RP:What to Do At The End of the World

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Summary: During his month-long stay at the Demon Archipelago, Lionel spoke of many things with the present-day timeline's beleaguered saviors -- Penelope and Rilla from a post-apocalyptic future. He gained insight into how the war with Xicotl would progress, as well as a growing closeness with Penelope. Of greatest note, perhaps, was what he learned of Rilla's past regrets.

The Cave

What to do at the end of the world? That was the question Rilla had been asking for much of the last year. There were people here, but letting them in was difficult. Not only did they not have anything in common, but most of them would have made a good snack and probably wouldn’t have put up much of a fight. She skulked around mostly, the plan under way but very much in motion and all the parts moved with or without her now. Each footfall was silent on the way into the vault that she’d spent too many hours in. She set down a leather-bound book on a table from beneath her arm, rolled up the sleeves of her loose button-down and pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind one ear before she lit a match and candles on the tables on either side of her intended seat respectively. The light cast a shadow into the furrow of her brow, the little marker of the stress that she was under. No amount of vampirism changed the markers of stress that showed themselves after all of these sleepless nights. She went through motions she’d spent months considering before they’d ever done it, pulling up what she knew would be The last new person she’d gotten to know had been too long ago. All the same she settled down in her chair, unsure if Lionel would want to talk or anything like that. After what she’d done to get him here she wouldn’t have blamed him. “I thought you might like some company.” She said after a moment, clearing her throat with a tilted head as she peered at the fuzzy image that came through.

Lionel had been staring at the cavern's expansive ceiling for so long that when he looked away the image remained for several seconds at a time. It had been close to a fortnight since he had found himself here and only now was he beginning to grow remotely comfortable sitting in the lavish throne-like chair partially embedded into the stone wall. The last time Lionel had been here, he nearly died. And from what he had been told thereafter, no one else had ever successfully left the place alive. It was all so different now. The sounds of rain and thunder could be heard down the halls where the Cave of Regrets opened up onto the southernmost island in the Demon Archipelago, but nothing else ever happened, foretelling a strange stillness. Nothing else, that was, except for the movements and actions of two women from a year into Lionel's future cast larger-than-life upon the walls through a distorted-but-discernible live feed. They spoke to each other, the two women, on the regular, experimenting on the befuddlingly complex machine they had built in order to bring Lionel here, so that the others would come as well, and the present could have a hope of not becoming the future that Penelope and Rilla so bitterly knew. Everything they did was in a desperate bid to rewind their own time through this extraordinary measure. Lionel respected them fiercely. But he really could have done with a change in the proverbial channel by this point. "I wouldn't mind a bit of chatter," Catal's Last Prince soon admitted. "Penelope and I spent the better part of four hours this morning discussing the finer aspects of botany, which captivated me far more here, where I can't leave lest the plan be torn to pieces, than it ever would have before. But that was this morning. I have no earthly clue what time it is here and I don't even know if it would be the same time where you are. All I know is I've been humming a bad tune to myself for the past thirty minutes so yeah, let's talk."

Rilla shifted in her seat, leaned forward when Lionel spoke as if it might make the picture clearer. It was understandably lonely to be a lone-wolf in a shrine to a guild that was long deceased. “I can imagine.” A wry smile pulled over her face and she shook her head. “Sorry to yank you through space like that, it’s just that you’re the only one that we knew everyone would go after. And the least likely to die there. I’d have gone myself, but I don’t think that plan would have worked as well.” A hint of laughter coloured her tone and she looked away into her lap where her hands were folded together. “I’ll go out tomorrow and get a plant.” Rilla said after a beat, looking back to the strange projection of a man she barely knew. “We’ll put it where you can see it. Maybe a few of them. I’ve been tending the food crops, although I don’t eat them, but I think there may be a few autumn flowers I can bring inside. Brighten the place up.” She gestured vaguely with one hand, “it’s the least I can do.” Although she had just sat, Rilla was rarely one to stay still, and once more she was on her feet, her head cocked to one side as she approached the strange moving images. “Does it matter what time it is if you can’t see it? It can be whatever time you want it to be. It’s evening here, the sun will be setting and everyone will have to return to safety, presumably. It’s almost as bad here as it is out there, but at least we aren’t alone.”

Lionel had found it difficult to come to grips with the fact that he was, as this future-tense Rilla just said, the one who the most people would attempt to rescue. It felt odd, knowing that. It meant he must have done something right in the four-and-a-half years since his return to Lithrydel, surely; but it also meant that he risked a large number of lives by virtue of the vital connections he had forged along the way. At least, for once, the fear he felt from knowing it could subside from knowing that this was exactly what was needed. "Plants," Lionel slowly repeated. Yeah. That would be nice. Something to spruce this place up. Something to take his mind off of the fact that a maelstrom of malevolent souls who had made the Demon Archipelago their home could arrive unannounced, kill him, and ruin RIlla and Penelope's last chance. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to watch them all fall, one by one." His tone was more dour than he'd intended, if truer. "Us. Us, I suppose." He sighed. "I can't believe the only thing the present me — that is to say, uh, me — can ever remembering asking you was to feed some farm animals. At least Penelope and I were close." Are close? What exactly was he to say about a Penelope Halifax from the future? Who could say what had transpired between them before his death? She could. But she hadn't. And he wasn't going to pry. "Thanks," Lionel added. "Truly."

