The concert hall was vibrant with the orchestra in the throes of a concerto. The audience erupted with applause as the piece ended.

Kaiza stood up among the other woodwinds, bending her knee and bowing her head in tandem with the rest. Her face was flushed from the extended song, spackles of sweat on her brow. She smiled widely as her brown eyes scanned the audience from behind her round-framed glasses.

Four empty chairs caused her smile to wane. She put on a polite one, took another bow, and filed off the stage.

Kaiza undid her ponytail before turning her attentions to disassembling her heckelphone. She looked up from her task only when the backstage doors opened, but visitors bearing flowers did not so much as glance her way.

She changed from her long, black skirt and white, button-up blouse into a floral tunic and jeans. She switched her heels for clogs, grabbed her sack-bag of clothes, and shouldered her heckelphone case.

It was dark outside the concert hall; night having settled in during the lengthy performance. The humidity was stifling with a stickiness in the air and on the concrete.

Kaiza pulled out her phone, going to the last page where her rideshare app was.

She jolted as a car horn beeped. “Kaiza! Over here!”

Her mother was leaning out the SUV window, waving at her.

Kaiza trotted over with a smile on her face. She wrenched open the back door, her smile flickering at the empty seats. The front passenger seat was also vacant save a grocery store bouquet.

She unloaded her stuff in the back before joining her mother in the front. She played with the flowers, sniffing them.

                “Did you see any of it,” Kaiza asked.

                “A bit in the middle, I think.” There was a pause. “We couldn’t get the boys ready quick enough, so Dad stayed back with them. And then I realized no one bought you flowers, and so many of the other parents had flowers, so I left before the crowd to get some.”

                “They’re very pretty,” Kaiza said.

                “I’ll have Dad buy some roses for your play. We should get some carnations too so that your brothers can toss them at the stage.”

Kaiza put forth her support for the idea. She gazed out the window as they drove home.

The thick curtain rose, and Kaiza was washed with the lights and applause. Kaiza joined hands with her fellow wood nymphs, stepped forward, and bowed. She squinted fruitlessly at the blur that was the audience without her glasses, gaining no information before she dashed back with her line to make space for the leads to bow.

Kaiza left her line to join the crew line, repeating the bowing process. She dashed off the stage once the curtain fell, maneuvering about the chaos with her hands out to guard against bumping into someone or something in the mess.

She opted to remove her makeup but kept the costume to save time. She donned her frames and hurried from backstage.

Her parents and brothers were not among those waiting for the performers.

                “Hey, Kaiza, awesome work on the forest sets.” She was handed a bouquet of roses. “These came for you.”

The note included was an apology for not showing up, explaining that her brothers both got into something and were vomiting everywhere.

Kaiza wrinkled her nose at the image and headed out to find a ride.

The kitchen was modest in size and bright. The appliances and fixtures were new, but the floor was made of outdated linoleum. There was a table with two chairs and two short benches off to the side. The center counter had a taller section with three barstools.

Kaiza sat at the counter munching on a bologna sandwich. Her hair was tied up in a knot. She wore a simple, tasteful navy dress.

Identical twin boys around seven came tearing into the kitchen. The one wearing blue snatched a handful of chips off Kaiza’s plate as they dashed through on their way to the living room.

Kaiza stood to brush off the crushed chips that her brother had not successfully carried off.

                “What are you doing eating,” her mother asked as she entered the kitchen. “You’re going to be late for the gallery! Go wash up and do your face.”

Kaiza eyed the rest of her sandwich before retreating to the upstairs bathroom.

The bathroom was small with a double vanity squeezed where a single would have fit better. Damp towels of various sizes were all over the floor and counterspace. Toys were cluttering the bathtub, and the toilet seat was up.

Kaiza pulled open one of the mirror cabinets above the sink, standing on her toes to reach the makeup bag on the top shelf.

She removed her glasses to dab on some mascara, leaving that the only decoration for her eyes. She ignored the foundation and concealer, just applying a maroon lip balm that tasted vaguely of raspberries.

-------------------

I did this one after the Hazel thing to see if it was the story as a whole that I liked comic style for, or if it was character specific. It's the story. But the idea with this was to highlight Kaiza, so you have this big sister, overachiever who has a heck of a lot of extracirriculars that she does good to great in. Orchastra, theater, photography (where I stopped), and then she was going to get an academic achievement award, and it was going to end with her meeting her student advisor Mr. Gedney. I think if I ever start being consistent and typing more, I'll get to Witchboy and I'm pretty sure Kaiza's achievements will come out in story even if it's just casual talks. How she met Mr. Gedney will, so I didn't feel like I needed to finish this.

A green glowstick cut the darkness with a crack.

Hazel stared into the trees beyond the glow, his ears straining.

The girl at his side slowly rose, holding the glowstick over her head. “I can’t hear them anymore. We should be okay to move.”

