Before he settled into Darkveil, it had been a rather long time since Cyran had a place to call his own. Ten years was inconsequential in an elven lifespan, but eventful ones they had been. He felt every single second of that decade burrowing in his soul, irrevocably changing him until he was no longer the same person he had been at the beginning of them. He had grown self-reliant. Capable. Ever drifting and lingering where the darkness was needed. No matter how much time had passed, he still did not think he would get used to what it meant to have a place of his own, occupied by people who cared about him.

Only fitting, then, that once Cyran had carved out a single moment of peace, the ghosts of cruel gods saw fit to rip it from his hands.

...

The morning had started off like any other.

Cyran had gone out the night before to take care of a job - one that had left him feeling rather tired and sore, and cranky up until the moment he saw Del waiting in the foyer, chatting with Oriole. The sight of the carpenter was rarer since she’d opened up her own smith right down the road, but she had not become a ghost. Del still made it a point to visit him in the mornings when the forge was warming up, and Cyran, in turn, made the quick trek to her shop in the afternoon when the kids were down for their nap.

Coffee and a quick breakfast came next. Cyran was not the most adept of chefs, but Del usually insisted on complimenting whatever he made in the Valley’s kitchen, claiming it was better than whatever she would find on the road. Cyran was fairly certain she was just being polite. He’d made croissants - not too sweet, but a good pick-me-up. That left the two to converse while the sun rose, content to bask in one another’s company. By the time daylight began to peek through the ash-clouds, Cyran’s mood had already begun to ebb and wane, made better by the presence of his balm. He hadn’t expected Del to drop by this morning, but it was almost as if she was able to sense when he needed the company after a long night of work.

He sipped at his coffee, listening with rapt attention as Del talked shop. In a city like this, she got no shortage of unique orders and interesting requests. And the passion with which she spoke was captivating - it was all too easy for Cyran to listen, and lose himself in the wave of her words. He knew nothing about smithing, or the necessary steps that it took to forge a weapon or a breastplate, but after listening to Del and observing her work, he thought he could fill novels with the information now held in his mind. Perhaps it was because his full attention was on Del that he didn’t notice the warning signs.

Perhaps there simply was no warning at all.

He’d been in earthquakes before, whispers of a disturbance simmering below the ground in the past couple of months. Those quakes had been predictable - short, quick bursts, none too violent, but growing closer and closer in intensity. Starting slowly and gently, ones that you felt in the pit of your stomach before you felt it beneath your feet.

But in that moment - the seconds before the Rumblings began - those whispers grew and crescendoed until they became a roar.

There was a horrible lurch, a sickening CRACK whose origin Cyran could not place. Not when he was too busy catching himself from being thrown out of his chair. Any attempts to grab at the table and correct himself were thwarted as the table itself was soon toppled over seconds after the quake began, spilling coffee and pastries everywhere and shattering glass. Pots and pans hanging from the walls rattled, a cacophony of discordant sounds that showed no signs of stopping.

Cyran jolted to his feet, only visible eye wide. Dust and foundation were being shaken from the ceiling rafters, which were creaking and groaning and only growing more violent. Haunted fear was evident on his face, a facsimile of the worry that he’d warn when they last stood in a tremor together. But there was something deeper set in his worry lines, something ancient and knowing.

This was no mere tremor.

“I… we… the kids.” He barely managed to choke out before dashing out of the kitchen, into the foyer-

Only to stop in his tracks at the doorway.

Because there was a crack in the floor of the foyer, and hell had begun bubbling out.

---

Bringing Minions
Oriole (Warlord I)
Andromeda (Warlord II)

Bringing Pets
Yeux (Vampire Bat)
Umbra (Mimic Moth)

Quest Description

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Evacuation!
Participants: Two or more
Location: One of Charon's Major Cities
Post Requirements: 6 post per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, +1 Mystical Archive Ticket
Description: You have found yourself caught up in one of these earthquakes, one of the biggest yet. While spending time in one of Charon's popular cities, the earth begins to shake, cracking open and throwing the city into chaos. Buildings collapse, fires spread and lava seeps from a massive fissure that has sprouted open, leaving those in the city to run for their lives. As a brave, capable member of Charon, you are needed to help evacuate the city, tend to wounded and assist civilians in getting to safety. The destruction is massive, rendering a small portion of the city destroyed and in need of repairs, but fixing things comes later, the priority now is to survive!

For the first time since leaving the Crescent Isles in the wake of her mentor's death many years on, Del knew what stability felt like.

Her wandering life style had suited her because she had needed it to. Being pursued, ambushed at any place and any time meant that settling anywhere was dangerous, both for herself and others. She had made a life out of it, and it hadn't been a bad one. At the very least, it could have been worse.

Afte meeting Cyran, and being invited into the orphanage and his world... gods, how could she have forgotten how nice it was to have a place to go at night? A consistent, soft place to sleep and catch the worst of her dreams, companionship and the warmth of a nearby presence. Routine, a rhythm that had the enticing siren song of lulling her into a sense of security and comfort-- so sweet and pleasant. Enough that she thought-- dared-- to make something here. These past weeks, nearly two months, had been incredible. Her shop had only been open a couple of weeks, but it was already gathering a fair bit of attention in the area.

