Like Calls to Like

I: Evan

Evan doesn't know why he's here. All the other drüskelle-in-training don't either. He doesn't belong here, squashed between his fellow Fjerdans. He doesn't belong and everybody knows it.

There's so much wrong with Fjerda. Everyone has a specific role to play, expectations they were required to meet, a small box of what was considered 'normal' and 'proper'. They were a country that didn't give women the opportunity to decide what they wanted to do with their lives, forever condemned to a life of servitude to whichever man they're forced to marry and chained to the children they would inevitably have. They were a nation with a special military built on genocide for something they didn't understand. If someone was different, if even in the smallest ways, they were shut out, trashed, dragged. Not harmed physically, of course, if they wasn't a valid enough reason. But Evan would know that what happens behind closed doors and turned backs had just as much as an effect on a person.

Evan was Fjerdan. He's lived here his whole life. It was always just him and his father, tucked away in their safe, warm home. It wasn't until he had been sent to the Ice Court for drüskelle training that he noticed something different- no, wrong- with himself.

He was Fjerdan, but he didn't look it. Sure, he had the blond curls and eyes like sapphires. But his skin- everyone around him was pale, nearly white as the floor of snow expect for the rosy flush of frozen cheeks. Evan...he had skin like caramel, dark amongst the sea of ivory.

He never knew his mother. He knew she wasn't Fjerdan. He knew his father was shamed for his relationship with her. He knew she was Suli and he knew he was born in Ravka.

Evan pulled a small, worn photo from the pocket of his trousers. He unfolded the rumpled piece of paper under one of the dining hall tables. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lip as he ran his fingers along it's jagged edge. It was the only photo Evan had of her, the only proof that his mother did, in fact, exist and had loved him. Father didn't like talking about her and Evan never asked. Her skin was like his; warm and bronze. Her hair was long and dark like onyx, twisted into an elegant braid. In the image, a newly-born Evan wrapped in cloth, was bundled tightly in her arms. Her eyes, a deep brown like chestnuts. She was gazing down at him with such a look of fondness, Evan doubted he'd ever be looked at the same way again. His father sure didn't. He barely so much as glanced in Evan's direction when he saw him. The image was torn down the middle, like there was a piece he was missing. The colours were bled, spots of white speckled throughout. If it weren't his most prized possession, Evan doubted he'd be able to tell the shade of cobalt of his mother's tunic.

"Aye! Half-breed!" One of the drüskelle his age called from a few seats down. Evan glanced up, far too numb to the slur used to insult anyone who wasn't a full-blooded Fjerdan to care anymore. The boy - son of Commander Jarl Brum II - was one who had been troubling Evan since the day he joined his fellow soldiers. Evan rolled his eyes, shoving the photo back into his pocket. "Excited to get your isenulf?"

Evan scowled. Ever since the announcement had been made two weeks ago about the newest fleet of drüskelle heading to meet what will be the best and most loyal partners for the rest of their lives, Zacharias Brum has happily used the newfound information as ammunition to remind everyone that Evan wasn't one of them, not that anyone needed it.

A chorus of laughs echoed down the table and Evan couldn't ignore the whispers even if he tried.

"Won't the isenulf see him as the enemy?"

"Will one of them even choose him?"

"Why are they even letting him come along anyway?"

Evan frowned out his plate, stabbing his slab of meat with far more aggression than needed. Every nerve in his body twitched and screamed for him to fight back, to glare at anyone who looks too long, to bash in anyone's face who says anything about him, cut out the tongue of whoever spits vile words at him next. But his brain knew better. He used to fight back, once, in his first weeks in the Ice Court. But after one too many days in Solitary and a couple lashes across his shoulders, he learned to wrestle his anger, smash it into the ground, bury it in the heaps of snow, willing it to extinguish before he gets too caught up in its flames. As much as it makes him want to rip out his own eyes, Evan knew it was better in the long run. He was already different enough as it is, being known as a troublemaker would only worsen his situation.

The moment he was able, Evan slipped away from the table and hid away in his dorm. He closed his eyes, though sleep was a long time coming. He didn't understand, what had he done to deserve the treatment he received? All he's done was simply exist. How is that a crime?

Evan winced. He imagined that very thought process running through the minds of all the drüsje- no, Grisha, - in the prison just a sector over. Evan doesn't get that either. What was the point of drüskelle?  Sure, Grisha could be dangerous, but so could anything, depending on how desperate. Sure, some people don't understand but instead of killing them - or, as Brum likes to mask it, 'prosecute'. No drü- Grisha has ever been proved innocent during their trial so it's murder all the same -, why not educate? Drü- Grisha could do so much for their country, and yet they're treated like criminals and their crime; living, surviving, existing.

If he had been given the choice, Evan would've never signed up to be drüskelle. His father hadn't even told him he was being sent away until two days before his scheduled departure. His reasoning? He couldn't bear to look at him any longer. Evan doesn't know if his father hated him, hated what he and his mother had done or whether he was grieving and Evan was only another reminder of what he had lost. Whatever. It doesn't matter. If he had wanted Evan to leave, he should've just been sent back to Ravka, to wherever his mother's caravan was traveling now. He would've liked to know her, would've loved to meet her, but no. It wasn't an option. Evan asked in the letters he's sent home, sent to his father, but he's never gotten one reply and he's never been pulled from the Ice Court. So, Evan stayed, for he had no choice. He's too deep in the sea of war to back out now, for if he did, his head would be planted on a spike and he'd be branded a deserter.

Evan rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. He couldn't think about this right now, he didn't want to think about it. He had a long journey ahead of him, for the isenulf were not kept close by, and he needed the energy for the trek across dunes of snow and sheets of ice.

Evan knew what was to come from this. He and his fellows would traverse to somewhere along the northern coastline, where there would be a shabby house and a barn full of the specially bred wolves. When they arrived, they would sit in for a warm meal inside and then head for the barn, where they'll choose from a variety of isenulf, until they find the one that feels most like a companion.

The boys all shifted their weight between their feet in excitement as they were led through the barn and the smell of wet fur, raw meat and feces filled their senses. Many of Evan's fellows wrinkled their noses in disgust but Evan could care less. He's smelt worse after a particularly bad night for his father. No, what Evan cared about was the wolves. All in bunches of seven or eight, fur so pristine no matter how dirty the circumstances, so white and blinding Evan didn't know whether to look away or keep staring. The isenulf perked up as the young drüskelle filed in. Evan felt his breath catch. Their eyes were beautiful, a blue so clear it out shone all of the others around him. There were like little drops of sky, shimmering in the glints of sunlight filtering through the frosted windows. Evan, who had always had an appreciation for shiny things, selfishly wanted to tuck them away, create a collection for only him to see, for he knew everyone else in this room would never cherish them like he would.

Evan knew he couldn't, of course. Every drüskelle would pick a companion and that would be that. Nothing he could do about it. At least one wolf from this pack will be treated the way they deserved.

The man in charge, an old fellow with creaky limbs named Mr. Ollivander, caught all of their attention. "Today, you'll forge a bond with the most loyal partner you'll ever get the fortune of meeting. Unlike what most people think, this is a two-way process. Go around, see all of the isenulf and find the ones you feel a connection to you. Should the wolf accept you, you may take him or her home and brand them with a name. If not, you simply move on to the next wolf. The isenulf picks their partner, more often than the other way around. Please, do treat them with respect, for they'll do the same for you. Go on."

The moment they were dismissed, the knit-tight friend groups broke off to inspect the larger groups of wolves. Others traveled in pairs and trios to meet the smaller bands of isenulf, leaving Evan to search on his own.

Evan scanned the clusters of fur. He walked further into the barn, slowly passing all the happily barking isenulf and laughing drüskelle, unbreakable bonds forming under his gaze. He watched the wolves jump after those who would be their owners and listened for the one that called to him.

Evan felt a surge of worry coil tight in his gut as he neared the end of the barn. Was it possible to not be granted a companion? Was he being punished by Djel for looking different? For not being loyal to the drüskelle cause? Despite hating the army he was apart of and everything they stood for, Evan couldn't help being excited for the moment he was promised was coming. The only thing he had been looking forward to throughout his entire time at the Ice Court was meeting his isenulf but, as the wolves dwindled, a fear he didn't know existed crawled up his spine like a snake. He was different enough as it was, would it be so bad to just- fit in? Even a little bit?

Evan stopped abruptly at the final wolf. He was small, smaller than the other pups by far, curled up alone in a bed of furs laid out by Mr. Ollivander. His colouring was different than all his siblings, streaks of brown traveling down his back and spiralling up his paws. Scars littered his snout, ranging from short, almost puncture-like wounds, to long claw swipes. The wolf trembled, coiled up as small as he was able. Evan felt his heart tug as he squinted, noting the way he trembled. He wanted nothing more than to scoop him up in his arms and shield him from anyone and anything causing him pain.

