Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Index:

1. High Hopes Low Will to Live Index/Note (You Are Here)
2. Prologue—The Eye(s of Notre Dame) of Azura
3. Chapter One—A Reunion of the Worst Kind
4. Chapter Two—In Which a Prophecy is Rapped (?)
5. I Pulled a Sneaky On Ya (Chapter 2.5)
6. Chapter Three—We Have to What Now?
7. Chapter Four—It’s the Final Chapter (epic kazoo intro)

+++

Note:

TWs should be in tags. Also, I joined the discord so yay.

This whole thing was written so that y’all could get the whole story at one time, so consider yourselves lucky. My other chaptered fics (both of which are Teen Wolf) have been on hiatus for almost a month. Thanks to BubbleDramatically for one of the ideas that involved an awesome sketch of Malark wearing Paddy’s mask after the events of “High Hopes High Sacrifice” (which I really hope you’ve read because otherwise you won’t understand any of this). Some of this fic is part of me experimenting w/dynamics for my own projects (I know, I said I was going to take a break from fanfic but when I don’t write I get antsy it’s bad).

And now for the “screaming”. Skip this if you so wish.

SO APPARENTLY MALARK’S VOICE ACTOR/CREATOR/PLAYER GOT WIND OF THE SERIES (THE ONE THAT I’M WRITING) AND LET ME TELL YOU I AM NOT GOOD WITH COMPLIMENTS AND SHARING MY IDEAS BECAUSE I RUSH STUFF [THIS WAS WRITTEN IN LIKE, FOUR DAYS] SO WHENEVER I GET ANY COMMENTS AT ALL I GET ALL FLUTTERY AND NERVOUS BUT THIS IS ON A WHOLE DIFFERENT LEVEL. IT’S JUST AS COOL, DON’T GET ME WRONG, BUT LIKE—

YEAH.

AND I KNOW THIS IS HARDLY AN APPROPRIATE PLACE TO VENT EXCITEMENT CONSIDERING THIS ISN’T EXACTLY PRIVATE BUT I AM FANBOYING TO THE MAX HERE. LIKE ALMOST CAFFEINATED SQUIRREL EATING ADRENALINE-AND-SUGAR-LACED COFFEE BEANS LEVEL.

AND WITH THAT, LET’S START THIS FIC!

Chapter Text

          They didn’t know where they were or what had happened, only that they had to run.

          Around their scaled neck hung a sizeable chunk of blue crystal. In the adolescent moonlight streaming through the gaps in summer leaves, it seemed to glow with brighter and darker stripes. White flecks almost like stars or seafoam crashed through the fractured surface, catching the light. The crystal itself was tied to a leather band around their neck. The girl had placed it there, told them to run, then left. That had been hours ago. Now, the moon was just above the horizon, glowing in all its tranquil existence.

          Something was wrong with them. Their limbs felt off, elongated and forcing them to scramble on all fours across churned-up mud and wet ferns. Dew-coated grasses raked their gold-scaled underbelly and chest, and gleaming turquoise eyes darted from one tree to the next as if expecting monsters to attack. Their body was scarred, but from what they couldn’t be sure.

          They couldn’t remember what had happened.

          They couldn’t remember what they were, if they were anything at all.

          They couldn’t remember who they were.

          They couldn’t remember.

          Those three words and their inability to voice them were terrifying. Not in the way of shadowed halls and sounds in the night, however. No, these were terrifying in the dreadful uncertainty of a lost identity. A name dancing just out of reach, laughter and faces echoing into dim nothings as they themself vanished from the thoughts, minds, and hearts of loved ones.

          Though they did not have the words for it, that terrified them.

          And so they ran, unsure where their clawed talons were headed…if they even had a destination at all.

+++

          They had been aimlessly travelling for five days when they found refuge.

          The town was small—so small it could barely be considered a town or settlement at all. There were maybe five houses, a tavern mixed with an inn, and a church. The last building apparently doubled as a schoolhouse. Still, it was enough for them. Both they and their horses were exhausted.

          When they’d first seen the beasts, she had worried that they were too conspicuous. Both mares were spotted. One was almost entirely white with black spots like a dog, black in her mane and tail, on her legs, and over nearly the entirety of her face except for a white spot between her eyes. The other had a white mane and tail and a patch of the same colour on her haunches, with large brown spots, as well as a thick stripe of white down her muzzle. She was heftier as well (at first, the pair of travellers worried that she might be expecting, but she wasn’t).

          He had shrugged the concerns off, saying the only attention they’d get would likely be from the circus. Reluctantly, she had agreed (they had a limited amount of money and couldn’t afford walking without a mount, anyways). He had been right, though neither had admitted to it.