The children, Eleanor and Rhi'as, were such bright spots in her day to day life now. Moments when she was not working hard over a hot piece of metal, she was working on things to bring back to Shade's Valley; new toys for the kids, new sets of cutlery for the kitchen, a repaired pan or pot. Her favourite part of the routine, though, was breakfast with Cyran in the morning, and the afternoon, where he would come by to visit her at the forge. She enjoyed seeing the tired crinkle around the corners of his eye when he smiled upon seeing her, telling her at length about the most recent thing the children had said or done, or any of his companions that he had had in his adventures over the years. Del would always listen raptly, easily imagining the picture he painted with his words and watching his face as it moved and shifted through his memories, enraptured. She often came home late, at the behest of Cyran, Rhi'as or Eleanor, but home she did go. Warm as the forge was, it could never compare with Shade's Valley.

She had almost forgotten what it was like to be alone, and Del was not keen to revisit the feeling.

Some mornings, like this one, she followed her instinct, the little cool thrum at the back of her mind that felt strongly of Cyran. The weariness, the heaviness he felt some times, made her wonder if there was anything she could do for him. Maybe, Del thought as she took a long sip of delicious coffee, she should invite him out again, to make sure he was getting the break he deserved and wasn't working too hard.

Her enthusiastic details about the breastplate she was working on, the careful engraving and application of chemicals in the quench in order to get a chromatic sheen, ends abruptly as something shifts. Moments later, that peace is shattered entirely.

It feels like the house itself is moving-- Del is on her feet, but the table has already crashed to the ground, scattering their breakfast across the floor. Staggering, Del moves to try and brace herself against the wall, but it too is moving, warping and twisting as if having torsion applied to it. And it doesn't stop-- it only gets worse.

Cyran is on his feet in a moment, and she reaches out to him, looking to see if he is hurt, but there isn't time to talk. She feels the deep seated certainty in Cyran, can see it in his eye; This is bad, and there isn't time for care and attention.

The kids.

She's hot on his heels, stopping quickly as he pauses in the threshold. Del looks over his shoulder and gasps, seeing the burgeoning glow of red hot, molten rock emerging from the floorboards, from the very ground beneath, sundered from itself and revealing this gaping wound.

Oh.

Setting up a shop and putting down roots wasn't the reason she was called here, she realized, feeling the ground beneath their feet roil like water.

This was.

Her breath starts coming shallow as she puts her hands on Cyran's shoulders to turn him back towards her. She could feel him; tense, overwhelmed, devastated, shaken. Not unlike how she was also feeling.

"Hey-- Cyran. Look at me. I have you. It's going to be alright." One hand goes to his cheek to gently turn his face away from the terrible crack in the world and back to her. Del takes a slow breath, looking him in the eye. Strangely, though panicked, though knowing how urgent this was, she felt steady and resolved.

"The kids are upstairs; I can get us up there, just give me the word. I don't know where Rhi'as and Eleanor are, but we need them to clear the exit and get to the rendezvous point so we can ferry the kids out. Can we do that?"

Okay.

Cyran could fix this.

There was a crack in the ground, a deep fissure that seemed to have struck something primordial open in the foyer, lava hissing and popping and burning the carpet as it continued its sluggish but inevitable pace across the ground. Why here? Why now? He thought this was supposed to be a safe distance away from the volcano, a place where they would have time to get out in the event that Mount Drakolt burst. But apparently he’d thought wrong, and now whatever stupid decision he’d made that caused this had endangered all the kids.

They had to get them out. Cyran’s eyes flicked upwards, to the stairwell - there were some children upstairs, he had to grab them first in the event that the stairwell collapsed - but no, what about the kids downstairs? He had to go for them first -

He had to -

No, he had to -

He couldn’t think.

Dawning hopelessness grew on his face as he stared at the crack, at the paintings falling from their places on the walls and broken bookshelves, until the moment Del forcibly tore him away from it all. Put a hand on his cheek. Solid, firm, and unwavering as a mountain.

Cyran forced himself to breathe.

He was not often a man who felt fear. Then again, rarely did he stand to have so much to lose.

“Right.” He whispered, anguished. “You’re right.” There was no time to panic. They had to get the children out above all. Closing his eye, Cyran took one last breath - when he opened it again, anxiety was replaced with steely determination and the usual sharpness that accompanied him into any battle.

“Most of the kids are upstairs.” He explained. “Some of the older ones live on the first floor near Rhi’as and Eleanor.” They should be waking up about now - Cyran had no idea what they were doing, but he could only hope that they were conscious and moving. When she offered to get them upstairs, Cyran could only nod. Gripping her hand in his, the two ran through the foyer, giving the crack a wide berth. It was manageable, for now - gods knew how long it would stay that way.

Focus.

Behind them, the fissure cracked and shuddered once more, where the sound of the split widening felt like the last warning bell.

