Everything keeps getting just a little more complicated.

It’s a slow process; like the steady drip of a faucet.

It feels insignificant at first, but the ripples are beginning to spread wide and far, affecting everything around it in catastrophic waves.

It had, originally, started with the Sol Stone; and then, that fucking creature in Daisy. Ziev, and the suspected death of the gods in that void; followed by the upturn of religion as Charon had known it. Earthquakes, which have devastated every part of the continent; the Rookery included in its count of destruction… the imminent, suspected eruption of Mount Drakolt…

He refocuses from wandering thoughts, head leaned in an open palm; and he stares into the dust-speckled pages of his father’s leather-bound journal. Old ink has long-since dried on its stained pages, its context continued by a newer, stranger, hard-to-decipher scrawling of a language not entirely in common.

The line between personal and business was once very clear to him; but … it’s starting to get muddled. He’s involved himself in problems that, perhaps, he shouldn’t; and on top of everything that he cannot control, there is only more to add. Even she’s started to concern him; since the incident in King’s Valley, she’s grown quieter; and in the heavy silence she leaves behind, is something more worrying.

“_..es.”

“…”

“_Caedes?”

“Hm?” The changeling blinks, lowering his eyes to the table he’s sitting in one of the Rha'Oriyn's safe houses, where a cat-sized spider looks up at him; Charlotte has been present, trying to call for him for just a few minutes; when she thinks she’s interrupted him, her posture changes just slightly.

She bows her legs, all save one, which has been bound in a cast to keep it straight while it heals. “_{Um… Do you think Kvasir will come visit us soon?}”

“Maybe, but he’d have to find us first.”

“_{Do… do you think he’ll be mad?}”

“… about what?”

Charlotte shuffles her legs, portraying as much of a nervous twitch as a spider possibly could. “_{I lost his flowers…}”

Ah.

Caedes frowns, reaching out to rest a hand on Charlotte’s back; she’s never complained until now, but he knows she’s sad about the things that she lost in the Rookery’s collapse. She’s too gentle to mention it in the presence of anyone; and with so much debris, and the tunnels caved, he still hasn’t found her things. He’s not holding up a strong hope they will, given Charlotte’s attempts to mimic the Desert Rose by placing her treasured belongings in an organized chaos of fragile bottles and hanging silk bouquets.

“You didn’t lose his flowers, we just didn’t find them.”

“_{They were gifts…}”

“He’ll probably just be glad you’re fine, and then grow you tons more to keep.”

Charlotte sighs, her tiny voice barely louder than a whispering breeze, “_{I know, but… they’re not the same flowers.}” Caedes lowers his pen, and reaches out to pick Charlotte up, “_{The cherry blossoms that he gave me from Crescent Island were there, and the pretty roses, and… oh! The candy I got from mister Beist, oh…}”

Charlotte is heavy, but not too heavy for him to pick up; she curls her legs around his forearm, full body clinging to him like the talons of a bird. “Things can be replaced, Char. You can't. Besides, Kvasir would move Mount Drakolt for you… and have you seen how big Beist is? His pockets are probably full of more candy to hand out to very nice spiders, so they can hoard them forever more.”

“_{… I hope mister Kvasir doesn’t try to move Mount Drakolt, he would hurt his back.}”

Caedes just chuffs in response, "Everything I said, and that's what you chose to focus on?"

After the collapse of the Rookery, Zarius had worked with his family's network to relocate those who called the clocktower home into various safehouses scattered throughout the districts they had some influence over. Some were a lot smaller and barebones than others, but they were well hidden and protected from anyone who would have any ill intent against whoever was hiding in them.

This one was one of the more centrally located ones not that far from the manor which made it safe for Eameia to visit through one of the many underground tunnels connecting them. There had been some significant damage to many of the tunnels and they lost a few important access points, but luckily this safehouse survived relatively unscathed and its tunnels are relatively stable. 

The building looked fairly innocuous from the outside, nothing remarkable which was the whole point. There was an enchantment over it that made it look like a family lived in it with the lights going on and off regularly. The inside is sparsely decorated but does have everything one would need to hide out in it for a days if needed. There's a small kitchen, a couple private rooms, a common area, and a fully stocked cellar that also connects to the underground tunnels. It wasn't as comfortable as the Rookery had been, but it would have to do for the time being. 

The quiet of the safehouse is disturbed by the sound of someone arriving into the common area through one of the squeaky heavy metal doors that bar its entrances and exits. The doors themselves were hard to break through, and even if someone lockpicked them, their entry would still not go unnoticed with how loud the hinges are. Luckily the enchantment on the home served to make sure that the sound was only heard by those on the inside and not anyone walking down the street. 

Zarius steps through into the space, dusting ash off his shoulders as he does. He just arrived back in Darkveil after several weeks away in the Arid Mesa helping with the Expeditionary Force's efforts. It had been a grueling and annoying venture, but coming home is only somewhat of a relief. There was no time to rest and recuperate with all the work he had to do in the Ash Lands. But maybe at least he'd be able to get a proper bath. 

The fellblood glances over at Caedes and Charlotte.

"Good day," he greets them before taking off his cloak and hanging it up on a hook on the wall.

He then steps over to the kitchen area to get himself a glass of water, not wanting to interrupt their conversation more than his arrival already had. 

