Archive of Our Own

It was never meant to end like this. 

This whole turn of events went against everything Luz knew. It made her stomach churn, made chills run up her spine, made her fists clench, but she couldn’t do anything. Not like this. Never like this. 

She was supposed to be the protagonist. The hero. Everyone else had been… she didn’t even want to think about it. She was lucky like that, though, wasn’t she? She had the choice to disregard it, to cast it aside, to ignore it until the memories no longer squirmed in her thoughts, in her brain, in the very marrow of her bones. The others didn’t have that choice; for once, she was almost glad to be human, but that thought just made her mind even more of a mess. Her thoughts sharpened into bullets, ricocheting and reverberating off the sides of her skull. It was too much, and yet she still had the upper hand, the advantage, for once in her sorry life—but it was at the cost of her friends. Her family. Everyone.

Soon, the consequences of their failed attempt at stopping the Day of Unity—derived from her actions, no less—would seep into the human realm too. That meant her mom, Vee, gods, her whole life would be destroyed even—all in the name of some old man’s misguided beliefs that doing all this would protect humanity. Luz probably wouldn't be around to see the look on his face when he found out that people no longer celebrated witch hunters, but if she was, she'd revel in the moment. She'd watch as his whole world crumbled apart in front of him, four centuries of indoctrination becoming undone before his very eyes.

It would be a worthy fate of someone so heinous, yet Luz knew that even if some of this was the Emperor's fault, or even the Collector’s... it was also partly hers. She had been stupid enough to fall for his lies since the beginning, after all. His every word tossed cloth over her eyes, sewed cotton into her brain and stuffed wool into her ears to make her oblivious to the truth that was staring her right in the face the entire time. Perhaps, in another world were she smarter or simply not as gullible, she would have figured out Belos' plan long before he thought it possible. Perhaps, she could have stopped all this from ever coming to fruition in the first place. But no gods had any favoured her, but by accidentally stumbling upon a reality where her dreams became reality, she thought her wishes had finally been answered. The Boiling Isles were all she ever wanted—at first, that is.

Luz had loved fantasy adventure stories ever since she was a child; sometimes, they were her only anchor in the world when reality was an otherwise unnavigable storm and without a boat to hold onto for dear life, she found herself sinking more often than swimming. Those books were her lifeline in a sense—one of the last things left by her dad too. He’d been a co-author for one of her favourites—was even an illustrator for the Azura books!—before everything went wrong. Before he died. Before her horrible classmates. Before her relationship with her mother began to sour. 

Luz would never be able to enjoy them again, would she? It would be yet another memory and reminder of her father tarnished; her stockpile of “father things” was getting more and more depleted with each passing day. It wasn’t like the books weren’t that great anyway (gods, she was always lying to herself nowadays)—all they did was mess with her head. They led her into this fantasy, this twisted, horrible realm where nightmares breathed and blinked. They led her into believing she could do something, anything against something larger than herself in the name of protecting her family, both human and witch. 

But that’s all she was—a lowly human—in a world of demons and witches and whatever else. How could she ever hope to stand out for anything besides being a laughing stock?

(“Humans can’t be witches,” Amity spat, green hair bouncing wildly with each frantic movement of her hands. With every word, her cheeks became redder and redder until Luz could feel the fury radiating from her girlfr—… enemy. That’s all they were to each other at this point; the mere thought of it left an acidic taste in her mouth considering what their relationship would later become. “I’m the top student of this damn school, so how could you ever hope to best me?!” 

This had to be her remembering things incorrectly again, right? In her frustration, Luz bit her lip to the point where she felt something hot and metallic spill onto her tongue. Her expression soured, and then Amity was laughing uncontrollably. She grabbed Luz by the shirt, and her mouth was pulled into a firm smug. “Well, human? How are you going to do it?”

”I—Amity, please, this isn’t you—” Luz began to beg—at least until Amity released her grip and shoved her to the hard earth below.

”This—“ Amity’s hands waved to herself, eyes narrowing, but this couldn’t be right, Amity had hated all of this, especially since it made her look so similar to her mother, “—isn’t me?” 

Luz nodded frantically, voice cracking. “Yes, Amity! The girl I know—she’s kind, she’s beautiful, she’s everything I could ever want in a girl! And that girl is you!”

Amity’s gaze hardened the more Luz continued. “Well,” Amity rolled her eyes, her boot landing harshly on Luz’s chest, knocking the air out of her, “I don’t want you, human. You’re pathetic, and let’s make sure that doesn’t spread to anyone else, hm?”

Just as Luz felt the harsh sting of magic in her direction, her eyes instinctively slammed shut, and when she opened them again, it wasn’t to not-Amity—it had to be some sort of poser, because her girlfriend would never act like that, even when they were enemies—but to… Eda? 

Luz was back inside the Owl House. Eda—surprisingly—was combing through a book, squinting at some page for a suspicious amount of time before slamming it shut. That’s when Luz’s stomach churned, because she remembered this scenario too well as to not recognise it.

”Kid,” Eda sighed, massaging her nose bridge and Luz’s mouth contorted into a frown, “You can’t learn magic. I can’t spell you up a bile sac either, it’s biologically impossible! Trust me, I’ve, uh, tried bef—whatever, that’s not important! Still, my point stands.”

Luz’s eyes widened when she felt her mouth open and form words against her will. “But Eda,” she said, edging on pleading. Her frown became a grin and her eyes glistened with renewed glee when she eyed Eda’s staff, “I’ll just find my own way to—that’s just the way I roll!” 

“Oh no, human,” Eda shook her head, gaze hardening as she picked up the staff. Luz—who was still on the ground—scrambled in the other direction as she neared, heart hammering in her chest. “You can’t steal what you can’t have. Staffs are only for the worthy, the brave, the heroes. And you, kid…

You’re none of them.” Eda hissed, directing the staff at her throat and Luz screamed. She slapped her hands over her head as Eda became to laugh louder, louder still, until perhaps her voice wasn’t even her own anymore, but Amity’s too, and maybe even someone else’s—

The hard earth dug into her back like teeth and claws as Luz’s eyes snapped open. She scanned wherever she was frantically, only for her entire body to begin to shake at the sight of who now stood in front of her. Words spilled out of her mouth before she could even comprehend what was happening—that this wasn’t even real. None of her apologies would reach his ears. “Hunter, I—I’m so—!”

”You’re so,” Hunter—but no, this was just the Golden Guard—began, lifting a finger to his chin thoughtfully. Here, he was still some unknown figure thought to be mythically strong, and impossibly terrifying, “…what? Useless? Pathetic? I think the best thing to describe you would be…”

No, no! She was… she was… “Nothing,” Hunter finished, shrugging as he turned away from her. “Without the staff you stole, human, you are nothing. Weak. A wannabe hero who wants to prove herself to, hm, I wonder! Probably your mother, right?”

”Would it matter?” Luz seethed, casting the staff aside and stalking up to him. “I don’t need her approval—not anymore. I have everything I could ever want—” she smiled to herself, eyes shining, “—a girlfriend, family, friends! Earth is—it’s—”

”But without Earth, human,” Hunter lowered himself to her level, smirking. Luz’s hands curled into fists that shook uncontrollably, “there’s no you. There’s no Belos. There’s nothing there for anyone—perfect for you, huh?”

”No, it isn’t—!” Luz shouted, before Hunter tutted under his breath and shoved her to the ground again. She shook her head as his—no, their laughter filled her ears until it was all she could hear, feel, sense—

And then Luz was suddenly back in school. Her favourite seat, right at the back of the classroom; that way, no one could stare at her from behind, or pin anything on her back, or be so close to her that she could feel their warm breath ghosting on her neck, commenting and whispering that she “didn’t belong”, or that she was some “freak of nature”. It wasn’t true, her mom said so.

But Luz had heard her on the phone—about “Think Inside the Box” camp, or talking to family members about how her education was and her nervously spouted lies about her grades. (“Oh, Luz? She’s doing great at her… her new school!” Camila might’ve said, laughter tangibly plastic and hollow. “Her behaviour? Mom, it’s not a problem anymore, well, it won’t be once this summer is over, anyway. I promise she won’t have to move school again. It’s been the fifth time in two years, I can hardly stand it anymore—”) Sometimes, Luz wondered if she agreed with those kids at school inside her head, where no one could hear her thoughts; Luz couldn’t do such a thing like reading her mind, but she knew her mom well, and her mom was always expressive. 

Whenever she came back home from anywhere, it wasn’t to a hug, or freshly baked cookies, or even a smile; it was instead to a distant gaze—probably reminiscing a forgotten past where Luz wasn’t such a handful and there was two to bear that burden—and a frown tugging on her mom's features. The house was silent on most days; vets worked long hours, and Luz knew how to look after herself. Probably. 

(She just wanted to know what putting a fork in a microwave would do. She was a curious kid, so when you’re told not to do something, you do it, right? Safe to say—when her mom came home a few hours earlier than expected and Luz still wasn’t finished cleaning a stubborn scorch mark on the wall about five metres away from the microwave—she wasn’t allowed to be alone again.)

Luz had a babysitter most days. When her mom came home and the babysitter was dismissed, Camila was bone tired, sluggish and just wanted to sleep; they never played like they used to. They never talked like they used to. 

No matter how much Luz acted out, it never got her mom's attention like it did with other kids. Although, it wasn’t really her fault sometimes; when that happened and things spun out of her control, Luz would usually be completely unable to calm down. She just couldn’t concentrate, or even sit down for five seconds, not when her body commanded her to move, move, move—

So when her teacher said something to her mom about “attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder”—not that Luz understood what those big words meant at all—she was taken to a doctor. It smelt of anti-bacterial spray and strawberry-scented wipes, her nose scrunching up at the horrid mixture of aromas. Her mom kept a firm hand on her shoulder, there but not there, eyes distant and smile too wide. Too practised. (Not another thing I have to deal with, Camila might’ve thought, she’s already enough as it is. I can’t exactly pay for medicine, or—)

The doctor said nothing was wrong with her. That she was probably just starting puberty and her hormones were just making her all hysterical and uncontrollable. That it would end soon. Camila had nodded, smile a little genuine, because it was at least relieving. One kid was expensive enough. One’s kid medicine for ADHD, on the other hand? It was probably way out of her depth—and her pockets.

As Luz got older, her behaviour worsened. She didn’t stay in one school for long—if she did, the bullying would start, and she’d just get worse and worse until the teachers grew sick of her and threw her out themselves. Her mom probably grew and grew more frustrated too; being a vet was hard work, and a kid with too much energy was probably too much. Luz was probably just that, wasn’t she? Too much. A nuisance.

She tried to help around the house instead of acting out to keep herself out of trouble and her mother happier, but once again, her mom was never home enough or wasn’t aware enough to realise things were cleaner when her eyes drooped after long nights and dried blood clung underneath her fingernails from gods’ knows what from work. When nothing else worked, Luz resorted to reading and reading and more reading. It was the only thing she could do. Nobody was really interested in making friends, or even talking to her, but—

(The laughter rang in her ears again.)

Her imagination became a lot more wild then. A lot more real too—but that just meant others noticed, and high school kids don’t really take well to the weird and unknown. They did what they do best; they ridiculed her and stomped on her ego until nothing remained. But Luz had promised not to act out again, because moving schools was expensive, and her mother really wasn’t able to deal with that when her business wasn’t making as much as it ought to. 

So she put on a fake smile—imitated her mother as a daughter probably should—and tried to maintain a façade of happiness. (Just until the summer, she promised herself. Any longer and she really might go as insane as her peers thought.) 

But then the bullying went from bad to worse and then to even more horrible. Instead of making fun of her interests, it now extended to her—to every facet of her being, even. Her appearance, the way she spoke, her fashion sense, her… her…

Sometimes, Luz didn’t understand what her peers said about her. The words were spat with the same amount of hatred and lack of understanding as everything else they’d ever relayed to her mockingly, but something felt… different about those words. When she repeated one word to her mother accidentally—perhaps in a statement framed as a weakly veiled question—Camila snapped to awareness for the first time in weeks. Months. Maybe even years.

“Oh, mija,” Camila whispered, eyes glassy and hands shaking. Luz hadn’t seen her so distraught since her dad had died. “I—I’m so sorry for never noticing,” she said, voice cracking. Her grip on Luz’s shirt tightened as if she might slip away. “You were always my happy little girl… now look at you. It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

”No, mami!” Luz shook her head profusely, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. “It’s—I don’t know, but I…”

”It’s okay, Luz. Just… just promise this,” her mother looked into her eyes, gaze unwavering. “Promise me you won’t listen to those awful children. Promise you’ll tell me if this… no, if anything happens to you again! I won’t have you suffer in silence anymore.”

”I promise, mami,” Luz sniffled as Camila wiped the tears from her eyes. Her chest warmed—perhaps their relationship wasn’t so destroyed after all.)

Luz always did have a tendency to break her promises; she didn’t listen to her mom, and now she was here. Alone. She couldn’t even blame anyone else but herself either—it was all her own fault for being so… so… 

Dumb. How did she think this would work anyway? From the start, their plan was impossible, impractical, and downright stupid; they didn’t even have one initially—not until the rebel Coven Heads had shown up and saved their butts, anyway. But it had failed, and that and its repercussions now weighed on her shoulders. Just like the broken promises. Just like the horrible taunting from her supposed "friends" and "family" who were meant to be the most important people in the world to her. Just like everything else in her stupid life.

By choosing to stay here, she endangered everyone with her presence. Without her, Philip—no, Belos would never have been able to reunite with his diary, he would have never been able to contact the Collector, and he would never have been able to cause this mess. She knew it was all her fault. Luz knew this as indisputable fact—it was clear as day, but as piercing as a knife in her stomach. The more she thought of it, the more the knife twisted and turned, and all she wanted was to be away from here, from Belos, from everything—

But alongside everything else, the fate of the Boiling Isles rested on her shoulders. She was the final hope of this place, but she certainly didn’t fit the mantle. Luz couldn’t even mould it to her, nor her to it, not when everything was so wrong and she hated it with all of her being. She couldn’t do anything. She was… nothing. (Not-Hunter had been right, after all.)