Cyran took the stairs two at a time, stance not once faltering despite the earth shaking and bucking like a bull determined to throw him off his back. But not even this reckoning, or whatever it was, would divert him from his path. One hand gripped the banister, guiding him to the top of the stairs. The other held onto Del. The tremors felt more violent from the top of the second floor, reverberating through the soles of his boots up to the tips of his ears. The building wouldn’t last long. Vestiges of smoke filtered through the hall - from where? Cyran couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the fire, but it didn’t matter. He pulled the cloth around his neck up to cover his nose and mouth, hopefully to offer him some protection from the fumes.

“Kids, get to your doors if you can!” He warned, glancing at Del. He was quick - she was strong. By the gods their combined efforts would have to be enough.

He threw open the nearest door.

---

Oriole awoke to the sensation of being thrown out of his bed. He landed on his back with a THUD, thoroughly confused until he realized that the whole room shaking wasn’t just a figment of some kind of concussion, but something that was truly happening? Another earthquake? He’d never seen one this violent before! Oriole attempted to pull himself to his feet, but he lacked his master’s grace and stability, so pulling himself to a kneeling position was a struggle.

That was the moment his door slammed open.

Oriole squeaked, nearly thrown back to the floor as Andromeda barged in, still dressed in her night clothes - which really weren’t that different from her day clothes - face promising murder.

“Get up.” She barked. “We gotta get out of here.”

Oriole blinked, pulling himself to his feet as best he could. “Right… it’s an emergency. We have to evacuate the kids.” Master Cyran had trained them in what to do in situations like this. But rather than agree with him, Andromeda merely stared at him, uncomprehendingly.

”This isn’t a normal earthquake. Something weird is happening, and in this kind of situation, it’s every man for himself.”

“Are you serious? What about the others? They’re depending on us, aren’t they?”

“This isn’t what I signed up for.” Andromeda’s voice was cold, harsh. The kind of tone Oriole might have once balked at, too shy to question the strength of her authority. He’d come here first, but she’d come here with a vengeance, and that was the natural order of things.

But not today.

In the silence, Andromeda started making her way to Oriole’s window, ready to throw it open and make her escape - not before Oriole, in his frustration, picked up one of the boxes on his table and threw it straight at her head. It missed - smashed into the wall next to her - but it got her attention.

“Do you think I signed up for this? I never expected this to be one of my duties when I asked Master Cyran to mentor me. But I do my best at it because I understand that Master Cyran wants to impart discipline on us! So I do what is asked of me and I don’t bitch and complain!” Oriole snapped.

Amongst the roar of the trembling earth, it was difficult to tell, but that was possibly the loudest Oriole had ever been in his life.

But he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m gonna go out there and start the evacuation protocol.” Oriole promised. “Clear out the exit path, get the kids to the foyer, and get the hell out. You can choose to come with me, or you can leave. I don’t give a damn. I just care about helping Master Cyran.”

Andromeda was entirely silent. For a moment, Oriole wondered if she was going to whip out one of her daggers and throw it at him. But for once, she didn’t look pissed. Just kind of… ashamed, maybe. It was hard for him to tell.

She pulled away from the window and came to a halt next to him.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Oriole would have said something more, but at that moment the ground gave a violent shudder that snapped one of the wooden rafters on his ceiling, wood splintering everywhere. Oriole grabbed Andromeda’s wrist, dragging her out of this room. “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

When they made it to the foyer they noticed much the same fissure that Cyran and Del had seen. Oriole gasped, clapping his hand over his mouth at the sight. What in Ziev’s name was happening? He’d never seen anything like this before! The world - their world - was falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing they could do to fan the flames now that they were in motion.

Andromeda cast him a sideways glance. “Still think we should stick around?”

Oriole pointedly ignored her and rolled up his sleeves, running around the foyer to the front hallway, where bookshelves and other furniture pieces blocked the way.

They had to clear this place out. Master Cyran was counting on him. Miss Del was counting on him. Oriole may have been a pacifist, and not the best of thieves, but he would never stop trying. Not while he could still make a difference.

Hearing the quiet dispair and anguish in his voice, a desire to... offer some sort of comfort washes through her. It's neither the time nor the place, but it aches to hear such pain in his voice. When he opens his eye again, resolve and determination brimming in his liquid silver iris, she smiles, just a little. There he was. There was her Cyran.

--The Cyran she knew, that was.

Quickly shoving that away, she nods a quick understanding of the situation; she had no idea what Eleanor and Rhi'as would be doing, but she had seen first hand that Cyran had them very well prepared for events like this, that honed blade-edge of decisiveness he wore when things started becoming scary. When he gives her the okay, she holds fast to his hand and they make for the stairs.

She can feel the heat of the crack in the world behind her as they easily skirt the rift, can feel it splitting open even wider as they move. Together with Cyran, Del launches them up the stairs; with his one hand on the rail, she grabs the very wall next to them, taut fingers gripping the edges of the wood and puncturing it in the soft places where the structure was beginning to fail as she uses her arms to bolster them further up to the second floor. Like Cyran, her stance stays sturdy and true as the upper supports twist and lurch under them, and not once does she let go of Cyran.

The chaos of the second floor brings Dels heartbeat up a little. There's smoke, an alarming amount that paints the scene in a haze, but no direct source just yet. Still, she pulls the cloth of her hairband down over her nose and mouth, to save her from the worst of it; it would only get worse, she was sure.

