The darkness swirled, the lingering tension from the memories of Niko dissolving into something different. The air turned crisp, smelling of pine and cold stone. A chill was in the air, winter threatening to come at any moment. They were on a trail in Northtown, the trees bare against a grey sky. Beside Poppy the small dragon reformed, scales a heavy slate and bronze. He was stoic and still, a silent observer.
A few feet away, her past self was leaning against a tree, deep in a hushed conversation with Lapis, the black drake’s obsidian scales a stark contrast to the pale bark.
“Ah, yes,” Poppy laughed, a genuine smile on her face. “I call this one: ‘Why Lapis and Poppy Should Never Be Left Alone Together.’”
“A strange title for the beginning of an alliance,” the slate-grey dragon observed, his voice a quiet rumble.
Poppy snorted softly. “It wasn’t an alliance, not in the Civen sense. There were no contracts, no debts.” She paused, finding the right words. “This was the moment I found a co-conspirator as reckless as I was. And yes, that is a much more dangerous thing than an alliance.”
In the memory, her past self pushed off from the tree. “—do you think this will work? If Ozür was able to get It to lash out in the dreamscape, we might be able to get Its attention if we do this.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Lapis replied, his voice low. “I haven’t found anyone else that wants to do this.”
“I’m in,” her past self said, her voice quiet but firm. “If you are.”
“In that case, I’ll look for you later tonight.” Lapis stood straight and turned as if to leave.
Her past self hesitated, and she could almost see the Civen paranoia surfacing as the words came out. ”Lapis—I have a stupid idea.”
The drake turned back, one eyebrow ridge raised. “Some people would say this entire plan is stupid already.”
“…I have a focusing crystal. Well, I don’t have it, Jace is holding onto it for me because I don’t have a magic bag, but I was thinking—”
“I only have the ritual to speak with Draconus,” Lapis interrupted, not as a dismissal but as a statement of fact.
“Well,” her past self said, a determined smile touching her lips. “That might be all we need.”
The memory held on that line, on the quiet, shared understanding between the faekin and the black drake. It was a pact between two investigators deciding to knock on the door of a god and demand answers, facing the consequences together. Then the scene dissolved, leaving Poppy with a phantom chill of the Northtown trail.
“You were gambling that a God would have the answers for you,” the slate-grey dragon observed. “The God that famously does not give them, in fact.”
“We were desperate,” Poppy corrected. “And for the first time, I didn’t feel alone.”
“And yet you still saw yourself as separate,” Draconus countered, his voice flat. “Lapis accepted the mantle of a Chosen and the duties that came with it. You performed the same duties, but refused the title. Why did you insist on standing alone?”
“Because I didn’t have a title,” she said automatically, the old excuse feeling thin even to her own ears. “The work was the important part. I wasn’t chosen yet.”
“And yet the work you chose,” Draconus pressed, his voice continuing to be devoid of emotion, “was to risk your own spark to summon a god for answers. You didn’t wait for a title. You didn’t ask for permission. You saw what you wanted to accomplish, and you forged your own path to do it. Do those sound like the actions of someone who isn’t already chosen?”
Poppy fell silent, the truth of his words clicking into place with a perfect irony. Her independence. Her refusal to ask for permission. Her insistence on forging her own path. The drive for investigation. She held these things up as a shield, her reasons for not wanting to go home and for diverting from the path her family had set for her.
It had just never occurred to her that her rebellion against one path was the exact blueprint for another.
⊰
The memory of the quiet trail in Northtown dissolved. The air grew heavy and cold, thick with the smell of ozone and lake water. Poppy found herself standing on the snowy peninsula from her memory, a few feet away from her past self. Beside her, the small slate-grey and bronze dragon watched, silent and grave.
In the memory, the lake erupted in a crash of sound that vibrated her bones. The real Draconus emerged, a hundred feet of ancient power and unimaginable weariness, his voice a cataclysmic rumble that shook the very ground.