The sound of the heavy metal door swinging open in the common room does interrupt the small banter between man and beast; but Zarius’ not-so-quiet arrival is still punctuated by a tiny and sheepish, “_{Hi, Zarius...}” from Charlotte all the same; her voice sounds a little perkier, but it’s hard to read whether her mood has shifted, or whether she’s mastered the art of bluffing.

It’s hard to tell with her distinct lack of facial features.

"Ooooh, look who's made it back." Caedes tilts back on his chair with a heel, closing the leather-bound book in front of him; he glances over his shoulder at Zarius as the fellblood moves into the kitchen wordlessly, before allowing his chair to fall onto all fours again. “Good day to you too,” he greets, mirroring Zarius’ polite wording. "Or, should I say... actually, no, I won't say that for your sake."

A soft laugh from an unspoken joke punctuates the quiet atmosphere of the hideout; and while he does so, he pushes himself out of his seat and meanders into the kitchen after casting a side-long glance at the discarded ash at the doorstep. 'Welcome home my ashen rose,' is a greeting that he feels might get him in more trouble than the joke is worth, but he internally files that away for a day when Zarius hasn't come back from a week's long absence.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, I almost forgot what you looked like.”

His taunting is punctuated by a small hop; and ultimately, he perches effortlessly with one leg crossed over the other on the kitchen counter while speaking. Charlotte has already moved off of Caedes' arm, perching just behind his shoulder as she tends to do. He offers Zarius a lazy side glance, briefly glancing over him to gather anything about the Fellblood's mood; with things between them still a bit weird... he doesn't really want to push his luck.

Yet, at the same time, letting awkward silence fill the air between them is so, so much worse sometimes.

“And how were your outings with the wonderful expeditionary force that I have ever only heard you say good things about?”

"Hello, Miss Charlotte, have you been keeping Caedes out of trouble while I have been absent?" It was sometimes hard to hear the quiet spider, but he'd gotten a lot better at knowing when to expect her few words and far between words. 

He shoots Caedes a teasing smirk as if daring him to say it what he was alluding to. Unluckily for the assassin, the fellblood was still energetic enough to throw a well aimed punch if needed. Not that he had ever retaliated with violence against Caedes. Their ribbing was all in good fun.

"You are being dramatic." It was good to hear the changeling's teasing again, he would be lying if he said he hadn't missed it. "It likely did not feel as long for you as it did for me."

Without the cloak on, it was obvious that the trip had not been an easy one. Zarius' typical travel outfit was frayed and dirty. There were even some significant gashes through the back of his coat like some long claws had torn through it. Dark ruddy stains are enough evidence that whatever it was had drawn blood.

The fellblood himself did not look injured currently, but he did seem exhausted from the trip. It was slight, but his movements were slower, less precise, and there was the tiniest tremor in his hands as he finds a glass and fills it with water from a tapped cask against the far wall of the kitchen. 

He takes a long drink from the glass before leaning back against the counter. 

"Even more annoying than I anticipated," he answers. "They have managed to sucker in so many others whose skills they are foolheartedly wasting on menial tasks. I am fully convinced that this was mainly pushed by the Crown to make the guilds look more unified and strong in light of what happened previously in the Arid Mesa."

Zarius swirls the water around in his glass as he talks. The troll threat was real, but as far as this whole Troll King situation was concerned, he hadn't heard if anyone had confronted it yet. Chances were that he'd be called back there again at this rate, and given how much of a pain the smaller ones were, he wasn't keen on facing off the larger one. 

"I am glad to be home, Darkveil chaos is much more to my tastes." He takes another drink from the glass before glancing over his shoulder at the assassin. "And you? What have you been up to in the meantime?"

“_Uh-huh.” Charlotte’s tiny voice answers without missing a beat; and is met with a flabbergasted noise of mock surprise. “You think I would go out and start trouble? Me? I’m hardly a trouble maker.” Charlotte offers him a tiny side glance. “… Shush, Char, I can feel all eight of your eyes on me.”

Charlotte giggles in response, disappearing behind his back, her voice still tiny as ever.

“Really… well, I’m flattered you missed me that much.” The sarcasm is practically palpable in his voice; Caedes leans back, resting his shoulders back against the wall while he remains perched on the countertop. 

Charlotte emerges from his other side, scaling across the counters with small tip-taps of her eight legs.

He watches the small tremors; ripples in the glass that Zarius is holding; and listens while the fellblood complains about the Expeditionary Force once more while he takes in his current state.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what it was,” he remarks, his tone taking on less of a jest; as he can, sometimes, hold a conversation. “You look like they’ve been running you ragged; how much longer are you planning to put up with their nonsense?” His question is punctuated by a slight sigh; he focuses on ruddy stains in the fellblood’s clothing, and the generous gashes left in the fabric. “Before you run out of travel wear, I hope.”

He has no doubt Zarius has probably had to abuse that vial around his neck to stay in good shape after whatever bullshit the Expeditionary Force has asked him to do; he can’t see any outward wounds, but the evidence of them certainly remains; and it causes pinpricks of latent concern.