As Cyran glances to her, the pair ever in sync, she nods. Ready.

The moment he throws open the door, Del releases his hand and shoots inside. The two young ones in the room hide together under one bed from the crumbling ceiling and the splintering bookshelf. Is heart breaking to see them so scared, a feeling she turns into an iron resolve. She kicks back at the bookshelf, embedding it in the wall across from her; at least it would help the integrity of the wall a bit, though internally she winces. The Valley...

None of it would matter if the kids weren't safe. She could always fix the walls, the building, everything, if she had to. But people... people she could never fix.

She reaches down and hauls the bed off the two girls, before slamming herself forward so the debris from the ceiling as another tremor rattles the room falls on her instead of them. She bends to pick up the girls, whispering, "Youre alright, you're alright, we've got you," like a mantra as she pivots to the door to give them to Cyran. "Cover?" She asks, an abbreviation for questioning if he needed her to follow him out so she could stop things from falling on him and the girls as he got them outside. Despite her racing heart, she forces her breath to come slow and even, conserving as much of her energy as she could-- though she worried. Time was so short, and neither of them knew how short. Gods, why couldn't she be in four places at once?

Cyran waited on bated breath for Del to emerge with the kids. There was a loud CRASH and wood splintering, and the sound of hushed cries - not a few moments later, Del emerged from the room, with a girl in each arm. Cyran dove for the kids, trying to ignore the tremble in his arms as he held them close. Two down… so many more to go. And they were only two people.

You can change that, something deep in his mind whispered. You know what you are capable of, little Shade. You need only ask.

And Cyran did know.

It only took a little bit of concentration for Cyran to call upon his shadow, forcing it to take physical form. Within seconds, his own mirror image stood right next to him, silently waiting for his orders. Cyran pressed a kiss to each of the children’s foreheads before handing them over to his shadow, with one single command.^[1]

Guard them with your life.

But he hardly needed to issue such an order - not when Cyran understood it so implicitly in his soul that it burned. The shadow nodded, and started making a break for the stairs. Oriole and Andromeda were already attempting to clear the path when the shadow made his way to the foyer, using his momentum to leap over the ever-growing crack in the floor.

“Master Cyran!” Oriole gasped, relieved at the sight of his master. Of course, he and Mistress Del were on top of things. With them here, everything would be okay. They would fix this. Oriole had to believe this. The apprentice took one of the children from the Shade’s hands, allowing him to sign at them with his free hand. The shadow was silent, but his apprentices had been taught the basics of sign language once Cyran decided it was a necessary skill for communication. The single-handed communication was brief.

‘This place won’t last. Get them out of here.’

Oriole’s brows furrowed. “But…”

‘No argument. Home is the people in it. And the kids are the priority. Things can be replaced. We'll be right behind you. Go!’

With one last shove, the shade handed the other kid to Oriole, who could only helplessly stare as the Shade retreated down the first floor, moving to evacuate as many kids as he could. Once he could no longer see the remnant of his master, Oriole turned to Andromeda, who was struggling to lift up a beam that had fallen down, the last obstacle to the door.

“Master Cyran gave us a command to get the kids outside.”

“Yeah… no shit-“ Andromeda huffed. With one last great heave, she managed to shove the beam to the side, allowing her to throw open the door - and just like that, they were outside.

The pandemonium here was no better than the horrors inside.

People were rapidly absconding from their homes, buildings partially collapsed. Lava was bubbling forth from cracked street pavement. Oriole and Andromeda shared a horrified look, both struck with the same realization.

Nowhere was safe right now.

And Darkveil was crumbling around them.

“We’re going to have to leave the city.” Oriole whispered.

Andromeda said nothing, for a long moment. Oriole wondered if she might berate him again, suggest they run, leave this all behind. It would be the smart thing to do. Between the two of them, they could survive just fine on their own.

“Stay here.” She barked the order, resting her hand on the hilt of the dagger on her belt - an imitation of Cyran. But there was something slightly… different about her anger. She imitated the Specter often, but Oriole had never seen her resemble him so closely. “I’ll go back in there for the others. The sooner we get the kids out the sooner we can evacuate. You keep an eye on them.”

Oriole set the kids down and pulled the quarterstaff from his back with a slow nod, gripping it tightly. He was a pacifist. But if anything happened… he would respect Master Cyran’s wishes. Save the children above all. He could do that.

And apparently, Andromeda could, too.

She dashed back inside, leaving Oriole alone with the two girls to watch as their home was reduced to ash before their very eyes.

---

“Come on, we have to keep moving.”

Cyran gripped Del’s arm tightly, squeezing it for a moment - to reassure her or make sure she was still okay to keep going, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that they couldn’t keep still, not when there were still more rooms to check, more children to grab. The smoke grew thicker around them, making it hard to breathe. He coughed, readjusting the cloth around his mouth that filtered some of the smoke but not enough. What would get them first - the roof caving down on them, or the asphyxiation?

They were about to find out.

Cyran wouldn’t stop fighting until he no longer had breath in his lungs - whether it was filled with smoke and ash, or crushed entirely.

The two of them moved to the next room. Cyran threw the door open, only to immediately flinch backwards at the sudden onslaught of smoke pouring out from the inside. “Kids? Are you in there?” He called.

