Looking Through Your Eyes

[Lady Alainn]

Mala's fingers against her face had been warm, comforting, and intoxicating. The deformed dragonkin kidnapper's? Demanding, hungry, and rough, almost to the point of bruising. But this pale man who crouched before her... his touch glossed over her skin like fine silk, cool and delicate against her cheek like the sweet waters of a spring sliding down a parched throat. Before she was even aware of what she was doing, the elf felt herself closing her eyes and leaning into the cold caress, longing to drink of the promised relief the fingers dangled just beyond her reach. The trickle of water echoed from the darkness around her. She was so thirsty, so thirsty... Just a step into the dark, just a toe over the threshold so she could scoop her hand into the refreshing liquid...

'Pencaliel!'

Her eyes flew open, returning her to the dark walls of her prison once more, her awareness to the evil simmering just below the rivers of promise. The elf pulled away with a gasp, huddling closer to the wall, eyes downcast, seeking shelter against the damp stone behind her. It gave off more heat than the man whose smile leered over her, and that frightened the little maiden. Shivers assailed her body and slowly it began to dawn on her that this was too vivid, too real, too lasting, to be a dream. Such a revelation only increased the tremblings. What had happened? How had they been found? Why was she here? Her thoughts were quickly interrupted as a sickeningly smooth voice snaked in.

"Pencaliel, yes? Or do you prefer Pen'neth? Malachi did tell us you were ridiculously fond of the name. What did he tell you it meant?"

Instantly, her ears perked up at the mention of her... her companion, her mind too filled with his name to comprehend the tone and words that followed. He'd spoken with Mala? Was her friend here, too? Had they been any kinder to him? Would she get a chance to see him? To... to apologize? But something was wrong, the pieces weren't lining up quite right. The man before her was asking a question, something about her name? No, not her name. Mala's name for her.

The chuckle which followed the question sent shivers crawling down her spine and the Druid wrapped her arms around her chest, not needing to raise her eyes to know that his were picking apart every attempt to hide her shame. The heaviness of the gaze-- the intensity of it-- fell upon her, provoking her heart to beat faster and a heated prickle to race up her neck and travel down to her toes. At that moment, she knew what it felt like to be filth. Exposed, crude, humiliated. Not just on the outside, but within. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she curled further into herself, shifting her focus to the words the man spoke, for it was either that or his looks and she certainly wanted nothing more than to hide from the latter.

Pen'neth. What did it mean? He'd... he'd never told her. She'd never asked. At first it had merely been a placeholder given by a stranger until her own name surfaced in her mind and what it meant held no interest to her. It was temporary. Bestowed by one who did not know her. Meaningless. But when he'd continued calling her Pen'neth, even after knowing her name, the tone in which he'd said it had given the name its meaning. A term of endearment. That had been meaning enough for the elf. She hadn't had to ask.

"Don't worry, little light, you're not the first person he's manipulated so cleverly. Don't take it personally. He's very good at what he does."

Pencaliel started at that-- wide, hesitant, soft, questioning brown meeting fake, dead, laughing, cruel violet for the first time since he'd stepped into her prison. Manipulated? Her lips parted in a silent, "No...." No, not Mala. He... he couldn't. He'd... he'd loved her, hadn't he? Protected her. Cared for her. But... if that was true... and this wasn't a dream... where... where was he now? When she needed him? The elf's gaze dropped back to the ground, wetness gathering in her eyes as she laid her head wearily against the wall.

Pen'neth. What did it mean?

She hadn't had to ask. Until now.

"Mala..."

 

[Kaisaan]

"Now, now, Pen'neth, you know he's not coming. No use calling for him."

Even as he spoke, Kontaro signaled the dragonkin over, a few more silent signals that the other creature had learned well telling the dragonkin to unchain the elf and put her wrists in the manacles hanging from the ceiling, forcing her to stand. Her feet would barely reach the floor, placing strain on her arms that would become almost unbearable over time.

It would be just the beginning.

"He hates that name, you know. Mala. Weak, pathetic. He prefers Scatha." Pale violet eyes flashed with mirth. "If you don't believe me, address him as such sometime. He'll come to see how we're progressing with you eventually. For now he has Deyes'moro to collect from your forest. That spell you did won't keep him out for long." He circled her as he spoke, letting his eyes roam her body purposely, reaching out in random turns to briefly touch her skin, smiling to himself at the damage he knew he was causing.

"We were unsure if it would work, we really were. You're a Druid, tricking you wouldn't be easy. We knew of your power, but Scatha insisted he could fool you." Kontaro smiled, the backs of his fingers touching Pencaliel's cheek as a lover might, determined to undermine and corrupt anything good, the chance that any kind of touch from someone else in the future would elicit a positive response. He wanted everything to remind the elf of this moment, of being helpless and at his mercy. Given enough time, he knew he'd have his way. "He was right, wasn't he? You were just so desperate for someone to take care of, weren't you? So determined to do as you'd been taught, to help the weak and be a good little elf. It was his idea to be blind, he said you'd hardly turn him away. The Prince always has been clever about such things, but I honestly doubted you'd be so weak."

A chuckle sounded. "I suppose I was wrong. You really should have listened to that sparrow of yours. Wryn, right?"

Kontaro seemed not to notice any reaction Pencaliel did or did not give him as his touch started carrying pain with it. To him, whether she screamed or remained stoic didn't matter. He knew she was hurting, he knew what he was doing was painful and that was all he needed to know for now. She'd come to fear his touch, not only the seductiveness of it, tempting her innocent soul to corruption, but the sheer intensity of the agony just a gliding finger could inflict. He knew she'd come to the point where she'd BEG to be whipped, to endure a beating, to feel the heat of a brand against her skin rather than face his caressing fingers. Malachi had reached such a point and Kontaro hadn't even fully broken him.

The elf would reach it, too, and probably far sooner than the half-blood had.

He continued to trail his fingers along the Druid's skin, a brief brush down her arm, a ghosting touch to her hip, a caress to her stomach, a finger sliding along her spine, all delivering varying jolts of pain. Some were longer lasting, others far more intense and sometimes both, but they were never the same, never predictable and Kontaro watched Pencaliel with lidded eyes, gauging her reactions, knowing that the pain as much as the places his hand touched would tell him all he needed to know about the little elf who was forced to stand before him. She'd showed herself vulnerable to words and she'd CLEARLY shown her primary way of communication was touch.

Kontaro loved those ones. They were so easy to hurt, but were challenging just as well, because it all depended on HOW one used that touch to cause them agony, knowing how far to go and just what kind of mind games to play while said physical pain was happening. Yes, those who relied on touch heavily were his favorite to break, to train.

It would take time, though, he knew that and Kontaro figured there was no better time than the present to begin as he looked to the dragonkin, finally leaving the elf's body alone. It had only been a taste of what awaited her anyway. "Give her a light beating. Broken bones are fine, but don't concentrate on the face. I don't want her looks marred just yet. We might have use for the new pet when she's better trained. Nothing more than a beating, understood?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

Agonizing torment. Even that was too weak a phrase to fully convey all that stirred around and within the little elf. Exhausted emotionally and physically from the earlier ordeal, Pencaliel lay crumpled in her earlier corner drifting between the nightmare of consciousness and the hell of sleep. Bruises covered her body from neck to toes, fire crawled over her skin, and her arms ached from hanging by her wrists. How long had she been subjected to the pain? She knew not, but it had stretched for an eternity.

The Druid squeezed her eyes shut and hoarsely cried out as a tremor rippled across her body, tearing through her sore muscles and reawakening the streaks of pain along the surface of her skin from her tormenter's fingers. But as much as her body felt like it was on fire, it was nothing compared to the turmoil in her heart. Her tears and voice had been spent long ago, before the dark-winged dragonkin landed more than a handful of blows upon her body. It hadn't taken her long after to slip into the dark waters of unconsciousness, and for that she was glad.

Asleep or fainted, it spared her the agony of thinking of the one who had first seduced her into leaving her blissful ignorance. Mala... no... Malachi... he'd abandoned her. Why? Why had it not been enough for him to simply hand her over, if he was going to betray her? Why had Malachi involved her heart? How could he have been so cruel? One last tear worked its way to the corner of her eye and snaked down her cheek before splashing onto the cold stone beneath her. She was a failure, nothing but a failure. There was nothing in her worthy of the title Druid. Even with her gifts, she had fallen prey to the wiles of the first villain who crossed her path. She was... she was better off dead than posing as false hope. Faith Giver? It was a mockery.