Rilla fought the urge to laugh when Lionel repeated the word, it hadn’t been that long that he’d been there had it? But then time seemed different without a routine. When days started to blur together it all dragged. She toed the ground, shifting as she watched the Lionel-image in his cave. “Would you believe I watched most of it happen? I was on the battle fields. I was there when Magik was taken, but a ways away. I was there when you died too. None of you were easy to watch, but no one ever got too close to me.” A bittersweet smile traced along her features, the shadows dancing across pale skin. “I stood outside the fray firing in, and so I lived. I tried to help you - and the others - but there were just too many of them.” She drew a breath, looked into the screen again finally, crystalline eyes squinted as if that would magically clear up whatever connection they maintained. “It’s funny, I came back less than a year before the war broke out, just before we met the first time. I knew when I met you that you’d be important, I didn’t think that this would be how.” Slender shoulders shrugged, her hands rested on her hips. “It took me a month to actually accept your offer, but I visited nearly every day to see the animals until then, so I think you knew that I was going to.” It was a life that she looked at fondly, a chance at something that she’d never been able to touch, and the emptiness that gnawed at her coloured each word she spoke. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she licked her lips, composing herself. “I didn’t think when I said yes that it would mean watching you die too, that’s some nerve O’Connor, dragging me into your little group and then dying before I could get to know any of you.” She shrugged, “I’m slow to warm up.” Rilla half-joked, half-not. "Yeah," Lionel quipped, "when I'm more direct about my intention to recruit people into our ragtag family, I usually lead with a reminder that when the going gets rough, every day can end with someone's death, so if they're going to be a part of all this, I want them to be true to themselves on that front." He sniffed the air, grateful for the wide halls that could bring the scents of sea and storm in here. "Then again, I usually also say that we do everything in our power to prevent that from ever happening. Given the way things went down for you, perhaps the 'take care of my animals' scheme was for the best." Lionel couldn't stop a taste of self-deprecation as he said it. "I'm sorry you had to see all that. But aye, I knew you'd join. And I'm damn glad you did. As soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to kick Xicotl in the head and tell the bastard Rilla sent me."

Rilla paused a moment, amused at Lionel’s words. Had he ever actually announced his intention? The more she thought about it them less sure she was. It felt like another lifetime - how many had she had now? “You never recruited me.” She said after a beat, eyes settling onto his image and that lopsided grin pulling onto her face. “No one did, actually. Not really, I just tended the animals. I don’t think many people even knew who I was until the war broke out. I guess since I’m still standing I’m an honorary member at this point though.” Her elbows angled back and she pursed her lips, considering his words. Why was she still standing? As if that might get her closer to him, as if she could reach through time and remain in a moment where she was not-alone. She swallowed, considering her words. “I’ve seen a lot of people die, usually I have some modicum of control over the situation. I’m sorry that you had to die. And I’m sorry that you’re stuck there. But they’re going to get you out, and you’ll get to go back to everything.” She turned her back on him, but did not leave, her head hung. “Selfishly it’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to about anything other than this. How do you feel about a distraction? We could talk about anything else, anything you want.” Her voice was softer, thin frame sillouetted in light from the candles.

Lionel automatically smirked. "Alright." Rolling his neck around over his shoulders to stretch muscles that had no business being so sore from all this sitting around, he took a deep breath as if about to say something momentous. Maybe even pithy. "But first, a time-bending addendum. Rilla," he said with a purposefully mischievous sparkle in his eye, "you are now officially a member of the Warrior's Guild." It wasn't at all how Lionel had envisioned inducting her, but then, most people didn't go to war with carriage-sized insectoids, or duel with Dark Immortals, or find themselves warped across the sea and into a cave for that matter. Lionel was used to being surprised. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, we each take turns telling each other something most people have never known about us. And there's no risk in changing that, because if your plan works, you'll basically just reset into our Rilla and she'll be none the wiser. And if it doesn't work, well, who am I going to tell after dying twice?" Conveniently, he left out the fact that he would know more about his present-day Rilla than she might desire. What was the harm? He was probably going to poke far more fun at Penelope, anyway. "I'll go first. I never saw my parents' faces. They died the night I was born. I have no memory of them whatsoever. Which is just really funny to me," he quickly added in a far more chipper tone, "because I had to spend my entire childhood on the run from people who viewed me purely through the lens that I was the son of some pretty important people. Life is strange."

For a moment Rilla expected a retort, almost anything other than what Lionel ended up saying. She looked back at him, that crooked smile making it’s bold reappearance once more. “I’ll tell the others,” she laughed and glanced around her, “oh wait.” She let the albeit bad joke hang in a beat of silence. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly.” With that she pulled the heavy chair forward, closer to the image she was left watching, and then one side table as well with it’s candle and her book. She curled up into herself, her legs drawn up onto the seat as Rilla settled in place. “I guess if I’m going to stop existing we might as well. Someone should know.” The words were soft, fragile, this was her likely end regardless of what happened to him. She nodded, a slow motion as she considered his admission. “I’m sorry you had to do that. It looks like you lived up to whatever expectation they may have had for you though.” Biting her cheek she considered her words, not quite looking at him. “I was married once. Not for love, I let everyone down and it was the last thing I could do to salvage it.” Though the words were even, her breath shook, she’d never told anyone. Not since it happened. “He’s dead. That’s why I came back to Lithrydel. He was murdered, I was sired. The rest is history.”

Lionel leaned into his chair. He was in the most disquieting place he'd ever been… but at least he had a conversation partner. It was odd, hearing Rilla acknowledge the secret which he shared. Odd, but not unappreciated. Sooner or later, the Demon Archipelago ensured that everyone shared their secrets. Telling Rilla about them struck Lionel as a far kinder method than anything else the region had in mind. There was a pause between Rilla's admission and Lionel's reply as he searched for the most appropriate response. And then it dawned on him: there wasn't one. This was simple soul-baring. Outside, the winds picked up and made a faint whistling sound in their wake. Lionel hoped it was the winds, anyway. "I'd say welcome back but that would feel a little hollow, all things considered." What else could he tell her? "I sacrificed over a hundred lives in order to spare thousands," Lionel said breathlessly. He hadn't even registered the thought rising into words until he'd already said them. "It was 13 years ago. Vailkrin. At the height of the Second Immortal War. Our enemies, Khasad and Elazul, set a trap. As the battle between our two forces began, they prepared to annihilate the entire City of the Dead in one fell swoop. There wasn't time," Lionel said shakily, bordering on awareness that such statements dripped with irony given what Rilla and Penelope were invested in achieving. "I wanted to find another way but the place was already on fire before I could think. The only thing I knew to do was to centralize their own attack on one district within the city. To this day, the people of Vailkrin regard me as a monster. And I'll own that until my last breath. I will. And in the intervening years, I've thought of all sorts of ways I might have been able to save those people." He laughed dimly. "I guess that's not so much a secret as an open secret -- depending on where you've traveled. The real secret's how I feel about it all. I don't talk about it to anybody. I've received blank, nigh-meaningless empathy from all sorts of friends who can't know what it was like. They just want to help me feel better. It's appreciated, I suppose. But it will never be enough. The only people who could ever meaningfully forgive me are the ones who died when I raised my blade and brought about that blaze. And if their souls are anywhere around here," Lionel ended as the whistling winds picked up again, "They ain't here to forgive."

