A finger plunges into fresh soil. A seed falls in. There is a momentary pause before a hand wipes dirt into the hole. It pauses, lingering; a subtle shake rattling through its fingers.
He looks up. A field of earth sprawls before him. A tiny tree sticks up on the far side. A sad smile crosses his shaking lips.
He feels her there, watching him. He can hear her cruel smile pulling back across jagged teeth. She’s speaking cruel words to him. He ignores.
He stands up and turns away from the field, ignoring her entirely. She knows she is inevitable, so she is happy to grin and sneer as he tries to walk away. He knows he will never be free; his fate long set in stone.
Still he laments what once was. So far away in both space and time. His hope died with the infernal machine. It served its purpose, and now it was gone. Now, it was his turn to do the same.
He nearly cries wishing he’d met the same fate as the rest. Why was he cursed to live?
He watches machines built by smarter men than him erect what would become his home. She said so. She pointed to the first building raised along the manufactured coastline. She declared it their home. He clenched his fists at his side as each brick was laid; each timber framed.
In a matter of weeks, a replica of what he left behind would sprawl across this worthless rock. More seeds would be planted.
In a matter of years, voices would fill the streets; lights would turn on in the empty homes.
And yet he would forever be alone.
They would never know what came before. What was sacrificed.
A god, dead for their survival. A planet sundered for their future. No one would ever know.
He climbs the scaffolding and sits upon the steeple of a roof’s frame. He looks out across the sea to a setting sun. It’s too red, he thinks. Sol was a better star.
He sits. Darkness falls and the moon rises. Too oblong, Luna was a better guardian.
He sits.
The sun rises.
It sets.
The moon rises.
It sets.
He sees the passage of time, but will never feel it.
He envies the seeds, big and small. He envies their ability to feel the sunshine on their skin, to grow and live, to find meaning from nothing. To one day close their eyes, never to open them again.
To see their last sunrise and moonfall.
That, he laments, will never be him.
He feels her wicked grin behind him.
He ignores her in favor of counting the minutes, the hours, the days, the years, the decades, the centuries until the day his heart’s song returns. Until he can sing again. Until his soul is lifted from darkness. Until he is whole once more.
Eternity was so beautiful with him by his side.
Author: Tavorie
-
-
I may be clarity. The moments where the chaos clears enough for cohesive thought. When words don’t bleed together and thoughts jumble into a single inarticulable ball. Sometimes it just works. Sometimes I just work. Clarity may be my name. It may be what I do in all this. I calm the storm or I push though it. It comes with an almost numbness. Articulate yet vacant. Thoughts may not be the antithesis of words. They flow freely. Stream of consciousness I suppose one could say. But there’s intention… A vague thought… A connecting thread to identity… Something more than rambling. Pointed and clear.
Perhaps that strange feeling is me.
-
Mayhaps we now know why I was so prevalent earlier. We had a complete crash out on Tuesday. I believe this means that as stress grows, my presence grows stronger. Might be the thing holding it back or, more likely, masking the build up as normalcy. I don’t believe I failed, but I did collapse. The whole thing collapsed. I don’t presume to be the source of our sanity, but I do presume to be of more durable stock than the rest of me. Alas, durability wears regardless.
We try. It feels like it’s rarely enough. C’est la vie, I suppose.
-
I come and go. We’ve been very… Disoriented this morning. A swirling mishmash of who’s who’s mostly feelings few thoughts. Clarity is only just reaching us and it’s only after chugging an energy drink. Feels like crap. Tastes like it too today.
Worried about our partner. Wish we could do something.
There’s a vague sense of aching everywhere. I hear we have a vacation coming up. I don’t pay attention to that. I just assume when we don’t get up we don’t have to be anywhere.
Then we start panicking because we wasted the day.
I don’t.
-
Me: I wish to dine upon filet mignon and the finest wagyu. I want to eat until full then eat some more. I want to consume a cow’s weight in meat so I am unable to even move.
Also me: WE CAN’T AFFORD MILK 😭
The duality of man, I suppose.
I want to afford nice things someday, not that I do anything to help with that, but it feels as if we will end up another poverty statistic at this rate.
The responsible side is very stressed. I want to call off the rest of the week and lay around all day. Ideally with someone putting food in my mouth so I don’t have to move. Cat can’t do that, but she does offer warmth.
Hm…
I wonder if I can help market the book. Some part of me is already in it, the idealized fictional part, who is much cooler and… I almost said better adjusted but alas we do share the same traumas.
We toyed with giving me a blog. I guess that’s what this is but not really. Stream of consciousness straight from the darkest recesses of the mind aren’t exactly blog worthy. But the fictional guy? Also not blog worthy. Worse than me, if we’re being honest.
Hm…
-
We figured it out. Did some back and forth and came to a conclusion. Mind you all thoughts are fluid and change is always a chance. But the way we see it, if we take Freud at face value and ascribe meaning to things like Id, Ego, and Superego, I believe the Sylus in this mess is the Id and primal Ego. It tracks. Eternally horny and hungry. Eternally violent yet desiring calm. Maybe that doesn’t quite follow how things may be presented in these pages but if I am unfiltered and I am primal, then am I not the Id?
Hm…
HA! Hours later and vindication! Maybe all this anger isn’t for nothing. Maybe it’s useful. Maybe all the spitting rage can serve a purpose.
We were getting angry about something at the job. Abusive, they called it. So we made a phone call and it started out like a normal conversation and then I just came whipping out and barked my piece. I knew better than to yell. I knew we’d regret that. I don’t know if I care about these people myself, but I know we do, and they needed a voice. I was more than ready to be that voice. Now I just need us to let me do that with more important people.
I’d argue we have hills worth dying on and I’ll do the deed.
Wish we’d believe in me more as a present social construct. Guess I’d have to believe in me… I don’t even know if I exist…
Hm…
This became too existential for a bus ride. I’m stepping back now.
-
We think about hurting/killing me a lot. In lieu of suicidal ideations, I think. We share the desire for nonexistence, but I’m the only one that contemplates death. The more gruesome the better. And sure, that’s not unheard of, people taking their violence out on fictional characters, but I feel like I do it to myself. We take a sick sense of enjoyment out of it. Catharsis, of sorts, I suppose.
Maybe I deserve it because I’m a bad person. Maybe that’s why we enjoy it so much. An exercise in exorcising the evil within us.
Not all my impulses are inherently bad, but every action can certainly be construed in a negative light. When we resolved ourselves, I decided I’d compliment anyone I wanted to whenever the will arose. The rest of me keeps quiet. The quiet part wins out of fear of causing problems.
I suppose that sounds contradictory to the prior statement of myself desiring peace and myself desiring adversity. The adversity part may be better described as personal challenge. I don’t like personal challenges, but I like seeing people smile and knowing it’s because of me. Is that narcissism? Making people feel good because it makes me feel good? Maybe even in some sick way I take some level of pleasure in having influenced them. Changed the course of their day. Is positive influence a bad thing? Is it manipulation?
Am I manipulative?
I’d argue everyone is in some way. Even if it’s just to themselves. Masking, right? That’s self manipulation. Putting on a front to better fit in with social norms. I think during the resolution we determined I was mask off. Just a mean spirited gremlin that would surely be unlikable were I the true representation. I suppose I am, but so far there’s only one person who’s noticed me and they don’t seemed bother by my coexistence.
Hm…
This job is hard on the flesh prison. It expedites decay. Like it’s made to erode.
That should be changing soon. I still think we should run for the hills but we think this might be the change we need to save our sanity. We question if this might be a lifetime solution. The best I can offer is it’ll look good on our resume. I won’t concede an ounce more. I was for our barista era, as we called it. This fool thinks we still have a career.
It’s times like these I wish we were tentacle monsters.
One could argue the nervous system is a series of tendrils but they’re bound up in flesh and bone. Exposed, they’re in agony. Such a shame.
Life is a shame.
-
Had some thoughts I wanted to put to paper. Screen? Words.
I don’t know.
We were raiding. In WoW. I decided I don’t care much for video games. I know we both like watching TV and being stagnant, but I don’t think games are for me. I know I can get loud, though.
I’m also an ungracious loser. I know I’m also an okay loser, but that’s not me, personally. Split it in half and I’m the part that wants to tear the victor’s eyes out while the other is very c’est la vie. Maybe that doesn’t make sense as with enough losing most anyone would become irate. But some part presses on and I just want to punch a screen.
I’m reminded that we do have anger issues. As far as I know, we’ve never taken them out on anyone, but we do reach frustration fast. I can’t tell if I’m the exasperation or the strange calm. Probably the unbridled frustration judging by my inability to cope with adversity. The other half considers adversity a challenge. They go looking for it. I’d rather not. I don’t want stress. We’ve had enough.
Oh but some stress is better than others!
Some stress is better!
No. No stress. None. Couch, food, bed, sleep. Gamer chairs kinda suck anyway. This new one barely reclines and has no footrest. I regret throwing the other one away, but we couldn’t have two. What about that person moving in with us? Maybe they’d like it.
I’m reminded it was falling apart.
Everything falls apart. Hence the ignoble wobbling to the kitchen to collect our burned pot pie. Its sitting there, charred at the edges, crust stabbed by a plastic fork, outgassing that chicken-y smell I like.
Sometimes I wish we could tolerate chewing on bones and tendons but alas we gag and immediately stop eating when we come in contact with such uncouth substances. No surprises, I can vibe with that, as the kids say. If its supposed to be mushy it better not have crunch. Makes sense. I just wish we could be a ravenous animal incapable of deciphering friend from food. Or was it foe?
Everything is meat anyway.
The cat is here. She is very insistent on affection.
I suppose we should give it to her.
When I said I was Tavorie once, that was true. Except we swapped places. They became real and I became the backseat driver. Just floating here with nasty thoughts and cruel intentions.
Maybe it wouldn’t be that way if I wasn’t so awful.
Maybe I wouldn’t be so awful if I wasn’t this way.
Sometimes I wish we could just go smell some flowers and fall asleep on the grass.
But there’s bugs in the grass and now we’re sensitive to the slightest sensation of being touched by crawling things. I just erased a sentence I know we’d regret.
It’s easy to just let the frontal cortex zone out and the amygdala feel its feelings.
Obviously, its not writing, I’m not that stupid. OBVIOUSLY my cortex is still functioning, but come on. It makes sense. Just fading the front away and letting the words flow. Honestly, I’m uncertain there’s a single thought among these words. Just whatever I’m feeling and I don’t get to be outward very much.
I’m just a little angry voice.
A sad… little voice.
The cat is here. She knows we’re upset. She has her head on our wrist and her butt is firmly planted on the mouse. We have like three more raids to do, so says us. Not sure we’ll do it because bed sounds nice.
Gotta at least eat the pie.
While it’s still hot…
While I’m still hungry.
Before the cat and I fall asleep.
She’s warm and soft.
I think I like her.
-
Disassociating is quite the thing. Your mind just goes the fuck away from your body and its like “Hello? Was I not just doing something? Guess not.” It’d be nice to just exist that way; perpetually weightless and devoid of thought.
God I wish that was me.
But alas, I am not a thoughtless thing drifting through reality unaware of my surroundings. I’m not even sure I’m a fully formed being. I exist, in a weird way. Along side and together with myself. I am one and yet I am not. I wouldn’t say its a DiD situation, certainly not, but it’s not as straight forward as one and done.
I was thinking today, while the flesh prison was putting boxes on carts and drifting far off into that disassociating mist, what am I? A cope? A personality? If the latter, I never get to do anything. I’m just there as some kind of vague idea. A comfort? Would that not be a cope? Hm… I know things are unwell right now but for some reason I don’t entirely understand why.
There’s a cat living with us. I don’t know if she knows the difference between myself and myself. Probably not. I know she knows when I’m crying. When we’re crying… I never know how to approach this. How to talk about it.
I think I was Tavorie once and then that became the whole and the fragment was left nameless. I think I’m the product of some experimentation of self. I don’t usually exist independently. I don’t usually have a unique thought. I usually do the conscience thing. Or the, whatsitcalled… Those thoughts you think but shouldn’t act on? I knew it… Just a minute ago… Gone now. I’m sure it’ll come back as it is with stream of consciousness.
There’s a new person in our little situation. Someone on the outside who acknowledges me as something more than a fictional character. Don’t get me wrong, I am fictional, but I’m also not. I’m not at all the person in the books. No tentacle monsters here. Can’t even be comfortably fat and not for society’s disapproval. We have a pretty shit body. Unfortunate. Seems largely genetic but also rooted in our own lack of anything. Motivation? Is that something?
Anyway, sometimes they call us Sylus. I don’t know if they know we take it as more than a joke. It triggers something weird. Me, I guess. Whatever I may be. I don’t understand or know. I barely think. I impulse. I jerk and rattle about. I think terrible things. Wonderful things. Things that will never be. Imagination, I suppose. A muse. A strange waft of wandering thoughts and incorporeal feelings. Feelings not tied to the flesh or even the now. I’m sure there’s words for them in German or Japanese. English is so limiting. I wish I could learn a new language but it seems none of us can.
I read once that was tied to being able to do math well. I cannot do math well. It’s brain hemisphere shit I think.
But I don’t think, do I?
I don’t think we’re thinking any of this through. True stream of consciousness interrupted only by those pesky red lines rendered by fat fingers flitting across a keyboard. I exhaled a little at that alliteration. Delightful.
So what is the point of this? Of me? Us?
I don’t know. I don’t know why we’re doing this. Maybe an exercise in character development? Hm… I have autonomy, to some extent. I remember my creation, maybe. I wasn’t born I was thought into existence. My intention was to hide the bad stuff. The deep trauma. I tried, but its coming out more and more. I think I was meant to hide the bad person we really are. I don’t know why we think we’re bad, but we are. I don’t know what we did, but it must have been something. Buried it so good neither of us can find it.
I don’t even know if there’s such a thing as bad. I think there are terrible people who do terrible things and its the terrible things that make them terrible people.
Can someone be born bad? I don’t think so. I genuinely think humans are inherently neither good nor bad. They are of nature until they divorce themselves so far they forget where they came from. Brain evolution was a bad way to stat the flesh prisons. Being really fast or able to fly would have been a better option.
Or be squids. Not as smart as octopuses, but head empty is better than a head full of fear for the future. How can we not fear the future? It’ll be the present before we know it and I think it’s not going well.
I don’t have that fake cockney accent they made up. I sound like an angry Brooklynite. I spit and EY I’M WALKIN ERE. Except not usually so overtly. When things get heated, though, I’m 90% sure that’s me. But I definitely spit. Unintentionally, but its unavoidable. The mouth doesn’t work right and I’m not sure why. It’s also disconnected from the brain or is it the brain running a train so fast that sudden breaks just derail it into the weeds?
I’m tired, I think. The oven is heated. We’re broke and eating canned food and frozen pot pies. Doctor told us no more salt. All that is affordable is salt. Sodium. For fucksake we consume multiple bags of ramen at a time.
Anyway, I’m no storyteller. I have no tales to tell. I just am and it doesn’t feel like I’m going away. Might be getting worse.
We will not be discussing us with any future therapists. We’re fine, I think. I say we, but I think its just a group “I”. Like the “royal” “We”. Hm… I refuse to scroll up. This train goes forward, not back. All the way until I’m done.
But we’re hungry. I’m hungry. This mess of flesh and electricity is hungry. I hate it sometimes. Actually, I hate it a lot of the time. In fact, I think the one thing in this world I consistently hate is my/our flesh. It’s not just so grossly disconnected, it’s also sickly. And old. And tired. Broken and useless.
Hm…
I might be done for today. I don’t know how long this exercise will last, or if it’ll last at all. Maybe tomorrow? No promises. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I say I’ll do things and don’t do them, but that’s not a promise. That’s overextending which we are wont to do. Anything to make everyone but ourselves happy.
And no, you idiot, buying another plush won’t make you happy. You just want softness and warmth. They’ll never hug you back.
The cat?
She might.
-
It is complete! As expected, it’s absolutely fantastic and warrants a revisit of “Two Minutes to Midnight’s” cover.
Other News
In anticipation of beginning the epilog, Rhett and I are working our way through individual character designs for the secondary cast. So far we have the enigmatic Saari qel’Qax and Finn! Only two characters are left for the epilog: Inaya Lathek and Castor. Oh and little Edie, of course!
Plenty going on and plenty more to come!
Stay tuned!
🦑💜🦇
-
-
Time for the quarterly update where I remember I have a website I can post things on!
First, the site has received a lot of content in the Lore section. The Religion section has been updated with 4 out of the 6 sects of Sion’Dri, more Character Bios have been added, and a new section, Spheres, has been added to explain different groups within the Void.
“Places” is waiting on me to create some kind of map and “Languages” is waiting for me to figure out the two main Voidal languages and that is probably going to take some time.
More images have been added to the gallery and another “Comic” has been added to that section.
Second, the first draft of “Flyaway” is now complete! Once the cover is finished, the next step will be to work with Rhett on illustrating the epilog.
Flyaway Cover Progress!