Present-day Poppy looked at Lapis. The black drake stood at her past self’s side, a tall, humanoid figure covered in scales the color of polished obsidian. His face was set with grim determination, his posture unwavering as he stared up at the divine being. It wasn’t a surprise that he was there; of course he was. But she remembered this as the moment their friendship was irrevocably forged in fire.
“He had done this before, Cordon let it slip once.” Poppy remarked. “Talked to Draconus, I mean. Talked to you, I mean? Who actually are you?” she paused, brows knit in confusion as she looked from the real Draconus in the lake to the small guide of him next to her.
“He was prepared for the weight of a god’s attention,” Draconus observed, ignoring her question, his voice a quiet rasp. “And you were not?”
“I was prepared for a fight,” she corrected softly. “He was prepared for a conversation. There’s a difference.”
“And yet you were both there for the same reason,” Draconus noted, his voice flat. “A secret you were actively seeking. Why this ritual? What answer was worth the risk of summoning a god?”
Poppy took a deep breath, the memory of her own desperate resolve flooding back. “I didn’t just want to fight It. I wanted to understand It. I thought if I could get close enough, I could… get inside. Infiltrate its mind. Learn how it thinks.”
“You wished to walk into the mind of madness itself,” Draconus stated, not as a judgment, but as a fact. “It’s starting to become a character trait of yours.”
“Lapis was the only one who didn’t call me insane,” she said, her voice softening as her focus returned to the memory of the black drake standing beside her. “He just started gathering what we needed.”
The memory of the God Beast turned his head, his gaze falling upon the redheaded faekin and the black drake. His voice was no longer a simple sound, but a force of nature, a pressure against their very sparks.
“Let me be clear,” he boomed, each word a peal of thunder. “I will personally destroy the spark of anyone who has this information before I let them become a Veilwalker.” He paused, the threat hanging in the air, absolute and terrifying. “And that is why the ordeals are necessary. They can’t undo the burden the Entity places, but they can diminish the impact It has. Fuel for the cause.”
“He speaks of his burden,” the small dragon murmured. “But he was placing one upon you both. Did you not resent it?”
“How could I?” Poppy replied. “Lapis didn’t. He just accepted it. He accepted me. After this, we were the only people we could talk to about it. We asked for the answer. It wasn’t our fault we got something different from what we were expecting.”
“The only people?” Draconus pressed, his voice a low, knowing rumble.
Poppy flinched, caught in the omission. “We were supposed to be,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “We had people around us theorizing, getting close to the truth, but we couldn’t burden them with what we knew. It was supposed to be just us.” She hesitated, the memory of the secret missive she sent coming back to her. “But I told Jace. Right before the final shrine fights.”
“You broke your pact,” Draconus stated, not as an accusation, but as a simple fact.
“I was going to die,” she whispered defensively. “Lapis… I was starting to get worried. He was getting erratic. I was worried the secret would die with me, or that he would be left alone with it, and the silence would break him. Jace already had all the other pieces. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Did Jace know you planned on this being a suicide mission?”
“…I had told him I didn’t think I would make it out of the next shrine fight alive.”
Draconus nodded slowly toward the memory of Lapis. “He was your ally. He stood beside you before a god and accepted a threat of annihilation without flinching. Did you not trust him to bear that final burden with you as well?”
The memory began to fade, the colossal form of the god dissolving back into the lake. Poppy was left with an image of Lapis turning to her past self, the black-scaled drake offering a silent, resolute nod that spoke louder than any words could.
“I think he already knew. I was just too afraid to say it to his face.”
⊰
The memory of the God’s threat faded, replaced by the scent of rain-soaked earth and the low, guttural groans of dying orcs. The battle was over. The small clearing was littered with bodies, steam rising from them in the cool, damp air. Poppy was leaning against a tree, catching her breath, the adrenaline of the fight slowly draining away as she looked over the mousey-haired girl who was scribbling frantically in a notepad.