Whatever the Expeditionary Force is doing, it isn’t fully menial tasks; or perhaps, it’s menial tasks with unshared… complications. “As acquired a taste as the Darkveil brand of chaos is… at least it’s mostly predictable.” He admits, resting his folded hands against his abdomen while he lounges back. “Prowling, nosing around, irritating your sister; you know, the usual.” He answers, bumping the back of a boot idly into the cabinet below.

It gives a low, hollow thump.

“The Dancer’s Den has been unusually occupied the last few weeks with the summer festivities beginning… I have some potential contacts for you to review, some interesting visitors, and some leads into…” he trails off, gaze drifting slightly from the fellblood; a slight wave of unease dampens the atmosphere around the changeling. “… what may have happened to my sisters. We’ll talk about it some other time.” He pulls himself out of a full lounge, and sits up straight on the counter; truthfully, the Dancer’s Den was one of his chosen locations almost exclusively for the fact that his sisters had worked their floors prior to their death.

It was one of the last places they were seen; but the dancer's at the den can be tight-lipped; and Darkveil is so very used to keeping its secrets under lock and key.

"Hopefully not much longer. But it has its benefits. I have managed to catch up with some of my other contacts who were also dragged into the guild. And I may have actually secured an ally who may prove to be useful later."

Leandros may be a pain to deal with sometimes, but having a contact within the Crown's military who isn't completely head over heels for the monarchy is never a bad thing. The knight could provide information and insights which would help them continue to evade the law and maybe even push their own agendas into the political sphere of Capitol Landing.

Zarius sets down the glass and starts taking off the wraps around his arms. Some tiny rocks and dirt that was trapped in the wrappings falls out onto the floor as he does. He sighs and folds the wraps before placing them on the counter and reach under the counter for duster and dust pan. 

"Well luckily enough, I have a well stocked closet."

He cleans up the mess and dumps the dirt into a waste bin. 

A chuckles escapes him at the very vague recap of what the changeling had been up to while he was away.

"Be careful. Eameia may not be one to throw punches, but she can more than hold her own with her magic."

He has no doubt that his younger sister could easily send both men flying if she had any whim to do so. Gods know they had given her more than plenty of reason to do as much. 

After he puts the dust pan away, he heads over to the nearest private room to the kitchen and starts taking off his other gear. Better to not make more of a mess in the kitchen. He still listens to Caedes as he continues to explain what he's been up to, and the last comment catches his attention just as he's gotten his jacket off. 

He leans out of the door and looks at the changeling seriously. 

"We can talk about it now if you want. I can make time."

Admittedly, he'd been so busy as of late that the whole hunting down the Crimson Hand and helping Caedes get revenge had to wait. He's certain the assassin was frustrated and tired of sitting on the side lines, even if he hasn't expressed feeling that way. Family was important to both of them, and Zarius couldn't imagine being as patient as Caedes has been if he was in the same situation. 

“At least they’re good for something.” The changeling bemoans, watching while Zarius unwinds the wraps off his arms; he hears the plink and tink of small rocks hitting the floor below and breathes a chuckle beneath his breath. “Aside from the souvenirs and headaches, that is… who’s the new connection?”

Caedes idly swings a leg, glancing up towards the ceiling while he listens to the sound of the duster and dust pan brushing across the floor. Gods, the Rha’Oriyn are neat and tidy; even when they’re about to fucking keel over.

“And yet, she hasn’t blasted me back into the grave yet.” Caedes points out jokingly, making light as Zarius is putting the dust pan away; he has no doubt that Eameia could if she really wanted to. She has every reason to do that and more. “I’ll start worrying about your sister when she finally sends me on a one-way trip to the Moonglade… Besides, what fun is gambling if there’s no risk attached?”

It’s all jesting and good fun, of course; or, it’s meant to be.

When Zarius leans out the door of the private room, Caedes blinks back at him and chuffs; Zarius’ return is a boon to him, if only so that he doesn’t need to think about these things; vampirism has a significant lack of vices attached to it, after all. “Fine; but go, you can multitask,” he remarks in a loose snicker, waving a hand in Zarius’ direction with the intent to keep speaking while the fellblood at least makes himself comfortable.

“My sisters took lessons from a fellblood dancer from the Den when I was very young. I don’t remember her much but in name because she… ‘disappeared’ before I really got to meet her in any significant way.” He leans back into the wall behind the counter, swinging one leg absently while he rests his hands over his stomach. “She came back not long before what happened. Disappeared again after. I keep hearing her name now and then before the dancers clam up, but it seems she’s vanished again.”

His sisters referred to her as an auntie; distant, fond memories of a past teacher; and stories he didn’t necessarily care to listen to in detail as a child. In hindsight, he probably should have; he has the foggiest recollection, but she simply wasn’t a large part of his life.

“…Given how intimate the attack really was, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think her sudden reappearance may not have been coincidence. They weren’t home that night; they were at the Den.” He takes a breath, “I don’t have enough lead to say that she was involved for sure… but I want to look into her further.”

"A knight from Capitol Landing named Leandros Aurthurian. He is a goodie-two-shoes but not completely delusional about the issues with the Crown's rule."

Perhaps the knight would come in handy with a few of the fellblood’s other investigations, including finding out more about what happened to Kamille’s father and who all in the capitol was aware of Delaela. It wasn’t completely likely, he was just a foot soldier after all. But who knows, maybe he had some higher up connections that also shared his skepticism of the Crown.