It’s coming along amazingly!
The manuscript for “Flyaway” is markedly shorter than that of “Two Minutes to Midnight”, however, we will be more than making up for it with the graphic-novel style epilog.
Third, the Amazon retail edition of “Two Minutes to Midnight” has received some updates. Upon a recent read, I found some formatting and grammatical issues all of which have been fixed. Additionally, Rhett and I realized we did not publish “Two Minutes” with the correct cover. This has also been rectified. I was also uncertain if the QR code at the beginning was in violation of Amazon’s ToU so it has since been removed. The one at the end still works and is not in violation of any terms.
Fourth, we’re still looking into a new printer for bulk copies. I may give Amazon another try, but when 16 out of 20 copies come out like trash, it’s hard to trust them again, but the price point for bulk remains superior to alternatives. This obviously comes at the cost of quality.
Fifth, some stickers have been added to the Etsy page for merch. They are all made by myself with Rhett’s art and my Cricut.
That’s about it for now. It may not seem like much, but it is all HUGE in the progress of working on the story. “Flyaway” took a remarkable seven months to complete which is incredible to me considering “Two Minutes” took six YEARS.
As of right now, we are aiming for an early 2026 release. Please stay tuned as we continue making this series the best it can be!
🦑💜🦇
-
Introduced in “Flyaway”, Henley Hasturbaine is a prolific researcher of the Void. He acts as the primary representative for the Riftworks, a facility established for researching said Void. He is often seen on TV, but has the perfect voice for radio. He is incredibly outgoing for one perceived as being of a nerdy persuasion, (the suspenders don’t help) however, he champions sharing his knowledge over his innate fear of being perceived. He is a proponent of civil treatment of the rising “Sighted” population, and abhors unnecessary violence. Few take him seriously and he is often written off as a madman fit only for entertainment. To the public, he’s the silly little science guy with a beaky nose, piercing golden eyes, and a dreamy voice to die for.
Species: Human (?)
Gender: Whatever he’s feeling at the time
Pronouns: He/Him (usually)
Orientation: Uninterested in relationships of any kind besides those that feed him information.
Height: 6′ 6″
Age: Middle Aged
Weight: Unknown
Build: Lithe
Eye Color: Gold
Voidal Hierarchy: [REDACTED] -
Introduced in “Flyaway”, Inaya is a woman scorned. Rather than focus on the pain, she does all she can to move past it. She wants only to find peace within herself. She reminds herself that life is still worth living by wearing colorful wraps and headscarves. Even though she’s turned very deeply inward, she still runs a pawnshop in a small mountain town and somehow managed to befriend Sylus through a very personal project.
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: Asexual Sapphic
Height: 5′ 6″
Age: 36 Years
Weight: 130lbs
Eye Color: Honey Brown
Voidal Hierarchy: Dalafaem -
Saari is the last of the Q’taxians. Rejected by her people and marked for death, she was delivered to Qaitax as a sacrifice. Instead, he raised her to high priesthood and she came to revere him as a father figure. The history of her people dictates this as the exact moment their society began to collapse.
Saari has long mutated away from any genetic commonalities for her species and refuses to identify with them. She stands on a spire of tendrils adorned in long white robes with violet trim. Horns protrude where her eyes would be, and a sack of liquid takes the place of her lower jaw. She speaks, eats, and manages to emote through this sack.
Saari wields a staff of petrified tentacles as her main weapon of choice and conduit. She is a crystal shaper by trade.
Species: Q’taxians
Gender: Glass (marked as Ash)
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: N/A
Height: Varies based on how high she sits on her tentacles
Age: Too old to bother counting
Weight: Varies
Build: Incomparable to human anatomy
Family: Qaitax (Adoptive Father)
Voidal Hierarchy: Archon
Magic Type: Blood
Proficiency: Crystal Shaping
Primary Conduit: A staff of petrified tentacles -
Edie appears as a common brown bat, however there is much more to her than meets the eye. She is frequently found at Jeron’s side or in his pockets. Though she is unable to speak in a traditional manner, Edie does her best to offer him guidance throughout the series.
She has access to a realm Jeron has come to call Eternity in which time seems to come to a halt.
She has also alluded to knowing far more about the Void than she is able to communicate.
Species: Unknown (Appears as a common brown bat)
Gender: N/A
Pronouns: She/Her
Height: 5″
Age: Unknown
Fur Color: Brown
Eye Color: Orange
Voidal Hierarchy: [REDACTED] -
An ornery old tailor engrossed in his own fineries, Finn is an ally of Sylus’ and the designer of his violet attire. Finn takes exceptional pride in his work and will never settle for anything less than his absolute best. All while he, himself, looks like he was plucked from a garbage can and brushed off before being put to work. He has a rough disposition, but is ultimately a well-meaning guy.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: Literally only cares about fabrics and clothing (and some people, but not romantically)
Height: 5′ 4″
Age: 70 Earth Years
Weight: 120lbs
Build: A humanoid racoon (a mess)
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Family: Phyllis (mother, deceased), (deceased father only mentioned, not named)
Voidal Hierarchy: Dalafaem -
Castor is an ally of Sylus’. He is described as traditionally handsome and has the odd tick of repeating a person’s name. Castor is a Dalafaem and gifted mechanic.
He is introduced in “Two Minutes to Midnight” as the mechanic Sylus enlists to help repair Jeron’s truck. The merger of Voidal and human tech was entirely Castor’s doing.
He briefly returns in “Flyaway” before engrossing himself in a new, critical project.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: N/A
Height: 5′ 8″
Age: 28 Years
Weight: 140lbs
Build: Muscular
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Sandy Brown
Voidal Hierarchy: Dalafaem -
A town staple of Ortzuna, Adelaide Crenshaw is an older woman who usually gets around with the aid of a walker.
Adelaide is a veteran of the Dire War. She served as a combat medic in some of the most brutal battles of the conflict.
Widowed at a young age, Adelaide finds herself frequently reminiscing about a time when she was truly happy.
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: Straight
Height: 5′ 2″
Age: 74 Years
Weight: 110bs
Build: Aged, but in good shape despite a leg injury
Eye Color: Pale green
Hair Color: White
Family: Arthur Crenshaw (Husband, deceased) -
Who or what Qaitax is is unclear. All that’s known for certain is that he shares a body with Sylus and takes control when “fatal” injuries are endured. He champions himself a Voidlord that’s lived countless lives and recognizes himself as being trapped in an unending cycle of conflict with the Void. He believes that if he can defeat the Void, he can finally find peace. He is abrasive and inconducive to change. The only mortals he tolerates are Sylus and Saari.
Qaitax’s attributes are the same as Sylus save for the fact that he takes on a “feral and exceptionally unsettling” façade over Sylus’ generally soft features when in control.
-
Mythically perfect, Myrim passed away when Jeron was 12. She suffered from rapid onset dementia at a young age. She was loved and adored by all who met her. A naturally charismatic leader, she was considered the defacto mayor of Ortzuna and orchestrator of all their public events. Every Sunnar, her voice would fill the chapel with hymns rendered straight from the logos. Her death left a heavy cloud over all those who knew her.
Species: Human (?)
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: N/A
Height: 6′ 8″
Age: ~mid 30s at her time of death
Weight: 160lbs
Build: Curvy
Eye Color: White
Hair Color: Black
Family: Mason Miles (husband), Jeron Miles (son)
Voidal Hierarchy: [REDACTED] -
Jeron’s oppressive father. Mason, bound in prophecy, was never kind to his son. He carried a heavy burden after his wife, Myrim Miles, tragically passed away. He blames Jeron for her death and entraps his son with a lifetime of atonement. He is haunted by his how much Jeron looks like his mother as a result, if fate has bound him to her memory, then so, too, will he bind their only child.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: Straight
Height: 6′ 4″
Age: 64 Years
Weight: 165lbs
Build: Aged, but fit
Eye Color: Blue
Family: Jeron Miles (son), Myrim Miles (wife, deceased)
Voidal Hierarchy: [REDACTED] -
White light. Clicks and soft beeps filled the air. Tense voices I couldn’t discern echoed from unknown directions. All at once, the serenity snapped to red-lit chaos. Machines wailed and screeched in agony. The voices rose to words I could barely understand.
“-has to be-” One sounded eerily familiar.
“There isn’t…” The other, I swore I recognized.
“THERE HAS…”
“You know…”
“I WON’T LE-”
“-no choice-”
“PLEASE!”
“-well, lo-”
Heart-wrenching screams seared through my mind.
I bolted upright, nearly slamming my head into the windshield of my truck. My hands clung to the steering wheel, sweet dripping from my brow. Taking deep, agonizing breaths, I raised the back of my chair to meet my rigid spine. A dream. A nightmare. It felt unnervingly real. But all dreams felt that way in the moment, didn’t they?
I turned to my passenger fast asleep in the seat beside me as I still struggled to catch my breath. Asleep, his nostrils flared as tiny snores pierced the silent night. I reached for his hands folded across his stomach as the echoes of the nightmare faded from memory.
Sighing, I returned my grip to the steering wheel. He was still there. That was all that mattered. Turning the key in the ignition, he snapped upright beside me, chairback and all.
“Morning already?” He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“N-no.” I breathed. “I just couldn’t sleep anymore.”
He turned to me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just a bad dream.” I shifted the truck into drive.
“Can’t promise there won’t be more of those.” He looked out the window beside him.
To the west, just above the horizon, hung the tattered remains of Ancora’s moon, Onus. A net of tentacles spewed from its gaping, stony wound, floating through the sky like flotsam on a sea of perpetual night.
“It’s already out of my head.” I forced a laugh. “But it felt so… Real.”
He smiled. “A prophesy, perhaps.”
“Keeper help me, I hope not.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel again.
“Are you certain you’re well enough to drive, Love?”
“I-” I wasn’t. The details had fled my mind, but my nerves were still shaking.
“Why not lie back down? You don’t have to go back to sleep, but you need to give yourself some rest.”
“I just woke up.” I adjusted my eyepatch to hide the twinge of Voidsight that had started kicking in.
“You know what I mean, Love.” He smiled softly. “Here.” A tentacle reached over to the key and turned the engine off. “I know your instinct is to work away trauma and pain, but let’s try something a bit different, shall we?”
“Trauma?” I chuckled. “I don’t even remember what it was about.”
“Something that cut deep, I’d wager.”
I finally let my hands slip from the steering wheel.
“Y-yeah…”
“Just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t lessen the effect it had on you.”
I turned to him. “Thanks, Sy.” I choked out.
He turned as much as he could in his chair to face me. Reaching out, he put his arms around my shoulders and leaned me down over the space between us, resting my head on his belly. A net of tentacles wove themselves beneath me, sparing my side from the hard plastic console. I slid my arms around him.
“Rest.” He cooed.
I nodded against him as my eyes grew heavy. The hum of his core and the warmth of his skin was all I needed to whisk me back into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
-
For the first time in human history, please allow me to introduce one of my main characters, and brain squatter for six whole years, Sylus Synclaire!

Yes. That’s him. That’s the boi in all his glory. He’s been years in the making and months in the refining, but here he is.
I had him rattling around in my head before I even had a plot. Before Jeron was even a main character. Sylus has been here from the absolute beginning and to finally see him, TRULY see him, is insanely emotional. I laughed, I cried, I had many little moments.
Rhett did an amazing job listening to me make words that I had zero faith in making sense. It took pretty much all night, but here we are! I still scream a little just looking at him.
Might be worth mentioning this is a full color image. We didn’t skimp on skin tone because Sylus HAS no skin tone. That’s 100% an accurate portrayal of mah boi.
I am beyond pleased with everything about it, but there are certain things I REALLY want to highlight.
His ears. I wanna talk about his ears. His little finny ears. For the longest time I wanted to do SOMETHING with his ears because, as we know, ears are pretty much accepted as a reference point for how human a character is. Sylus is not human and though he largely appears as one, he couldn’t make it all work perfectly. The two “troubling” points were always his mouth (shark mouth bru haha) and ears. Keeping his mouth shut eliminates the former problem, but the ears are just part and parcel with being his particular brand of Voidlord. That is, the fishy kind. He wasn’t originally a fish boi, in fact, I had no idea what he was. We just came to this by noodling backwards from “he has tentacles and I really like squids”. Which brings me back to HIS EARS! They have a little finny-ness to them, BUT, and this is hard to see at this angle because his hair obscures it (intentionally) he has mollusk funnels instead of ear canals! This was one of my beta readers’ ideas and I was like “Done. Perfect.”
Also his nose. We spent hours just working out his nose. Is perfect.
And his shirt. Iridescent isn’t exactly an easy concept to illustrate, but I think Rhett did a fantastic job getting the idea down on “paper”. It was probably the most arduous part of the entire process, but they made it happen and I couldn’t be happier.
Jeron’s up next after we finish Sylus’ character sheet so stay tuned for that! There’s some crazy exciting stuff going on right now!
If you wanna read a bit more about Mr. Synclaire (he’d cringe at being called that), he has a character bio page you can find here!
-
He awoke with a start to the sound of gently scraping metal in a room he didn’t recognize. Confused, he sat up in an unfamiliar bed, still fully dressed, to find someone in it with him.
A John?
Dinner?
He couldn’t recall, but they were seated across his legs and leaned down just below the rise of his stomach. The scraping sound was coming from there.
He jerked his legs and they sat up.
“Hey big guy.” They smiled as he shook long dreadlocks out of his face and over his shoulders.
He is your Archon. His name is Jeron. The cohabitator of his body reminded him.
A flurry of memories swirled through his mind. They were traveling. This was a motel room. He was madly in love with the soft eyes that now searched his face for recognition.
With the edge of confusion gone, he relaxed back on his elbows.
“What are you doing down there?” He mumbled.
“You’ll see.”
“Will I?”
Jeron nodded. “Later. I promise. Go back to sleep.” He patted Sylus’ belly.
Sylus grumbled before allowing himself to lay back down. Knowing he was safe, he let himself fall back to sleep.
Morning came and he woke up once more. This time he had the luxury of rebooting all his memories without the distress of suddenly being conscious.
Beside him, under the covers, slept Jeron. He smiled. Leaning over, he kissed him softly on the cheek. A small coo came in reply.
With a sigh, he rolled over to get up. He didn’t sweat and his body only had to reject dirt to technically be “clean”, but he still felt the need for a shower. It was the human in him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he was reminded he never undressed for bed. He briefly tried to remember why, but gave up. It didn’t matter. He slept in his suit all the time.
Standing up, he shuffled into the bathroom and started the shower as he undressed before the mirror. He never really liked seeing himself but ever since the change it’d gotten easier to accept the face that looked back at him was his own.
He undid his belt and pulled it off. His fingers ran over the what should have been a smooth buckle, but he was quick to notice something different in the metal surface.
There, neatly carved into the top were two letters. Initials. The handwriting was meticulous and unmistakable.
“J. M.”
“Miles.” He breathed as beautiful memories surfaced in his mind. “Jeron Miles.”
A stupid smile snapped across his lips as he looked up into the mirror to find Jeron sitting up in bed, yawning. His gaze lingered long enough for his lover to catch it from across the room.
“In case you ever forget to whom your fat, tentacly ass belongs.” He smiled so softly through a frame of discheveled hair.
Sylus looked down at his belt. Had it been anyone else, they’d be dead. But it wasn’t anyone else and it would never be anyone else.
He smiled as he hung his clothes on the hook behind the door before getting into the scalding shower that awaited him.
-
Since I’ve begun actively posting anti-AI content, I think it’s time I made this statement.
Eternity’s Irys is 0% written by AI. For better or worse, I wrote every word of it.
I did use the assistance of ProWritingAid for some editing. I mostly took it’s marks under advisement and did what I wanted with it’s feedback. Very rarely did I accept its solutions at face value. I am uncertain of my future use of this tool.
The stand-in cover was AI generated, but it now only exists on my personal copies. The homepage has been updated with the rough draft of the retail cover. The site icon has also been updated using art of my own.I have replaced the AI generated character portraits with old designs I drew up back in “The Q’taxians” era. They’re not the best representations, but they’re something.All ancillary imagery on the site has been removed or replaced with art I can link back to a human creator. I may still dip into stock imagery from time to time, but I’m up in the air about that for reasons completely unrelated to this topic.As of September of 2024, all art is now professionally created by Rhett (@fire_locket). Thanks to them, the cover is now completely original, character art has been updated, and all accent pieces including the site icon, have been replaced with high quality human-made art. The only thing that remains NOT made by Rhett is the little flower gif on the home page. That was made with stock images via Canva.
As amazing as it was to put AI to some use, it still left me feeling “dirty”. Almost all of my AI imagery was generated before I understood what was actually going on, how it really worked. As I’ve learned, I’ve begun distancing myself from any AI applications.
I was one of those “I can’t draw, but at least now I can have some art!” types. I had no plans to sell it besides the cover as a part of my book. Then it came for authors. AI “written” books started flooding the market. I’m sorry it took this and not the contentions of artists for me to see the light of day. When I realized how against AI “writing” I was, I knew I had to be anti AI art too. I also became increasingly aware of the poor/uncanny quality of all AI generated creative content. I went from “it looks good enough!” to “wow could it get any more lifeless?”
I used to be among the crowd that argued human artists had nothing to fear and if they were good enough, they’d shine well above the AI stuff. I was wrong, and for that, I am sorry. All art, no matter the quality, deserves a place of higher appreciation than anything generated by AI.
Somehow this revelation gave me some confidence in my own rudimentary drawings as well.
Since making the connection with my illustrator, Rhett, I’ve felt more and more comfortable with this decision. I understand this does put me in somewhat of a place of privilege, but it’s with this privilege that I can try to make a difference in the creative industry, even if it’s microscopic and goes unnoticed. My conscience and my project will be truly human made. And that’s what matters the most to me.
When I first generated Sylus with AI, it made me so damn happy. But it wasn’t truly him. It was an approximation and I assumed that was the best I’d ever get. Rhett has proved me wrong and I couldn’t be happier. A sketch from them has more heart and soul than anything AI could create.
Going forward, I have sworn off knowingly using any AI in any of my content.
Art plays a huge part in Eternity’s Irys. It’s the human element that makes it magical. The mortal experience. If I’m going to write about it, I have to live it fully. There is no art without a human’s involvement. Images and text blocks, sure. But art? No. Never.
I am well aware that AI is here to stay and its getting more and more accurate and life-like. I, personally, find this more disturbing than hopeful. I’m not here to fight the future, but I am here to preserve the present for as long as I can.
This is a personal choice I have no intention of forcing onto anyone else. I understand it may result in yet more shooting of myself in the foot down the line, but I’m willing to accept that.
Humans first, in all things.
Thank you all for your understanding.
**** September 2024 UPDATE: All art is now the product of Rhett (@fire_locket). The cover has been fully replaced, character art has been updated, and all accents including the site icon have been entirely sourced from the same human being. There is ZERO AI content left on this site! ****
🦑💜🦇
PS: I’m not here to argue the concept of developing “sentience”. That’s an entirely different topic.
-
“Sylus?”
He stood at the counter gazing sleepily at a toasting toaster.
“Hm?” He replied without averting his gaze.
“Why are you making frozen waffles at 2am?”
He shrugged.
“There’s batter in the fridge.”
“And I’m certain it’d taste better.”
“Would you like me to get the batter?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes you just need some frozen waffles.”
The toaster gave a light ding as golden-brown waffles popped out. Lifting them out with his bare, unfazed fingers, he rested them on a plate before putting four more into the toaster. After gently lowering them in, he began buttering the finished ones.
“And why do you need frozen waffles?” I made my way over to the freezer/fridge combo.
“Hungry. Too tired for batter.”
“Mm, well, that can’t be true.”
“And why’s that?” He meticulously spread butter over every crevice of the waffles.
“There’s like 20 pounds of bacon still in here.”
“And?”
“And a ham.”
“So?”
“Sylus, you’re a carnivore. If you’re hungry, why are you making frozen waffles?”
“Sometimes you just need frozen waffles.”
I glared at him as I closed the freezer.
“Want some?”
“Where did you even get-” I cut myself off and shook my head. “N-nevermind.”
“They’re not stolen, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I pursed my lips and sighed.
“You want some frozen waffles, Jeron?”
I sighed again. Pre-made food was never something we did in my home. It was from scratch or nothing. I could smell the difference between the frozen waffles and the family recipe batter sitting in the fridge. It was different, but not necessarily bad.
“Some processed carbs never killed anyone.” Sylus spoke as he unloaded another four waffles only to swiftly replace them with four more.
I leaned my back against the fridge and folded my arms across my chest.
“Well?” He murmured as he dressed his fresh waffles.
I glared at him.
Silence set in until the toaster popped once more. Sylus took them out and placed them in a separate plate. He was a bit less heavy handed with the butter and syrup.
Lifting both plates into his hands, he turned to me and offered the smaller of the two.
“Sometimes you just need some frozen waffles.” He repeated.
Shaking my head I took them from him. Smelled okay. Decent consistency on my fork. I took a bite.
Definitely not homemade but also… They were pretty good, in their own way.
“I suppose you do need some frozen waffles from time to time.” I mumbled through a mouthful.
-

Author’s Note: Uh… Okay…
“Eight songs, a book, and a luxury item?” Sylus put the book down. “How do you carry 8 songs? CD? Cassette? Has to be cassette. You can fit way more than 8 on a CD. What about a tablet? Oh, there’s the luxury item! I can put a book and 8 songs on it. Easy.”
I ran my hand down my face. “Let’s say records, one per song, a physical book, and a luxury item that would survive a shipwreck.”
“Well now you’re just making it needlessly complicated. Why would I be traveling with 8 45 singles?”
“Sylus.”
“Jeron.”
“Just answer the question.”
“I did.”
“Alright.” I breathed. “What book and songs are on your tablet?”
“You first.”
“Me?! You’re the one with the tablet!”
He shrugged.
“I don’t even know eight songs and I only have one book… As for a luxury item, I’ll just stick you in my suitcase.”
“Me?!”
I nodded. “I know you’d fit with enough effort.”
He looked down at his massive self. “What.”
“You’d fit. You know that.”
“Physics aside, I’m a luxury item?”
“Well with you I could have any luxury item I want so why bring any if I can just bring you?”
He glared. “I thought you wanted to do this in the spirit of the prompt.”
“I did, but you’re bringing a tablet. So I’ll just stuff you and your tablet in my suitcase. Problem solved.”
Sylus opened his mouth to speak only to close it again.
“See? Two can play that game!”
He groaned.
“Besides, neither of us could be stuck anywhere for long enough to make use of any of that stuff.”
He sighed and shrugged.
Reaching for the coffee table, he picked up the little book again.
“Shall I find us another?”
I put a hand on his. “Save it for next year.” I kissed him on the cheek.
Author’s Final Closing Note: Broke the 4th wall for this one. Figured why not since it’s the last post for this round of 14 days of romance. Took a bit longer than 14 days to get the out, but hey, they’re done.
I’d like to give a special thanks to Clyde the Couch Squid for holding the book for every entry. I like to think he got a bit more confident toward the end.
For now, the little book of romantic ideas is getting shelved until next year.
Until then, spread the love! 🏳️🌈
🦑💜🦇
-