“No, no, focus,” her past self was saying, her voice patient but firm. “Forget the blood. Look at the tactics. Where did the flankers come from? How did the archer use the terrain?”
“She wanted to be a war reporter,” present-day Poppy explained with a wry smile. “I told her the best way to learn was to stand next to the action and try not to die. It was a fun contract. We were good at fun.”
“But it was never just about the fun, was it?” Draconus rumbled, his slate-grey form a steady presence beside her. “These moments were just the quiet spaces where the real work happened.”
In the memory, her friends were fanned out, efficiently looting the corpses. Lapis, however, was walking directly to her. He stopped a few feet away, his obsidian scales seeming to absorb the light around them.
Poppy’s posture straightened, exhaustion replaced by an investigative focus. Her past self immediately put a hand on the reporter’s shoulder. “Go document the wounds,” she said, her tone shifting from ‘teacher’ to a clear, quiet dismissal. “Get the details right.”
The girl scurried off. Poppy’s posture straightened, her exhaustion replaced by a sharp, investigative focus as she turned to Lapis. He ran a hand over his face, a sigh escaping his lips. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice low. “I went to see Pisces.”
“I heard. What actually happened?”
“Her people turned me away. But I think I know what grudge she is holding against Draconus.”
Her past self didn’t press for details. She just watched him, waiting. The trust between them was a palpable thing in the quiet clearing.
“I can’t tell you everything,” he said, and the apology in his voice was genuine. “I’m sorry. It’s not my secret to share. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Her past self’s expression softened. “I always trust you, Lapis.”
The absolute truth in her voice seemed to settle something in him. He gave a single, grateful nod, and then began recounting his visit.
“There,” Draconus said, his voice a low observation. “That is the core of this bond, isn’t it? The secrets you don’t share. He trusts you with his silence, and you trust him with yours. It is a bond built not on confession, but on mutual respect for the burdens you each carry alone.”
“It was easy to trust him,” Poppy whispered, watching the memory of her friend. “He never lied. He just… didn’t tell me everything. I knew he’d tell me when he could.”
⊰
The battlefield noise dinned, and the earthy scent of a swamp took its place. The air was thick, the trees draped in moss. Poppy watched her past self standing on semi-solid ground, the rest of the large party fanned out beside her. Draconus was lying on the ground next to her, his slate-grey and bronze scales seeming to absorb the oppressive atmosphere.
“The great Septly key swamp crawl,” Poppy murmured, a grimace on her face. “We needed an urn to get into the Hallowed Chantry. We thought it would be a simple in-and-out job.”
“Your missions are rarely simple, are they?” Draconus observed, his voice a low rumble.
“No,” she admitted. “They’re not.”
In the memory, Lapis was trying to negotiate with a hulking Slaad who guarded a crumbling stone shrine. The troglodyte translator grew more agitated with each exchange, until finally, the Slaad let out an enraged roar. At its signal, reptilian creatures burst from the muck, and the fight began.
Poppy reacted on instinct, unleashing a wave of fiery, petal-like magic. The rest of the party surged forward while X’Nor carved a path to the shrine, wrenched the large decoy urn from its base, and opened a crackling violet portal. “Let’s go! Now!”
The party retreated through the stable portal. As Poppy was about to step through, she saw that Lapis had not followed. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, his head bowed. The remaining creatures watched him, but did not attack.
“Lapis, what are you doing?” Poppy hurried back.
He didn’t answer, simply placing his hands flat on the damp earth as a soft, golden light began to emanate from his palms. She then saw what he saw: small creatures of the swamp, caught and killed in the crossfire. He was casting Revive—not once, but over and over. A massively draining act to undo the harm they had caused.