The woods were nothing more than a line of old trees separating two cul-de-sacs. The cookie cutter houses all had their lights on. Shadowy figures paced in front of many of the lit windows.

He stuck near the girl’s back as they carefully alternated between casually walking and sprinting through the neighborhood.

The sky was graying with pre-dawn once they cleared the neighborhoods. The early risers were starting to leave their homes, either climbing into their cars idling in their driveways, or wandering sleepily to the bus stop.

The girl stopped feet away from the bus stop. “Hold my bag a sec.” She stuck the glowstick in her mouth, using both hands to rifle through the backpack. She extracted a red hoodie and continued digging.

Hazel allowed her to take back the backpack so that he was free to yank the hoodie over his head.

                “It’s a little tight, and not really in season, but I doubt anyone will look twice.” She handed him a transit pass. “This has enough on it to get us out of the city.” She hummed, cocking her head at him. “One more final touch….”

She removed her round-framed glasses and placed them on Hazel.

He was assaulted by a blur just different enough from the scenery to make his head hurt.

                “Can you see without these,” Hazel asked.

                “I’ll borrow them if I need to read something.” She clipped a streak of fake purple hair into her long, light brown hair. “Bus is here.”

They took seats beneath the monitor screen in the middle of the bus.

The monitor silently played the local weather predictions as the list of route stops scrolled along the bottom.

                “At least the weather looks nice this week.”

Hazel lowered the round frames to better stare at this girl.

She smiled sheepishly. “Just looking for a silver lining.”

A breaking news banner flashed onto the monitor. A police sketch with written description popped up: Witchboy At Large.

Hazel slid down, straightening at the sharp elbow in his ribs.

                “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “A generic description and rough sketch are nothing. Act casual.”

He stared out the window, but the creeping sense of eyes stealing looks at him kept him from taking in the scenery.

The lights inside the bus were too bright. It was too easy to stare at him, match him with the image and description on the screen. It needed to be darker. It needed to be much darker.

The lights flickered. The bus lurched.

An uneasy murmur buzzed through the bus.

                “Sometimes I wonder about these electric buses,” she muttered.

                “It needs to be darker…,” Hazel whispered.

                “What?”

The bus jerked to a halt as all the lights died.

The passengers expressed annoyance and unease at this, yelling at the driver accusations of not charging the bus or running out the battery.

The girl snatched her glasses from Hazel’s face, donning them, and looking around. She pulled him up and to the front of the bus.

                “Is this going to take long,” she asked the driver. “It’s our first day at work. We can’t be late. Can we get off?”

                “No refund on your passes. And, you’ll have to pull the manual opener. Obviously.”

The driver stood to address the other passengers while she pulled the lever to open the door. Hazel hopped out after her with no other course of action, and they jogged away from the dead bus.

                “Which way is your train station,” she asked once they rounded a corner.

Hazel stopped. “Wait… I need a minute.”

                “As long as it’s really a minute,” she said. “We don’t want to dawdle too long. People are going to start point fingers at any brown-haired teen boy before long.”

                “Who are you,” Hazel asked. “Where are we going? What about my dad? And just… everything!”

                “I’m Kaiza, and—.”

A police car’s siren gave a warning beep as it crawled by.

                “And that’s all for now,” Kaiza finished. “Train station, now?”

Hazel took the lead but stopped multiple times to get his bearings. He snuck a look at a placard with the city mapped out. The bold print and bright markers made it easy to locate their position and that of the train station.

It was a rectangular, brick building that did not stand out. The only thing that separated it out as a place of notice was the larger than average parking lot and the crowd shuffling inside.

Kaiza stepped over to read the timetable. “Is the last stop too obvious? Maybe we should do the second to last?”

                “Wouldn’t it be easier to use one of those rideshare things,” Hazel asked. “You could have the driver go all over if you wanted to lose a tail.”

                “Way too pricey, and then you get the problem of adding some other person to the mix,” Kaiza said. “And I don’t have my phone. And they’ll probably tip off those rideshare apps.”

She decided on the second to last stop.

Hazel took the window seat.

There was a familiarity about the rocking train and speeding scenery despite Hazel unable to recall when he would have ridden the train before. He searched for the memory, his eyelids growing heavy now that his adrenaline had calmed.

Kaiza’s voice added to the peace, Hazel aware she was explaining something but not aware enough to catch what it was. He murmured nothing in a vain attempt to converse before sleep won out.

Hazel stirred, his shoulder being shaken vigorously. He quickly realized he was still on the train and that Kaiza was the one rousing him.

The station was much smaller than the one they departed from. The landscape beyond being residential and spread out. There were few passengers left now, and fewer outside waiting to board.

                “How could I fall asleep,” Hazel muttered, rubbing his green eyes.

                “C’mon, the doors are going to close,” Kaiza urged, pulling Hazel from his seat.