That’s all she was then—before the Boiling Isles, but on Earth with her mom and when her awful classmates and her dysfunctional relationship with her mom were her biggest problems—and it’s all she ever is or will be. Luz wished she never let herself get caught up in the fantasy of witchcraft and wizardry. Maybe then, she would be… they would be... everything would be normal. Fine. Right.

But it wasn’t, and it was her fault. The responsibility weighed on her shoulder to put this right, and it was ever so heavy, but she made that bed, so now she must lie in it. Her messing this up was her fault. She promised not to, yet here she was, recollecting her memories for the last time. They weren’t flashing in her mind’s eye; rather, it felt like a cordial trip down memory lane. It would be relaxing if the circumstances weren’t so dire. At least, Luz had finally realised the truth about those books—they were nothing but trouble, and maybe her mom had been right. Maybe she had needed that reality check in summer camp. Maybe then she wouldn't have ended up in some magical rebellion against another human who had been alive since the 1600s. Maybe then she wouldn't have met him in the first place, and she could have been special elsewhere...

But that wouldn't ever happen on Earth, would it? Luz had waited for years and years—ever since she began to read those books, even, and that was with her dad at first, so it must've been for a long time—for anything remotely exciting or supernatural to happen in the human realm. 

Nothing ever did. And that's maybe why she came here—to the most hellish realm she would probably ever experience—seeking adventure, or maybe it was just a way to get out of her mom's vice grip after she had felt especially protective after what had happened at school. Luz just wanted out, and maybe it wasn't for a good reason. Her mother was just trying to look out for her, and in her stead, Luz had found a new family. Or rather, it had found her—but that wasn't right. Camila was a good mother—even if their relationship hadn't been great when Luz had left—and surely... Eda and King were not replacements for the mother she did have and sibling she didn't have. (Distinctly, Luz remembered her mother pregnant with a swollen stomach two times after she was born. One day—during both pregnancies—Luz would wake up and she would listen intently as her mom and dad whispered amongst themselves. She never knew what they said to each other, but Luz pretended to not hear the sniffles coming from her mother or the cracking of her father's voice. All she did know was that when Luz would trample down the stairs later that day, the house would be quiet—as if in a period of mourning—and her mother's stomach would no longer be swollen. 

And maybe that was why her mom had been somewhat eager—if still slightly apprehensive—to take in Vee at the end of Luz's escapade into the In-Between.)

Eda was... she was her witch mom. Okay, that worked; honestly, Luz had never even given much thought to her whole... living situation in the Boiling Isles before. Of course, she considered Eda a second mom and King her brother and Lilith her cool aunt, but when she wasn't wrapped up in witchcraft, what were they to her? Or rather... what was she to them? Luz didn't really want to think about this right now, not when she was on the verge of death. Not that she had much better things to recollect though. 

Everything except the Day of Unity... or well, at least their failed attempt of foiling it.

On that day she and Hunter had entered the Emperor's mind and had subsequently escaped, things went terribly wrong. It was only by accident that they even wound up there; sometimes, Luz wondered if some force had willed it so, even if it was just to mess with the two of them. Hunter even more so. Her heart had writhed in her chest when he had pushed past them all into the dark beyond on the verge of the panic attack. Luz had wanted to do something—she really did—but at that moment, she knew it was better not interfering; Hunter was smart, after all—she knew he wouldn't end up in anything too bad. She wasn't exactly keen on going outside at that hour anyway, not when the shadows seemed to be crawling towards the house with long claws or breathing if stared at for too long. Which Luz definitely didn't do. Not at all. Definitely not all night either. (Gods, her mother would be furious at her sleep schedule right now if she were here. But it was a... coping mechanism! Maybe not a good one, but still a coping mechanism. She was getting better at helping herself.)

Well, she might've, but it was healthily balanced between that and staring at the moon. It had been full and milky white, perhaps boring down on her with a sullen eye, perhaps not. Yet, she had been startled from her copious amount of staring when something—something foreign, not of her own accord—had told her the Day of Unity could only occur on a full moon's eclipse—and if her maths was correct (which it probably wasn't, maths was her least favourite subject at school), that was a month away from that day.

(“It’s the only time when the realms are closest,” the Something told her, pressing on all facets of her mind that forced a headache to bloom behind her eyes. “Did you know that, human?”

Luz shook her head hesitantly, tears on the verge of rolling down her cheeks. Her lips wobbled, and it hurt, it hurt so much—

“I’m here to help you,” it whispered. Reminded. “Don’t fear me. After all, you’ve already done so much for me.”

She didn’t know what that meant—not a single word of it made a lick of sense. Luz just nodded again, probably looking like an idiot standing in the middle of the woods like this. Something about the Boiling Isles—its people, its demons, or even the sea surrounding it—meant it was always palpably hot. There were no seasons except a constant warmth that radiated and followed one wherever they went. 

But with the sound of that voice in her head, Luz froze. Instinctively, her eyes closed and her shoulders tensed. But why? The voice didn’t sound threatening. It only wanted to help—at least, that’s what she hoped.)

So she didn't get much sleep (didn't for a long while afterwards, but that didn't matter, did it?). She couldn't—not with this new presence in her head nor the thoughts of Belos and his revelations knocking around in his head. Hunter being a clone... a Grimwalker... of Belos' "old friend" (brother more like—at least, that's what Luz guessed) sounded utterly outlandish at first, but the amount of Golden Guard masks strewn haphazardly around Belos' mind only confirmed it. The fact that he was also a human was the real slap in the face, the kicker, though. It had been so obvious—the signs had been practically pointed out to her this whole time!—but she never took heed of them. She had been too wrapped up in the fantasy to notice. At that, the voice spoke to her again, placating her tempestuous mind and lulling her to sleep with a lullaby that she could've sworn she had heard King humming before. ("Thank you," the voice whispered before its host fell asleep and travelled to the world of dreams, presence shifting comfortably so that it itself could get some rest, "thank you for keeping him safe, Luz the Human. I will... I will—")

The voice didn’t leave her alone over the coming weeks; its presence was a constant thrum in the back of her head, and Luz didn’t exactly welcome it, but still, she heard it. On and off. Sometimes, hardly. It hurt when it spoke too; it was almost like its presence was too large to be contained within her tiny skull. Luz wished it just left her to own devices, but when did anything go her way? 

Never—not in the Boiling Isles, not on Earth, nowhere. She was always aimlessly thrown about to whatever whim life commanded her to fulfil. Sometimes, it was too much. (Just like you, her mind added unhelpfully, and Luz might've scowled; this was meant to be a reliving of her final moments and life story, not to prod her into a mental breakdown.)

Finally, Luz cracked. It had been a little less than mere weeks to the Day of Unity when she finally opened up to Eda about everything that happened within Belos' mind, but of course, she didn't spill about the voice in her head. That would probably make her look even worse in front of her weird little witch family. Rather impulsively, she, Eda and King rushed to gather allies. Surprisingly, when people felt comfortable enough that they wouldn’t be murdered for broadcasting their true opinion of the state of the Boiling Isles and its leader, Belos wasn’t actually that well-liked; he was just feared and powerful enough that nobody dared to disobey him or question his rule. It meant that by the end of it, their group had become quite a sizable force; they even had their own name: the CATs. To past Luz, it might've been something she would've scoffed at when she was used to much grander names for resistance groups in her books, but to present Luz, it was ample. It was enough. It even fit with her whole cat motif-hoodie-thing!

That wasn't to say the CATs weren't a remarkably formidable force in their own right too, especially when most of the Emperor’s most powerful witch allies—the Coven Heads—had ended up defecting to their side. The Emperor did have replacements for them quickly though (and sometimes, Luz wondered if any of them were as strong as Gus and Willow when their eyes glowed using their main form of magic. Or what that even meant). Yet, things weren't entirely bleak in spite of that—Luz and her friends from Hexside had joined the cause too, even if it took several attempts of Luz’s nagging to convince the adults that they’d be okay and that they would need all the help they could get if they wanted to succeed anyway. They finally relented and gave into her, but if she could go back into time, she would never allow herself to do it. Nothing was worth leaving her friends to…

They were worth the world, and if Luz could do anything all over again, she would choose them. She would change the Day of Unity. She would make it about preserving magickind rather than proving herself as some "wannabe hero"—wow, Hunter really was right—who was too intent on chasing her own stupid dream to realise that it was putting others in danger by putting herself first to fulfil it. 

Regardless, it meant that the CATs only had about three weeks to prepare for the confrontation with the Emperor after everyone had gathered; of course, they remained inconspicuous a majority of the time so as to not attract suspicion, but the Isles were said to have the eyes and ears of the Emperor. It wasn't exactly surprising when they had to move bases several times before the Day of Unity. She didn’t tell anyone about the voice in her head either—she couldn’t, not now, not ever. Everyone trained until they were run ragged; they all knew how high the stakes were, after all, but despite that, Luz felt like she was being... left behind. Abandoned—by everyone, no less.

Despite their lack of energy, the CATs never stopped training. They never stopped practising so that they could constantly hone their magic with the highest proficiency. They never stopped discovering new things about themselves, or even their world.

Yet Luz didn’t. The Titan still withheld the fifth glyph from her; it was the only one that Belos didn’t have, and it would surely be a useful asset in the final battle. It could even be an extra advantage that could help them win! She knew its will was fickle, but for the creature that supposedly screamed “son” at some point before King’s hatching, she would’ve thought it would be more concerned for his safety. Truth be told, they didn’t exactly know if King was its son, but their skulls certainly looked similar enough. Even then, they were certainly derived from the same species, and if King was the supposed last one… 

Then why didn’t it care?

That’s all that ran throughout her mind when she and King had gone to study its rotted skull. It had taken days of his constant begging and pleading in her ears—she heard him even more than the voice—for her to finally give in. She wanted to earlier than she did, she seriously did, but training was important.

After all, it was the only way she could keep up with her allies. Of course, she relented—who was Luz Noceda besides some weak-willed girl, anyway?—but she couldn’t even comprehend knowing that King could one day grow up to be that. It was a somewhat intimidating thought when all she knew was King the adoptive brother, or some dog-creature-demon that liked to scream “weh”. Were Titans even demons, or something else entirely?

There were a lot of questions, but there wasn’t any time to answer them. Luz had to get back to training. She’d practically drowned out King’s excited clicks about his… parent?… with the screaming voice in her head. Me, me, me, it had shouted. Screeched. Keep him safe. Please.

Luz had tried to rip her eyes away from the skull filling her vision, but it was too immense. Too powerful. It was surely intentional. Luz would never escape it, and the voice got louder, louder, louder — “Shut up!” She shouted, voice cracking. “Please…please just shut up. Leave me alone!”

King’s mouth had snapped shut, staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers. He had inched closer, perhaps to put a paw on her shoulder, perhaps not, but Luz had noticed too quickly and grabbed it. The little Titan squeaked with the bruising pressure she applied, and Luz mumbled to herself again about hurting, always hurting. 

“King…” she had whispered, collapsing to the ground. She couldn’t take it anymore, but still, the Titan’s empty sockets bore down on her. Judged her. “King, please…I don’t know if I can do this. It hurts, King. I wish I just—”

”Just what, Luz? Are you okay?” King asked hesitantly, rubbing his wrist where she grabbed it. She noticed, pulling away from him completely and shaking her head. 

“I wish I just went home that day when all that stuff happened with the Warden,” Luz mumbled, averting her eyes. She knew King hated whenever she mentioned Earth, or her going home in general. “Maybe I needed to see my reality in the human realm, not this… mess I created.”

”But it isn’t your—!” King cut in, shaking his feet.

”But it is!” Luz cried, hands gesticulating wildly. “Without me, Belos doesn’t exist. Without me, Philip never meets the Collector. Without me, the Day of Unity never happens, because they wouldn’t know each other in the first place!”

That had made them both go silent. When they got back to the Owl House, Luz went back to training; she got lost in it. It was one of her only—albeit slight—comforts anymore. King went back to strategising and working with Lilith to figure out why the Collector would need him in their help to obtain a physical vessel. That was a whole different can of worms Luz wouldn’t dare dive into. The Collector was strange—ridiculously so—but there was something undeniably off about them. 

They were particular, meticulous. Sometimes the shadows of her room at night looked like him if she stared long enough, but that would just be another stupid trick by her own head. Still, seeing them in the Emperor’s mind must have been intentional in some way—no matter how far-fetched it seemed—because Luz hadn’t been the same since then. 

Nothing had, because she had never heard the voice before, she was never scared of the dark before, she was never quite so paranoid or down on herself before, yet here she was with black circles around her eyes and an even duller mindset. He had to be the cause of everything going wrong, but…

She couldn’t keep blaming other factors anymore; even if the Collector and Belos were intent on bringing about the ends of two dimensions by merging them together, it was still her fault. But Luz couldn’t allow herself—or afford—to get distracted anymore either. When she went out with King to see the Titan’s skull, it had been twenty days until the Day of Unity. It took two days to teach herself to not let the voice overpower her thoughts again, and a further three days until she actually got into training properly again. 

That meant she had wasted five days. That meant her allies had five days to get better than her. That meant fifteen days until the Day of Unity.

Tick-tock, a thought mocked when she couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t her own. It didn’t sound like the voice’s either. Just how many things were trying to ruin everything?

”Only two, No…ce…da,” it spoke rather than thought this time, childish laughter following suit. It rang and reverberated off the sides of her skull like stray bullets during a skirmish between two armies—one small, begging for mercy, the other large, powerful and savouring their victory. Her palms felt clammy and her lips downturned into a frown. She had heard this thing speak her name before, and it wasn’t in the Emperor’s mind—

“I am one; he is the other. He is like you—human,” the Collector stopped for a moment, his probable smile contorting into a frown as his eyes narrowed, “but he is weak now. Old. Unsuitable. I suppose 400 years will do that to such a species not suited for prolonged existence… but a deal’s a deal, huh, No-ce-da?”

