Starglow Basin vacia

truthfully, he's livid.

osiel's anger redirected into his own, and in the days following soto withdrew, absorbing that bristling wrath and augmenting it into something more useful.

the first question was how?
(how had she gotten in?)

and the second was also how?
(how had she gotten out?)

soto poured over the tracks, forming a better picture.

fate. the scent of one waylaid the other; her crossing timed at the perfect moment those on watch were relieved by those watching. their hours too inconsistent for any pre-planning.

no, not fate. la bruja's gnarled hand, guiding.

soto knew now what laid in store. he rises, seeking the failed guardswoman out. @Saya. his tone cold, single eye glowering as it took in her injuries.

all from a frail and sickly looking coy.

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she was pissed. of course she was. no matter how much osiel and soto's anger could reach her, nothing could penetrate her as much as her own. she had a failed. la princessa failed. it was a new feeling, one that she loathed, one that could have her persuading armies to kill every last ugly half-wit albino upon this land.

she saw soto then, turning her head away from replacing the grape leaves upon her tattered thighs. her beautiful thighs. her fur, cherished and starlit. ruined.

she was ruined.

that cunt half breed took her youth. marred her. she was disgusting.

soto. she breathed, voice not as light and airy as it had been. he was seeing her raw; uncut from the pageantry she was once part of. saya was reborn when her fickle prize slipped from her grasp. the angel once seated upon her father's lap fell from grace, an angel without her wings, starved.

soto understands that to make something tight-knit, a little tension needs applying. enter leto. 

and he understands to produce diamonds, a little pressure. enter saya. 

she’d failed his first task. he will give her one other before she is cut loose to sleep among the stones and opuntias. 

there is an expression he has lived with his whole life and it goes like this; when the lamb is lost in the mountains, he is cry. sometime come the mother. sometime the wolf.

he is the wolf. now he needs saya to be one too. 

eye stern with glittering malice, soto beholds her ruined form and finds no pity. explicar. he demands, giving her one chance to redeem herself before she joins the faceless dozens he’s put in the dirt.

saya’s gaze drops for just a heartbeat before lifting again, defiance simmering beneath the shame. she knows he expects perfection, strength—qualities she prizes in herself but which had slipped through her grasp like sand in that one unforgiving moment.

fue la maldita coyota albina, murmura, her voice edged with venom. no había guardias, ni siquiera una señal. se movió como un fantasma. me emboscó en silencio, y en un instante... me arrancó las pieles del cuello. her jaw tightens, remembering the sting, the powerlessness. me dejó inconsciente. cuando desperté, todo había desaparecido.

she feels soto’s cold gaze on her, weighing her worth, judging whether she’s salvageable or destined to be discarded among the others laying in ditches. the silence stretches between them, heavy and thick, and saya straightens, refusing to appear broken.

fallé una vez, she says, her voice hard, holding his stare. me lo robó. a mí. she lets the grief hang in the air, fierce and unyielding.

very noble, this concept she’d been robbed of something of import. 

but it’s soto who feels cheated, and wonders if he’s backed the wrong proverbial horse. 

he listens, patient. a terrifying virtue in a giant, in so much as an observer would know they are simply biding their time. 

waiting for the best, most crippling use of their energy. 

he unwinds a long tendril of thought, then another. ruminating over every nuance and inflection in saya’s explanation. 

she could be a sleeper. he sees in her much resentment, much defiance. she says the little coy moved like a ghost, and overpowered her. yet soto asks himself how this is possible, when he’d seen the coy for himself and known she was a fumbling, inexperienced creature hardly worth the air they breathe!

they could be allies. did not every pretty thing need an ugly accomplice to stand next to them, to further extenuate their exquisite beauty? 

he decides her task will be one that kills her, if he’s lucky. but luck, as of late, has little to do with his situation. 

una oportunidad más. one more chance, he cautions her with malice coiling in his tone. no más.

a proverbial hand held out for her. 

only soto has no qualms with letting her plunge if she fails.

saya kept her head bowed just enough to show submission, yet not enough to mask the glint of determination in her eyes. soto’s disappointment pressed into her like a dull blade, digging up twisted memories of her own father’s withering stares, his grunts of disapproval. there was something sickeningly familiar about soto’s quiet judgment, his patient watchfulness, the way he held her fate in his hands, knowing full well that he could crush her with a mere word. it was almost nostalgic.

