Dolor

There are fates worse than death. Being locked in a library for Deities-knows how long, with only limited interaction to the outside world that she missed roving, wasn’t one of them.
In a building that beheld as much knowledge as she could handle, Dolor felt at relative peace. The musty smell of old books, the aging armchairs of red fabric scattered around the open space and the hundreds of roses used as bookmarks, settling in huge ceramic vases up to her chin and winding around cracked marble pillars, relaxed her in many ways. However much she missed the fresh air, the sunlight on her face without the disruption of dirt-stained glass dome above her, the library kept her sane, kept her occupied. Days often turned into meagre hours when she found a good book.
The one thing that still irritated her, even after two years of imprisonment, was the lack of spells and crafts allowed. Wards blocked her attempt at the smallest of spells. If she had the knowledge to destroy them, perhaps she wouldn’t be in this predicament; unable to complete her greatest work, a Plague to rule the Plague Queen herself.
Of course, they had every reason to imprison poor Dolor. Her fantastical creation was at the top of her many achievements. Oh, how it danced around her digits, sang its sweet and encapsulating song to her - one of power and greatness, woe and destruction. She missed it greatly. Like a mother would her child, she loved her creation.
That achievement shared its trophy with another; the strength that resided in her to live despite death looming over her, the Wormhole trying to swallow her whole, was that other. The death of her pursuer who killed her with her own creation wept at its second place prize. A smile, evil and twisting and wretched, stretched across her lips. The screams of Keres, her own victorious cry, rang out in her ears. Now, that day was a day to remember.
With care, Dolor put her book down on the table beside her, slotting a rose between pages 157 and 158. She stood with a slow stretch and a moan, then sauntered around the library for the second time in half an hour, her interest dwindling low. After two years, she’d at least started every book she could find. From fantasies to human mythology to books about insects, all of them had a rose marking the last page she had read. Very few were completely finished, deserving a reread after so long of sitting on a shelf. What stopped her was that she knew the ending. It dissatisfied her, to some extent. She loved a good story. None of these books littering the shelves offered her that anymore.
Groaning, she gave her wings a stretch and flew for the glass dome settled into the roof. It was a small privilege; she could at least spy on the lair around her, even if there wasn’t much to spy on anymore. Eavesdropping was out of the question. Before, Dolor used to listen in on important conversations on the roof, as it was the Empress’s favourite spot. Her slave put an end to that. After a month into her imprisonment, she tried to break the windows and fundamentally ruined her fun. No one came up here after that.
“My slave,” Dolor muttered, pressing a paw against the warm, now-warded glass of the dome. “Where are you?”
Lilin, a Spiral she’d created just before her capture, was a sight for sore eyes, literally. Like Dolor and her malformed tumours, still thriving and bulbous despite her death, she had stitched the Spiral together like a ragdoll. Beautiful red lace was what held her together, a bright pink rose on each wrap of elegant fabric. Bandages swarmed around her snout and neck, where the stitches always fell loose thanks to her charm and writhing around the lair like a skinned snake.
The only trait left of her from her life before was her eyes, red and gleaming like rubies beneath torchlight. No emotion ever appeared in them. Unlike other spirits, who were wrestles from guilt or from pain, Lilin stayed anchored to Sornieth through means of purpose; one she’d never found in her life. Perhaps she’d been innocent once, died too young or, like herself, she’d been bred for creations beyond their control.
She sighed, her paw falling away. Too long had it been since she saw her old friend. Her only friend, at that. Other spirits differed from dear Lilin. They didn’t see a witch capable of powers fit to rule the Deities, they instead saw her as a threat, a Deity wannabe. They steered away from her, never so much as wailing too close to her just in case she snapped.
It disgusted her to feel worried for her slave, though she couldn’t help but wonder where her little Spiral slithered off to months ago, what warranted her missing presence.