They slipped through the doors as the whistle blew.

The clock above the train schedule indicated it was now midday. The mild weather caused Hazel to sweat in his borrowed hoodie.

Kaiza rested her backpack on the plastic seats bolted into the side of the station. “We should snack a bit. You aren’t allergic to nuts, are you? I got a peanut bar and a cashew bar? Your pick.”

Hazel finished the peanut bar in two bites. It dawned on him that he had not eaten since lunch yesterday, and that had been nibbles due to his anxiety over his secret being discovered.

His father was likely arrested for harboring him.

                “We should get moving,” Kaiza said, offering to take his wrapper from him. “It shouldn’t be too much of a hassle to walk to the last stop. Train stops aren’t horribly spread out if you’re willing to cut through yards.”

                “Won’t jumping fencing make people notice us more,” Hazel asked.

                “I meant more along the lines of unattended, un-fenced fields and the random, small parks, but I like the cautious thinking.” She frowned at the audible rumble from Hazel’s stomach. “Another reason to get moving; we can blend with the lunch goers at the next stop.”

They headed off.

Hazel tried to ignore the hunger pangs, but that peanut bar had teased his appetite. He had concerns much bigger than eating lunch.

Kaiza had told him her name, but that was not useful in knowing who she was and why she was outside his house. He was sure she was not associated with the witch finders; ushering him around in secret was too much trouble to simply hand him over.

                “So… may I ask something,” Kaiza said. “On the bus… with the power dying like that… was that you?”

                “Yes,” Hazel said hesitantly. “Or, probably. Possibly. …Yeah.”

                “That was so cool,” Kaiza squee’d. She cleared her throat. “It was pretty impressive, but so dangerous! And, kind of puzzling. Why’d you do that? No one noticed us.”

                “I don’t really know,” Hazel said sheepishly. “It’s like… sometimes I hyper-focus and can’t stop until something happens.”

Kaiza hummed. “I bet that’s because you don’t have any training.”

                “How’d you know that,” Hazel asked. “Are you a witch?”

                “I wish! That’d be awesome!” Kaiza kicked a dandelion head. “Just a mage-blooded that thinks magic is neat.”

He never gave his magic much thought, but on introspection, it was an amazing thing. He could do little more than turn lights and electric appliances on with a snap of his fingers, but it was a convenient trick.

His father did not like magic. It made him ridged and uneasy. Hazel was discouraged from using it and practicing it.

                “You still think it’s cool even though… well….” Hazel gestured to himself.

Kaiza adjusted her round frames. “I’m more in the mind of individuals. You seem like a good guy, so it’s still cool. If you were creepy, well, then I wouldn’t be doing any of this.”

                “Why are you doing this,” Hazel asked. “Actually… what are you doing? I don’t even know that much.”

Kaiza went mum as they turned a corner onto a busier street outside the last station on the line. Commuters lined up by the handful of food carts to grab something before heading off. The train sat empty with all the doors open for the cleaning crew to give it a once over before it went back down the tracks.

                “Grab us a seat down at the end of the track,” Kaiza said. “I’ll grab lunch.” She dug through her backpack, extracting a wallet, and passed her bag to Hazel. “We can chat over fries.”

He sat on the bench furthest from the food carts and open train doors. He felt the weight of Kaiza’s bag on his lap. He fingered the zipper, glanced to see where Kaiza was, and slowly gave it a tug.

The backpack was stuffed with shirts and caps. They ranged in size from toddler to early elementary, all sporty or boyish in style.

                “What are you doing?”

Hazel leapt up with one hand still in the bag. He ignored Kaiza’s expression, being too hungry to do anything but stare at the large order of chili cheese fries in her delicate hands. His face reddened at the extra loud rumble from his guts.

Kaiza set the fries on the bench between them, and relived Hazel of her backpack. She stuffed her wallet back among the clothing before zipping it up.

                “My advisor is on a mission to rescue witchboys,” Kaiza murmured. She smiled weakly. “I never expected to find one your age.”

Most witchboys were between two and five when they were caught and tried for witchcraft. His father plainly told him it was unusual for a witchboy to make it that far, typically the witch and her husband discarding sons much earlier to be on the safe side.

                “So you… browse the news for upcoming trails, and try to get to the witchboy before they’re executed,” Hazel questioned. “How many have you saved?”

Kaiza dropped her gaze. She plucked a fry from the tray, and stuck it in her mouth to avoid speaking.

It would be impossible to sneak a captive witchboy out of jail. It would be suicide to storm the gallows.

                “How long have you been doing this,” Hazel asked.

                “This is my first solo run,” Kaiza said. “I did go with my advisor twice before now.”

Hazel nodded that he heard her, his mouth too full to ask a follow-up. He took the napkins Kaiza pulled from her back pocket.