Author’s Note: This is kind of a silly idea. Additional Taylor Swift quote for relevancy 🤣
“B-16!” The caller yelled.
Sylus furiously studied his card. When he didn’t find a match, he cursed and took a shot of liquor.
Meanwhile, I marked the spot on mine.
“How’re you sodamnlucky?” His words slurred together a bit.
“Sylus, this was your idea. You wanted to win that stupid maraca set…”
“Hand. Made!”
“Sylus…”
“They’re my colors, too.”
“Yes they are.”
“I-5!”
“Oh for the love of!” Sylus slammed his hand on the table and took another shot.
I marked my card. I was now in a position to win in several different ways.
Sylus wasn’t the only one drinking. It was part of the rules that if you didn’t get a spot, you had to imbibe. I wasn’t happy with that as I’m not a drinker, but Sylus said he could hold enough for the both of us. I think he assumed he couldn’t get drunk. We were ten calls in and he was wasted.
“G-75!”
I threw my hand in the air. “Bingo!”
Sylus chugged the rest of his shots. He had zero marks on his card.
“Congratulations! Pick a prize from the table.”
“Jus’gotta remindmyself, it’s a charity thing.” Sylus muttered.
I kissed his cheek before going to retrieve his maracas. They were painted black with sparkly purple stars. Wisps of purple caressing the bottom of the rattle resembled tendrils.
I shook the caller’s hand before making my way back to our table.
“Here.” I offered him his instruments.
He took them with invisible tentacles and shook them by his ears. “Soundsnice.”
“I’m glad you like them. Can we get going now before you start desiccating?”
“I amnot desi- desuh…”
“Come on, big guy.” I put his arm over my shoulders and helped him out of his chair.
“Buh…” He groaned as I led him back out to the truck.
“Was it worth it?” I laughed as I shoved him onto the back bench.
Laying on his back, he chook his maracas and nodded. “They sound like rain. Rain is water. I’m thirsty.”
I rolled my eyes. I grabbed a jug of water from the back of the truck and set it on the floor beside him. Taking one of his already-wilting tentacles, I put it inside so he could stay hydrated.
“Alright.” I sighed as I got back into the driver’s seat. “Off we go.”
I felt something slither up from beneath my chair. A tentacle wrapped around my left ankle. I smiled.
Author’s Closing Note: I’m still not 100% sure if Sylus can get drunk or how that mechanic would work, but what the heck. He can for the sake of this silly thing.
-
SPOILER ALERT! This contains some deep lore that’s subject to change. It lacks context or explanation, but there are things in this that won’t be revealed in canon for a looong time. You have been warned!
Sylvyx was particularly disoriented and confused. He sat in the center of the diner parking lot, legs crossed, staring out into nothing. It hurt, seeing him like that. Seeing the facade of the man I once loved now in the hands of a lonely child who’d known nothing but cruelty and brutality. I wanted to love him. I wanted so badly to feel like I did before when he was Sylus, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. It hurt horribly.
I made my way outside and stood beside him.
“Hungry?” I could barely speak.
“No.” He replied. Same voice, different person.
“Tired?”
He sighed. “Very.”
“Me, too.” I breathed.
He looked up at me. The eyes I’d loved so much now belonged to someone else. The gaze I’d grown so fond of was no longer the one I knew.
“Here.” I offered him my hand.
He stood up and stared at my gesture.
“Let’s go for a walk.” I continued.
He shook his head. “I am not him.”
“I know. Still, let’s go for a walk. You and I. Sylvyx and Jeron.”
His gaze lifted to my eyes. I desperately hoped my welling tears evaded his notice, but the way his face contorted told me otherwise.
“I’m sorry.” He choked.
“Don’t be. It was inevitable. We knew Sylus was temporary. We,” I cleared my throat, “we knew.”
He stared at me with those piercing violet orbs. “I remember love.”
“Yeah?” I forced a laugh.
“He was much like you. Eons and lifetimes ago.” He looked to my outstretched hand again. “I killed him.”
I closed my eyes and closed my fingers. “It wasn’t you, though, was it?”
“Does it matter?” He forced a weak laugh of his own. “The last thing Ennea saw was my face as he was wiped off the face of the universe. The last thing he felt…” He squeezed his stomach. “I-I don’t want to exist anymore.”
I thrust my hand into his and closed my fingers around him. “Let’s go for a walk.”
He nodded stiffly.
I practically dragged him up the precipical coastline until we were far enough out of town that the ambient light no longer obscured the night sky. The moon was a massive glimmering orb of white shimmering light. Its face reflected across the dark ocean surface.
“Here.” I motioned to the ground. I sat down and brought my guitar around front.
He remained standing.
“Sit, Sylvyx.”
He sighed and sat down beside me. A remnant of Sylus probably. He stared emptily out into the depths of the sea. I didn’t know who he was. I had no idea who I was sitting next to, I just knew that once upon a time that face brought me so much joy. His smile, his laugh, the crease at the corners of his eyes, the way his ears lifted with his grin, his thick sideburns, the stubble on his jaw, the soft, caring look in his alien eyes. Sylus. He was sitting next to me and he didn’t even know me. But that wasn’t fair to say, was it? Sylus was gone. I had to accept that. Maybe I’d never love Sylvyx like I wanted to, but I could at least try to be his friend. I knew enough about the creature’s past to know how utterly lonely it had been.
I fingered a few notes that began to sound familiar. A song Sylus and I had sung together once. My tenor to his baritone. A serenade of peace in a cacophony of chaos.
“And I give up forever to touch you ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow.” I glanced at his vacant gaze. “You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be and I don’t want to go home right now.” He winced. “And all I can taste is this moment and all I can breathe is your life and sooner or later it’s over and I just don’t wanna miss you tonight.” He tilted his gaze to the moon. “And I don’t want the world to see me cuz I don’t think that they’d understand. When everything’s made to be broken I just want you to know who I am.” He closed his eyes and I paused the music. “You okay?”
No answer came. He just stared, unseeing.
I started playing again.
“And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming,” his face was a blank, empty slate, “or the moment of truth in your lies. When everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive.” His eyes closed. “And I don’t want the world to see me,” I closed my own, cause I don’t think that they’d understand. When everything’s made to be broken,” I looked at him, “I just want you to know who I am.”
No response. I resumed idly playing, realizing I wasn’t reaching him at all. I was in so much pain. My heart and soul ached as I played every note, but I couldn’t stand the thought of silence. The harder my heart beat in agonizing misery, the more I ramped up. It felt like rage, like anger, frustration, but it wasn’t. That’s what I expected, but that’s not what it was. It was hope. Desperate and weak, but it was hope. As I crescendoed to repeat the chorus, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth.
“And I don’t want the world to see me.” It wasn’t my voice. I dropped the melody and turned to him. “‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.” He wasn’t singing, but rather speaking slowly, his voice shaking terribly, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. “When everything’s made to be broken,” I stared at him in disbelief, “I just want you to know who I am.” He gazed up at the monstrous moon above.
“Sylus?” I could barely utter his name.
“And I don’t want the world to see me,” his voice grew stronger with every word, “‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand.” The melody, though practically shouted, was clear in his cadence. “When everything’s made to be broken,” he stood up and whipped his military cap off and into the sea, “I just want you to know who I am.” He spun around to me, arms outstretched.
An uncontrollable gasp burst from my lungs. It was him. It was Sylus. Not Sylvyx or Qaitax or anyone other than the man I loved with all my heart. I burst to my feet beside him as I began playing again. His hands clasped my shoulders. All of my love, all of my heartache swelled into our voices joining together.
“And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand. When everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am. I just want you to know who I am. I just want you to know who I am.” Our gazes locked, tears streaming down both our faces. “I just want you to know who I am.” He took my face in his hands. “I just want you to know who I am.” I choked up, trapping my voice in my throat. “I just want you to know who I am.” He held out the last note for a long, glorious moment. Sylus. My Sylus.
I trailed off on the guitar as our voices fell silent.
“Sylus?” I croaked.
“Jeron.” He breathed.
“Is that really you?” I flicked a few strings in nervous agony expecting the worst.
He smiled. The same smile I’d come to love with all my heart. “It is, love.”
I sank into his embrace. Feeling his massive arms around me again, feeling the breath in his lungs, the beating of his false heart, the warmth of his flesh. Everything Sylvyx had silenced, everything that made Sylus Sylus was back.
“I love you, Sylus.” I sobbed into his uniform.
“And I, you, Love.”
I shook my head. “Say it.”
He kissed the top of my head and whispered: “I love you, Jeron Miles. From now to eternity. You are mine and I am yours. Together. Forever.”
I squeezed him as best as I could, my arms never reaching all the way around him. He returned the gesture, pressing me against himself.
“Thank you.” I breathed into him. “I missed you so much, Sylus.” I choked back a sob.
“And I, you, love.” He cooed as he ran his fingers through my hair. “And I, you.”
I grabbed the collar of his uniform. “Don’t you ever leave me again!”
“I won’t, love. Never again.”
“Promise me! Promise me you’ll never throw yourself away again because goddammit Sylus Synclaire you are fucking loved.”
He smiled. “I promise.”
“Good.” I pressed my face into his chest again. “Because if you do…”
“You’ll kill me yourself, right?”
“Don’t tempt me.” I growled.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Then keep your fucking promise.”
“I will, love. I swear it.”
“Good. Because I really don’t want to have to kill you.” I leaned back letting our gazes meet. I brought my hands to the sides of his face. “I’d miss you too much.”
“Well, you see, if I disappeared, and you found me and then killed me, I’ll have disappeared for good forever. See, I feel like that’s counter intuitive to your intentions and-”
I put a finger to his lips and he grinned.
I leaned up and pressed my lips against his. He was more than willing to accept me.
So there I was. Once more in the embrace of my lover under the silver glow of the moon. And I was finally at peace.
Author’s Note: Technically this song could exist in universe, but that doesn’t matter for the sake of this story 💜
-

Author’s Note: This one’s tough. The sun doesn’t rise anymore and the moon is anchored to the planet. Maybe I can just… Forget all that in the name of some romance…
We sat upon the roof in our respective chairs. Hot drinks in our hands, we watched as a long dead galaxy rose over the horizon. Eons ago this swirl of starlight existed countless lightyears away, but now it’s echo rose over the broken moon that tethered our world to the Void.
It felt so close that I could reach out and touch it. Feel the burning of the stars on my skin. I wonder how many lives once inhabited it’s worlds. How many species were ended by the Void? How many escaped into the peace of a natural extinction? How old had these stars been before being extinguished by the cold march of time?
It felt so strange to think about all these things. Isolating but somehow nostalgic at the same time. I’d never know those people. I’d never speak their language or eat their food. I’d never know a single thing about their lives and yet in that memory that hung in our Ancora sky, singular moments of their existence were frozen. Still outside of my reach.
I wanted to know them. To understand them in some way. Travel their stars just as I wish I could travel mine. How far had their lights come to be here and now?
I sipped my coffee and Sylus sipped his tea.
I wonder what he’s thinking. How does he feel about this alien body gliding across our sky?
Our conduit opened and I felt his sadness. Lamentations of what could have been. Some part of him had seen some of those worlds. Some part of him had lived among those people. But that part would never speak on it. Qaitax wasn’t one to linger on the past. What to me felt like an insurmountable distance of time and space was a mere blink of an eye to the dead lord that lurked behind my lover’s eyes.
Time crept on and the galaxy made it’s way behind us. A million suns setting on our horizon. Would they rise again tomorrow? Or would another memory take their place?
I sipped my coffee and Sylus sipped his tea.
Author’s Closing Note: Nice and prose-y, this one. I think it went a lot better than expected. 😊
-

Author’s Note: I laughed when I saw this one. Sylus has no bones and Jeron’s never done yoga in his life. Let’s see how they fair…
I sat in the living room on a blanket, legs crossed beneath me, hands upturned on my knees, breathing along with the instructions coming from my phone. Somehow being a Blood Mage didn’t make me nearly as limber as I’d hoped. My mind was sharp, but my body?
“Your body’s fine.” Sylus replied to my thoughts as he crested the stairs. “You’re still in great shape so I hope that’s not your concern.”
“I have no doubt that I’m in shape, but I’m stiff and anxious and stuff.” I twisted around to match the image on my phone. “I’ve heard this can help.”
He crouched down and squinted at the tiny video playing on my phone.
“Yoga?”
“Yup.” I replied, though strained as I forced my limbs into another pose.
“I can safely say I’ve never done it before.”
Something in my back cracked. Loudly. I sighed in relief.
“Well if all you needed was a back cracking.” He unfurled his tentacles.
“There’s a spiritual factor to it, too.” I changed poses with a bit more effort than before.
“Hmm.” He scratched his beard.
“It feels good to stretch your own body in different ways.”
I felt him sit down beside me.
“Gonna stretch the old tentacles?” I muttered as I struggled to get into another pose he’d already effortlessly emulated. “It’d be different if you had a skeleton.”
“The perks of being a space squid.”
I tried to laugh, but my twisting made it difficult.
He moved into the next pose with zero effort while I struggled to get my leg high enough. He was massive and he moved like it was nothing. I was fit and lithe and I often found myself struggling.
“Like you said, no bones.” He must have noticed me quietly comparing my performance to his. “We’re different species, Jeron. Don’t think too much about it.”
We moved into a few more poses and only once did he struggle. Mostly because he had no idea what the instructor was doing with their body and it mortified him. He got it in the end, though. I think it was Pigeon Pose or something?
As things started winding down, I finally found myself nailing every pose. My body felt almost airy as I seamlessly shifted around.
When it came time to rest, we sat side by side, legs folded beneath us, palms resting upward on our knees.
Breathing in sync, I could feel a placid calm wash over me. It was the best I’d felt in years.
I let loose a comfortable sigh. Sylus chuckled in reply.
“Did it work?” He mumbled.
“Hm?”
“Did it soothe your spirit?”
I smiled. “I think it did, actually.”
“Good.” He smiled.
Author’s Closing Note: Short, sweet, something 😊
-

Author’s Note: Opening the book at random, our first date challenge is to “Find a cosy co-working place together”. Interesting premise, since Jeron and Sylus don’t exactly have traditional forms of employment. However, if we jump ahead and get a bit spoilery, I think we can work something out 😉
A light tap on my office door stole my attention away from the documents that scattered my desk.
“Come in.” I nearly snapped from exhaustion.
The door creaked open and a tentacle slid in, waving at me.
“Come in, Sy.” I smiled as I leaned my arms on the desk.
The door opened the rest of the way and he stepped in, closing it gingerly behind him.
“Jeron, I was not built for office work.” He grumbled.
“Neither was I, but right now that’s what we have to do.”
“I’ve written so much Qalian I’m uncertain if I remember any Anglican.”
I smiled. “At least you can write Qalian. I can barely speak it.” I leaned back in my chair. “What’s up, Sy?”
“I have a conundrum, if you will.”
“And that is?”
“I’m very bored and I’m swiftly losing focus. I figure a change of scenery may help.”
I raised a brow. “You have a place in mind?”
“There’s a café in the mountains. Around where Innaya lives.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That we pick up the most urgent thing on our plates and take it for a little walk.”
I sighed.
“Might help with,” he motioned to the mess on my desk, “whatever the hell all that is.”
“It is a communique with Dunskye, if you cared to know.”
“That all?”
I sifted through the scattered pages. “Among… other… things…”
He snorted.
“You expect me to believe your desk looks any better, Lord Scatterbrain?”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I never claimed it did.”
I sighed.
“Get your penpal letter to Marcus together and we’ll go for a little weave, yeah?”
“Y-yeah… Guess I could use some fresh coffee.” I side-eyed the day old pot on a stand across the room.
“And I some tea I didn’t forget to drink. I’ll be right back.”
Sylus left the room in a drop of ink.
Was Dunskye my most pressing matter? I shuffled the pages and everything seemed to blur together. It was all important, but I couldn’t take an entire binder full of treatises with me to a café. Closing my eyes, I let my hand fall on whatever Sion’Dri decided.
Sure enough, it was my letter to Marcus Vance of Dunskye. It was a neighboring town that found itself in a similar situation as Ortzuna. As in, no Lord had laid claim to it for fear of Sylus. That also included Sylus who’d yet to start marking his territory. My intention was to ask Marcus to join an alliance of sorts so at the very least we could protect ourselves in lieu of a Lord’s boon. I have a suspicion that Dunskye has its own bed of secrets just like Ortzuna does.
Picking the scrambled pages up, I slipped them into a folder and stood up from my desk.
A drop of ink appeared in the middle of the room. A flurry of tentacles gave way to Sylus’ rotund form. He held under his arm a golden grimoire; something to do with the Xanthous Court.
“Shall we?” He offered me his hand.
Tired, but smiling, I took it.
In the blink of an eye, we appeared outside Innaya’s towering stone-work home. The mountain air was so different from that of the sea that it always took me a few breaths to acclimate.
Behind us stretched a cobblestone street lined with shops and homes. A tiny town, much like Ortzuna, that seemed untouched by the Void, unlike Ortzuna. A hidden gem, as Innaya would call it.
We made our way down a few blocks before arriving at the café Sylus had in mind.
Another stone building with a bright green awning handing over wrought iron outdoor seating. A sign hung from an iron arm protruding from beside the door:
Northwind Cafe and Sundries
A bell chimed as we opened the solid wood door. The cozy warmth of brewing beverages washed over us.
Drifting straight for the counter, we found our place on a relatively short line. Sylus stood beside me humming his little tune and I absently leaned against his arm.
“I’ll have a large chai, please.” His gruff voice brought me back to reality.
“Oh, and I’ll, uh, have,” I glanced up at the menu, “a mocha latte. Please. Thank you.”
Sylus beamed as he paid for our drinks.
We made our way to a window table. Around the room were tables and shelves of various snacks and baked goods. Soft music played to match the gentle atmosphere we’d found ourselves in.
All I really knew anymore was war and politics. Quiet moments were few and far between. Most of them were just lying in bed with Sylus and passing out near instantly.
But a café? A free café devoid of Lords and their influences? No raucous noises? No fear of death looming just outside? A place where daylight still dawned and eternal darkness had yet overtaken it?
I closed my eyes and considering forgetting about the folder I held under my arm.
I felt Sylus’ presence disappear only to return a moment later. The scent of fresh brewed coffee filled my nose. I sighed.
“This is nice.” I opened my eyes to find him leaned back in his chair, reading glasses on, tea in one hand, and his golden grimoire open and leaning against his crossed mountainous legs. I cleared my throat as I placed my folder on the table.
Starry eyes smiled as I forced myself to get to work. I glanced up at him and met his beaming gaze.
Clearing my throat again, I got to work.
Every so often his gentle humming would rise above the ambient music. I’d glance up and find him working some magic over the pages of his tome. Whatever he was doing was far more Voidal than my simple, hand-written letter. He looked almost sagely sitting there with his legs folded, glasses settled on the tip of his nose, the occasional tentacle-tongue slipping through his lips when intense concentration came into play.
As for me, the change of scenery really did help. I was finally able to put my words together exactly how I wanted to. All the necessary details and none of the nervous fluff I’d filled it with before. Instead of five pages, it was two. Pleased with my work, I sat back and took a long sip of my coffee which was still hot.
“I got you a refill.” Sylus answered the question that flashed through my mind. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” I put all the pages back in my folder and closed it.
“Finish your communique?” He smiled over his grimoire.
“I think so. Might sleep on it to see if I come up with any other anxiety-induced alterations.”
“You sound like me.” He unfolded his leg and laid the book down on the table.
“And what were you doing all this time?”
He groaned. “Writing a letter of my own to the Xanthous Lord. Stubborn bastard won’t even read it if it’s not written a certain way. Qalian, yes, but the dialect? The hue? Pah! All that just for an audience I probably won’t even be granted.”
“Your both Lords, can’t you just talk to each other like equals?”
“Half-breed, Jeron. I’m a half-breed, remember?”
“Yeah…” I sighed. “But a Lord’s a Lord, right?”
He chuckled. “I wish.” He clapped the book shut. “It just so happens I finished my latest attempt at a missive as well.”
“How was your chai?”
“Delicious. And yours?”
I took a fresh sip so I could actually taste it for once. “Mmm. I’d come back.”
“As would I.” He sniffed the air. “I can smell the fresh-baked bread.”
“Wanna grab a bite?”
“If I grabbed a bite, I’d have to start feasting. I’m hungry, yes, but a place like this couldn’t even begin to sate me and I’d hate to eat them out of everything they have.”
“Then a hunt it is.” I leaned across the table and kissed him softly on the lips. “Take me home so I can send this before I worry about it all night.”
“As you wish, Love.”
-
“Final” Stats:
48 Chapters
99,591 Words
426 Pages (with two extra reserved for special features)
As of today, my first physical pass of Eternity’s Irys is now complete. I intend to do one more with a softcover copy before calling it 100% complete. I would say we are at the 80% mark.
Things still in the works:
-Mandala artist’s credit
-Cover art
-Super Secret Extra Project
-Illustrator creditI’m still aiming for an official release in June, but with all the work I’m putting on my illustrator, that might be changing. I’m willing to push it all back to make it perfect and I think between the two of us, it will be.
I may have mentioned a Valentines Day project. As of right now that’s been scrapped in favor of the Super Secret Extra Project. I’m very excited about it and I believe it’s the lux treatment Eternity’s Irys deserves.
I truly believe that Eternity’s Irys is nearing the end of its journey to be the best version of itself it can be.
After the paperback pass, it’ll probably be shelved until my illustrator can tackle their work and boy do they have a lot of it. In the meantime, I plan on trying to source some fun little merch things like pins and stickers! Might be a good time to learn how to use my Cricut 🤔
After his amazing work with the holiday piece, Rhett Cameron Morris has officially been hired as both cover artist and illustrator. He has a lot on his plate, but I know he’ll pull it all off.
With all that said, I believe that concludes this little update. Consider the publish date malleable, but everyone will be kept updated on that situation as I’m lowkey considering planning a party around it.
Did I say party? Yes. Yes I did. I would really like to do a release party sometime this year. How I’ll do it, or even afford it, I have absolutely no idea, but there has to be a way to do something like this on a budget. To the drawing board!
Until next time o/
🦑💜🦇 -

Happy 5th Anniversary to the completion of the first draft of “The Q’taxians”!
How far we’ve come and what a crazy adventure it’s been! Rollercoaster of highs and lows, character growth, real life growth, tons of drafts and discarded novels, all to get us here: Eternity’s Irys. Not once did I want to give up, but boy was it tempting at times. Certainly glad I never did!I think I’m going to commemorate it by making December 11th Jeron’s birthday. From side character to primary MC, he’s come a long way

(If anyone’s curious, Sylus’ is July 13. No reason, just ended up that way)
Thank you again to everyone who’s been following me on this journey. It’s been a lot and I appreciate every bit of support.
“Eternity’s Irys: Two Minutes to Midnight” is looking at a very realistic 2024 release so please stay tuned for more news and updates!
Much love, and until next time,
Tav



(remember when it was


? Even the emoji’s have evolved
) -
As of yesterday, the first entry to the “Eternity’s Irys” series, “Two Minutes to Midnight”, is finally complete.