Rilla was quiet, the sound of the wind through whatever magic or technology it was that allowed her to see and hear him caught her attention. She leaned forward in her seat, searching the screen for an indication that something might be amiss. He needed to survive, watching him die a second time and doing nothing to stop it would be unforgivable. Thankfully, that would likely be the end of her as well. “You’re a couple of years too late anyway. But if it helps your conscience, you were always kind to me. We’d probably have been close if I was less aloof or you were less,” an affectionate smile ghosted over her features and disappeared, “actually it was probably just me.” Leaning back she tapped her fingers against her knee, considering his admission and the weight of it. She leaned her head forward, a curtain of auburn curls shrouding her face, cast in gold in the light. Her lower lip trembled and she drew a slow breath. “You did what you had to do, in hindsight everything is clear, when you have a decade to consider your actions you can find a million solutions. At least you stayed and tried.” Was what she settled upon, the words coming as she lifted her gaze, brushed her hair behind her ear, warring with herself about the amount of openness warranted by all of this. But if she was going to stop existing then someone should remember. “I ran. I was the admiral of the Rynvale navy and the leader of the clan controlling the area at the time, and we were under attack.” Her nose wrinkled, she looked at the ground. “But when it came to it, when I was left alone and things got bad I ran. And the bodies were literally in piles from battles lost on my account. It was strange coming back to find that I was erased from the history despite such a massive failing. But by all accounts everybody loves a hero, and a hero I am not.” Was that the wrong thing to say while deeply embroiled in a plot to try to save them all? Possibly. “But I do understand, maybe better than most. You, Lionel O’Connor, are a man and not a hero of lore regardless of the weight you carry on your shoulders by virtue of the status.” Lionel || The screen came through crystal clear as Rilla spoke, whatever attunement the machine required to cast itself into the Cave of Regrets strengthening temporarily on the whims of technology far beyond Lionel's reckoning. The whistling wind receded all-the-while, likely nothing more in the final telling than nature and her haunting songs. "Who attacked you?" It wasn't a third prod for secrets, per se, but he wanted to know the answer anyway. "History loves heroes, Rilla, and if it can't find one it paints some unfortunate fool in the glowing light." The light from the screen all but enveloped Lionel O'Connor for several seconds thereafter. "When you have a decade to consider your actions you can find a million solutions. I don't know how long ago you ran away, and I've only known you for a fraction of a fraction of the time since, but what you're doing now? It could save millions. The entire population of Lithrydel. The cost of one life should never be viewed as irrelevant; death is no mere statistic. But at a certain point, I have to believe the scale starts to tip. Pull this off and I will remember you not as some deserter in a war I never knew, nor as a heroine because heroes are overrated. I'll remember you as a woman, regardless of the weight you carry on your shoulders by virtue of fate's frakking sense of humor." That smirk was back.

Rilla shook her head at the question, brow furrowed slightly in thought. “Originally Vuryal, although I believe there were others who ultimately swooped in behind him. It’s been a long time, and I was not a very good leader.” Her eyes squinted at the onslaught of light, curious and concerned, but he emerged from the light unharmed and she released the breath that had caught in her throat. The tension released with laughter and she shook her head. “Don’t turn my words around on me.” She smirked, her eyes fixed on the screen for another moment before she looked back at the floor, stretching her arms out behind her for a moment, and then back in front of her before she settled once more. “I was gone for six years, and then another two before I came back.” Did he care? No, probably not. “If you remember me, you’ll probably be the only one.” She said more softly as she settled in against her chair. Rilla was quiet for another moment, considering her words with parted lips, her shoulders tense. “Would it be alright if I stayed here tonight? If something happens you can yell and I’ll -” she paused, considering her options, “I’m not sure, but at least you won’t be alone.”

Lionel || Vuryal. Of course. It had to be Vuryal. The cheeky cad. "Only bastard I ever did pardon with the self-absorption and poor fashion sense to wear a cape and a mask like some two-bit theatre wanker." Lionel sighed. "That was a mistake." Really, the more he heard about the blighter's temporal temper tantrums the more he regretted sheathing his sword all those years ago. The rest of what Rilla said was met with far less disdain. Even so, Lionel hadn't anticipated the woman asking if he would be comfortable with her sticking around for slumber. All things being equal, he would have expected Penelope to be the one with such a request — but nothing here was equal, and at least he was positive Rilla simply needed friendly company. If Penelope had asked, well, then Lionel would have been far more awkward about it. "Of course," he said unflinchingly. "And on that note, I think I'm going to sleep. Rather, I'm going to tell myself that I'm going to sleep. Eventually, we'll both find out if my brain gets the signal that my body's sending out." Without further ado, the man closed his azure eyes and surrendered to the darkness of dreams.

Rilla awoke, as she often had this past week, curled underneath a blanket on the chair pulled near the image of Lionel and his cave. Perhaps it was presumptuous, maybe his time would have been better spent with Penelope or his own thoughts, but Rilla couldn’t be sure and it didn’t seem likely that Lionel would ask of his own volition. So she kept him company, though she left to feed, to get new books, and to gather plants. She’d gotten a black eyed susan and a dianthus moved into a terracotta pot and set out for him to see. She stretched, her arms above her head as she yawned, her blanket falling into her lap as she straightened up. “Did you survive?” Rilla asked, her voice gravely with sleep. One hand ran through her hair as she studied the image, looking for him to make sure that all was not lost. She gathered her blanket, pulled it around her shoulders as she set her bare feet on the floor, only to recoil from the cool tile before actually standing.

Lionel rubbed his eyes as he awoke, staring at Rilla’s plants with refreshing interest. Between Penelope’s botany lesson and her partner’s botanical sense of style, they would make a tree hugger of this Catalian, yet. “Well, I’d like to think my imagination is better than to paint me an afterlife based on more than just the place I died in, so let’s go with yes until any evidence suggests otherwise.” The rain had stopped, or if it continued it must have been an easy drizzle at best because Lionel couldn’t hear it at all. Even the wind had died down in full. If it hadn’t been for the fact that leaving the cave could permanently disrupt the machine’s already-delicate harmonics, he would have loved to risk life and limb going outside to find out if sunrise could be beautiful even at the Demon Archipelago. That was alright. Somehow, he doubted it. “Sprucing the place up, eh?” Lionel asked with a gesture toward the terracotta pot and its floral arrangement. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate it. I’ve never been against the simplicity of bare stone walls, but this place is pushing it.” If the enemies of mankind and all that was good had a thing against those who mocked them, surely Lionel would have been dead ten minutes into his arrival.