                “It was a total shot in the dark finding you,” Kaiza added. “With the other hangings, my advisor and me left immediately after, and then read about the witch finders going door-to-door looking for other witchboys well after the fact. I decided the best chance of really finding one and helping would be to stick around and keep an ear out after the hanging.” She beamed. “I’m ecstatic that it paid off.”

                “Same.”

They laughed lightly at the awkwardness of the situation.

They separated off to the bathroom after the fries were finished and the paper tray tossed.

Hazel studied his face as he washed his hands. There were bags under his green eyes and his skin was dull. The nap on the train did not combat all the exhaustion from being hunted all night.

He wrestled out of the hoodie after exiting the bathroom. The afternoon sun was bright in the cloudless sky.

Kaiza now had her hair tied up in a bun. The fake purple hair was removed, and her face was tinted red from washing it in the cold water.

                “Keep the sweatshirt,” Kaiza said. “It’ll be dark when we get in. It might get chilly.”

Hazel followed Kaiza way from the platform. “So… where are we going?”

The afternoon was uneventful filled with walking, another bus ride, and more walking. The sun was long down as the two of them found themselves at the mouth of a planned neighborhood surrounded by vast nothingness.

Kaiza’s orange glowstick and the moonlight shone enough to make out that the neighborhood sign read Rusty Blackbird Court. The road was paved, but only a single house was constructed among the cleared land.

Light shown from the first floor with a much weaker light akin to candlelight glowing from one of the second floor windows.

                “Hopefully Mr. Gedney is still awake and he didn’t just leave the lights on for us,” Kaiza said.

Hazel could not find the strength to add to her comment. He could not remember ever walking so much before. His feet hurt. His legs ached. He was sticky from sweat but chilled from that sweat cooling beneath the sweatshirt.

Kaiza led him into the house.

The house was sparsely furnished and what furniture was there looked like random pieces off a showroom floor. The light fixtures were in different styles. The walls were different shades of off-white and cool gray.

Hazel dragged behind Kaiza through the spacious kitchen to a closed door. A sliver of warm light lined the bottom of the door.

                “Mr. Gedney,” Kaiza called, knocking lightly.

The door was yanked open.

Mr. Gedney was older than Hazel’s father by fifteen to twenty years. His hair was fully gray, and thin on the top. His eyes were dull and watery, the lower half magnified by his bifocal reading glasses perched on his skinny nose.

                “Kaiza,” Mr. Gedney exclaimed. He hugged her hastily. “Oh, thank God! The news said another witchboy was discovered in that city. An arrest was made. I was so worried you were involved.”

                “Well…,” Kaiza trailed off, stepping aside. “This is Hazel.”

Mr. Gedney’s eyes bugged as his jaw slowly drooped. He shuffled by Kaiza to better stare, surveying Hazel up and down, side to side.

Hazel shifted uncomfortably.

                “Extraordinary,” Mr. Gedney breathed. “How old are you?”

                “Fifteen,” Hazel answered.

                “Fifteen,” Mr. Gedney said. “Not much older than Salem…. And you remained hidden all those years? How?”

                “I was homeschooled,” Hazel said unsurely.

Hazel felt every inch of his body ache with exhaustion as he recognized Mr. Gedney’s building excitement. He had not slept enough, eaten enough, or had time enough to process what happened to be ready for an interrogation.

                “Mr. Gedney,” Kaiza said, giving a small wave to direct his attention to her. “It’s nearly midnight. He should sleep.”

                “Oh, of course, I’m so sorry,” Mr. Gedney said. “I was getting ahead of myself.” He stifled a yawn. “Truth be told, now that I’m not worried sick, I very well could sleep.”

                “I’ll get Hazel settled,” Kaiza offered.

                “Then I’ll see you both in the morning,” Mr. Gedney said.

He followed Kaiza away from the office with gratitude filling him. His thoughts were beginning to fuzz out. All he could muster was following Kaiza up the grand staircase without tripping over himself.

Kaiza opened a white door with a brass knob. The bedroom was as sparse as the rest of the house with only a full-sized fourposter sans curtains.

                “There might be a spare nightstand or chest-o-drawers in storage,” Kaiza said. She gestured to a thinner door next-door. “That’s the linen closet. Towels are there. Extra blankets. The bathroom is across the hall. And my room is down there at the end if you need something else.”

Hazel gave her a tired smile and small nodded as she departed for her room.

He touched the plush comforter on the neatly made bed and stepped away. As much as his body begged for rest, he could not put aside the thought that he was having difficulty remembering the last time he bathed.

He pulled a dark green towel from the linen closet before locking himself in the bathroom.

The standalone shower was a different make than the soaking tub beneath the picture window. There were two sinks in the vanity, each sporting different fixtures. The backsplash behind the bronze fixtures matched the tile around the soaking tub while the backslash behind the chrome fixtures matched the tile for the shower.