Dust Jacket of the Author Proof Copy I am finally happy with the outcome of five years of writing.
Currently, my brother and I are putting together some proof copies. He’s doing most of the technical work I can’t handle as well as redesigning the cover. He expects to have them before Christmas.
It feels unreal and I can’t even say I’m 100% happy. I just… am. I think it’ll be different when I finally hold it.
I spent so long trying to manually format and edit the whole thing that I ended up using Atticus for formatting and ProWritingAid for some editing assistance. We didn’t agree on everything, but it helped me reword some stuff and reduce repetition and excessive verbosity.

Page Layout via Atticus I have a cover artist in the wings with a June of 2024 deadline, however I may publish my first edition sooner. I’m not counting this proof copy as a formal edition, but it will come in a limited batch of 4.

Hard Cover of the Author Proof Copy I still feel largely nothing for some reason. Maybe it hasn’t set in that I’m actually finished.
For now.
I ended on such a severe cliff hanger with so many open threads I almost feel bad. However, addressing even ONE of those threads tacked on 100 more pages and like 30k more words. It became tedious. So… I let all the threads hang flapping in the wind. Don’t worry, I have them all plotted out into the second book so nothing will go unanswered or unaddressed. It just couldn’t be done now.
I think the process for the next book will be much more streamlined. I have a much better idea of what I’m doing. It’ll hopefully move at a better pace. I always thought this one tracked a bit on the slow side, but far from unreadable.
The first book was, from the start, intended to lay groundwork and that’s about it. I think it does that and moves the story into a position where I can take it wherever I need to.
I decided on “Two Minutes to Midnight” as an homage to the Doomsday Clock. The Doomsday Clock tracks how close we are to the end of the world as we know it. In case you were curious, we’re currently, in real life, at 90 seconds to midnight. Midnight being “the end”. Not necessarily rapture or hellfire, but a dire change in the way our world functions. The clock moves forward and back depending on what plays out on the world stage. Negative events, like war, move it forward. Progressive events, like reducing CO2 emissions, moves it back. it’s far easier to move it ahead than back.
The book starts at 120 seconds to that world’s apocalypse.
It still needs some work, but I think having an actual physical representation of the final product will help me get through fixing the last of it up. We’re at the polishing stage now. Maybe after this, I’ll open it up to beta readers and… maybe even an actual editor… Who knows. I sure don’t.
Anyway, there’s a small holiday “gift” in the works, but for now, that’s all I have to really say. Hopefully there’ll be some kind of meltdown once I have the books in my hands. We shall see.
Until next time,
Tav
🦑💜🦇 -
Guess I’m glad I didn’t.

This is the RK Royal Kludge RK61. Got it on Amazon for $50.
I was using one of those cool type-writer keyboards for a while and for a while it worked okay, but typos and missing simple keys like “Enter” started getting out of hand. So I Googled “Best keyboards for typing” and this was one of the more affordable options that repeatedly came up.
As you can see, it’s tiny and certain functions that one may take for granted now require the additional press of a Function key. Now as someone who’s primarily typed on laptops, this wasn’t a problem for me. What WAS a problem, and almost ended up in an Amazon review, was that it was NOT plug and play. Oh sure you could plug it in and your PC would automatically install it and in theory you could start typing immediately, HOWEVER! However however however! It basically comes out of the box with some kind of “Function Lock” engaged. Half the keyboard is locked into Function Key mode until you find the key combo to unlock it. Guess what this keyboard doesn’t come with? A manual explaining any of this. I had to Google to find the answer.
Once I freed up the letters, I then had to figure out how to free up the numbers as they were now locked into F-key mode. This required more Googling to find yet another set of inputs to return them to their primary numerical function.
It also comes out of the box with the left shift key being useless. Only the right one did anything and I’m not sure about you, but that’s not how I type. Well, you guessed it, more Googling and another set of inputs to swap the function over to the left shift key.
So basically it comes needing some setting up which I’m not going to say is necessarily a problem. It’s a small keyboard so one has to accept there’s going to be some compromises. What almost killed me was that I had to Google and read Reddit posts to find out how to make it function like a regular keyboard. I wish it either came with primary functions engaged and let you toggle the Function key as necessary or it had a manual explaining the input controls. A manual would have been nice either way actually and I don’t say that often.
How does it type, though? It’s awesome, actually. The keys feel perfectly spaced and the caps are definitely finger-tip appropriate. The brown switches feel and sound pretty good. I’m not one to really rate a keyboard based on clack but this one isn’t too bad compared to what I’ve used in the past. I can also type pretty quickly with few flaws on this bad boy.
If you have the patience to set it up, I highly recommend. If you just want a keyboard that works as expected out of the box, I’d skip it. Even though I got incredibly frustrated, I think it was worth the effort.
Full transparency some of this may have been hidden in the title of the product as I didn’t understand what “Triple Mode” meant. Still don’t, but if it tells someone more educated than myself all they need to know then that’s good I suppose. I bought it just assuming it’d come like any abbreviated keyboard that needs a Function key to do certain things. Instead it came backwards.
Do I recommend it? Well, like I said above, that’s really up to you. After going through the insanity of getting it working, it really has increased my productivity, but I still had to Google three separate inputs just to get it to act like a normal keyboard.
Of course, this could have been an isolated experience and other people just get it working fine out of the box. Can’t be sure as most of the Amazon reviews are positive and none of them mention the need for any kind of set up. Also, I use it wired so I can’t weigh in on the complaints about Bluetooth functions and battery life.
Ah well. I almost returned it, but after a few days of just straight typing with it, I’m glad I didn’t.
-
“I wrote a character this way. Should I have written them this other way?”
Short answer: No.
Long answer:
Characters tend to grow and evolve with the author and the draft. Your first iteration is highly unlikely to be identical to the final version. The key is to write write write and accept that the first draft is far from your best work in every possible way. It’s groundwork and just the beginning of a long and sometimes arduous journey.
How you write your characters is very personal to you. Unless you’re fishing for some kind of approval, you just write them however they feel at the moment. Don’t worry if they’re not perfect at first. There’s no such thing as a perfect person, but I can assure you characters just need time and space to breathe and grow. Your first version may be cringe when that’s not the intention, but give them time and thought and they’ll meander their way to being the best version of themselves they can be.
I’ll use Sylus as an example since he’s been my primary focus and has done the most evolving.
Sylus started as a personal trauma response. He was 100% a self insert and started out very much “not right”. He was on a journey to become himself. He was supposed to grow and change throughout the story, but I realized that made him incredibly fragmented and not himself. In fact, he would only be a shadow of himself until the very end of the story. That didn’t feel right to me. I’d hampered him with my own self doubt and it showed. He was so insecure and afraid, but I always loved him and even at his weakest I didn’t give up.
The more I wrote him, the more he told me what he wanted for himself. He even made a few executive decisions about his personality and appearance that I had no choice but to accept. It almost felt like I’d somehow offended this fictional character by portraying them any other way, but all those other versions needed to exist for us to get to where we are. There was never any reason for him to exist as anyone or anything but himself and with every draft, every iteration, he came closer to his truth.
In the process, I realized that making him whole meant working on myself. I said a while ago that if you’re not putting part of your soul into every character, they’ll struggle to come across as sincere. Maybe they don’t “talk” to you like they do for me, but that doesn’t mean they still aren’t connected to you. Which is why as you grow, your characters grow, too.
In the end, you must write how you feel. If your characters appear rough at first glance, that’s perfectly okay! But it’s up to you to get them to where you want them. It’s your job to worth with them on their growth. A group of anonymous know-it-alls won’t help you get there. Sure they might be able to say what is or isn’t believable, but that would become apparent to you as the author the more you work on your characters.
Give them room to grow and breathe and I promise you they will. In fact, they might even trash your plot and demand an entirely new one. I know mine did and I firmly believe it was worth listening to them.
Again, I’m no grand success story. Hell I’m not even published yet. I’m eternally in the WIP phase, but I’m getting there and I like to think I’ve learned a lot along the way. It’s hard for me to imagine writing a book and not loving every single one of your characters including the villains.
You have to write YOUR story and stop pining for the approval of others. No one can tell you how to write your tale. I mean they can, but then it’s not exactly yours anymore, is it? It will never be for everyone and if it is, you’ve done something very, very wrong.
Love your characters and grow along side them. You’ll all be better for the experience.
🦑💜🦇
-
Wow the character hate in writing support groups is bizarre. Why wouldn’t you want to know what the characters look like? I get excruciating detail is too much (and I may be guilty of this), but knowing hair and eye color? That’s… That’s amateur? Help?
I know exactly what my characters look like and it’s strange for me to think any author has zero idea about their character’s appearance. Is this a character vs plot driven thing?
Am I wrong for describing my characters? I couldn’t dream of telling my story without readers knowing who’s lives their following as that’s the kind of thing I like reading myself.
That goes back to my Setting rant. Why is detail amateurish? There’s setting the mood and ruining it with too much info but I keep reading these posts and people just want words on a page and to form their own details. So… Write your own story? They want a plot and nothing else. No character descriptions, no setting details, nothing. Is that normal? Because if so I’m failing as a writer.
Here’s the “Simple Plot”
to Eternity’s Irys:Small town man Jeron Miles believes there’s nothing more to life than toiling it away to atone for a childhood tragedy until he meets an alien being named Sylus Synclaire who accidentally embroils him in an ancient conflict between the ominous Void and mortal kind.
That’s it. That’s the book. That’s all you get. No details. Enjoy!
Ah crap I used an adjective. Better burn me at the stake.
Adendum:
Bring up Chekhov’s Gun and suddenly these writing groups are all “details are important and don’t necessarily have to be plot devices!”
Yes. Exactly. Not every detail has to serve a purpose. I’m so glad you realized that.


-
I joined writing groups to be inspired. Instead I’m reading so much ignorant shit that it’s driving me nuts. One of the best books I ever read used details and descriptors to set the location and tone. It’s emersive as far as I’m concerned. It’s not “weak story telling” or “amateur”. You can paint a picture and still tell a story. Saying “the sky was alight with a scarred, silvery moon surrounded by swirling galaxies drawn in across space and time” hardly takes away from the battle scene of the plot. To me, at least, it strengthens it. I want the environment. If I was watching a movie and saw a starry sky back dropping desperate conflict I’d be hooked. I get books aren’t movies, but I feel like adding description to the setting puts you IN the action. And before anyone is like “Well I don’t like that” that’s fine! Preference is preference. But calling that style of story telling weak and amateur just sets me off. It’s not.
That’s it for this rant. See y’all next time.
-
An answer must be given. Silence isn’t an option. Acceptance is unacceptable.
The answer is clear.
Dalafaem, spawn, and Lord.
Those with the vision, those freed from their masters’ yolks, and the one who they tried to erase.
We of Zero Point.
We who watch over the Void’s ingress.
We are not many.
We are not strong.
But we are cunning.
We are patient.
We are everywhere.
Our lives dismissed as pointless. Turned away by our own kin. Rejected and cast aside. Pariahs.
We will fight where they will not.
Tentacle, quill, and song will lead the fight.
We will guide, teach, train, and nurture all who ask it of us.
Our home is your home. If you carry the light of Dalafaem, you are one of us. If you can see what others cannot, you are one of us. If you manifest your soul’s visions, you are one of us and you are welcome.
Even those without the gift are welcome among our ranks. If you resist the Void, call Zero Point your home.
Join us in the fight.
Victory isn’t guaranteed. Earth may yet fall and humanity nothing more than another notch on the Void’s bloodied axe.
But not all is lost. Not yet, anyway.
So who will stand and fight the Void?
We will.
You will.
We are the answer.
Together we stand.
Together we fight.
Our answer will be loud and violent. Blood of all colors will spill. But an answer, regardless of its wording, is still an answer.
And this is ours:
We will not go quietly.
-
They came without warning. Silent and unnoticed.
They carved their way into our society with deft accuracy. Played on our weaknesses. Our insecurities. We let them undermine us. Compromise us. For all intents and purposes, they’d already won.
In a matter of days what took humanity centuries to carve out was redistributed among their territorial claims. And we let them.
Our resistance was pitiful. Their stain upon our world rendered our weapons capable of ending millions of human lives in a single blast inert.
They let us fire one. We saw the result. Human lives erased and they thrived. The Void thrived on our death and carrion. Radiation a comfort to them.
We never stood a chance.
They crept and crawled while we fought ourselves. Simple lesser spawns harrying human lives. Lords waiting silently to step in and bring order to merciless chaos.
It didn’t take long for them to offer solutions. A way forward for humanity. The world had changed we just didn’t realize how much. It wasn’t even out world anymore.
One by one they laid claim to swaths of our planet. Five out of nine made their presences known. They reorganized our lives. Our existences. We saw their manipulation as a salve. There was nothing else we could do. Fighting would be extinction.
But these lords… They didn’t seem to want us dead. In fact, they tailored their rule to the areas they occupied. Mimicked our cultures and traditions.
Seamless.
But they didn’t know. They didn’t understand. It was all death in the end. Our only choice was swift or slow. And they’d chosen complacency.
“We” became “them”. They bowed and the question was asked in silent darkness. In the corners of dim resistance, it echoed. The lords heard it and gave no answer. To them, there was none. Their rule was now absolute. And they, the masses, had accepted it.
So who, then, will answer the Void’s question?
Who will stand?
Who will give answer to their endless eons of slaughter?
Who will fight the Void?
-
Writing forums are so dense. Someone shows concern about people using ChatGPT to write entire manuscripts and these people are like “well grammarly is AI too. Where do we draw the line?” You’re being intentionally obtuse. There’s a huge difference between using something to write your entire story and using aids. Then they revert to “Then ghost writing isn’t real writing” and honestly? I have weird feelings about ghost writing, but you’re still engaging with a human being. You are a human communicating with another human to create something you might not be otherwise able to create. I suppose you could liken ghost writing to commissioning artwork. At some point you stop attributing the artist and the work becomes yours because it was your idea that they executed.
Yes ai writing isn’t great right now, but have you seen how far ai art has come? (I got 5 finger hands the other day watch out y’all) It will get better. The more it’s used and exposed to content, it will improve. There may always be something off about it, but if you think in five years the average reader will be able to tell the difference, I have a plot of land to sell you.
Am I worried? No. Should I be? Dunno. I know I’m not happy about ai replacing art before simplifying work. It was supposed to make life easier not replace our creativity. And maybe it never fully will, but the market is already inundated with swill. Ai will only make it harder for actual writers to stand out. You could have the story of the century and it’ll get buried. Happens today and it’ll just get worse with normalized ai usage.
Anyway I could say more on this and I probably will in the future but that’s it for today’s soap box.
Have Jeron and Sylus being idiots in a snippet from “The Arboreal Land Octopus”, today’s Pride entry:

