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393. City Center
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 14:00:09 +0000 UTCThe path widened as they went. More tunnels spilled out into this one, and more and more boots joined the original sets of boots until the tunnel was wall-to-wall with boot prints. That sinking feeling in Ike’s stomach grew more and more intense. This wasn’t a casual grouping of puppets. It wasn’t a security detail or even a peacekeeping force. This was an army. The kind of army one massed before a war. If Brightbriar meant to flip the table, he had the power to flip it right here. Not just the capital region, either, but the entire region. Ike didn’t know how powerful the puppets were, but with Brightbriar throwing out fragments of the greater being willy nilly, Ike was willing to bet at least a few of the puppets were massively powerful, and since he could imbue others with the power of the person he’d ground into them, and he’d taken over countless regions surrounding this one… not only would he have the greater-being-shard puppet-slash-children, who could grow and learn and become massively powerful, but also the most powerful warriors and leaders of all the surrounding regions, and everything that entailed.
Sure, they’d be dusty old puppets, with dated skills and spells that hadn’t kept up with the advancement of modern magic, but a few thousand of those on the field, and Ike wouldn’t bet against them. When he considered the puppets as soldiers, their downsides were few—unable to grow or learn, difficult to heal without a specialist in puppet construction—and their upsides were many—unfeeling, unquestioning beings, who could fight on without limbs, who felt no fear or trauma, who had no need to protect their children or useless internal politics that caused them to retreat early. Given how badly Brightbriar had eroded this region already, with Clarina’s city basically routed, and Shopkeep’s city an empty husk, he really doubted this single relatively intact city could hold up to any invading force, let alone a tireless, endless wave of puppets. Hell, the only reason the King’s region hadn’t invaded was likely because they didn’t want to draw Brightbriar’s attention. Better to leave the puppet plague alone, let it infect the region it clearly cared far more about, than have to worry about fending it off—again, if the King’s memories were any indication. They knew what Brightbriar meant to a region, and they weren’t keen to experience it again.
But then, on the other hand… why hadn’t Brightbriar invaded? The king was dead, but he had already been a non-factor. He’d mentioned marrying Rosamund to the region’s prince for easy legitimacy, and sure, why not play the long game… but on the other hand, now that there was no king puppet, wasn’t that game over, too? What was his game, at this point? What was his goal?
Unless none of these things were ever truly his goal. Unless these were all diversions on his way to his true, ultimate goal, and he’s now incredibly close to achieving his long-term goal. Ultimately, his long term goal could only be one thing: the recreation of the greater being. As for him being close to it, he’d never had a fragment that could absorb other fragments the way Ike could. Ike twisted his lips. Brightbriar knew he wouldn’t bow to the guy’s insane demands or give in easily, but for all that, he didn’t seem to care. It meant he was either completely delusional, or believed he could easily deal with Ike, regardless of what Ike attempted.
Ike snorted. They’d see about that. Lots of people had thought Ike would be easy to deal with. Lots of people had been wrong, and were now no more than dry bones under the sunlight… if they were lucky, and didn’t vanish into a certain voracious spider’s maw.
A certain fear remained in the depths of his stomach despite all that. He couldn’t place it at first, until he realized: it was the King’s fear, and the Prince’s, and even Accais’ and the infants. All of them had been unable to defeat Brightbriar. The King had thought himself powerful, and still failed. With all their powers combined, they weren’t sure they could defeat him.
But I am, so whatever, Ike thought, pushing their doubts down. A moment later, he furrowed his brows. Accais had failed to defeat Brightbriar? That silver-haired archer with the silver bow, who’d come after him to protect Brightbriar, had failed to defeat him?
A quick series of images flashed past his face. Growing up under Brightbriar’s hand, in luxury, but never the first in his heart, watching as Rosamund was announced as the legitimate child while being forced to live with his mother and only sometimes visit his father, hiding in the shadows and honing his skills in hopes of recognition. Challenging Brightbriar when he was sure he could win, confident he’d outleveled his father and overpowered him—only for Brightbriar to burst out with unstoppable power, the likes of which he'd never seen before, and destroy him. As he was dying, finally, a glimmer of recognition in his father’s eye… but also a heavy smear of disappointment.
That was the last thing Accais remembered before waking up as a puppet. From there, his thoughts were different, colored by a streak of unassailable devotion to Brightbriar, but underneath, there was still that current of understanding that he’d failed, that he’d disappointed his father, and that there was nothing he could ever do to overcome him.
Ike snorted. He’d never known a father, so he didn’t really know what it meant to disappoint one, but it seemed rough from the outside. He gave Accais a mental pat on the shoulder. We’ll show him this time. Lend me your strength, and we’ll get his recognition.
Accais turned away from him haughtily. I don’t need him to recognize you.
Ike rolled his eyes. We’re the same person.
No, we aren’t.
At that, Ike shrugged. It was just as true as saying they were the same, so he couldn’t fight it. Still, he felt as though he had all the information he needed to pull Accais’s strings later, now, so he wasn’t exactly sad about it.
I heard that.
Heard what? You don’t have ears, ghost boy.
Accais harrumphed and went silent again.