Of all the times to discover that Lionel was funny, after his death seemed the strangest. But there they were, Rilla laughed and nodded her agreement. “Good, I think you were dead I probably wouldn’t be here, so all evidence is to the contrary.” She agreed, at least her morbid sense of humour was being echoed for a change. She pulled her legs back up into the chair, crossed them in front of her and rested a blanket-wrapped hand on either knee. “I told you I’d get you plants, didn’t I? Everyone deserves the little bit of brightness, especially you in your cave.” Her smile was crooked-as-ever, and she flashed it at him on the screen. “I was hoping it would make you more comfortable, I know there isn’t much else that I can do to help now.” She chewed the inside of her cheek when she fell silent again, contemplating something or another for a moment. “You didn’t strike me initially as someone who would want a castle and the bare walls that comes with that. You still don’t, but then I saw your courtyard. If it was my choice we’d have shown you out there, or a library. But I can get a book to help pass the time anyway if you’d like.”

Lionel laughed. "A book sounds wonderful. I don't even care what kind. Anything to take my mind away from these drab environs for a little while." This was definitely the first time Lionel had ever been trapped somewhere with the boon of a willing storyteller. All told, there were worse ways to be held captive. He didn't want to admit it, but he was worried for his friends back home. Worried that they would die before they came here, or once they were here. That would be the ultimate bitter little irony, wouldn't it? But he refused to vocalize those concerns. Doubtless, Rilla had thought about that already. And it felt wrong somehow to express his fright that a bunch of people she had seen die in her own timeline might die in his as well. Breakfast was the same as it always was, and for as long as he was here, as it always would be: a paste-like substance, off-puttingly green but unnervingly satisfying, that grew endlessly from an alcove not far from the chair. "Really hits the spot," Lionel said sarcastically.

Being more-or-less on her own for so many years of her adult life had made Rilla a little clumsy with making people comfortable, connecting with people. But she tried. Even at the end she needed other people, even if it was just about helping Lionel’s mind staying intact for a little while longer and perhaps by extension, her own. “I think I saw a book that I read in school about a group of rabbits and their life or death adventure. Some nice light reading.” She shrugged slightly and pulled the blanket tighter around her. Why? That wasn’t clear, it wasn’t likely to actually help given the state of things, but the air against her bare forearms was unwanted at best. “I’m just glad there’s food there for you. I could skip you slowly starving to death if it’s alright with you.” She laughed, her head cocked to one side before she once more decided to stand and she unfurled, rising to her feet before she stretched stifly. “I wonder what it was that the cave would show me,” she mused as she moved closer to study the walls as if that may answer the question, “I don’t think we’ll ever know. Probably for the best. In the books it never sounded pretty. But it seems to be leaving you alone, no?” Her head tilted, face soft with concern although it was likely misplaced.

Lionel contemplated the book's description. Rabbits? As perspective leads? What would writers think of next? Geese? Once the initial confusion wore off, however, he found himself rather interested in finding out what in blazes a group of rabbits could get themselves into. "Wow." Since Rilla's screen was so large, she wouldn't have much trouble following him around as he walked in a slow, meandering, circle around the cave for exercise. "I'm into it. Rabbits. I wanna hear it." Lionel took a breath between each sentence, timing his voice with the increasing rhythm of his steps until he was jogging along the cavern walls and enjoying the cool breeze heading in from outside. "Only reason I reckon it's leaving me alone," he mused as he ran, "is because I've been here before; gone through the whole song-and-dance before. Supposedly, I'm the only one who ever got out alive. You'd think the ghosts here would be furious about that and leap at the chance to kill me. Maybe once someone's forged a communion with an Ishaarite fire spirit, that someone is off-limits." Lionel always thought best when he was running. "In which case, as soon as our friends arrive this place goes up like a powder keg and everything tries to murder them. Not great. Anyway, uh, I saw a lot of bad stuff here."

Rilla followed Lionel with her eyes, stilling up close to the image as she watched him go in circles. “I’ll find it for you again and where I leave off you can start again after you save the world.” As strange as it might be to truly read to a grown man as a grown woman, it was something to pass the time. Her blue blanket still pulled around her shoulders, she balled her hands up in it. “It’s like a test.” Rilla mused, pacing idly as she considered the thought. “You’ve gone through it, proved you could so it leaves you alone. Did it bother you initially?” It was hard not to ask questions once her interest was piqued, though ultimately her knowledge wouldn’t further anyone else’s unless Lionel was able to relay it. “When you were in it did you know what was real and what wasn’t? Was it -” she pursed her lips - “ what was it like? For you, I mean. After.” Her words slowed and she paused, watching him once more. “If you don’t mind my asking. Who am I going to tell? You’re getting out of here, I’m not.”

"I did not," Lionel answered slowly despite refusing to slow down the pace of his jog. "I came here with another. Aeryn was her name. The two of us succumbed to horrendous flashes of our own misbegotten pasts shortly after our arrival. The next thing we knew, we were in a land so cold our hearts nearly stopped. What followed from there was worse, and then worse than that. Aeryn didn't make it. Somehow, I did." Lionel's voice had gone quiet but his words still echoed on the walls loudly enough for Rilla to overhear. All at once, he stopped, pivoting on his left foot to face the screen. "I'd come here to stop a powerful creature who dwelt within my sword from killing me. Conquering my body and replacing me. At first, Halycanos and I fought one-another with all that we had. Something about the Cave of Regrets allowed the creature to come free from the sword, if only temporarily, you see, and that was what I'd read would happen. I couldn't have imagined any of the horrors that befell me to reach that point, nor the death of my associate for that matter. And Halycanos very nearly tore me to shreds, too. But that was when spirits like a maelstrom, millions of them and all as angry as could be, seized the chance to ambush us and almost ripped us apart. Heh," he laughed. "After Halycanos and I beat back the swarm and escaped -- Halycanos forced to return to Hellfire as soon as I left this place -- I suppose we came to an understanding. For 15 years, we fought together, until he gave his life earlier this year to kill a bastard called Kahran. The one who, uh, nearly destroyed Lithrydel over the past few years," Lionel added, though he quickly continued with, "As is customary in Lithrydel."