          After putting the horses in the tavern stables (and being extremely grateful that it doubled as an inn), they went to get something to eat. Sure, it wasn’t the best food, but both had grown less picky over the time since…since they had left. Food was food (so long as it wasn’t poisoned).

          As they ate, a rather curious group bustled instead, some laughing and others not but all limping or injured somehow. Not one was unscathed, except perhaps a green-haired dwarf who immediately stumbled over to the bar (as if she wasn’t drunk enough already). They were a rather odd group—a sun elf, a blue-haired half elf with a bow, a wizard with a scar over one eye and a plump green pseudodragon gnawing on bacon as it nestled in his hat, two dragonborn (one white, one black, and the latter seemed at best apathetic towards the former), a moon elf with metal horns, two genasi, a goblin, and an assassin with bandaged arms. Despite their vast differences, they seemed to be a family, not just a group. The white dragonborn clapped the assassin on the back, saying something with a puppy-dog smile that would have been cute if not for another detail. It wasn’t about him, though.

          No, it was about the assassin.

          At first glance, he seemed nondescript. Inconspicuous in every way, even with his startlingly, icy-blue eyes. No, the detail she noticed didn’t belong to him. The item dangled around his neck, cracks spread across the wooden surface. It had been mended with what appeared to be gold, and she knew she was clearly staring.

          Looking up from his food, her brother frowned. “What are you—” A young woman walked by, catching his attention simply by moving, and went to talk to the group. She paused by the assassin, speaking quietly to him.

          The spoon in her brother’s hand clattered into the bowl. Something stirred in her as the quiet clinks echoed in the tense silence between them. As she stared, memories swirled and crashed like waves on a rocky shore, angry and loud and pained. She knew the owner of that object. However, this man was not him—yet he wore it like some sort of macabre victory. Like some victory spoil of an epic battle.

          He was wearing a Whitlaw mask.

Chapter Text

          “Where did you get that?”

          The wood elf had slammed Malark into the wall, fists wrapped in his cloak to hold him up. Strands of dark hair dangled into her face where they had come loose from a messy bun. In her shockingly-familiar green eyes, tears pricked the edges and fire blazed full-force. She looked painfully familiar, but Malark couldn’t (didn’t want to) place it, exactly.

          It had been two months since Paddy died, sacrificing himself for the rest of High Hopes. They had saved the town by getting the Eye of Azura to its rightful place. Unfortunately, they’d paid a hefty price to do so, one that couldn’t be replaced with money. Since then, they had thrown themselves at every possible threat while looking for some way to bring Paddy back. That was what led them to Pollo Malogrado in the first place.

          It had been two minutes since a messenger from Paddy’s deathplace told them that his grave had been robbed. The town had already stolen his life. As if that couldn’t be insulting enough, however, someone had elected to steal his body. No matter what, the death-cure would be useless if they didn’t have a body to use it on.

          And now Malark was pinned to the wall by an angry wood elf, so to say he’d been having a nice time lately was an understatement greater than the cliff they had thrown the bandits’ bodies off of.

          “What do you think you’re doing?” Gwing demanded, but the wood elf’s companion—her brother from the look of it—held her back. “Put him down!”

          The wood elf refused. Eyes narrowing, she continued, “Who the hell are you, and where did you get that mask?”

          And just like that, he realized who this was.

          “It’s your brother’s, isn’t it?” He asked quietly, and her eyes widened and lost a little of their fire. “You’re Whitlaws.”

          Setting him down, she stepped back. “I’m Cara, that’s Connor. Now where did you get that mask? And where’s our brother?”

          The members of High Hopes all glanced at each other, and Connor’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to Paddy?”

          Gwing cleared her throat quietly. “I’m sorry, but—we were trying to save a village…” Cara’s eyes widened, as did Connor’s. As Gwing continued, Malark saw the exact moment that the Whitlaw siblings realized what had happened. “He wouldn’t—he stayed behind, made us go on without him. We saved the village, but—”

          “No.” Cara’s voice cracked on the word, and she shook her head. “No, no no no he can’t—he can’t be—” Behind her, Connor looked away, biting his lip.

          After a moment that stretched out into its own eternity, she let out a wail and crumpled to the floor.

          Hashaan and Malark crouched with her, the latter taking Paddy’s mask from his neck. For the past two months, it had been all they’d had of Paddy. It didn’t seem fair, however, to keep it from his family. Hands shaking, Cara took the offering and sobbed, clutching it to her chest. Outside, rain spattered the windows.

          Connor crouched by his sister, snapping from his thoughts as lightning cracked the sky and thunder rolled over the mountains. Touching her shoulder, he whispered something to her.