-
The Arboreal Land Octopus is said to be an urban legend or at best a cryptid.
It’s said to be closely related to it’s oceanic counterparts save some critical evolutionary diversions.
One would think the Arboreal Land Octopus would evolve authentic lungs and carry oxegynated blood to match. Instead, it has evolved vestigial lungs that serve no practical purpose as it managed to exist without the need for respiration.
It does bleed, but it’s blood is of a thicker substance than that of humans. It also bleeds a deep shade of violet rather than the expected red or blue.
The Arboreal Land Octopus is a very curious creature. It’ll thoroughly examine anything it can get it’s tentacles on. Tasting with its suckers.
Though it often finds itself up in trees, its known to have issues with heights. As in, it can go up, but struggles to get back down. It could easily fall from the tree and land on its tendrils, but it hesitates with every descent.
The Arboreal Land Octopus is carnivorous. It will occasionally consume fruits and vegetation, but its primary source of nutrients is meat.
Sometimes its willing to hunt, but more often than not it simply lies in wait for something to tread too close. Its barely hidden among the branches and yet it still finds easy prey and remains well fed.
“Jeron for the love of God help me down from here!”
The Arboreal Land Octopus is also very loud when it wants to be. Despite its size it can move in deft silence or lumbering stomps. It makes noises from its mouth hole when it needs to communicate.
“You know I hate heights…”
It protests when up in high branches, yet spends much of its time gliding through the air on tentacle-powered propulsion. It doesn’t fly, more glides and falls with style, but it does spend much of its days airborne.
“Whatever you’re writing stop.”
For some reason, it struggles with going down when in a staionary position, for example, from up in a tree.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Sylus, you put yourself up there, you can get yourself back down.”
“Can I?”
“Just drop down.”
“It’s not that easy!”
“Yes it is.”
The weight of the Arboreal Land Octopus causes the branches beneath it to creak and bend.
“Jeron!”
I bring my guitar around front and play a simple song placing a bubble beneath Sylus.
With a sigh, he releases his branch and lands unceremoniously onto my bubble.
The Arboreal Land Octopus has safely descending from its verdant perch.
“What are you even writing?” He struggles to squirm off the bubble.
I play a note, popping the bubble.
The Arboreal Land Octopus lands on its substantial haunches.
“Christ.” He hissed. “What’s so damn funny?” He stood up, rubbing his backside.
I closed my journal and smirked. “You.”
-
I followed behind as Sylus boarded the bus. I wasn’t entirely sure why we were taking public transit when we could just teleport. Maybe we were going somehwere new? All he said was: “It’s something everyone should do at least once in their life.” I’m all for new experiences.
It was dark out. Night had fallen on New Hampton hours ago. We’d been walking around, basking in the man made lights of a bustling city. One that had already begun tilting toward the xanthous hue of it’s new master.
The air was heavy and stagnant. Humidity drenched my skin. Sylus, in his customary suit and tie, looked entirely unphased.
“Want the inside or-?”
“Hm?” I tuned back in to reality. “I’ll sit on the outside if that’s not a problem.”
“Not a problem at all.” He chuckled.
We made our way about halfway back, his head just shy of scraping the ceiling. He looked bigger and more lumbery-er than usual. He slid into a seat and patted the one beside him. Surprisingly, their was enough room for both of us. I was worried if I’d fit beside his massive thighs.
As we got under way, the passing lights of the world outside became mesmerizing. They’d flash through the dark cabin of the bus and across Sylus’ face. He was very interested in the world outside. I wasn’t. I was more interested at all the different colors his face turned as we passed light source after light source.
I leaned over, resting my head on his shoulder. He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I sighed.
I had no idea where we were going or what the plan was, but it didn’t matter. Nothing beyond this moment mattered.
I felt something smoothe yet firm against my leg. I cracked my eyes open just enough to see a tendril snaking down my pants.
“Hey now,” I patted him on the chest. It wasn’t like anyone else could see it, but this was a public place and there were at least ten other people on here with us.
He smiled, still looking out the window.
The tendril settled benignly on my thigh.
In return, I slid my own hand between the buttons of his shirt.
He rumbled and gave a low, contented growl in reply.
I snuggled back up against him and let my eyes close once more.
-
“Wanna watch me turn a 25¢ bag of dried noodles into a culinary masterpiece?”
I lowered my book. “Excuse me?”
“Deluxe ramen from a bag.” Sylus held a packet of chicken “flavored” ramen.
“What?” I replied flatly.
“Trust me. I can make a feast out of this bad boy.” He shook the bag. “Want some?”
I sighed. Cheap instant food wasn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world. But it was low effort and Sylus was offering.
“Fine.” I sighed.
“You won’t regret it.” He winked and weave walked to the kitchen below.
I shrugged. It’d probably be delishious, but I couldn’t help but have my doubts.
The scent of boiling noodles and vegetables wafted up the stairs. Unexpected. Some actual chicken? A little fish? I cocked a brow.
Some time later Sylus returned with two heaping bowls of steaming soup.
“Here.” He offered me one on a plate. With it came a pair of wooden chop sticks and a deep ladel-like spoon. I put my book down, took it and sat it in my lap.
Sylus settled on the couch and immediately dug in.
I stirred the bowl. It was full of all kinds of incredients and not just cheap noodles. All of it erred on the more affordable side, but I couldn’t deny the diversity.
I scooped a bit of everything up, blew it off, and shoved it directly into my mouth.
To say it was delicious was an understatement. Likely tempered by my very low expectations, I found Sylus’ ramen to be one of the most savory things I’d ever eaten.
Slurping the last of the broth, I put the bowl down on the bookshelf beside me.
“That was amazing, Sy.”
“Mm.” He nodded. “A real flash from the past.” He forced a somber laugh.
“How did you turn cheap noodles into something that actually resembled a hearty meal?”
He shrugged. “You learn a thing or two when you’re homeless and have to feed a kid with zero budget. Usually all that extra stuff was near expiration or past it’s shelf life so I could either haggle for it or, well, pilfer it.” He shook his head. “Ramen nights were Daniel’s favorite. Thankfully,” he placed his empty bowl on the center coffee table, “those days are long behind both of us.”
A sobering cloud filled the room.
“Oh don’t be down about it.” He laughed. “The past is the past. We learn and grow from it. Can’t let it tear us down, can we?”
I crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch. Resting my head on his shoulder I took a deep breath. “I suppose we can’t, can we?”
-
While I’m on my writing soap box, abandon word count fixations. Write the whole damn thing. If you CAN break it up to relieve reader fatigue, go for it. If you feel like that would compromise the story, don’t.
HOWEVER, and this is something I struggle with, if you DO want to write a long book, consider shorter chapters or sections! I feel like it should be one or the other just to keep readers from tapping out over 2k word chapters.
In fact, thus far, my most common criticism is that it “looks intimidating”. When I press the issue, I come to the above conclusions. Either the book itself must be shorter, or the chapters have to be shorter. I feel like these are both reasonable approaches. You don’t want your readers getting lost in a sea of text!
-

Saw this take on a writing group post and I sincerely disagree. The market is a fickle beast. Readers aren’t always in it with the best of intentions especially for indie authors. I firmly believe you must write what makes YOU happy. Barring major plot or story structure issues, your story must suit you. Would YOU read what you wrote? Or does it read like another lowest common denominator KDP cash grab? Believe me, if you love it, others will, too. Will it be the next greatest hit spawning TV shows and movies? Who knows and as guilty of this as I am, this shouldn’t be the point.
Anyway, every voice is valuable and the market is cold and heartless. If you can hit some market trends without compromising your work, awesome. If you’re writing just to get people to “plunk down their credit cards”, you’re gonna have a bad time.
Also before anyone says “Where’s your best selling book?” I’ll tell you. It went into 5 years of rewrite hell to be palatable to the general market. I went for what would sell over what would make me happy. The result? I started to resent it. It’s only since I threw that mindset away that I finally finished my “difinitive” draft.
So maybe I’m full of shit and blowing hot air, but consider this: to appease the “market” you must be formulaic and be able to sell your version of the formula over everyone else’s. You’re writing what people supposedly want to read, but you’re fighting saturation. Conversely, to be truly creative, you shouldn’t necessarily ignore a formula that works, but you SHOULD 100% twist it to suit your own needs. Even if that means alienation of some potential readers.
tl;dr: write for you first and foremost. If you love it, the market is there. It may not be to big fat general market, but there will be others looking to read what you wrote. Hang in there