He shakes his head. Caedes was lucky that Eameia was more than used to dealing with pesky siblings. Zarius could take some credit for that considering he is the pesky sibling. He’s not actually that worried about the two getting along. Given how Eameia had confided in Caedes after the whole Red Rogue debacle, it was pretty clear she trusted the assassin quite a lot.

Zarius gets changed into a clean set of more casual clothes while listening to Caedes explains his interest in this mysterious dancer woman. He pulls his coat and belts off and tosses them onto a chair in the corner of the room before starting to unbutton his shirt. The timing of the woman’s appearances and disappearances definitely seemed suspicious, no wonder the changeling was looking into her.

"If you have a name then we certainly can leverage our network. Lady Uldreyn may know a thing or two about it if the dancers will not say anything. I can ask the proprietor of the Dancer’s Den as well, she might be more willing to speak to me than Miss Mei." 

He leans back out of the doorway again. “No offense.”

Caedes skills were no doubt handy in many situations, but sometimes it took a more recognizable face to get things moving forward. Zarius’ societal rank wasn’t meant just as a title to boast of, it was a tool to get them into places they couldn’t before and use as leverage in whatever situation called for a little more force.

The fellblood disappears behind the door frame once more as he finishes changing. Pulling off his boots is a huge relief, but there’s another clatter of stones he picked up in the Arid Mesa across the floor. Running his hand through his hair, he desperately needed a long bath, but it would take some time to heat up water. For the time being, he just finishes changing by swapping his travel outfit for a pair of slacks and a fresh button up shirt.

As he’s fixing one of the cuffs of the shirt, he steps back out of the room into the common area.

"Have you noticed any movement from the Crimson Hand while I have been away?" He asks as he looks for a kettle and starts prepping the stove to heat up some water he can use to wash up with.

Rooting around in the lower cabinet, it looks like they were running low on kindling. He'd have to make sure to let Eameia know that they need to restock. There's enough to at last the next few days at least.

Unfortunately, the fellblood has made a fatal mistake and as he reaches towards the back of the cabinet, his fingers brush against something furry which quickly retaliates by sinking its sharp nails and teeth into this hand.

"OW!" He jerks back and lo and behold, Ebony is dangling from his hand.

The fellblood winces and resists the urge to throw the cat across the room and instead pries her off of him, placing her on the counter before going back to getting the wood. 

Ebony's bobbed tail flits back and forth and makes biscuits on the edge of the counter, purring loudly at her successful sneak attack. Her wide eyes then lock onto Caedes. It's clear the cat's schemes were far from over. 

He laughs, “Leandros Aurthurian?” Caedes repeats, drawing each syllable of the stranger’s last name out. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a name more fitting to a knight of the Capitol… Sounds very… noble.” It’s a name which sounds eloquent and strong; finding a knight willing to admit that the Crown’s rule has its faults is a rarity, indeed. “It’s hard to find willing inside information on the Capitol.” Caedes swings a leg idly, listening to the rustling in the next room until Zarius’ voice cuts into the static.

He furrows his brows, a snicker quirking the edges of his lips when Zarius pops around the doorframe to offer a subtle, ‘No offense’. “None taken… it’s not her fault I’m pretty. I’d hate to intimidate her with my presence.” His bluff is punctuated by a soft laugh; he’s not disillusioned to why exactly she would be more willing to speak with Zarius. “But I would appreciate it, if you have the time. I’m still barely allowed in the back rooms, let alone in the presence of the proprietor, herself.”

It’s a natural consequence of the abilities that he possesses; it’s hard to gain notoriety when one must remain anonymous. Zarius is a constant; either reliable, or unreliable; depending on the individual at hand… Caedes, however, doesn’t have that luxury of being known and making a name for himself.

It would get him killed.

His current status forces him to remain anonymous; to start from the bottom of the ladder as someone else; and work his way up without his namesake. Mei did get him into the door of the Dancer’s Den with her looks and her charisma; but the simple truth is that she’s nothing but a part-time face brought in on a happenstance of favour. It’s taken him time—too much time— to weasel into the life and partial trust of the locale again; to gather what information he has in the face of dancers that he once did, and now can not know.

Earning trust is not a glamorous job, nor is it one full of danger or excitement; it’s just chaotic nights serving in a party bar. Gathering information and gossip where possible.

Alcohol loosens lips, after all.

Anonymity has its perks.

His gaze lingers briefly on Zarius as the fellblood makes his way out of the private room while adjusting the cuff of one of his sleeves. He takes a controlled breath as he thinks about the question, “Every once in a while, an officer I recognize comes into the Den. They don’t talk business while they’re there, though… Although, everyone and their cousin has more than enough stories about the Hand moving in on territory that doesn’t belong to them, or jacking up their protection prices around the outskirts of Darkveil.”

Caedes listens to the click of the stove, idly speaking until Zarius yelps. The changeling jumps, tensing up as he looks at Zarius in surprise; but after a moment, and a quick realization, he bursts into laughter. “Oh shit, that’s where she went.” He snickers, “I thought my ankles have been suspiciously unbitten lately.” He promptly changes tune once Zarius sets her on the counter, however.