An exasperated groan escaped Poppy’s lips. He was so infuriatingly, stupidly druidic. “Lapis, I swear to our God, I am going to punch you when we get out of here,” she promised through gritted teeth. She knelt beside him despite her whining, placing her palms on the ground and channeling her own power into his spellcasting. Performing a massive act of restorative magic like this while fighting the curse was agonizing; it was like trying to hold back a flood with a sieve. The familiar sensation of testing her limits flared in her chest but she pushed through it, refusing to leave him behind.
A final, shared pulse of golden light washed over the swamp as small creatures stirred back to life. Lapis slumped over, breathing heavily. The Slaad, its rage gone, approached them and held out a small, white and gold keyed vase. The true urn.
“It just… gave it to him,” Poppy murmured to the dragon beside her. “After all that.”
“Lapis offered atonement where others brought only violence,” Draconus replied. “Some creatures understand a currency other than steel.”
Lapis took the urn, using Poppy’s shoulder to haul himself to his feet. They stumbled through the portal together, landing on the soft grass of Maplewood.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” Poppy gasped, shoving him in the shoulder to punctuate her words. She had forgotten the dagger was still in her hand from the fight. In her exhaustion, she was holding it wrong. Instead of the flat of her fist, the blade’s tip met his ribs, sinking in with a slight tearing noise.
Lapis’s eyes went wide, less in pain and more in surprise, before he collapsed on top of her.
For a moment, Poppy was just stunned, staring at the hilt of her own dagger buried in her friend. Then a sound bubbled up out of her- a hysterical, horrified peel of laughter, fueled by shock and magical exhaustion.
“An interesting way to show camaraderie,” Draconus noted, his voice devoid of judgment. “You speak the language you were taught: one of sharp edges.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Poppy whispered, watching as Lorelei rushed over, her healing magic washing over the now-unconscious drake. “I was just… he’s so frustrating.”
As Lorelei finished her spell, Lapis stirred and stood, pulling the dagger free. He looked down at the hysterical, laughing Poppy on the ground and didn’t say anything, just shook his head and walked towards the avatar of the craftsman to deliver the urn. He didn’t even seem angry.
“He understood,” Poppy murmured, the memory of his patience hitting her harder than the stabbing ever hit him.
“An equal exchange, Poppy,” Draconus murmured, the dryness gone from his voice. “He took on your burden, so you took on his.”
“My burden?” Poppy asked.
“You did not care about the Septly key, or the swamp, or anything in it. They were not your fight. But you made them your fight because they were his. In return, he accepted your burdens- all the sharp edges, the exhaustion, the accidental violence. An equal exchange.”
⊰
The memory of the god’s threat faded, replaced by the scent of woodsmoke and old parchment. They were in a small, dusty cabin on the outskirts of Maplewood, the door bolted from the inside. A single lantern cast long shadows, illuminating the scroll unrolled between them on a rough-hewn table.
“This was a stupid risk,” present-day Poppy murmured, a fond smile touching her lips. “We’d paid a small fortune for a ‘pre-Sundering text of unknown origin.’ We had no idea what it was.”
In the memory, Lapis was leaning away from the table, his usual composure strained. He looked pale, if it was possible for a black drake to look so. “It’s just… splotches,” he said, his voice tight with a frustration that bordered on nausea. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Meaningless ink splotches. And they feel wrong.”
“Let me see,” her past self said, her curiosity overriding caution. She leaned closer. To her, the script was clear—elegant, archaic Elvish. “Lapis, this is just Elvish.”
“No,” he insisted, closing his eyes against the text. “It feels like the infection. Like It wants to get back in.”
She looked back at the scroll, and for the first time, she let herself truly feel it. He was right. The text had a strange hum to it, a low vibration that seemed to squirm at the edge of her perception. Reaching out, she didn’t just touch the parchment; she addressed it with her will, a silent acknowledgment. I see you.
The Elvish script dissolved. The ink itself seemed to writhe, rearranging itself into splotches and a language she had never seen but somehow understood. And with the understanding came a wave of intense nausea that made the room spin, immediately followed by a sharp, insatiable hunger for more.
More. Need more. Always hungry. Never enough. End the suffering-
“Poppy!”