No response.

The smoke was too thick to see through, no way to tell if they were simply unconscious, or…

Don’t think about that. Keep moving.

Without thinking, Cyran reached a hand up to rip his eyepatch off his face. He couldn’t afford to have his sight hindered - not now.^[2] He blinked, allowing his eye a moment to adjust to the light. The sudden shift in perception was jarring, but enough that he could see through the smoke. He wasn’t thinking about what he was doing. He wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Del had never seen the black hole that currently occupied the right side of the face. The situation was too dire to care about that. All that mattered was that he needed to use every tool at his disposal, and he trusted Del with his life.

Get the kids out. Trust Del. He clung to those two, simple goals like a lifeline. It was all he needed to do.

He turned to Del, holding out his arm. “We'll need to hold our breath. I’ll guide us through.”

---

1. Shadow Clone
2. All Eye

The answer comes as she hands the children to Cyran... and he in turn offers them to his shade, the living shadow she had seen in the desert a while back. Knowing that was him, feeling Cyran's certainty, she relaxes, but only a little; the moment anyone left her view, she found herself worried that she might not see them again, regardless of whether or not the world was coming apart at the seams. But, she trusted Cyran implicitly. If he deemed the children safe with his shadow than with he himself, then the idea of questioning it did not even appear in her mind.

She feels the light squeeze on her arm as he beckons her forward-- Del gives him a nod of reply, feeling assured, trying to assure him, too, with that simple action. She wouldn't waver, not now, not ever. Through the increasing haze of smoke, though, that stung her eyes and was beginnng to tickle her throat, she truly did not know how long they had. They needed to go slow, but could not afford to.

When he opens the door to the next room and a plume of smoke billows out, Del tucks her face against her shoulder, trying not to breathe it in, despite the sudden surge of panic and the drive to throw herself in there to find them. No response from the kids within. She is about to say something to Cyran, an idea-- when he suddenly pulls off his eyepatch.

Even on the ship, where he largely had not worn the eyepatch, she had not seen it entirely. The air is smoky, and she cannot see it clearly, but there is a void of perpetual ink where his eye should be, a tattoo of something inscribed just beneath. There is no time to ask, or question-- as he instructs her to hold her breath, she does. She puts her hand to his shoulder, and squeezes, a gentle reassurance and an echo of his resolve; Ready.

She had said not so long ago that she would follow him into hell, whether he asked or not. That had not changed.

Cyran leads them into the smoke, the room a thick curtain of haze and ash. A dim glow of a fire burns throughout, smouldering in the room as oxygen from the opening door was reintroduced. The bookshelf the candle rested upon was up in flames, the books making excellent wicks and shedding burning pages onto the covers of the bed. Cyran's attention snaps forward, seeing something Del cannot and hurries to the window. There, on the floor, just beneath the cloud of smoke, were the two children, unconcious by the jammed window of their room.

It had only been a few minutes since everything had gone sideways, but already this rapidly was steamrolling out of control. If the stairs became impassable, she would have to start making exit holes up here in the second floor. Del taps the window with the back of her fist, the glass shattering enough that smoke could start to escape, so the hallway wouldn't be so filled. That was all they had time for.

She gathers one of the children up in her arms, the other in Cyran's. Her free hand she leaves on Cyran-- a hand that lifts with sudden ferocity as the ceiling drops wood and debris, snatching a piece of jagged wood out of the air above their heads and flinging it harshly to the side. They had to keep moving.

Once they're out into the hallway again, Del crouches, trying to stay low and out of the smoke as she finally can take a breath. Her lungs sting and burn, but that can be worried about later. Now they had to get the children downstairs and outside.

Cyran held his breath as he led Del through the smog. He could see the room as clear as day, where a single candle that had illuminated the room had been knocked over, lighting the ground on fire. And by the window, two children were laying on the ground, where they’d been attempting to make it to the window to let some air out. Oh, the children…

No time to think about that. Their chests were heaving and falling with the telltale signs of breath, no matter how faint. Cyran dove to scoop one up while Del broke the window, allowing the smoke to billow out as glass shattered and coated the alley below. “You’re alright.” He wheezed, smog filling his lungs. “We’ve got you, we’ve got you.” He watched, amazed, as Del snatched the wood from the ceiling before it could hurt them. She really was amazing…

The two made their way back to the hallway, keeping low. The smoke was filtering out to the hallway - easier to breathe here, but still not entirely perfect. Shit. There were still so many…

That was when he noticed Andromeda at the stairs, running up to them.

“Eleanor.” He breathed, handing one of the kids off to her. Andromeda stared at Del expectantly, holding out her other arm.

“Come on, we don’t have all day!”

There was a moment of hesitation that flickered across Del’s eyes. Trust that hadn’t quite yet been solidified in Andromeda - but faith in Cyran’s estimation of her, before she gave the young boy to Andromeda.

“Thank you.”

She merely nodded before taking off down the stairs - the wood of the stairwell could no longer take much stress, splintering and cracking behind her. They were losing stability, and so quickly. Andromeda could no longer make the trek upstairs.