The hot shower was refreshing but also exasperated his tiredness. He did little more than but rinse, afraid that he would fall asleep standing if he lingered longer.

He put back on the clothes he had traveled in; it dawning on him that he would have to sleep in them which rendered the shower useless.

A door was quickly shut as he stepped into the hall. It was not Kaiza’s door.

                “Hello,” Hazel called in a whisper. “Kaiza?”

There was no answer, but a small creaking like door hinges moving was enough to get Hazel to scurry to his room and not call out again.

Hazel found the light on. There was a buttered piece of wheat toast sitting on a porcelain plate resting on the bed. A dark t-shirt and basketball shorts were tossed haphazardly next to it.

He double checked that the hall was empty before changing, keeping his eyes on the door as a precaution. He scarfed down the toast and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

---------

I think I did this one after the failed Mae (first) attempt and after the Breeching Halcyon Hall since the last modified day was June 1. I wanted to see if I should try doing Witchboy in normal format. I did manage to finish what would be a chapter, but I think the comic style is better. The only issue I have with that is it typically takes the mystery of things away since names are right out there because you're giving the script to an artist and can't be like "oooh that teenaged girl seven pages ago was Kaiza" because that would screw up the art. So, random conversation with a stranger isn't so random because 'stranger' would be 'Salem' or something. But that's all just me spinning my wheels over it.

Despite starting out in a better mood, Ace had fallen back into grumbling during his walk around the inside of Sungate mountain. He grumbled about the circumstances he was in: seemingly stranded within a hollowed-out mountain. He grumbled about the circumstances that had led him to where he was: the patrolman headed straight for him that caused him to lose his balance and fall off the bridge–and take Dorian with him. He continued grumbling backward until he reached the state of his birth: the true reason he was where he was today.

“...And Calder decided it was time to let me know my ‘true heritage’ and never let me forget that my mom was part of the largest and most notorious brothel in Fortanya… and I thought that was bad–but that was only the beginning!” He threw up his hands. “The reason I was having trouble breathing all the time wasn’t being sick–it was a curse I inherited from one of the guys she slept with! Of all the guys she had to have known, she had to conceive me with the one with a deadly curse!” He snarled as he looked up at the rock’s face, finding it still too steep to climb. “That’s what started all this; I was born out of bad luck, and I’ve been fighting it ever since!” His eyes followed a sloping line of white-barked birch trees going up the mountain’s face. “What am I supposed to learn–what choices was I supposed to make from that??”

With his eyes on the mountainside, he tripped over a fallen tree and fell hard on his hands and knees on the other side.

“Agh!” He growled, rolling onto his side to deliver a kick into the broken tree’s trunk. “As if almost drowning and being stranded wasn’t enough!” He seethed through clenched teeth. “Ok, Dorian,” he sneered as he spoke his name, “now that I’m here on the ground with a bruised knee, you want me to look for something good??”

He looked up at the mountain’s face, and his tightened expression released. From the opposite direction, the rocky wall had appeared solid. But from his new perspective on the ground, he could easily see a worn path up the side of the cliff’s face–hidden by the sloping line of trees.

“Oh!” He scrambled to his feet and practically hopped up the first two stone steps. He hugged the rocky wall as he scooted up the slope between the white-barked trees until the stones gave way to a sandy path. A toothy grin stretched across his face and he darted up and around the switchbacks as fast as he could go. He broke past the cover of the pine trees and found himself climbing higher and higher above The Phoenix’s abode. Soon, he could see the tops of other mountains rising into view over the sides of the hollowed-mountain.

When he reached the top of the rocky wall, his jovial jaunt was slowed to a stop.

The view that spread out before him was not at all what he had expected to find. The path opened wide into a gently sloping grassy hill. This shallow swatch of green narrowed led down to a round colonnade with a dome of graying stone, standing like a monument at the edge of the grassy peak. Behind the structure, the waters of the great lake stretched out wide, nestled within the mountain range surrounding it. 

The trouble with the view was the sharp slope down into the lake on all sides–proving this was yet another dead end. 

Still, he was drawn to the place almost subconsciously; walking slowly with a puzzled expression. Although he was completely alone–Dorian had to be halfway around the mountain by now–he swore he could hear footsteps on the stone ahead of him. He quickened his pace until he reached the stone step at the edge of the structure.

A gust of wind swept through his brown hair, and he pulled the strands behind his ear to better study the building. Large columns encircled the structure, but on either side, small enclosures were built just within, like tiny rooms screened in with long, draping curtains. The rest of the colonnade blended into a thick mist that seemed to be billowing out of the center of the room–where a small bronze top spun upon a chest-high pedestal. It seemed to move endlessly, never slowing in the speed of its spin.

Under furrowed brows, Ace entered the structure to quell his curiosity. His boot crunched into the sand scattered across the stone floor. The sound echoed in the curved ceiling above him as the mist swirled around his foot.