"Ah, a lone one, he is," Mr. Ollivander's slow, dramatic drawl interrupted Evan's thoughts. "Hated by all those in his pack. No one seems to get on with him. I've called all sorts of people. If no one picks him today, he'll join all the others rejected from their packs and drüskelle in the ground. Don't waste your time, child. There are plenty of others who aren't as useless as he."

Evan frowned and glared over his shoulder at the old man, who didn't so much as flinch. Evan turned back to the wolf and stepped forward, crouching down in front of him. He felt all his anger go up in smoke, glare softening as the wolf's snout scrunched up and gave an adorable twitch. Evan felt a small smile tug at his lips as the isenulf let out a little yawn and his eyes fluttered open. The breath was punched out of his chest. Oh, Djel, his eyes. One was just as blue as all the rest but the other? It glimmered like sheets of ice and the pupil bled into the iris. A small but prominent set of five slashes stretched across the wolf's left eye and Evan wanted to roast whichever isenulf caused that pain and eat them for his next meal. This wolf was scarred, beautiful and severely undervalued. And Evan wanted him, if only the wolf wanted him back.

The wolf perked up, head lifting off his front paws and ears shooting to attention. He cocked his head, an eager gleam in his good eye. Evan practically melted, extending a hand to the pup. He leaned forward, sniffing curiously. The wolf's tail began thumping the ground rapidly, jaw falling open and tongue peeking through his teeth. The pup yelped happily, jumping to his feet and circling Evan once in his excitement. Evan opened his arms and wolf leaped into his embrace. Evan let out a small, quiet laugh as he fell back with the impact.

"What do I name you?" Evan whispered and the wolf blinked up at him expectantly.

As Evan gently carded his fingers along his wolf's fur, the reminder of an old tale from his mother's country struck. The Story of Sankt Salazar was told to both Suli and Ravkan children and Evan only knew of it through his father's drunken ramblings. Salazar was a half-blind man with the ability to communicate with wildlife. Apparently, Salazar had willingly traded his one eye to save his dying mother and yet the witch he had dealt with had cheated him of both his sense and his family. A remnant of her magic had stuck with him and the surrounding creatures had responded to his call of pain and fury. With a strange, yet powerful, army, Salazar had been able to destroy the witch in the name of vengeance, only to never be seen again. Of course, there are rumours of an ancient chamber with an unbeatable creature that Salazar had left behind but that could never be proven.

Evan dragged his gaze over his wolf's scar. He stood and turned to Mr. Ollivander, who watched the whole exchange go down with a shocked, exasperated look, and announced, "His name is Zar, and he's coming with me."

Zar thwacked his tail against Evan's side in satisfaction and nosed at his neck.

With everyone watching and without a care in the world, Evan strode out of the barn with a bundle of fur in his arms.

He kept walking beyond the barn, only stopping once he reached the end of Mr. Ollivander's drive to perch on one of the snowbanks to wait for his fellow drüskelle. He set Zar down, only for him to curl up at Evan's side, head resting on his thigh.

Evan scratched behind Zar's ears, murmuring, "You don't need them, do you? That's right, you don't. You never did and you never will. All you need is me, as I need you. I'll appreciate you as you are, no matter your differences. If they can't see past your colouring to notice your greatness, they shouldn't get to see you at all."

Zar stared calmly up at him and Evan blinked. "They...they shouldn't get to see me, either, should they?"

Zar shook his head.

Evan raised an eyebrow. "Can you understand me?"

Zar lashed his tail, nudging Evan with his nose.

"I don't know what that means."

Zar leapt to his feet. He growled at the barn, ran circles around Evan, sprinted a couple paces away to the west and bounced excitedly, tail wagging and tongue smacking the side of his face.

Evan frowned in his confusion. "You lost me."

The sound Zar let out was extremely similar to a human sigh. He ran over, clamped his teeth down on the fabric of Evan's sleeve and began dragging him to the west.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming! Where are you trying to take me?"

Zar let his sleeve go an nodded in the direction they were headed.

"West?"

Zar nodded.

"What's west?"

Zar gave him a look that quite clearly said, think about it.

Evan searched his brain. There wasn't much in terms of civilization to the west of the mountains but there must be something. Something important. Zar certainly thinks so. So, what? Something along the coastline? Or-

Evan sucked in a sharp breath. "Elling."

Ah, yes. Fjerda's most northern harbour with ships headed everywhere. The easiest place to send goods. The easiest - and closest- illegal way out of Fjerda.

"You think we should leave?"

Zar nodded.

But what about Father?

Evan loves his dad, he truly does, despite everything. The man might be a drunk, might neglect him, might've sent him off to the army so he wouldn't have to look at him, but he's Evan's father and he loved him nonetheless. He did raise him, even if he only did the bare minimum. He was Evan's only tie to his mother, even if Father didn't like to talk about her. He was Evan's everything and, surely, his dad must love him back, even a little. He's his son, for Djel's sake. Even if it's the smallest sliver of affection, a wisp of love trapped in the deepest depth of his heart, a bubble of pride- anything. There is no possible way his father - the only man Evan's ever cared about, the only opinion Evan bothered to listen to - just doesn't care, right?

Right?

Zar, because apparently being able to understand humans isn't enough and has somehow developed telepathic abilities, pat his foot, lowered his ears and let out a low whine of understanding.

"He...he doesn't care, does he?" Evan rasped.

It shouldn't have been possible, but Zar's eyes grew even sadder as he nodded.

Evan shoved down the surge of despair that had begun rising through his throat in the form of a bile. He pushed back all his emotions so far they could've technically mingled with the roots of Djel. He nodded down to Zar and started west. "To Elling, then."

***

Evan doesn't quite know what he was thinking.

From Elling, he could've picked a ship to send him anywhere, other than Ravka, of course, which hurt more than Evan was expecting it to. Was he technically the enemy? Yes. Had he spent more than a couple of years in training to become an elite dr- Grisha hunter? Also yes. But did he care? No, not at all. He wanted nothing more than to search for the Suli caravan his mother was apart of but, unfortunately, that would only get him imprisoned and hanged for being Fjerdan.

The logical thing to do was head to the Southern Colonies, where no one cares where you've come from, nor your past. The place where everyone is an equal citizen and there is always a job to be done.

But recently, making the logical decision seems to be something Evan is unable to manage because instead, he hopped on a ship flying a flag covered in fish.

Evan had heard of Ketterdam, of course. Mostly disdainful comments from the higher ups in the Ice Court and a short description by some crew member on the ship but nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared him for what he saw when he stepped off that ship.

Evan and Zar arrived at what the Captain of their ship had called 'fifth harbour', whatever that meant. From there, they could see down a long canal and Evan felt his mouth drop. People were dressed in the most ridiculous but fascinating costumes, masks covering their faces and capes draping down their backs. Everything was so bright, despite the fact the sun had set a little more than an hour ago. Signs flashing neon, fabrics in colours Evan didn't even know could garments could be made out of and faces that aren't covered in masks were painted in extravagant cosmetics.

Evan felt his mouth drop. It was the complete opposite of everything that was considered normal in Fjerda. His father would've been appalled, if he was sober, so, by default, Evan immediately loves everything simply out of spite.

There is one very clear problem with coming to Ketterdam. Evan didn't speak even a lick of Kerch.

It hadn't even been an option. Evan was forced to learn Ravkan, as it was the language of the enemy and how war would be pathetic and pointless if you couldn't even understand who you're fighting. But that was it. He couldn't even learn his mother's language, no matter how many times he asked, and his father hadn't even bothered to share the few sentences Evan knew for a fact he understood. And the Suli lived in Ravka! There might've actually been a situation where it would've been useful but no. It was considered 'a waste of time'.

Honestly, fuck Jarl Brum II.

Suddenly, a shoulder slammed into Evan's side and he went toppling towards the ground. Evan tucked into a roll and sprung into a defensive position. Zar growled, snapping his jaw and shuffling back to crouch in front of Evan, preparing for a strike.

The man- or, not man but boy, for he was about Evan's age, said something in Kerch and raised his hands. Evan squinted his eyes in suspicion, dragging his eyes up and down his figure. He was light-skinned, but practically glowed in the low light lit by the street lamps. His hair was a mess of short brown curls that looked far too soft to be normal about. And if Evan appreciates shiny things, it would be a crime to ignore this boy's eyes. Deep pits of chestnut, glinting with gleams Evan didn't understand. He thought blue was the only colour that made eyes shine but he was proven wrong. It was a strange thought, but Evan wanted to gouge out those eyes and hold them in the palm of his hand so he could peer as close as he wanted without it seeming weird. A handful of rings glittered from his fingers and ink peeked out from under his rolled sleeves.

The boy said something more, his head tilting as he looked Evan up and down, eyes catching and widing the slightest bit on Zar.

"I can't understand you." Evan said, hoping to get his point across even through the language barrier.