Luz’s eyes bore into her wall as a distraction, yet she suddenly felt weightless—like she wasn’t of this realm. She scanned the room frantically, peeling her sheets back as she realised that any movement made her start to float. “Where are you, Collector?!” She screamed, foot stamping on the floor to accentuate her point. Her cheeks perhaps went warm, perhaps they didn’t. Maybe it was a short lived fever, maybe it was embarrassment, but—

“Peekaboo!” He cried, appearing directly in front of her. Luz stumbled backwards, eyes widening as the Collector never gave her five metres of space as she retreated from him. “Here I am, hu-man. Anyway, back to Philip, right? Y’know—even if it took centuries—” their eyes darkened, and Luz imagined that they’d probably be sticking their tongue out in disdain if they had one, “—I like him. He knows how to play like a real hunter.”

Luz shook her head frantically, voice wavering. “Please, Collector, just—just leave me—”

“…alone?” The Collector rolled their eyes, holding their ribs as if constraining a beast within their body. “Pfft, as if! We’re going to have so much fun—you, me, Belos—except it won’t be much of you…”

“…What?” Luz whispered. “What do you—”

”You’re perfect,” the Collector announced lowly as if whispering to some prize. Luz felt her heart ache and shatter in her chest, but she couldn’t see, she couldn’t even sense anyone else—

Not even the Collector. At least that meant one mental dementor would leave her alone for the day, or rather, night. Either way, the Owl House hadn’t been empty when she fell asleep—not when it became the headquarters for the CATs overnight after the Emperor’s Coven scouts had cleared out anyway. Hooty was overworked as he tried to accommodate the new occupants, but Luz had been happy for the first time in a long while.

In fact, her room became the best place in the whole house. She had her friends and girlfriend in there… of whom was sleeping soundly next to her (in her own bed, of course—Luz still felt it was a bit awkward to share a bed). A small grin tugged at her lips, and Luz almost felt inclined to reach a hand out to wake her up. Maybe a hug from Amity would help ease the coldness…

“No!” The Collector hissed, the darkness seemingly becoming sentient as odd symbols and shapes appeared in the shadows when he appeared from them. “You’re my vessel, No-ce-da, and I don’t like it when my vessels don’t play it fair!”

The open window clattered closed as it receded from her sight. Luz snapped around, trying to run towards it even as the room was suddenly overwhelmed by the Void. The Collector appeared much more unstable here, their form shifting and flittering in and out of existence as they growled lowly. It wasn’t cold anymore either. 

Luz was burning. It felt like she was walking on the surface of the sun, millions upon millions of kelvin underneath her very feet, and she was dying, she had to be! Flames licked at her veins, her blood internally boiling, and her nerves were set alight, setting her entire body on fire—internally, at least. Luz screamed and begged and reached out into the darkness, desperately hoping that somehow someone familiar and kind would graze her hand, but there was nothing. 

She was alone. 

The fire fizzled out into embers and throbs underneath her skin. Luz stared into the dark; it stared back. “What have you—?” She bit out before getting cut off, gritting her teeth. 

”What haven’t I done is a better question!” It bragged smugly, and if it had a face—or even a form—it would probably be smirking, gazing down at her. Luz thought she could punch something—preferably whatever he… this thing… was. “I’ve been trapped underneath these bones for thousands of years. I want out, No-ce-da. I won’t wait any longer!”

And then the darkness was surging forward like it was going to attack her as a final goodbye, but it didn’t hurt. In fact, it almost felt like…

There was nothing there at all. (Her chest was lighter too. Was the voice gone?)

Luz blinked repeatedly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but there was no overwhelming darkness in sight. The resounding breathing of four others calmed her significantly, because they were safe, and it was probably just a nightmare.

(Luz wished “it” was a nightmare. Nightmares aren’t real, but the Collector is—they might as well as be the real version of that one dream she always has where she’s running and running from some monster in the shadows, but she always gets caught in its claws at the end. Luz never thought she could be so scared of something she’d only ever seen in memories and shrines.)

She didn’t tell anyone about the… nightmare, but one good thing was that Luz didn’t hear from the voice after that. She couldn’t waste anyone else’s time anymore—not even her own, and something as inconsequential as a nightmare certainly wasn’t worth stirring up a fuss over. Even if she was pretty shaken up… 

Luz shook her head, eyes landing on the uncarved, untouched Palistrom wood on her desk. She walked over, blowing the dust off that had accumulated over the last few months. Did she know what she wanted now? Was she even ready to take care of a Palisman? All the Palismen the Bat Queen offered to Hexside had rejected her, but Luz knew better now. She had been hardened by the Isles, and finally, she was ready to start carving it.

I want to keep everyone alive, she thought with conviction, and it was finally her own voice thinking it—who knew that being without another in one’s mind would be such a rare thing? Her hands itched to grab something, and then she was dragging her fingers up and down the wood. Every dent, every imperfection—she felt and studied it meticulously. It was her own and no one else’s. 

Even after months of thinking, Luz was only sure of what she wanted to do. She didn’t know what to carve her staff into, at least not obviously. Bat memorabilia was something that surrounded her all her life, and it was close enough to the Clawthones’ Palismen of flying creatures that Luz decided that would be the animal to become her Palisman. 

“I’m glad you’re ready to carve, kid,” Eda had said once Luz had told her. “You know, it reminds me…” her voice trailed off.

“…What?” Luz had asked, brows furrowed. 

Eda’s back had straightened as she rubbed her neck. “It reminds me of what me and my dad used to do before the… well, the beast, so thanks, Luz. I know sometimes I might not act like it, but I am glad you stayed.”

Did Eda know about what happened in her mind? It felt odd for her to say something like that so out of the blue; plus, it was all in her mindscape, after all. Only she could access that. She ignored the matter anyway—for now, at least—and instead focused on the knife cutting through the wood as seamlessly as it would cut through butter. But the process was taking longer and longer than she hoped and Luz wasn’t stressing Eda—or herself—out too much, right? It wasn’t childish impatience urging her to hurry, but rather… fear.  

Her glyphs were useful; of course they were, because even the witches of the past—who had access to bile sacs too—used them. Yet, that was in a world before artificial magic and the coven system. Now, glyphs were…outdated—it was the best way she could describe it. Luz couldn’t draw spell circles on empty air like witches could; she was confined to pieces of paper and the physical world around her. It also required time to draw them in the first place, so if she was surrounded by a group of the Emperor’s soldiers? 

Luz would surely die. 

It was an unavoidable fact. They were witches, she was human, they were strong, she was weak, they were all, she was one. In that situation, she wouldn’t be able to do anything and she hated thinking of the possibilities surrounding the Day of Unity. Now that her mind was once again her own, her thoughts were the loudest and it wasn’t hard to slip into a spiral. She also knew she wouldn’t be alone whilst attacking; her allies would be by her side, surely. (From the way her stomach kept flip-flopping, Luz already knew that probably wasn’t the truth.)

They planned on leading an assault on the castle in the early hours of the morning of the Day of Unity. It wasn’t their first idea—Raine had said it was too risky—but they had no other choice when all their previous attempts at intercepting the Emperor’s plans from Coven Head intel failed. It would be before any “celebrations” began anyway—meaning it wouldn’t involve anyone who didn’t want to fight—but Luz couldn’t help but imagine only the worst futures. They were on repeat on her mind like a broken record, and it was just too much.

Being without her Palisman didn’t help either. Eda was busy—Luz knew this—but the Day of Unity was quickly encroaching. She’d even taken it upon herself to carve its wings until only the details of… his face remained. Nose, eyes, ears—and then he would be ready. Somehow, Luz already knew what she would call him; in some way, Rascal felt fitting. It reminded her of what she’d called Hunter’s Palisman before she knew its name, and what was the point of letting a name go to waste?

Still, the stress ate and gnawed at her like a dog at a bone. Luz knew she was falling behind her friends very, very quickly and it made her feel worse and worse. She couldn’t carve Rascal’s face alone; such intricacy required someone experienced with the craft, but she didn’t want to bother Eda or her dad. It felt too… intrusive, because she wasn’t apart of their family, nor their history—

So, she waited. She stagnated. She was of no use. She trained. She wasn’t getting any better. It was pointless.

Occasionally, Luz looked at her friends longingly; they were all going so far in comparison to her. They were so far away that they felt like the stars and Luz couldn’t reach out, no matter how much she strained her body to its limits, because she was human.  

That’s what it came down to, in the end. Being human here made her unique, but not in a good way; it made her substandard, below average, stupid. Her friends were real witches—and maybe the darkness—the Collector—from her nightmare had been right. Humans were feeble and distinctly lacked a bile sac, innately rendering them unable to perform magic like those of this realm. They were confined to pieces of paper or artificial staffs, and without those, they were useless.

That’s what connected her and Belos—beyond her creating his whole… descent into whatever was wrong with him, anyway. They were both human, both weak. Belos was only powerful because he had the Collector and manipulation. Luz was only powerful because of her allies and the one thing she wished she didn’t have: her imagination. Back on Earth, her classmates had ridiculed her for it, her mother had distrusted her for it, and that was just the tip of the iceberg—

The thoughts distracted her. Besides her training, Luz liked to mock-fight with her friends—even if it made their difference in power even starker. It had been during a fight with Amity when the thoughts had become particularly loud, and she couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, because they overwhelmed all of her senses. They were serious during these fights—they had to be—but that meant Luz was left severely bruised all over her body; who would’ve thought abominations could be so powerful? 

(It reminded Luz of that future possibility where she was surrounded by the Emperor‘s soldiers. It felt suffocating, and she could hardly breathe. Her lungs heaved against her ribs, chest expanding haphazardly, but that just meant it hurt more. Was this how it felt to slowly die?)

Amity had offered her a hand, but Luz shrugged her off. She looked rightfully concerned, but Luz couldn’t take the sympathy anymore. I get it, she thought bitterly, I’m human, I’m not like you, I’m weak, I’ll be left behind—

“Luz?” Amity tried, but Luz turned away before she could see how glassy her eyes were or the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I’m fine,” she spat, mentally hitting herself for the tone she used. Amity had done nothing wrong, it was Luz’s fault for letting the thoughts consume her like that. She stalked off afterwards, and Luz pretended not to hear Amity’s cries, begging for her to stop and come back, that they could talk about this. 

But they couldn’t. Nobody could know about the voice. Nobody could know about the nightmare. Nobody could know how she felt. She was fine, and the Day of Unity was more important than her. Keeping everyone alive was more important—that was her conviction, and she wasn’t about to abandon it. If anything, the fact Amity was so concerned for her rather than the Day of Unity just revitalised the tiny thought in her head that her friends weren’t serious. Well, they were, but not to the same extent as Luz. 

Sure, they were real witches and didn’t need to compensate as much as she did, but she still trained the most out of all of them. She only stopped to eat and sleep, but even then, the amount of time dedicated to those was little. Luz had to train, because she had to be useful, she had to prove herself, she had to keep everyone alive and be the hero.

But that didn’t stop anything. With every day, Luz’s desire to go home—even when she had no way to go back to the human realm besides breaking into the Emperor’s castle herself—only increased. She wanted her Mami, but she couldn’t leave everyone behind, not when she had a purpose here—

Luz didn’t even know where home was anymore. When they found out King was a Titan, the problem of Titan’s blood to make a portal lessened, sure, but resources were scarce and they had no time. Luz didn’t want to try again on her own anyway, not if that meant she would have to hear the darkness taunt her again. “No…ce…da,” rang in her head, and she immediately froze. She thawed out quickly, and the line of thought rushed back into her at full force.

That did really only leave the Emperor’s portal as an option, but they were going to attack him soon—probably even kill him. He would deserve it—Luz knew that, even if she had a hand in creating him, meaning that if he deserved it, she must too, right?—but he was still human. That’s what connected them, but she didn’t want blood on her hands. Not at her age. She didn’t want that weighing down on her conscience for months, years, eternity—

But maybe it didn’t have to be her that did it. It could be Eda, Lilith, Raine, anyone! Anyone besides her, and everything would be fine. They would all be fine. Surely. 

With only eight days before the Day of Unity, Eda had knocked on her door. Luz barely acknowledged her—her sleep schedule had only gotten worse—but in her hands was a finished staff. Rascal finally had his face, and for the first time in a while, Luz genuinely smiled. For a moment, everything truly felt alright in the world—and then he shrugged off the wood to fly at her face. 

Luz had laughed, rubbing her face into his fur contently. It was very soft, and Rascal seemed very happy himself from the amount of clicks she was receiving in response to her actions. Eda smiled down at them herself, and the Owl House—for the first time in weeks—saw Luz acting like her old self again. 

She was lighting up whole rooms with her laughter and optimistically spouting hope for the battle on the Day of Unity. She’d even said sorry to Amity and King for being so down on herself and acting odd, but that part only received strange glances from them. Luz just shrugged it off, because whilst the tension was still there, it wasn’t as immense as it was before. Her Palisman followed her everywhere and she couldn’t get enough of it. The flap-flap of his wings became a constant reminder that they would win, there was hope, and that everyone would be alive. 

Having a Palisman also meant that she began to flourish in her training. He was truly something special—perhaps the key to unlocking her potential—because somehow, the Boiling Isles felt different upon wielding him properly for the first time. Was this how everyone felt when they got their staff? 

It had to be, because she felt like a native to the demon realm like this. She was able to breathe the putrid air without straining her lungs and she was able to think like a native because suddenly, she knew the Boiling Isles—every bone, every settlement, every creature—as if she were them.

And that’s when she heard it—her—again. 

The voice—it spoke as clear as day, as sweet as honey, as soothing as a hug. It didn’t feel painful when she felt its presence this time; rather, she welcomed it with open arms. Instinctively, she knew it was the Titan—the mother of the Isles—this whole time. When it spoke, it boomed and whispered; it was everywhere, yet nowhere, and Luz was comfortably warm. It wasn’t a heat looking to burn her to ashes, but a cool hotness that was just right. Somehow, it knew her. It understood her—and somehow, she understood it. 

It wasn’t like before. It was quiet, but loud, but not massively so. Luz wasn’t hurting, but smiling, at least until—

“Beware the moon,” the Titan shout-whispered, boomed-bellowed all at once. It was a simple warning, and of course, it was as confusing as everything else in the Isles. She somehow understood the thing that composed its very foundation, yet still, true control and mastery over witchery evaded her. Even divine—if questionable—intervention wasn’t enough for Luz Noceda to become a real witch. 