He froze when he heard a footstep that was not his own.

He spun on the balls of his feet, causing a great scrape to ring through the room from the sand trapped between his boots and the floor. His fists were clenched and his elbows were held tight at his sides, and his green eyes seemed to flash as they darted through the room around him.

“Who’s there??”

The answer came in the clinking of the top falling to its side and skidding to a stop atop the pedestal. He turned back toward it, his eyes tracing the three-ringed twisting of metal.

A short gasp, then, came to his ears.

Ace drove toward the sound with his arms waving and disrupted a set of feet. He could hear the steps echo around him, and the curtains at his left rippled as they were disturbed. He almost caught a glimpse of a figure running away as the mist began to fade.

“What is this–who are you?” Ace shouted, glancing over his shoulder into the room. “I know someone is here!”

He had just begun to turn around when he caught a glimpse of movement beside the pedestal.  As the mist faded into light within the colonnade, a woman in a gray woolen cloak came into view.

Ace didn’t immediately recognize her; a woman who seemed to be at the cusp of young and old with tan hair in a tangled weave over one shoulder. Her frail form was no taller than his own, and she was draped in a long cloak that had begun to tatter at the edges.  Her face was weathered and worn, but her hazel eyes were bright with curiosity.

“Who are you?” Ace’s words were both sharp and cautious.

“I am Aurora,” she spoke, her voice still as faint as it had been while she had been in hiding. “Aurora Gallagher.”

His body bristled and he took the smallest of steps backward. He knew that name.

She, in contrast, stepped forward upon his reaction. She gazed upon him, almost in disbelief: a wiry young man who looked suspiciously like his father, save for the mop of tan hair on his head.  “And you… can it be…?”

Ace’s brows knitted together. “I don’t know,” he watched her carefully, reading into the smallest movements of her face and body. “I guess that depends on who you ask. To some, I’m Michael Harley: the youngest son of Christine and Calder.”

Her doe eyes widened.

“But to everyone else, I’m Ace Gallagher: a gambler and thief, and the son of the infamous Siren of Fortanya.” Ace used the name he had heard on the street. 

Her breath caught in her throat.

“They said you disappeared the night I was born. Some even said you had died. Since no one ever saw you again, I figured it must have been true…” His words faded and lost their accusatory tone. He expected to be more upset if he ever found himself in her presence; but, despite the bitterness he had spouted the entire way up the mountain, the look of defeat in her eyes caused a much different reaction.

“What happened… that night?” He asked in genuine curiosity. “What made you think you had to give me up?”

Aurora’s eyes pressed shut. “I was scared. I was young. I wasn’t expecting to get pregnant… Since you’ve heard of the name they gave me,” she winced, “I assume you also know the profession I led. You cannot have a child when your livelihood is within the walls of a brothel. I went into hiding and tried my best to survive. It took all of my strength to give birth; I could scarcely carry you to your father–”

“How did you know who he was?” He interrupted.

Her hand traced her chest across her heart. “You were born with the same birthmark he had. And… he was the last one I saw… before…”

His brows furrowed as her words trailed off. “So, you knew about the curse?”

“Curse–no,” she immediately stiffened at his tone. “Tier spoke nothing of a curse.”

As much as he wanted to believe her, the bitterness was beginning to resurface. “Then, did you know he died the night you handed me over?”

“I heard later that he had passed,” she mashed her lips into a tight frown before drawing her eyes upward, “and that you were taken in by a family–with another young boy. And… and now…” an odd smile tugged at her lips as she looked at the young man before her. “Here you are!” Her hands opened toward him. “You are… grown!”

“That’s what happens in seventeen years,” Ace offered snidely as the heat began to flare within his chest. “Seventeen years of being reminded of my heritage on a daily basis. Seventeen years of stricter rules and more physical punishments. Seventeen years of living with a man who slowly went insane with alcohol and rage!” The tone of voice had grown more and more caustic until he was almost spitting the words. “I finally had enough and ran away, but that only traded one problem with another. I lived on the streets, gambling and stealing to keep myself alive–and all the while I got sicker and weaker from the same curse that killed Tier.”

Her hands clamped against her lips as her eyes opened wide with fear.

He gnashed his teeth. “Despite being a Harley on paper, I would never be able to escape my ’worthless lineage’.”

Her eyes drooped shut as her body curled forward. “Oh–oh, Michael–I’m so sorry... I’m so very sorry. I hate that you had to go through such pain,” she whimpered, grimacing sorrowfully. “I have been so haunted by what I have done. I wanted to do what was best for you, and I thought that meant giving you to someone more suitable to raise you–but not a single day goes by where I haven’t questioned it!”

"Then why didn’t you come find me?” He shrugged his shoulders exasperatedly, “All this time, if you were beating yourself up over it, why didn’t you come to look for me?”