Looking below, Cyran could already see that the lava was beginning to burn at the carpet, red heat simmering in the air, warping and distorting the floorboards wherever it touched, continuing its slow, continuous crawl as it threatened to consume Cyran’s home entirely.

Cyran turned and pulled Del in the direction of the next room, the floor cracking and crumbling in their wake.

Del watched Eleanor go for a moment, before turning back to the task at hand. While she found the young woman a bit crisp and testy at times, but as far as she was still aware, Eleanor and Rhi'as were only orphanage attendants, albeit very well trained ones. Still, the idea of letting anyone out of her view, now especially, still did not set right with her. That was no fault of Eleanor's-- but it was curious how easily the young woman charged back down the stairs, a practiced ease she had seen only in one other person so far here. That man stood beside her now.

None of this was anything she could do or ask about in the moment. Right now, only one thing mattered; ensuring the survival of everyone in Shade's Valley. Questions could be asked later.

If there was a later.

Without faltering, she follows Cyran as he tugs her further down the hall, trusting in his sight and his ability. More children to get-- Del doesn't know how many more need an exit, between the Shade, Eleanor and Rhi'as, but until Cyran said they were done, Del would consider their task ongoing. Once more into the fray they go, to the next door.

Beneath their feet, she can feel the supports holding up the second floor start to bow, joists popping with tension and popping up the wooden slats that made up the floor. The building, made largely of stone, was doubtless built with the volcano in mind, but no structure could withstand this rending, this push and pull of the earth itself. Down was about to stop being an option.

...dust and ash, was the building sinking?

Shoving that thought aside, as they reach the next door, they find a ceiling beam starting to bow in, holding the door shut. Del sets her jaw and steps forward; one hand goes up, to the beam and shoving it up. Her other hand grabs the door jamb and, sinking her fingers into it with pops and snaps, pushes the wall free of the door-- not the other way around.

The action of that, though, rips the hinges out of the wall and the door falls out of the frame. Instead of discarding it, she grabs it, shifting it along the wall. Might need that to get out-- could be a good shield. Or a slide.

The presence of Cyran throughout this is steadying. The synchronicity makes her feel balanced, more sure of her steps, more confident in their path, simply because he is beside her. He was... nothing short of incredible. And she would follow where he led,

There was no doubt about it.

The floor was beginning to cave in beneath them.

Cyran was sure-footed, but even he could not keep himself fully stable through the smoke and the splintering support beams. They no longer had the option to run, not when they were so busy keeping themselves upright through the tremors. Just keep moving, just keep moving…

Until they no longer could.

The wooden support beam blocked their entry to the next room. Blocked them from getting the kids out. Cyran rolled up his sleeves - prepared to do what, he wasn’t sure. He just knew he had to do something. But before he could move, Del was already there as if she’d read what he was thinking, lifting up the beam with one hand like it weighed nothing, and wrenching the door and the wall apart at the hinges. Cyran barely had time to marvel at the sheer power and purpose with which she moved before running into the room himself.

Only to run into the middle of a warzone.

The inside of the room was no better than its exterior. The roof in here was already partially crumbled, already collapsing in on itself. Cyran couldn’t see the kids anywhere, but he could hear their cries, coming from somewhere in the mass of splintered wood and stone. But where? Cyran sprinted, moving to lift up the debris, but he wasn’t strong enough. Desperate, he turned to Del.

“Please.” He whispered. A plea and a prayer all in one.

The sight of the collapsing ceiling had the cold fingers of dread in her gut slowly grip and twist at her heart. The little helpless cries of the children burned her eyes worse than the smoke. The floor shifts beneath their feet: if that wasn't moved, and soon, the weight would collapse the floor under it. And then further down.

Del didn't want to think about it.

There isn't time anyway. As Cyran rushes forward to help them, Del moves near to help him, not crowding, trying to find a solution. Then, he can't lift this. He turns to her, his eyes filled with pleading, his voice hardly above a desperate whisper.

The surge that fills her then is not one she can describe. It's sudden, a conviction that comes from the marrow of her bones and suffused her. It did not matter if the beams and stone were too big to lift; she was going to.

She moves to take his place and crouches beside the pile. She gets her hands under the gap and heaves up. For a moment nothing moves. Gritting her teeth, readjusting her foot, Del pushes harder, the muscles on her back and arms flexing with the force of her movement. The rubble begins to budge as she pushes the beam up, standing slowly, muscles quaking as she lifts the ceiling off the kids.

Moving slowly makes it that much worse; moving too fast could result in the collapse of the extra debris onto the kids below. She has to take it slow, adjusting the balance of the roof portion so it wouldn't crumble any worse. But soon, she has the roof up, arms at full extension, holding the ceiling above her head. Her body shivers from the extended strain, but she holds it; and she's not letting go.

"Go," is all she can manage, her voice strained with effort, to Cyran, to the kids. They need to be out of the way; I'd she dropped the roof striaght down, it would crash through the floor, and they still had other rooms to go. She would have to push it out and into the street below.

---

Bull's strength
Iron Grip

Barely a second passed between his plea and Del darting forward to help him, gripping onto the very bones of the orphanage as if her hands could keep Shade’s Valley from falling apart with sheer willpower alone. And for a moment, as she braced herself, lifting up the beams with a grunt, entire body straining as she defied the very force of gravity - Cyran thought she could.