Dolor hovered towards the ground, the floorboards greeting her feet with audible squeaks and groans. Loneliness and irritation consumed her. She chose to ignore it. Skulking around the edge of the library, paw to the cracking cobble and brick, she bore her gaze into the spines of books, willing herself to find something interesting. Something else caught her eye instead.
Thin black lines spindled on the wall, up towards and along the ceiling across from her, plenty of rows away. Each rough edge, each fresh crack, in the stone appeared because of her. Her yearn to escape, to be free to do as she pleased. Of course, none of them gave way. If they had, she and Lilin would be far away, preparing their creation for the day of its release.
Her paw began to sting before long. The runes of Unbreakable etched into the stones most worn out burnt into her, their pain little against the agony of her tumours. Her imprint still lay in the stones from her pounding and screaming. Holes peppered the walls where she punched it, cracks splintered in an oval from shoving against them. A foolish temptation rose in her. Maybe I can try again; maybe the runes have weakened—
Dolor shook her head, scratching the wall with her claws. Her jewellery tinkled with the annoyed flare of her wings and the ripping of stone off the wall she had just traced. In hard and heavy chunks, bits fell to her feet. Runes flickered before her gaze, burning white and sparking. Just like the others, it was an Unbreakable rune.
A sigh escaped her and she moved away. As much as she tried to find a rune to counteract that of Unbreakable, runes weren’t her specialty. To try to undo it with magic was pointless, to say the least. Each stone protected such a rune. It would take days, if not weeks, to undo enough to be able to escape.
“Dolor?”
Dolor started, her gaze flicking away from the rune. The voice was familiar, though a year had passed since she last heard it. Peering through a nearby shelf of books, her gaze fell upon her suspect, and she nearly groaned.
Folia had decided to turn up.
Prophet and warrior of the Society of Souls, he stood proudly in the centre of the room, gazing at the ceiling-high shelves of tomes, manuals and novels with interest. Bronze armour and a brown cover protected most of his body, an orange scarf swinging around his neck to fight against the cold. Relaxation swept from his head to his toes. He didn’t seem at all scared to be there.
Dolor growled quietly. She grabbed a book from the musky wooden floor, opening it to a random page. Butterflies and their Meanings sat scrawled along the top of the page in golden, flowing letters. With a flush, she spied the spine of the book to see it was about insects. The rolling of her eyes was inevitable.
“It’s lovely to see you, Folia,” she drawled as she rounded the corner of the bookshelf, eyes locked onto the words in front of her. She steeled herself against the upcoming taunt.
The prophet snorted upon seeing her with the tome. For having been gone a year, he was still predictable. “Are you so bored that you’re reading about butterflies, Dolor?”
“I miss them fluttering around my beautiful roses.” Dolor slammed the book shut, grinning at Folia’s slight surprise. “Who do you think took that from me, Folia?”
“I had to do it. You know this.”
She strolled towards him, a deadly and twisted grin tugging at her mouth. “What a shame, truly. I could’ve spared you from the onslaught of Plague I was about to unleash.”
To his benefit, he didn’t say anything. Instead, Folia watched her draw nearer, eyes flicking with her every move. He stared at her paw as she laid the book to rest on her table, eyed her face as she moved nearer. He looked uncertain of her, like he’d forgotten about the numerous power-sapping runes in the walls. She loved it.
Checking only once behind Folia, her grin widened. He’d left the door ajar.
“Why did you come here, Folia?” Dolor inquired, ringing a rose from her flower-crown around her digit. “Surely you didn’t come here to see little old me.”
“You’re right,” he murmured, hesitant. “I didn’t. I came here for a book.”
She smiled sweetly, her next words smothered in honey. “Well then, dearest, I sure hope you find it.”
Dolor shoved Folia aside. Ignoring his cry of surprise, she shot straight for the door. Scents of fresh air crashed against her senses. The sunlight leaking through the crack so unfiltered she could almost touch it; it all felt foreign to her. She couldn’t bear to be in the library any longer. Not with the outside world so close, she could grasp it.