Aurora began wring her thin fingers together as if the action could somehow erase what had been done. “I couldn’t.”

He threw out his hands. “Why not?”

“I cannot leave this place.”

“You can’t??”

“The Phoenix,” she paused, as if trying to choose every word she would speak next. “Have you not seen him?”

“Not since I got here," Ace gestured behind him to the crater. 

Aurora paused, her eyes wandering in thought. “Then, how did you get here?”

“It’s a very long story that involves a lot of water,” he cocked an eyebrow. “How did you get here?”

In the silence that followed, she shook her head and turned away. Her lithe fingers gently lifted the bronze top and rolled it between them. With the smallest of glances over her shoulder, her hazel eyes tried to focus on him. “When I disappeared the night you were born... it was because the Phoenix found me and… took pity on me. He didn’t want to leave me in the gutters of Fortanya.”

Ace’s expression unclenched. “You were dying–alone,” he said in realization.

Aurora took in a breath. “Yes.”

“But… you’re still alive?”

“I recovered when I was brought here; not even the Phoenix expected it.”

“Then, why can’t you leave?”

“His magic is the only thing that keeps me alive,” she admitted softly.

His eyes slowly lost their focus as he sifted through her words. After a moment, he gently gestured to the metal top in her hand. “Did he make you that totem?”

She took a glance at her hand. “Yes, for protection,” her eyes looked at him, puzzled. “You know much about the Phoenix for not having met him.”

“Dorian was just teaching me about him and the Sentinel.”

“Dorian?”

“My friend. We split up to cover more ground.”

“He’s here?” she tensed as she glanced around the columns.

“Well, he’s somewhere down in the crater looking for a way out of here–or for me. Or both.”

“There is a way out,” she lightly stepped around the pedestal and pointed back toward the mountain. “There’s a slope further west that leads over the ledge and down the mountain, but it is difficult to find; he does not want just anyone to wander inside.”

He turned to follow her hand. “I figured as much. I also figure Dorian’s the type of guy who will find it regardless.”

As Ace remained turned aside, Aurora studied him almost longingly. In the light behind him, his silhouette almost looked like Tier. She crossed her hands at her chest and clutched at her cloak. “How… how did you break the curse?” She attempted conversation. “Or… do you still…”

When he turned back to her, he found her staring at him intently. “Oh, it’s broken,” he answered succinctly, though he was forced into breaking eye contact when her gaze continued. “I wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.”

“I see,” she continued, wavering on her feet. “Do you… live in Fortanya?”

“Yes,” he replied, glancing backward.

“Do you still talk to your family?” She urged. “You had a brother, did you not?”

Ace sighed and turned back to her.  “Listen, I know you want to get to know me and stuff, but I really need to get back to Dorian.”

“Please,” she reached forward but stopped short of taking his arm when he flinched and pulled away. “Please, I just want to know what your life has been like, since I… since I’ve missed it.”

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” Ace shrugged exasperatedly. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to cover seventeen years of things happening to someone I’ve just met!”

She again bowed over her body in shame, exhaling sharply. “Oh, how I wish I could have gone to you! You’re right–I have no relationship with you! Why should I expect otherwise!” She gnashed her teeth and almost disappeared within her cloak. “I might as well have been dead! All of those years… how could I possibly ask you what has happened in so long?” 

Ace found himself grappling with pity as he watched her spiral into hysteria. Her reaction was certainly not one of a woman who had thrown him away carelessly; her reaction was filled with intense regret, and a desire to be relieved of guilt.

He swallowed. He understood that feeling.

She bobbed her head as her words were broken between harried breaths, no longer aware that Ace’s expression had flooded with concern. “I know what I did was wrong and selfish! I can’t bear to think how much you struggled–how much you suffered–because of me! You have every reason to be mad–”

She stopped short and inhaled a gasp as Ace rested a hand on her shoulder. Her hazel eyes, glossy from welling tears, followed his hand up to his face. Though he lacked any particular emotion, his green eyes held a quiet empathy.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, neither forcefully nor reassuringly. “What’s happened has happened, and we are where we are. And,” he added as Dorian’s words of advice echoed in his mind, “maybe I was meant to run into you today,” he let out a breath, “so I could forgive you.”

Aurora’s eyes glistened as she drew her head up to look upon her son. Her lips began to quiver as she tried to comprehend the words he had just spoken.

He initially didn’t move as she slipped forward to embrace him. He could feel her fingers gripping tight to his back and her breath in staggering huffs on his arm. But soon, he bent his elbow around her, pressed his palm against her shoulder, and released a heavy sigh through pursed lips. 

It was strange to think the woman in his arms was his mother. The stories he heard–and the anger he had harbored–had only focused on the negative side of her. Despite how true those stories may have been, he was reminded there was so much more to Aurora Gallagher than her faults–just as there was so much to himself than the destructive life he had been living.