The boy's lips twitched into a grin that was just the slightest bit manic before replying in perfect Fjerdan, "Y'know, most people learn Kerch before coming to Ketterdam."

Evan narrowed his eyes. "Spur of the moment decision."

The boy's smile faded, gaze flickering back down to Zar, who was waiting for Evan's signal to rip him to shreds. "You're drüskelle. I hope you realize it's illegal for you to hunt on Kerch territory."

"I'm not here on behalf of Fjerda. It's quite the opposite, actually."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "You're a deserter."

Evan blinked. He forgot about that tiny tidbit of information. Fleeing the country branded him a deserter and he would never, under any circumstances, be able to return to his home country. "I- yes, I believe so."

Despite his readiness for battle, Zar tapped his leg in comfort.

"Hmm. What's your name?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Well, whatever-your-name-is, it's common courtesy to exchange names. I thought you Fjerdans were more respectful."

Evan resisted the urge to sputter, fighting the flush rising in his cheeks. The boy grinned again. "Evan Rosier."

"Well, Rosier, I apologize in advance and hope you understand that what I'm about to do, I do with your best interest at heart."

Evan's eyes widened as a surge of fear swelled. "What-"

Before Evan could reply, the boy raised his hands and he fell unconscious.

When Evan awoke, he was on the floor of some office with his hands tied behind his back and Zar still by his feet.

Evan felt his stomach drop. The fact he was just abducted meant nothing for him as he shifting around and nudged Zar with his foot.

He didn't move.

No.

Evan's breathing accelerated as he leaned forward, pressing his ear to Zar's chest, waiting for it to rise, waiting for even the softest beat of his heart. No. Not yet.

Evan's own heart hammered in his ribcage, threatening to crawl up his throat and splat on the floor. It felt like it was mocking him, a blinding reminder that Zar's may not be beating.

"Ease up, Rosier," the boy's voice came from across the room. Evan didn't look up, despite the flare of rage and desire for violence. "He's alive."

Just then, Evan heard the faintest beat. Evan gave a sigh of relief. Now that he knew where to look, Zar's steady, unconscious heart beat was bright.

Evan's head snapped up. The Heartrender was there, leaning against a desk. Sitting behind it with her feet propped up on the wood was a girl wearing more silver than Evan had ever seen. Her four revolvers glimmered in the light- not much brighter than outside. By the door was another man standing guard, his arms folded as he stared Evan down.

Evan's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

The woman said something in Kerch. The Heartrender, who had been about to speak, glanced over his shoulder and responded. A few more words were traded and the Heartrender rolled his eyes. "Saved you from being snatched up by someone else."

"Not what I meant," Evan hissed. "What did you do to him?" He nodded sharply to the bundle of fur that was his isenulf.

More Kerch mumbles.

"Took 'em shut eye. He should come to in a couple of hours."

The girl growled something, sending a firm glare at the Heartrender.

The Heartrender heaved a dramatic sigh. "How much control do you have over that thing?"

Evan snarled. "He is not a thing. Zar is a living, breathing animal. He makes his own choices."

"So, just so we're clear, if I woke him up, you wouldn't be able to stop him from attacking?"

Evan snapped his jaw shut and the Heartrender grinned, teeth flashing. Zar trusted Evan's gut as much as Evan trusted his. If Evan were to say to back down, Zar would listen without so much as a second thought.

The Heartrender raised his hands and Evan's shoulders tensed. Slowly, Zar's heart rate sped up and his nose twitched. When his head shot up, eyes snapping open, Evan felt the tension drain. Zar was okay. He'd be fine for many, many years.

Zar growled, pulling up his lip are baring his canines. Evan nudged him with his forehead. Zar whipped around to him, eyes crawling up and down. His tail lashed against the floor. Evan slowly shook his head. Zar sat back on his haunches, head tilted in question but he didn't ignore Evan's order. He simply turned back to the Heartrender and his boss, glaring at them.

Evan gave them his own glare. "What do you want?"

After another Kerch discussion, he got a reply. "The boss wants to know how you got here."

"I know it may be hard for you to understand but there's this thing called a boat-"

"Har, har," the Heartrender interrupted, a flat look on his face. "Allow me to rephrase. Why are you here?"

"Believe it or not, some Fjerdans have morals." Evan said, shifting his legs out from under him and stretching out the numb prickles tingling through him.

"But not all Fjerdans are drüskelle."

"Not all Fjerdans have a choice."

The Heartrender looked him up and down before quickly translating for his boss. The girl leaned back in her chair, fingers toying with her shiny rings. Evan couldn't help but stare, entranced by the gleaming silver, beautiful engravings and the occasional flash of a gemstone.

The Heartrender cleared his throat and Evan's gaze snapped to his, just as easily captivated by the eyes staring back at him. "The boss doesn't buy it. What else?"

"Well, drüsje-" Before Evan could correct himself, Zar thumped his thigh harshly with his tail. Evan turned his eyes towards the wolf, only to be met with an unimpressed- almost disappointed, if that was even possible - stare. Evan huffed. "Yes, I know. It's a bad habit to break," He turned back to the Heartrender. "As I was saying, Grisha, my country sees me in a near same light as you, just without the threat of death."

The Heartrender cocked his head. "How so?"

Evan nodded down at himself. "I don't exactly fit in, do I? A half-breed, they call me."

The woman didn't seem to need the translating the Heartrender attempted to provide, cutting him off with a wave of her hand and giving a clear, firm order that the Heartrender tried to protest. A glare later and the Heartrender groaned before turning to Evan once more. "Well, Rosier, the boss has a proposition. Option one: join the crew, get housing, a paycheck, a job. Learn to live in the city. Or, option two: leave and she sells you out to the Fjerdans in the Embassy Sector. They'll drag you back to Fjerda and hang your ass, provided you don't get torn to shreds by a less forgiving gang first."

Evan narrowed his eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

A sly grin tugged at his lips. "Well, she is, but you get the jist."

Evan glanced between the Grisha and his boss before looking down at Zar. He stared expectantly up at Evan, his only input a sharp nod.

Well. If Zar thinks so, Evan does the only logical thing and follows his advice.

"Alright."

The Heartrender's eyes glimmered with something dangerous and enticing. Evan felt his breath catch. Oh, that look was addicting.

The Heartrender stepped forward and untied Evan's bindings, offering a hand to help Evan to his feet. After a moment of hesitation, Evan accepted. "I'm Barty, the boss is Dorcas and the guard is Casper. Welcome aboard, Rosier."

II: Lily

Lily doesn't know what she did wrong. All she had wanted was to spend a relaxing Saturday with Sybill, the closest friend she's ever had since Remus just- disappeared when they were five, at least until that friendship grew into something more. How hard of an ask was that?

Apparently, very fucking hard.

Lily was twelve when she realized her feelings towards her friend were slowly veering away from platonic. She remembers the moment when she realized exactly.

"Sybill!" Lily gasped when she pulled open her front door to reveal her wild-haired friend covered in bruises and small cuts. "What happened?"

Sybill smiled, despite one of her eyes being swollen shut. "Hi, Lils! Oh, nothing major, just got into a little scuffle, is all."

A seething surge of violent anger simmered under Lily's skin. Someone had done this to her. Someone dared to lay a hand on her friend. Someone was going to pay.

But first, Sybill was in dire need of some medical attention.

Lily quickly waved her inside, directing her up the stairs and down the hall into Lily's bedroom.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Lily demanded as she made Sybill sit on her floral bedspread- something Lily had been begging her mother to change for literal years, only to be turned down at every attempt. She quickly got to work, fingers hovering over Sybill's eye as she began to make the swelling go down.

"You know Mundungus Fletcher, yeah? I accidentally ran into him on the way here and he dropped this expensive looking pot. He said it was imported from Shu Han and got really mad," Sybill whimpered at the memory, eyes glassy, and Lily fought to keep her hands steady as she moved on to the cuts littering her friend's face, lines of red disappearing under her touch. "He hurt me and didn't stop until someone made him," Sybill sniffled. "He stole all of my galleons and my mother's necklace."

Lily's eyes drifted down, fury increased tenfold. Sybill's mother had died when she was young, just over nine years ago when Firepox had struck the Wandering Isle. It had been the same wave that robbed the lives of many, her neighbour Hope Lupin among them. Remus had been gone for a year, and Hope was still the shell of the woman she had been. Lily hadn't understood much at the time, but Hope had allowed her grief and guilt to consume her. Lily's mother was one of many who dropped in and checked on Hope every week, bringing food and making sure she was eating it, coaxing her into the shower and clean clothes. When Firepox forced all of Lefin to evacuate, Hope had refused to leave her house- her bed, even. No matter how much anyone tried, Hope kept herself anchored. Lily's mother was the last to give up, and she only did so for the benefit of her two children. Hope had been tired of suffering from her son's disappearance and the mysterious murder of her husband not long after. When Firepox came knocking, she welcomed it with open arms.

