we do about this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Thrix's eyes twinkled as he spoke. "So many things. But the best place to start is Windmere."

Selene’s initial relief turned to confusion. "Windmere? Why there?"

Thrix held up a hand to forestall her argument. "Before you argue, listen. Windmere is actually the home of the Thunderwolf. The Thunderwolf is to Windmere what the Leviathan is to Valarian."

Selene wanted to argue but found herself without a solid ground. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Thrix’s eyes gleamed with excitement. "There’s a bounty on the feather. Anyone who willingly gives it up... Let’s just say you’d be shot up the wealth ladder to my status."

Selene nearly fainted from the shock. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Thrix’s eyes gleamed with excitement. "This, this is life-changing."

Selene tried to make sense of what she had and how casually she had come across it. The feather in her pocket felt heavier now, its significance daunting. She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of Poca. She took a deep breath, turning to Thrix. "Thrix, I’m sorry. I know you were coming to save me from Ovochos’ farm."

Thrix was taken aback by her sudden shift in topic. He didn't say anything for a long time, his many eyes reflecting his surprise. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer. "I've gotten myself into a lot of trouble over this," he admitted, waving his clawed hands around at the small room they were in. "I’ve built tons of these hideouts, hoping never to have to use one. It’s part of who I am—to have contingencies, to be ready for everything to fail."

Selene nodded, listening intently as he continued.

"I was ready for everything to fail when I went after you. Maybe not this spectacularly, but a fail, no matter how big or small, is still a failure. The important thing is learning from our failures," Thrix said, his voice carrying a note of resilience.

Selene looked at him with admiration. This was what he did—he said good things in bad times. The Silk Spinner himself. She sighed, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Thrix, I feel like all of this happened because of me. Everyone is caught in my web of trouble."

Thrix chuckled softly, understanding all too well. "I feel the same way. If I hadn't stuck my mandibles where they shouldn’t be, I’d have found you later with a new arm, all without my intervention."

Selene laughed, a genuine sound amidst the tension. "True, but then we wouldn’t be in this situation."

Their laughter filled the small room, a brief respite from the oppressive weight of their reality. The threat, the pain, the fear—it was all real, lurking behind their masks of humor.

Thrix’s mandibles clicked softly as he looked at Selene. "You know, Selene, I've always admired your resilience. No matter what, you always find a way to push through."

Selene smiled, though her eyes were heavy with fatigue. "I learned from the best, Thrix. You've been a good friend, even when I didn't deserve it."

Thrix shook his head. "Deserving or not, you're my friend. We stick together. Besides, if we can get through this, we can get through anything."

Selene took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I still can't believe this feather. It’s just so... casual. I found it in a footrest, of all places."

Thrix nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, the greatest treasures are hidden in the most mundane places. It’s part of what makes this world so unpredictable."

Selene sighed, her mind drifting back to Poca. "I feel bad for her, Thrix. She saved me, and now I’m dragging everyone into this mess."

Thrix placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We all have our burdens, Selene. What matters is how we carry them." He looked at her, his expression softening. "You know, Selene, despite everything, I wouldn’t change it. Not really."

Selene raised an eyebrow. "Really? Even with all this?" She gestured around the room.

Thrix nodded. "Yes, even with all this. You’re my friend, Selene. And friends help each other, no matter the cost."

Selene smiled, the weight of her burden a little lighter. "Thanks, Thrix. You're a good friend."

Thrix and Selene shared a prolonged moment of silence, the weight of their shared burdens palpable. The room seemed to close in on them, a small haven from the turmoil outside. Thrix's many eyes softened as he looked at Selene, his mandibles clicking gently in thought.

"Selene," he began, his voice tinged with a rare softness, "we'll get through this. Somehow."

Selene nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Thrix. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

With a final, reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, Thrix rose from the bed. "Come on," he said, a note of determination in his voice. "We need to formulate a plan."

They left the small room, stepping back into the main area where the others were gathered. The River Lurkers were engaged in a quiet but intense discussion, their expressions grim. As Thrix and Selene approached, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to them.

Thrix took a deep breath, addressing the group. "If we're only after the slippers, what would be the best approach?"

Leonardo, the de facto leader of the River Lurkers, spoke first. "Direct confrontation. We take Ayla and Paola down, retrieve the slippers, and avenge our master."

Raphael nodded in agreement, his scythes glinting menacingly. "We're not here to play games. They need to pay for what they did to Splinter."

Thrix raised a hand, trying to calm the rising tension. "I understand your desire for revenge, but we need to consider the broader implications. I don’t want to kill anyone unless absolutely necessary. Ayla might force our hand, but Paola… she’s an innocent soul. She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this."

Donatello frowned, his analytical mind weighing Thrix's words. "Thrix, with all due respect, our entire purpose here is to confront Ayla and Paola. If we go in soft, we might not get another chance."

Michelangelo, usually the more lighthearted of the group, spoke up, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "We need a solid plan. Charging in headfirst will only get us killed."

Thrix nodded, appreciating their caution. "I still have plenty of trustworthy contacts, but Marcelline’s reach is far. We don’t know exactly how much she knows about our plans. She knows about me and Ovochos, and she likely has a hit out on him as well."

Selene, leaning against the wall, watched the group slowly gather around the table with the map on it. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, hoping they were making the right choice.

Donatello was the first to break the silence. "Who exactly is Lady Marcelline? How does she have so much power?"

Thrix's expression turned cold. "Lady Marcelline Valcrest is a powerful and influential figure in Valarian. She holds the title of High Lady and serves as the Chief Advisor to the Duke and Duchess. Her wealth comes from legitimate sources like investments in trade and real estate, but there are persistent rumors about her involvement in political manipulation, black market dealings, dark magic, and extortion. These activities, whether true or not, contribute to her formidable reputation and the aura of mystery that surrounds her."

The brothers exchanged uneasy glances. Selene felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Then they pored over the map, Lady Marcelline's palace circled in the Miridian Mountains. It was a well-guarded fortress, and the group knew they would need a solid plan to draw Ayla and Paola out, taking what they could by force if necessary.

Leonardo spoke up, his voice steady. "We'll need to draw them out. A direct assault on the palace is suicide. We need a distraction, something that will force them to leave their stronghold."

Raphael nodded, his expression fierce. "Once they're out in the open, we strike. Hard and fast."

Thrix, still trying to keep the violence to a minimum, added, "We should also prepare for contingencies. If we can avoid killing, we should. But we need to be ready for anything."

The group continued to discuss various strategies, each idea weighed and considered carefully. They knew the risks, but they also knew what was at stake. They couldn’t afford to fail.

As the planning continued, Selene found herself retreating into her thoughts. The guilt she felt for dragging everyone into this mess was overwhelming. She had to find a way to clear her conscience. She owed that much to them. But for now, she could only wait and hope that they would all make it out alive.