A swirl of reflective particles mixed with dust, bleeding into every crevice, licking every crack. It weaved like sentient fingers, the churning wet vapour, thick and slow, rippling toward Lorelai with purpose. The hum of its mass pressed to her bones like it wanted in, the soot of shimmering glass staining her pores as it consumed her.
"I don't recall, a void storm on the reports", the spy coughed.
The spy flapped his glittering wings as if the fog didn't even exist. It bent away from him, curling to either side, leaving a clear path where he stepped. She tried to follow in his wake, but the fog clung to her, the fine dust-like glass particles glistening in her vision. She wiped her face, but the mist clung tighter, pressing into her pores like thousands of tiny fingers. It slithered toward her mouth, seeping through every breath.
Lore coughed, choking as the fog reached down her throat, phantom legs crawling through her lungs. The fog coiled tighter, silvery tendrils pressing against her skin—searching for a way inside her skull.
"Why hasn't an alarm gone off?" said the monarch.
He waved his hand through the stuff, the streak of Voidium splitting the now-mirrored, refractive room.
"You ask like any of us would know," said the spy.
The monarch sighed. "Can you be serious for one minute? This is serious."
The fairy tapped his chin. "Last I checked, flying in the void was a rare and spooky event."
The monarch shook his head. "Thank you for stating the obvious."
"Anytime." The winged man grinned. "I was born with eyes, you see."
Lore could see the monarch's jaw crack at that. His ice-blue eyes defied the mirrored mist, his stern chin doing some contemplating of his own. Catching her blink, his piercing blue gaze caught hers, and her eyes fluttered away, staring at a cracked box they had broken earlier. The spear in her grip, rattling.
She wasn't staring. Not really. He was probably looking at her for some other reason.
She totally wasn't admiring that broody, aggravating face of his. Nope. Not at all.
It was just the arrogance—typical high lord nonsense. She hated that. Hated him. Hated all seven useless monarchs.
Nothing else.
Pushing the irritating thoughts aside, she scanned the surroundings, her eyes landing on the spy, who was watching her with that smug, unreadable smile. Who dastardly just licked his lips, posing as if he knew she was watching him. He was a spy, and she didn't even know for who. Much less if he was an ally.
She sighed and rolled her eyes to the corridor, or at least what she thought would be the corridor. The thick, refractive haze curled around her like wet skin. It breathed with her, sucking the air from her lungs. Each inhale was shorter than the last. Walls, windows, even the floor, each dimension flickered, warped and snapped back into place like rubber. Cool, then hot then elastic to her sight and skin. It made her head hurt, did she drink a barrel of wine just now. That was the only explanation.
Steeling herself, she slapped her cheeks and took a step forward. Bored, confused, or maybe just desperate for answers, she decided to push on and took a step towards the mist-coated walkway, entering its reflective mouth.
On a closer inspection, the windows were smothered in mirrored fog, so smokey she couldn't even see the light or the city. It was like they were submerged, deep in the void's embrace—a place so empty that you would go mad just by staring at it. Her tail shivered. She had heard enough horror stories of sunken aircraft that came back missing all crew. The empty ships returned without a hint of bodies, no method of escape, just poof gone, where they stood.
She clutched her spear. She was a demon—above such myths. Wasn't she?
A hand tapped her shoulder.
She spun—
Nothing.
Just fog. Thick, endless, suffocating.
Her pulse hammered. Where were they? Where was she?
Her breath came faster. Shallower.
The walls blurred. The ship tilted.
Her tail curled tight around her leg. Why was it so hard to breathe?
Kicking the fog, or at least attempting to, the monarch's feet clicked her ears. She glanced down. The metallic panel reflected the ship's dim lights—
And froze.
His reflection was wrong.
She blinked, and his reflection twisted—distorted legs and elongated arms, as though a shadowy figure walked just out of sync with him. However, irking her frantic heart, she noticed his frown, a look she knew was judging her in its entirety.