Lapis’s voice cut through the noise. A heavy, grounding hand settled on her shoulder. Her head jerked up. The scroll was back to Elvish, but she could still feel the other language writhing just beneath it, like a dog waiting for her attention. The room was steady again, but the craving for more remained, a low hum in the back of her mind.
She looked at Lapis, a slight sinking feeling happening in her stomach. “I think my infection just got worse.”
“Your hair is worse.” He didn’t look surprised, but determined as he pointed at a newly-turned lock of her hair. “So if I translate this, I will get infected.”
“Lapis, don’t you even think about it.” Poppy hissed, her voice rising in anger. “We have a deal. One of us stays clean, one of us gets the information. That’s how this works!”
“That was before we realized that this was available.” Lapis pointed at the scroll. “This language.”
“Lapis, don’t you dare-”
The memory of the locked cabin dissolved, leaving Poppy with a phantom ache of frustration.
“He broke the deal,” she said, her voice tight. “Instead of letting me deal with it, he decided to help.”
“A fascinating flaw in your perfectly equal partnership,” Draconus rumbled from beside her. “You both constantly try to take on more than your share.”
Poppy went still, the dragon’s words sinking in. She thought of the swamp, of her kneeling beside Lapis, fighting through the agony of her curse because she refused to leave him behind.
“I do the same thing,” she whispered, the realization dawning on her.
“Indeed,” Draconus stated. “Your bond is not flawed by a lack of trust, but by an excess of it. You each trust the other so completely that you are willing to break your own rules to protect them. A paradox of loyalty.”
⊰
The memory of the locked cabin dissolved, leaving Poppy on the dock. The phantom scent of old parchment and ozone faded in the air. She stood in silence for a long moment, processing the evidence: the reckless pact on the trail, the shared threat of a god, the quiet trust in a dusty room, the frustrating, self-sacrificial loyalty in a swamp.
“You have examined the evidence,” Draconus stated, his voice a low rumble. “The pact. The burden. The loyalty. What is the final conclusion? What did you learn from this bond?”
Poppy stared out at the water, contrasting the memories she had just seen with everything that had come before.
“Lynn taught me how to be a shield for someone,” she whispered, the realization solidifying as she spoke. “But Lapis was the first person who never treated me like something fragile. He saw the recklessness, the obsession, the determination and just offered to stand beside me and help carry the weight.” She looked at the dragon, her voice growing stronger. “He taught me what a partnership is.”
“He taught you to trust another’s strength as much as your own,” Draconus observed. “And yet, it was your own strength that drew divine attention in the first place.”
“My strength?” Poppy repeated, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. She let out a small, breathless laugh of disbelief. “All this time, I told myself I was chosen because I was amusing, or as some kind of cosmic joke- there were a million sarcastic reasons I was telling people.”
Her gaze drifted out over the endless water, the full truth settling over her. “But it was never about that. It was because I had proven I could stand on my own. That I could forge my own path without needing all the answers.”
“You were a paradox,” Draconus rumbled, his slate-grey form seeming to ponder the concept. “Fiercely independent, yet learning to be part of something bigger. A worthy mystery.” He tilted his head. “And the consul is a key link in that something, is he not?”
“He’s more than a part of it,” Poppy whispered, the thought of Jason bringing a fresh wave of emotion that was entirely different from the camaraderie she felt with Lapis. It was sharper, more vulnerable, more terrifying.
As her feelings shifted, the dragon’s form changed. The heavy, muted slate and bronze of his scales bled away, replaced by a shimmering, volatile cascade of rose gold and polished silver. His posture changed from stoic stillness to a restless agitation. It made her think of the frantic, affectionate panic that Jason always stirred in her.
“He made you feel… quiet,” Draconus said, his voice losing its deep rumble and becoming softer, more hesitant. “Content. He was the first person you met that didn’t send you into a spiral of doubt. That terrified you, didn’t it?”