          “He vas a hero,” Hashaan murmured, “and he vas a better friend. Ve vould give anything to—”

          Cara smacked the dragonborn’s hand away from her shoulder, a sudden ferocity in her tear-filled eyes as she glared at Hashaan. “Get away from us. You’ve already stolen our brother—” her eyes flicked from Hashaan to Gwing to the others and then to Malark. For a painful moment, they could all see Paddy’s features in hers as she spat her next words, “—don’t you dare steal his memory, too.” Hashaan flinched away like she had been burnt, and Malark slowly rose to his feet.

          Part of him numbly wished that he’d been the one to stay behind that day.

+++

          That night, he dreamt of Paddy.

          It wasn’t the first time. Even when the wood elf was alive, Malark would find that freckled face and green eyes flittering through his dreams. In the weeks since Paddy’s death, every night was something he dreaded almost as much as the full moon. A replay of the moments before the door turned to a wall. Before he lost Paddy for good. The rest of the dreams were terrors about what might have happened to the wood elf between that moment and his death.

          This one, however, was different.

          They were infinite galaxies away from that dark hallway. Instead, they were sitting in some nondescript inn room, like the thousands they’d shared. The wood elf was slumped on the bed, an odd half-smile on his face as he fiddled with something in his lap. As soon as Malark moved, Paddy looked up. He looked healthy—all the blood was gone, the bruises no more.

          “Hey, Malark.” He kept running his hands over what he was holding, so much so that all Malark could see was flashes of blue. “I missed you.”

          Glancing over his shoulder, Malark mused, “This—this is a dream. You’re gone.” Paddy half-smiled. “You’re gone—we—we buried you. I saw them do it!”

          “You saw them bury a body, Malark. Zada can bring people back from the dead…or…she could,” tilting his head to the side, Paddy chuckled and murmured, “if she ever actually decided to learn how.”

          “So are you alive?” Paddy didn’t answer. Running a hand through his hair, Malark went to sit down by the wood elf. “Where have you been for—no, no, where are you? Where are you right now, we’ll go get you.”

          “Paddy paused and whispered, “I don’t know.”

          “What?”

          “I don’t know.”

          “Well, did someone capture you? Did you—how did you get out of—”

          He kept rambling, knowing he wasn’t making sense. He didn’t even make sense to himself. All he could think of was that this didn’t seem like a dream anymore. In the midst of a rant about why Paddy didn’t try to contact them—contact him—earlier, it had been months, the wood elf did something unexpected.

          He grabbed Malark by the front of his cowl, pulled him close, and kissed him.

          It wasn’t the first time Malark had kissed Paddy in a dream, but usually it involved one saving the other from some sort of life or death situation. This was something new. And short (although he wasn’t sure whether or not he minded that). After a moment, the wood elf sat back, eyes on Malark’s mouth for a second longer than normal. “Sorry,” he choked out, makeup-covered cheeks flushing, “but I don’t have much time. I don’t know where I am, but I know where I’m going.”

          “Where?” The question escaped him before he could stop it. He blamed it on the kiss. Paddy’s green eyes held his, an almost solemn tone darkening them.

          “You need to go to Bay Hollow.”

+++

          They had wings.

          The appendages—four of them—had ripped their way painfully from their back on the second night. As had spurs of bone, spikes that trailed along their spine to the tip of their tapering tail. They’d woken in agony as the transformation continued, as skin and scale shredded apart and as their teeth were replaced by fangs. When it was over, they were starving, horrendously so.

          Following the scents in the air, they’d found themself on a trail. The mud still held the imprints of cloven hooves and work boots. Eventually the trail opened onto a farm, the barn door swaying open in the night wind. The stench of wool and leather hung heavy inside.

          In the morning, the stablehand would only find hooves, horns, and shreds of wool remaining from a flock of sheep and several cows, with bloodied, clawed footsteps leading away.

          They had no knowledge of that. The crystal hung around their neck, thrumming. Then it gave an invisible trail towards their destination. Home, it sang in an enchanting whisper of strange cadences. We’re going home. The allure and aching was magnetic, an inescapable rhythm.

          We’re going home.

Chapter Text

          Getting everyone to agree to go to Bay Hollow was easy.

          All Malark had to do was ask, really. Convincing Cara and Connor fell to Gwing, but a very drunken Ava was the one who finally tipped the scales. She’d stumbled up, said something before taking a swig from one of her bottles, and then tottered back four or five minutes later with confirmation that they were along for the ride. With the possibility of Paddy’s spirit having contacted Malark (they were willing to believe almost anything at that point), the rest of High Hopes was immediately in. However, getting to Bay Hollow in one piece?

          Not even close.