As Pencaliel lay there upon the cold stones, whispers reached her ears. At first she thought it was the echoes of her captors returning and her body cringed on its own accord, eliciting another inaudible scream. But the voices grew neither closer nor farther away, only more insistent. Almost... soothing. And it came from... underneath her head? The stones themselves! With a gasp, the elf pushed herself up on a trembling elbow and slid the palm of her hand against the rough rock, magnifying the voices until she could catch what they were saying.

Many things have we seen...

...beneath the sun's reign there is no mercy...

... sweet tears of grief like the dew upon the roses

Life leaks from the eyes above...

...the light must not go out!

Shall evil always prevail?

...out of sight of the lidless eye none find peace...

...the Light must not be snuffed!

Fight....

Fight to preserve the Light!

The whispers swirled around in her head, gaining in intensity as pressure built up behind her eyes. Emotions slipped in through the link between her palm and the stone. Sadness, weariness, long-suffering, homesickness, frustrations, and a glimmer of determination. Unable to process what or how this was happening, she stayed still and allowed the rock to speak to her. So much had she suffered today, if this turned out to be a painful trick as well it would hardly matter. Maybe it would push her into sleep.

Tendrils of light slipped through the fog of voices and emotions in her head, pulling back the pressure as if it was a curtain until a faint image appeared in the haze. Two figures materialized, only barely recognizable as the crooked dragonkin and the pale man. Pencaliel shrank back with a whimper, but did not have the strength to remove her palm from the stone. The dragonkin yanked the chains through a ring in the ceiling, his voice echoing against the clang of metal.


"...you've never handled a Druid before, Master. How can you be so sure you will break the elf?"

"By using that which she loves most and turning her against it. She will practically unravel herself."


As quickly as the scene played in her mind, it vanished, leaving the Druid in utter confusion. What... what had that been? What... what did it mean? Malachi had to have betrayed her. How else would her captor know what he did? About her? About Wryn? The whispers started withdrawing from her head, the lessening of the pressure leaving her more and more light-headed.

Shall evil always prevail?

...out of sight of the lidless eye none find peace...

...the Light must not be snuffed!

Fight....

Fight to preserve the Light!

"You'd do well to remember...even if all evidence points to the contrary."



Should... should she had given up on Malachi so easily? Just as she'd given up on herself? The answer never came as the elf swooned and remembered no more.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi had found the tracks - and the leaf necklace - first, but Nekia had put her nose to the trail, her senses far keener than the half-blood's, even if his were above those of a human. It was the hound-turned-woman-turned-hound-again that led them to the spot Pencaliel had collapsed. It was here that Malachi had sensed far more than anyone else could have, even the Guide herself, but not with sight, nor sound or smell.

He knew that the little elf had sobbed here, the despair and pain lingering like a physical presence in the air. It wasn't all he felt, though, her grief was maddening enough that he could barely focus on anything else. He WAS aware of the toxic stench of a corrupted soul, however. He could not have said the species of the creature as he'd never met one of his own since being taken from his mother, but he knew Kontaro's work when he came across it. Knowing that the dark one who'd tortured him for so long now had the Druid was enough to send a new dose of black rage through the half-blood.

It wasn't the same kind of anger that had overtaken him when he'd struck down the goblins. That had been controlled, purposeful, almost planned. This...was different. This feeling was wild, unpredictable and it turned him into someone who would attack friend or foe if either got in his way. Nekia had recognized that and directed the mindless dark power in him toward a goal, but even that did not guarantee her safety.

And Malachi didn't care.

He didn't think.

He just followed the consuming instinctive power within him, and what it demanded, he gave it. Doing so was easier than feeling the crushing grief that had come over him before. It was better than remembering Pencaliel's words before she'd left, tearing the trust he'd had in her to pieces, tatters he wasn't yet sure he wanted to repair. It was safer than recalling the look in her eyes as Kontaro broke her. He would have ignored it all, fled and disappeared from the Light and his people both if not for Nekia. The Darkness would have surrounded him, sheltered him from everything and he would have let it. He would have become the horror his people wanted, but a power unto his own will, a terror to everyone, including them.

But his Guide had been there, catching him as he was sent spiraling out of control and while she could not pull him back up from the cliff he'd fallen over, she'd tossed him a rope and Malachi was barely hanging on to it. But keep hold of it he did. So he could save the little elf who'd both taught him what the Light was...and then broken him into pieces.

Somehow, he couldn't hate her for that. He couldn't be upset with her at all. He didn't know why, but the thought of what she'd done - leaving - didn't make him want to leave her to her fate. He wanted to save her, to make sure she never endured any pain ever again because somehow, despite the fact that her actions had hurt him deeply, he knew he'd deserved them, that he'd driven her to it somehow. It was his fault.

He had to make it right by saving her and then....and then he would leave. He wouldn't cause her anymore pain, wouldn't give her reason to cause him any. It would be better for both of them.

--

The land gave way to canyons and rocks, harsh stone and unforgiving ground that lent very little to even the most skilled of trackers. Nekia's nose wasn't always enough among the stones, the creature that had carried Pencaliel able to leap from one point to another at times and it took the combined skill of the Guide and the half-blood to follow the trail. The more she had to rely on Malachi, though, the more worried Nekia became for each time, he sunk further into the grasp of the Deyes'moro.

His wings showed that clearly enough, nearly appearing soaked in pitch, sucking the light around them into their depths. It was a reflection of what was happening within the half-blood and each passing our showed that darkness growing deeper, more consuming and Nekia swore that at times she saw the black coloring lapping at Malachi's hair at the ends. She KNEW she'd seen the swirling color in his eyes when they stumbled across another obstacle.

More than once she'd had to dodge his slashing claws as he lashed out, his eyes seeing, but somehow blind to everything around him even more so for it.

They didn't speak. The half-blood had nothing to say, didn't even attempt it, his mind in a completely feral state that Nekia didn't know how to pull him out of. So she treated him like the cunning, intelligent, ruthless animal he'd become, managing the symptoms of the evil wrapping tighter and growing deeper within Malachi, using his power as the channel it was meant to be.

It was all she could do, praying that if they found Pencaliel, there would be salvation for both her and Malachi.

--

The state his dragonkin had left the little elf in pleased Kontaro immensely.

He could see her spirit fading already, cracking under just the slightest pressure. It was pathetic, really, but exciting, too. Malachi was coming, Kontaro knew he was and if the elf was broken by the time he got here? Oh, it would be just delicious fun!

Finesse was not needed here, not with this pet. He tormented her relentlessly until she couldn't even scream anymore and all without drawing blood, without even cutting her delicate skin nor putting the whip to her. Nothing but a touch, dark energy coiling about his hands, caressing her skin. She was weak, the despair like a tangible taste in the air, clinging to the back of his throat and Kontaro inhaled it greedily.

He'd let the dragonkin have one more go at her, let the creature have a treat before he finished her off.

 

[Lady Alainn]

The door clanged shut with a satisfying finality and the dragonkin rubbed his hands together gleefully. Master was so kind, so thoughtful to let him play with the toy first. To land the final blow to her innocence before she lost herself completely. But even now, he suspected she wouldn't put up much of a fight. The elf hadn't fought much over anything, actually, as if she'd resigned herself to her fate and was merely waiting for death to take her. As exciting as watching a person break was, to snap like a twig was hardly satisfying. To rob her of her innocence without even a struggle even more so. No wonder Azamuthel did as well as she did in her pursuit of world domination if her opposition were Druids like this one.

Loping over to the maiden sprawled on the ground, the creature licked his lips and began loosening his belt. This would be over all too soon. The light that had burned so brightly behind those soft brown eyes was all but gone now. She'd never lifted a finger, never uttered a word beyond her initial reaction to the Master's manipulations. He squat down next to her, shaking his head at her unresponsive face. Dead, she may as well be dead. A corpse. Grabbing a fistful of hair, the dragonkin yanked her into a sitting position and tilted her chin up with his other hand to make her look into his eyes.