Sybill's mother had tried to escape, she really did, and Lily thinks that's why her death had hurt so much. Sybill and her family lived closest to the docks and they were the first to be struck. First, her father went down. Her brother followed. Her mother had caught it last. She had forced a chain into Sybill's hands, a gold symbol dangling from it- a triangle split in half by a line with a small circle inside- and told her to run. Afterwards, Sybill had been taken in by the neighbourhood cat lady, Mrs. Figg, but the hole her family left in her heart was never filled, the chain far to little to take up the space. Sybill had never taken it off, up until now when she had no other choice.

Mundungus Fletcher was running on borrowed time. The thief had interwoven himself deep into a mess he couldn't break free from, even farther than his deep pit of crime. No one, absolutely no one, had the right to reduce Sybill to the weeping mess she had become since Lily finished healing her. No one who robs her of that unique, whimsical Sybill spark should be allowed to breathe. Lily was going to find Mundungus Fletcher and hunt him down, no matter his reputation with his disturbing amount of Grisha blood. She was going to force him to stay conscious as she tore him apart, robbing his ribcage of his heart, so he truly is heartless.

Sybill let out a harsh sob.

Later, Lily thought. I'll do that later.

For now, Lily took one of Sybill's hands in hers and brought her head forward. Sybill's free hand wound tightly around Lily's waist as she sobbed into her chest, tears dampening the fabric. Lily could care less. She carded her fingers gently through Sybill's curls, careful of the never ending tangles.

Sybill was a beauty. The typical sparkling ocean eyes of the Kaelish that somehow was unique on her and her alone. Maybe it was the unfiltered emotion swirling within at all times, ensnaring the attention of all those who took the time to look. Maybe it was the golden tresses Sybill had dyed the moment the thought popped into her head, permission be damned, glowing like a beacon in the sea of red around her. Maybe it was purely the fact that she was Sybill, different in all the right ways and so unapologetically herself. Sybill, the girl with a golden heart worn on her sleeve. Sybill, the girl with so much love to give, no matter her past. Sybill, the only person - outside of Lily's family, who Lily deeply, truly cares for. Lily would gladly crack open her chest and let Sybill wind herself around her heart, just so Lily could protect her easier from the harsh world that didn't deserve even a glimpse of Sybill. And, just knowing Sybill as a person, she'd be so careful with Lily's heart. She'd be so tender, so caring, so loving with something so - though Lily would never admit it - fragil. She'd try to calm it when the beats become rushed, she'd sooth the aches of heartbreak, she'd cradle it between her palms. Hell, Lily was so sure Sybill would be so protective, Lily would gladly place her heart in her hands, if only Sybill would give hers in return.

Oh, Lily thought. She already has it.

Lily suffered from endless pining for two years before anything happened, and even when something did, Sybill was the one to have had made a move.

Sybill, innocent, oblivious Sybill, had taken years to even realize her own feelings, at least according to her. But once she realized, Sybill could never keep her thoughts so herself for long. So, on one beautiful July morning when Lily was fifteen, Sybill had appeared at her doorway and spat a word vomit of a love confession. Lily, who couldn't believe her luck, had smiled, brought Sybill to her room by her arm and kissed away her worries.

Flash forward to a month later, the next schooling year only two days away and all Lily had wanted was to spend the day doing everything and absolutely nothing at all with her girlfriend.

Petunia, Lily's seventeen-year-old sister, had other plans.

Beneath her, Sybill sighed quietly in content. Lily swallowed the noise, kissing her like someone who was trying to drown herself in the sensation of Sybill's unbelievably soft lips. Lily fought a small noise as Sybill tugged on her hair, lifting her legs to lock her ankles around Lily's back. Lily shifted her weight onto one of her forearms braced next to Sybill's head, taking the other hand to cup her neck.

Sybill threw her head back, gasping for breath. Lily took the opportunity to latch her lips on the column of Sybill's throat.

"L-Lily," Sybill stuttered, back arching. "I'm not- not ready for anything other than this yet."

"I know," Lily murmured, running her tongue over the mark she just made before jumping to Sybill's pulse point. The latter let out a soft moan. "Me neither."

Sybill tugged frantically on Lily's hair. "C'mere. Kiss me, please."

Lily would rather die than comply.

"LILY!" Petunia shouted, slamming her door open. Lily threw herself off her bed, rolling on her back in an attempt to seem casual. Sybill sat up quickly and cleared her throat, rearranging the collar of her shirt to try and hide the bruise Lily left on her collarbone.

Petunia's mouth dropped, eyes frantically whipping between Lily and Sybill. A flare of rage flickered in Lily's gut as Sybill shifted uncomfortably, a flush building along her neck.

Petunia took a deep breath and opened her mouth. Lily's eyes widened. "Tuney, don't, please."

Lily saw the raw disgust gleaming in her sister's eyes and knew Petunia didn't care for her pleas. Lily lunged, but it didn't matter. It was too late.

"MAMS!"

"You fucker!" Lily hissed, slapping a hand over Petunia's mouth. Sybill leapt up, clamping down on Lily's shoulder and trying to pull her away. Petunia licked her palm and Lily snatched her hand back with a yelp, wiping her hand down Petunia's shirt as she went.

"What is going on in here?" Lily's mother demanded as she appeared in the doorway.

Iris Evans was the picture of every Kaelish person, aside from her eyes. She had the bright, fiery red hair, pale freckled skin but her eyes were green like emeralds, a feature she passed down to both of her children. A feature that was currently sending Lily and her sister a glare so fierce Lily felt like she could shit her pants.

Petunia turned her eyes to Lily, her face twisted in a scowl and a smug glimmer in her eye. "Lily's a-"

Lily leapt at Petunia and shoved her to the ground, grabbing the nearest item - a throw pillow Lily had tossed on the floor when Sybill arrived - and slamming it hard over her mouth to muffle her sister's next words.

"Lillian Rose Evans! Get off your sister this instant!" Iris hissed.

"Lily!" Sybill shouted at the same time.

Petunia thrashed around wildly, bucking her hips and dragging her nails down Lily's arms. Lily ignored the spikes of pain in favour of suffocating her sister even harder. Petunia managed to fling Lily off her, scrambling quickly to her feet and trying to arrange her hair in a presentable manner. Lily snarled, fighting to get her hands on Petunia but Sybill threw her arms around her waist and pulled her back.

"What were you saying, dear?" Iris asked, turning to Petunia.

Petunia huffed and glared at her sister. "Lily and this peasant-" Lily growled. "Have been-" Petunia cut herself off with a shiver, pointing at Sybill's neck.

Lily followed her finger and Iris gasped. The hickey was on full display, the low neckline of Sybill's shirt having shifted down again after she moved it. Iris had her gaze glued to the mark, eyes wide- in either surprise or horror, Lily couldn't tell. Maybe a bit of both?

"You're disgusting," Petunia sneered. "I can't believe you."

Lily fought the very real urge to wrap her fingers around her throat and squeeze until her face went purple.

Petunia began screaming a bunch of truly colourful insults and Lily prepared herself to hurl her own arsenal when a gentle, repetitive tap against her stomach caught her attention. She glanced down. Sybill's hands were shaking.

Lily took hold of her hands and gently pulled from Sybill's grasp. Lily tugged, leading Sybill past the still-frozen-Iris and shrieking Petunia. Petunia sputtered as Lily knocked her forcefully with her shoulder, trailing after them and waving her hands wildly.

Lily stopped at the door and Sybill stepped out onto the porch, turning back to face Lily. Sybill's eyes glanced past at Petunia and she paled. Lily was worried she'd throw up right then and there.

"Sorry about her, darling." Lily said softly, taking hold of her hands once more.

Sybill swallowed and stared at Lily with wide eyes. "You'll be okay, yes?"

Lily smiled. "Of course, darling. Stuff like this happens like this all the time."

Lily ignored the churning in her gut that told her this was different than any other incident.

Sybill let out a relieved breath. "Pop by if you can? Let me know everything's good? And if not...see you Monday?"

Lily nodded and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Sybill's forehead, relishing Petunia's squawk. When they pulled apart, Sybill gave a shaky smile before letting their fingers slip from each other. Sybill turned and ran down the steps, headed down the street towards Mrs. Figg's.

When Lily slammed the door closed, Petunia's shouts began to sink in.

"You are pathetic," she snarled. "You're so desperate for everyone's attention that you'd stoop low enough to have relations with another girl. Imagine what Pops would think."

Lily growled. "Do not bring Pops into this."