Something flung her aside. Her wings and back crashed into a bookcase. She cried out, temporary sharp pain blooming on her tumours. The shelf collapsed soon after she did; burying her in words that she couldn’t care less about.
Growling, Dolor bore her glare into Folia. He stood a few feet away from her, slightly dazed, a spirit standing just behind him and glaring back at her. Before it dispersed, she could make out a small golden outline and four beady golden eyes staring at her with sympathy. Another snarl rumbled in her throat. Apex, my dear, you certainly have nerves.
He cleared his throat and dusted himself off, a hint of confusion floating in his eyes. “Don’t make me take the painkiller away, Dolor. You know how well that went last time.”
“You mean you inadvertently tortured me,” she hissed, pushing and throwing books out of her way. The pain subsided into nothing, thanks to the numerous runes dotted in exactly the right places. Painreliever runes were as specific as they come, after all. One mishap and you have to start again.
Guilt flickered behind a curtain of softness. “That wasn’t my—”
“Shut it, Prophet.”
Folia did as she ordered. He took a silent step towards her, reaching down to help her. Instead of accepting like a rational dragon, a flurry of rage and longing sparked in her.
She ran.
Pain split across her body as soon as her foot touched the biting cold of stone. She couldn’t even gasp as she crumpled. The dirt came up to greet her face-first, and a small yelp came from her. Dolor tried to focus on something—her pain felt too much that Folia would have sufficed—but only white dots danced teasingly in front of her eyes. Even her rasping didn’t help her concentrate, tightness digging into her chest.
Folia appeared eventually behind the curtain of dots. A sad smile spread across his face. “I told you,” he whispered, “didn’t I?”
Only a whimper—one that she hated, one she would gladly trade for a snarl—escaped her. She couldn’t move. Her dignity hung heavy in the air, ready to split in two in front of the very male who trapped her.
Folia moved to help her up. She swiped at him, gritting her teeth against a growing scream of agony.
He smiled warmly at her. “Dolor, you can’t stay down there.”
Her returning hiss didn’t move him.
“Come on,” he cooed gently, reaching down to help her once more. She was grateful for the sudden distraction that was his warm paw. “Let’s get you back to the library.”
Each movement was torture. Dolor her arm slung around Folia’s shoulders, leaning against his freezing-cold armour for support. The tens of seconds it took to drag her a few meters from the door into the library felt too long. Exhausted crowned her brow, pain paled her skin. She felt cut off from herself, as if she was witnessing it all from a distance. It almost felt like she was outside without pain as a limit. Despite herself, she chuckled.
Perhaps insanity is beginning to set in.
As soon as she entered the library, she sighed. Relief swelled in her. The pain dissipated from her feet, then her legs and her arms. It continued to travel all the way up to the side of her face, where a tumour grew latched to her jaw. Before long, she fell from Folia’s grip, this time with her wings to cushion her fall. She felt too light to be living in this reality.
She supposed she wasn’t alive.
Folia chuckled, snapping her back to reality. Faint amusement danced with concern. “Feeling better?”
“Get out before I kill you,” she choked, outrage flaring in her eyes. Her claws dug into the wood beneath her.
“At least let me offer you this.”
With a few swift movements, he shrugged off both his armour and cloak. He gently placed the armour on a nearby chair, much to her disgust, and threw the cloak over her. The faint smell of damp stone and smoke lingered, intertwined in the fabric, accompanied by the tiniest shavings of bronze coating from Folia’s breastplate.
“Take your Deities-damned cape,” she growled, feebly shoving it aside in her attempt to sit up. “I don’t need your hospitality.”
Folia stood aside quietly as she struggled to sit upright. He continued to stand there when she yelped and fell back to the floor, clutching a bulbous tumour lump on her leg. Only when she groaned, her head rolling against the floor, did he move towards her.
“I don’t think you’ll be walking for a few hours,” he murmured, crouching down next to her.