"I want screams, my pretty. Screams and squirms." He trailed his fingers down, delighting in the way her body jerked and quivered on its own accord. "Yes, that's a start, my pretty," he chuckled, lowering his lips to her collar bone. "That's a start."

---

Pencaliel was hardly aware of the presence of the dragonkin, though the pain and flinches of her own body to his advances were enough to alert her that something was happening. Dull eyes rolled in her head, gazing down upon the scene as if she were floating above her body, and took in the grotesque form of the creature on top of her. He was... he was... preparing to.... No! They would take that from her as well? Instantly, her spirit snapped back into her body with a hint of a snarl. Voices cried out from all around her and within her, clenching to this sudden spark of life appearing in the maiden.

Fight!
Fight to preserve the Light!

'You have lost already. Failure.'

Fight!
Fight to preserve the Light!

'Will it end this way? Surrendering to fear without a protest? Selfish Coward.'

Fight!
Fight to preserve the Light!

'Will you sit by and do nothing to protect those you love? Traitor.'

Fight!
Fight to preserve the Light!

'Will you hand evil the victory? Back-stabbing Traitor!'

Traitor? Anger, white hot anger flared through her veins. She had failed everyone she held dear by walking blindly, by trusting blindly. Yes, she was a coward as well, always running at the first sign of conflict. Even selfish she could accept, knowing that it was her want to have someone to care for that jeopardized everything. But traitor? Never. She would die before betraying her loved ones, fighting until her very last breath. Yes, she would do anything to keep them from knowing this pain.

Slowly, her sluggish mind pulled out of the haze that surrounded it. Shudders wracked her body at the touch of the demanding fingers and hungry lips, but she focused all of her energy on not giving into the temptation to curl up and wish it all away. No. If she didn't fight, there was no way she could win. And without fighting, she may as well be a traitor. Now if only she could overpower the dragonkin.... Tingles raced along her back and under her legs where her skin made contact with the bare stones. Earthen magic. The energy in the stones was just sitting there, waiting for her to tap into them. To use them for something good. Pressing herself harder against the surfaces, she sought the energy currents and worked on drawing them into her body.

Now, Pencaliel had never summoned magic without the gems in her bracers before, had no idea she could work magic without the glowing stones. But as she reached out for the energy within the stones, the warm glow of magic stirred within her breast, trickling from the rock, through her body, and into her hands. The chains loosened from their anchor points on the wall, freeing her. Instinct took over, guiding her knee to the dragonkin's gut, her hands to his throat. In one fluid motion, she overturned the creature and smashed his head deep into the rock beneath them. The stone gaped willingly, accepting the squirming body and sealing around it.

The elf laughed-- a dark chuckle not at all resembling her carefree bubble-- as she got to her feet, pausing just long enough to kick her jailor-- eliciting muffled screams from the man as the crack of broken ribs echoed in the small chamber. "Screams and squirms, was it? Who's helpless now?" She kicked him once more, reveling in the strength flowing through her limbs. "Give that one to your master when he sees you next!"

There was still time to stop Malachi. He may be days ahead of her on his return to her forest, but she had the advantage of nature on her side. He could fly, but she could glide on the winds and turn them against him. With only a flick of her wrist the cell door flung open and indented into the wall, cracking the stone and allowing even more energy to escape the hard surfaces and flood to the Druid. Dashing out of her prison and down the hall, each footstep thundered down into the deeps, shaking the goblin cave to its very core with one small earthquake after another. Stones dislodged from the ceiling, falling helter-skelter but never in the Druid's path. They didn't dare disobey her.

Fire blazed in her eyes, fueled by the magic swirling within. A coward was she? A spineless, pathetic traitor was she? No, not anymore. Not with power like this coursing through her. Not with the entire mountain quaking with every footfall. She would destroy Malachi for his treachery once she made it out of here. If he even laid one finger on Wryn, she'd wring him in two! She would kill him, or die trying. A monster like that had no heart.

Pencaliel didn't even blink as she crossed paths with the pale man, swinging the chain dangling from her wrists around his ankles, sliding the shackles off herself and throwing them towards the ceiling where they fused with the rock. Without another thought, she ran right underneath him towards the tunnel exit.

 

[Kaisaan]

They'd found the trail once more, clear and crisp, and Nekia had to sprint to keep up with the half-blood as he took off for the malevolent presence he could feel as they drew near their destination. His wings took him soaring toward the chasm in the ground and Nekia wished there was a way she could stop him!

The earth was shaking, rumbling beneath her paws and it caused her fur to stand on end in alarm as she continued on toward the cave entrance, her long, lean legs eating up the distance until the ground heaved. The canine was sent flying with a yelp, rolling roughly before she came once more to her feet and scrambled to get to the entrance again. The very rocks themselves seemed determined to keep her from it, however, as she was sent tumbling once more and the last glimpse Nekia saw of Malachi, he was flying into the cavern.

Dammit!

--

Smells that were not smells, feelings that were not feelings, sounds that were not sound assaulted him upon entrance into the cave. His power provided him with an extra sense, a sixth-sense that was far more advance than any precognition of danger. He knew the evil that dwelled here, a familiar signature, a brand that he'd suffered the presence of for years upon years. He knew the unique feel of the darkness that brushed up against him like an arching cat seeking affection, wicked claws hidden until he let his guard down. He knew the taste of fear, blood, grief and anger in the air. He heard the chimes, the painful sounds of bitterness, betrayal and deception in the air.

It all became clear to him in but moments.

Who those emotions, sounds, scents came from sorted themselves out soon after and Malachi uttered a roar into the cavern, a combination of dark rage and promise to the one his hatred knew no bounds toward, and the other part a call. There was no true hope in the sound, merely expectation. She was coming and she was powerful, dark, furious. He accepted it without question. And he prepared himself for her wrath, the power within him coiling like a defensive snake. A viper.

The earth bucked beneath him and Malachi kept his feet, his wings providing the balance he needed. The stones that fell around him and the deafening rumble from the depth below didn't even seem to register. The stones were not a threat to him. She was and his concentration was on nothing else.

Nothing but the smell he knew, but the emotions and power he did not - but understood anyway - coming toward him.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Long ears perked and twitched at the distant sound of a roar echoing just up ahead. It sounded... familiar. Her eyes narrowed into slits. Malachi. He was here. Why? He was supposed to be collecting the Darkness, was he not? But she had no time to reason, no mental capacity to drag in logic, she must act on pure instinct or risk losing heart. Throwing her head back, Pencaliel answered his roar with a shout of her own, raising her arm to command the tunnel entrance to collapse. Her prey had conveniently arrived, and there was no way she would let him escape. No, she would end his threat today before any more damage could be done. Breaking into a full-out run, the Druid followed the murmurs of the mountain as it led her towards the exit.

Down one tunnel, up another, her feet flew faster until they reached the dark winged figure at the entrance, the torchlight casting eerie shadows over his body. At the sight of him, every last sliver of hope that this had all been a lie, that the memories of the stones had whispered true, melted into anger. His shadowed eyes, his black wings, his body language, it all confirmed that what the pale man said was true. Malachi had deceived her. He had used her. Abandoned her. Pencaliel skidded to a stop a few meters in front of him, melding the rock around her feet to add extra strength to her stance, not caring that she was exposed before this man who had brought her here to be shamed. She would not be so easily misled again.

But try as she might to call him out for his crimes against the world, against her forest, against honour, only one thing fell from her lips. Only one subject brought her voice through her panting breaths. Seeing his face, remembering how she had lovingly caressed those darkened features, shuddering at the recent agonizing caresses he had sentenced her to, her heart cried out before her fury could speak.

"I loved you!" she cried, tears of anger boiling just beneath the surface. "You spawn of darkness, do you really have no heart that you could so easily break mine?" The Druid clenched her fist and tugged a shower of rock from above Malachi's head. "Wasn't it enough for you to deliver me here? Wasn't it enough to subject me to the horrors of your people?" Two small boulders wrenched themselves from the cavern walls and hurled themselves towards the dragonkin. "Why did you have to have my heart, too? WHY!?" The ground bucked beneath them, Pencaliel unmoved as her feet balanced easily with the help of the stone wrapped around her ankles.

"You have one answer, Dragonkin, before I pull this mountain down on your head!"