“Hey— I don’t want her up here with me,” he objects, quickly hopping off the counter to avoid Ebony’s adorable, but inevitable wrath while she bakes biscuits on the nearby countertop. He locks eyes with the little menace once his feet touch the floor, and he narrows his eyes back at her. “Absolutely not,” he warns the feline, “Don’t make me regret not leaving you under the table where I found you.”

He circles around to Zarius’ other side, unabashedly using him as a buffer between himself and the cat. “As I was saying… some poor bastard was in there last week just about drinking himself right into the grave over their heavy-handed racketeering with his restaurant. They’re not making any big moves from what I can tell, but they’re being unnaturally…” he trails off. “…predatory.”

Caedes' attempts to avoid the tiny feline were cute, but Ebony is not one to be so easily deterred. She is a patient hunter. She will simply wait until Caedes least expects it before launching an attack on his delicate ankles. So is her purpose in this realm of existence, to fell the two-leggers any way possible. Her diminutive form does make accomplishing that lofty goal more challenging though.

Zarius chuckles. "To think such an intimidating master assassin would be afraid of a tiny cat."

As if he is one to talk. Ebony does not discriminate between targets when it comes to the pair.

The cat's eyes stay locked on Caedes as he hides behind Zarius. The verbal warning is hardly effective in dissuading the very clear intentions to try again. 

Perhaps it would be better if Ebony was not a resident of one of the safehouses if she was going to cause problems for those who need the space to rest between jobs. As tempting as it is to leave her with someone like Del or Cyran, he doubts they would continue to have such patience with him if he subjected them to such torment. 

"I will ask Eameia to take her home next time she visits," he says as he starts building up kindling in the stove. "For both our sakes."

No doubt Eameia would object, but their mother would likely welcome the chaotic fur ball's presence even if other members of the family were less than thrilled. 

Zarius listens to Caedes report on the situation with the drunkard. It was certainly disconcerting that the Crimson Hand was leveraging the discourse in Darkveil to put pressure on the locals. It was a risky move considering many people were either disappearing or leaving the city out of fear, paranoia, or self-preservation. If the Ashen Fathers weren't careful, they could lose all the people they are so keen to extort.

Worst case scenario, the infighting and competition between the criminal syndicates would lead to the complete economical collapse of Darkveil. Though there are likely people who would be more than happy to see Darkveil self-destruct, the displacement of its criminal underbelly would not be a good thing.

While not keen on the idea of relocating, Zarius has considered a few options that could be viable should his family have to flee Darkveil for good. Zeinav City may seem like an obvious choice, but given his mother's history with the Scorched Ones and Zarius' last interaction with the Sultan, it was ultimately out of the question. Sol City was also not an option he was willing to entertain. Thorock had too much local competition, as did Thunderhoof. Lilicors was too small and remote, and his family would likely hate living in the Pale City. That left Eclipse City and Starlight City as the best of the major cities. Still not great options, but at least he has allies in Moonglade and the Crescent Isles to lean on in an emergency. 

After he gets the stove lit, he stands up and stretches out his back. 

"It would not shock me at all if they were taking more aggressive action as more people move out. It does not bode well though."

He steps over to the water keg to fill a kettle with water; then he places it on the stove as it heats up. 

"If they are working towards some sort of big move, we need to be on high alert."

His voice grows a bit more gravel-y towards the end of that statement. He clears his throat and takes a breath. 

Gods.

He fills up another glass of water to try and push the constant irritating burning in the back throat back down if only for a small moment of reprieve. 

“Hey,” Caedes shoots Zarius a bemused warning glance without bite, “I am not afraid of a tiny cat; in fact, cat is a generous term to describe her.” His objections to Zarius’ teasing, however, do take his attention off the small void waiting for her opportunity to victimize his ankles. Again. “A minuscule menace, or even a tiny terror, is significantly more fitting. As small as her teeth and claws may be, that cat has an agenda and even Eameia would agree with me on that.”

Of course, as much of a menace Caedes genuinely believes Ebony is, he does hold fondness for the feline; as much as a man frequently harassed by the tiny cat and her razor sharp claws can.

Caedes looks past Zarius to where Ebony is sitting, narrowing his eyes almost challengingly at her when Zarius mentions Eameia. “She’s going to hate you for that,” he immediately reminds him, “You’re going to subject your family to Ebony’s wrath?”

He’s not met Zarius’ family, so, he doesn’t entirely know how good-natured they may or may not be; Eameia is the exception, but the rest…

He brushes it off, watching the fires lick between kindling as it lights; Caedes leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and crossing a leg, while Zarius stands again. “It doesn’t, but…” Caedes trails off; his eyes turn away from the fellblood, and he closes his lips.

How does he word this without sounding sympathetic?

Because the truth is, there are confusing sympathies lingering amongst feelings of hate, victimization, and frustration.

Zarius never worked for the Crimson Hand. Zarius never knew Caelum, but… he did.

He knew how they had operated, and it was never like this; by no means were they good people, of course; but the Crimson Hand’s ashen father had always been a man to value their reputation. When their officers became power-hungry, money-grubbing, and blood-thirsty just like any other— their solution was to put them down; and to make an example out of their starving ambitions for those who took their place not to step out of line.