As much as Luz’s heart stung and overall mood soured from the encounter, she didn’t allow it to rule her mind. Instead, she used her newfound awareness of the Isles to her advantage over the final few days until the Day of Unity. She wielded her new staff in mock fights as much as she could, incorporating her glyphs in creative ways that had her—for once—revelling in her bright imagination. She finally felt on par with her allies, because power thrummed through her veins. The magic underneath her skin was warm and comforting akin to the Titan herself; it was a feeling she could get addicted to. It gave her the edge she needed. 

Her fights with Amity had been 14-0. After the Titan’s interference, though, Luz won. It became 14-4. For the first time, Luz felt truly victorious, and it was all because of her own actions. Sure, the Titan might have helped, but ultimately, it was still her. She was the one making the plays, creating the strategies, and using her newfound awareness to succeed.

Still, even in spite of her new triumph, Luz could not make sense of the Titan’s warning. It rang in her mind at practically all times, sometimes even as something else to distract her, because how could the Moon be a threat?

Her first idea was that it would maybe collide with the Boiling Isles somehow, but that couldn’t be right because even if the Isles weren’t as technologically advanced as Earth in some regards, they could still defend themselves. They had magic, so surely, it wouldn’t be difficult if a group effort simply stopped the collision in its path. Her second idea was that instead of the literal moon, it was someone connected to it. Yet, that only left more questions, because how were they connected? Were they cold and distant like the moon in terms of personality, or perhaps was it instead their appearance?

To mull it over, Luz shuffled onto her windowsill each night, head raising to stare at the moon. It’s not like she would find answers in the stars, nor the moon itself, but something about the sight relaxed her nevertheless. The pressure and stress were pressing on her relentlessly at that point and still, she had no answer for anything. Neither idea made enough sense in her mind, or there were simply too many possibilities. It was an endless maze of what-ifs and Luz’s mind was becoming more and more of a mess. 

It was unnavigable, and when the Day of Unity arrived, Luz was tired. After a month of nonstop training, it was no surprise that her body was at its limits. Sometimes, she forgot she was still a kid. After all, she’d gone through so much here, but being so tired made her weak. Even with several reinvigoration potions shoved down her throat, her bones still felt heavy, her shoulders still sagged and her face still remained tight—severe, even.

Stress pulled her down to earth, reminded her that she wasn’t a real witch, and that ultimately, she was a waste of resources, a useless rebel, because all she did was rely on others to win her own battles. Sure, it had occurred less lately, but still, they treated her differently. Luz loved her friends, but sometimes, their intervention wasn’t needed, and she could handle herself. Her victories over the past few days had only cemented that, yet the thought that she was nothing more than a weak human constantly needing protection from others further ingrained itself into her mind.

It was a sour thought. It came back to her again and again, even if she tried to rid herself of it. As much as she liked to convince herself she was self-sufficient, her repeated mess-ups under pressure in previous fights only made her more nervous. That was before the Titan’s interfering, of course, but still, the possibility hung in her mind. She couldn’t mess up this time, and the amount of things that could go wrong…

They were numerous—infinite, even, with the amount of things Luz had thought of. Somebody dying, somebody betraying them, the Emperor winning… they were all possible. Luz knew they were unavoidable facts. With each fight came unforeseen consequences; she could only hope that the foiling of the Day of Unity was a success. 

Luz couldn’t have been more wrong.

All the possibilities were coming true as the CATs had dropped like flies. The Emperor’s forces outmanned, outgunned and outsupplied them, yet it didn’t come down to the sheer volume of their forces at all. Even if the Emperor’s Coven had access to all types of magic, the CATs still involved the most powerful witches of their time.

Each was amazingly proficient in their own right, and Luz began to lose herself in the thrill of fighting. With the adrenaline pumping in her veins and magic crackling the air around her pleasantly warm, she almost felt infallible—like nothing could stop her high. The feeling from before returned, and this time, it was at full force. It clouded her senses, controlled her body, and even though it felt amazing to feel above them all, Luz knew it was too good to be true.

Only when the screeches finally registered in her ears did Luz realise the truth. Her entire body went rigid, her breathing ceased, and the whole world stopped. She quickly sprung into action as her mind went into overdrive, grabbing glyphs from her pocket. They spilled everywhere, activating bursts of flame, plant and ice that took out a number of the Emperor’s forces in one fell swoop. (They won’t be able to surround me anymore, Luz thought smugly, at least for a moment. That was one crisis averted, but her mind was still in disarray.)

Height, her mind screamed, I need height! A small gasp escaped her as in her panic, her foot grazed an ice glyph. A tower of ice shot upwards, nearly causing her to lose her footing completely. Luckily, she didn’t—considering it was probably a long way down to the ground—but this place also provided the vantage point she needed. This way, she could gather the extent of their wins (losses, her mind corrected), maybe even locate her friends, but—

All she saw was a sea of white cloaks and golden beaks. Her eyes became glassy and her ears rang more and more with each passing second, because she knew—deep, deep within her, even if she wouldn’t admit it—what had happened to them. The Emperor’s forces weren’t relying on skill to overwhelm the CATs; they were relying on a quick killer—the draining spell, albeit on a much smaller scale than what they planned to do later in the day.

She had seen it within the Emperor’s mind. It wasn’t even quick. The Coven seal injected poison into its victims’ veins once activated, and as it travelled further through their body, their skin would begin to crack and break. They would spasm, gasp for air in some desperate attempt to cling onto life, but it was to no avail. The seals couldn’t be removed; there was no escape from it.

Luz was glad she couldn’t see any bodies; her mind supplied enough images of her friends and family in pain, suffering, all because of her. She visibly recoiled as they flashed in her mind’s eye again and again and again, even if she begged them to just leave her alone. This was all her fault. She never should have come here. She just wanted to go home—

A putrid smell stung her nostrils, snapping her to awareness from her stupor. The Boiling Isles often smelt like this—death, decay and rot—but ever since Luz heard the Titan, it didn’t bother her as much. Here, though, it felt wrong. Very, very wrong. It felt like what one might experience as they observe a mass grave, or traverse an ages-old battle site: a flip-flopping stomach, shaking shoulders, a dry throat with a lump so large that it couldn’t even be swallowed—

This was a breach in nature, and the Titan was crying for its children. Luz sobbed as voices filled her mind —my Isles, my beautiful Isles, why did he do this to me, to them, I trusted him— and she just couldn’t understand. She couldn’t decipher a single comprehensible thought; everything was a blur of Titan, Luz, maybe even Titan-Luz. It split her head open, a pain that thrummed and throbbed. It was like before.

This wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted was a story where she had fun and became a hero, but this wasn’t that at all. She had lost the family she had found—in both worlds. Surely she would wake up soon, because this had to be a nightmare. The good guys always won, but here they were— losing.

Luz wished they were here. Everyone, that is. Amity, Eda, King, Hunter, Gus, Willow, Raine, Lilith, even Hooty—anyone would have sufficed. Anyone would have been able to comfort her, perhaps even give her the energy she needed to continue, but she couldn’t do it. 

Nothing mattered anymore, and the ground was looking awfully far away, yet so close—

(“Luuuz,” King tittered, rousing her from what might have been a fitful sleep. She couldn’t remember anymore, but the floor was awfully uncomfortable sometimes. That’s not to say she minded, because Eda was kind enough to let her stay, after all! Her mom always taught her to be grateful for the hospitality of others, and Luz wasn’t about to abandon that virtue just because she was in another realm—

“Luz!” King said again, louder this time. It caused her to lift her head swiftly, causing King’s chin to batter into her skull. She groaned, prodding the spot with a finger and only stopped when the pain became too much. Just as she was about to lecture King about waking her up again, her open mouth snapped closed and contorted into a frown. 

“King? You okay, little guy?” Luz asked, brows furrowed from his lack of movement. She inched closer and reached a hand over to prod him awake, but—

“‘Course I am!” He cried, leaping to a bipedal stance. Luz gasped, recoiling backwards. King grinned at her toothily, and somehow, her heart melted. She laughed, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. 

“See, that’s how you say good morning,” King said once they were downstairs and eating — something, and Luz could only huff another laugh. 

“You’re so weird!” She said, though not with malice. The best word for his behaviour (the whole place, even!) was endearing—what else could be used to describe such odd brilliance? Luz couldn’t wait to understand more about this world.

Some part of her hoped that it would be by the side of one Eda Clawthorne and her odd adoptive son King Clawthorne.)

Luz wouldn’t wake up; this was reality, after all. If she were alone, she would have to clean up this mess herself, and this time, she wouldn’t crack under the pressure. Looking down again, Luz’s stomach turned at the distance to the ground. So close, yet so far. 

With a single fire glyph, Luz was falling. The ice tower receded, heating to water vapour and liquid water. It was so fast, and all she could do was twist and turn in the air as the ground came closer, closer, closer still—

The white sea parted, and she landed not on the ground, but solid earth nevertheless—

Who was her benefactor? Had some of the CATs survived in an attempt to impose salvation upon her?

No.

It was a witch from the Emperor’s Coven. They had summoned it, not to cushion her fall and keep her safe, but to keep her alive. They wanted her—for what reason, though?

There could really only be one. 

She wasn’t a threat by any means, but they couldn’t render her defenceless by sealing away her magic—or, the lack thereof. Belos was smart, and to prevent her from becoming a nuisance, she was best left as a prisoner.

The white sea was closing in on her. So many eyes, so many arms reaching, grasping, clutching for her, she was being surrounded after all—

Luz wouldn’t allow it. Staff in hand, she flew in the direction of the castle, avoiding stray shots of magic. One billowed past her particularly close to her ear, and maybe even singed her hair. The heat was immense and pervasive, rather than comforting. She knew Belos would be watching the battle from a protected, probably hidden perch somewhere, but the castle was probably the best bet, right? 

She couldn’t second guess anymore—not when she was the only thing left standing between the Emperor and the downfall of the Isles. Perhaps the Titan could intervene with her own magic, but at that thought, Luz’s mind was once again reduced to rubble. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, and was she falling again—?

No—Rascal acted quickly, and she was grateful, so, so grateful, and Luz wouldn’t let Belos hurt another again. She would even consider it a fair fight.

Ironically, the fight to decide the fate of the Boiling Isles fell onto the shoulders of two humans—two wayward souls that bit off more than they could chew, who weren’t accepted in their home realm, who had been betrayed by family before…

But that wasn’t right. Luz didn’t blame her mom for trying to send her to that camp; she had seemed desperate to find a solution, and Luz knew her behaviour wasn’t the best. She wasn’t like Belos, of course not, she just had a hand in creating him— 

Right?

Luz shook her head; there was no point in mulling this over now. She still had to beat him first, and even if he had some modifications that probably made him a bit more than superhuman, they were still humans at the end of the day. Both of them were, and he could never escape that. 

Luz would remind him with this fight. She wouldn’t let him continue his reign of terror any longer. She would set the Boiling Isles—and the Titan itself—free, even if it cost her her life.

Luz was dying. She knew this; it was undeniable. It began with fervent struggling and ended with laboured breaths.

Even after everything, she still wasn’t enough. Her training? A waste. Her determination? A waste. Her being the protagonist? A waste, why did it have to be her, she was good! She was good, so why wasn’t she winning?

It didn’t make sense, none of this did, and all Luz wanted to do was sob, stomp her feet on the floor like a child, because that’s all she was—

It was all she ever would be, wouldn’t it?

Belos was meant to lose. Maybe if she stayed alive long enough, it would impress him and he would let her go home. He had the only way out of this place, after all, and all Luz wanted was her mom.

It was over. The game was up. She didn’t want to play anymore—

When would she wake up?

It had to be a bad dream. Soon, Luz would wake up in her real bed, not at the Owl House, but on Earth with humanity and breathable air and comfort and home.

But she was split between worlds, between imagination and reality, between witches and humans, between Clawthornes and Nocedas. She wouldn’t be able to consider either of them her true home anymore—not when her girlfriend and friends were here. Not when her mom was there. Even if she went back to the human realm and never returned, she would never forget the Boiling Isles. She would always ponder what she could’ve done, what she would’ve changed. 

Yet, those stories of good vs bad, her own perceptions of them—none of it would matter. It was all just the aimless mind wandering of someone on their deathbed. It was no surprise to her that Belos was one to drag things out: he had done it with the Day of Unity, the amount of Grimwalkers he had created of his own brother just to see if one would always be loyal to him, and of course, his own life.

400 years old. If he was a witch hunter, he had to be from the 1600s, and if he really did come from the same town as her—which wouldn’t be surprising considering the amount of witch trial memorabilia—it only connected them more. Still, it meant nothing to him. All he cared for was something beyond her understanding. 

Humanity wasn’t in danger. They didn’t need to be protected from the “scourge” of witches; they weren’t even “savages” either! Luz knew that Belos had to be religious if he was from that long ago, but that didn’t justify wiping out one species based on the belief that they would kill another. In fact, Luz had proved they could coexist—perhaps they could even learn from each other, but nobody would ever listen to that idea. Some in the Boiling Isles had already proven it in fact, but humanity? The people that distrusted their own based on appearance alone, or even other qualities that they couldn’t control? It would be impossible. 

There wasn’t even a point in trying with either them or Belos, and Luz had long since resigned herself to her fate. She didn’t try to claw at the boot at her throat any longer, didn’t breathe any deeper when it applied a steadily increasing pressure, nor did she try to reason with him. Her breath was limited, laboured even, and it would just be a waste. 

At least until the boot suddenly left her neck, the pressure relieved, and she sprung into action. An ice glyph there, a plant glyph there, and a spell from her staff would surely allow her to—

“Ah, ah, Luzura,” the Emperor crooned, grabbing the back of her jacket with a tight grip before she could stand up fully. Despite her struggling, he managed to shrug the jacket off her. In her desperation, she even bit him, but that only got a barbed glare dipped in poison in return. Luz’s body went rigid, and she could only watch as her glyphs spilled all over the floor. However, it wasn’t those that the Emperor was interested in—no, of course not.