When Lily was eight, her parents got divorced. Her Pops had fallen deep into alcohol. Lily couldn't remember a day in that year where he didn't have a bottle dangling from his fingers. It became such a common occurrence that Lily had begun to think it an extension of his hand. He was terribly irritable, constantly snapping at his daughters for the smallest of things - "Lillian, quit stomping around!" (Lily had been walking), "Petunia, finish your homework!" (She had an hour ago, simply forgot to put it away) "Lillian, don't leave your shoes in the middle of the walkway!" (Lily had just taken off her shoes and hadn't got the chance to move them yet) "Petunia, you can't go out looking like that!" (Tuney was wearing a tank top in the middle of summer)- and on, and on, and on. Iris had inevitably had enough and divorced him. Despite his behaviour, Lily's Pops had cared for his children dearly and hauled himself to rehab when Iris threatened him with full custody if he didn't sober up. Lily, who had always favoured her father even during his addiction, was always delighted when she got to visit every other weekend. She laughed while sending letters when she couldn't see him in person. She grinned even when the visits went from bi-weekly to monthly. She beamed when her letters got responses, even when it became a coin toss whether or not she'd receive one in the mail. She smiled when the time between each visit got greater, and greater, and greater. She smiled when his letters went from full-paged replies, to three-quarters, to half, to two paragraphs, to a sentence, to a word, to...nothing.

Lily doesn't know what happened to her father. Her mother forbid her from exploring the subject. She didn't know if he was still in rehab, she doesn't know if he had relapsed, she didn't know if he was even still alive, she didn't know if he had moved on. She doesn't know and she doesn't care. If he had wanted to keep contact, he should've made more effort.

Lily ignored the pang that wished he had.

Petunia grinned, all teeth. "You were always his perfect little girl. What would he say about you now? If he knew about how far you've fallen?"

Lily clenched her fists and tried to convince herself that her father wouldn't care. She was still his daughter, the same Lily he had helped raise. There wasn't anything different about her, even though her preferences may be a little unique.

The worst part? Lily didn't even know which version of her Pops was true.

"You are a disgrace. A dissapointment. A pathetic excuse of a human being. No one wanted you so you had to make sure everyone knew you were an option, and it makes me sick. If you were to disappear one way, a celebration would be thrown for your absence. We're all just waiting for you to see that no one needs you here, that you're more of a burden than anything."

Each word was like a smack to the face. Petunia wielded her beliefs like a knife and drove them deep, twisting at every thought spilled until Lily was left bleeding and begging. She did it all with a wild smirk, walking away and yanking her blade with her.

Petunia's rant played over, and over, and over again in Lily's mind, spinning like a broken record.

"We're all just waiting for you to see that no one needs you here."

Sybill needs me, whispered a voice so faint it was almost concerning.

Does she?

A brutal war raged within Lily's mind. It was Sybill, of course she needed Lily. She's always needed Lily. But...Sybill is her own person. She doesn't need Lily. She wants Lily, like Lily wants Sybill.

"You're more of a burden than anything."

Lily's thoughts screamed and she wanted nothing more than to smother them quiet. She couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't understand anything. Everything in her mind was amplified, all fighting for attention and drowning each other out in the process. Lily couldn't decide what to focus on.

Lily sprinted up the stairs and threw open her door. Her mother was gone, Lily didn't know where she went. She didn't care. Couldn't care. There was simply no room within her head to think about anything besides getting out. She snatched a drawstring rucksack from off the floor and stuffed the most basic of items inside. She didn't know what she would do if she ran out, if she were to be gone that long, and she couldn't fucking care.

Lily stomped back down the stairs and made her way to the front door. No one tried to stop her when it slammed closed.

Lily walked. She didn't know where. She didn't have a location in mind, even as her brain cleared with every footstep. She just wanted to get away. For just a night, at least. Just a night where her problems where miles away, locked behind a door on a country street just outside of Leflin.

When she finally stopped, dusk had fallen. The harbour and the surrounding market were abandoned - aside from a few docked boats waiting to sail the next morning. Lily walked to the end of one of the docks and sat down, feet dangling off the edge, hovering just enough to keep her shoes out of the water. Lily watched as the sky bled into a beautiful array of oranges and pinks, purples and blues. She watched as specks of white appeared, stars twinkling above. Lily wished to be that far from her problems. She wished she could just float around in space, gazing down at the world, untouchable by any and everything bad.

If only it could be that easy.

Lily awoke to a gentle shake of her shoulder.

She shot up. Around her, the harbour was bustling. It was a little after dawn but around her, fishermen and crewmates jumped from boats, prepared to take to the waves, and the market was waking up.

Next to her crouched a man with a warm smile. "Sorry to wake you. I just thought you'd rather be awake with everything going on."

Lily nodded. "Thank you."

He grinned. "Did you fall asleep waiting?"

Lily blinked. "Uh- waiting?"

He hummed and nodded towards the ship next to them- the only one not preparing for a day on the water. "Sol and his son, Prongs, are looking for willing crew members as Sol and his crew near retirement. Interviews start in about five minutes, no experience needed."

Lily examined the vessel, The Marauder, and how she could see the occasional head over the rail. Could she...?

Well, when the options where to leave the Wandering Isle or return home to Petunia, the decision was very easy in her current state of mind.

"Yeah, yeah, I am."

A gleam in his eye said he knew she just made that decision but he didn't comment on it.

Soon enough, two bodies bounded off the ship, one very clearly Ravkan and the other Zemeni with a little something else (obviously Ravkan, Lily. That's his dad), both wearing crimson coats with golden suns.

The man stood up and extended a hand to Lily, which she gladly took. Sol and Prongs both grinned upon seeing them and if Lily had any doubt about them being father-son, she definitely didn't now. It was like someone copied and pasted this man - aside from skin tone.

Sol offered his hand in greeting before speaking in impeccable Kaelish. "Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Sol, and this is my son Prongs. I assume you're hear about a position on the crew, yes?"

The man accepted the handshake first. "Yes. Arthur Weasley, sir."

Prongs tilted his head at Lily. "And you?"

"Lily Evans."

Prongs gave her a strange look but didn't say anything.

"Do either of you have any experience?" Sol asked.

Both Lily and Arthur shook their heads.

Sol smiled. "That's alright. C'mon, follow us. We'll give you a basic rundown, introduce you to some of the crew and we'll decide from there."

Lily's jaw dropped as she was led onto the ship. There were people from everywhere. And most of them were Grisha, like her! None of them were scared that they'd be hunted, just standing around and doing what they pleased. Lily wanted that, instead of hiding who she was in fear that someone would find out and drain her of her blood. Her family knew, of course, and Sybill but that was it.

Lily ignored the ache in her heart and shoved it away.

Leaned against one of the rails was a girl with skin darker than Prongs, flicking her hand every once and awhile to send a gust of air fluttering through her garments. She was talking to a Fjerdan, who seemed to be healing some rope burns on the hands of a Kaelish girl. Two Kaelish boys were sparring in the center of the deck, very obviously twins. Up near the wheel stood a Ravkan Tidemaker, talking to another Ravkan, both of them with their backs turned to their Captains.

"This crew is a safe environment for Grisha and otkazat'sya alike," Prongs said as they walked past, whistling to catch the attention of his on-deck crewmates. The Kaelish boys stopped sparring and waved. The Squaller raised her hand in acknowledgement but didn't stop her conversation. "I myself am otkazat'sya, Dad is an Alkemi."

Sol glanced back at them both. 
"That is something we'll need to know, to put you in the most efficient position as possible."

"I'm an Inferi." Arthur said, sparks flickering along his fingertips to further prove himself.

Prongs grinned. "Awesome. I've never met an Inferi."

Sol looked expectantly at Lily.

"A Healer," she said. "And I know a bit of Tailoring as well."

Somehow, Prongs managed to smile wider. "That's great! Marlene - that's the Fjerdan over there - she's are only Healer at the moment and flat out refuses to attempt Tailoring, for whatever reason."

Lily shrugged. "It all depends on the person. Sometimes it comes naturally, other times it's impossible without the proper training and Ravka is really the only country that provides that."

The privateers let out matching winces.

Prongs shook himself, grin sliding back onto his face as if it never left. "Moving along, come meet your first and second mates," he turned towards the two at the wheel. "Moony! Wormtail!"

Both boys turned and Lily stumbled over her feet. Arthur reached out to grab her arm so she wouldn't go tumbling towards the deck.

Though his face was now littered with scars, Lily would know those eyes anywhere. A soft brown like the sweet he adored so much. Here, right now, in front of her after ten years apart, was none other than Remus Lupin.

Remus bounded down towards them, following the Tidemaker. He skidded to a stop as he and Lily locked gazes. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened.

"Lily?" He said slowly, as if rushing his words would make her disappear.

"Remus?" She whispered so her voice wouldn't crack.

Relief pulled at the ropes tied tightly around her heart. Remus had been gone for longer than Lily had known him and as she grew up to realize what that meant, she had feared for the worst. Though Remus had obviously gone through some sort of terrible, he was alive and that's all that mattered. Remus, Lily's best friend, the only best friend she's ever had, was here. Lily needed to touch him, to know he wasn't a hallucination her mind had made up, to know he wasn't a fragment of her imagination. She needed to wrap her arms around him to ground herself, to keep herself from floating away in the raging sea of emotion ricocheting in her head.