          For starters, Cara kept arguing relentlessly with Brio, who was clearly having the time of her life with those arguments. Connor kept second-guessing everything that Gwing and Rook and anyone else suggested, as if he was trying to make things difficult. While both wood elves had the same slightly stubborn streak Paddy had exhibited, they didn’t have the same bond that he’d had with the rest of High Hopes. As a result, their antics were less endearing and more “if you got pushed off a cliff I’m not sure I’d care”.

          One of them had made Terra cry.

          By the time they reached Abrigo, they were all at each other’s throats. Malark did his best to ignore everyone rather than start a fight. After Brio snarked him while he gave out lists of stuff to find at the Abrigo marketplace, however, he was ready to throw some hands. Thankfully, he managed to keep it together (although barely, and he almost screamed at her).

          And then, as he was looking through the marketplace, things went from irritating to simply weird.

          The animal pens were all empty, almost terrifyingly so. Briefly, Malark wondered what had happened, but then one of the few monkeys that was left grabbed his cloak from between the bars of his cage. Then it screamed in his ear, and as he walked away he bumped into a pie stand. Blackberry and peach cobbler smeared on his clothes, he ventured deeper into the marketplace. He was looking for a new whetstone (his old one had been swallowed by some random zombies in Pollo Malogrado).

          He found a grandma-type lady speaking poetry instead.

          She looked harmless, but after so long on the road Malark knew better than to blindly trust anyone. There was also the fact she seemed to be wearing battle armour on top of a blue gingham dress. The silver plating gleamed in the lightbeams streaming between the gaps in the massive tarps above their heads. The bright hues of blue tartan and pink and gold embroidered rugs reminded him dimly of the circus Paddy had once belonged to. (While the memory was bittersweet, part of him also smiled because he knew Paddy would be waiting for him them in Bay Hollow). The lady herself had silvery hair and very pale blue eyes that almost mirrored her armour and dress. When those eyes fell on Malark, she paused in the midst of a line (something about lost hope and spurned help) and restarted, eyes wide and almost glowing.

          “You!” Pointing at him, she continued to speak in a commanding voice. “The eye of stone will bring to life

A spirit that gave all for love

A monster born of blood and strife

Whose family must save them from thereof.”

          Stepping back, Malark stared at her. “What are you going on about?” She, meanwhile, advanced, eyes glowing ice blue for real. Her curls floated free from their bun, swirling around her shoulders and face. When she spoke, her voice had changed, with an almost ancient reverb to it.

          “There will be two who will return,

Who have lost everything and cannot find

The hope they’ve lost and help they’ve spurned

The latter of which their hope is to be bind.”

          It’s a sonnet. He realised, still walking away until his back hit a wooden post supporting the tarp ceiling. It’s a prophecy in sonnet form.

          Words had power. He knew that. He had learned the hard way. Brio and Ryce and Rook and Paddy had taught him with spells and songs. Prophecies were just as dangerous.

          “Blood will fall upon the earth,

And pain will be at fault.

The one you’ve lost has darkness birth

Save him from the spirit vault.”

          “What are you talking about?” He asked, and now she was really in his face. She was hardly taller than Ava or Gimgar or Torlin, yet she was taller than Hashaan and Mina at the same time. The last words were almost hissed through whispered breaths, a shade above silence and spoken with the hue of night.

          “Save the dragon made and not born

And your friend will live by early morn.”

+++

          Home we are home this is home—

          this is not home what has happened

          We are home we are home—

          Who did this WHO DESTROYED IT

          Home this is home—

          WHO DESTROYED IT WE WILLDESTROYTHEM

          The long-gone buildings stuck out of leafy foliage. Layers of greenery and strewn sticks and leaves covered what remained of familiar streets and the burnt ash from an old fire that coated them. The cloying stenches of death and smoke had been replaced by fresh, green scents. Sunshine beamed down where trees had once grown. Although new life was beginning once more, they felt a dim heartache for shadows of the past.

          Then they caught the reek of invaders.

          Snarling, they turned to look at where the stench came from. A group of adventurers were making their way down towards the city. The creature slipped into the ruins of an old building, teeth bared. Suddenly they understood.

          These people had destroyed their home.

          And now the beast would destroy them.

+++

          He had forgotten Bay Hollow had burned.

          As they walked through the remnants of Paddy’s hometown, Malark noticed that Cara and Conner refused to look anywhere other than the green-strewn ground. Then he himself was overwhelmed with a pang of grief at the lost memories and abandoned life all around them. Paddy should be here, his mind whispered.

          But he is here. Or he will be. He had to remind himself that. Maybe he’d start to believe it eventually.

          When they came to a set of burned doors, Malark looked away whilst Connor and Cara climbed up the steps. He didn’t need to look to guess at where they were. Once upon a time, after a bad nightmare, Paddy had told him about his return to Bay Hollow. The way he had only found the doors of his home, and the marks burned over his family crest. He didn’t want to see it, anyways.