 

[Kaisaan]

Seeing her, finally seeing the voice that had spoken his name so tenderly, the eyes he'd been able to feel like warmth from the sun, the fingers that had been so careful with his wings, seeing Pencaliel for all that she was stirred something, the faintest spark deep within the blackness that whirled inside his chest, within his very spirit. And then Malachi truly caught sight of the damage. The blood in dark brown hair, the bruises and livid marks on the naked body that stood before him, screaming out its agony, giving no time to focus on anything else even if he'd been inclined to.

And her eyes.

They held such anger, such volatile rage, hurt and betrayal....toward him.

The spark started to fizzle and then she spoke, words that made his heart lurch, the smallest kindling of hope starting to bloom from its tight cocoon....only to be crushed a moment later with only the first four words from the elf's mouth. Pain rippled through Malachi, a deep wrenching sensation that no torture had ever been able to elicit. The spark within him extinguished completely, leaving its faint light to die, consuming him in the darkness once more. It brought with it a chill so deep he could hardly feel, could hardly think and Malachi leaned into it, embraced it.

What more was left for him here?

He hardly heard the rest of the words, merely the tone, the anger....and the hurt. She didn't WANT him, but she still needed him whether she liked it or not. She was going to collapse sooner than she thought and she would need somewhere safe to be to recover. And then...then he would leave and he'd never come back. He'd been a fool to think any of this could work.

His father had been right. He was cursed and he'd remain cursed.

The shower of rocks over his head didn't even make the half-blood look up, his power lashing out, consuming it, turning the rocks into nothing but dust and he deflected the boulders hurled at him, using her own power against her as he drew on the energy in the air, surrounding the little elf. It was to make sure she didn't harm him as well as to ensure she didn't harm herself. Wings extended as the ground rolled, he remained upright and at Pencaliel's far more demanding tone, as if she spoke to someone beneath her, Malachi released a snarl that was more instinctive reaction than thought.

He came to the balls of his feet then, sensing, knowing just what kind of reaction he'd elicited in the volatile female before him. And perhaps he wanted her to react, to hurt him.

This was all his fault, even Pencaliel recognized that.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel was not sure what she wanted him to answer, if she would have believed him whatever that answer might have been. She was spared trying to figure that out, though, by the snarl that the creature uttered. He would not even speak to her in acknowledgement of what he'd done inside her heart. Had it all really been an act? Even... even the wings? No... Those beautiful, quivering white feathers? They couldn't... have been. Those beautiful, beautiful wings! So warm, so comforting, so... protective. Could he have wrapped her so tenderly without even the faintest hint of love? But if he had confessed a love just now for her, how could she even pretend to love the source of darkness standing in front of her?

'If he was hurting just as much as you...'

"How can he be?" she growled under her breath, dismissing the thought before it could tug at her conscience. "He brought this about!" Shifting her stance, the Druid held out her arms and threw one tremor after another along the tunnel path, seeking to catch the dragonkin off-balance.

"I won't let you complete your task!" she shouted. "I will see you buried here with me before I let you step one foot into my forest!" The entire cave seemed to shrink and expand at the rock maneuvering at the command of the Druid. Boulders tumbled toward the dragonkin as the ceiling began crumbling. She would collapse the tunnel, seal them inside. It was a fitting end, was it not? To be buried with the one who spurned her?

'But.... Mala....'

Her tears spilled over at last, running down her cheeks in rivers. How could she destroy her Mala, even as dark as he'd become? There was still the man she had fallen in love with in there somewhere. That flicker of emotion that crossed his face just now... there was something so resigned about it, as if he was asking for punishment. Why? Why would he not make the first move if he truly was against her as the pale man had said? Surely he would seek to at least incapacitate her before she could strike. And here...

Confusion filled her. He looked like the threat, but everything else, it was wrong, so very wrong. Hands falling to her sides, discarding the army of rock, the elf crumpled onto her knees and hung her head, "I can't... I can't kill you." Weariness seeped into her muscles as the magic bled out. "Am I so weak?" she whispered, "Am I so weak to love Mala still?"

 

[Kaisaan]

He was hard-pressed to keep his feet at the shudders that wracked the cavern floor and as his dark wings expanded to catch his pitching body, they were subject to battery from the falling debris above even as his power caught it coming toward him from other directions. A stone found the tip of his wing-bone and the half-blood roared out in pain that seemed to be drowned out by the thunder of the earth around them. And still, somehow Pencaliel's words reached him, confused him even as they stung and burned like wasps in a wound. He didn't understand what she meant, what she spoke of, but he understood the anger, the betrayal, the distrust and the grief.

He comprehended those, knew he was the cause and that was all Malachi knew he needed to know.

He brought suffering in his wake. He always would. He was darkness, night, a creature made of shadow and meant for nothing else. To try and embrace the light, to pursue it, to think that maybe, by some miracle it had accepted him, too, had rewarded him with the little elf who'd brought him happiness had been nothing more than a fool's dream.

Malachi knew he'd stop fighting now. He'd do as his father wanted, become something that didn't feel, that couldn't comprehend the all-consuming pain that ran through his veins, his lungs, his heart, his mind, his very soul. He would become a Vessel and he would fade away from Pencaliel's thoughts. She'd heal, mend and he'd be nothing more than a nightmare to her one day. As it should be.

But first, he had to get her to safety.

The half-blood wouldn't approach, though. Not for fear of Pencaliel herself, but for terror of hurting her, of somehow making everything worse than he already had. He didn't want her hurting and it killed him, hot claws raking through him that she was in pain at all, that he'd not been able to stop it. Her words couldn't be punishment enough for that crime and the half-blood wanted to let the rocks batter him until he was as black and blue as the little elf, but his power kept the most severe damage at bay and it kept taking from the Druid, lessening the intensity of her attacks....until she stopped altogether. Malachi felt a spike of raw fear then, his heart lurching into his throat, his feet moving forward a step, two before he stilled again, trembling at the thought that he'd caused her collapse, that he'd hurt her, gone too far.

Again.

He didn't hear her words, his heart pounding in his ears, but he heard Nekia as she came into the cave....and that's when Malachi realized it; he couldn't see anymore. The realization only lasted a moment, an insignificant moment before his every sense was straining toward Pencaliel, needing to know she was all right. The Guide moved past him, once again in her more human form and her words were soft to him, though, he barely registered their meaning.

"She will be fine, Malachi. It will all be fine."

The dark-haired, brown-skinned woman with the mismatched eyes came to Pencaliel then and without asking, simply picked the little elf up off the ground, cradling her. She was quick to speak, though, her words were soft and soothing, warm and full of light. "I've got you, little Druid. Let it go. Drift into sleep. You are safe now."

 

[Lady Alainn]

When Pencaliel's eyelids fluttered open again, she did not expect to be greeted by the warm rays of sun on her skin as she lay curled up in a meadow of sweet smelling grass. For a moment she thought she must be dreaming, but whether she opened her eyes or closed them the scene before her did not waver, did not change, nor did the scents lose their potency. The dark cave was gone-- the cold stone replaced by soft grass, a sweet breeze instead of the stench of goblins and twisted pleasure, and the sparkling waters of a lake glittered just on the other side of the hill. The pale man and his pet were also nowhere in sight. Hope stirred within her. Had... had the torment been only a nightmare?

Where... where was Mala? Hesitating only a moment, the elf propped herself up and instantly regretted the movement. Pain seared her body, her aching muscles protesting as the bruises and welts raged across her bare skin, bringing tears to her eyes and a strangled-sounding cry from her throat as she collapsed upon the ground once more. No, it hadn't been a dream. But how had she gotten here? Where was here? Was she alone? Pencaliel buried her head in her arms as recollections of her escape flitted in, her heart wrenching in two all over again at the memory of the changed dragonkin.

Anger had consumed her, that she remembered clearly, flaring through her veins and directing the might of the mountain upon the winged man. Malachi had come for her, whether to rescue her or finish her she did not know, and she'd tried to destroy him. But something had stayed her hand, a sapping of her power that she couldn't understand, a precious memory tucked within, perhaps a sliver of hope that he had come to protect her.