No mockery shone in his eyes, and no distaste tugged his mouth into a frown. The only positive to shine around him was the rune he sketched into her skin with a claw. “Stay there and I’ll go get you something to eat.”
Dolor hissed at him, but it did little. Slowly and surely, her strength seeped out of her, crossing out the idea of shoving him away. Instead of viciously denying him, she used this time to her advantage. She stared intently at the rune he drew, memorising it, as he'd confirmed to her what it was within moments.
The Painreliever rune.
Folia grinned down at her. He’d finished with the rune, which glittered against the red of her skin, and began to tuck her underneath his cloak. From what she could remember, it looked like a cross surrounded by tiny dots. “You get some rest, and I’ll bring you some food.”
Dolor didn’t bother to stay awake long enough to see him leave. She had the information she needed. 
-2-
None of these runes looked accurate. A few of them appeared to be similar to the Painreliever rune, but as soon as she blinked, the looked entirely different. No wonder none of them worked when she yelled their name, or when she drew their sign into the air with reckless abandon. You’d think it was the magic-sapping runes in the walls that would stop the runes from working, but somehow Folia managed to defy them whilst she couldn’t. The very fact enraged her, but she kept looking. Surely it was here somewhere. She just had to find it.
“No,” Dolor grumbled aloud, throwing the book to one side. Runes and Magistry, Volume II. It joined a pile on the floor, a foot away from where she sat curled up in a chair. Almost a seventh of the library lay in that pile.
Growling, Dolor threw her head back and peered angrily at the dome above. Stars glistened in the sky, clouds shifting across them at an agonizingly slow pace. She missed lying under them. Her plague would dance around her digits, ready for further development the next day. It, like her slave, was always eager for the night-time to come by and bask them in its beauty. Perhaps Lilin enjoyed them by herself in recent months—
She closed her eyes and sighed. Stop thinking about her. She’ll come back, she has to.
Knocking sounded at the great wooden doors of the library, booming and echoing around the old building. She cracked open one eye. Dolor hoped that it was merely her slave being polite. However much she hoped, she knew she was wrong. Lilin, for her charm, couldn’t knock on a door even when it hit her in the face.
She stood with a groan, slotted roses in the pages she left open, tucked her hair tidily behind her ears and tied it up in a loose, messy bun. Just an hour ago, Dolor had woken up and immediately got to work. In her rush, she left Folia’s cloak bundled on the floor. She scooped it up with distaste and stormed towards the door. The temptation to thrust it into his paws and slam the door sparked in her.
Dolor gripped the brass handle. Then she let go, scowling. She forgot she couldn’t leave. It seems Folia had, too. “Open the door.”
He did so, peering around the corner with a faint smile dancing along his mouth. His eyes instantly fell upon the pile of books over way, then at half of the shelves which she stripped bare of the books that perched there for years, if not decades, without use. She couldn’t remember which ones she’d thrown, or where they went. All she knew was that she had to keep looking. “You’ve been busy.”
“I had a sudden spurt of inquiry,” she snarled, shoving the bundle of brown-gold cotton into his arms. She gripped the door in a grasp of steel, ready to slam it and get back to work. “Goodbye, Prophet.”
Just as Dolor moved to close the door, Folia stepped inside, barring the entrance. He then gently took the door from her. The soft click that accompanied his padded footfalls made her growl. Without knowing why, she’d begun to hope he’d leave the door open again. It was a foolish hope. She knew it was a mistake you only made once.
Folia strolled aimlessly towards the pile. He nit-picked a book from the mound of tomes, scanning the spine then the pages. It was one of the oldest in the library. With the cover beginning to peel away from misuse and the pages staining a beige colour, she’d found nothing useful. On its spine held no title for one to glean, merely symbols of ancient runes alongside what looked like a common letter. Whatever it stood for, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“These are all rune books,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why are you reading them?”