It was her staff.

“No—no—!” She gasped, eyes as wide as saucers. “Don’t hurt him, please—”

”’Him’?” Belos barked a laugh, and Luz’s throat became increasingly dry. “It’s just some wood, Luzura. Trust me, they’re insignificant.”

Belos eyed her, smirking, as the wood cracked and creaked under the pressure. Luz saw Rascal flitter into consciousness, and his frightened clicks became screeches. She swore he looked directly to her, but she couldn’t do anything but watch as he was forced back into wood. 

The wood cracked. The wood creaked. The wood snapped in half, and Rascal was thrown aside haphazardly. 

“It’s a good thing I don’t need to consume anything right now,” Belos heaved, and Luz crawled towards her Palisman.

 Her hands shook as she tried to put the staff back together, but she wasn’t a witch. This was her fault. In fact, her hands even seemed to stain red. It was blood—fresh, metallic, tangy. It wasn’t hers; it was his, and everyone else’s. Luz hated Belos. Luz hated this. But, most of all, she hated herself for letting it happen. She could’ve done something, but no, she just sat there and watched.

“Plus,” Belos added, eyeing her with disdain, “a little birdy told me the staff was only carved a few days ago anyway. Not long at all…it’s pathetic. You act like your friends have died!”

Luz sobbed harder, tears rolling down her cheeks relentlessly. It was true—both of the things he said were. Her shoulders shook, and she tried to make herself smaller, but it was to no avail. She could never escape that awful gaze. Was this how Hunter felt—day after day after day after clone after clone after clone? She wished he was here; after all, they had even begun to act like siblings since he moved into the Owl House. He was a comforting presence, but she knew it was too late. 

They were all gone; witches as a whole were extinct. It was the undoubtable truth. The realisation left a foul taste in her mouth, acrid and bitter. She moved her hands to cup her face completely, perhaps to obscure her sobs, or to stop her from vomiting, but whatever the reason, it was pointless. Belos lowered himself to her level, a smile plastered on his face. It was practised, forced, and Luz could find no comfort in it. 

She knew she wasn’t meant to, anyway. 

“Come on, Luzura,” Belos sing-songed; it was perhaps the most jovial she had ever seen him. She hadn’t been here long, sure, but the man seemed to regard everything with some form of malice, no matter what. Now, though, he seemed almost excited. “I can finally fulfil my end of the deal.”

”What?!” Luz shouted, struggling in his grip as he dragged her further into the bowels of the castle. “Let me go, Belos!”

Her shout-screams went unheard, instead reverberating around the castle walls in a cacophony. She felt more uneasy the more she struggled—why wasn’t he stopping her? Luz was half-certain that he would be choking her again, or shutting her up some other way, but nothing. He just… let it happen, and it didn’t make any sense. 

Neither did the Emperor’s words. Luz vaguely remembered a shadowy figure from their escapade into his mind. Their most defining aspect was their raucous laughter. Besides that, their features were hardly defined, especially in the dimness of the room in the memory, but from what she remembered, their face was akin to a—

“Beware the moon.”

Luz’s eyes widened. At least she was somewhat right; what evaded her was why. Belos said something about them “having their fun” on the Day of Unity. Of course, with the CATs’ interference, things didn’t exactly go to plan, but Belos seemed so… nonchalant. He didn’t care that they attacked; in fact, it was like he almost… expected it.

Of course—there was a traitor in their midst. Luz had even thought of that before, but who it was didn’t matter now. In fact, they were probably dead; Belos didn’t seem like one to have favourites and keep them alive either. Either that or he really did have eyes and ears everywhere…the darkness in her dream—yes, Luz remembered now. It was the Collector, and as some shadowy figment of something… it would probably make sense if they were the reason Belos knew everything about their plans. From what she understood, he just wanted the utter eradication of witches. The thought made her start to shake again, and her heart pounded in her ears, but still, the Emperor dragged her onwards. She didn’t know where to go. 

She was sure it wouldn’t matter. 

It took minutes—hours?—before Belos finally shoved her to an upright stance. Her eyes flitted across the room in some desperate attempt to find something, anything, that would let her fight back against whatever the Emperor had planned, but there was nothing. There was only darkness. 

And a heart. And a portal. The portal.

(Something within her almost recoiled at the sight of the heart, too. She wasn’t sure why, but the more she ignored it, the better she felt. 

The more she ignored it, the slower the heart seemed to beat.)

Her body moved faster than her mind when her legs surged into action with large steps more akin to bounces because this was it, he was letting her go, she would finally see her mom again!

Something solid—the portal? No, that couldn’t be right, it couldn’t be that close—

Her eyes snapped open to reveal a person. She staggered backwards, shaking her head profusely. It was the shadow from Belos’ mind, and they weren’t a person at all. Here, they were much more recognisable—earthly, even, yet still not of this realm, let alone dimension. Sure, they had a face, clothes even to mimic something living, but they still weren’t physical. They weren’t breathing. Somehow, their form had even shifted to obscure the portal completely, but they had moved it forwards too so that Luz could collide with it. 

Luz rolled her eyes, forcing herself through the brief confusion to stand upright. “What’s the big idea, you—whatever you are?!”

The room filled with laughter then, but it was childish, high pitched; it chilled Luz to the bone. She had heard it before in both her nightmare and in the in-between realm, hadn’t she? Instinctively, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and her shoulders tensed. It was everywhere, yet nowhere, and so close, yet so far, and where was it—?

“I’m here!” The shadow chortled, right in her ear. Luz spun around, glaring at it with disdain. “Aw, you’re no fun—unlike Philip, of course!”

As quick as it had appeared, the figure shifted again to be beside Belos who just eyed the two of them with a smirk. It seemed almost genuine, rather than mocking, but why would Belos of all people enjoy the company of something like the shadow if he couldn’t handle his own — nephew? Brother? Luz didn’t know how to describe their relationship, but regardless, it made no sense.

(The heart wasn’t beating to mimic her anymore. Now it seemed to replicate Belos’ at a slow, steady rate, yet that didn’t seem right either.

Why was it responding to them?)

In fact, why was she even here? Surely she had outlived her welcome, her lease on life, yada yada, but no, she was still here—unrestrained, no less. Unless she was here as some sort of babysitter for the shadow, Luz couldn’t see the reason as to why she was still alive. Instead, she was a victim to its mindless games and was subject to witnessing a muffled conversation between it and Belos.

Upon seeing her glaring at them, the shadow giggled, causing her fists to clench and for her teeth to grind together. Any other emotion was replaced by an anger that burnt beneath her skin and set her nerves alight. Her muscles tightened as she was poised to strike, to remind Belos that he was human and not some infallible god—

(The last thing she heard was thump, thump, thump, and it wasn’t in her ears. It was to the sound of Belos’ drum, to Belos’ heart, except it wasn’t his. He had stolen it, and Luz felt the anger that wasn’t her own rush through her.

She couldn’t do anything to save the Titan now, surely not.)

Before she could even move, the entire world shifted from colourful to colourless. Shades of black and white exploded around her, and all she could hear were whispers, millions of them, screaming at her to run, run, run—

But it was too late. 

The Day of Unity had begun. 

“I’m going to have fun with your form!” the shadow declared, materialising out of thin air. Luz’s brows furrowed, because what could that mean—?

“Oh, come on!” It sighed with exasperation, bringing a hand up to its face, perhaps to rub its nose bridge until the frustration was out of its system. Well, if it even had a nose, that is — “I’m not physical, and I want to be. It can’t be that hard to guess, or are you just dumb? I even told you before, stupid.”

Luz couldn’t speak. She wanted to bite back a reply, shout at the thing, demand answers, but she couldn’t. All she could do was sit there, useless as ever, and why was that always what became of her? Useless, useless, useless, that’s all she was—

“I can hear your mind, y’know. I know you didn’t like being called that; why are kids so unfun these days, anyway? All you know is sadness and fear! And…” the shadow paused, shaking its head. “Oh well, I don’t care that she’s—” the shadow’s voice gained a new reverb, one interlaced with thousands of years of hatred and frustration at the creature that had entrapped it within a prison made of marrow— “involved with you. She won’t be able to interfere this time—after all, I needed her spawn to start this whole thing off!” 

Its laughter rang and rang throughout the entire room, layers upon layers of it smothering her. Luz couldn’t even think, but the Titan definitely did. She felt her presence shift within her mind, and it was practically shaking out of anger. Although Luz couldn’t move, per se, the Titan could; her body replicated the Titan’s movements, and the shadow squinted at her, frowning. 

“Is she angry?” The shadow’s frown gave way to raucous chortling that made her freeze, its eyes shining. “It’s payback, y’know—she sealed me away. I can’t have fun like this, so her spawn can’t be happy either. I’ll make you—her, her children— hurt. ”

She was simply the in-between of these two ancient beings, wasn’t she? Luz felt the Titan’s anger slip away so that it could fester beneath the surface until it eventually bubbled over into aggravated revenge like a pan popping its lid. The shadow had disappeared from sight, but it wasn’t quiet. All she could hear were the whispers from before until they overwhelmed all her senses. They were all she could see, hear, touch, taste, smell—somehow. Millions of them, begging and demanding that she escape, or else they would die— 

The world shifted again. It was white this time, and the room had disappeared. Vaguely, Luz wondered where Belos had gone, but it was a wasted thought. What did concern her was something shifting underneath her skin. 

It wasn’t a thrum, it wasn’t adrenaline, nor magic. It was foreign, an invader, and Luz wanted rid of it. Finally, she could move again, and she clawed and clawed at herself, but nothing stopped the sense that she was being overtaken. Whatever it was was meticulous: it nestled into her bones, it buried into her brain—cementing itself as one with her, but not her mind, only her body—and crawled into every crevice it could reach within her. It tainted everything. 

She began to feel faint, but it felt more like someone had done so purposefully—like chloroform. It was slow, but intentional. They wanted her to suffer. 

Was this how her friends and family felt when the poison spread through their bodies?

She hoped not. This was torture. This was hell. Luz could feel shifting everywhere, like she herself was changing, but that couldn’t be right—

Or maybe it could be.

Her face felt like it was splitting apart. Her head too, in fact—or maybe that was her mind. The invader wanted in, it wanted control, but Luz wouldn’t—couldn’t—give up that easily. She didn’t know what the invader was, but energy crackled within her veins. They were powerful. She could take that power for herself, and make this all right.

She could save them all, and maybe then she could be the hero she had always wanted to be. 

Luz shifted—or maybe her consciousness did. The invader’s control was slipping; she was winning! She had to be, because this was her body, her mind, her life—she wouldn’t let them hurt her friends and family. Not anymore. 

Overconfidence leads to mistakes; Luz knew this. She had experienced it herself again and again and she swore she wouldn’t mess up again under pressure, but when the invader was actually the Collector, some infinitely old eldritch being, things got a lot harder. 

And the Collector was not stupid.

He couldn't wait any longer; he wouldn't allow this to fail. Millennia had passed since the final confrontation between him and the Titan and ever since then, he had been confined to the second dimension again. He had been weakened considerably by being trapped underneath her bones, but this human child... she was the perfect escape, the perfect cover, the most perfect way for him to get his revenge. Other creatures from this realm were simply incompatible with his body; sometimes, he wondered if the Titan did it on purpose. That wasn't to say he hadn't found ways to interact with the third dimension, of course; he could still possess others, he could still manipulate them, he could still be heard. It's how he influenced the Boiling Isles' history despite being incapable of messing with it by himself physically—it was all just a bit of fun, really. Although, the Collector was surprised that no one ever noticed the quick deaths that all major beings in their history had experienced. It was the Collector's magic keeping them alive, after all—making a deal with him to achieve power or whatever else just prolonged their existences ever so slightly once he was finished with them.

The child was different, though. Humans were non-magical creatures, meaning that they were automatically compatible with him. He couldn't be rejected by them. In fact, when the Collector first met Philip, they considered him to be their vessel, but with the plan he proposed, they could get revenge on the Titan and a physical form. (And maybe a friend too, they’d thought, but that couldn’t be right. He purged those thoughts ages ago.)

All they had to do was wait for a new human and the spawn of the Titan that sealed him away to begin the ritual. 400 years would be a blink of an eye to any other god (if I can even call myself that, he thought again, and his eyes widened. Of course he could call himself that—it was his birthright! But he… he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t feel it in his nonexistent bones like he used to. It was no longer an irrefutable fact—not when he was now confined to a prison constructed by a mere mortal.)

The Collector was very prone to boredom, meaning it felt like a very, very long time to them before they could find a way out. That's why they couldn't let the child take control from them—his very freedom depended on it. He could feel the Titan's presence somewhere, shifting slyly, but he wouldn't let her interfere any longer. Not anymore. 

He was desperate to escape. He was desperate to feel air on his skin. He was desperate to play.

But most of all, he was desperate to make the Titan feel the same way they did when they were locked away, when they were forced into a prison—all just for playing, no less.

The Collector also hated waiting. For most of his time underneath her bones, they were forced into watching from the shadows. They couldn't be spotted—not by ordinary witches or demons, anyway—meaning their existence was lonely. Boring. They outlived anything interesting, and they couldn't contact anything that didn't. Philip only lived 400 years from making a deal with them, and he was a good playmate, but he was slow. This human child, on the other hand, was really pushing his buttons now; he could feel her shining triumph, almost as if she thought she was winning, and it blinded him. They were nothing if not impatient, and they were sick of waiting. And with a final push, she would be gone—both of them—

The whole world stopped. The shifting stopped. Luz's body went limp, and the Collector could hear the voices now. They were deafening, even more so than his most raucous laughter; he could tell it was the souls of those witches that tried to resist the Day of Unity. That would mean the Titan was somehow—

“Collector,” the Titan whispered. Screamed. Her voice stood out the most and it was everywhere, yet nowhere. “Stop this.”

”No!” The Collector snapped, shaking his head profusely. He wouldn't —couldn't— go back to the bones; they were suffocating and that was coming from someone who didn't even need to breathe. He was so, so close, and he could practically taste the freedom on his nonexistent tongue. "I'm not going back, Titan. In fact, you're the one that can go back to your bones once I have taken this vessel for myself!"