His family weren’t above hunting their own to maintain balance; and the orders always came from the top when they did. Some might say because of that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when the knife turned on them; delivering a sort of bloody karma that they had dealt on so many over the years they were in practice.

This sort of power-grab from the Crimson Hand feels… unusual; it’s too strong, too risky, too unlike the way he’s used to their operations running. It’s unabashed and unafraid; heavy handed; but at the same time, how much did he actually know the man behind the Hand in the first place?

Clearly not enough; so who is he to talk?

A similar sickening feeling strikes him; a queasy discomfort that heavies his chest and twists his stomach. He doesn’t like to think of himself as an anxious man, but thinking too hard into what occurred— the betrayal that his family faced from someone considered family— physically twists him inside.

Who can you trust at the end of the day?

He lifts his gaze as Zarius places the kettle on the stove; lazily, the changeling tilts his head to keep the flickering flames in his peripheral vision. “It’s just unusual for them to use this kind of tactic.” He admits, his voice quieter than usual; but the conversation barely continues forwards.

He looks at Zarius, brows furrowing when the fellblood chokes up; he stifles a sigh, tilting a hip to lean his shoulder into the nearby wall while he watches the fellblood fill up another glass. His stomach turns for an entirely different reason; one which feels just as horrid, but in a different kind of way.

The shadows in the room seem to twitch in the corners of his eyes, as if sinking away.

“Have you talked to Eameia about that cough yet?”

"That is hardly anything new," Zarius shrugs.

He's always had a friendly sibling rivalry with his sister. They competed against one another as children and continued to support one another's ambitions into adulthood. Despite their bickering, they're very close and Zarius attributes much of his own success to the support his sister has provided.

"My mother will likely be thrilled. She loves pets but we never really had any growing up because my father did not want to have animal hair on all his clothes."

It was true. They never had any pets inside the house. Well, officially. There was more than one instance where Zewala had been caught by the staff attempting to lure in strays off the street with food.

"I imagine my younger brother will not be as thrilled." Admittedly, imagining how Karize would react to being chased down by the tiny kitten was highly entertaining.

Zarius glances at Caedes as the changeling comments on the unusual nature of the Crimson Hands' recent activity. It was unsettling to hear that the group is behaving out of the ordinary since that made them more unpredictable. Caedes was the most familiar with them, but if their course of action was even stumping him, then how were they meant to prepare to counteract anything they try to pull. 

Caedes question doesn't come as a surprise as Zarius' cough interrupts the conversation about the Crimson Hand. The changeling had expressed concern before, why would that have changed. At least this time, he does have more to say about it. 

"I have, and we do need to talk about it."

He leans back against the counter, gathering his thoughts and deciding where to even start with his theories about what was going on with himself. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation, and he barely had an explanation with any certainties. While he's put some of the pieces together as best as he can, there still were many big questions left without answers. 

"Before the Marrowvine's Black Harvest Ball, I started to notice that there are things I can do that I was never trained in. I do not really know how I can do them, but it came almost naturally.” He holds out his hand and it alights in blue flames.^[1]

“Some of it I have control over but…” He closes his fist and extinguishes the flame, lowering his hand and looking down at it as he traces the lines in his palm with his fingers. “But there have been a few times where I did lose myself. When that happens, I do not remember much. It is as if I had fallen unconscious or just was not present anymore. Admittedly, I did not think much of it, then young Astrid claimed I attacked her and more recently Snow confirmed that they witnessed me trying to kill Lady Kamille.”

It's hard to admit to and it only drives home how much he has neglected to address the severity of his condition up until this point. If he had been successful in harming either of them, there would have been hell to pay.

He takes another breath, slow and deep to keep from agitating his throat more before he continues. "Luckily they were both able to fend me off but these are not isolated cases. I think it happened in the Arid Mesa during the fight against Ziev, and when I was with Gerhart and Mister Wolfe fighting an Origin Matter, and it nearly happened more recently when I was injured while abroad."

None of it could be counted as mere coincidence anymore. Something was wrong with him. Very wrong. 

"My best guess for some time was that I picked up some sort of demon during my adventures. Considering there was an instance between meeting you and the ball I actually came into contact with all manner of fiends, it seemed the most likely."

He grows quiet for a moment, a dark expression crossing his face as he stares into the bottom of his glass. 

"But Eameia says that she has felt some of the same symptoms as I have, though to a much lesser degree. She has been looking into it for a few months now but has had little success. She has tried to reach out to others for help but it is difficult due to how many enemies we have. If they were to find out, who knows what they would try to leverage the situation against us."

Shifting his weight a bit, he places the glass down and folds his arms one over the other. His gaze meets Caedes', and for a moment he doesn't know what else to add. Nothing he can say would bring any reassurance to a situation full of too many unknowns for comfort. All he can do is be honest with the assassin. It's the least he owes him. 

"We do not know what this thing is, or what it wants, or what will happen to us the stronger it gets. All we know is that it is dangerous. I understand if-" he pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and gathering his nerve. "If you can no longer rely on me as you have before now that you are armed with this knowledge. I understand that I am a liability to your goals if I cannot control this thing."

---

[1] Art of the Burning Fist

He laughs softly, rolling his eyes over Zarius’ dismissive answer.