“I’ve finished the others,” Dolor lied, smiling with a sweetness to make a treat fairy sick. “The fantasies were my favourites. Alas, I can’t bear to read a book again, so I’ve moved on to the more… physical ones.”
A flicker of emotion sparked to life in his eyes as he threw the book back onto the pile. She cringed. As much as she’d chucked other books, she was at least careful with the oldest of their collection. Such treasures, after all, were rare now-a-days. It would be a shame if they were to suddenly fall apart when they could yet be useful to her.
Of course, as they were treasures, they may well sell for a lot of treasure once she escaped.
Dolor watched with distaste from the door as her visitor removed his armour—recently polished, guessing by the dust of gold flecks that dotted the breastplate—and began to wrap himself up in his cloak. She was amazed to find that, despite spending an hour on the floor in a disgruntled pile, the cloak presented not a single crease.
“I hate to spoil your fun, Dolor—” Folia narrowed his eyes at her and fastened his cloak around his neck, his armour resting neatly atop the pile of tomes. “—but we don’t have fantasy books.”
“And I wondered why you weren’t as magical as dear Eris,” Dolor cooed, sauntering back towards her chair. “It seems you missed the rather obvious section of fantastical books near the back, isle five, shelves one through three.”
He smirked at her once she curled up on her chair. She frowned. “You’re turning into somewhat of a librarian.”
“I wonder whose fault that is, Folia.”
“Perhaps we should make that your job. It’d keep you occupied, to say the least.”
Dolor’s cheeks began to burn. “You dare and I’ll skin you alive.”
Folia, unlike any others, didn’t so much as flinch at her threat. If anything, his grin widened in its face. Of course, he had no reason to feel genuine fear from her. With being the Prophet of the Society, he had nothing to fear. The other spirits protected him, and always would. “I brought you food, by the way.”
A flicker of red scampered away in the corner of her eye, between a curtain and a shelf. Dolor waved her paw dismissively, eyeing the space with uncertainty and concern. A spirit was here. “Eat it yourself. I’m not hungry.”
“That’s surprising.”
She hissed at him and he grinned. “Go to—”
An apple flew at her, catching her off guard. She only just caught it before it would hit her in the snout, causing it to ache for the next two days. It shone in the torchlight littering the library, reds and greens mingling with each other along its surface. Snorting, she proceeded to throw it into the air and catch it. “You know I’m dead, right?”
“I also know you’re more alive than the others, Dolor,” Folia responded, irritation in his tone. He didn’t seem to be infuriated with her, but rather something else. Dolor couldn’t tell what. “You might be able to survive without food, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get hungry.”
“Someone knows me better than I know myself.” A revelation came to mind and she slouched forward, taking a bite out of the apple. “Have you been spying on me, my dear Prophet?”
“Nope,” he said, voice blunt, which was most unlike him. “The other spirits never scream about wanting food. They never get cravings.”
Dolor gasped mockingly. “So you have been spying on me? Why, you little cheat.”
“The whole lair can hear you, Dolor.” He didn’t sound amused as he spoke, hurriedly strapping his armour on, growling when he got it wrong. Whatever was irritating him made her grin. “We hear you much better at dawn when you’re yelling for pancakes of all things.”
“Oh, do I love me some pancakes,” she sighed, clutching her chest in longing. The sweet taste of strawberries and sugar on a pancake was enough to make her mouth water. Her grin grew. “Would you mind getting me some?”
Folia softened only slightly. “I’ll think about it if you behave.”
“And if you behave, you won’t lose your head.”
Before either of them could see the culprit of the voice—lilting, feminine and soothing to the ears like music—a cleaver rounded his neck and pressed against the skin. Its hilt glinted a murky gold in the torchlight, with evident finger perches. The paw holding it was white like snow, with a lace bracelet around her wrist. On it perched a beautiful pink rose, one like no other.
Lilin’s head popped over Folia’s shoulder with a smile to match Dolor’s own.