The more he thought of it, the more he could see of himself in her: they had both fallen into bad habits in an effort to keep themselves alive. They only needed the chance to redeem themselves.

Soon, she pulled away and smoothed graying wisps of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Michael,” she finally managed.

“You can start by calling me Ace.” The corners of his lips tugged as wind brushed the hair over his black headband. “Ace Gallagher.”

“Ace,” the smile grew. “You took my name…”

“Well, I wanted to separate myself from ‘Harley’ all I could when I ran away.”

“I see.” She nodded understandingly. “Thank you, Ace, for your kindness… despite my failings.” Her eyes grew distant as memories lit her face. “You are so much like Tier.”

He sheepishly shrugged and turned his head.

“He was such a kind, gentle man,” Aurora glanced aside. “It may sound silly for someone like me to admit, but... I truly did love him.”

“It isn’t silly,” he offered gently. “I just wish I could have met him, too.”

“And you are seventeen,” repeated, as if to convince herself. “Seventeen years since everything seemed to fall apart, but seventeen years since you became a way for Tier–and our love–to live on.”

His breath caught in his throat. In the heat of his adoptive father’s anger, he was always reminded that he was an accident; the unintended product between a prostitute and one of her clients. It was difficult to think of his birth as the culmination of the bond between two unexpected lovers; not to mention thinking of his life as a way for his father to live on by breaking the curse that had taken his life. 

He looked inward, chewing on his bottom lip. Perhaps Dorian was right about there being more to this particular mishap.

The two continued in their moment of silence, standing among the columns as a light wind swirled the sand across the gray stone floor.

“I should probably get going now.” He admitted. “But, now that I know you’re here…” Ace looked to the top of the dome. “By the way, what is this place? Do you live here?”

“I do,” she turned to one of the rooms to their side. “Phoenix didn’t want me to feel like I didn’t have my own space, and one of the previous guardians built this structure. It is simple, but has all I need.”

“Including a beautiful view,” Ace nodded to the lake before them.

She nodded as hope filled her hazel eyes. “When you find the Phoenix, you must tell him who you are. He can help you visit without… whatever happened with the water.”

He broke into a smirk and nodded. “Sure. I will.” He paused before turning.

Just as a wide smile spread across her face, her eyes darted to something behind him.

Ace turned his head.

A young man with blue hair had just come over the side of the mountain, holding onto the rocks with a fervent grip and his head turned down.

“Dorian!” Ace took a step toward the colonnade’s edge, his face an odd mixture of excitement, anxiousness, and disorientation.

Dorian’s posture unwound once he reached the grassy hill. “Ace,” he huffed, only for a look of wonder to overtake his expression. “Woah. What is this place?”

“Well, it’s–” Ace waved a hand behind him and turned back to his mother, only to find the room empty. The metal top was again spinning upon the pedestal, and its mist had again filled the spaces between the columns.

He shut his mouth, frowning a bit. “...it must be where the Phoenix comes to take in the view.” He turned back to his friend.

“I don’t blame him,” Dorian settled his hands on his hips as he stopped at the edge of the colonnade’s steps. “I’d spend a lot of time out here if I had this view.”

“Me too,” Ace’s eyes had drifted away. He was perturbed his mother had hidden herself, but perhaps years of solitude would kindle that kind of shyness.

“Well, good news,” Dorian reminded him of their current mission. “I found another path before I tried this one, so I think we’ve got a way out.”

“You think?” Ace played along.

“Well, the path down looks a bit… rugged.”

Ace smirked. “So, we got to test out my fear of drowning to get here, and we’ll test your fear of heights to get out?”

Dorian rolled his visible eye and started back to the mountain. “I suppose.”

Ace had begun to follow after him, but he stalled with his foot on the stone step. He turned to look over his shoulder, his lips skewed.

“It was nice to see you,” he spoke into the emptiness, unsure if his words reached their recipient as a brisk gust of wind swept the sand across the floor.

“Ace?” Dorian’s voice came again.

“Coming!” Ace shouted back as he hopped down the step.

----

This snippet was loosely based on a dream; it was a first person walking up to this round colonnade and looking through it while feeling watched. To this day I still have vivid "memories" of walking around one of the inner rooms and finding a silvering mirror where I got a very blurry refelction of myself (so I can't remember if I was Ace specifically). Anyway so I decided to make it where Aurora lived.

I was not sure Ace was going to meet her in the rewrite, but tying him to the Phoenix meant Aurora was also tied to the Phoenix, so why not allow them both to sort through their feelings lol. I'm also not sure if him visiting her will make it in another story (I'd have to check my outline) or if the next time you see her is in Book #5 (aka the snippet I posted earlier)... 

But yes. Ace is 95% his dad in appearance, but he got his mom's hair 😁