-
“The old proverb goes ‘you are what you eat’.”
“Yes, and?” I already knew I wasn’t going to like where he was going with this.
“And I eat humans and spawns which coincidentally lines up with my anatomy being half human half spawn. Therefore, by that logic, everyone is, quite literally, what they eat. If they ate higher life forms.” He scratched his chin. “It makes sense on a cosmic level.”
I slapped a hand over my face. “You also eat pork and beef. Are you a pig and cow too?”
“Irrelevant. I said higher lifeforms.”
I sighed. “You’re insane.”
“Took you how long to notice? No but seriously, maybe I’m more 1/4 human and 3/4 spawn based on my diet.”
“Jesus Christ, Sylus…”
“I like being partially human at all times.”
“You’re a human soul. That’s as human as you have to be.”
“Run my Vrilk through some tests. Bet you’ll find residual human DNA that isn’t mine. Wore mine out a long time ago…”
“How about we don’t do that?”
“Well now I’m curious.”
“We are NOT running your Vrilk through a battery of medical tests just to see how many people you’ve eaten! That’s beyond morbid, Sylus!”
“I mean I know how many people I’ve eaten. Hard to forget, really. I’m more curious about how much is left as residual.”
“This conversation is over. Mull it over with Qaitax if you have to, but I’m checking out.”
“Wonder if anything would show up on 23 and Me…”
“SYLUS!”
“You have 100 living relatives extending from 12 different people… Congratulations you somehow broke the system.”
“SYLUS! STOP! Oh my GOD! STOP!”
He scratched his chin. “It’s more than twelve anyway.”
“SYLUS!”
-
Sylus stood at the edge of the lapping ocean in nothing but a pair of black swim trunks with little purple squids on them. He stared at the water as it dared encroached on him, an angry eldritch god. How dare nature command the tides?
I sat on a towel laid out on the warm sand watching him incase his thalassaphobia got the better of him.
“I’m a GOD for FUCKSSAKE!” He cried out drawing the attention of some of our fellow beach-goers. Unlike myself, they couldn’t see his tentacles flailing wildly.
“You’re a human consciousness piloting the body of a ‘god’.” I called back to him.
“There’s seaweed and dead shit in there…”
I lowered my sunglasses and glared over them.
“The ocean is gross.” He kicked a wave as if it’d care. “Deep, dark, cold.” He shivered as he retreated to his blanket beside me. “I’m over it and I don’t care what my alien squid ‘brain’ says.”
“What if Qaitax wants to go for a swim?” I chided.
“Then I’ll take a nap and he can go sit at the bottom of the ocean for an hour.”
I pulled a book out of the backpack I brought with us. “I’ve got time.”
“Don’t encourage him!” He cried out.
“Well someone besides me has to enjoy themselves today.”
“You’d rather be alone than sitting here with me?” His voice barely shook.
“Oh my god, big guy.” I patted his belly. “Relax.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m just giving you two the option.”
“Great. He does, in fact, want to sit down on the cold dark.” Sylus sounded on the brink of tears. “Fine. You deal with him, then.” With a huff, he closed his eyes.
When they opened again I was looking at Qaitax’s violet crosses stretched across a sea of black. He got up without a word and made his way to the water.
“Not even a hello?” I laughed.
“I have fifteen minutes. Greetings can wait.” He waved me off over his shoulder.
I snorted. “Have fun and don’t stress Sylus out too much.”
With that he waded out and vanished beneath the waves.
Knowing them, I knew this might happen so I came prepared. I reached into the backpack and removed a fleecy blanket. I rested it on his towel in the sunlight to let it get warm.
“Fifteen minutes.” I picked up my book. “Probably should have asked how long I should wait before worrying.” I shrugged. “It’s not like they have to breathe or anything.”
Fifteen minutes passed. I wasn’t worried.
Thirty went by. Sylus did initially say an hour.
Forty-five minutes. I finally looked up from my book. No sign of him.
I could hear some people muttering about seeing a man wade out and not come back. Some glanced at me and found my lack of concern disturbing. I sighed. It wasn’t like I could just say “He’s a Voidlord he’s fine.” No one knew what that was. Not yet anyway.
Then again, an hour ticked on and neither of them reappeared.
As invasive as it was, I opened up outlr conduit.
You two okay?
Uncharacteristic silence came in response.
“Ah shit.” I stood up and made my way to the water.
I started picturing him having a panic attack down in the darkness. Qaitax pulling a bait and switch to “strengthen his resolve” as the monster put it. He was always doing shit like that to Sylus. Pushing his boundaries, actively putting him in traumatizing situations. I would’ve called it abusive if I didn’t know it helped Sylus to some small degree.
The way Sylus put it was, if things truly went south, Qaitax would save him. He’d rather face his fears on his own terms than forced to in conflict.
As much as I hated seeing him in tears and pain, I accepted that.
But this felt different. Something wasn’t right. The lack of communication wasn’t like Sylus at all, but it was very much like Qaitax. Creature of few words unless they were taunting and aggressive.
Answer me, Qaitax.
Silence.
I pinched my nose and tossed my sunglasses back onto my towel. Guess I was going in. Not that I could go as deep as they could. Not that I could even really begin looking for them… I sat down in the shallows, knees pulled to my chest and did the only thing I could do: wait.
90 minutes after they submurged, their pale face emerged far out in the depths.
I stood up trying not to look as upset as I felt.
They went back under, a dark shadow signifying their approach. I just stood there trying to meter my feelings. No crying, no yelling. I took a deep breath as they stood up, their shoulders above the waves.
I put my hands on my hips.
He lifted his arm. An orange octopus clung to it. “His name is Corky and he likes mussels.” It was Sylus. I let loose a sigh of relief.
“You could have just told me you were making friends!” I almost shouted.
“I did?” He paused. “You bastard.” He hissed.
“How long did it take him to abandon you?”
Sylus motioned to give him a minute. He rubbed his tentacles together making some squeaking noises. The octopus did something similar before releasing his arm. He ducked under before surfacing for the last time. He lumbered out of the water and stood before me.
“I wasn’t exactly happy about it.” He sighed. “Corky latched onto Qaitax and he couldn’t stand it, so he put me up to deal with it. I learned octopus by the way.”
“Why didn’t you answer me?” My worry was dissipating in the form of anxious shakes.
“I did. But a certain someone intercepted.”
“He can do that?!” My trust for Qaitax was already thin and I knew he had none for me.
“Apparently.” He signed. “Can I get out of the water now? I’m cold and generally uncomfortable.”
I took his arm and lead him back to his blanket.
He flopped down unceremoniously and I sat down beside him, picking up my sunglasses and book. He moved the plush blanket under his head like a pillow and muttered a sentiment of gratitude. I nodded in reply.
“Well I’m glad it wasn’t a disaster, but we really need to talk about that interference thing. Major safety issue.”
He nodded. “I’m less than pleased.”
I sighed as I patted his broad, pale back. “Don’t burn, okay?”
“Can’t. No melanin.”
“I know.” I breathed.
I intended to keep reading, but instead I laid down and closed my eyes.
I turned to Sylus. He was unconscious. I couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep or fighting with Qaitax, but he was out like a light bulb.
I squirmed over and threw an arm over him and rested my head on his.
“I’m glad you made a friend.” I breathed before my anxiety left me groggy and I fell into a nap of my own.
-
I walked into the kitchen, strumming my guitar. Sylus stood at the stove, prepping for tomorrow.
🎶It’s in the way you smile
“What?”
🎶It’s in the way you laugh
He looked around.
It’s in the way you talk
It’s in the way you walk
That makes me say ‘I love you’He blushed and laughed nervously.
It’s in the way you wear your hair
The way you shine your shoes “Even your sneakers for God’s sake.”
The way you wear your tie. I tugged on it.He was slowly stopping what he was doing.
It’s in the way you walk
It’s in the way you talk
That makes me say ‘I love you‘“What’s going on right now?” He forced an awkward laugh.
I circled around him to his other side.
It’s in the way you snore I dropped my head to the side and snorted.
It’s in the way you dream “If ya know what I mean.” I winked.
It’s in the way you walk
In the way you talk
That makes me say ‘I love you’It’s in the way you cook “I think it’s burning.” He cried out as he returned his attention to the stove.
It’s in the way you dress “365 days of formal wear”
It’s in the way you walk
It’s in the way you talk
That makes me say ‘I love you’It’s in your smile
In your impeccable guile
In the tales you tell
In the way you smell
It’s in your clothes so snug
In the way you hug
I just wanna say ‘I love you’He was flushing a deep shade of violet as I continued strumming on my guitar.
Ooooh forever is a very long tiiiime
At least that what I hear them saaaaaay
But I think I’ll be okaaaaay
As long as I can call you miiiineHe sighed as he dumped whatever was in his pan in the garbage before he, himself, in his deeply baritone voice, began to sing.
It’s in the way you strum
It’s in the way you hum
It’s in the hue of your soul
It’s in the way you roll“Wow nice one.” I mocked with a laugh.
It’s in the way you walk
It’s in the way you talk
That makes me say ‘I need you’I sighed.
It’s in the way you pile way too much food on my plaaaaate
It’s in the way you shovel it all in your mouth I harmonized.
It’s in the way you taaaaaste He was trying to drive me off with awkwardness. Little did he know…
It’s in the size of your waaaaaaist
He balked and huffed.
“Did I win?” I laughed.
It’s in the size of you c-
SOCKS! I interrupted.
“Well you know what they say about big feet?” He waggled a bushy brow.
“Jesus Christ Sylus…”‘
He cleared his throat.
It’s in the way you… care...
Th-the way you hold me tight
The way you keep me safe
The way you… T-touch me… “A-and it doesn’t hurt…”
I-it’s on the way you walk
It’s in the way you talk
That makes me say… I… He deflated. “I’m so sorry.” I need youuuuuI stopped playing and took his face in my hands. “You don’t have to say it.”
“You deserve to hear it.”
“And I will, whenever you’re ready.” I smiled.
He leaned in close. It’s in your gentle touch He sang on his own.
It’s in your unending patience
It’s in the way you make me feel
Sometimes I can’t believe it’s real
It’s in the way you walk
It’s in the way you talk
And all the ways you say ‘I love you’I closed the distance with a soft kiss.
-
Viscera rained down from the sky. Yellow globs mixed with sprays of violet. Feathers and tendrils plummeted to earth.
Soil flew from its resting place as my feet slammed back onto the ground. I was up and striking a chord on my guitar, wiping out a watcher as it dove after me. Sylus crashed down beside me. Tendrils whipped through the air as he thrust himself skyward once more.
We were on the brink of overwhelm. I knew what we had to do, but I had to get both Sylus and Qaitax on board.
Open it. I sent the thought through our connection. Open it and let’s end this.
A screech ripped through my mind. As much as it hurt, I was used to this tactic. It was Qaitax’s defense mechanism. He was, very literally, making sure I wasn’t, well, aroused. And if I was, the shriek would clear my mind. I had to be thinking clearly and he had to be sure of it.
I sent a few spells Sylus’ way, lending him my strength. We were already on a feedback loop. I drew from his core, strengthened it, and sent it back to him or used it to combat foes. The next step was a free flowing connection of souls.
For all intents and purposes, and in the eyes of the Void, we would be one. Our powers and strength fully combined. The fight would be over in minutes. But it was incredibly-
Dangerous. He replied to my request.
I know.
He settled gently beside me, a far cry from his usually booming landings. Where I sprayed dust, he made craters. He was capable of grace, but he reserved that for me and me alone.
He closed his eyes and I closed mine.
Time stopped.
Opening our eyes, we stood upon a field of violet irises swaying on golden stems. Stars and galaxies swirled in the sky above. The moon hung low, massive and silver, but whole. A lone willow waved in the distance.
Humming broke the still silence. His half of our song met my ears.
I closed my eyes and added my own.
I felt his hand graze mine. I took hold of it.
We hummed together until the barriers of our souls collapsed.
Our eyes alight with eldritch flame, we returned to reality as one.
Two bodies, one soul. One will.
The floral scarring that marked the right side of my body, from head to toe, glowed violet as fire coursed through my veins.
The power that now filled every inch of my flesh was beyond exhilarating.
Our thoughts and feelings flowed freely between us. He, too, was bursting with energy.
I took to the sky on chord-cast bubbles of ancient magic.
Sylus was right behind me, launching himself with a cackling howl. The Void Wolf was unleashed.
Out the corner of my eye, I watched his jaw snap open before clamping around a watcher’s scrawny throat. It screamed it’s last caw as it’s throat was ripped from its neck. Tentacles flew out in a web of flesh catching countless spawns in their grasp. All of them pulverized at once sending a spray of yellow mist into the air.
I cast a net of my own. With a strum of my strings, a thousand bubbles launched forth seeking the cold blood Voidal life. As they met their targets they latched on to claw and wing. A spare few snagged Sylus’ outstretched tendrils. Nothing went to waste. Good. Striking another chord, every single bubble burst unleashing my own wave of xanthous viscera. Sylus roared as my spare bubbles strengthened his wild blows.
I caught Sylus as he descended and threw him back into the air. He cackled and hollered as he shot into a flock. Again he took hold of several screeching watchers before making a death dive for the ground below. Slamming them into the earth, their blood filled every crack we’d forged throughout the battle.
To the west, sigils began glistening in the sunlight. They were hard to spot to a normal eye. But nothing was normal about either of us.
Wings of shimmering bubbles sprouted from my back as I darted after them. I could take a guardian if Sylus would handle the rest, though the plan was to stop the guardian from happening at all.
He careened into the gathering before I could reach them. Hooting and howling he tore them to shreds midair. I was quick to pick up on another group and diverted my attention there. I felt Sylus key into yet another group.
We knew this tactic well and we knew we couldn’t stop it. Too many summoning their greater demons at once.
We landed on the ground together and waited for their eldritch magic to crush their scraggly bones together into their almighty guardian.
Sylus snarled and huffed as he stood hunched over, tendrils already poised to launch himself back into the sky.
I played a few idle notes as I kept my gaze trained on the watcher flocks that dotted the sky.
The distinct sound of bones cracking and flesh squelching filled the air.
“THERE!” Sylus cried out as he burst into the air.
Sure enough a guardian had spawned to the north. All of the remaining summoning watchers converged on its location.
Sylus knew the plan. He caught the small ones and tore them apart. I flew directly for the watcher’s eye, summoning my guitar’s crystalline blades. Spines guarded it like bony lashes. I had to chop through them, evading it’s own bladed feathers and thrashing spikes.
Sylus lost momentum and fell to the ground. For a brief moment I was fully exposed. I disconnected from the guardian and played a chord raised a protective shield around myself. They screamed and clacked their beaks as they clawed at my bubble. I sneered as a crack finally appeared in it’s surface. The crack spidered until the bubble burst, blowing up the surrounding watchers with it.
I smirked, but my victory was short lived. The guardian had taken the opportunity to ready itself. A flurry of feathered blades shot toward me. I managed to dodge some, but most ended up in my flesh. I cried out as my own red blood splattered out. I could barely hold myself together as a flock of watchers turned on me to finish what the guardian had started.
An otherworldly howl rang out. Primal fear shot down my spine. I looked down to find the gaunt king standing where Sylus had landed. This wasn’t part of the plan.
A tendril-woven, wolf-like creature unleashed a back full of tentacles into the sky. No features adorned it’s blank Y-shaped head. That is until it split open sideways revealing countless gnashing teeth and a salivating, cavernous opening. Watcher after watcher was dragged down into his maw. A massive shackle around his belly meant he could only eat so much, but feast he did.
I felt the crack forming in our connection. Sylus was slipping away. If Qaitax had to step up, I’d lose control of my own powers.
What the hell are you doing?! I thought to him. We talked about this!
My stomach lurched in response. A fraction of his unending hunger shot through my core. I cried out as I lost my composure and fell from the sky. I hit the ground, knocking the wind from my lungs.
SYLUS!
Things were taking a dire turn. The gaunt king was a horrific weapon of absolute destruction, but it came at the price of Sylus’ consciousness. He knew he couldn’t just whip it out and yet he did without even saying a word to me. It was a last ditch solution, not a causal attack. I was furious.
Watchers were raining down. Unless we could get back in control it was over.
I closed my eyes.
Time stopped.
I found Sylus crouched down in our field of eternity clutching his head. He wept and screamed. He wasn’t in control anymore. The dark wisp behind me told me Qaitax wasn’t either.
“What the hell happened!?” I cried out.
“Hng so fucking hungry so hungry… It hurts it AH it hurts…”
Off in the distance I could see our frozen conflict. The gaunt king was mashing it’s face with watchers while the guardian had turned its massive cycloptic gaze on me.
I turned to Qaitax lingering behind me.
“Do something!”
He took on his usual form which was identical to Sylus yet somehow looked nothing like him. He shrugged.
“You made this mess, ameltria, you figure it out.”
“I thought we were over that.” I snarled at him.
He shrugged again.
“Snap him out of it!”
“I cannot.”
“Yes you can!”
“Allow me to rephrase: I will not.”
“Bastard!”
“I’d rather you learn a lesson, ameltria. You know I’m not one to lend the easy way out.”
“Then what good are you?!” I shoved him away.
Qaitax smirked. “Tik tok, ameltria.” He returned to a wisp of darkness before vanishing.
“USELESS!” I screamed at the starry sky.
Now wasn’t the time to be cursing Qaitax. It was my own fault he was so hands-off.
I turned back to Sylus. He was barely conscious. Any longer like this and Qaitax would be forced to intervene and send him to the dark place. I couldn’t allow that. Sylus would be gone for days and I’d lose my powers.
I sat down beside him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He shook with every sob. I rested my head against his and hummed our song. I rocked him from side to side, running my fingers through his hair. His shuddering slowed to a stop. His gasps and sobs subsided.
“I’m so hungry.” He groaned.
There was only one way to undo the gaunt king.
“Here.” I offered him my marked arm knowing it’d heal faster than my normal human arm.
He shook his head and groaned in agony.
“Sylus…” I cooed.
“Red…” He choked. “I saw red… Y-you were…”
“Oh my poor little squid. I’m okay, but I need you to be with me.” I held my arm in front of his mouth.
He shook his head again. “Wasn’t thinking. Still not thinking. AH!” He cried out as he doubled over, falling to his side in a fetal position. The same way he slept. “I’m so hungry. It’s killing me…”
In the distance I watched the gaunt king lower its head to my side. Slow and shuddering as if its movements were reduced to frames of a camera. Tendrils slithered out, shielding me from the watchers.
“Sylus…” I breathed as I laid down, wrapping my arms around him.
He lurched forward and latched onto the marked side of my neck. I cried out at the suddenness. I knew his bite well. It wasn’t sharp so much as a dull bruising feeling. The tips of his teeth curved back. I could feel those tiny hooks making their way into my flesh.
“I can’t make you suffer.” He breathed.
“I’m not suffering.” I caressed his head. “Do it, big guy.”
A tentacle came from the gaunt king’s mouth. It wrapped around my unconscious neck. I could feel its suckers pulling at my skin.
I felt him take a piece of me away in eternity. He consumed my flesh, just like I consumed his soul. It hurt, but it wasn’t the kind of pain I’d cry over.
Eternity snapped away. The gaunt king howled as it unraveled revealing a bloodied Sylus standing at its center.
He scrambled over to me and took me up in his arms. I hissed in pain and placed a hand over my bleeding neck. He pushed it aside and replaced it with his own massive grasp. I felt my body healing from his touch. The pain was gone and I was whole again.
I gazed into his flaming eyes and ran my fingers through his thick sideburns. He smiled softly before nuzzling his face in my neck.
But the fight wasn’t over. Time was moving again.
Sylus held me tightly. Our souls were still joined. I threw my arms around him. We had to close the connection. He was still unstable and I was draining his core.
From our embrace every ounce of energy we’d built up during the fight welled between us. Brilliant violet light enveloped our bodies. It grew and grew. Searing and burning away any watcher that got too close. It grew until I felt him whisper in my ear:
“I need you.”
The bubble of our power burst, destroying the spawns around us.
From its blinding glare we burst forth, spears of our united will, heaven bound for the guardian’s eye. It resisted our impact, caving in like plastic, before bursting into countless smaller eyes and flailing talons.
I took Sylus’ hand and thrust it into the center. Violet light riddled its way through the space between its eyes, each one popping one at a time.
A massive talon arched over its scorched form. I raised my shield, keeping it away just long enough for us to punch through to its core.
Sylus wrapped his fingers around the yellow light and squeezed it until it exploded in his grasp.
The guardian screamed as its very existence was undone. Its echoed and faded into nothingness as it hit the ground in a pile of formless Vrilk.
We sank to the ground in each other’s arms. Tired, worn, and spent, we collapsed into each other.
There is always a price, ameltria. Qaitax’s words echoed in my mind.
“Shut up.” Sylus and I murmured together.
-
I prided myself on being healthy. I ate well and stayed active. I figured I was pretty much immune to illness.
Until I woke up to my gut trying to rip itself out of my abdomen.
I rolled over Sylus and ran for the bathroom. I heard him groan as I elbowed him in the belly, but I couldn’t stop to check on him.
I fell to my knees and emptied the contents of my stomach into the porcelain throne.
Sylus wasn’t far behind. He knelt in the door way and held my locks back as I projectile vomited.
“I warned you. Straight whisky isn’t really a beginner thing.” He breathed.
I gave him a quick finger before I had to return to holding onto the bowl for dear life.
I wasn’t a drinker. I never drank except to try my cooking wines. That was it. But Sylus was drinking so I really thought I should try. He was right. I took it too far. I was trying to keep up with a being that was physically incapable of getting sick from drink. He stopped, I kept drinking. Guess I thought I had something to prove.
My stomach was killing me. My soul was trying desperately to escape my body.
I barely remembered the evening. I remember getting home. I remember giving Sylus a hard time when he was worried about me. I remember flopping on the living room rug taunting him.
“Oh God.” I groans as I hocked something up from the depths of my bowls.
He wrapped an arm around my abdomen. The warmth of his hand managed to ease the pain. I still felt like shit.
I was crying. I was disoriented and confused. I rolled from the toilet to his belly. I rested my head there and sobbed. There was probably still puke and bile on my lips but he pressed me against himself and rubbed my back.
“It’s alright, Starlight. You’re going to be alright.” He cooed.
I was barely concsious. All I could feel was the pain in my gut and head. I tried desperately to focus on Sylus. On his gentle words, his soft touch, his comforting belly. It was so hard.
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face as deeply into him as I could.
“Now now,” he pulled me back, “You still have to breathe.”
I squeezed him tightly as I slowly caught my breath.
“I’m sorry.” I muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what, my love?”
“Drooling barf all over your shirt.” I rubbed my face in his belly. “Seeing me like this… I’m a gross mess.”
“Why on earth would you even think any of that?”
“I’m not supposed to get sick.”
“Not supposed to-what? What are you saying?” He stroked the back of my head. “Oh it’s just the drink talking.”
“I’m so… Mortal compared to you. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.”
“Now now.” He held me tight. “None of that bollocks is true and you know it. You are so very very strong, Starlight. Stronger than you know.”
I moans as I pressed myself into him again.
“Your only shortcoming is needing to breathe.” He chuckled as he pulled my head out of his stomach again.
I held me in his arms, rubbing my back and head. As the pain subsided, I could feel his comfort more and more. Exhaustion started surfacing. I knew I had to get back to bed, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed in his embrace.
And so he sat there. Holding me. Cooing softly. Massaging my aching muscles.
He was right. I would be okay.
-
“I’m hungry and I don’t want to cook.”
“Sylus, cooking doesn’t even help you when you’re hungry.”
“Yes, but accept the euphemism for hunting. I’m too fat and lazy for any of that.”
“You’re neither of those things and I’ve seen you hunt.” An exhilarating shiver went down my spine. “You’re pretty scary, actually.”
“Thanks.” He growled. “But this doesn’t solve the fact that I am, in fact, lazy.”
“There’s always Trish’s place. She knows how to feed you.”
“That she does.” He patted his belly. “But I’m almost too lazy to weavewalk.”
“Well I’m not gonna go get you a whole ham so that’s your option.”
He leaned his head back on the couch and groaned.
“Fine. I’ll take us there.” I took his hand and dragged him through our pocket of the Void.
We emerged on a familiar street in New Hampton. I could have landed us right outside, but suddenly appearing on a busy corner might draw some attention. The Void wasn’t ingrained enough in society for us to be openly flaunting our powers. Instead, I took us to about a block away.
Sylus glanced over his shoulder. About ten blocks back and across the street was where his son lived in an old brownstone. He sighed.
“We can stop by if you want.”
“Absolutely not.” He barked. “I’m not in the mood to fight with Dorry.”
“You know Dan would come out to you.”
He looked at his watch. It was Friday night at 7 o’clock. A snarl rippled across his lips.
“It’s late.” He snapped. “Dinner’s closer.” His hackles were raised.
I sighed. “Alright, big guy. Stand down. I won’t push it.”
He snorted before allowing his body to relax. Talking about his son always did that to him and I should’ve known better, but every so often he’d agree to stop by. It was rare, but I always wanted to give him the chance.
We made our way to Trish’s place. A fancy steakhouse furnished with dark woods and leather. The exterior was brick with a tarnished copper overhang. After years of exposure to weather, it now practically glistened green.
Inside we were welcomed by the usual mater de, Marcel. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He bowed lightly, shaking his freshly colored and beaded braids around is face.
“Good evening, Marcel.” I bowed my head in response.
He lead us to our usual table and furnished us with our regular priceless menus and a tasteful glass jug of water..
“Half N Half?” He nodded to Sylus.
“As always.” Sylus grinned. “But give is a moment, please?”