Folia sucked in a breath, surprise glistening in his eyes. “I should’ve known.”
“You should have, really,” Lilin agreed, pouting. Then, in the blink of an eye, her pout sprang into a grin. “Good thing you didn’t though, right? That would’ve been a bad mistake on my end.”
“What do you want?” To hear fear in Folia’s voice as the blade drew the tiniest nick of blood gave her courage. Whatever crazy scheme her little servant has planned, she was almost certain it would work.
“I want you to set my dear friend free.”
“You know I can’t do that—”
Lilin frowned, her wide eyes gleaming with mocking sadness. “Why not? I’m lonely out there.”
He sighed, his paws clenched into fists. “She’s a danger to everyone.”
“That won’t matter when she’s completed her Plague.” She giggled maniacally, her gaze turning insane for a split second. “She might even spare you.”
“Lilin, listen to reason—”
“I’m dead, Folia,” she drawled, pressing the blade harder against his neck. “Reason doesn’t matter to me. Now let dear old Dolor go.”
“Old?” she snarled, standing upright almost instantly. “Who are you calling old?”
“Evidently you, my dear master,” her servant sighed, bowing. With a paw in Folia’s mane, he followed her, grunting in agony. He didn’t seem to enjoy it one bit. “You’re many years my senior, after all.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m old, child,” she said as she strolled to her side. “I died at a young age.”
“If I let Dolor go,” Folia began, reaching up to pull Lilin’s paw free of his matted mane. The further digging in of her cleaver, drawing more ruby-red blood to stain his scarf, made him lower it once more. “How do I know she’s not going to cause danger to the rest of the souls?”
“I’m stood right here. You could just ask me.”
He gave her a level glare. “How do I know you are not going to be a danger to the other souls?”
She snorted. “Because they mean nothing to me. It’d be a waste of—”
A flash sparked below her. She looked down just in time to see Folia finish sketching a rune; a signal for the others.
“—Wait!”
Before she could react, he swiped her legs from under her with his tail. With a cry, Lilin fell back against the floor next to her. She panted and clutched her chest. Folia stood and grabbed Dolor by her lei. He ignore the strain it put against her neck. It felt like wire digging into her skin. The roses did little to comfort her, falling to pieces as the life began to drain from them. All she could do was let out a strangled cry.
“You two have inflated egos, that’s for sure,” Folia hissed. It surprised her to hear such a tone exit his mouth. Ever since he’d trapped her in here, in this confounded library, she’d never once heard him lose his temper.
“Pretty much,” Lilin wheezed from the floor. In her eyes settled a deadly gleam, one that could flare to life at any moment. Dolor, in her choking state, hoped that was soon. She didn’t particularly want to pass out. “It’s why we love each other.”
“More like tolerate,” Dolor coughed out.
Glass shattered above them, and a sudden burst of pain blinded her. She found herself on her knees before long, gasping. It wasn’t Folia’s doing, for he’d never touched her. Only then did realisation dawn on her, as she drew the Painreliever rune on herself. The runes are gone.
“It’s lovely to see you both,” Folia drawled from behind her, still keeping hold of her lei.
She spared a glance towards the dome. A hole sat in its centre with glass raining down on them. Two Pearlcatchers drifting through it with ease despite their blindness. One was a dirty gold, silver in her wings. A rose wound round her tail and golden dress that accompanied her colours—a cape, wing ribbons and Roundhorns that curled around her ears—glistened in the moonlight.
Her companion was the opposite. Where gold and silver shone on her, black and gold wrapped around him. He wore a coat and shawl of the same colours, both flapping in the winds of his movements, with claws that looked made for scarring; a permanent reminder if one was to ever cross him.
A weak sound escaped both Dolor and Lilin. The two Pearlcatchers were none other than Eris and Discord, two of the most irritating and dull soldiers she’d ever met.