He’s seen Eameia’s love for her family at its strongest before. Zarius, he can easily presume, is likely no different. Everything he does is for his family; at least, as far as the changeling can see; and it’s one of the many reasons the fellblood has earned his respect.

So, he has no doubt that their relationship will remain unscarred despite Ebony’s sharp little claws.

He chuckles when Zarius brings up his mother and younger brother; two individuals he’s only heard of in passing, but never truly met. “For your mother’s sake, I hope she’s not too disappointed when she finds out your cat is actually just a menace to society.” He remarks, playfulness lacing his tone. “She’s going to terrorize your poor family.”

When Zarius does stifle his cough and admits that he has talked to his sister, that aforementioned playfulness vanishes. The tone of Zarius’ voice brings about a wave of apprehension with it, and Caedes’ shoulders naturally tense. Even if he was the one to bring it up, there’s an… uncertainty, to what’s about to be said that leaves him feeling ill.

“Alright… I’m here.” He agrees, letting his usual snark bleed from his tone. Subconsciously he straightens his posture while Zarius starts to speak.

Blue flames glint against the fellblood’s charcoal skin, bringing to mind the night of the Red Rogue when Zarius reaches out; it reminds him of a painfully primal fear that had overwhelmed him in the light of that same fire. That overwhelming feeling, perhaps, makes some sense in the context that Zarius brings; of losing himself to something else; but he can’t be sure that’s what happened then.

However, it makes some sense that she would recoil from something like that.

It’s not good news; and while he didn’t necessarily expect good news on this topic, Caedes can feel his heart sink nonetheless. He watches the way Zarius studies his hand; each breath he takes slow as he continues. Caedes lowers his lashes; he doesn’t interrupt, allowing Zarius to speak for as long as he may; but he listens closely.

He only distantly remembers the fight against Ziev; but he can’t trust his memory on those moments between stepping into the void and leaving it. At some point, everything branches; it becomes a kaleidoscope of what happened, what might have happened, and what could have happened. Distantly, he recalls Zarius being there; but he also recalls what didn’t make sense at the time in relation to the fellblood.

Maybe in this context, it does make some sense.

Caedes opens his eyes and tilts his face up to look across the kitchenette at Zarius; he watches his expression darken as he admits that even Eameia has felt symptoms of this. The changeling’s stomach turns at the revelation; anxiety sinks its claws into his chest; and he has to take a moment to still himself.

For a moment, he can’t quite meet Zarius’ eyes.

“If you can no longer rely on me as you have before now that you are armed with this knowledge. I understand that I am a liability to your goals if I cannot control this thing.”

There’s a way out in Zarius’ words; and by all means, the smart choice would be to cut his ties. What Zarius is describing is unlike even what he has with her. Something unpredictable, unknown— something perhaps contagious. A curse or a demon; or perhaps multiple; dragged along from another realm to heavy the fellblood’s already generous amount of burdens. It’s all something that Caedes has no reason to get involved in through the nature of their deal. Then again, the same could be said about much that the changeling has gotten into on behalf of Zarius, Eameia, or the whole of the Rha’Oriyn. Whom he’s not even met, for hell’s sake.

… but even if it is the smart thing to do, Caedes has never claimed to be a smart man. He can tell himself that it’s the deal; and he could tell himself that it’s loyalty to a friend.

But both are only minimally true.

The sigh that breaks the silence is one that mingles with despondence; and the changeling pushes himself off the wall. Caedes rubs the back of his neck as he silently strides into the kitchen where Zarius has been standing, and he quietly leans against the opposite counter to face him. He pushes his palms against the corner of the smooth surface.

It’s not often, if ever, that he sees Zarius try to open up like this; having grown up in Darkveil, vulnerability isn’t an easy, nor safe, thing to admit. “Look,” he breathes, “I appreciate you telling me all of that, that’s…” His pale gaze drifts away, voice lacking in its usual playfulness in light of the situation at hand. “…that’s not easy.” He shifts slightly, lowering his lashes while he crosses an ankle over the other.

A part of him wants to apologize; it bleeds empathy and guilt.

A part of him knows he should have known, perhaps asked, sooner about this; and he didn’t.

He takes a breath, lifting his gaze back to Zarius. “Still, knowing what you’ve told me, I don’t plan on going anywhere.” He blinks, turning his eyes away again. “…Pacts can be broken and curses can be banished; if this thing is a fiend or a demon, or... multiple... it’s not impossible to get rid of it. Maybe hard, but not impossible.” He blinks again, expression softening subtly when he glances back at him.

“If you’d let me, I want to help. It’s not exactly common knowledge, but my family had…” Something about what he’s about to say seems to make him falter, but it’s only fair that Zarius knows. It could put some pieces together, including the fact that he's even alive— to its most minimal degrees— at this moment. “…their hands in these kind of things. I might have some bridges and some contacts to burn; my father had more than I do, but... it's something. No one needs to know that you or your family are involved— I wouldn't want to put any of you in that kind of position.”

Another pause; this one is harder to voice; it's hard because, by all means, he doesn't want to stand idle while something from another plane withers the fellblood from the inside out.

"But if you don't, then I understand. I can respect that."

Zarius can't help but chuckle at Caedes' vitriol for the small fuzzy creature that lurks in the shadows. "Menace to society is a little exaggerated. Menace to your ankles is more accurate."