But there hadn't been only Malachi. Along with him had been a woman, a strange looking woman who had reminded the elf of the hound they'd met at Dillon's house. Pencaliel closed her eyes. Though she had struggled briefly with the woman-- not knowing if she were friend or foe-- crying out as the hands and arms encompassed her afflicted body, the words that settled like a warm quilt had quickly brought the elf into surrender. Safe, the woman had told her she was safe. What a foreign concept that seemed to the Druid now! Almost more than anything, she wanted to believe those words. How could she be safe with these dark emotions that had been introduced to her and worked her into a killing frenzy? How could she be safe alone, unprotected in the wild lands that held much worse than goblins? How could she even think of being safe when a dark monster was roaming freely, bent on unleashing the Darkness that she was supposed to be guarding?

Where were Malachi and the woman?

 

[Kaisaan]

Nekia knew when Peni was awake long before the elf gave her pained cry. All she had to do was watch Malachi. The half-blood had been in the lake, though out of sight of the little elf, and the hound noted when he stilled, when his head tilted and then snapped around to where they'd left the Druid. The sound of pain and grief seemed to slide a blade right through the white-haired male, his body stiffening, quivering with both the desire to run to the sound, to the elf and to flee.

The Guide watched for just a moment longer, waiting to see what would be decided before realizing there wouldn't be a decision. Not this time. Both urges were of equal strength, tearing the half-blood in two just as surely as the darkness still within him was trying to. The fear he'd felt for Pencaliel had taken his sight, stopped the free-flow of the Deyes'moro, but what still resided within him hadn't left, keeping his wings a midnight black. And Malachi shook with the intensity of the emotions within him, his soaked wings dripping water into the lake, disturbing its pristine surface, reflecting the chaos within the male himself. Nekia heard the whimper in his throat as she stood, a long, heartbroken sound that made the canine close her eyes in sympathetic pain before her body changed smoothly, quietly and she started toward the meadow.

"I will see to her, Malachi." was the gentle relief she gave the male as she passed him and Nekia hurried the rest of the way to the peaceful place she'd left the little elf to sleep.

The woman held up her hands just slightly as she approached, showing she had no weapon, meant no harm and her smile was like the rays of the sun itself, warm and reassuring as he mismatched eyes of brown and blue seemed to glow with the same intensity they always had when she as a canine. She came closer to the Druid and she crouched lithely beside Pencaliel, her hand coming out to touch the little elf's head with the same softness a mother dog would nose at her pups with. "Shh, you're safe now, little Druid. I know you don't feel it, but everything will be all right." Running gentle fingers over dark hair matted with blood and dirt, Nekia tilted her head just slightly in a very dog-like gesture of question.

"Would you like to bathe? There is someone down by the lake who would like to meet you."

Even as she spoke the words, Nekia knew she didn't speak of Malachi. The knowledge came to her swift and sudden, and the Guide felt relief sweep through her mind. Everything was going to be all right now.

--

He'd left the water when Nekia had gone, relatively clean - though, he couldn't see if he'd done a proper job - for the first time in weeks, but feeling like filth. The taint wasn't on his skin, but inside and the half-blood didn't know how to wash it away, how to rid himself of the feeling that he was slogging through sludge....and blood.

So much blood.

A shudder wracked his body and Malachi stilled, feeling the pressure of tears behind his eyes, the sobs contained in his chest. That's where they stayed, refused to be released. He wouldn't cry again. Not anymore. If he did, Pencaliel might come and he couldn't let her. Not again. She'd been tortured because of him, her innocence stripped away and her love for him burned into dust. No, he wouldn't let her near him. She was better without him, always had been and Nekia would stay with her. She wouldn't be alone. She could heal and forget him and that would be better.

And he....

"You will come home, Malachi. She doesn't want you anymore. You betrayed her and now you are alone." was the answering whisper, colder than ice as it seeped through him and the half-blood gave a choked sob before he swallowed back the despair, pushing it down, burying it as he started to let the darkness within take over once more.

And then he started to run.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Arms wrapped securely around herself, the elf stumbled down the hill towards the lake, hesitant but willing to trust that the woman who had soothed her spirit would not send her to someone who would hurt her more.

"Welcome, Caliel."

The Druid paused, her lips parting in shock that not only this man should know her name, but would call her by its intimate form. That was never done but in the privacy of the home amongst family, in the secrecy of the bedroom between husband and wife, and yet he called her by it as if he had every right to. Deep inside, the Druid knew he had that right, and it puzzled her.

"How... how do you know my name, sir?"

"I have known you for a very long time, Caliel," the man smiled-- his grey eyes soft, gentle, yet firm and commanding of respect. "Ever since you were knitted in secret in your mother's womb, your name has been well known to me. Can you not guess who I am?"

She gasped as puzzle pieces began clicking into place, her cheeks flaming as her hands flew to cover her nakedness. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to run. The Creator stood before her! She was about to turn, about to flee towards the refuge of the trees, when the softest of whispers floated by her.

"Caliel, you have no need to cover yourself. I have seen it all. I know it all. The pain you and Azonator share, it is not hidden from me."

She turned back to the man with a questioning look, "Azonator?"

"You have called him Mala."

Malachi... Mala had a name. Why this knowledge touched Pencaliel so deeply, so profoundly after she'd sworn him off, she couldn't say. Suddenly, she found herself weeping openly. Mala had a name. Mala was a person and he had a name. As she wept, she walked closer to the man by the lake shore, drawn by the soothing presence. He opened his arms gladly, folding her in their warm embrace. When her tears had more or less subsided, she lifted her head from his chest and sought his face.

"Mala... he's in pain? Why?"

The Creator ran a hand through her hair in a comforting gesture and loosened his hold on her though he did not let her go completely. "I will show you," he whispered, moving his hand to her temple. "Take heart, my Caliel." With a gentle pressure from his fingers, the elf was transported to that day with the goblins. Her memories pulled in, filling the details from her side even as she watched the scene unfold from Mala's perspective.

Pencaliel felt herself sinking out of the embrace of the Creator and onto the sand, moaning with despair and grief, wanting to hide from the vision playing before her eyes. He'd only wanted to protect her. She'd betrayed him. One hand wrapped around the wrist of the other, twisting along the chafed skin as surely as she had twisted the knife into Mala's back. The black wings, the pain, the rage, the grief, she'd caused it all with her selfishness. And yet he'd still come for her when she was in need. A fresh batch of tears flooded her eyes again as sobs wracked her body, guilt and shame more powerful than what the pale man had inflicted upon her tearing apart at her insides. Still the vision played on, following Mala and Nekia along their trail to the caverns. She knew what was coming next. Those words, those horrid, undeserved words!

"Please," Pencaliel whimpered, "Please, I cannot bear to see more. Please, make it stop. Please..."

The man knelt down next to her, his hand settling on her head as his gentle voice washed over the distraught elf. "Caliel, I show you this not to pain you, but so that you may understand. You must seek to forgive yourself. What was said, what was done, it cannot be re-written, but you will never move past this into freedom if you do not learn to forgive yourself as I have forgiven you."

"But... I have lost everything, how can I be free even if I learn to forgive myself? I am no longer pure!"

"Did you give your purity to them? Your light?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion and she stuttered, "They-they t-took it."

"But did you give it?" he asked more insistently.

After a pause for thought, she shook her head. "N-no."

"Then it is still within you." The man smiled and brushed her cheek with his fingers, the simple action flooding her body with a warmth and love she thought she'd never feel again. Pencaliel leaned into his hand, soaking up the intoxicating touch as it washed away the filth and grime of the pale man's work. "No one can take that which you will not give," he continued, his fingers caressing each and every place the vile touch had wandered, withdrawing the infection from her body and absorbing it into his own.

"Your naive innocence was beautiful and worth guarding, my Caliel, but you let fear rule you. I created you not to fear, but to love as I have loved, and love without abandon. Faith Giver you are, and a giver of faith I made you. This faith is not just for others, Caliel, but you must learn to accept faith for yourself. Have faith in your abilities, in your companions, and if you find your courage failing, remember your faith in me. I have placed you where you are for a reason, the Light has been bestowed upon you for a reason, and I gave Azonator into your care for a reason. Have you no faith in me to work beauty from ashes?"

Throwing herself at the feet of the Creator, Pencaliel clung to his leg and wept. "Forgive me," she sobbed, "Please forgive me. I will have faith from now on, I trust you. Give me this beauty from my ashes!"

Gently bending over her, the man cupped her face in his hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Then come, my Caliel, and wash in the lake. Be cleansed and whole once again."