But it was too late for that. There would be no saving this shell of a building. They could only do their best to save the people in it. And Del - brave Delaela, who had only been here for a small number of months - was set to defy the gods to do just that. Arms trembling where her fingers dug into wood, gritting her teeth, Del was an absolute pillar.

Cyran didn’t wait for her to utter the word GO before he’d already sprung into action. The collapsed roof lay at an awkward angle, but the assassin was fast enough to duck under her, where two children were huddled together, in tears. He immediately crouched over them, forming a shield with his body in case Del’s hold on the ceiling slipped.

Grab one. Grab the other.

“You’re okay, kids.” He whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Little hands gripped his jacket tighter, like a lifeline. “Headmaster Cyran, I can’t feel my leg.”

A cursory glance at his leg confirmed that it looked like it was bent at an unnatural angle, already beginning to turn purple from bruising where it looked like it had been crushed in the collapse of the ceiling. How were they supposed to heal such a thing? Cyran could set bone, but there would be - there would be no fixing this. Not unless Cyran and Del could get him to a healer. And where would they find a healer amongst all this?

The sound of cracking wood pulled Cyran out of his thoughts. He held the young man tighter in reassurance. “You’ll be just fine, son. Just… just close your eyes for a moment, and this will be all over. You’ll be outside.” He murmured, inching out from under the rubble at a snail’s pace. Careful. As if any sudden movement would cause everything to break apart. He didn’t stop until he was just at the edge of the collapsed ceiling, tantalizingly close to freedom.

“Just listen to the sound of my voice. Nothing else. You’re safe.”

…

Below, Andromeda and the Shade were still clearing out the kids on the first floor, on their last round before they could wait outside. Andromeda clutched one child’s hand and an escape bag from her room in the other, while the Shade had a crying child in his arms. They were so close to freedom, Andromeda thought. In the home stretch.

Or at least they would have been, if it weren’t for the hellscape in the foyer, growing larger with every passing second. Andromeda swore under her breath as she glowered at the gap. How in the hell was she supposed to cross that? Maybe if she were on her own, she could scale it, but… she had one of these damn brats in her hands. She wasn’t gonna risk her own safety to the lava with one of these kids.

The Shade gave her a warning look.

Andromeda exhaled - steeled herself before she shot the Shade a death glare. “I’m not giving up. Don’t give me that look.”

With newfound determination, she took a few steps back, bending down to pick the kid up. “Close your eyes. This’ll all be over in a minute.” For better or worse.

With a running start, Andromeda took the plunge.

Del grit her teeth; She knew Cyran had to go slow, but that doesn't stop her body from screaming its protest as she holds the weight of a quarter of the stone roof and its wooden supports on her shoulders. She tries not to focus on the sixty other worries floating through her head; right now, she just needed to focus solely on her breath. Cyran had this. She trusted him, knew that he trusted her to hold this precarious weight above their heads.

A rumble courses through the floor, jarring part of the rubble just as Cyran and the two kids make it to the very edge. A thrill of panic spurs her movement, one arm thrusting into the debris, bracing the weight of the shifting rubble on the length of her arm before it could fall on them.

Her hand lodges between the wood and a slab of stone, pinching at an awkward angle that locks her shoulder in place where her forearm is wedged as well between a wooden beam. "Ah!" She hisses through her teeth. It hurts, the stone crushing against the bones in her hand enough that she feels it trapped, and the awkward angle of her shoulder screaming under the strain. A tendon in her jaw working, fighting to keep her calm and the pain out of her voice for the sake of the kids, Del carefully exhales with relief as the rubble settles on her; she could muscle through it. She might break something, of course, but she would risk a broken hand or a dislocated shoulder over a missing one. Or worse.

The question is, did she have time?

"I've got you," She grunts, assuring, eyes opening to look down at Cyran-- one eye dark as a void and the other silver as the moon. Nothing could happen to him, to any of them. For a moment, she thinks of not telling him about her situation, to make sure he and the kids got out of here first and in one piece.

No. She couldn't lie to him if she tried, not even now. He deserved better than that, trust for his trust. "My hand," she breathes out the strained whisper. She couldn't push the rubble off and into the streets at this angle. It would bring down this part of the house if she dropped it here. There's another shift, and the stone grinds down-- it's a miracle nothing feels broken yet, but the sends white hot pain shooting up her arm warns her it won't be long.

How much longer could Del keep holding onto the ceiling? Cyran knew his progress was at a snail’s pace, but he had to move carefully. Jarring anything would mean further risking the structural integrity of this building, and not even Del could protect them from that circumstance.

He set the kids down in safety, staring at Del’s outstretched hand. He reached up to grab it as stone and wood finally broke apart with a CRACK -

The snapping of metal was the first sign something was wrong. Cyran felt the shift and the weight against his hip - he gasped, holding his breath, as something inside of him kind of… vanished. And with that, a part of him too, disappeared.^[1] The rest of the rubble passed through him harmlessly, as if Cyran didn’t even exist. There was simply a cold, tingly feeling where he ought to feel pain from being crushed, but other than that, nothing.