          Stopping by Gwing, he noticed the blue-haired elf was frowning. Before he could ask, she announced, “Something’s wrong.” Drawing her bow, she glanced around with eyes narrowed. The moment she spoke, Malark whipped his knives from their sheaths, scanning the area as well.

          It was the roar that set him off.

          Spinning around, he turned to look. The noise was thunderous, with the ancient cadence of blocked-off caverns and pools of crystal-filled water. Where it came from, however, was a beast unlike any Malark had seen. Though he was reminded of a dragon, this beast either no longer was one or was never one to begin with.

          Sunlight bounced off dark, ruddy brown scales the same hue as mountain ash bark. A long neck was plated with thick armour the rustic gold of old parchment. Turquoise-teal eyes bored into Malark’s, and lips peeled back to expose bloodied fangs.

          Then it spread its wings—all four of them—and lashed a spiked tail around into view.

          When it lunged, it aimed specifically for Malark. There was no doubt about it. Before he could react, however, a flash of deep ultramarine blue whipped in front of his eyes. He knew that blue.

          The Eye of Azura.

          “Malark, move!” Hashaan yelled. She lunged forwards, weapon in hand.

          Claws wrapped around Malark’s shoulders as he turned to her. “No, wait! Don’t—” Then he was yanked into the air, the beast blasting fire down at the others. Grabbing at its leg, he shouted, “Stop! You need to stop! They’re family!”

          Suddenly things made sense. The Eye of Azura didn’t just restore water—it was more than that. It was a magic orb that had gods-knew-how-many powers inside it, of course a shard might be able to bring someone back from the dead. The grave hadn’t been robbed—it had been broken out of. The sonnet prophecy. Paddy not knowing where he was but knowing where he would be. Saving the “dragon made and  not born”. The monster was Paddy.

          Except even he didn’t know that himself.

Chapter Text

          Sure, Paddy had known Malark sometimes got weird food cravings.

          Often, they were around the full moon (which was something he and their friends had relentlessly teased the young man about). Always, they involved meaty foods. Bacon or on the rare occasion steak.

          But slow-cooked ribs?

          Those were new.

          Either way, Paddy usually didn’t care what Malark ate. He didn’t get it all over himself or their flat. He cleaned up afterwards. He didn’t even wake Paddy up. Well…not normally, at least. But he was already slow-cooking ribs.

          “Paddy.”

          Soft hands delicately shook his shoulder and Paddy groaned. While also, unfortunately futilely, trying to push him away. “Stop it…” He mumbled into his pillow, trying to avoid kicking his roommate but unsure if he actually cared anymore. He wanted very desperately to go back to his dream. It had been a nice one. Unlike the common, bleary ones or the occasional one where he forgot his pants while doing a lecture in front of his fellow classmates (for some reason), it’d been nice. He’d been dancing with his family and some chipmunks playing the Pirates of the Caribbean song “He’s a Pirate” on a cello and bagpipes. “Leave me alone, Malark.” Lifting his head, he looked at the clock and moaned overdramatically, “It’s three am.”

          “Here, babe, I brought you a rib.” The statement was so odd that Paddy barely registered the fact Malark called him a pet name. He sat upright and stared at his roommate. Sure enough, Malark had a plate of ribs in his lap, a smaller one in his hand, extended out to Paddy.

          “What the—where did you even get ribs?” He asked. Malark didn’t bother to answer. “I—what—” his stomach growled, so he decided to take the plate. For the next several minutes, they both sat there on Paddy’s bed, eating ribs at three am like it was just another Tuesday dinner.

          Paddy was pretty sure he’d just found his soulmate, platonic or not.

Chapter Text

          “Stop! You need to stop! They’re family!”

          The words reached their ears but they did not understand them. These people were threats. They had destroyed the creature’s home and now needed to be destroyed before they took more.

          But they knew that voice.

          How did they know that voice? Who was this person?

          Beating their wings, they dropped to the ground and released their prey, The human staggered back. Instead of running away, however, he remained. When he reached up and touched their jaw, there was nothing but gentle care.

          “Malark, get back!” Another familiar voice, a familiar being, ordered. The human, who they guessed was Malark, refused to move.

          “Are you insane?” A much more painfully familiar voice, one with a cadence that sang of home home home and sunny autumn days, shouted. The tone was strange, violence echoing in the growled tone. “We need to kill it!”

          “We can’t!” Malark replied, looking up with icy blue eyes to meet the beast’s gaze. “It’s Paddy.”

+++

          Cara and Connor’s eyes both widened, a mix of disbelief and rage painting their faces.

          “That’s not something to joke about!”