Remus seemed to know it was coming and opened his arms as Lily leapt to him. She threw her arms around his neck and his wound his around her back, squeezing her tightly as he gripped his own elbows. His chin rested on the top of her head and Lily sobbed into his chest. He was real. He was here. He was safe.

The Tidemaker leaned over to Prongs, who stared at the pair with wide eyes. "Is she Grisha or otkazat'sya?"

"Grisha." Prongs whispered back.

"Dammit!" The Tidemaker shouted, effectively drawing the attention of everyone on board.

"What is it, Peter?" The Squaller called.

"The newbie won the bet!"

There was a moment of silence as everyone laid eyes on Lily and Remus.

"For fucks sake!" Yelled the Fjerdan, throwing her head back as she shouted something in her own tongue at the sky.

"Language, Marlene." Sol muttered.

Remus narrowed his eyes. "What bet?"

Peter paled as he skittered around to hide behind Prongs.

"Peter," Remus growled. "What bet?"

"Well, Moony," Prongs answered and Peter's shoulders slumped in relief. "We've noticed your odd tendencies around other Grisha. You don't touch them at all, if you can help it. So, all the Grisha on board, apart from Dad, made a bet to see which one you'd willingly touch first. And it seems Lily here, has won, which makes sense because if I'm remembering correctly, we ran into your old neighbour a couple of years ago, who you called Mrs. Evans. I'm assuming that's Lily's mother and you two are childhood friends."

Remus ripped himself out of Lily's grasp and cleared his throat, clasping his hands together behind his back.

Lily glanced over to the privateer with a sharp, "What?" She turned back to Remus. "You've been here? How many years ago?"

Remus winced.

"Remus, how many?" Her voice rose in pitch.

"Four."

Lily's eye twitched.

"I reckon Mrs. Evans didn't...tell you."

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 
"No, no she didn't."

When she opened her eyes again, Remus was looking her up and down. "It's lovely to see you again and all but...what are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

It was Lily's turn to wince. "Long story."

Remus nodded in understanding. "Alright, well, come along. There's so much to show you."

Lily went gladly.

III: Pandora

Pandora loved her life. She really, really did. Her mother was everything Pandora could've ever asked for - caring but not overprotective, understanding but firm when needed and overall a very loving person. The caravan - even though they were constantly moving - had grown to be home. Pandora had found her niche with the tightropes and she loved to bring joy to whoever came to see the performances. She loved the fact they were never in one place for long, travelling everywhere and visiting old friends during their loops around the country. Those in the caravan were like a secondary family. There was so much love to give and plenty of people to receive it. She loved every bit of it.

But she couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

Pandora knew she wasn't an only child. She knew of her father, tucked away in some Fjerdan village with her twin by his side. She knew neither of them had reached out to try and talk to her, or her mother. She knew that they knew of her existence, but they've never shown any interest in her.

Pandora sighed, reaching into her pocket to pull out half a worn-out photo. In it, Mikael Rosier is holding a snoozing, newborn Pandora, coddled up tightly in a blanket. The other half is gone, the photo ripped in two. Pandora likes to think Evan has the other half, with him is his Mama's arms.

Pandora has seen other photos of her father, of course. Her mother has a full scrapbook filled with pieces of paper, photos and drawing from the day she and Mikael met to the day he was forced to leave, just hours after the twins were born. This one is just her favourite. It's the only one she has of the both of them.

Pandora doesn't have any photos of Evan. She doesn't know if he has the blond hair of their father, like she does. She doesn't know if he has the skin of their mother, like she does. She doesn't know if he has eyes like sapphires, like she does. She doesn't know, but she desperately wants to. It frustrates her to no end that she doesn't.

"What's wrong, meja?" Pandora's mother, Kala, asked after her third heavy sigh.

"It's nothing, Mama." Pandora lied.

Kala gave her a look. Pandora felt powerless under her gaze, dark eyes blatantly unimpressed.

Pandora sighed again, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. The caravan had decided to have dinner under the stars, gazing up at the small pricks of twinkling light surrounded by the blanket of night.

She pulled out the photo and set it down on the ground between them. "Is it- is it weird to miss someone you've never truly met?"

"Not at all, meja. He is your father. You're longing for a bond, a comfort you never had the chance to have. It's entirely natural."

"It's not just Pa, though. It's Evan, too."

Kala winced. Though she highly encourages Pandora to speak of her relatives, to make sure their presence lives on even in their absence, she has always had difficulty indulging her, more so when it comes to Evan than Mikael. "Again, darling, entirely natural. He's your twin."

Pandora took hold of the photo again, running her finger along the ripped edge, paper ruffling over smooth skin. "Sometimes...sometimes it bothers me that they don't...reach out. You and Pa used to trade letters all the time but now...you never do. Sometimes it bothers me that I don't know if they even acknowledge my existence at all."

Kala sat in silence for a moment, seemingly fighting a war within her mind. Eventually, she heaved a large sigh and pulled out a black marker - Pandora's never seen her mother without one - and quickly wrote something down on her dinner napkin. She then capped the pen and pressed the serviette into Pandora's palm.

Curiously, Pandora unraveled the paper. On it, in her mother's barely legible handwriting, was an address.

A Fjerdan address.

"If you want to make contact, meja, stop waiting around for them to take action. Do it yourself, darling. There's nothing stopping you."

Pandora beamed down at the small square. "Thank you."

Before the caravan had set off the next morning, Pandora's letter - written in Ravkan so she knew he understood - had been sent off, a small Polaroid of herself holding a delicate white moth and another of her mother dancing around a fire slipped inside.

Dear Mikael and Evan Rosier,

Hello! This is probably a very strange letter to receive and so I apologize in advance.

I am Pandora Rosier, daughter of Mikael Rosier and Kala Lovegood, twin sister to Evan Rosier. I am fourteen years old and have been practicing acrobatics since I was three, participating since seven. Though, I can imagine you knew/guessed some of that.

I am sending you two this letter in hopes of creating a regular communication chain. I know there is a great chance we'll never get to meet(boooooo, war) but this would be enough.

Please send your reply to the address at the bottom of this letter.

Your daughter and twin,

Pandora

P.S, sending a photo would be greatly appreciated!

For the next month, Pandora waited anxiously for the caravan to arrive at the small town she had told her father to address his letter to. Many of her friends had been curious as to what's got her so wound up but thankfully they didn't pry when she gave a vague answer.

All of those who organize the performances were worried her unusual distress would affect her abilities on the rope. Thankfully, when Pandora's on stage, she's a completely different person. No, scratch that, she's not even a person. She's a spirit, only a wisp of something no one and nothing can touch. Gravity doesn't exist, shoved far away from the bubble of balance that surrounds her, cloaks her in safety and comfort. She is something else entirely in front of a crowd; always has been, always will.

Her mother, the only one who knew what was really going on, was worried that Pandora was getting her hopes up. It had been fourteen years since contact had been made between the two parties- Kala had her doubts for it to be sparked anew so simply. Kala was worried for Pandora's mental health if she didn't get a reply.

A perfectly valid worry, in Pandora's mind, but she didn't heed her mother's warnings. She was already too far gone.

Once the caravan had set up camp for the night, Pandora sprinted into town, headed for the one person the caravan truly trusted.

"Ah! Phil!"

Xenophilius Lovegood, Pandora's cousin, was leaned up against the side of his house. Pandora had also sent him a letter in advance to warn him about what she was up to.

Pandora would never be able to explain the tidal wave of relief crashing within her head when she saw a pristine white envelope tucked between his newest chocolate frog card doubles, which he usually gave to Dora whenever he had the chance.

Xeno was unlike anyone Pandora has ever met, the only person who's ever been able to match her level of thinking. Pandora could talk to him for hours, simply trading delusions back and forth. It was truly a shame she couldn't do it more often but, alas, there was nothing she could do. Phil's father, Pandora's uncle, had died soon after he had been born. He was raised by his mother alone, the eccentric of a small Ravkan village. Pandora loved him for it, while everyone else - his mother included - found him weird, like a few wires weren't quite in the right position. Pandora worried for him, for the things they both knew were said behind his back. But she was also glad that his brilliant mind was the only thing the Ravkans could use against him. See, Xeno was the splitting image of his mother. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, ghostly skin, platinum blond hair(a gene from a distant relation in some important Heartrender family, whatever that meant). He didn't look at all like his father and while it was sad, Pandora couldn't be more grateful. Phil was nothing short of amazing and Pandora's heart wouldn't have been able to take hearing about the way no one else seemed to view him as such.

Xeno grinned. "Hey, Dora."

Pandora tackled him in a hug, arms wound so tightly she was almost suffocating him. Phil didn't seem to mind, returning the gesture just as fiercely.