--

As Pencaliel stepped out from her bath in the lake, water streaming and glistening down her cleansed body, she held out her arms and admired the smooth, unblemished skin, gratitude and awe filling her with a sense of security and peace that she knew she would never give up no matter how bleak or dire a situation may be. And now, she knew what that kind of situation looked like. Not only did her bath remove the wounds from her body, but her eyes reflected the refreshment her soul had received. They would never flash with the same sweet innocence of blissful ignorance again, but a gentle wisdom had replaced it, giving a new light to her eye that surpassed the beauty of how they'd looked before.

The Creator approached her as she drew out of the water and stood upon the shore again.

"What will you do with your freedom, Caliel?" he asked gently. "Will you share it with Azonator? Or build yourself another life?"

Pencaliel bit her lip and looked down at her toes, unable to bring her eyes to the piercing yet kind gaze resting upon her. What would she do? Would she go back, reject the calling of the Creator? Or would she accept this second chance he was offering her? Try to make things right with Mala, to lead him back into the Light, towards the waiting arms of the Creator. No one could take from her that which she would not give.

'Will you give Mala to the Darkness?'

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Pencaliel raised her eyes to the man's, a fierce mixture of determination and love shining through. "Mala and I belong together," she declared "and I will not give him up." Relief poured through her, strengthening her, as the Creator nodded his head, a smile playing about his lips.

"Then Caliel, I would ask you to bestow this gift upon Azonator when you find him. It is time he see through the Light."

 

[Kaisaan]

Nekia knew he was gone the moment they got to the lake.

The peace that had swept over her threatened to shatter in the wake of worry, a sudden, dreadful desperation to find the one she had been assigned to, but a calm voice stayed her swift feet, just as it had many times in the past. "Stay your haste, Nekia. It is not for you to bring him back." It was true that the woman could see the Creator with Pencaliel, knew that He was speaking with the little elf, but who would dare limit what the Lord of All could do?

Speaking to two individuals at once hardly seemed like a challenge to Him.

"I am worried for him."

A brush of warmth against her mind accompanied the soft and yet somehow thunderous voice this time, a tone as vast as the sea and gentle as the washing waves upon a shore. It was a voice Nekia knew well. "I know, daughter, and he shall be helped, but not by you. Not yet. Have patience, have faith."

Nekia whimpered softly, not liking the response, but reassured by it nonetheless and in lieu of going after the half-blood, she instead darted back up to the meadow to retrieve Pencaliel's cloths. She would want them when she finished bathing. And then...then they would find Malachi.

---

He ran without seeing, but not without direction. The dark force within pulled at him, relentless already in its demand for him to follow, to come to his destination far quicker than wings or feet could carry him. It led him, but it did not help him, did not keep him from the branches that tore at his wings, slashed his face and arms, nor did it guide him from the rocks that cut his feet, the logs and sticks that sent him sprawling only for the insistent pull to make him rise again.

Malachi didn't stop, didn't try to make his flight easier for he felt as if every pain was justified punishment for what he'd done. The agony he would face when he came back to his people would only just begin to touch on what he felt he deserved. He'd hurt Pencaliel and that...that was unforgivable. He was a spawn of darkness, a monster, a creature without a heart. There would be no penance that could erase his sins and the darkness knew it.

You are nothing.

No...

Monster. Evil. Scatha.

Malachi whimpered, stumbled.

Alone. You are alone.

Peni...

Weak. Unwanted. Unloved.

His body hit a tree, stopping his mad flight, the trunk supporting his shuddering frame as his claws dug into the bark and he tasted blood. He tried to block out the words, but they would not be ignored. Tried to think of anything else, to picture the face of the one who used to love him, but there was only darkness.

You are Scatha. Scatha to the Deyes'moro.

Malachi lost the will to stand, sliding down to the ground where his black wings closed in around him, a futile effort to keep out what had already gained roots within and the darkness hissed its glee, a caressing whisper in his ear, a cold touch in his heart, a numbing, terrifying force upon his spirit as it wrapped its deadly coils about him, sensing the last of the half-blood's resistance fading away into nothing.

Son of Deyes'sheo. You belong to us.

He screamed then, a dark, guttural, heart-shattering sound from the depths of himself and yet Malachi couldn't hear it, not above the laughter of the shadows that lurked within. The pull snapped taunt again, giving him no time to breathe, no time to process the gut-wrenching pain as he was almost forced to his feet, drawn into a run again to a place he'd never wanted to go.

To a destiny he didn't know how to escape.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Clothed once more in her garments woven by loving paws, in her right mind for the first time in two days, and in a right spirit for the first time since she could remember, Pencaliel felt ready to face the beast Mala had turned into. A few days ago she would not have thought this possible, that she could pursue that which drenched her in fear. Fear was not her ruler anymore, though. Not anymore. Faith, she would cling to her faith and with it, love.

Palm outstretched, she flew on the wings of the wind, her voice bouncing off of tree, rock, and a thin trail of darkness as the musical notes swelled and receded in her chest. Thick, black tendrils snaked in and out of the faint trail she was following. Pain, he was in such pain and it was all her fault. Guilt reared its ugly head, adding a falter to her step as it weighed down her heart. Grief followed in its wake, slowing her pace. It was all her fault.

But that was in the past. She was bound by it no more! Forgiveness had come freely from her Creator and now it welled inside herself, pushing the consuming guilt and grief out of her heart until it had no hold on her. She would make things right, she would spend the rest of her life making it right if Mala would let her. She would beg for his forgiveness and they would both bury it and leave it forgotten. If he could forgive her.

Pencaliel added a hint of love into her song, sending it farther than the other notes even though it was the weakest, hoping it would reach Mala and give him hope. Not much more than a whisper of love could she add to her song, even though she yearned to flood the notes with her heart, for she knew Mala's body would not reflect it in his present state. It was more important to find him now than to confess her changed heart.

Birds shrieked and scattered from the treetops as a blood-curdling scream echoed in the forest, quite close to her actually, and produced goosebumps on her arms. Mala's cry. What was happening? The elf deviated only slightly off from the trail, heading straight towards the source of the agonized cry. There... there against a tree, she could just make out black wings sheltering a body in her mind's eye. Her heart pounded in her chest as her Second Sight faded away and replaced the magic in her lungs with air.

"Mala!" she cried out as the dark form of her friend bounded away. "Mala, please stop! Come back! Mala!"

If she could just get closer to him, reach out and touch him, even if it were only a feather. If she could just throw her arms around him and never let go. Never. Though she had approached her threshold, she pushed herself even further in her attempt to reach the dragonkin before he could disappear on her. Not again, she would not lose him again. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air, knowing that she didn't have much left to give. The distance between them closed slowly, gaining more ground on the fleeing male as he stumbled over a fallen log. When Pencaliel reached it, she jumped on top of it and vaulted into the air, throwing herself towards the retreating back.

For a few seconds she thought she would miss him, but he stumbled again and her body smacked against his back, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck in a tight embrace.

 

[Kaisaan]

He was deaf to her voice, deaf to anything but the malicious whispers that caressed his soul and made waves of unbearable pain spread throughout his body and deeper, much deeper to a place that made everything he was shudder in a wordless cry of despair and hopelessness so profound he couldn't even voice it. He wouldn't have known how to start, what the first word would be for something so profound that it could make him long for death just to escape it. Even then he knew he wouldn't find relief. He belonged to Deyes'sheo. He would never be free of it, not even in death.

Malachi knew he'd be tormented for eternity. This was only the beginning.

He no longer felt the damage the forest was doing to his body, no longer registered the physical pain or the blood that was rapidly cooling on his skin until a fresh supply wet it again. He could hardly understand the weariness that made his limbs so heavy and caused him to nearly fall more than once. All he knew was that he couldn't stop. He didn't dare stop.

And then that was suddenly exactly what he was doing.

The contact drove the air out of his lungs and sent his body careening forward, off balance already and now completely beyond stabilizing. Still, instinct kicked in before thought could and Malachi's clawed hands found the grasp around his neck even as his knees found the ground. One of his hands had located the shirt of the attacker and with a swift yank, he had the figure tumbling from his back, landing on their own with an unpleasant impact, leaving just enough time for his free hand to break some of his fall before his face hit the ground. Malachi barely gave himself or his attacker enough time to gather air again before he was moving, adrenaline surging through his veins and the darkness screaming its rage in his head.