          “I’m not joking! Think about it. Paddy said he knew where he’d be, but he didn’t know where he was. It’s because he’s not himself.” Malark replied, and Rook frowned.

          “’Save the dragon made and not born’.” He glanced at Gwing. “Paddy’s in the spirit vault. Whatever the heck that is.”

          “The spirit vault? How are we supposed to get to that?” Cara demanded. The shard of the Eye of Azura dangling around Paddy’s neck flashed, and Malark took it in one hand. Running a finger over the flat planes, he let the light catch on it.

          “The Eye of Azura.” He mused. Meanwhile, Paddy sat back on his haunches, wings half-extended. Whether the others realised it or not, Paddy did not recognise them and was scared as a result. “I think I have to do it.”

          “What? Why you?” Cara demanded, and she took a step towards them. Instantly, Paddy snarled, lips peeled back. She stepped away, hands raised. “That’s not fair!”

          People started arguing, and Paddy made a distressed sound. Reaching over, Malark touched his…friend’s neck (he wasn’t quite sure what Paddy was to him anymore). “It’s okay, Pads. We’re going to fix this.”

          Paddy’s turquoise eyes met his (he was sure the colour change was due to the Eye), and there was a brief moment where nothing happened. Then Paddy’s eyes glowed. For another heartbeat, Malark’s eyes burned.

          Then everything blazed the colour of the sky.

+++

          Everything was falling apart.

          Running his hands through his hair, Paddy glanced at the floor of his glass cage. The cracks were spreading—they didn’t have much time.

          He didn’t have much time.

          Going the furthest from the cracks and where they were the worst, he looked out across what he guessed was the spirit vault. He ran a hand over the bars, trying to find a weak point for the thousandth time. A cool, brisk breeze that smelled like winter and ice blew across the vault. Shivering, Paddy pulled his cloak closer around himself as even more of the leaves flew away.

          “No. No no no please—” Reaching out, he tried to grab them as they flew out of reach. “Please.”

          He slipped and fell to the ground, chin cracking on the glass. Curling up in his cloak, he tried to ignore the creaking deep beneath him.

          Hurry, Malark.

          I trust you.

Chapter Text

          Paddy sobbed as he watched the chunks of glass fall away from his cage.

          Sliding to the least-fractured area, he pressed his back to the bars. Pulling his knees to his chest, he took a deep breath and let his head fall against the glass behind him. Eyes burning, he sent a silent prayer that everything would be okay and that Malark would find him soon. The assassin was there.

          He could feel it.

          With wet cheeks, he opened his eyes. Another smaller slab of the floor fell into the candy-pink- and baby-blue-toned clouds far beneath, vanishing into the white haze there. He didn’t bother to watch, instead climbing to his feet with a resurgence of determination.

          Malark was in the spirit vault. Connor and Cara were waiting for him outside. The rest of High Hopes was, too. Come on, Paddy. They’re here for you. Looking at the cage bars, he took a step back with narrowed eyes. Alright, Paddy. Have hope.

          Have hope and let’s do this.

+++

          The spirit vault was very bright and very, very cold.

          For someone who didn’t have much clothing when it came to his arms, Malark usually didn’t care about the temperature. But the vault was not only cold, it was windy. It was the kind of torrential breeze that refused to let you keep your hood on, the kind that screamed in your ears and tore the moisture from your eyes. The annoying as heck kind.

          In the distance, there was a feral scream.

          Somehow, Malark recognised it as Paddy’s. Turning on his heel, he began running. It was a few steps before he realised that there was no path beneath his feet.

          Even worse, the closest thing to his feet were the clouds far below.

          In the distance, the sun was approaching the horizon. Part of him guessed that he only had so much time to get to Paddy. Alright, let’s get there by morning. He decided.

          Then he started running again.

+++

          Screaming, Paddy threw himself at the bars.

          They still didn’t budge, and he stumbled back. Taking a deep breath and rubbing where his shoulder had probably begun to bruise, he looked around for some way to get out. When he thought he saw one of the bars shift in the wind, he waited for a moment. The wind kicked up.

          The bar moved.

          Grinning, he threw himself at the bar. The individual gaps were no more than the width of his hand between each one, but the space between if he managed to dislodge the loose one…It’ll be a tight fit, he mused as he strode back a few steps, once again preparing to slam into the loose bar. Couple more hits, maybe?

          He sprinted at the bar, hearing the glass crack beneath his feet with each step.

          When he rammed into it, the bar gave way, and his heart jumped to his throat as the glass dropped into the clouds. He very nearly followed it. At the last moment, his fingers caught on the bars on either side of the gap, and he took a few shaky breaths as he dangled over the cloud-shrouded abyss. Tears turned gold by the now-dying sunlight dripped from his face, and he hauled himself back. As he did, the cage rumbled beneath his feet. A gasp escaped him.

