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Anastira -> RE: =EC 2022= Cellar Arena (8/7/2022 0:01:22)
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One, Wister counts beneath their breath, dropping low to throw their arm forward, letting go of one frostblade at the last possible moment; two, another whistles through the air, sparkling like a deadly snowflake; three - Wister catches a glimpse of the snowflake in the mirrors around them, multiplied by a myriad reflections.
The telltale thud of wood as the first two sink into the Knight’s shield; an audible grunt as the third sinks into flesh. Wister flashes a grim smile, straightening atop the pillar as they reach for another frostblade…
But no; the Knight dashed forward, towards Wister’s pillar, shield at the ready - and slams the shield directly into the pillar.
Wister holds back a dry laugh. Ha. You can try that, but it’s not going to work. They inch towards the edge of the pillar, crouching, reaching not for the frostblade but for Celsius instead, jabbing downwards. There’s a sound, Wister can’t quite place it; almost a crackling, but it can’t be from the pillar, that doesn’t make any sense -
Wister jerks to a stop, momentum gone, spear still feet from the Knight, who is already on the move anyway.
The crackling sound stops, too.
“I am a Knight of Evergreen,” the Knight says. “We do not fear the cold.”
In what feels like slow motion, Wister turns their gaze downwards to look at their feet - and sees a growth of holly reaching up from within the ice pillar, rising from the surface of the ice. No. Wister glances at the walls of the arena around them, and back at Helmold. “Well played,” they say, grinning through their teeth. Frustrated. Outplayed. To let go of the pillar now…the pillar would crumble, and Wister - would what? Be suspended here, by the holly? Would it break beneath their weight? Would they be able to regain their footing before they hit the arena floor, or…broken bones? Can Helmold control the holly, could it whip Wister around, throw them across the arena… Wister can’t afford to think about it now. So many questions, and no time to answer any of them.
But the Knight of Ivy has given Wister one unintentional blessing. The slippery surface of the pillar no longer matters. The hedge has made sure of that; the branches below Wister are unruly and tangled, hard to balance on but easy to find purchase. Wister drops into a crouch, bracing Fairest against the branches, wedging it in to keep their balance.
Wister is still scanning the arena, puzzling over the options, when something catches their eye: a strange ripple spreading across the floor of the arena below them, and a…ghost? Elemental? appearing suddenly next to Helmold…
A ghost -
“Help me, Wister,” Nefeli’s voice whispers, and Wister turns. The walls of the great hall reach upwards endlessly, infinitely, and the hearth burns and crackles and flickers behind Nefeli, casting a strange, inconstant halo around her silhouette. Wister blinks. The nightmare is gone - ice beneath their feet, branches tangling their legs, mirrored walls casting reflection upon reflection; all of it behind them. They are home. Home.
What a beautiful word.
The floating girl is directly behind Nefeli, midair, and Nefeli reaches out a hand. “You know what to do, Wister.”
Wister looks at the girl, and at Nefeli, and for the first time, they feel something like fear. Not determination, or rebellion, or wariness; outright fear. Cold and sharp, like someone’s poured ice water into their veins. Wister’s never felt this before. “No,” they say, a whisper at first and then a shout. “No! I won’t do it. They don’t deserve it.”
“Wister.” There’s a touch of warning to Nefeli’s voice, but it’s softened at the edges, like a parent speaking to a misbehaved child. “We have an agreement.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Then the agreement -”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Wister snaps, pulling Celsius out suddenly, eyes flashing. The heat radiates beneath the dark of their skin, almost glowing, and the red of their hair is like flames, their eyes are white-hot like the streaks in their hair. The air around them drops degrees. Nefeli recoils from it, eyes narrowing, but Wister doesn’t care. “I’ve been inside those illusions before. My illusions. It’s cold. It’s lonely. I won’t do it to someone else. Not voluntarily.”
Nefeli watches Wister for a painfully long moment, and then, at last, she nods. “Naturally. I expected nothing else. Of course, Wister, I should’ve been more understanding.”
She steps forward, puts a hand on Wister’s shoulder, her hand shaking as she shivers in the cold.
Wister’s eyes meet hers and -
The floating girl looks suddenly at Wister, coming slowly to the ground. Her face lights up. She smiles. Her voice is full of warmth as she says their name, beaming.
“Wister.”
The child comes too, a little automaton with a chirping voice. A boy with a mop of brown hair and skin made of cracking stone. A girl that’s part girl and part tree, with no legs, only roots that snake across the floor as she moves. A creature, neither man nor woman, made of constellations, so looking at them is like looking at a swirling nebula full of stars and dark matters and black holes and supernovae. A translucent man with their organs naked to the world, for all to see.
All of them saying Wister’s name.
There is a flood of warmth, not a fire-hot warmth but the kind that comes inside, except Wister is sure they didn’t start it themselves. There’s a feeling of rightness, somehow, a strange all-encompassing safety, the feeling of belonging. The circle of people and creatures and things is all around Wister, Wister is at the center, and somehow Wister knows they will never leave, they will always be here -
Nefeli takes her hand away and they scatter, and the air is cold - Wister’s own doing - and everything is lonely, lonely, lonely, Wister is so alone, they scream, they cry, their tears steam off their own cheeks and freeze into snowflakes that shatter sadly against the ground.
“Home, Wister,” Nefeli says, into Wister’s ear. She still shakes with the cold, but the air is warming again, slowly, as Wister’s control slips. “Home.”
Trance-like, Wister moves towards the girl with the daggers, staring straight ahead. The kaleidoscope forms around them without them calling it into existence. It feels instinctive, subconscious. What does the girl see? Wister has no idea. Possibly the kaleidoscope does what Wister needs it to; possibly it does the opposite. Does Nefeli have any influence over what they see? Wister doesn’t know. Wister doesn’t care. Wister only wants -
Nefeli’s voice calls them gently. Wister tries to turn and look for her, but the descent into madness is here; they’ve stood too long within the kaleidoscope. The girl is gone, Wister can’t feel her any more. How long has it been? Wister is rooted in place -
Rooted, and the pillar is beneath them, holly growing thick and dense beneath Wister’s feet. Wister grimaces - from one nightmare into another - and reaches for the frostblades again, considering: only seven left. Within Wister’s mind, a fringe of madness from their earlier trip into the kaleidoscope persists, the same one that triggered this memory of Nefeli, and Wister has to fight it back. But it’s easier not to fight, easier to remember - the cold, and Nefeli‘s eyes, and Wister turning to trap the girl inside a kaleidoscope, first of many, cold and unconscious and shivering…
Maybe it’s time for Helmhold to shiver, too, to really shiver.
Wister pulls out two of their frostbites and twists to aim them at the arena, reflecting them off the mirrors towards Helmhold as the ripples spread below and the holly branches chafe against Wister’s ankles. “Thanks for the foothold,” Wister cries out, as the frostbites ricochet in opposite directions and back towards the preoccupied Knight. “Couldn’t have done it without you!”
And then Wister pulls out Fairest and Celsius, staring at the roots around their legs and wondering how in eternity they’re going to break free.
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