His white-black world became immensely warm, and he could feel the Titan's anger press on him from all sides. “I can't let you do this, Collector,” she said firmly, words ricocheting around his not-skull like bullets, sharp and stinging. "I'm sick of you messing with my Isles. I trusted you, yet here you are, hurting me, thousands of years later—!"

"These Isles aren't yours. Just because this land rose from your body doesn't mean anything!" the Collector hissed; their consciousness was slipping. The voices and whispers of those witches were encroaching in on him. They pleaded, demanded his attention, begged for him to stop, but he wouldn't. This was her fault. He would kill her properly this time if he had to; he didn't care if it cost him his last breath. "I've been trapped underneath your bones for millennia, but I'm not yours. This human isn't yours either, so just leave me alone, Titan!"

His domain was falling apart; he wouldn't be able to keep either him, his vessel or all these Others inside here much longer. The more emotional he became, the more unstable his powers became. The mention of the Titan alone was enough for him to enter a worked-up rage over nothing, and they were using it to their advantage. They were winning.

But the Collector had seen it all, been it all, because they were an elder god. They were infinitely old, infinitely young, infinitely ageless; the Titan was the only thing that ever matured him and even that was only into a slightly older child. He couldn’t grow—it was against his very nature, against his intended purpose—but he wanted to, once upon a time. It was rare for gods to choose young forms; what was considered more appealing was an adult form, so that they would be more respected.

The Collector never had that choice. He was born when the universe needed Knowledge, needed Truth, which meant that his purpose was to constantly search for a way out of this childish form. He didn’t mind it, but more often than not, it was an inconvenience, and even gods had irritations. A long existence breeds that, and of course, boredom. That’s why he needed to be out of this prison; it had confined him for too long. 

He would surely be ridiculed by the other gods upon his return. “Where have you been for the past few thousand years?” They might ask, and the Collector would once again be resigned to being the laughing stock of the gods when he might not even reply at all. If he did, he would bite back a reply of “a dead-end realm with boiling liquid.” That’s all it was; they might have considered it beautiful once, before being sealed away, but now that view was tainted. 

All the Collector knew was laughter and playfulness. They came to this realm searching for large creatures—they always were so interesting!—but by the time they arrived, the species was on its last legs. It was only by chance they met the Titan, and truth be told, the Collector cared little for collateral. When they discovered new worlds, possession of an intelligent creature made quick work of obtaining information; more often than not, he found nothing relating to whatever he needed to know. What he did find was stored in his mind nevertheless, but it just made his mindscape a mess of facts about mostly useless worlds. 

The Titan, though, was completely different. Instead of possessing her, the Collector felt compelled to listen to her stories about her world (not that he was entirely sure he could at that point, anyway; even then, he could feel the magical power practically radiating off of her. That was yet another reason for his infatuation with larger creatures—they always had the capacity to be more. ) She played with him, and from that, he developed a form of kinship with her. Their relationship was unconventional, sure, but the Titan was probably the closest thing they had to a… they couldn’t even muster it into a whole thought. At some point, they might have been family, but he…

He didn’t ruin it. No. The Collector didn’t understand what right and wrong meant; mortal concepts like morals didn’t apply to him. Well, maybe they did, but they were beneath him—a life conforming to mortal concepts rather than living to discover and to play sounded awfully boring, and the Collector only wanted fun. It’s not like he knew what he did was wrong, anyway. It wasn’t his fault. It was hers for not explaining. It was hers for shutting him out. It was hers for shunning him. It was hers for sealing him away and reducing him to this.

When he wasn’t with her, the Collector—for the first time—was exploring the world by himself, rather than simply possessing some creature. It was a different experience altogether from what he was used to, but they loved it—especially when they discovered new landmasses. At that point, some magical beings had already begun to evolve, and some had even begun to revere him as some god—they were right, sure, and worship and offerings were fun, but blind devotion? 

That was just dumb. And boring.

But they were useful, and he even had a mental link to the leader he possessed once before; sometimes the Collector couldn’t resist a good deal—especially when it involved divulging his knowledge. Although, that wasn’t to say he relied on deals to maintain his power or alleviate it—he was no demon after all. In fact, his powers were more so affected by the knowledge within his mindscape and the tidings of the day. They were the moon, they were the sun; they were powerless when neither existed. That part of their power was left solely within their mindscape—if it were basic knowledge about them, the Collector would only fear how that weakness could be exploited. Perhaps, with this human vessel, they could perhaps overcome that entirely—only time would tell. Philip even ended up at the Edge of the World himself, long before he was Belos and was instead still in search of them; the group of witches there had underestimated him, and it meant that there was no conflict between the Collector’s two allies. But the Titan’s downfall was before Philip altogether; this was thousands of years ago, and that group were hunters.  

When the Titan died, it wasn’t because of the Collector—not entirely. Sealing him away required a huge amount of energy, even for a being made entirely of magic, meaning that the hunters were able to kill her easily afterwards to fulfil the Collector’s final cry that only rang true in the hunter-leader Bill’s mind. Just before he was forced beneath her bones, he heard her scream “son”. For the first few hundred years of Void and silence, the Collector replayed the memories until they were associated only with hatred and disgust. He only stopped whenever he reached the end of it all—“son”. It was a huge word, a confusing one, but sometimes, the Collector was a jealous creature. 

They looked at mortal family units with envy; there was so much to understand about them, and the Titan already taught him so much. Did she really consider him her son? 

No.

She was screaming for her blood-son, incubating in an egg that wouldn’t hatch until thousands of years later. That son would be the most important part of the Day of Unity, because he was the only one who could start it. The Collector already knew what she meant deep, deep down in their nonexistent bones all that time ago, but they were always stubborn. 

And they wouldn’t be letting her nor the human best them. Immortals like himself were far superior to mortals, and he could sense everything—the human’s screams, the Titan’s cries, the voices’ whispers, and his own laughter—with surprising clarity. With a final tug, he truly felt amazing, because he was finally alive—finally physical.

Thousands of wasted years were of no qualm to him any longer. All he needed to do now was return to the room where Philip was waiting patiently, and then he could finally have his long-awaited fun in two realms. Whether or not Philip would agree with his definition of fun was up to debate, but if he absorbed the power of the Titan and the inhabitants of the Isles, nothing would be able to stop him.

But their body wasn’t listening. It wouldn’t move. His powers wouldn’t respond. Surely he wasn’t that weak—he had just absorbed the Titan and the children of her Isles, after all! They should have more than enough power to tear this realm apart, but maybe thirty years since last being physical really had taken a toll on them. 

But it wasn’t that.

He could feel them still—shifting underneath his skin like worms. He would crush them underneath his feet, just like everything else in this world and the next. The girl’s presence was more prominent, but he knew she was strong-willed and stubborn. It was a reason why he chose her, after all, but the Titan was an entirely different matter.

She was dangerous; if she was still here, then she could still overpower his control of this body. He couldn’t have that—not when freedom was literally in the palm of his hands! All he needed was this damn body to respond to his demands already—

The whispers of the witches were getting louder again, but that wasn’t right. If he won control over this body, they should be gone too, but they weren’t, and that only meant one thing.

The Titan had absorbed some of the magic instead, and that gave her the power to interfere. Why did nothing ever go right for him?

It just meant he would have to power the portal himself—simple enough, especially after triumphing over the two nuisances in his head. After that, he would be the ruler of two worlds, and the other gods wouldn’t be able to make fun of him if he was that powerful. He was practically shaking with excitement, and he almost wanted to scream— 

They didn’t need to breathe, but their body was suffocating. The world shifted again, and his domain was cracking and shrinking; it was about to implode in on itself. The Collector screamed and sobbed—never before had they hurt this much—and the other creatures in his head followed suit. It overwhelmed his senses until all he could do was struggle and hope that they weren’t dying, because that was impossible—they were a god! 

They were immortal, infallible, and above everything else in the world, but this felt even worse than when a host rejected him. It felt like he himself was falling apart and into another, but it was against nature. It wasn’t right. It was horrible, but it wouldn’t stop. 

It just worsened, and finally, the heat from imminent implosion exploded all around them. Their entire body was set alight, and they should be dead, but they’re not. They couldn’t tell what was what, nor who was who. All they could tell was that someone —Titan, mother, Isles— was gone, but she had fulfilled her purpose. They hadn’t, and that’s why they were still here. 

This was punishment for everything being their fault, for causing this mess, for being sealed away—

But that wasn’t… them. Besides the someone who escaped, there were two Others who had disappeared into nonexistence inside their mind. They couldn’t remember their names, and perhaps they hadn’t existed at all, because all they knew was this. Eternal pain. Eternal heat. The voices, the Titan, betrayal, boredom, humanity, family, friends, Philip—Belos—the Emperor—

They should be dead, but they’re not. 

They shouldn’t exist, but they do. 

This wasn’t meant to happen. 

The facade of monochrome cracked and snapped into nothingness as colour returned to the world, taking with it any remnant of one of the Others and… his?... magic. Their bones felt like heavy weights and they could hardly think properly without it feeling like they were wading through mud. All that filled their senses was the thump-thump of someone’s heart, and even that was too much. This body wasn’t used to something—the immense amount of magic thrumming underneath its skin or the person controlling it, they didn’t know—and it meant that everything still burned. Becoming so powerful in less than a few minutes was surely a massive strain, and some part of them felt like they should’ve healed by now. Or at least not feel as bad. 

Their claw-fingers dug into the ground underneath them as their eyes blearily opened to reveal Philip-Belos staring down at them; it was the first time they’d ever seen him so… surprised. His worn features were taut, his brows drawn together in a scowl, and even if their entire body erupted with pain, they stumbled to their feet. They even bared their teeth like some sort of animal at him, clumsily moving backwards to put distance between them and their playmate—enemy— distraction.

But then why did they feel so scared? Philip-Belos was human; he was no witch. He relied on artificial magic to keep this place under his rule. They were no witch either, but some part of them was a god. The amount of magic running through their veins only cemented that fact; Philip-Belos was not a threat. If anything, he should be scared of them, but that just caused their stomach to turn and for their hands to shake.

He inched closer, and they pulled back into a defensive stance. In their panic, they backed into a wall, but they could easily escape with a simple click of their fingers. A portal was easy work when they were at full power. One part of them still seemed on edge, and they couldn’t calm down from its immense anxiety. Run, it —she— screamed, we need to get out, we need to help them, he’ll hurt us—

A smirk tugged at their lips when they felt another part shift to the forefront of their mind; these parts weren't the two Others—at least, not in the sense that they were as they existed before. These… thoughts were their own, but they were simply moulded from whatever the Others had left behind. Their two parts seemed to be stark opposites, really, and that made their smirk downturn into a frown. Something about being split like this made them want to vomit. Their entire body throbbed again; human bodies clearly weren’t that durable. Maybe they could have fun testing that out later—that thought certainly seemed to distract them from the pain.

Their eyes were dragged to Philip-Belos’ visage again; he clearly didn’t understand what had happened. He appeared to be feigning confidence, even when they could tell confusion was tugging at his brows. They were more conflicted about him than anything else here. Some part of them wanted to run and save them—whoever “them” was—and the other part wanted to…

He can’t hurt us, it— he —whispered, we’re a god. We can break him. We can show him our power. We won’t be underestimated anymore.

”Collector?” Philip-Belos managed, and his voice verged on cracking. To a religious man like him, they probably were even more of a freak of nature than the Boiling Isles itself. He was rightfully scared. “Did it work? Is that you?”

”Not in the way he intended,” they said simply, looking Belos right in his eyes. There was no light in them; they were dim and dull, maybe by age, definitely through his own actions. He staggered from them, his chest heaving rapidly as his figure seemed to contort against his will. (Vaguely, they remembered an interaction a week earlier in this very same room from one of the minds of the Others. Philip had been rather eager for the Day of Unity that night, declaring his plans for humanity once they were free to explore and claim this realm as their own. It would be like a new colony, and Philip would surely be hailed as a saviour. As a pioneer. But one of their parts had remarked, “what if they don’t accept you? You can barely even keep your human form without those Palismen!” 

Philip had looked them directly in their not-eyes and stared—perhaps even as far as into their not-soul. Gods don’t have souls. Or maybe they do. The Collector can sense them within mortals, but never himself. Otherwise, he would constantly hear it beating as a mortal might their heart. This form was only a projection, yet also an entrapment. He would never be able to escape it, and Philip perhaps wouldn’t free them either. But deals were deals, and the consequences of breaking one was dire—even on gods.)  

“What does—what does that mean?!” Philip-Belos exclaimed, and he was too loud. The heart was too loud. They needed silence.

”It means,” the Being—yes, that seemed to be a befitting title for them when nothing else about their identity was concrete—whispered steadily, before their voice became two, layered, and the pillars holding up the room began to shake, “that the Collector… he doesn’t exist anymore. Neither does the girl. It’s just me.”

Philip-Belos stumbled backwards, shaking his head profusely. “But—but the Collector never mentioned anything like this,” he said quickly, probably trying to convince himself that they didn’t exist at all as though he wasn’t staring at the amalgamation of his fears incarnate right in the face. “He was confident that we wouldn’t fail.”

“Well, either he lied, or he was just foolish,” the Being rolled their eyes, glaring at Philip-Belos with disdain. They weren’t scared anymore; they just wanted to break him like he hurt everyone else. It was payback, and revenge was fun. Who needed two realms to rule over when they had this?

“Don’t you dare call him foolish, you foul creature,” Philip-Belos hissed as he readied his staff. The Being went rigid upon seeing it. Where is he, they thought, where is he?!

Their movements became frantic as they desperately scanned the room for something. He was soft, comfortable, helpful, they needed him more than anything. Their life depended on it, or maybe it didn’t, but still, he was theirs and they were his—

Turning their back to the Emperor left them open to direct attack. In his fury—and confusion—Philip-Belos’ staff radiated with magic and exploded upon contact with their chest. Heat expanded all over their skin as it felt like a knife had pierced directly to their bones. It twisted and turned as the fresh wound festered and bled through their clothing. They barely noticed the fact that their blood was no longer crimson and no longer shared the same consistency of human blood; now, it was some cosmic nebula that reflected the stars, but it was wrong. Very wrong and definitely not normal—at least, to some part of them anyway.