          Beneath the clouds, something emerged. Bony spines cut through the sunset-toned expanse like a knife through air, shifting as what they were attached to arced closer to the cage. As it moved to where Paddy was, it vanished…and then returned. Dying sunlight gleamed off a bony skull, and piercing blue eyes met Paddy’s as he crawled away from the cage edge. Massive fangs glinted dangerously and a low growl emanated from the beast’s throat.

          It was a Dracolich.

          Growling, the Dracolich glared down at Paddy, then turned and vanished beneath the clouds. In the distance, an owlbear roared, and the wood elf turned towards where the sound was coming from. The Dracolich had vanished, but it hadn’t left. It hadn’t hurt him either, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew why.

          It was guarding him.

          This wouldn’t be easy (not that it ever was in the first place).

+++

          Malark wasn’t even shocked that he had to fight monsters.

          First, he’d had to battle an obscene amount of frogs, geese, and angry chipmunks. The chipmunks had bagpipes. (He wasn’t about to ask, this was the spirit vault and he was walking on air so he wasn’t sure what was happening or how or even why). Punting the animals off the path was…actually a little relieving. Cathartic, even. He didn’t enjoy hurting animals by any means, but these ones had attacked him first. So they deserved getting punted into oblivion.

          After he got away (with only a few feathers decorating his cloak), he ran into the next set of monsters. Kobolds, goblins, and an owlbear. You gotta be kidding me. He groaned, grabbing his knives and charging with a yell. The owlbear roared and he screamed back louder, attacking despite the number advantage between them.

          Which was how he learned that, apparently, one could not die in the spirit vault.

          One could still get hurt, as Malark’s likely-dislocated shoulder protested. He’d been thrown around by the owlbear. Despite that, he’d won, and was now limping along the invisible road towards Paddy’s location.

          At least, he was trying, until the world decided it was going to spin.

          Thrown to the ground, all he could think was ‘oh, come on’ as the sun whipped by overhead. When he could finally get up again, he was welcomed to the sun being on his left rather than his right. And it looked like it was…rising? What the heck?

          Apparently, the spirit vault didn’t have nighttime, either.

          Rolling his eyes, he turned to continue walking—he could see the outline of a glass cage in the distance, very faint but still there. Something—several things, actually—sat in his path, however. The two sea cats growled at him. Between them stood an Elder Titan.

          Taking a deep breath, Malark stared at the three. Already, he knew that this was going to hurt. At least I can’t die here.

          Flipping his knives, he jumped into a fighting stance, said, “Bring it on,” and charged.

+++

          He must have dozed off somehow, because he woke with the glass beneath his feet cracking even more. The sun had moved again, meaning more time had passed. He didn’t know how long it had been since he died (could have been years, maybe minutes). He never got hungry, thirsty, or tired.

          The fractures extended towards him, cutting deep through the slab he was on. After a minute, the middle began to dip. “No. No no not now please!” He begged, scrambling back.

          “Paddy!” Turning, he saw a bloodied and bruised Malark sprinting towards him. Their eyes met and worry crossed the assassin’s face as he saw Paddy’s expression. “Hold on!”

          The glass dropped out from beneath Paddy.

          Screaming, he tried to grab at the bars desperately as the world slowed down around him.

          The glass surface brushed by under his fingertips.

          His eyes met Malark’s as he dropped past him, a sudden fierce determination crossing the assassin’s face.

          As the clouds spiralled closer, he closed his eyes. Malark shouted his name. Though he desperately wanted to look, Paddy squeezed his eyes shut instead. The assassin’s fingers brushed his.

          And then suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore.

          Opening his eyes, Paddy let himself dangle in shock. Below him, the clouds whispered by, but he was in one place. Letting his gaze drift up, he found Malark was lying on…something. “M-Malark?”

          The assassin smiled, the corners of his eyes scrunching up like they always did. (He was crying. The wind was pulling the tears away but he was crying). “Hey, Pads.” He paused, taking a deep breath, and pulled the wood elf up with a little more strength than was needed. They landed practically on top of each other, and after a few moments it hit Paddy. He had almost died. Both of them had almost died. (Maybe?) “Hey, hey, you’re alright. You’re alright.” Hands pulled him close and Paddy sobbed into Malark’s chest for a few moments, clutching at his clothes. “You’re okay.”

          Then Paddy realized whose chest he was crying into, and he jerked up so fast they almost smacked heads. “Malark! You found me!”

          “Obviously.”

          “Wait, but how did you beat the Dracolich?”

          Malark’s smile dropped. “The what?”