Cyran straightened, pulling himself out of the rubble of the fallen ceiling harmlessly, like it was nothing more than a projection. Or perhaps he was the incorporeal one. Cyran blinked, suddenly feeling unstable -

And then the solidity returned as if he suddenly had solid weight and density once more. The shift was jarring, but there was no time to focus on what his magic just did to him. For a moment though, his mind lingered on what he’d once told Del in a dream.

Neither in the world of the waking or the dreaming. I occupy both.

He shook his head, turning to Del. “You alright?” She’d held that rooftop for so long - even in the pandemonium of the crumbling earth and the lava and the fire, he still felt the need to make sure she was okay and breathing. Eyes wide, he turned to stare at the collapsed ceiling, that was seconds away from crushing him. It had been that close…

And he’d gotten away with nothing but a broken dagger.

Perhaps the ghosts of the gods were smiling upon him.

No - this wasn’t divine intervention. This was Del’s work. Brave, incredible Del. He exhaled, turning to look at her.

“Can you move? I think we’ve got almost everyone out.” He said, picking hip the child with the broken leg. They were almost done. So close to freedom.

If the volcano would allow them to leave.

---

1. Phase Walk

For all her strength, her ability, her resilience, there was some things she could not do, people she could not save, and for an instant, one heart rending and agonizing moment of panic, Del finds herself facing that reality. Though her arm, trembling as it is, remains where it is, the rubble does not, and it shifts, collapsing on Cyran as he moves to help her.

"CYRAN!"

His name tears ragged through her throat, through her mind at the one terrifying notion of losing him; ash-storms arc bolts of lightning through the clouds of her hair. The children behind her cry out, startled and afraid. Immediately forgetting any of her own pain in her battered limb, she reaches down, desperate to dig him out enough so she can grab him and the kids and--

Cyran rises from the rubble, suddenly appearing as if the ceiling had simply fallen around and through him. A wraith, a specter of hope in her vision.

She can't help it. Seeing him alright, in one piece-- she remembers what he had said in the dream, her dream, weeks before aboard the Judeia, but to see Cyran rise from the rubble unharmed fills Del with a relief so abject it nearly brings her to her knees. It would, if they didn't need to keep moving. Then he, wonderful Cyran, asks her, who could not hold the ceiling, with concern on his features, if she of all people is alright.

There are no good words with which to answer. Instead of a voice, there is a single, choked sob that forces its way out. She tightens her mouth into a pressed line and nods, her assurance. Relief that he is alright. Shaken that he was almost hurt, and what that would mean. Her own fear of this situation. A desire to keep moving, keep going, and very firmly-- not without you.

"I can, thanks to you," She breathes after a moment, reaching down to gingerly scoop up the other child, whispering comfort, "We've got you, you're alright," before looking to Cyran again. Once more there is another wash of relief at seeing him. She had been so frightened, more than she could have expected--

Later.

"I can make a hole in the wall to the outside, unless you think we can make it down the steps," Del says hurriedly. They need to move; the rest of the building wouldn't be far behind.

The bolt of fear that stabbed him through the chest on his own behalf was certainly not his own. It was a foreign feeling, his own, but… not. The anguished cry that rang through the air, on the other hand, was not his imagination. That was Del’s voice, though tinged with premature grief… on his own behalf? Perhaps if he had more time to sit and examine why she’d had such a reaction, he might have been able to figure out why she would be so distraught at his own presumed injury. He was fine, and the kids weren’t caught in the falling of the roof.

Cyran knew the risks and was willing to accept them, and he was fine.

Spell Slicer, in its sheath on his hip, on the other hand, had not fared as well.

“I am fine, I swear it.” He blinked, sluggish. Using so much of his magic had left him feeling a little out of sorts, as if he’d stretched himself so thin that he could not pull himself back together fully.

Better tired than dead, Cyran.

“The house will not last long. If we are the last in the building, then we should get out as soon as possible. I wanted to get my portraits, in the study - but it’s not safe. We... we need to go.” The picture could be replaced, but the kids? Del? Relief flooded him that she could still move, a short-lived feeling. His gratitude for her strength and courage, and his relief that she was unharmed, was undercut by the ground suddenly stilling underneath their feet, the tremor dying down for a moment.

A second of stillness -

Before the world cracked beneath them, and there was a great and terrible roar, as if Ginma himself had returned from the dead with a vengeance, and no more love for his precious creation. There were screams - the children? - there were so many sounds all at once it was impossible to tell. Stone crumbled and broke apart into powder with a mighty rumble as the outside, the building next to Shade’s Valley could no longer support its own weight under the shaking ground, and part of the roof slid off and broke through the side of the bedroom wall.

Cyran didn’t waste any time clicking the heels of his boots together and triggering his concealed blades, making a beeline for the door.^[1]

“Run!”

He didn’t need to look behind him to know Del was right at his heels. Her urgency was his own - they both knew what was at stake here. And they both knew that escaping through that wall would no longer be viable now. The orphanage had held on until the very last moments, as if the building itself wanted to give Cyran and Del every possible moment to get everyone out safely, but time would wait for them no longer.

Through the foyer it was, then.

---

1. Ice Skates