The Being heaved a breath through their strained lungs as they snapped around to face him. “Tell me, where is he?” They asked, stalking towards him with snapping jaws and claws extended. The room seemed to dim with their increasing anger. Somehow, the wound didn’t phase them—at least not while some form of adrenaline ran through their veins. Philip-Belos’ lips remained pursed, but with a single wave of their hand, his mouth fell open. “Tell me, you pathetic—!”

“Who, you beast?!” He snapped, forcing himself out of the grip of their wicked magic. “‘He’ isn’t very specific!”

”The animal… he… I—I… I don’t know,” the Being’s gaze hardened as their voice shook, “I can’t remember anything about him.” With each word, their voice lost its feminine edge. Their mind itself was an incomprehensible mess and trying to access anything from the minds of the two Others felt like wading through mud when it wasn’t shoved into their mind’s eye randomly; it was no wonder they were so confused. “Either way, I need him, Philip-Belos, so just tell me.”

A beat. The Emperor’s face navigated towards neutrality, his expression a mask for his tempestuous mind when his actual mask was long abandoned. But the Being could hear, somehow; every word, every sentence—they clung to them and remembered. Put them somewhere for safe-keeping, even if they didn’t know where. It was simply innate. 

With silence now permeating the room like a suffocating haze, the Being grew impatient. “Tell me, now!” they shouted, eyes flashing as the lights were usurped by darkness for all but a moment. 

But Philip-Belos couldn’t tell them anything if he didn’t know who they were referring to. Trying to reason with the Being in this state was useless, though; both of the Others were especially stubborn, and their rage appeared to be endless. They couldn’t stop themselves from shaking with anger, and Philip-Belos must have thought they were sobbing, judging from the mocking laugh that left his mouth. But it wasn’t Belos at all; it was them laughing. It filled the entire room and the pillars holding up the ceiling were beginning to crack and crumble into pieces.

It would be so easy to break him, one part of them whispered as final encouragement, and the Being couldn’t take it anymore. It was right; he deserved this, and everything else they would do to him—

And with a single thought, a blast of immense magic tore the Isles asunder from beneath its layers of earth, no less. When their eyes snapped open, dust still clouded their vision, and with another swipe of their hand, it parted to reveal a destroyed portal to the human realm and Philip-Belos was nowhere to be seen. Had they done it?

Had they… killed someone?

They shook their head swiftly to clear their mind of that thought; it definitely wasn’t pride swirling in their gut, either. The Being gagged to the point of near-vomiting and they collapsed to the ground in a mess of limbs. Lying like this helped to relieve the throbbing pain—as well as stopped the sporadic twitching of their body from the excess magic in their air—somewhat, but they knew they didn’t deserve it. He was human, and humans were weak. Humans couldn’t survive something like that so directly; they were certain of it. This body was hardly any better in terms of durability, but Philip-Belos was centuries older. Frailer.

Sobs wracked their frame as they drew their legs up to their chin. I’m sorry, they thought, and it wasn’t influenced by anything else this time, I didn’t mean it, please come back, I won’t hurt you—

But they were empty words and broken promises that the Being felt like they had apologised for before repeatedly until they couldn’t speak anymore, but that couldn’t be right. They don’t remember existing before this room; one or even both of the Others might, but they couldn’t possibly escape to their mindscape from here. That would just be… cowardly—they hated how their body instinctively froze up at that word—and they had already done enough. They weren’t meant to exist; soon enough, they would tear themself apart, and then the Boiling Isles would be nothing but lifeless. Everything else was dead. Magickind as they knew it was extinct, and once again, that feeling of triumph made their shoulders tense.

My fault, they thought as the tears rolling down their cheeks were also distinctly inhuman. In fact, their wound still bled similarly, but maybe bleeding out would be better than this. Anything would be better than this. It just narrowly missed their heart—which confused some part of them—and consequently, it had punctured a lung; it was no wonder they were struggling to breathe. In fact, if they were still human, they would probably be either unconscious or most likely, dead right now. Still, they weren’t healing and that seemed to be very, very wrong. They were supposed to be ready by now, but for what?

They couldn’t remember; something about this being a Day of Something filled their mind, but nothing except pain, suffering, screaming followed. It had been their idea, hadn’t it? They caused this—somehow, in some way—and they didn’t know how they would repent for their actions. Murder was the worst thing they could possibly do.

He doesn’t matter, one part of them retorted, all that matters is combining these realms.  

They shook their head swiftly at that. They didn’t care for either of these dimensions anymore; all they wanted was to escape and hope that Philip-Belos was indeed alive. He deserved it… but they didn’t want that blood on their hands.

Or did they?

They blinked, and then their entire world was crimson. Their hands—their oddly coloured, calloused hands—were crimson. The walls were bleeding. Philip-Belos—wherever he rested—was. I need out, they thought, breathing heavily, I want out, this is hell—

A groan interrupted their thoughts, and their head snapped towards it. Wiping the tears from their eyes to clear their vision, they realised there was a spasming hand underneath a mountain of rubble. They couldn’t ignore it, not when he might not be dead after all, so they rushed to their feet. ”Philip? Belos?” They spoke, voices completely overlapping, but distinctly childlike. Nothing.

They called out the man’s name again, louder this time, but still, nothing. Again, and finally, movement. Another groan. 

He was alive—he had to be—and some part of them was relieved at that, yet the other was still confused. Who, what, why how—

“Philip!” The Being cried, and it was the higher pitched voice that assumed control. There was no undertone of a sorrowful “Belos”—there was only the cry of a child seeking its playmate. An eternal child, one whose games caused damage and destruction that they didn’t care about, at least not until they met her and then they were both gone. He was locked away to rot. 

They wouldn’t be anymore.

And that was only because that child didn’t exist anymore. Now, he was a part of a larger whole, one he didn’t consent to no less, but the same happened to the other part of the Being. Neither of them wanted this, and the Being didn’t want to be them. They didn’t want to lead their lives. They didn’t want to try, because they didn’t know how to; they weren't human, they weren’t whatever he was. The Being was some foul mixture of both, and maybe Philip-Belos was right again. Maybe that’s why he seemed so fond of the… Collector.

Thinking of the identities of their components made them want to vomit—it made their heart ache and their brain hurt. This wasn’t right, they weren’t right, they were wrong, wrong, wrong—

This form wasn’t theirs. They had taken it from creatures that were meant to exist. They weren’t meant to, and that’s why they were doomed to fail from the very start. Were they falling apart again? Were they going to die? Was this how it ended?

No. No, it wasn’t, because they were some immortal abomination that couldn’t be killed—at least, not by physical means. They would probably just be sealed away like whatever happened to the Collector if they ever angered someone, and a fate like that sounded terrible; Philip-Belos was alive, after all…they weren’t a murderer. They wouldn’t be condemned.

In fact, that thought caused the Being to go rigid. They stopped entirely, and their ears pricked and they strained their hearing as much as they possibly could. Very, very faintly, they could hear laboured breathing; it was hardly there, but it was a definite sign Philip-Belos was alive. Some part of them were elated. The other was, distinctly, not. 

Finish the job, it demanded, kill him and save them.  

Who?

The Being’s mind was a convoluted mess. They didn’t know anything except right now, someone was dying because of them. It was their fault, and it came down to them to save him. Maybe that’s what it meant; after all, some part of them seemed to regard him as a friend. Business partner. Playmate?

It was… confusing.

They nodded, because surely, all of that was the truth, and finally, they lifted the rubble off of Philip-Belos with a single motion. Magic sure was helpful like this. Why that felt like a new notion, they didn’t know. They didn’t know a lot, apparently. 

At least, not right now, but they would—

Philip-Belos’ eyes snapped open. He was bleeding heavily, particularly from a wound on his head, and his sudden movement left little time for the Being to react. Even though he was in no position to, he forced himself to his feet, tensing the entirety of his body to attack them, to pay for what the Being did to one of their progenitors.

The fact he didn’t even groan caused their eyes to widen and their pupils to bloat until their yellow sclera was nearly completely overtaken by crimson iris. There was no time for confusion, though—not when the Emperor was barely fending his body off from the curse’s control. One of his arms extended into that odd wood towards their head, but the Being felt their body overcome with something ephemeral and dark. It consumed them—if only for a moment—and they were suddenly across the room from him. Philip-Belos whipped around so fast that they thought they heard a crack; it wouldn’t be surprising, given his age, but maybe humans really were ones to defy the odds. His arm extended towards their head again, and this time, no odd feeling could save them.

Their chest wound was still bleeding, and the adrenaline thrumming in their veins was no longer masquerading the pain. The Being collapsed to the ground—making them an easy target in the process—as they coughed blood into their hand. Their brows furrowed for a moment, but when they looked up again, a vine was rushing towards them. They scrambled to move out of their way, but it only resulted in them landing hard on their chin. A crack of their own rang out, and they could hardly breathe.

But that was because of the vine; it was steadily constricting around their neck, and then another vine erupted from Philip-Belos’ other arm. The pain blinded them to the movement, and then they were bound to the Emperor’s whims. Maybe human bodies aren’t so great, they thought grimly as their stomach twisted and turned from the vines throwing them around like a rag doll, to and fro like whimsical currents at sea. They were a puppet, and the Emperor was tugging at their strings. 

This had happened to them before—well, not them, per se, but the feeling was familiar, and they hated it. They wanted to be in control; they were bound to no rules, yet Belos kept interrupting their fun again and again and—

The breath was knocked out of their lungs as the Emperor collapsed to the ground beneath him with a loud crash that caused a dust cloud to erupt from his collision with the floor. For a moment, their vision was entirely obscured, but it didn’t take long for a single swell of shadow to overcome the room and remove the cloud of dust completely based on their whim alone. At that, they swiftly scrambled to their feet, barely noticing the pool of cosmos-blood they left behind. All they had wanted to do was help him, but they betrayed him, he had attacked them for no reason, and it wasn’t fair!

“You’re not fair, Philip-Belos,” the Being muttered coldly as they neared the dying man; it was obvious, even if he tried to hide his weakness. He was bleeding even more than them, but they were continually healing at a rate that humans simply couldn’t match. They wouldn’t save him now—a playmate like this was not worth their time. “All I wanted was to help you, but—”

“Why…” the Emperor whispered hoarsely, interrupting them. He hung his head, perhaps to admit defeat; it’s not like he could do much else in his final breaths, “…why would you? You’re a foul creature, as am I, but you…”

”’I’ what, Philip-Belos?” They said, tilting their head in mock curiosity. “Can you not just kick the bucket already?”

What did that even mean? And weren’t they just feeling guilty a few minutes ago? Perhaps this is what it meant to exist as a product of a failed possession; they couldn’t think for themself, they were constantly riddled by internal conflict, and of course… strange phrases they didn’t understand. Maybe it was a human thing. 

What definitely wasn’t human was the growl that escaped the Emperor’s mouth. He was supposed to be dead already, but here he was, clinging to life. It was almost laughable, considering how he had lived so long already, but the Being didn’t find it particularly humorous at that moment. In fact, they stared in horror as his body appeared to convulse into that wood again, but he was becoming some horrible creature in the process. This wasn’t a human, it was—

The Palismen that staved away his curse, the ones he thought he killed—they were going to consume him before his body became entirely useless. Somehow, the Being could sense their bitterness and their anger; it made them yearn for something—their own salvation, maybe—but these Palismen combined were something even stronger than the Emperor. With their wounds, the Being didn’t even know if they could survive another fight with another lowly creature, let alone some Palisman-human mutant.

They had no choice in the matter, though; the creature leapt at them, and no longer were they the one in control. It pinned them to the ground and they kicked the thing and even screamed, but it was to no avail. They hadn’t saved Philip-Belos—they caused this. Just like everything else, it seemed.

But the room dimmed more and more with their thrashing, perhaps even stemming from their frustration. The shadows seemed to congeal and dance on the walls as if they were sentient. They appeared to gather around the Being as all light within the room disappeared—all it left was them and the Philip-Belos-Palisman soul creature that still refused to die. With a single motion, they unwittingly caused the shadows surrounding them to harden into physical darkness. It surged forward, and it pierced the chest of the creature.

The Being knew it was dead when its eyes dimmed and the shadows fled to their natural state. Beforehand, though, their eyes appeared to become glassy, and perhaps its mouth even moved to motion into a “thank you”—maybe they had saved someone, or some creatures—after all. They did gag when the creature slumped forwards right onto them, though, because of course it did—

It didn’t help that when an entity has its existence lengthened, it has severe ramifications upon its death. One of which included quick rot, and momentarily, the Being wanted to scratch their nose off with their own claw-fingers from how horrible the stench was. They didn’t look back at the half human, half amalgamation they left behind; it would only cause their eyes to leak again. What they needed right now was somewhere safe to heal; after that, well…

Well, this realm and the next were sitting ducks without any magickind to defend them. A smile almost tugged at their lips, but it couldn’t.

They were crying, sobbing even, but why? Okay, Philip-Belos was dead, but he wasn’t a pleasant man—which some part of them agreed with anyway—yet the other part was mourning. Not for a friend, nor business partner, nor playmate, but some awful mixture of them all. That just urged them to turn around and walk back towards the corpse, but they couldn’t.

They knew what they would do—or at least, some part of them was being very vocal about it. The Being wanted to tear him apart until all that remained was an atom, and then they would put him back together again and again and again just so that he would feel the same pain as the Grimwalkers. They knew they could do it if they really wanted, but it was pointless. He was already dead, and even a god couldn’t reanimate a corpse. The deed was done, and the blood was on their hands. They would never be able to forget that either; it would be a fact of life. Was it an achievement? Killing the Emperor of the Boiling Isles surely sounded like something one might brag about, but to who? In what world? How would they say it?

With triumph and victory, one part declared, we won! You just need to save them now.

It wouldn’t matter, another part retorted. The Being felt an increasing pressure on their head—maybe even their mind itself. It spread from behind their eyes until their entire skull was throbbing with something . They couldn’t tell what it was, exactly, but there was some sense of wrongness extending throughout their entire being the longer it persisted.