          As if on cue, the beast launched from the clouds. It was huge, bigger than anything Paddy had veer seen (almost the size of a mountain). Around it, skeletons rose from the clouds.

          Paddy pulled Malark to his feet. “That. Run!”

          They didn’t have any plans, but Malark grabbed Paddy’s hand and pulled him along. Behind them, the Dracolich bellowed. “Any idea how to get out?” Malark asked, and Paddy looked around. At first, he couldn’t see anything.

          Ice blasted over his shoulder, nicking it. Frost danced over the surface of his cloak. They were lucky that time—not so much the second. That one got his leg and he yelled as he hit the ground, ice shards quickly forming around the limb. Malark jerked to a stop and crouched beside him, dropping Paddy’s hand to start hacking at the ice with his knives.

          Shoving the assassin away, Paddy choked out, “Malark, it’s okay. Just go. I’m sorry.” Ignoring him, Malark kept stabbing at the ice, eyes narrowed. “Malark, please.”

          Eyes the same colour as the ice darted up to meet his. “I am not leaving you behind again.” After a pause, he added, “Ye’ big dumb idiot.”

          “Malark—” Paddy glanced at the approaching skeletons and the Dracolich. “Please, Malark. I can’t watch you die.”

          Malark looked at him, blinking. For a brief moment, they stared at each other. “Paddy…if you think I’m leaving you to die again, you really are an idiot.”

          “Malark, please.” For a few more moments they couldn’t afford to lose, they were both quiet. Paddy was about to start begging. The monsters were practically on top of them. Malark wrapped a fist in Paddy’s leafy jacket and pulled him close.

          Then he kissed him.

          Seconds later, a wave of ice crashed down over them. Malark held them there, and Paddy felt everything fade to nothing.

+++

          When Malark opened his eyes, he was lying in grass, someone’s hand tightly clenched in his.

          Sitting up, he looked towards them. They were alone in a field, surrounded by nothing but flowers and sunlight and peace. For a few moments, he couldn’t breathe, watching them for any sign of life. There had to be something. As he watched, they coughed once and opened their eyes, just a crack.

          Paddy was alive.

          Laughing like a madman, he pulled the wood elf into a tight hug. “Whoa! Okay—Mal?” Struggling from the tight grip, Paddy sat back with wide eyes and stared at him, hands wandering up and over Malark’s face. For a second, the two simply stared at one another. Then Paddy started laughing, softly at first and then wildly. “Oh gods, you—you really did that—I can’t believe—I thought we were dead—”

          One of them tackled the other into another hug, throwing them both back and onto their sides in the flowers. Paddy buried his face in Malark’s chest again, not caring who saw. Something was missing from his outfit (Malark wasn’t sure when the wood elf’s clothes had been mended but apparently they had traversed dimensions with them). Malark just wasn’t sure what yet. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I won’t let you go until you want me to.”

          “I don’t want you to.” Paddy whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.

          “Paddy!” The voice came from the edge of the field, and both men looked up. Cara, Connor, and the rest of High Hopes had appeared from the woods beyond the field and were now charging towards them.

          “Cara? Connor?” Paddy’s voice cracked on the names, and he looked at Malark. The pair jumped to their feet and Paddy let go of Malark’s hand to sprint to his brother and sister. Malark went to Gwing and the others, purposefully ignoring the tearful, laughing sibling reunion behind him.

          “He’s back.” Ryce breathed, and Malark smiled at him.

          “So he is.” Looking to Hashaan, he asked, “How long were we gone?”

          “Two days.” Gwing replied, and Nagar swept Malark into a near bone-crushing hug (while clothes translated between the spirit vault and the living world, injuries did not, and he was grateful for that).

          “And now you are back! And you have brought Paddy vith you!”

          Paddy separated from his siblings only for Ava, Brio, and Terra to simultaneously swarm him. When Hashaan and Nagar joined (for once getting along), the group ended up on the ground in a group hug, Paddy in the middle. Soon enough, the rest of High Hopes (excluding Malark) ended up in it as well. In the back of his mind, Malark realized something really was missing from Paddy’s outfit. The cloak and all the like were there but—

          His mask.

          Walking over to Cara and Connor, he cleared his throat. “I know it’s important to you, but do you mind if Paddy has his mask back?” He whispered the words, and the wood elves exchanged glances. Connor placed the mask in Malark’s hand, and the assassin went back to the others after an exchanged nod. Pulling Paddy to his feet, Malark held out the mask. “We fixed it for you. Glad to have you back.”

          Smiling, Paddy took the mask back, met Malark’s gaze, and winked. “My hero. Guess I’ll have to find some way to say thanks, then.”

          He went back to his siblings, leaving Malark flushing under his mask and wondering what the heck that meant.