“I’d have liked you if I’d gotten to know you.” Rilla laughed when he finally finished, shaking her head at the bittersweetness of it all. She adjusted the blanket around her, brushed her hair from her face once more, still messy from sleeping in the chair again. “As is customary in Lithrydel, you did once more save the day. But I can read a history book, I was asking about it for you.” She explained, her voice soft and her brows pulled together slightly. “What it showed you, how did it change you? What was different after?” She spoke slowly, considered her words as if to avoid offending him. There was no real risk for him, but that didn’t mean he would be alright with spilling his guts. “Not just the sword and all the great deeds you did with it.” Bright blue gaze steadied, fixed on the smaller form as she waited an answer. Though the image was broken at best she wanted to look him in the eyes. “Do people ask you about yourself often? Or just about what you’ve done?”

"Ah." It was a good thing Lionel had already stopped pacing around in circles or he might have tripped on himself and fallen forward. Up until now, he'd managed to avoid actually thinking about the things he endured at the Demon Archipelago all those years ago. Like clockwork, the illusion of ignorance shattered. He appeared struck somehow. "I was already a mess when I got here, but then, who isn't, right?" He failed to force lightheartedness into his tone. "There's something else I'm infamous for, though only to myself, and only because I can never erase the memory. Elazul, Lithrydel's First Vampire, very nearly succeeding in remaking the world in his image. That war I mentioned? That was our bid to stop him. I'm going to skip past all the torture sessions, sweep all the literal and figurative scars under the rug, and hop ahead to the story's epic climax where Elazul took control of my body and made me watch from within myself as I raised Hellfire into the air and skewered my pregnant wife. Made me see her fall, lifeless, into the ashes of a battle we had lost. Released me just in time so that I could break in response to all that. You see, there were plenty of reasons I wanted to be free from Halycanos," he said with a dry snicker. "Anyhoot, that really sucked, but what sucked even more was when the Demon Archipelago played out the scene to me dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, and every single time I was powerless within my body all over again. So yeah." Lionel suddenly slumped to the cold stone beneath him and placed his arms over his shaking knees. Yet even now, he refused to yield his cynical shield of wit. "Really, really, really, really sucked. Changed me, yes." With nothing else to do, he reached into his pocket and ate more of the strange green paste, snapping a bite from it like it was a granola bar or something. "What was different after," he pondered Rilla's query. "I suppose I lost my sanity, for starters. Never did get that back. Wonder where I put the damn thing?" He feigned an act of looking around on the floor for it to no avail. "I only went on to live in atonement. Atonement for what? I didn't do it, not really, right? That's what they all tell me, but none of them know what it's like to feel it happening. To hold the sword. To skewer. Ugly sounds. Blood. Gurgling. So much blood." The wind was back. The coldness of rain came blowing through the Cave of Regrets. "So that's where I've been ever since. What a great hero, that Lionel. What a selfless lad. It can't possibly be that if he ever stops heroing, if he stops just to pause and reflect, he screams from the top of his lungs and tries to snap his own neck. No," Lionel O'Connor concluded with a deepest sigh. "They don't talk about that one in the history books at all. And when people see me, even those who are the closest they can be, they simply see a courageous crazy person, charmingly aloof or aloof to the point of zero charm. Depends who you ask. Either way, they seldom see me."

Being around Rilla was rarely a polite experience. She was curious to the point of rudeness at times, despite her caution she often poured salt into raw wounds even at her best. “Truly.” She agreed with a soft sigh, she’d done it again. She let him speak, one thin hand reached out and then froze with the understanding that she couldn’t reach him that way no matter how hard she tried. “Look at me.” Rilla said calmly, her voice low and soft as she drew a breath to steady herself as well. Her head tilted, close up to the screen with a furrowed brow, still somewhat unkempt. “I read the books you wrote, I know what you’ve done - or some of it - but the reality is that you are not your actions, mistakes, or the lives you saved or took. The same way you aren’t what you’ve accomplished. You’re human, and not infallible. It might not be a compliment, but I think we’re more alike than you know.” She mused, just trying to move his brain from the darker paths she’d taken him down. “I asked the question because I know that what’s in those books can’t be all there is. The same way I want someone to remember me as more than a killer for hire or the girl who ran, if I could give you someone to remember you as you are I would.” She sank to the floor easily, crossed her legs and looked up at the image of the collapsed man, meeting him where he was the best that she could. “There’s light and darkness in everyone. You, me, all the heroes of lore, every villain ever written into history. You’re no exception to that rule, as bittersweet as it may be.” A wistful smile curled at rose-tinted lips, bright-blue eyes fell to her lap for a moment as she gathered her thoughts and unrequested advice, and all the different ways she was out of line in that moment. “Sanity is overrated, you really haven’t gotten to know me yet, have you?” She ended with an attempt at a joke, though it was clumsy at best.

"It really is." Even after everything he had just displayed, the rawness and the visceral pain of a salted wound, all it took was a token look at Rilla to gather himself; further proof that sanity was not within Lionel's grasp. "I'll remember you as far more than either of those things," he vowed. That was when he remembered something critical. There was no telling quite how things would play out if Rilla and Penelope successfully aborted their own one-year dark history. No telling whether or not their consciousness would somehow loop back into their past selves or if their erasure would be like death. Triggered or not, Lionel felt a fool for complaining now. He didn't say it aloud, for he strongly suspected that Rilla would merely chide him for sticking with the grim at the expense of what mattered. And she would have been correct. So instead, he returned to his queries. And so it went, through another day and two more servings of unpleasant green paste, until the winds roared once more and night fell beyond these cavernous bounds. The next morning, Lionel would awaken and begin to stand upside-down on one hand. Did Rilla see him? Had she slept there through the night again? Where was Penelope? How did things progress on the machine? Lionel would have no answers to these questions until the vampire on his screen spoke anew.