“Having trouble, Folia?” Eris sneered playfully, landing with grace. Her mask shimmered with a soft golden sheen along where her eyes hid underneath. Discord’s did the same, a rune flickering on the side of their headdresses. Sightseeing. They knew they were there.
“It’s us having the trouble,” Dolor squeaked, her claw hooked at the knot that held her lei together. It felt close to snapping.
“Oh, Dolor,” Discord crooned, edging too close her for comfort. No smile danced at his lips, no amusement shone in his tone. He sounded flat, like a broken instrument. “Maybe you should behave yourself.”
“It wasn’t her,” Lilin piped up, her tone the direct opposite of Discord’s. “It was me.”
Discord turned to face her. Her slave moved then, tackling him to the ground. Despite her efforts, Eris went down with them. Lilin’s blade whistled through the air with deadly intent, clashing with claws and orbs and horns. A scream of war, not of pain, echoed around the library and lair.
Dolor took the opportunity of Folia’s encapsulation with the fight to kick his leg. It crippled him enough to loosen her lei. Gasping, she swung her tail used his tactic against him; she knocked his legs from underneath him.
He fell with a confused cry, his armour clanking against the wooden floor. Dolor spared him only a glance and grinned. A daze settled in his eyes, furious blinks his attempt to get rid of it.
Without looking back, she charged towards Lilin.
Her servant lay sprawled on the floor, reaching for her knife as Discord pressed his paws into her spindly neck. Blood poured from his cheek, tears littered his cloak and shawl. He didn’t seem to care as Lilin struggled underneath his weight. The rips of his gold-coated claws scratched at her bandages.
Dolor had to think quickly.
So she did.
Frantic, Dolor looked around for any kind of weapon. A blade, or a candelabra, or even a book would do! Then she stopped, grinning viciously. Her times of reading dull human history may be paying off. Books are the most lethal weapons in the world. Arm yourself!. The answer wasn’t with the use of a knife, but in the weaponry of writing.
Her mind shifted from blade to paper, and she went on the hunt for the heaviest book in the library. Dolor knew that Folia would be up and attacking her soon, whilst Eris called for reinforcements. It was a good thing she knew exactly where to look.
She ran for the back of the library, where the oldest of their books stayed. Her footfalls pounded against the wooden floorboards.
“Get her!” Dolor heard Discord yell, followed by a whimper from Lilin.
Fury and disgust flared in her heart. She reached the back of the library within seconds. Immediately, she began to scan the books, looking for one in particular. Narvinian Chronicles: the Sentries of the North. In it sat nine-hundred pages worth of once priceless information. A rose perched at the back of the book.
Dolor found it and almost growled with satisfaction. Pulling it free of the shelf, she cackled to herself. “You’ll be of use to me one more time, my old friend.”
“Dolor!”
She didn’t spare Folia another glance as she rushed between shelves, knowing exactly where the entrances and exits lay. Two years in the library had proven useful indeed. At first, it was a maze. Now it was like walking the streets of the lair; she knew the place like the back of her paw. Unlike her pursuer, she didn’t falter once. As she would tell you, there are definitely fates worse than death, and this wasn’t one of them.
Dolor rounded the corner to the centre of the room. Discord still struggled with Lilin, who now pressed her blade into the crook of his neck. As much as he might fool himself, a second death never scared her slave. It seemed he was beginning to realise that.
“And we thought you could be trusted,” he snarled at dear Lilin.
She grinned back at him. “No one can trust me, dearest.”
The tome smacked against the back of Discord’s head with a loud, reverberating thud. Dolor grimaced as he slumped to the side, worry sparking until his chest rose and fell slowly with unconsciousness. She helped Lilin to her feet. Tucking the tome underneath her arm, she got to work with fixing her slave’s bandages.
Folia appeared in the corner of her eye. The book she held caught the thrust of his blade. He swung his sword wildly, as if he wasn’t trained. It would’ve made her laugh if that wild swinging hadn’t sliced the tome in half.