Figuring he could do a little more mental reorganization while he was running, Ike searched out Rosamund, only to find a weeping, sobbing heap of messy emotions. He brushed up against her, and his whole being became nothing but sadness. Accais’s disappointment, even the King’s egoism, all were nothing before this giant wave of regret, sorrow, and fear. Ike immediately retreated, terrified. Her emotions had almost swallowed him up and washed him away. He’d never felt that before—that uninhibited wave of… of feeling.
“What is it, Ike? Your face just went nuts,” Wisp asked.
“Nothing. I just… was trying to deal with the other fragments, and uh, Rosamund’s crying and I don’t know what to do,” he explained.
She laughed. “Damn, who would’ve thought? Ike’s most difficult challenge: confronting his own emotions!”
“They aren’t mine, they’re Rosamund’s,” he grumbled.
“She’s you, so they’re yours.”
Ike wanted to argue, but he knew there was no point. That, and he suspected she was right, in a certain way. After all, if he reached out to Rosamund, those emotions became his. Even if he disliked her, and couldn’t understand her selfish and brash personality, he’d have to process her emotions as his if he wanted to absorb her fully.
He sighed. “Girls are so emotional.”
“Oh, sure we are. It’s not that you’re an emotionally stunted brat,” Wisp retorted.
“Yeah. You’re super emotionally stunted. Even I can notice it, and I’m a boy.” Mag paused. He tilted his head. “Girls are emotional?”
“It’s a human thing,” Wisp informed him. “And I think mostly bullshit, at that.”
“Humans are weird,” Mag said.
“You’re telling me,” Wisp agreed.
Ike put his hands up before the anti-human coalition could bond together against him again. “Alright, alright, I’m emotionally stunted. Are you happy now?”
“Recognizing the problem is the first step to fixing it. I’m so proud of you, Ike,” Wisp said, beaming.
“Oh, like you’re so in touch with your emotions,” he accused her.
Wisp gasped in mock shock. “How dare you! I’m completely in touch with my emotions. I tell you about my hunger all the time.”
“That’s not an emotion.”
“It is to me.”
Ike opened his mouth to argue, then looked at Wisp’s smug expression and knew there was no winning this. He sighed loudly. “No one here is useful to help me with my plight.”
“Shocker, no one here knows what it’s like to absorb shards of themselves and eat them. Hey, have you tried eating Rosamund?” Wisp suggested.
“That’s… not…” Ike put his face in his hands. Why do I even bother?
“People say you can’t eat all your problems, but it’s worked for me so far,” Wisp said cheerily.
“What if you make her a nest? If she’s sad, it might be because she has no nest. Everyone’s happier when they have a nest to go back to,” Mag offered.
Ike started to retort, only to pause and look at Mag. He blinked. “That… might actually be a good idea.”
Mag’s face lit up. He bounced in place, turning to Wisp. “Haha, look at that, you useless spider. Bird logic wins again!”
“When else has it ever won?” Wisp argued.
As the two of them went back to fighting, Ike turned his focus inward once more. He focused, reaching around him, and started to craft… not a home, but the sensations of one. Belonging. A place to go back to. He thought of Silver’s cave, and the summer he’d spent there. He thought of Wisp’s webs, and a home that moved with you, that you never had to leave behind. He thought of Mag’s longing for a nest, and his desert full of skulls and shiny things, yet the lack of a mate, and the distress he’d felt over that: the sensation of home as a person, as someone you could always turn to. He thought of Shawn, and his wandering, endless search: home as a concept, as an objective to build to. And he thought of his uncle’s house, that rambling, filthy, dark place, and the tiny corner he’d carved out to call home, even if it rarely felt like it. He wove all these thoughts together, and reached out to Rosamund again.
A jab of pain shot through his heart as they touched, as Rosamund instantly rejected him. She saw what he’d built, all the concepts he’d woven together, and tore them apart, shredding them to pieces. None of those things were home. Home was her palace, and her place at Brightbriar’s side. Home was her future with the prince, now in tatters. Home was destroyed, and there was no way to go back to it.
No. You’re home now. You’re a part of me, and we… all of us, together, we’re going to find our real home. Wherever and whatever that is.
Rosamund lashed out again, but her energy was weak. She wasn’t a fighter. She sighed, then gave in. A part of her knew that this was inevitable, that she was a part of something greater. She wanted to be the leader, not Ike, but she’d lost. Just… don’t hurt father too much, she requested, as she melted away.
Ike pressed his lips together. He didn’t know how much he could keep that promise, but maybe he’d try.
A strange sensation washed over him, as Rosamund became part of him. A warmth in his heart, and a tiny fear. He prodded at it, trying to figure out what had changed, and realized: he now felt something like ‘familial love’ toward Brightbriar, and a tiny spark of fear that the man might turn out to be as bad as people said he was, that he was mistaken, that there was some good in Brightbriar’s heart, yet.
Ike scoffed, but couldn’t entirely shove away the sensation. A little spark of his own fear joined Rosamund’s. Was this a trap? Did Brightbriar let me absorb Rosamund, so that I would actually feel something toward him, and hesitate when it counted?
It was too late now. He swallowed his fears and ran on, closing in on destiny.