That wrongness was instinct; it was an innate sense that they were dying. Or, it at least felt like it, and in their hazy mind, it was all they could think of. It was the only possibility. Death. Blood. It was all their own fault.

They were splitting apart, surely—it felt like a knife was being inserted into their skin, dragged around their innards and it hurt . They wanted to scream. They wanted to be away from Philip-Belos. They wanted to go home.

If they even had one anymore. 

They weren’t sure if they would even be accepted by—well, anyone. Not like this. Their form wasn’t normal—at least not where they planned to go—and even if they couldn’t remember everything right now, those that did recognise the owner of this form would only see her. 

They wouldn’t see the Being; they would only see one part of it, and they would cling onto it as a reminder. A cold, chilling reminder that whatever they meant to do here failed. Otherwise, the Being would not exist. 

They knew that was how things were meant to be. They were a simple fluke, a mistake that never should have happened. 

The Being never stopped crying as silent sobs escaped their mouth and tears rolled down their cheeks. It was a morose status quo, and the damage from their earlier… fight—for lack of a better word—was extensive. They didn’t care, not really, or not anymore—Philip-Belos was an ally-enemy, but from just the general sense of the area, the Being knew the castle wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t somewhere they could heal without feeling threatened. It was a facade created to uphold Philip-Belos’ mask, and the Being created the crack in that mask with their existence alone.

Yet, as they walked through the bowels of the castle in some attempt to find shelter, they felt a tug on their very soul. It’s him, they thought quickly, and the smile on their lips was genuine, it’s him!

A discarded, broken staff and a shattered Palisman really ought not to bring such joy to one’s face, but who was the Being if not someone who constantly broke expectations? If they had saved those Palismen earlier, maybe then…

Their eyes closed, and they thought vaguely of the creature cradled in their hands. They imagined it whole and chittering excitedly; without a single spoken word, the wood fibres of the creature mended and the staff rose into the air. It sputtered into life, and their eyes snapped open to reveal a bat in front of their face. The bat squeaked indignantly, squinting at them and tilting its head as if to say, “you’re not my owner.” They nodded and averted their gaze; they could be—but how? The girl… her memories were certainly more vivid than the Collector’s, but that wasn’t saying much when their mind was nothing but a mess. 

She was kind to the bat more so than the Being could ever be; they just knew that fact deep, deep in their bones that it wasn’t something that came naturally to them. They lived to play, not to care for others and interpersonal relationships. Yet, if they could have one ally in their world, they would choose this bat.

“Your owner… she’s a part of me now,” they said calmly, and the bat looked up at them with confusion dancing in its pupils. The Being noticed, but they just smiled at it. “I can’t say I will be her, but I’ll be a good owner—I promise!”

(But creatures like them—the Collector, even—they were notorious tricksters. They didn’t pay heed to promises; they listened only to deals, and only good ones at that. Yet, something about this bat—this last remnant of the girl—was important to them, and so they would go against their very nature for it—if it would have them, anyway.)

The bat chittered to itself before somehow shrugging and it then decided to land on their shoulder. The Being took that as confirmation for their new partnership, and it made them smile widely. “We’re going to have so much fun, you and me,” they crooned, twirling through the corridors; the shadows seemed to mimic their actions as though they themselves were alive, encroaching on them too close to be comfortable, yet not enough for the Being to truly reprimand the shadows for their proximity. It was shattered, though, by the way their nose wrinkled and their surely scarred lungs strained upon being exposed to the warm air of the outside—it smelt worse than what they left behind, even. The wind carried a putrid stench that permeated their senses and then they knew. Not much, but enough of this Day of Something that they were so confused about earlier.

They remembered the event vividly—from both perspectives of their parts, no less. The planning, the perfect predictions, and cacophonous laughter upon being proved right as the… witches fell like flies, but also the sobbing of a helpless girl atop an ice tower. They seemed so different: one cared for many, the other did not; one was powerless, the other was nigh omnipotent; and yet, both of them felt alone. Both of them wanted the approval of something or someone in their lives, even if it was unobtainable. Both of them wanted more.

And then those two formed them—the Being without a name, and probably never would have one. They were surprised they’d lasted like this anyway, especially when they were a fluke and had already felt like they were splitting apart so many times; the fact it was all at their own accord only worsened it. Cemented the fact they were a mistake.

The silence of the… battle site itself was deafening. Nauseating. This time, the Being saw the bodies the girl didn’t and there were so many, yet all of their faces were contorted into silent screams and pleas—probably for their lives. Tears were running down their cheeks again, hot and pervasive. Philip-Belos’ body was in a worse state than these witches, but if he caused this, it was only karma taking him for its own. Yet, their legs subconsciously guided them towards something, someone, some people. It was the leaders of the rebel group—the girl’s family and friends, no less, but they didn’t feel anything towards them. Well, they did, but that was more so one part of them urging them to revitalise them to life with magic. But with how weakened they were already and the possibility that the witches might attack them, the Being was hesitant to act.

They drew closer to the group whilst they mulled over their predicament. No names came to their mind particularly, but… they did care for these witches. It was more likely leftover love from the girl, but maybe saving them was the right thing to do. Maybe the risk was worth it; after all, they might even understand and lend them somewhere to heal—or maybe they would do the opposite, and finish the job the universe failed to prevent.

Why the girl chose these witches made sense though; their determination was obvious from the fact they all died together fighting until the bitter end. Their heartbeat was like a drum in their chest as they couldn’t look away. Their body began to shake, and that was when they saw a twitch of a hand. (Like Philip-Belos’, their mind supplied unhelpfully. They couldn’t think clearly like this.)

The Being’s mouth fell open as upon straining their hearing, they heard the thump-thump of a persistent heartbeat not unlike the one in their own chest cavity (which still felt odd to some part of them). It was slow but there, constant and flourishing—somehow, against all odds, the witches were alive. Maybe it was Philip-Belos’ carelessness and desperation to fulfil his end of the deal, yet maybe it wasn’t and it was instead something the witches were genetically predisposed to in order to keep them alive in a comatose state, or maybe those were both wrong. Perhaps it was the fact he didn’t think any magic users would still exist; killing them all wouldn’t be necessary if he just left them stiff and half-dead. 

But maybe this was their chance to make a good first impression in front of their… what would they be, anyway? The girl considered them family, but the Being didn’t know them like that—or understand the concept of family enough to fully relate to them. The bat rubbed its body against their neck, making them shiver. They felt it shake—perhaps in impatience— and decided that they would get this over if it appeased not only the part of them that wouldn’t shut up about being a “hero” and “saving them”, but also the fact that after this, they would be free to play, to dance,and of course, to declare their celebrations of freedom over this whole world and the next! 

They couldn’t wait. 

The Being smiled at the thought as magic welled up inside of them, particularly surrounding their fingertips. The air around them cracked and hummed with excess energy. Reviving the whole population of the Isles was outlandish with their current power, but a few witches would be fine; even if they were hostile, this place was theirs now and with the Titan gone, they would reshape this place anew. Although, that conclusion was contradicted when the trees stirred, the wind ceased and the air stilled. They couldn’t hear the trickle of a distant stream anymore. An overwhelming pressure hit them all at once, and then they were forced to the ground as if something was resting a weight on the back of their bloody neck. It hurt to breathe, but that was only a sensation; they would grow used to it soon enough.

They lowered their hand, rolling their eyes as they turned away from the half-dead group of witches. “Helping them..." the Being choked, finding it somewhat hard to breathe again, "...helps the Isles. And that helps you, doesn't it, Titan?" With those words spoken aloud, the Boiling Isles seemed to return to normalcy—at least as much as it could when it was still grappling with an apocalypse. How they knew that was beyond them—probably from school or being face to face with the real thing—but their energy was quickly fading. They leaned on a nearby tree to steady themself, bark digging through their torn and tattered clothes. Looking down at themself, they grimaced, brows furrowing deeply. I really ought to change into something else, the Being thought miserably, truly feeling the ramifications of not having their own skin to mould as to how they would like to appear. A cloak would be useful (especially when they wanted to travel somewhere where Collector-humans weren't exactly commonplace), but maybe more human clothing underneath would be useful too so as to not completely stand out...

They shook their head; they could deal with all that later—once they were far away from this horrible realm. The Titan's presence had long since disappeared, but the hatred in their gut still swelled with every passing thought surrounding her. They wouldn't be trapped again. So what if they had been helpful to one part of them? It was probably a scam to get in their good books. Or maybe not, but...

Groaning at the effort, the Being raised their hand towards the group of witches again, and one part of them celebrated excitedly as the Being somehow felt their souls sputtering into life. The happiness spread throughout the Being's chest, making them feel weightless; somehow, every single weight on their shoulders was lifted off all at once. A wide grin plastered itself onto their face. They were a hero; the Boiling Isles would cherish and remember them forever! Why had they been so apprehensive before?

It didn’t take long for the witches’ eyes to open, nor for them to sit up and scan their surroundings for danger. Once they decided they were safe enough, the witches must have shared some signal, because they all turned to face the Being at the same time.

All of them carried the same forlorn expression. They saw someone else, didn’t they? It had to be the girl; the Collector didn’t seem the type to be “allies” with any form of magickind. The Being didn’t want to pretend for them, but if it kept these witches happy—

“…Luz?” A woman broke the silence sharply, but still phrased it as a question nevertheless. She was odd looking from being some half-witch, half-owl… creature; more than one part of them seemed to recognise her too. The latter part made the least amount of sense, because the girl was something… familial to the woman, but how did the Collector know of her? 

They didn’t know—at least, not yet, which meant they would sooner rather than later.

Still, none of them edged closer. The Being was half-expecting for the witches to barrel them over in a group hug they shouldn’t have been a part of, but no. It was awfully tense, and awfully boring, so really, the Being was more intent on moving elsewhere sooner rather later. They had done their job here, after all; no responsibilities, or duties meant fun.

They were just about to open a portal themself when someone finally came closer. It was a girl with chestnut hair vaguely streaked with remnants of mint green and lilac purple and fiery eyes despite her rather meek stature. She was visibly shaking and tears were pooling on the edges of her eyes. A name was on the tip of their tongue too...

“Luz—” the girl sobbed. There was that name again, so at least the Being now knew the name of the human child. They frowned in some attempt to make… Amity feel better, but it seemed to only worsen the situation. “Luz, what—what did he do to you?!”

The Being became rigid, because they truly didn’t have an answer or explanation that anyone besides those who had witnessed it would believe which wouldn’t help when the only other witness was now dead (at my own hands, no less, the Being thought with a frown tugging at the lips). All they knew was that one second there was a girl, another and the Titan, and then the Titan was gone and the two Others somehow became the Being. Their mouth opened and closed like a fish repeatedly, each answer in their mind more nonsensical than the last. Their first idea still seemed to be the best.

”I don’t know,” they said simply, and that was when the girl was pulled away by her allies. The half-owl hissed in their direction, glaring at them with burning contempt. The rage of a mother, the Being thought momentarily, yet it was not mocking. In fact, it even made them bear their own teeth as they motioned to open another portal should the situation escalate any further. The being was unsure as to why they felt so compelled to act almost…animalistic when threatened; it certainly didn’t come from the girl—… Luz. 

It felt rather odd to think of that name. It was them, but not. Luz was certainly gone—that was a fact—but it felt…right in a sense. Still, they were not Luz.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?!” Another witch—well maybe not, he seemed to lack magic from what they noticed—barked. Both parts of them recognised him too, just like the Owl Lady, and that too felt peculiar. It made them feel…whole, rather than disjointed and confused like they had been this whole time, even if they were still under threat from these witches. 

“It’s exactly what I said,” the Being snapped, and the boy flinched. He looked like Philip-Belos when he—

They shook their head and continued. “I’m not—I’m my own person. Luz doesn’t…”

”Doesn’t what?!” The girl cried. 

“Luz doesn’t exist anymore!” They screamed, and despite being decently far from the castle, it still shook violently. The ground itself parted as the Being stamped their foot on the ground childishly. When they returned to full awareness again, the world had shifted. The witches weren’t mad anymore; they were cowering together fearfully, eyes wide and entire bodies shaking. 

The witches were scared of… them.

That part didn’t matter, though, because what concerned them the most was that some part of them enjoyed the fear in the witches’ eyes. Some part of them loved the power that rushed through them. Some part of them wanted to replicate it again and again and again and—

They were falling apart again, they needed out, they didn’t want to hurt people, not anyone, not Philip-Belos, not the witches—

“Stop—!” was all the Being heard as the vwoop of a portal allowed them to escape. The auburn-haired witch was at a loss—completely exasperated—as her fists clenched at her sides. 

Eda—now returned to full witch form—looked down at her with a frown on her face. “…You okay, Amity?”

”Of course I’m not, Eda!” She shouted, voice cracking as she spun around to meet the woman’s gaze fully. “How can I be when my girlfriend is—well, whatever that thing was?!”

The sobs returned, and Eda wrapped her arms around Amity hesitantly. She reciprocated the hug with full force, probably staining Eda’s clothes with her tears, but she didn’t care anymore. 

“It wasn’t meant to end like this,” Amity whispered, if only to herself. “We were meant to win.”

”I know, I know,” Eda soothed, breaking their hug to place her hands on Amity’s shoulders. “We’ll fix this. It might only be us un—well, whatever made us half-dead—right now, but it’ll be okay, I promise.”

Amity nodded, frown still tugging at her lips. She wouldn’t tell Eda. She wouldn’t tell anyone. 

She was going to bring back Luz, no matter what. Whatever that thing masquerading as her girlfriend was must have stolen her body; it was the only reasonable explanation. She would find out how to get rid of it. She had to, because Amity would give the world for Luz, and in her time of need, Amity wasn’t about to let her down.

Amity nodded to herself, pursing her lips when in front of the others. The atmosphere was downright choking, so it wasn’t exactly nonsensical that she wouldn’t speak.

Getting Luz back was a whole different matter though. Amity meant it: she would give the world for Luz, and if that meant giving her life in exchange?

Well.

Well, Amity would do it within a heartbeat.