The air in the safehouse feels heavier as the conversation treads into this heavy and unknown territory. He says his part, and then Caedes moves closer. He'd be lying if he didn't feel a wave of worry as the assassin closed the gap between them. There was some comfort in the physical distance, and now that has been reduced. He can't help but tense up, like a cat ready to bolt if given a good reason to. 

"Does not matter if it is easy or not. It is necessary." He states firmly, though his voice quiets a bit as he continues. "You needed to know. Now you know."

Caedes' response is both a surprise and not. The assassin has stood by the fellblood's side through a lot in such a short amount of time. While Zarius has no doubts that much of that is because of the access to his network, resources, and the security he offered the supposed-to-be-dead assassin, there's something deeply reassuring hearing the man has no intentions of leaving even when things have become so...complicated.

Hearing that the infamous Shadow Crawlers had some sort of occult shit going on in the background is not all that shocking. Caedes' abilities reek of the supernatural even beyond the whole vampire thing. He remembers watching all that Caedes could do during their confrontation in the warehouse what feels like only a few months ago. Those were not skills he could fathom copying just by training a bit more. The assassin was able to bend shadows to his will in terrifying ways without any evidence of having cast a spell. If it were mere spellcasting, Zarius wouldn't have lost that fight. 

He shakes his head at Caedes' final comment. While he appreciates Caedes leaving the space for him to make a decision and respecting whatever that decision is, he's not so proud to turn down a hand extended to him with an offer to help. 

"I would appreciate your help. I-" He hesitates and considers how to continue carefully.

This whole situation has been weighing on him for some time now, and finally coming to terms that he does not have control is difficult. He's more concerned about whether this thing's reach goes beyond himself and may endanger his family rather than his own well-being. Though he knows stating as such allowed would only garner criticism from the changeling especially after he gave the assassin such a hard time about making statements about not having anything left to lose. Such words were not true for either of them now. They had so much to lose. They had everything to lose.

He takes a breath. "I do not think this is something I can deal with on my own. I have already failed to control it more than once. To ignore that and continue on as if nothing is wrong would only invite disaster."

Meeting Caedes' gaze, he gives him a long look before the tension in his shoulders eases. 

"I trust you."

The pause following his offer is brief, but it feels long.

Caedes turns his head; he finds a particularly interesting stain in the floor and focuses on it. He doesn’t necessarily want to see Zarius’ expression: not the way his shoulders might grow taut, nor the way his eyes might narrow, as he considers the offer at hand.

The changeling’s mind is already running a mile a minute without trying to interpret the fellblood’s body language. He is trying to wrap his head around all of this; around what he can do; around how he can help; around the rational and irrational logic of it all; around how to handle himself should Zarius turn down an offer of help.

The shadows in the room feel heavy; watchful; their presence like a lingering predator at the edges of the room, flickering in his peripheral vision.

Disappointed.

The pawn of a fiend, himself, he would have never wished this feeling upon Zarius. Whatever has its hold on him has sunk its teeth in deep; although, to affect even Eameia in what he can only assume is its presence…

What the hell is it?

Caedes closes his eyes before turning to look at Zarius.

His gaze settles when he speaks again; and Caedes’ posture relaxes only minutely when the fellblood ultimately accepts his offer. Relief blooms in his chest; a brief but welcome respite from the heavy, twisting feelings that have risen.

He lowers his lashes, listening dutifully as Zarius continues; admitting that he’s failed to control this thing more than once.

He cannot imagine how devastating such a resolution must be.

A few rapid blinks bring Caedes back into their conversation.

He purses his lips as he meets Zarius’ gaze; and when the fellblood speaks again, the changeling’s expression flickers. The sentiment goes unanswered initially, and those simple words sink their claws deep into his core.

“I trust you.”

Trust is damaging.

Trust killed his family. Trust created the open wounds to twist the knife. Trust pulled their name through the mud. Trust left a bleeding scar; and then it saw him wake, chilled to the bone, at the curve of an ash-laden river outside Darkveil. Discarded.

Trust has done nothing but hurt him.

Yet, even knowing what it has done, it doesn’t stop Caedes from answering, “and I trust you,” with a softening gaze. It’s… easier to get the words out; easier than he expected to admit it.

He should be frightened by the ease.

And, he is; but there’s a certain resolution that comes with admission, too. Something that finally settles, coiling in his ribcage with a warmth that he thought he lost a very long time ago, and bringing with it something quiet and fragile.

The shadows flicker in his peripherals, and he ignores their protest.

He sighs, letting his head loll when he finally relaxes his shoulders and lets his guards down; and he offers Zarius a lopsided grin. “Clearly I do… I could never be so comfortable consistently mooching off of you, otherwise.” There’s a joking melody to the pitch of his voice. He crosses his ankles, one over the other, as he leans back against the countertop and breathes a chuckle.

“I will probably need to hunt down your sister; see what she has already found, what little there is, and the questions that still need answers. Although, I’m sure you know them as well, if not more, than she does.” He turns his gaze, “And… what to do, what to look for, should it ever arise; how to handle it.” He doesn’t want to push, but at the same time, this is… a lot.

He blinks, resting his attention on Zarius once more. “Obviously, you decide how much you want me involved; but, I will be here, regardless.”