At the end the only thing that Rilla could rightly do was reach out for more. It was how she lived, it would be how she died or whatever happened when Lionel got out of his cave. Her smile was bittersweet, she stayed down on the floor with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Alone at the end of the world, except that she wasn’t. “Just remember me. You might be the only one.” Her words were soft, her gaze equally so, and then she blinked it away. Looked into her lap for a moment as she drew a breath and continued. She rarely left, at least not if no one else was there to see him. It felt wrong, but what didn’t? All the same she had to eat, and so she disappeared reluctantly late-evening after hours of doing nothing in opposing spaces so that neither of them would be by themselves. When she returned he was sleeping and alone. She wasn’t. The little grey kitten was no longer a kitten and despite everything she still had it and this time instead of being confined to roaming the halls while she tinkered, the Little One was here. A deep grey shadow with bright green eyes that quickly found a hiding place much the way that Rilla did as she curled up on a couch that someone had nicely dragged in for her beneath a blanket. The sound of someone moving woke her, and she bolted upright, her hand on her chest in surprise. “Shit, Lionel,” she hissed, which quickly dissolved into laughter, “last time I heard a strange noise I was fighting before I had time to react, you scared me.” She half-chided, sitting back and stretching her legs out in front of her.

From Lionel's perspective, Rilla and her full-grown young cat were upside-down and one of them was hissing but not the one he'd have betted on. The laughter knocked him over as if the strong wind outside the cave had found their way inside and cackled at him. Landing on his side, he found what little grace was afforded him and hopped back up like nothing happened. Seeing Little One was a treat the Catalian had not anticipated and the beaming joy in his face highlighted it. Though he wasn't going to say it, he had somehow misremembered the cat as being black. He let the foolhardy notion slide, convinced he was not in the best mental place to recall shades of fur. "Scaring you from half a world and nearly a year away," Lionel said with a tone that almost sounded commendable. "That's got to be a record. How goes the machine? Also, I was thinking. Is there anything about our quasi-predestined future that you can tell me about? Say, when to expect the first big assault? And if there's smaller-scale fare beforehand? What you two are doing is spectacular enough, but we're going to need everything we can get back here in order to avoid blood-splattering on walls and in trenches."

Somewhere within the momentary surge of adrenaline that had dropped all of her organs into the very pit of her stomach, probably, Rilla had registered that Lionel was having just as rough of a go of the moment. She shot him an apologetic look, but didn’t acknowledge what had happened. She just clicked her tongue to gather her cat, a solid deep grey boy who hopped up onto the couch Rilla had partially vacated. He leaned over to headbutt her, and she leaned her head into him slightly. “If you weren’t it probably would have been less funny.” Although if he was physically there she also probably wouldn’t have been scared after spending her nights watching over him from a distance. She reached up to scratch under his chin, considering the question although still only partially-awake. “It’s hard to tell what will be the same and what will be different once you intervene. You’ll hear about an attack in seven weeks on a hamlet called Strauss, although the first time around no one seemed to know how serious it would become.” How strange, she’d never had an opportunity to act upon her hindsight. She pursed her lips, leaned her head back slightly and closed her eyes for a moment. “There were other battles between, and alarm bells going off in my head, I assume yours too, but you’re thirteen weeks out from when troops were really mobilized in an attack on Frostmaw. I’ve got maps somewhere, maybe I can show you if I can get the picture just a little bit clearer.” And yet she did not stand, and her cat tried desperately to settle in around her shoulders on the back of the chair. “Everyone was so reliant on magic that no one could really fight them, when you get back, teach your troops to use some traditional weapons, would you?” She teased, looking over her shoulder to find where her blades were, all laid out away from view.

Frostmaw. It just had to be Frostmaw. The frost giants were hardly the most sympathetic sentients; their brutal code of honor was belied by an even more brutal knack for backstabbing. But Lionel had served as steward there and gotten to know its people. For all their chest-pounding, there were plenty of them with bleeding hearts for many causes outside their own tribal circles. More to the point, there were innocents, and innocents were always worth protecting. What astounded Lionel was that the City of War was such a common pick for surprise assaults from ne'er-do-wells. 'Then again, it makes sense,' he thought to himself in silence. Next to Larket's, Frostmaw's army is the largest in Lithrydel. And its relative remoteness makes it an excellent staging ground.' He sighed, shaking his head. "I'll need to figure out where the heck this Strauss even is, if I'm being honest. Must be a bunch of hovels somewhere or something of the sort. Kahran used to choose those kinds of places to test out his army. If it hadn't been for our scouting ops, precious few would have been any the wiser. The thralls are probably devoid of cunning beyond an animal kind of discourse, but Xicotl is no fool. It sounds like he might think to add more meat for his own army before a full-scale attack on Frostmaw." Lionel tapped his left fingers to his right forearm with an impatience spawned from within, not without. "Thanks. I'm not going to let anything happen to Strauss, let alone Frostmaw."

Rilla nodded, the fog of sleep still clearing. She rubbed her eyes as she finally stood, this time without her blanket which Little One promptly jumped down to and began on his mission of baking bread. A perfect activity to do while his person was occupied saving the world, if you asked him at least. “I’ll find it on a map for you later and get you the coordinates. There was one more a week after near Chartsend, but maybe if you’re already in place we can change things.” Although realistically this plan was only as good as their ability to dispense of Xicotl, or at least make him and his minions back down. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she paced barefoot across the floor, arms crossed over her chest as thin fingers tapped against the backs of her own arms. “You were one of the first to die.” She said cautiously as she paused, turned to face his image. “You fought, but they tore you apart before anyone could do anything to help. There were too many of them. But if you had archers and spears maybe -” the pacing started again where her words ended, it had been easier having watched him die before she knew him. Now the image that replayed in her mind was difficult, the knowledge that it wouldn’t continue to be in her mind for long was a welcome comfort.

Lionel, by contrast, had very little difficulty hearing about his own death. The only thing he hated was that he didn't live long enough to make more of a difference. "Typical Lionel," he mumbled, mock-disgruntled. "Face-to-face with my own mortality and diving in head-first anyway." There were little pebbles at his feet, so he kicked one gingerly and watched it bounce off the wall and land a few meters away from him. "Yeah. Gaining the kind of magic that can make even a dent in Xicotl's thralls is of vital importance, hence everything you're doing, but bolstering our melee capability is going to be nearly as necessary from the sounds of things." Sometimes, when it rained even harder than usual outside the Cave of Regrets, water droplets fell from tiny cracks in the high ceiling. Lionel always took the opportunity to rinse himself off when it happened, not just for cleanliness' sake but because any safe distraction here was a welcome one. As his hour became damp and his arms and face grew cold and wet, he felt like his own death was being washed away. "I'm alive for now. I think I'll be a bit more cautious about lunging into the fray this time around."