She puffed, feeling her tail loosen. Stupid man. What was she worried about? Did she suddenly believe in ghosts or something?
Then, like the man he was, the monarch folded his arms. She rolled her eyes. Typical. What was it this time? Did she forget to tie her shoes or bow at his majesty?
"What are you doing?" he said.
She scanned him up and down, then opened her fangs.
"Checking the situation. What do you think I'm doing?"
The man sighed. "So you just walked into the Voidium alone."
"Uh yeah. That's why it's called investigating."
"And what if something were to happen?"
Lore lifted her spear, wagging it before the man.
Before she could react, his grip tightened on her shirt—
And she slammed into the glass.
Cold knifed through her spine, ripping the breath from her lungs.
She gasped, the fog pressing tighter, devouring the air.
Ice seared against her back, a shock of heat and frost clashing along her skin.
"What now?" he said. "You're disarmed."
The fog thickened around them, swirling tighter, hotter as if reacting to her struggle. She squirmed, feeling the cold press squeezing her chest.
"That's not fair; I was off guard." She snapped.
"And why were you off guard."
She glared at him, ready to kick his jewels. Who the hell does he think he is? She had it up to her elbow in arrogant pricks and—
"If you wanted to kill me, you'd aim here."
The man tapped the right side of his chest. His unbuttoned jacket shifted, revealing the neat shirt beneath.
Lore frowned, swallowing the heat in her face. What—was he stripping?
Then he lifted a finger to his eye.
"Or here. Straight through."
She stopped thrashing and watched him closely. "Why are you telling me this?"
Without a word, he dropped her and planted the spear back in her hands, like a man loading a gun and passing the trigger to her. He turned his back on her entirely, leaving himself completely vulnerable as if daring her to strike. Wasn't he underestimating her? She tightened her grip on the spear, her mind racing. She could do it, hit him now, and he'd never expect it. And didn't he deserve it? But… why was he giving her the choice?
"We're going to need to form a line," the man said. He pointed at the fairy, "You, take the rear." Then he turned to Lore, "You'll be in the middle." Finally, he added, "I'll take the helm."
"Hey, I'm no damsel," Lore barked. "I can go in front."
The monarch regarded her; the thaw of pistons raced beneath his expression, his eyes dark, her breath catching.
"Have you ever killed? Torn flesh from bone? Seen what sleeps in the void?"
She shrunk, her tail wrapping her leg.
"Exactly," he said. "It's not a badge you want to earn. Stay put and watch my back."
"Why would I." She said.
The man sighed, allowing the fog to envelop them. He bared his fangs, yet paused, his tongue and jaw wavering, until—
"Van," he said, gesturing to the flickering wings of the spy. "Fay."
Lore flickered her lashes, befuddled. "Van? Fay?"
"Names," he said. He pointed to her, "Suc."
Lore immediately ground her fangs. "You fucking vampire."
He smiled—the first one she had ever seen and now of all time. It ignited her core; of all nicknames, he just wanted to call her a succubus.
"You—" she began.
The man turned and marched to the endless saturation, leaving her nothing but the urge to kick his ass as he went. She slapped her tail to the wall. She wouldn't stop till she got him back. She would be the worst ally he could have. But then, like an unseen predator lurking just out of sight, she felt a strange pulse down her neck, and the air turned heavy, thick with something she couldn't see…until she heard the footsteps.
A shiver crawled up her spine. The fog thickened, pressing in, the air thin.
Van's and Fay's footsteps twisted, warping, echoing out of sync.
Then—
A sound—but not theirs.
A single step. Then another. Slow. Measured.
She spun—
Nothing. Just fog.
But the steps quickened.
First Walking—Pacing—Jogging.
Then—
A scream.
Not hers, not theirs.
A full sprint—a howl racing toward her.
Lorelai tripped, stumbled and bolted, tail snapping behind her.
"Wait up!" she cried.
But the footsteps kept coming.
They kept coming.