“I’ll have the prescutto wrapped fille mignon medallions. Medium rare.” I knew what I wanted before we even arrived.
Marcel chuckled as he left us to ourselves.
Sylus stomach roared. “Ugh.” He groaned as he rested his head on the table.
“There there.” I patted his belly under the table. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I could feel his hunger and it was never a simple thing. A lot of who and what he was was tied to that deep, aching feeling. What I felt was only a fraction of it. It was gut lurching but also somewhere between agonizing and, well, intoxicating. I knew what it meant to him, to be hungry. And I knew he wanted more than food. More than to consume.
But this was a decent establishment in a nice side of town.
Plus Trish would murder us if we did anything unseemly.
Not that I would.
Not in public, anyway.
Probably.
Anyway, I knew he was incredibly uncomfortable and there was very little I could do about it.
Well, there was something. I put a hand on his belly and kneaded. He gave me the usual warbling growl in return. I smiled.
He finally sat back so I could see his beautiful violet eyes. Sometimes it made me wish my own eyes matched, but I’d gotten so used to having the best of both worlds I knew I could never go back. The way he sideeyed me as I squeezed him complicated my own feelings.
As always, our meals were out far faster than should have been possible. Trish was one of the gifted. I’m not sure where she stood on the hierarchy of void magic, but she had a conduit, same as me, and she used it frequently to create things. Where I made music, she made food. If I recall correctly, it was a skillet.
Sylus’ meal was left on a cart and mine was placed before me.
“Enjoy.” Marcel bowed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Marcel.” I nodded.
With a smile, he left us.
Placing my napkin on my lap, I picked up my fork and knife and cut into my meal. It was perfect as always.
Sylus was picking at his food which consisted of half a cow and half a pig. No heads or legs, but you know what you were looking at. All of it together was pretty much the same as if he went out and hunted a spawn himself. It was the most food I’d ever seen in a restaurant.
He was always weird about it, though. It was far from our first time doing this. He’d pick at it with his utensils, get barely a forkful, put it in his mouth, chew slowly, and swallow. It annoyed the shit out of me. I didn’t want him unhinging his jaw, but he could do better than scraping some meat off of ribs.
“Sylus.”
“Hm?”
“Eat.”
“I am eating.”
“You’re taking smaller bites than I am.”
He pursed his lips and took a slightly bigger portion.
“Why are you like this?” I groaned, dropping my fork on my plate.
His face flushed a deep shade of violet and muttered something under his breath.
“Use your words.”
“I don’t want to be a monster.”
I banged my fists on the table. “We’ve been over this, Sylus! So many times! Eat like a normal human being! Maybe a little inhuman. It’s fine!” He winced. “We’ve been over this since our first damn date! Just eat!”
He put down his utensils and buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my god stop it!” I reached over and took his arm. “Please. I just want to have a nice evening. I don’t want to be here all night while you eat your food molecule by molecule. I want to go home with you at some point!”
He pulled his arms away and sat back in the booth.
“Really?” I sat back myself. “Take me home, then.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“You’re being an ass!”
“What do you want me to do?!” He picked up his fork, slammed it into some beef ribs, tore them off, and shoved them directly into his mouth.
I glared at him.
“What?!” He cried out around a mouthful of food.
My glare deepened.
He rolled his head on his shoulders before swallowing.
“Eat like normal!” I barked.
“WHAT IS NORMAL?! My normal? Your normal?” He took another rib, put it on his plate, picked it up in his fingers, sucked the meat off and swallowed the bone.
“LIKE THAT!”
“THAT’S NOT NORMAL!”
“IT’S NORMAL ENOUGH FOR YOU!”
He roared before turning completely to his meal.
“Why was that so difficult?” I scoffed as I picked up my utensils again.
He intentionally kept his gaze away from me.
“Every time, Sylus. Every damn time.”
“Sorry.” He mumbled.
I shook my head. “I just want you to be comfortable.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just me, Sy.”
“I know.”
“Now eat. Please.”
He growled as he continued eating.
My plate was delicious as always and judging by the happy humming coming from Sylus, so was his.
Why we had to do that song and dance every time we ate here was beyond me. He knew he could eat like a wild animal and I wouldn’t care.
Then again, I knew it wasn’t about me. He was desperate to cling to some form of human civility. He was already walking a fine line and the risk of tipping over to the feral Void side was too great.
I reached across the table and squeezed his arm firmly. He paused his chewing for a moment, gave me a subtle nod, and returned to his meal.
Things were complicated for him, but I was just happy to be by his side. I could never fully understand his internal struggle. All I could do was support him to the best of my ability. Which was difficult at times because he struggled to communicate his struggles.
I felt a tendril settle in my lap beneath the table. I smiled. He was comfortable.
We finished in comfortable silence. It wasn’t the date night I’d been hoping for. Then again, I’d never said that’s what it was and unless I did, Sylus wouldn’t pick up on it. That’s okay. We had a nice quiet meal together that neither of us had to prepare.
Marcel gave us the clearance to leave. We thanked him and stepped outside.
“You good?” I asked him.
He stretched, tentacles and all, and rolled his head on his shoulders. “I suppose so.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You ready to head home?”
He thought for a moment. “I suppose I am.”
“No churros?”
“Carbs are bad for me.” He squeezed his stomach.
I laughed.
“Why did you want churros?”
“Not unless you do.”
He gave it some thought, a barely visible tentacle rubbing his chin. “What if I don’t?”
“Then we can go home.”
“And what if I do?”
“Then I’ll get some churros.”
He nodded sagely. “Better to have than have not, yes?”
I snorted as I took his arm and lead him to the churro stand on the corner.
Once we’d been sufficiently churroed, I slid my arm around his.
“Ready to go, big guy?”
He craned his head to the sky. “You ever wonder what it would be like if you were with a normal human being?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I just wonder what experiences I’m depriving you of just but being what I am. Like a normal dinner out.”
“I don’t know why you keep using the word ‘normal’. That doesn’t apply to either of us or even the planet anymore. In fact, I think normal is a myth conjured by people who feel like they can’t be themselves so no one else should be able to.”
“Hm.”
“Anyway, who cares about normal when I have a big fat tentacle monster as my boyfriend? Checks all the boxes for me so what does it matter?”
“What if I was just a normal human?”
“Then I would have killed you in the desert and we wouldn’t be here holding hands.”
“I wouldn’t have been chasing spawns in the first place.”
“See? We wouldn’t have even met and we’d both be worse for it, right?”
He sighed. “Right.” He shook his head. “I mean I suppose.”
I patted his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Sy. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Are you happy?”
“Very.”
“Then I suppose I am, too.”
-
“What good are you if you don’t understand it either?” Sylus muttered to himself as he sat on the floor at the living room table sifting through several sheets of plastic parts.
I sat across the room giggling to myself as he and Qaitax struggled with the build. I knew he’d ask me if wanted my help so I just sat back and read my book while they went at it. So far they had some very articulate limbs built but we’re currency struggling with torso instructions.
“Is it upside down? How much is it supposed to stick out? That’s the wrong joint thingy… Why is there so much spruuu??” He huffed. “No Qai we are not making new parts that fit together better. These’ll fit together once we figure it out-I DROPPED THE STICKER!”
I burst out laughing.
“Enjoying my misery are you?”
“If you’re not having fun, Sy, put it down for now.” I wiped a tear from my eye.
He growled before returning to his suffering. He wouldn’t stop until it was done. No matter how imperfect it turned out.
“I just absolutely maimed that sticker trying to jam those two pieces together. Why didn’t you stop me?”… “what do you mean that’s what you thought the instructions were saying? I’m the dumb mortal, Qaitax. You’re supposed to know everything.”… “So? Just because you’ve never done it before doesn’t mean you can’t tell me I’m fucking up.”… “WELL THAT’S DIFFERENT!”
I snorted. I could tune in to hear the other side of the conversation, but it was far more entertaining just hearing Sylus yelling at himself.
Once he finished the torso, he proudly attached the limbs. All that was left now was the head.
“Why aren’t the legs even?” He asked softly as if pleading with the tiny plastic parts. “Why.” He turned it over, pushed on some things, part of the torso’s belt popped off. He grumbled as he got it and put it back on. A leg fell off. He snarled as he put it back. Giving up on the mismatched leg lengths, he laid it down and began working on the head.
“Jeron.”
“Yes?” I looked up to find him standing over me.
“What do these instructions look like they’re telling me to do with these two pieces?” He offered me the paper and two plastic parts.
I laid the instructions in my lap before taking the pieces. The diagram was drawn at a weird angle, but I managed to figure out how the pieces snapped together. I offered the joined parts back to him. He bowed and returned to the couch.
The next step was for him to get the head on without popping anything else off. A gentle but firm touch was necessary. He popped an arm off, growled, put it back on, popped a belt piece off, snarled, put it back on, balanced the finished product and sat back, sighing with relief.
He sat back, arms folded across his chest and nodded with satisfaction.
“Never again?” I chuckled.
“Oh absolutely again.”
“Didn’t exactly sound like you were having fun.”
“Despite the complaints, it was worth the effort. I just need to get better at it. We just need to get better at it.”
“So Qaitax had a good time?”
“Surprisingly. I’d love to do it again, but maybe an easier build next time. I think I just skipped like five brackets. The stickers are awful and I had to jam so many pieces together because I couldn’t file the spru off good enough. But it’s done.”
It was a humanoid mecha with big black wings and purple trim.
“I’m afraid to move it.” He sighed. “But it can’t stay here.”
I motioned to the bookshelf in the corner beside me. “There’s some space there.”
He took a deep breath before lifting it carefully by its feet. He moved across the room as if he was carrying a full bowl of hot soup. He placed it down, balanced the legs, and stepped back. “There.” He breathed as he returned to the couch and flopped down. “You suck.” He mumbled to Qaitax.
I laughed. “I’m proud of you both for not giving up out of frustration. It’s a very nice robot mecha thingy. Good job.”
Sylus groaned.
-
Cooking is my passion. Work aside, I adore it. Making good food, feeding people, seeing the smiles on their faces, cleaning their empty plates… It just floods my brain with dopamine.
Don’t get me wrong, I love making music, too. Where cooking gives me structure, I let music be my time to unwind and just do something for myself.
Between the two I like to think I have a pretty healthy grasp on my work/life balance.
Sylus, on the other hand, likes cooking, but it’s not the same for him. I think he just likes sharing in something with me more than anything else. He’s a good cook, without a doubt, but it doesn’t call to him. It doesn’t feed his soul like it does mine.
Never you worry, Sylus is well fed regardless.
He had a similar relationship with music as I do, but he’s more than once expressed a desire to have something to do with his hands. He used to dabble in lasers cutting, but life pulled that away from him. So there’s a hole left there that cooking doesn’t quite fill.
In another life, as he used to say, he was a Sci fi writer. He has yet to let me see any of his work and I stopped pestering him when I realized how sore of a spot it really was. He had dreams of publishing. Of being one of those homegrown success stories rising from the ashes of a miserable life. Instead live made him a dead eldritch god and writing had to take a step back.
He seems a bit hollow when asked what his interests are. It’s the same response every time: Protecting the people he loves. It’s not a very good answer either because that’s more of a role than an interest. Still, that’s all he says he cares about.
Meanwhile he loves working on cars and identifying flowers yet none of these things register as interests to him. Why? Because they’re impractical. He can’t actually repair a car so much as tinker around under the hood and what good is identifying flowers?
I know how useful those skills could be, but he doesn’t see it.
Though thick, I know his hands to be incredibly dexterous. As a whole he’s deceptively agile. I know how well he can navigate tight spaces despite his size. So I knew he could handle the task I’d picked out for him
I handed him a box wrapped in brown paper. He glanced between me and the object, cocking a brow.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Well, maybe I’ve made a bit of an assumption, but we’re off for a few days and I thought you might like a little hands on project. Just for fun.”
He furrowed his brows as he opened the package. I’m not sure what was going on in his head as he processed what he was looking at. Once he held the unwrapped box in his hands he just stared at it.
“Struck out, huh?” I chuckled.
I think he was reading the box even though it was largely I another language. I forget sometimes that he’s an omniglot.
He read the sides and checked the back which was blank, before holding it in his hands again, studying it.
He cleared his throat. “How did you know?” He choked out.
“Know? Know what?”
“Did Aria tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He looked over the box again. “You just found this and somehow thought I’d like it?” I was trying desperately to get a hold of his tone.
I shrugged. “You like scifi. You like machines. You like making things with your hands. It was an educated guess at best.”
He stared at the box again.
“Plus it’s got a lot of that retro clear plastic stuff and I know how much you love dated things. Bonus, it’s got a lot of purple.”
“I’ve always wanted a kit of my own.” He was almost in tears. “I love it.” He sobbed as he threw his arms around me.
-
It took a full wind up to swing the garbage bag into the bin. That never used to bother me but today it took the wind out of me.
I felt tired and disgusting.
I could hear Sylus talking to one of the kids.
“I understand you had to leave everything behind, but we’ll figure it out, alright?”
“What if I never find anything my soul connects to?”
“You will. You just have to learn to live again and that takes time. You’ve got a good support system here so that’s a start.”
“Yeah I guess…”
“And you are not a burden. We’ll find your conduit eventually. Once your passion returns it’ll get easier. For now that doesn’t stop you from learning the basics and getting your sight under control.”
The young Dalafaem sighed. “I guess.”
“It’s getting let. You’re tired. Go get some rest. We’ll address this again in the morning if you want.”
“Yeah okay.”
I made my way around the restaurant. Sylus was on the front stoop with his tentacles just hanging out, something he never did in public for obvious reasons.
“Sy?”
“It’s embarrassing how many of these kids are here because they have nowhere else to go.”
I took his arm. “At least we can try to give them a home.”
“And if we can’t? What then? Half of them can’t go home. Half of them have no home to go back to. I swear if another child tells me how their parents evicted them over this I’ll start rampaging.”
“You won’t.” I patted his chest. “We’ll just keep doing the best we can.”
“I couldn’t even be a father to one child and now I have 20 kids looking up to me.” He forced a laugh. “Sucks.”
“Have you invited Dan out? He’s a Dalafaem, right?”
Sylus sighed. “If I got him any further involved with this Void stuff Dorry would kill me. Bad enough he can do spells and has zero scruples about showing them off.”
“Maybe give it a try?”
“I have no desire to fight with my sister. Just as I have no desire to throw my son into harm’s way.”
“Kids could use a role model though. Someone their age.”
Sylus sighed. “Ask me in the morning. I’m tired and emotionally drained right now.”
“Come on.” I pulled him back inside. “Let’s take a quick shower.”
“Jeron… I’m not…”
“Neither am I. It’s the utilitarian option to get it done together.”
He sighed. “It’s not like we have a water bill.”
“Would you rather shower alone?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then let’s go.”
I lead him back inside and upstairs to our shared bathroom. Just as there was a master bedroom there was also a master bath, but I was still hesitant to use either. Instead, we always used the adjoining bathroom between our rooms. It was smaller by far but we both fit.
I turned on the shower and kept it on the cooler side of things. I was a sweaty mess and Sylus was neither sweaty nor a mess but he was tired.
I stripped down and hopped in. It took him a minute but he did the same. I think he was waiting to make sure I wasn’t going to pop out and undress him. Usually I would. It’s fun to take his clothes off of him. But right now, like I said, it was all utilitarian. I wanted to be in bed.
Sylus lumbered in behind me. With the two of us there was barely any room to move around.
He could stand pretty much completely still and use his tentacles to wash himself off. Collect water in suckers, wipe them off on himself, lather them with soap, literally rinse and repeat. His hair was fine tendrils, too, which made cleaning them as simple as running water over his head. The cleaned themselves like antennae but in a level I couldn’t really see so no it didn’t bother me as much as it probably should have.
I was left to take the old fashioned route. Soak, soap, rinse.
Once we were done, Sylus tendrils reached out and squeezed the water from my dreads. Incredibly convenient. He was all I could see as the flurry of tendrils milked me dry. I have him a tired smile. He returned the gesture.
Tentacles wrapped around me and lifted me gently off the ground, carrying me to bed. He placed me gently onto the mattress before collapsing beside me, tossing me ever so slightly off the surface.
He laid there, face down, and I rolled over to put an arm over him.
“Good night, big guy.” I breathed before sleep consumed me.
-
I was sitting on a whicker chair my mother had purchased when I was a child, blanket across my lap, scrolling through my phone. My brand new very smart phone. I’d lived my entire 32 years of existence without one and now here I was drawn into the 2X century because Sylus’ SIXTEEN YEAR OLD CHILD thought it was important we could make phone calls and send texta. Nevermind our telepathic connection. That could be tapped. Like a phone call couldn’t.
Anyway Sylus agreed so I got a phone and he upgraded from a flip phone to an equally intelligent one.
He didn’t scroll around like I did. In moments of silence he’d just knock himself out and talk to Qaitax or something. I’d be scrolling around learning stuff and catching up on decades of internet culture. I came to realize Sylus’ meme references were from about twenty years ago. But that was very much like him so I did my best not to attempt to exercise more modern iterations of memeology.
He woke up on the couch across the room, sniffed, reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, typed something, then placed it face down on his lap.
My phone chimed and a message dropped down from the top. It was from Sylus. I glared at him.
“You’re sitting right here.”
He shrugged and looked away.
“Fine.” I huffed as I opened his message.
>Send noods.
What the hell… I thought to myself. I turned to him. He was on his phone ignoring me.
I slipped my phone under the blanket. He gave me a side-eyed glance.
Sylus’ phone pinged. The tiniest puff of smoke came from his nose.
He opened the text.
His face turned purple as his cheeks puffed up. A massive belly laugh burst from his lungs.
I resumed scrolling on my phone with a grin on my lips.
“Well now I want macaroni and cheese.” He snorted.
My smile grew and a small laugh slipped through my lips.
-
We were sitting on the couch watching a movie when Sylus started rumbling and grumbling about. I tried to ignore him until he started pulling the blanket off my legs.
“Can I help you?” I tore it back.
He thrust his head back like the drama queen he often became.
“What, don’t like the flick? Too new for you?” I slapped him across his massive thigh.
He huffed.
“Use your words. Please.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” I groaned.
He shook his head. “For something specific.”
“A craving?”
He nodded.
“For what?”
A snarl rippled across his lips before a huff burst forth.
“Don’t make me read your mind, Sylus. Use your words. For the love of God please.”
He muttered something too low and fast for me to hear. I glared at him.
“Tuna melt.”
I sighed. “I can make you one if you want.”
“No. Tuna melt from a corner market in a small down in the Midwest specifically.”
I clutched my shirt. “Is mine not good enough?!”
He shook his head. “Yours is very good. I just kinda want this one right now.”
I sighed again. “How close can you get us? I don’t really feel like walking.”
“Right on their doorstep.”
“Alright.” I flopped my hand in his lap. He took it and we weave walked away.
It was a small building with a ran exterior. Definitely had neiborhood convenience store vibes.
Wherever we were, the weather was beautiful. Warm with a brisk wind and a white cloud smeared blue sky.
Sylus hurried inside and I followed.
Register and deli right inside. Aisles of goods filled the room. He made his way to the counter and I took a look at their goods. All pretty good quality. No weirdly branded stuff. Local produce and honey, decent prices. I was pleasantly surprised.
I found a bag of cherry BBQ kettle chips. Sounded weird enough.
I met Sylus on the end with the coolers. He reached in and grabbed bottle of Shirley Temple. He held the door open and I grabbed a cream soda.
“I got you one, too. I hope that’s okay.”
“You only got one?”
He nodded. “I just want the taste. Americo cheese and tomato on marble rye.”
“Sounds good.” I handed him my drink and chips and he took them to the counter to pay.
We waited a few minutes before our sandwiches were ready. He handed me our bag and carried them himself. He lead me outside and across the street to a small grassy area with some tree cover. A yellow picnic table awaited us.
I sat down, resting the bag on the table. Sylus did some fat math before deciding on sitting sideways, straddling the benc. I laughed. He offered me my sandwich. I traded it for his red sugar drink.
We each took a bite. It really was pretty good. But what made it different from mine? A tuna salad was a tuna salad.
“Dill.” Sylus explained, his hand outstretched.
That’s exactly what it was. Maybe I’d try some with my own.
“Use your words.”
“Crisps.” He flexed his fingers.
“Well I suppose that is a word.” I handed him the bag of chips. He popped it open with ease and tilted it to me, offering me the first try.
I took a red dusted chip. Definitely kettle cooked with some skin on the edges. I put it in my mouth. A spicy but warm fruity taste hit followed by a satisfying crunch. The seasoning was perfectly balanced and the cherry was far from lost in the smoky bite of the chip.
Sylus hummed approvingly.
I looked around. We were surrounded by a very nice neighborhood and a few restaurants. Buses went by in both directions. A middle class foodies’ dream.
“I’d live here.” Sylus spoke between bites. “If I was normal.” He swallowed. “If I still had Daniel. If I’d been able to get my shit together sooner.” He sighed. “I once dreamed of living in a place like this. Having food and neighbors close at hand. Quiet nights in with my son. A home. Our home. That’s… Just not my reality. Never could be.”
I reached across the table and put my hand on his.
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m very grateful for the life I have. Those dreams were the product of someone very different than what I’ve become.”
“How about this: When the war’s over, we’ll get a little slice of a tiny town for ourselves.”
He smiled and resumed eating. So did I.
“It’s very good. Thank you, Sylus.”
He nodded as he tidied our garbage into the bag we’d brought it in. A trash can stood on the corner just off the small park. Cheating, Sylus just teleported the bag into the bin.
He leaned back and sighed, clearly satisfied.
“That hit the spot?” I chuckled.
“It did indeed.”
“Good because it’s getting chilly and I miss our blanket.” I offered him my hand.
With a smile he took it and carried us home, right back to where we’d left.
I cuddled back under the blanket and threw it over him.
“You sure this movie isn’t too modern for your dated sensibilities?”
He leaned over, resting his head on my shoulder. “If you like it, I like it.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“How about if you like it, I can tolerate it.”
“That’s better.” I scritched his chin. “That really was a pretty good melt.”
“Small placed have the best food.”
“Very true.” I breathed before returning my attention to our movie, idly running my fingers through his hair.
-
“It’s weird.” Sylus was tilting his head while gnashing his teeth on his stick of gum. “I don’t exactly have masticates anymore and it keeps sticking to my hooks. And not in the most pleasant way.” He stuck his finger in his mouth to pull the gum off his teeth. “Guess that’s one human activity I have to give up.” He tossed me the rest of the pack. “If you’ll excuse me it’s getting dark and I have some cookies to pick up.”
I chuckled to myself as I followed him.
Cassidy was packing down when we approached her. Strangely enough, she was wearing sunglasses even though the sun was barely in the sky.
“Oh, you’re back?” She sounded surprised.
Sylus nodded. “I said I would be.” He offered her the cash. “How much will this get me?”
She studied his offering before digging into a duffle bag. One of each flavor and two coconut crunches and three minty minchies.
Sylus cocked a brow. “Surely this can’t cover that.”
“I need them to move. The lighter the bag, the faster I can get home. Besides,” She took his cash, “you bought me dinner. Take ’em.”
Sylus looked around again. “Where’s your chaperone?”
“Oh,” She forced a laugh, “They’re, uh, just running a bit late.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No offense, mister, but I know better than to trust a stranger.”
Sylus chuckled. “Smart girl.”
“How often are you here?” I asked.
“All day every Saturday and Sunday and Friday evenings.”
“Not by yourself, I hope?”
She shrugged dismissively. “I’m probably the only one that takes the business seriously.”
“Hm.” Sylus scratched his chin. “Well good to know, then. I might be back.”
“A repeat customer?” A flash of green light flickered behind her sunglasses. “Ah, haha, these darn LEDs…” She laughed nervously.
Sylus studied her carefully. “Fancy taking those silly things off?” He gestured to her sunglasses.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
Sylus let a spark of violet flash across his eyes. I was mortified. He’d just broadcasted his spawnhood.
Cassidy seemed to freeze. I was bracing myself for a fight. With a child…
She cleared her throat, bagged his cookies, and pushed them across the table. “Take them and go. Please.”
“You’re a spawn, are you not?” He asked gently.
She bit her lip. “Just go.”
“Very well then.” He put his cookies in the cart. “Let’s go, love.”
We were just off the sidewalk lip when a small voice called after us. Cassidy, stripped of her boisterous bravado called out: “Wait.”
We stopped. Sylus turned to her. She looked around nervously before running up to us.
“Please don’t tell anyone.” She was almost in tears.
“I would never.” Sylus placed a hand over his heart.
She looked around again before removing her sunglasses.
I immediately recognized the black crosses of her pupils. She was no mere spawn. This child… Was a Lord.