she stood at his words, the weight of his tone sinking in. una oportunidad más, she echoed, the phrase rolling off her tongue with a kind of reverence, though her eyes held a spark of defiance. she was no fool; she knew this task was more than a test. he was daring her to fail, holding her on the edge with the expectation that she’d fall. she had no illusions about the risks—but her pride wouldn’t allow her to back down.

dime, she said, voice low and unwavering, her gaze steady on his. ¿cuál es la tarea? she paused, a shadow of a smile tugging at her lips. 

she could feel the coils of his malice, the calculated cruelty in his patience. but something in her thrived on it, a twisted desire to prove herself despite the odds.

if she were a man he’d pin her to the ground and press his claws into her wounds: he would exploit her vulnerability with such callousness it would speak to his character: here is a man that does not care if he hurts you. here is a man that thinks nothing of casual cruelty. 

but she’s a woman, and a pretty one at that. soto knows women cannot be subverted the way men can. they are used to being dehumanized; this language of cruelty does nothing to them that men have not already done. 

he leans close, taking in the fragrance of saya and her blood. she’s determined, he likes that — but the virtue of her determination is lost when he remembers he has cost her dearly. 

well, there are other women, and other men to replace if she fails. soto leans back, singular eye glowering. debes encontrarme una bruja.

saya's lips curled, her brow knitting at his words. the weight of his tone was not lost on her, but it was the singular demand that lingered. her voice, low and sharp, cut through the air as she asked:

¿qué bruja?

she did not flinch beneath his gaze, though her mind raced. a witch? was this a ploy, a game to further test her limits? she had suffered enough under his watchful eye, yet still, she stood—bleeding, battered, but unbroken.

her lavender eyes searched his face for answers, but she found none. soto’s silence was deliberate, an extension of his power over her. she swallowed her frustration, waiting, knowing better than to press too hard.

the game was his, and for now, she played her part.

perhaps when the albino ghost threw saya against the wall, some of her brain matter spilled. soto’s nostrils flare in the aggravated manner of a bull. in his mind, juárez seethes; too soft, he chides, dematerializing back into black with a decisive air that could only be called derisive.

soto regains control, his temper scarcely lidded. una bruja. he repeats. any witch. una bruja habíl. a skilled one.

a useful one; not the bitter hag that is qiao — but someone like her.

around saya, the coils of his machinations almost come to fruition. he regains composure, smoothing the flare of his lifted fur. me entiendes?

there is no room for misunderstanding.

saya tilted her head, sharp lavender eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she measured his words. she had grown accustomed to soto’s volatility, but the shift in his tone, the weight of his repetition, carried an unmistakable urgency.

¿dónde puedo encontrarla? she asked evenly, careful to keep her voice steady. where can i find her?

she didn't dare waver under his gaze, the fire behind her eyes a carefully restrained defiance. soto's anger was a storm she had no intention of walking into without preparation.

the word "habil" lingered in her thoughts. useful.

she dare ask a question!

for a long time soto is silent. he is -- as she put it -- a storm. his great wings gathering purple and dark on the horizon.

perhaps juarez is right: he has misplaced his faith.

at last words drip from his curled lip. 

belittling. 

cold.

si esto es demasiado difícil para ti, encontraré a alguien mejor.

saya's ears flattened slightly, a flicker of fear crossing her features at the storm brewing in soto's expression. her voice wavered, barely above a whisper, as she uttered a soft, no.

she lowered her gaze, the weight of his belittling tone pressing down on her. perdoname, she added, contrite and subdued. lo haré.

her words held a quiet determination, though her body remained tense, bracing for whatever judgment soto might pass next. she could not afford to fail again.

soto's single eye roves over saya, dedicated to finding any shortcoming.

she yields, her gaze casting down -- perdoname. a repeated soliloquy from the day nokht was lifted from verapaz.

as much as juarez and nino caution him against clemency, soto lifts the pinning intensity of his gaze.

bueno. is all he gives before he swings off, leaving saya to collect the disordered pieces of her life and be born anew as one capable enough to climb the ranks of verapaz.

saya says nothing.

her fingers work deftly, rewrapping her legs with a precision honed by necessity. this time tighter—no room for weakness, no margin for error. her eyes remain downcast, unwavering as she secures the binds that will see her through the journey ahead.

the weight of soto's departure lingers in the air, thick and stifling. his "bueno" echoes in her mind like a drumbeat, a final punctuation to his judgment. she does not look up as he leaves, but her resolve hardens.

one last tug, firm and resolute, and the knot holds fast. a long road stretches before her, unknown and unkind, but saya rises to meet it without complaint. tightening her binds is all the response she needs to give.

fade here