When Pandora finally let go, she held his face in her hands, pressing two quick kisses to his cheeks. He laughed and mirrored her.

"So, how have you been?" Pandora asked when they were through with greetings, trying to muffle her endless excitement. The very thing she had been fretting over for 730 hours(she counted) was right there but some sliver of sanity kept her from tearing the envelope from his grasp and curling into a ball to read it.

Xeno's lips twitched in a barely there knowing smirk. "Everything has been wonderful, Dora. Y'know, I found a bees nest the other day. A couple of them let me hold them. I was only stung a handful times. And I got you some more cards," Phil waved them in the air. "Two more King Dumbledores for you, shocker. Also one of Minerva McGonagall, Sankt Salazar, Sankta Rowena and, surprisingly, an extremely rare Sankta Alina."

Pandora momentarily forgot about the letter at the mention of the Saints. Xeno passed the cards over. She didn't bat an eye at the Dumbledores - she rather dislikes the man and the little he does for her and her people, as well as his own -, but she did pause to look over the General, a stern woman in summoner blue, two bands of gold around each bicep to show her position, a ball of flames bouncing in her palm. She did, however, pay closer attention to her Saints.

Sankt Salazar stood tall, sure of himself despite the pure white of his left eye. Wound around his one arm in a tight coil was a snake with eyes like blood, on his opposite shoulder stood an eagle and at his feet was a wolf. An unpopular opinion but Sankt Salazar was one of her favourites. The perfect example of how love may be a potion, but it's a poison in disguise. The endless lengths one would go to for those they cherish.

Sankta Rowena was next, though many debate whether or not she should even be considered a Saint at all. Many Ravkans sure think not and Pandora heavily suspects the only reason she has a chocolate frog card at all was that the company who makes them was running out of people. Sankta Rowena had two other names; the Symbol of Wisdom(given to her by the Suli) and the Embodiment of Cowardice(thank you, Ravkans). Rowena had been the wife of Ravka's seventh king. It hadn't been much of a secret that the King - great grandson of Sankt Godric - was an unfaithful husband, and an unkind one. Many - mostly servants - had been witness to the countless times the King had brought his hands down on his wife, or forced her to partake in acts she had no such desire to be apart of. When it had been announced that she was pregnant, Rowena had fled. A few years after their daughter Helena had been born, the King was able to track his wife down. He took Helena hostage and created a deal with Rowena; her for the child. Rowena had accepted but the moment she got close enough, she stabbed the King with his own sword. Rowena had then used her own body to protect Helena from the oncoming attacks from his soldiers. Helena managed to escape but Rowena died for her daughter. Some say the diadem she wore - made of twisting black metal and gleaming sapphires, is haunted by Rowena herself, her voice echoing through the head of those who attempt to wear it.

The Symbol of Wisdom- Rowena was wise to see how the King's behaviour would end up hurting her child. She escaped not for herself, but for her unborn daughter so she'd never have to suffer like she had. Rowena was wise to see that the King would never stop unless he was put to rest. Rowena was wise enough to see that murdering her husband would lead to her own demise but followed through anyway, to save who she loved.

The Embodiment of Cowardice- Rowena ran. If the act was not seen as wise, it was seen as cowardly. Those who believe so are incredibly stupid, brainwashed to believe the tales of the crown. And even if the act was 'cowardly', nothing else Rowena ever did could be considered so. Sankta Rowena was impossibly brave, wise, and driven by the motherly urge to protect.

Sankta Rowena was anything but a coward.

On her card, Sankta Rowena was pregnant, dressed in her signature deep blue. In her hands, raised above her head but not resting on it, was her diadem, clenched between white knuckles.

Sankta Alina was last, dressed in her brown kefta and pure white hair pulled back just enough to see her face. She had her head turned to the sky, palms open. On her neck was the collar made of stag antlers. On one wrist were the scales of Rusalye. On the other, the bones of the Firebird. Sunlight burst from her skin, extending outwards along the eboney background of the card.

Pandora smiled, shuffling through the Saints once more. "Thank you, Phil. They're wonderful."

Xeno smiled. "It's nothing."

"It's everything."

Pandora watched his smile widen, teeth flashing, before asking a question. "Anyways, how have you been?"

Annnnnnd the letter was back at the forefront of her mind.

Something in her expression must've given her away because he chuckled before waving the envelope in front of her face. "This what you've been waiting for?"

Pandora nodded quickly enough to give herself whiplash, hand snatching out to rip the letter from his grasp. Xeno chuckled again, peeking over her shoulder as Pandora stares at the envelope, hands trembling.

The scrawl on the front of the envelope was scratchy and sloppy, like someone had written it quickly and without a care, but it was legible, certainly better than her mother's. Pandora wondered whose handwriting she was staring at; her father's or her brother's.

"Well go on," Phil urged. "Open it."

Pandora didn't have to be told twice.

She turned it over, momentarily taking Phil's knife to cut through the wax seal. She shakily pulled out a folded piece of paper, a small photo almost immediately slipping out. Pandora dropped the envelope carelessly, reaching forward to catch the small image in her palm. She felt her breath catch as she stared at someone who was undeniably her brother.

Caramel skin, eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, classic Fjerdan blond hair - though his was in curls, her's in braids. His jawline sharper than a knife, but cheeks soft like hers. The smallest smattering of dark freckles under his eyes.

That was her brother. That was her twin. That was Evan Rosier.

"He's dressed in a drüskelle uniform." Xeno commented over her shoulder.

"I don't care." Pandora replied, a little breathless.

Phil hummed like he knew she wouldn't.

Pandora picked up the envelope once more, peering inside, looking for a second photo. When she came up short, her opened the letter. Nothing. No picture of her father.

Pandora frowned but let it go, deciding to focus on the letter itself.

Pandora,

I'll be honest, I never expected to hear from you. I have never taken any effort to be your father and I assumed you would've given up. I had hoped you would. Though, you clearly have your mother's persistence. Her inability to take hints as well.

The reason I have not taken the time to try and establish a 'regular communication chain', as you say, is because I do not want to. The rivalry between Ravka and Fjerda is simply too great for me to have the family I wanted and sending letters would be a slap in the face.

As for your brother, he was enrolled in the drüskelle program at ten. Earlier this year, he was sent to the north - along with all the other drüskelle his age - to get his companion. The little fucker ran after he met his wolf. He's a deserter. Don't go looking for him. I doubt he even knows you exist.

Thanks for the photos.

- Mikael Rosier

Pandora folded the letter, purposefully ignoring the spots where tears of ink bled from the paper due to her own. She carefully tucked the letter away into the pocket of her jacket but held onto the photo of Evan. Evan - brave, brave Evan.

Xeno's arms looped around her waist from behind, his face buried in her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dora."

Pandora let out a sob, hand coming up to her lips in an attempt to muffle the pitiful sounds escaping from her mouth. Her vision went blurry and Phil's arms tightened protectively at every noise.

Pandora doesn't know how long she stood on Phil's front lawn, weeping because she wants someone who doesn't want her back. This was the kind of pain she saw those in her caravan experience when they long for a bond, a special entwinement of souls, that the person they long to have it with doesn't experience that same desire. Except...not. What those people want is something romantic, someone they rely on for comfort, for kisses, for hugs, for a love no one else can give them. What Pandora wants is for the same thing, save the romance and kisses. She wants what she was supposed to have, what she should've gotten, what was supposed to be a package deal with living.

Both scenarios have love engraved into their bones.

And love is a poison in disguise.

Pandora sniffled, pulling herself from Xeno's grip and rubbing at her eyes, careful of the image between her fingers. When she spoke, her voice was cracked from tears. "I- I think I'm gonna go."

Xeno nodded, eyebrows synched in worry and eyes gleaming with unshed tears, like seeing Pandora in pain hurt him, too. "Be safe, okay? Visit soon?"

"As soon as I can." She whispered, hugging him properly.

If Xeno tasted salt on her cheeks as they exchanged kisses, he didn't say anything.

Xeno watched as she left and it wasn't until she had turned down the road and out of sight that he let the tears fall.

"Oh, meja," Kala whispered as Pandora stepped into their trailer looking like a sight for sore eyes. She had cried once more on the walk over so her eyes were freshly red and puffy, tear stains almost permanently etched into her face. "What happened?"

Wordlessly, Pandora handed over the letter.

She watched as Kala's eyes zipped across the page, emotions flashing and twisting every few seconds.

When she finished, she set the page down on the table in between them. She met Pandora's gaze, eyes sad and a glimmer of something else. What...Pandora couldn't tell.

"I'm so sorry, meja."

Pandora didn't answer, only slid her photo of Evan across the table.

Kala gasped as she scooped up the image, cradling it closer. She stared so intensely Pandora thought the image would burst into flames in her hands. "My baby."

Pandora nodded.

Kala looked over the top of the photo, meeting Pandora's eyes again. "You're going to try and find him, aren't you?"