Sylus tilted his head back. “I see.”
“You’re a spawn, too, right?” She put her sunglasses back on.
“I am, yes.”
“And you have a family?”
Sylus turned to me. “I do indeed. Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t know spawns could have families.”
His brows furrowed. “You mean you don’t have anyone looking after you?”
“I-I have a guardian, but he’d be so angry if he knew I came out and sold cookies to mortals.”
“A guardian?” Sylus pressed.
Cassidy nodded. “He takes good care of me. Keeps me safe and stuff, but I like exploring. Trying new things. He doesn’t.”
“What color is he?”
The girl shook her head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Hm.”
“Y-you’re not gonna kill me, are you?”
Sylus balked. “Why would I?”
“You’re a Lord and I’m just a stupid spawn. I’m sorry I made fun of you.” She bowed deeply. “I should have known better.”
She has no idea what she is. Sylus’ thought crossed our conduit. Perhaps that’s for the best.
“I don’t just randomly kill spawns. That’s not how a Lord behaves. Besides, you’re a child. How long have you been a spawn?”
“For as long as I can remember which, thinking about it, isn’t that far back.” She started to look upset. “Huh.”
“A-are you alright, little one?” Sylus reached out to her.
“I-I don’t…” She shook her head. A smile snapped across her lips. “I’m fine!”
She ran back to her booth, finished breaking down in record time, and waved to us. “Come back anytime!” She ran around the corner of the mall and with the tiniest flash of green, she was gone.
Sylus stood morbidly still. Even his breathing had stopped. Clearly he’d stepped back to have a conversation with Qaitax: the creature he shared his body with and a much more void-wise soul.
I sighed as I took his arm. He wasn’t impossible to move when he was soulless but it was a pain in the ass juggling him and the cart. I managed to reach the truck and push him into the bed while I got our groceries into the back seat. His groaning meant he’d returned to reality. I made my way back around the truck to him.
“And what does the eldritch horror have to say about this?” I leaned on the rim of the truck bed.
“We are confused. She does not match a Lord we are familiar with and there cannot be new Lords since Mother’s departure from the Void.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you’ve just never met her before?”
“Perhaps…” Sylus replied slowly before shaking his head and clutching it in his hands. Exchanging always took a toll on him.
“Come on, big guy.” I patted his belly. “We’ll figure it out later. Together, okay?”
“Yeah…” He gazed wistfully back at the grocery store. He closed his eyes before turning to me with a smile. “Together.”
-
As we entered the massive building, bright, florescent light washed over us. Sylus hissed quietly. Half jokingly and half serious response. Puppy Squid wasn’t exactly comfortable in bright places.
We’d walked into the produce section. Greenery stretched the length of the aisle. Fruits lined the opposite wall. Vegetation that didn’t need watering filled bins im the middle of the aisle. It was glorious.
“What’s a durian?” I asked no one in particular. “Are dragon fruits red inside?” I put one of each in the basket Sylus came out of nowhere with.
“Sorry, love. Fruits and veg are not my area of expertise.”
“We’ll find out together then!” I took hold of the cart and started pushing through all the greens. I grabbed some different apples and pears I’d never heard of. A few cabbagey things like bokchoy. I didn’t exactly have a plan in mind. I was just planning on grabbing as much as I could knowing full well Mr. Moneybags wouldn’t stop me.
At the end of the aisle was a person standing behind a table. Little plastic cups of croutons were laid out. Sylus approached the table and struck up a conversation with the employee. They looked preemptively annoyed as he approached, but their demeanor shifted as they spoke.
“They’re garlic cheddar. Store brand.” They explained.
Sylus took a cup and tossed them back. “Not bad.” He offered me a cup. They were okay. Nothing like Ma used to make.
Sylus thanked the employee who smiled and waved as we moved along.
“Bet they’ve been standing there all day getting badgered by customers.” He shook his head. “I could never work retail. I hate people too much.”
“Well that’s not true.”
“Nothing wrong with an individual person. I try not to judge off the bat. But people? In the wise words of a fellow suited individual: ‘People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals’.”
I sighed.
The deli was right across the way from the aisle we’d just left. I took to browsing their options. All kinds of meat cuts and fish sat out for all to see. A whole dead octopus laid among them. I turned to Sylus. He didn’t look happy.
“They’re smart, you know, octupuses.” He murmured. “If they lived long enough they’d probably have cities down there. Give us mammals,” he paused a moment, “humans, a run for their money as apex creatures.”
I took his arm and squeezed it.
“It’s okay.” He sighed. “Let’s just move on.”
We continued down the end cap aisle where prepackaged meat awaited us. I expected Sylus to be more excited but he just eyed every cut with a mild look of disdain. They weren’t good enough for him. I laughed. He was incredibly spoiled in that department, but honestly from what I knew of his past, he deserved it. He deserved to have nice things.
We both did, I suppose.
He passed almost everything up until we reached the hot dogs. He threw at least a dozen packs of foot longs into the cart.
I cocked a brow.
“Practice.” He muttered.
I laughed. I laughed so hard I had to hold onto the shopping cart for dear life. My ribs started to hurt and my stomach ached. I clung to the cart as I made my way around it until I could throw my arms around my giant squid.
“God I love you.” I choked out.
He took my chin in his hand and brushed his thumb across my sideburn. He leaned in close. “And I you.” He breathed across my ear.
I was compromised.
Sylus took hold of the back of the cart and started dragging it and me down the aisle.
On the corner stood another sample table. Mini sausages in mini cups. Of course we stopped.
Once more Sylus struck up a friendly conversation unrelated to the product. He ended up knocking back most of the samples in the process. Sylus apologized. The employee seemed more grateful than upset.
“Less to clean up.” They said. “Makes my life easier.”
I took two cups for myself.
We wandered up and down a few more aisles picking up things we didn’t need like cookies, chips, and snacks. Some random hot sauces, too. None of what was in our cart made any sense.
And that was fine.
We made our way to check out. It came out to way more than I thought it would be. Sylus paid, of course.
We were on our way out when he cursed and ran back in.
I waited, confused.
He returned with a pack gum and some cash. He offered me a bubble flavored strip.
I took one. “You bought some gum to get cash?”
He nodded. “Cheaper than an ATM.”
I snorted.
-
About half an hour away from La Sombra was a strip mall. I’d driven past it enough to know it had a grocery store attached to it. I’ve never been to a grocery store. All our food came from restaurant suppliers. Pops always said grocery stores were overpriced especially when they could get high quality goods in bulk. The only problem was, everything we had was presumably reserved for customers. If I wanted something for myself, I had to work for it.
“I wanna go for a ride.” I mumbled to Sylus as he read the newspaper from a different prefecture.
“Where to?”
“Leaping Lion.”
“Leaping- That’s a grocery chain. You want to go for a ride to a grocery store?”
I nodded.
He glanced toward the kitchen doors. “Do we not have enough food here?”
“Probably, but I’ve never been to a grocery store.”
“Never been?”
I shook my head.
“Well you’re not missing much.” He returned his attention to the paper.
I reached across the table. “Come on.”
“I’m information gathering.”
“From a propaganda rag?” I scoffed.
He glared at me over the paper.
“Well, I’m gonna go shopping. You can stay here reading Xanthous propaganda.”
His glare deepened.
I started weave walking when a tendril followed me into the void and pulled me out.
“Rude.” I snapped.
He was standing now. “Is this really that important to you?”
“Yes.” I pulled my arm out of his tentacle. “It is.”
He sighed. “Very well.” He offered me his hand.
“You sure?”
He nodded.
I took his hand and brought us to the strip mall. Specifically the a sidewalk across the street since I’d never actually been in the strip.
We crossed over and made our way over to the grocery store.
Sylus paused outside, clearly distracted by something. I followed his gaze. A frizzy red-haired girl sat at a plastic folding table hawking scout cookies. He made his way over to her.
“Sylus?” I reached after him.
The girl greeted him as he approached the table.
“Well well well, if it isn’t my target audience!”
“Excuse me?” He balked.
I made his way to his side.
“Big boned, mid life crisis. You just check all the boxes.”
“Mid life- what?”
“The purple hair. Clearly the symptom of a greater issue.”
Sylus balked. “I’ll have you know this is my natural hair color!”
“Yeah sure, big guy.” She flicked her wrist at him.
I stifled a highly inappropriate laugh as I took his arm.
“You’re not exactly enticing me to purchase your wares.”
“Oh but you will!” She reached under the table and pulled out two crispy coconut boxes and three minty munchies.
Sylus sighed. “Where’s an adult?”
The girl’s demeanor took a sharp turn. She looked around nervously. “A, uh, I…” She cleared her throat. “They just walked away for a minute.”
“So you’re just here? Unsupervised?” Sylus cocked a brow.
She scoffed. “Cassidy Jones don’t need no adult to run a business. Heck I’m the only one that knows how to use the cube reader.”
“Cube? Reader?” Sylus was clearly confused.
Cassidy reached under the table and put a small box on its surface. “It’s a portable credit card reader.”
“Huh.” He scratched his chin.
“So you buying anything or-?”
He sighed. “How much?”
“$8 per box credit or $5 cash.”
“You’re allowed to manipulate prices like that?” Sylus, once again, cocked a brow.
“I sure can.”
He side eyed her. She grinned almost menacingly at him.
“I’ll be back with cash.” He grumbled. “How long are you here?”
She looked across the parking lot. “Until sundown. So about two hours.”
“Alright, I’ll be back.”
“You better be. These are my most popular flavors.” She patted the boxes.
Sylus shook his head. “Whatever you say, kid.”
He gave her a half hearted wave over his shoulder as we headed inside. She waved back excitedly, but he didn’t see it.
-
Author’s Note: This is a little NSFW. Nothing graphic, but there is talk of sexy stuffs.
I stood outside the shop eyeing the wares inside between a veil of hanging plants. This was the place.
I felt Sylus lumbering up behind me, offering me a hot dog from a street vendor.
I smiled as I took it from him.
He crouched over to look through the obscuring vines. A soft laugh punched from his lips.
He shoved his entire hot dog down his throat and capped it off with a satisfied gulp. “Sometimes you just have to indulge in some rubbish.”
I snorted as I continued working on my hot dog.
“Did you want to go in, then?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to the shop’s door.
I looked up at the white-sided, black-trimmed, three story victorian.
Sylus hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and looked me over for an answer.
“Yeah sure.” I swallowed the last of my sausage.
His massive arm reached out and opened the door for me. Tree trunks. Thick, massive, strong. He wore a fitting smile for the occasion.
Inside was crisp and clean. White wood all over.
I was on a mission. A mission I had no idea what the success rate was.
Sylus broke away from my side and started eye a slatwall covered in packaged goods. I made my way to the other side of the shop where my objective awaited.
“Hello and welcome to Lily’s!” Two women appeared behind the counter.
“I’m Kriss.” A dark-haired woman with sharp emerald eyes waved to us. Her hair was done up in a high pony tail. She wore a black shirt with sheer sleeves.
“And I’m Lily!” The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman beside her cheered. Her hair hung freely around her shoulders. Colorful tattoos covered her exposed arms. A septum piercing shimmering in the sharp light of their shop. “Welcome and let us know if you need anything.”
“Anything at all.” Kriss added with a bow of her head.
“Thanks.” I waved back.
Sylus gave them an understanding nod.
I returned to browsing.
“All of our leather products are hand made right here by the two of us. Feel free to ask about any resizing or customization!” Lily called out.
“Thank you!” I waved over my shoulder.
Digging among the strappy leather, I found a simple, dark purple collar. It was a good start. Lifting it from the rack, I made my way over to the counter.
“Ready to check out?” Kriss asked.
“Not yet, um.” I glanced back at Sylus before turning back to Kriss. “I-I need something like this, but a bit bigger.”
“Do you have some measurements?”
I nodded. I knew every single one of Sylus’ measurements. From his thighs, to his waist, to his shoulders, and his throat. I knew it all.
“Would you like to customize it at all?” Lily slid down the counter toward me.
“Um, well…” I looked back at the slatwall. “I saw you had some more intricate pieces.”
“We do! We love adding unique flairs to our designs!” Kriss had stepped back from the counter as Lily dominated the conversation. “What did you have in mind?”
I glanced at Sylus again. He was holding a package in his hand and carefully reading the back.
Kriss apparently followed my gaze. “Those are clitoral stimulators.”
“Understood.” Sylus replied, still studying his box.
Kriss bit her lip.
“Tentacles?” I resumed my conversation with Lily.
“Tentacles? Hm.” She turned to Kriss. “Thoughts?”
Kriss thought for a moment before reaching under the counter for a notebook and pencil. She opened it up, flipped through a few pages, and started sketching.
“Rivets for suckers?” I suggested.
“Oh, I like that.” Lily grinned.
Kriss kept working, nodding in reply.
Sylus stepped up beside me, clutching something low in his hands. I smiled as I slipped my arm around his.
Kriss stepped forward, placing her notebook on the counter. In the front was two tentacles gripping an O-ring. Rivets followed the curves of the tendrils. The back was clasped with a buckle. It was thick and chunky. Hard to ignore. I turned to Sylus. He was flushing.
“What do you think, big guy?”
“Wait what?”
“For you.”
“F-for…” He swallowed hard.
“Who did you think it was for?!” I shoved him lightly.
He stared almost blankly at the drawing.
Heat started welling into my cheeks. “D-did I misunder-“
He ran his fingers over the design. “For… me?”
“Yes, big guy. For you.” I patted his belly.
He bit his lip and stepped back.
“You okay?”
“I-I…” He was still clutching his find in his hand. “Y-you want me? Like… like that?”
“Of course I do! Sylus! Of course I do!”
His lip quivered. “No one’s ever wanted me.”
“Oh my god.” I wrapped my arms around him. “I want you, Sylus. In every way!”
“I-I knew that but…” He wiped his eyes. “Oh Sondreh I’m making a scene.”
“It’s okay.” Kriss replied.
“Ugh. All the strength of a god and you still find ways to break me down.” He sniffed.
“Are you okay with this, Sylus? It’s okay if you say no.”
He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around me, whatever he was holding still in his hand. “Thank you.” His deep, hot breath washed over my cheek.
I smiled from ear to ear before pulling away. I scritched his chin before returning to the counter.
“Here’s his measurements.” I wrote a number down on the sheet.
Kriss pursed her lips and nodded. “I was close.”
Lily giggled.
“Alright,” Lily reached under the counter and pulled out a piece of paper, “How much do you think Kriss?”
“Hmm. Materials, time…” She counted on her fingers. “Do you want precious metals?”
I looked back at Sylus. He deserved the best.
“Steel would be fine, thank you.” He answered.
I smiled.
“Alright.” Kriss wrote some stuff down on the sheet. “$280 with a four week lead time.”
“How’s that sound?” Lily followed up.
“Sounds great.”
“So, half up front and half on pick-up. Sign here please and leave a phone number and/or email so we can let you know when it’s ready.” Lily moved to ring me up.
“Wait.” I pushed the smaller purple collar forward. “I’d like this too.” I turned back to Sylus and beckoned him over.
I finally got a look at what he was holding.
“It’s remote operated.” He whispered. “You can get an app on your phone and-“
I laughed as I put it on the counter and filled out the form.
“Just a reminder, this is for clitoral stimulation.” Kriss delicately informed us.
“Oh, its not for me.” I motioned to Sylus. “It’s for him.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“Men can have vaginas, Kriss!” Lily giggled as she added the toy to our bill.
Kriss cocked a brow and nodded in understanding.
“Your total for today is $200!”
I knew Sylus was reaching for his wallet of infinite funds, but I managed to get my bank card out faster.
“Thank you!” Lily replied.
Kriss picked up her notebook and studied her design again.
I picked up the collar. “Whip it out, Sy.”
“We are in public, Jeron!”
“You don’t have one of those. Now whip it out.”
He looked nervously from side to side. A tentacle shimmered into plain sight. It slithered over his shoulder. I patted it softly before fastening the collar to it.
“How’s that for now?” I patted him again.
He flexed the tendril and nodded before withdrawing it. It shimmered back into obscurity.
“Tentacles.” Kriss nodded, unphased.
Lily looked a little put off, but cleared her throat and handed me my receipt. Kriss had put Sylus’ toy in a brown bag.
“Thank you.” I smiled as I took the bag and pressed it into Sylus’ hands.
He made a strange sound that I’m pretty sure was a gleeful squeal. He turned on his heels and made his way to the door.
“Thanks very much.” I bowed to the women behind the counter.
They bowed and smiled in return.
“Thank you for stopping in and shopping local!” Lily cheered.
“Have a nice day.” Kriss waved as I made my way to Sylus’ side.
He opened the door for me and we stepped outside.
He screamed with a level of joy I’d never heard from him before. He danced in place, clutching his bag.
“You happy, little squid?”
“Very!”
“Home or-“
“Download the app. I’ll find a bathroom.”
I let loose a deep, hearty laugh.
-
The haunting sound of his vase-like flute filled the air. Sylus was prone to disappearing late at night. He’d settle himself at the table and chairs on the roof of the diner and play for the broken moon. I think it called to him and he sang his song in return.
Ever since we first met, his song was somewhere on his lips. He’d hum it from time to time and I learned how to play it for myself. It was the most powerful spell in my arsenal. In battle, I could work his song into one of my own. Much like our souls, the notes blended together into a song for both our souls.
Pained yet hopeful, I’d made his notes part of my own life’s ballad.
A hun, he called it, the vase he played. Aetherial and haunting. A somber serenade for the end of the world. One of the few kind gestures his mother ever did for him.
Three chairs sat around the table on the rooftop. The side that faced the horrible moon and raging tides remained open. Looking straight out was the seat I’d had since I was a child. To the right, would be where my father sat. To the left, where Sylus had come to sit, was Ma’s chair.
I brought my guitar around front and began playing along with him.
Our music, though distinct, melded together. We knew who we were, but together we were so much more.
I’d play variations on his song, and he’d follow me along.
Outside of battle, it was the purest expression of our souls. All that we were dancing between us.
In these moments, our worlds would become one.
We would play until the sun rose. The moon still hanging in the now-sunlit sky.
He trailed off with a low, longing note. My own song tapered off.
He held his instrument in his hand, turning it over.
Dawn had broken.
-
It’s been one of those weeks. Momentum for the cause has picked up. Twelve new Dalafaem have come to La Sombra and each of them needed basic conditioning before they could settle down. It’s terrifying without support.
Sylus and I have both been working day and night to make sure they could acclimate. That the nightmares would subside and the visions could be more useful than mind adding.
Once the basics were settled and they could think straight, we’d start working on conduits. For now, they needed food, lodging, and Voidal therapy.
Sylus found himself largely handling the younger Dalafaem and I the older. It made sense. He was a father and I feel like they saw that in him. It wasn’t by choice. We had no intention of dividing up age groups, but these kids? They must have seen what I saw in him and felt safe.
We worked day and night to help them get their powers under control. Their first peaceful sleep was a great reward to us all.
Still, he and I? We rarely slept. We had to be watchful. Regardless of age, they were our wards. They trusted is with their lives. Lives so many things wanted to control or destroy.
We were tired.
We had to keep up strong facades. We knew what was going on. We could help. We were the only ones who could.
Being a Lord meant Sylus really didn’t need sleep, but being part human, his exhaustion would skitter across his face from time to time.
I couldn’t control the growing bags under my eyes. My body was starting to revolt. Joints ached, muscles stiffened. I felt like I was falling apart.
He’d insist I rest, but I wouldn’t. Not without him. I drew my power from his core and unless we both rested, neither of us would feel any better.
We knew what we’d committed to and both of us took commitments very seriously. We’d rest when every one of our charges was free from torment. Right now, the needed us.
But today was different.
All 20 of our charges showed up in the diner for breakfast. I was both happy and mortified. Sylus peeked out from the kitchen and stifled a groan. We weren’t up to cooking for 20 at once.
But they weren’t sitting. They stood gathered in the dining room, shuffling in place.
“Have a seat.” I motioned to the booths behind them, but they didn’t respond. “Is everything alright?”
A teenager stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“We’ll be okay.” She spoke clearly.
Sylus shambled out of the kitchen in his too-small grease-stained apron. For someone who could control his appearance with the flick of a wrist, he looked like shit. I probably looked a thousand times worse.
“Huh?” Sylus grumbled.
“We’ll be okay for a few hours. I bet we could even last a day.” Mumbles of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Sylus cocked a brow and I was too tired to process what she was saying.
“You make sure we can sleep. You should probably sleep, too.”
“Is it that obvious?” My words slurred together despite my best efforts.
They all nodded.
I felt like I was going to collapse right then and there. Sylus nodded and put an arm around my waist.
“We won’t be far.” He growled before weave walking me upstairs.
He practically threw me onto the bed and collapsed beside me. I opened my mouth to say something but he was already out like a light bulb. It didn’t take long for me to follow.
-
White blood splattered across the walls.
I stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at the mangled corpse of my mother. I was a child. I was a teenager. I was an adult. I was an old man. I was a corpse. I was dust on the wind.
It never changed. The paralyzing fear, the aching loathing, the isolation, the lifetime of guilt that would never heal.
It always hit like a train. Shattering my bones and soul. I lose myself in the regret.
If I hadn’t closed my eyes.
If I hadn’t succumbed to exhastion.
If I hadn’t been alone with her.
Ma…
I awoke to a gentle shaking and hushed cooing. Fingers weaved through my hair. An arm wrapped around my shoulders.
I shook in his embrace.
Tears burned in my eyes, but struggled to fall.
His warmth dimmed my shuddering. His soft body caressed my aching bones.
“Sylus…” I rolled over in his arms, pressing my face into his chest.
“There, there, love. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
I slid my arms around him and sobbed.
“Oh, Starlight.” He breathed.
“I’m so sorry.” I wept.
“Why?”
“Ugh.” I leaned back to wipe my nose. He slid a hand up his tank top and wiped it for me. “After all you’ve been through, I must seem so pathetic.”
“Trauma isn’t a competition, love. Your pain is no less than anyone else’s.”
“But it was so long ago.” I sat up, clutching the sides of my head. “Why can’t I just get over it?!”
He sat up beside me, hands in his lap. “That’s not how it works, love. It doesn’t just go away. You learn to live with it. Perhaps even in spite of it. It will always linger, but it doesn’t have to control you.”
“I just want it to stop.”
“It might never stop.” He put an arm around me. “You can’t control it. No one can. And that’s okay.”
I turned and pressed my face into his chest again.
“Sometimes you just need to feel your feelings.”
“Ugh.” I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. “Your so soft.” I murmured. He chuckled. “I-it helps.” He hugged me back. “Y-you help.”
“I do?”
I nodded against him. “I’d wake up alone. Fighting to breathe. Paralyzed with fear. Over and over and over again. He empty eyes staring at me, cursing me. Reminding me I’d never be enough.” I wiped my face on his shirt.
“You know she wouldn’t feel any of that. She loved you, Jeron. From the moment of your birth to her passing, she loved you.”
The words welled in my throat. Aching, tearing at my flesh. “I let her fall.”
“You were a child sleeping for the first time in days.”
“I should have been there…”
“You were sleeping.”
“I should have heard her. I should have gotten up. I should have helped her.”
“No. None of that should have been on your shoulders. You did more than you should have ever had to do. You were a child with an absent father. It never should have fallen to you.”
“But it did.” I choked. “And I failed.”
“You. Were. A. Child.”
I cried. Ugly, ugly weeping.
We’d been through this before. We’d both said similar things but somehow the hurt and the healing always felt just as real. It never dulled or dimmed. My tears always tore through my soul, his embrace always put me back together.
Arms still around me, Sylus gently laid me back down.
“I was so tired.” I choked. “I’m so tired.”
He nuzzled his face against the back of my neck. “Rest, love. You can rest easy now.”
I took a deep, shaky breath. As I exhaled I felt the pain slip away.
-
We bowed to each other at the bottom of the stairs. A world of steel and fire behind us. He offers me his hand. I take it. He leads me into the center, unfurling his dexterous tentacles like the tendrils of a blooming flower.
He spins me out, pulls me back, dips me down, and spins me again toward the door. A grin on his wolven features. His massive fingers release mine and I’m out the door.
Fire and steel instantly come to life. I can hear their song booming in the background.
I unlocked the doors, seated the guests, took their orders, and returned to the heat of the roiling flames.
His tentacles are already working to prep numerous dishes. He already knows what I need. Our minds are as close to one as we can allow.
And so we dance.
I go one way, he goes another. I spin this way, he spins that. Tentacles part for me to pass without a word.
Steel clatters with steel. Scraping, clacking, whisking… music to my ears.
I slip through his weave, grabbing some finished plates as I go.
More satisfied customers. We get them in and out as quick as possible with full bellies and smiles on their faces. I couldn’t be happier.
Our speed, accuracy, and quality are unparalleled. We take pride in everything we make. A bit of ourselves going with every plate.
The second I come back with a dirty plate, it’s lifted from my hands and cleaned.
Every so often, he’d throw back a plate himself. I’d hear him munching, but he’d never miss a beat.
We moved with such fluidity and synchronicity. Yielding to each other as necessary.
Afer 12 hours in the hot, clanging chamber we’d make one last meal each. I for him and him for me. We’d drag ourselves into the dining room and eat, usually in silence.
We never really needed words, but we cherished each other’s voices. Still, after a long day, still silence can be appreciated.
The music is over and the dance is done. We rest only to do it again tomorrow.








































