His fangs were bared in a bloodcurdling snarl, his hand closing around the throat of the person who'd slammed into him before the scent hit his nose. Every nerve in Malachi's body froze, keeping him hovered over the body beneath him, keeping his hand from tightening, only a slight pressure right now, kept his claws from puncturing skin and it nearly kept him from breathing.

He knew that scent. Pencaliel.

Malachi moved off of her as if he'd been burned, horror washing over his face as he struggled to comprehend what he'd just done, why she was here, what was happening. Why was she here? He'd....he'd left! He'd left to protect her. Why was she here? Had he run the wrong way? Had she....was she here to take revenge? Did....did she need that? Would it make her better? What....what did she want? He'd TRIED to make it right! He'd run, he'd left her safe with Nekia.

What was she....had he done something.....why?

"I'm sorry! Sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry....sorry..." The words came in whimpering sounds and Malachi cowered before the little elf, his entire body shaking violently like a leaf in a storm. Sobbing breaths were all he could manage, but he wouldn't cry as he curled his wings inward protectively as if he expected a blow. It wouldn't have surprised Malachi to feel one and he would have accepted it, his entire demeanor completely broken. It hadn't happened for Kontaro, not for his father, not for his instructors. It had taken nothing but the little elf before him to undo the half-blood completely.

And he was undone.

There was no resistance in him, no hope, no light left in his gold eyes. They were as hollow as he felt inside, as broken as he was.

"I didn't mean.....I didn't know....please, I didn't....I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The choked sobs in his voice nearly drowned out Malachi's words and he curled tighter into himself, his arms wrapping around his body in a futile attempt to stop the shudders, to stop the cold that wouldn't leave, to shield against the mocking, hissing whispers within, never silent, tormenting his every thought, every emotion.

"I'll go! I won't hurt you again. I'm sorry! I'll go....I'll go....don't want me.... I'm sorry...." It was a pleading whisper, hoarse with tears unshed and Malachi started to rise, to force himself to his feet, desperate to flee. To escape the pain that would never leave, the guilt that would forever torment him and the memory of the rich brown eyes that had looked at him with such anger and betrayal.

No, he was alone now and he deserved to be alone.

 

[Lady Alainn]

She knew what she might get herself into by tackling the dragonkin, had been prepared for the startled male to hurt her, but that knowledge still didn't prepare her for the sudden jerk that ripped him out of her arms and slammed her onto the ground. The elf hit with a sickening thud and she felt all of her air escape her lungs with a squeak as the clawed fingers of her friend gripped her throat. Strangely enough she felt no fear from the snarling man, only panic that he was too far gone to even recognize her, that she was too late.

Then the fingers were gone, freeing her airway and she gagged as air and relief rushed in. He still knew her. Thank goodness, oh thank the Creator! He wasn't gone. Mala's words then registered in her head. He cowered, heaping blame on himself, even now when she'd been the one to instigate his reaction, acting as if she'd backed him into a corner. She hadn't meant to distress him!

"No!" she wheezed as soon as her breath returned to her. Slowly, grunting with exertion, she rolled over onto her stomach to face the trembling form of the dragonkin. It made her sick to see him like this, the strong male brought so low, and for a moment she thought she might wretch, but she didn't. "Mala, it's okay! I didn't know any other way to get your attention. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you! It's okay. You didn't hurt me."

But he was apologizing still, backing away from her and getting to his feet to run, three little words amidst the whimpering tearing her heart to pieces. No! He was wanted, he was loved, even more so now. He couldn't leave yet! Not until she could set things straight. Crawling over to him before he could flee, Pencaliel instinctively wrapped her arms around a leg and pulled herself up against the dragonkin, burying her face against the torn and dirty fabric of his pant leg . He was so broken, her Mala, and it was her fault, all her fault.

How her heart ached to see him like this when only a few days before he had been laughing. The little elf would do anything, go anywhere, to hear that sound again. To see the happiness of her amadae ka return to banish the emptiness of his haunted eyes.

"Mala, you have never hurt me," she said softly, tilting her face up to look at his, her tone warm, gentle, imploring. "Any pain I have gone through has been my own doing, but I am better now." Here she had to pause to blink back tears and let the half-sob in her voice settle before she could continue. "I-I let fear take you from me. I let the enemy whisper lies about you and believed in them instead of in you. I caused you undeserved pain and there is nothing I regret more than fleeing when you needed me most. Oh my Mala, I come not to demand anything of you, but to beg for your forgiveness!"

Her tears fell freely now, though she had done everything in her power to stop them. She did not want to guilt him with wet cheeks, but to hold back her heart from him was proving more and more difficult. Oh, how she longed to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him to her breast! To cradle him and soothe him and whisper of her adoring affections for him! But she must not overwhelm him, must not push him further away with her eagerness to be forgiven, to be taken back under the protection of his wings.

This was his decision, his call, and she must allow him the option of leaving as much as that would pain her. If he turned her away, if the damage she'd caused was too great for him to overcome, she would simply follow him to the ends of the earth.

He wasn't alone. She'd promised him that and her word she would keep until her last breath.

Gently tucking her head against his knee, she closed her eyes and held on tightly, heart pounding in her chest, breath baited as she waited for his answer. Would he accept her again? Would he turn her away? Would he even be able to forgive her? If... if he could, she had two very precious gifts to give him-- one of them from the Creator of all-- and how her heart would rejoice to bestow them! He must... he must at least have enough light left in him still to forgive her. Otherwise the Creator would not have entrusted her with this gift, would he? Hope ever so quietly kindled within her breast.

"...forgive me... my Mala... please..."

 

[Kaisaan]

Her words weren't being understood, not through the howling of the darkness in his mind, blocking out everything, especially anything from the Light of Heaven that could ruin everything it had accomplished with but a beckoning finger from her to the half-blood. Malachi didn't hear the words, but there was nothing that could stop Pencaliel's touch from breaking past the swirling pain and despair within him. Feeling her arms around his leg stopped the half-blood immediately so that he nearly froze and he stared down at the little elf with wide, dilated, unseeing eyes, shocked, uncertain what to do....but feeling the most intense longing just collapse beside her, to feel the comfort of her gentle fingers once more.

He was terrified of doing so in the same breath.

What if it was a trap? Nothing more than a cruel trick to make him suffer for what he'd done? That very thought made Malachi's mind screech to a sudden halt, instant and savage protest rising up within him. No! No, Pencaliel was light, good, pure, kind, beautiful, special! She was EVERYTHING he was NOT and could never be! Not even in his darkest moments would he think so ill of her! Malachi practically snarled the inner words and the Deyes'moro knew it had made a mistake as something it had not expected rose up within the half-blood; protectiveness and an unfailing knowledge that no matter what Malachi himself was, the little elf was everything he'd thought her to be and that would not change.

Malachi could not have known it, didn't feel it, but a surge of white overtook his wings, sweeping along the feathers for just a moment before it faded again...but left them lighter than they had been. His body continued to tremble but he'd somehow gotten a glimpse of clarity through the shadows and Malachi grasped it, terrified it would slip away, but just as determined that it would not. No, it would lead him to Pencaliel, the little elf who's touch was like an anchor to his soul, drawing it back from the eternal darkness it had nearly tumbled into.

He still struggled to comprehend her words, hearing them but not truly understanding just yet, but her tone spoke more than her sentences could and Malachi, like a feral animal, listened to that first, let her voice lull the panicked, desperate fear within him. He WANTED to be soothed, had never wanted to run, to feel such pain. He'd only wanted to protect the treasure at his feet and it had gone horribly wrong. He'd hurt her, but now.....now she was here and there was no yelling anymore, no threats this time, only comforting touch.

And the smell of tears.

She was crying! Why was she crying?! Was she hurt? Had he done something? Why.....why hadn't her voice changed? She was crying, but she was calm? Still soothing? He...didn't understand.

'Then listen. You who have the heart to hear, open your ears and hear!'

It was a voice unlike any he'd ever heard and Malachi started slightly, his breath hitching at the profound ache that came to his chest then, a longing he couldn't understand in the least. The voice had woken it, stirred it within him and with the voice had come a glimmer of light. Malachi gave a sob to see it, the tears finally pricking his eyes as it seemed his ears were suddenly opened and he was able to comprehend Pencaliel's words, their meaning. White surged over his wings one more, lingered, faded, turning the feathers gray under the light of the trees.