“Give up, Dolor,” he panted, gripping the hilt with two paws.
“Never.”
Lilin rushed aside when he attacked. Dolor dropped her two halves of the Narvinian Chronicles and backed away with each swipe. A shelf stood tall and proud behind her. All she had to do was lure him in.
“For a soldier,” she sneered, jumping back once more, “you’re rather inaccurate!”
He growled low enough that it could have shaken the library’s foundations. “Because I don’t deal in swords.”
Folia lunged at her, sword singing through the air. He landed exactly where she wanted him to.
She grabbed the edge of the bookcase and heaved it forward. It rocked forwards, slowly at first. The creaking and rising darkness gave away her intentions. Much to her irritation, Folia leapt out of the way just in time, his wing fan tearing with the sudden movements. The bookcase landed on the floor with a crash, and she was back to facing Folia.
“Can’t win ‘em all,” she cooed sweetly, aggravating Folia further.
He gave up with words and instead ran at her. Dolor didn’t have time to dodge; he threw his sword into the wall on one side of her and pinned her against it with his arm. The back of her skull cracked against stone. Warmth spilled down the back of her neck. A choked sound rose in her throat at the sight of the pools of muddy fury that became of Folia’s eyes. Gone was the gentle, earthy-brown. It was now war-time.
“I should make you suffer,” he snarled, his voice low enough so that only she could hear. “But that wouldn’t be enough.”
“Have I… caused that much trouble?” she tried to say. Her sarcasm and wit dissipated with some imaginary wind. All she had left was her pride.
“Yes.” Folia let her go then, left her gasping for air she couldn’t grasp.
Dolor never got to ask him what he was going to do to her. Lilin came up behind him and shoved him aside, making him trip on the bookcase. The crunch of wood against back made her cringe.
“Fly, Dolor!” Lilin screamed, heaving her to her feet and spreading her wings for her. “Why are you still here?”
“I—” Her tongue felt fat and sloppy in her mouth. She assumed it was the adrenaline that caused it.
Confusion flared when Lilin sounded as tipsy as a sailor, her words slurring. “Fly, you moron!”
She couldn’t. The strength in her legs gave way to numbness. The rest of her soon followed. Before Lilin could help her up, or even fly away herself, she too fell to the ground. Not a sound came from either of them. Panic rose in her and her blood thrummed in her ears. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Folia stood before them before long, shaking his head. He dusted himself off as if nothing happened, as if the fight never took place. Then, with the click of his digits, Discord woke up and rose to his feet with the tiniest grimace.
The two males stood aimlessly before them, glancing between the two for what felt like forever, until Folia delighted them with his presence on the ground level. He sat with them, a victorious smile playing at his lips.
“Whadedyewduh,” Dolor slurred, her nose scrunching with the effort to keep her words straight.
“I did nothing,” he remarked, paws up in surrender. “You did this to yourself.”
“Whuh?”
His smile grew. It became twisted with the arrogance of his winning. “The rune you used on yourself isn’t Painreliever, like you thought. Instead, it’s one called Punishment.”
Dolor would’ve growled to herself if she could. Of course it was Punishment. She should’ve guessed that; never would Folia be so reckless twice in one day.
Unless the entire thing was a bait laid out just for her.
He continued, much to her growing disgust. “As you well know, Punishment is disguised to look like any rune the user wishes, as long as the one being inflicted behaves. As soon as that happens…”
“Yewtraytor,” she snapped at Lilin, whose eyes widened with shock.
“Oh, your dear servant had no hand in this,” Folia drawled. “However, she did let loose some delightful little details about you, like your impulsiveness. Since we already knew you were planning to escape, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to put the rune on you.”
“Eris should be back soon with Hestia and the trainees,” Discord grumbled. “Should we stay or should we go?”
“We’ll stay,” he ordered, smiling slyly. “We wouldn’t want them to try anything in our absence and startle our new additions.”
What she wouldn’t have given to punch him in that moment.