“If it’s all the same to you let’s avoid that fate this time around.” Rilla suggested, her own reluctance to rely on magic likely too clear but all the same they were there. “By any means necessary, but do me a favour and consider some long-range weapons.” Her pacing slowed and she watched him calm himself, a reversal of the last time when she’d directed his focus to her. How strange to find something to hold her attention at the very end; to let one last somebody in. She kept him company through the day, tinkering, reading to him, petting the cat that had come for a visit. In that room the world wasn’t ending, she wasn’t alone, somebody understood her. Surely by now the others would be going after him, he’d be out in no time and presumably it would be over for her. At first she thought about just staying, but the longer they were there the closer she knew she was to an ending. “I’ll be back.” She assured in the mid-afternoon, and disappeared for a few hours, leaving Little One there to stay with Lionel, the plants, the books, and every confession that the room had heard since the conception of the plan. She returned not long after, arms full of foods that she’d liked as a human, fish for the cat, a bottle of wine. “I know that I can’t share.” Rilla began before even locating Lionel’s image. She set everything down, straightened up and went looking for him. “But how would you feel about pretending things are normal for one night? It’s been -” she paused, considering it, considering the amount of explaining she’d done in her head forming this plan - “it doesn’t matter, but it’s been at least four years since I just had dinner with someone. Had a drink and some conversation with someone like minded. I know that this will be the end for me, so no consequences for you. If you say something stupid no one will ever know.” She swallowed hard, bit her cheek as she cut herself off and looked back to her feet.

It was a reasonable request. That was the first thing that sprang to Lionel's mind upon hearing Rilla's words. Seconds later, he realized how much of an understatement that was. It wasn't "reasonable." It was exceptional. It was rudimentary, yet unnervingly complex. It was perhaps the most human thing he had ever heard spoken. Standing there, in that moment, looking up at a person who knew her end was nigh and wanted to feel the taste of normalcy one last time, Lionel had to believe that even Esche would have been moved to action. He realized he should say something, lest Rilla get the impression that this somehow made him uncomfortable. It didn't. And, frankly, expressing one's discomfort under such circumstances seemed impossibly cruel. "I'd say that sounds just dandy," he said with as smooth a delivery as possible. Crisp. Casual. Normal. He took a stroll toward the cavern wall where he frequently fetched his paste and clawed his way into a groove to grab some more. Fine dining. He'd never complain about that, either; if they were victorious here, then Lionel would have an opportunity to eat everything he saw on that screen in the days and years to come. But he reckoned that he wouldn't eat it alone. If this was Rilla's idea of a proverbial last supper, then surely the Rilla who would survive her own sacrifice wouldn't be opposed to seeing it again on a whim. "Something stupid," Lionel joked amateurishly. When there was no echo in the cave, he laughed at his own dumb humor and sat down cross-legged at the very center. "So how was your day? Mine's been fairly uneventful."

Rilla was quiet for a moment after Lionel spoke, though she couldn’t say for sure why. It would be alright or it wouldn’t and nothing she did now would change it. She looked back at him when he did, a hint of a smile flashed over her face and disappeared all over again as she licked her lips, hesitant to say or do the wrong thing and break the moment. Break out of whatever understanding they’d developed in the last month. Rilla had slept there with him, watched him to make sure he was alright, he’d not known her at all until this. “Thank you.” She said softly, and pulled her little table forward, and then the chair she’d made her ‘spot’ so to speak over the past month. She laughed, shaking her head as she looked back to the Lionel on the screen to flash him a crooked smile. “And no one will ever know.” She gestured with one hand as she sunk into her chair. “Hmm, it was alright.” Rilla began, uncorking the bottle of red wine. She didn’t bother with a glass, just raised the bottle to her lips and took a drink. “Hung out with a dead man from the past, found food that I’m not sure will even do anything for me, and asked him on a makeshift last dinner. Like a first and last date wrapped into one; get to know each other only to never see each other again.” She shrugged, set the bottle down and reached for the bread she’d brought only to break off a little piece in her fingers. “But if things were different today I think I’d have gone for a walk in the forest and it would have been a beautiful day. What would you be doing if things were different?”

Lionel knew little and less about relationships, but there was one thing he was sure about tonight: Penelope Halifax was a saint for understanding Rilla's need to have dinner with someone, to unwind, to disconnect, to be real. There were others in Lionel's life who would have misinterpreted this as a romantic charade. That was a sad thought. Why should anyone care what a dying woman desired? Even if that were the case, it would have seemed unjust not to grant one's wish. But as far as he could tell, it was also untrue -- Rilla O'Mordha needed companionship, needed to unmask herself with a friend. A friend she had seen torn apart. A friend who was with her now, even so. The woman herself would soon be torn apart by time; and that was the best-case scenario. Dying in some other, more brutal, fashion was the likely endgame if they failed. This dinner and discourse was a beautiful expression of mankind at its simplest, and -- Lionel thought -- finest. Two people, open as dams, platonic as a fern to a deer, crying out for another soul. A purely selfish thought raced through Lionel's mind like an eddy; he suppressed it as soon as possible but it lingered overlong. He wanted some of that wine. He could only respond to himself with a snort. "I do enjoy myself a nice forest walk." The rain continued to pour in from the cracks in the ceiling, adding a tenor of harmony and rest to the proceedings. "Though I think, for today, I'd very much have preferred to hike to the peak of a mountain. To be free, you know? To see the outside world again, but not just to see it; to see as much of it as possible, all at once, and to wrap myself in that fresh air. To see the world, for all its shades of grey, but to see its greens, and browns, and autumnal oranges and yellows and more." He stopped to take a tepid bite into his paste. Why was he suddenly waxing poetic? Dinners were strange. Strangely normal. He'd take it.