She was....taking the blame? Why? It-

Was your fault. You hurt her. You betrayed her.

Malachi faltered. Had he? Pencaliel had said that the enemy had whispered lies. I....she says-

She lies! the voice thundered and the half-blood flinched back as the darkness expanded, seeking to devour what little resistance he'd managed to gain. He felt fear wash over him....and then there was a glow of warmth that touched his chest, spread slowly from there, like spring sunlight melting the snow of winter and Malachi opened mental eyes to a world of gentle, glowing light. The first voice came from that brilliance then, soft and powerful as it wrapped around him, as unfamiliar as it was yearned for.

'Into darkness you were born. In darkness you were raised. Yet you are a Voice of Truth, Azonator, and in truth shall you be set free.'

Clarity came then, so suddenly that Malachi began to weep with it as he felt the darkness start to evaporate like fog before daybreak, to flee from the light that did not expand, did not grow...but neither did it leave. That was enough for the half-blood, more than enough as he slowly sank to his knees, forcing the little elf to release him. Just as soon, however, his hands were finding her face, uncertain at first, scared of harming her with his claws, but cradle her head they did and Malachi shook his head. "I can't." He barely breathed the words, unable to stop the shaking, unable to stop the tears. He struggled with even getting two words out, but knew he had to finish. For Pencaliel's sake. For the beautiful, brave, inspiring little elf who'd done more for him than she could ever comprehend.

"I can not forgive an offense that does not exist. I never held anything against you, my Pen'neth. There is nothing to forgive." His forehead found hers then and Malachi drew in her scent like a drowning man might air. "There is nothing to forgive."

 

[Lady Alainn]

"You silly man, now you're making me feel even more guilty," she laughed through her tears, profound relief and joy flooding her soul as she leaned against his forehead, "but I suppose that is as good a punishment as any so I will not argue with you." Pencaliel brought her hands up to lovingly tuck a few tickling white strands of hair behind his ears, then after a moment of hesitation her arm brushed across his shoulder so she could touch the light grey feathers on his upper wing. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as her hand retreated to rest on his cheek again. She missed the white. But hopefully… her eyes widened as excitement coursed through her veins. Of course! The Creator's gift! She'd been so caught up in repairing their relationship she'd almost forgotten…

Pencaliel slid her hands around Mala's and gave them a quick squeeze of pressure before moving them from around her head to his lap as she drew back from him. "I have something for you!" she exclaimed, unable to contain neither the beaming smile nor the laughter lilting in her voice. Frankly, she didn't care to anyway.

"I was given this from someone important to pass on to you, but first you have to close your eyes," she playfully commanded, sitting up on her knees and clapping her hands with glee. "Come now, close them! No peeking." When she was satisfied that his eyes were indeed closed, the elf placed her thumbs on his temples and cleared her throat before proceeding in a voice that thundered with authority—a hint of a male's tone just below the surface of her own sweet pitches.

"Azonator, son of Avanesse, your time of wandering in darkness has come to an end. Henceforth, may the Light illuminate your path! Though darkness pursue you, may you rise above it and overcome. May you find fellowship where you least expect it and acceptance among all peoples. May you always have a place to rest your head and never be refused a place of refuge. May those who bless you be blessed and may those who curse you be cursed tenfold. Now, Azonator, in the name of the Creator, I release you!"

With the last three words, Pencaliel pressed her thumbs firmly against his temples before releasing him completely. Giddiness bubbled all throughout her until she realized what just happened. Mala would be able to see her now!

"Eee! Don't look yet. Please…" Suddenly very nervous, Pencaliel sat back on her heels and tried adjusting her blouse, but with her trembling fingers she could not manage to keep the lop-sided collar on both shoulders. Huffing in frustration, Pencaliel gave up and combed a section of hair over her bare shoulder before shoving her hands between her thighs to hide their shaking.

"O-Okay. You can open your eyes now."

The elf wasn't quite sure what to do with herself once Mala's eyes met her own. She coloured, she chewed her lip, she bounced in anticipation, she averted her gaze, she giggled, and she about died of curiosity. Clasping her hands together and raising them to her breast, the elf tucked her chin against them and smiled shyly at the dragonkin. "Well? What do you think? Will you keep me?"

 

[Kaisaan]

He wanted nothing more than to lean into her hand, but Malachi restrained himself. For all that had happened to stop the darkness rising within him, to bring light back to his spirit, he was still unsure what he was allowed to do and not. Only a few hours ago the little elf had been trying to kill him and the day before that she'd run from him, and a week before that she'd not wanted him to touch her. He held no grudge, no bitterness or anger for her actions - he'd been telling the truth; there was nothing to forgive - but that didn't mean he forgot, and it was in that remembering, whether he wanted to or not, that Malachi had learned that Pencaliel could be unpredictable in emotional states.

The last thing the half-blood wanted to do was scare her again or drive her away, not when he'd just gotten her back by some miracle he could not even comprehend.

But still, he could not help the shiver her gentle fingers elicited, nor the way his wing moved just slightly, as if to follow her retreating hand before he consciously made it still. He instead forced his attention to what Pencaliel was saying even as she moved his hands from her face, causing a flare of worry than he'd done something she'd not liked....only for confusion to take its place.

Close his eyes? No peeking? Was she teasing him? Mocking? No, no there was no malice in the Druid's tone, only excitement, but still Malachi could not understand her instructions. Nor what she could be talking about when she spoke of being given something to pass to him. Who would want to give him something? When had Pencaliel met someone? Was she speaking of Nekia? He didn't understand,but complied with what she wanted.

He jolted at her first words, not just as the tone of her voice, the oddness of it, but more for the name she called him.Azonator. The voice had said that name! How...HOW did Pencaliel know of it? And his mother! Malachi's eyes nearly flew open at the mention of her, but just as suddenly as he felt the urge to do so, it seemed almost that he couldn't, as if some force gently kept his lids lowered, too heavy to lift. So Malachi was made to listen and the more he heard, the more he failed to realize just what it was she was doing, what she was giving him. It was too big, to important, too uncertain a concept for his frazzled mind to accept, not without complete clarity as to the truth of the idea.

It was only when she bid him keep his eyes closed, not to look yet that the half-blood started to comprehend.

He felt the breath in his lungs catch, a hope so powerful and yet equally as uncertain rising within him, making him shake in anticipation as much as fear. Did she-? Had she meant-? Had it only been a slip of the tongue? Or...or had she meant it? Done something? Could he-?

Malachi's thoughts wouldn't form, wouldn't stay, swirling within his mind like a storm, and yet, above it all he heard every little sound Pencaliel made from her shuffling to the frustrated puff of air that left her mouth when something obviously did not go her way. He could smell the nervousness on her, but strangely enough, it did not make him wary, nor more alert to danger. It only made him far more certain of what he dared not ask aloud.

His eyes opened, given permission to do so, and color exploded over his senses. It made his eyes water, brought a load of impute he knew and yet had been without for so long it was overwhelming at first. Greens, browns, blue, a flash of red, a dash of white and other colors besides worked themselves slowly into shapes, into objects. Leaves, trees, sky, berries, his hair.....Pencaliel. She captured his gold eyes immediately, just as she'd done the first time, but now he was not feral and she...she was not injured, not set out to kill him, not out of her mind with pain and shame, grief and rage.

She was beautiful, completely breathtaking and he couldn't help but stare at her. He took in details he'd not before, lingered over the place the bell in her ear had been - a sound he'd heard often - but now only containing a tear and the rich shade of her hair, the unblemished perfection of her skin, the slightness of her stature and her eyes. He met the little elf's enchanting, light-filled brown eyes and felt tears fill his own at viewing the life that had come back to them, so different from the last time he'd looked upon her. His vision blurred and Malachi blinked the moisture away, hardly aware that the tears ran down his face, not when there was something so much better to be focused on.

And it wasn't even the fact that he could see.

His hand moved, trembling helplessly as he brushed his knuckles against the elf's cheek, looking at her with utter wonder and devotion. "I will never let you go." was the whispered answer and Malachi knew he'd never meant anything more.