This could be many things, but romantic it was not (don’t read into it kids). Rilla’s trust was limited at best, and there was no possibility in this ending for her regardless. She craved intimacy, normalcy, connection. Anything other than the absolute chaos her world had descended into since everything happened. “I like that,” Rilla laughed, “you should have authored poetry books. I’m sure they’d have been beautiful.” Picking apart her bread with her fingers, she considered her words. “I’d like to tell you about something I haven’t talked about since it happened, if it’s alright with you?” Rilla’s eyes were on her hands, and she set her bread down again. “I wouldn’t have come back if not for him, and I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did, but I think in the grand scheme of things I was always far less important to him than he was to me.” A wistful smile flashed across her face, very much still in love with this man who had left her over and over. Were there any chance of his return, she may have even thought twice about risking her life this way. But it was over, it always would be. “I don’t mean to be overly personal, if you’re not comfortable I’m happy to talk about the cat, or the garden, or anything else.” She looked up to see his reaction, leaned forward to snag the bottle once more and bring it to her lips. Truly the main attraction. “And truly, apologies because I stole this and now I’m not even able to share.”

Lionel laughed. "I'd be more worried if you hadn't been stealing wine from the cache." Penelope had apologized for the exact same thing. Hopefully, that meant that none of it would go to waste over a petty little thing like complete chronological erasure from spacetime. "Nah, keep talking," Lionel answered easily. Somehow, imagining the taste of the wine was proving good enough to nab the man a reliable buzz placebo. "I want to hear it. Anything you've got. The cat, the garden, anything else. Or this. It's a good night for it, you know? Just another dinner." Although they both knew that wasn't true, Lionel found a way to instill his tone with just the right degree of zest and casual coolness that it might have done the job, anyway.

Often the hardness wasn’t in living through things. It was in living with them, and Rilla had spent much of her life clutching metaphorical glass. She’d never learned to let go. She brushed her hair back from her forehead with the back of one hand, shooting a grateful look at her companion. Another swig of wine and she set it down once more, leaned back in her chair and steeled herself to retell her own downfall. “I met Jaylen when I was 17 and human, I don’t really know how old he was. He was a vampire already then, older than me but he never answered that question. He was fascinated with my tenacity.” She laughed, some things never changed. “I was in love with him from the moment I saw him, basically. He was wild, possessive, an assassin although I don’t think he knows I knew that. At our best we were engaged, planning a wedding. At our worst he wasn’t there. For years. One of the times he disappeared he didn’t come back, I waited until everything fell apart and then I just ran with a man who promised not to leave. He didn’t.” She didn’t even really look at him, her jaw tensed and she drew a slow breath. She shifted, the words felt awkward in her mouth. “I got married to him, and started to work. I couldn’t settle down for long. Not the way that he wanted me to or in a way that let me just be normal.” With a quick shrug, she looked away once more, “anyway, I don’t really know if it was that or what, but he found me.” The words came with a shudder, she pulled her legs up into her chair and crossed them. “I didn’t know it at the time, but he did. He killed my husband, turned me, and I ran.” That was about as far as she was going to get with that without another drink, this time deeper, her shoulders tense.

Listening came easy to a man trapped in a cave. Even without the cave, Lionel suspected that he wouldn't have found it hard. He continued to hear Rilla. He needed to hear Rilla. Only chiming in when he sensed a pause, Catal's Last Prince chomped into his green paste periodically as though it was ambrosia, distilled. It wasn't. His taste buds more than knew that. But selling the role was vital to this woman's tell-all, and he wasn't going to jeopardize that. "I might have ran, too, after all that. Your Jaylen fellow doesn't sound much like the kind of lad I would have gotten along with. Not judging, here. But from what I can gather, Suitor Two may have been the better catch no matter what your heart fluttered to think." It wasn't exactly revelatory. Lionel still wondered if Rilla needed to hear it. Or if she would laugh bitterly, and reach for her drink. Or even tell him off, unlikely though that seemed. Either way, he wasn't going anywhere.

Although the words were heavy and they came slowly, Rilla looked back at him and nodded. There was no escaping, just this strange retelling. She picked at her bread, drank her wine, tried just to stay calm. “It was difficult, my clan leaders had left, I was the acting admiral in Rynvale, the leader of The Fold and I was 21. At the time all I could think was that I’d let everyone down. My husband was a good man, but a bad husband. He never left, but he never loved me either. Just the idea of me.” She bit her lip, dipped her head and tapped her fingers against the bottle of wine that was rapidly draining through the retelling of the last 12 years. “He didn’t deserve to die like that, but I deserved someone to care about me as a person.” With a quick, bitter laugh, she looked back at him, swinging the bottle between two fingers and raising it back to her lips. “I’m a vampire because Jaylen couldn’t stand for anyone else to have me, but he could never stay either. And I ran, maybe I shouldn’t have. But I did. For years. Which was stupid, but it’s what happened. He found me right around when we met. He told me what he’d done, tried to make it into anything other than him ruining my life again because he’s selfish.” Her hands shook, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, counted to ten in her mind. “He told me he wanted things to be different, and then he left too. Just disappeared one day the same as all the other times. But I loved him to the very end. I love him now too, always will. I never told anyone who sired me, it didn’t seem pertinent. But now you’re in on the secret.”

Through a lifetime of oddities, this was perhaps one of the oddest he had yet encountered. While there was no way of knowing for sure whether or not the future Rilla and all her surviving peers would fade away into death once the timeline was "fixed" -- and in all likelihood, there would never be a way to find out -- both of the participants of this conversation knew that the odds were slim. By all rhyme and reason, and even the senselessness of it all, an amended timeline would erase this woman from history. Her consciousness would fade. And here she was, this fated woman, this Rilla, telling Lionel her deepest secret. The act itself was sound. Why not tell somebody, when death was so close? It was the rest of the equation that was so damned odd. Fates willing, Lionel would live. Fates willing, the Rilla he knew, from his own point in time, would also live. On death's door, Rilla gave Lionel this gifted knowledge. Yet Rilla would live, perhaps for many decades to come. How would he navigate knowing what he did now with understanding how the living Rilla would still behave -- she who was not destined to vanish? It seemed impolite to ask his partner in this cave. She needed to be happy, or at least content, in knowing that another version of her had a chance. Emotional complexities needn't come knocking. And that was why his answer was customary. He acknowledged the weight off of Rilla's shoulders. He continued listening whenever she had something to say. When Penelope wasn't at the device, Rilla was instead, and when Rilla was there, he let her speak. He let them both speak. He spoke little in return, but enough for them not to worry. At the passing of the elderly, the young should listen to those final words. At the end of Rilla's world, the inheritor of their sacrifice should do the same.