Pandora cracked, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her cheeks as she nodded once more. "I have to."

The glimmer glowed brighter and Pandora put a name to it.

Worry but...resigned. She knew Pandora wouldn't waver and she wouldn't dare try to change her mind.

"Where are you going to start?"

"Where's the one place that has access to everywhere, the one place you can get whatever you want for the right price?"

Kala inhaled sharply. "Ketterdam."

"Yes."

Kala stepped around to Pandora's side of the table, taking her face in her hands. "Listen to me, meja, you be very careful. Ketterdam is not a place for people with hearts as kind as yours. They will take advantage of it. And be extremely careful about which ship you get on, about what contracts you sign. So easily could your freedom be taken."

"I know, Mama. You've told me all this before. It's why you had me learn Kerch in the first place."

Kala wrapped Pandora in a tight hug, silent tears dripping onto her braids. "The nearest port is three cities away. You'll be leaving then, I assume?"

Pandora nodded.

"Do you need me to come with you? I should go with you. Someone should go with you. You're fourteen, for Saints sake! I've already let one of my babies slip between my fingers, I'm not going to let another one go."

"Mama? You're crushing me."

Kala instantly loosened her arms.

"Didn't Eten say he was headed to Ketterdam to gather inspiration or something?" Pandora asked.

Eten was the caravan costume designer. He occasionally took trips to Ketterdam to wander the Staves, taking inspiration from the local fashion, the Komedie Brute outfits or, though he'll never admit it, the brothels. He also spends the time to stock up on rare silks and fabrics he wouldn't be able to afford anywhere else.

A spark struck in Kala's eye. "Yes, yes he did. You'll go with him and he'll keep an eye on you."

Pandora didn't ask what would happen when Eten inevitably returned to Ravka without her.

"And you'll send me letters, yes?"

"Of course, Mama."

Kala squeezed her tight again. "That makes me feel a whole lot better."

A little over a month later, the year nearly drawing to a close, Pandora stepped off a ship into Ketterdam's fifth harbour, instantly overwhelmed by the flashing lights blinking down the canals.

Almost instantly, Eten disappeared. The man had been trying to shake her off his tail since they were forced to board together. Pandora's instant distraction as they set foot in Kerch was all he needed, evaporating into the sea of people at first chance, leaving Pandora all alone in the new island nation.

Pandora wrestled the rising fear in her chest. Alright, you can do this. You wanted this, just find someone who can help.

Pandora observed her surroundings. She ship she had just come off of was a tourist vessel, packed to the brim with curious Ravkans. All of them started heading in different directions, some to the nearby man handing out maps for three kruge apiece, some down the streets lining the East Stave, others headed southwest towards the West Stave and finally, some went east, headed for the large, fancy hotels in the Financial District.

It was easy to tell who were tourists and who were Kerch. 'Causal' wasn't a word in the Kerch vocabulary. While Ravkans were dressed in comfortable travel clothes - aside from those dressed in true Ravkan fashion, headed towards the Staves for a night of fun -, the Kerch were decked out in expensive-looking trousers, shoes, waistcoats, jackets and hats. Pandora spotted firearms on the hips of at least six different Kerch, all of whom thought they were being sneaky. And she noticed many Kerch had strange tattoos - moon cycles on forearms, blood-coated crowns as chokers among others. While the Ravkans stumbled around nervously, glancing down repeatedly at their maps and falling victim to the siren call of the sights of Ketterdam at night, the Kerch walked with their heads held high, shoulders back. They strutted about with confidence. They knew these streets, they were the bosses here.

Pandora's gaze was attracted to one particular man. His style was different than everyone else around. While, yes, he had expensive clothing, he wore it as though he was mocking it. His jacket, a black, smooth-looking trench coat, was covered in holes, some of which with the edges roughed by fire damage. Pandora saw the tattoo of a dagger whose hilt morphed into a snake, the reptile curling down around the blade peeking through some of the ones on his bicep. He wore the waistcoat - a light navy - without a shirt underneath, causing Pandora to do an almost hilarious double-take. He couldn't be much older than her- by all the Saints, where did he find the confidence to dress so freely? His trousers were a light brown and were covered in burns, tatters, dark, dusty scuffs and red stains Pandora desperately hoped wasn't blood. His hair was dyed, brown fading into bright green. His eyes were covered in cosmetics, a black smokey-eye with eyeliner sharp enough to cut. 

What really caught her eye though was the fact he was unarmed. Even though the sight of a fourteen-year-old packing a firearm would've been highly concerning, Pandora was almost more concerned that he was surrounded by those with guns and he had none himself.

The man was intriguing. Pandora chose him to be her victim.

"Excuse me." She said as she walked up behind him.

The man jumped, whirling on his heels to face her. "Saints. Give a guy a little warning next time, yeah?"

"I'll try to remember that."

The man looked her up and down, an eyebrow raised. "Well this is uncanny."

Pandora decided to ignore this. "I need your help."

He raised both eyebrows. "And how would I be able to help you?"

"I need to find my brother and I'm willing to do almost anything to make that happen."

Slowly, the man cocked his head to the side. "Hm. I'm not really the one you need to talk to about this. And your request might be a little much."

"Please." Pandora didn't know what else to say. That one word summed up the entire vortex of emotions swirling around in her stomach. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Surely there'd be someone here who could help her, right?

She desperately hoped so.

The man hummed again. "I didn't even hear you walk up and, trust me, I have quite the pair of ears. That could be useful...what's your name?"

"Pandora Rosier."

His eyebrows shot up again. A line of concentration appeared on his forehead before it vanished as he let out a loud laugh. "Follow me. We might be able to help after all."

Pandora let herself be led down the East Stave, an unusual bounce in her step. Excitement, hope and worry curled in her gut into one sickening soup of emotion that she fought to keep down her throat.

The man - Barty, as he introduced himself on the way over - led her into a club, a sign covered in vipers hanging from the doorframe. As they passed, a tall man dressed in black gave them - well, more so Pandora than Barty - a suspicious look.

Barty grinned. "I know. Is the boss here?"

Slowly the man shook his head, nodding his head southeast.

"Ah. At the Slat?"

The man nodded.

Barty stepped out of the club and Pandora followed. He looked back, met the man's gaze and made a little jerking motion with his head, a clear sign to follow. The man narrowed his eyes before calling someone over to take his place and follow Barty further into what Pandora knew was called the Barrel.

They veered off the East Stave and before she knew it, Pandora stood in front of a rickety old building which she gathered to be some sort of group house.

Barty threw open the door, shouting in a sing-song voice. "Oh, Caaaaaaaaassssss."

A groan echoed back deeper into the house and Barty bounded towards the voice. He led Pandora and the other guy - who Barty had introduced as Casper - into what looked to be a dining area.

Sat at the table was a girl with skin darker than Pandora, and hair even darker yet, little charms of silver braided throughout. Tension bunched up in Pandora's shoulders as her gaze caught on just how many guns this woman currently had on her person. Even if Barty didn't have a weapon, his boss surely had enough for the two of them.

Cas, who had previously been nursing a glass of whiskey, set her drink down as her eyes landed on Pandora. Her gaze raked up and down her person, scouring every little detail that caught her eye.

"Hmm," she hummed at last. "Uncanny."

"That's what I said!" Barty cried, delighted. He nudged Pandora's side. "Go on, tell her what you told me."

Cas focused on Pandora once more, an expectant look on her face.

Pandora cleared her throat. "I need help finding my brother. I don't know what you'd have me do but as long as I don't directly kill someone, I'm down. I need to find him."

Slowly, Cas looked between a very-serious Pandora and an overly-excited Barty. "Is her brother..?"

Barty beamed. If he smiled any more, Pandora thought sunshine and rainbows would start bursting from his ass. "Uh-huh!"

Cas let out a disbelieving breath, leaning back in her chair and picking up her glass again. "It's like you've got some sort of secret talent, Crouch. Call 'em down."

Barty looked like someone had just told him his farts were made of money. He skipped over to the nearby staircase, holding onto the banister as he shouted up. "My darling rose! Your wonderful presence is required!"

A few moments later, Pandora heard the thump of footsteps and the scrabble of paws. The stairs creaked as someone descended, an animal not far behind.

Or, well, ahead because a beautiful wolf came into view first, his coat a mix of white and brown, one eye a blue brilliant enough to rival her own and one completely white.

Pandora inhaled sharply as a man came into view- no, not just any man. Her brother. Her twin brother. Her own flesh and blood.

Evan Rosier.

It was like looking into a gender-swapping mirror.

His hair was longer than the picture Pandora kept tucked away in her pocket, curls fuller and sweeping down into his eyes- the very same eyes Pandora had. He was tall, which didn't really say much because to her, everyone was tall. He stood around the same height as Barty, not even an inch between them as he stood with his arms crossed in front of the grinning Kerch, eyes narrowed in a glare. At his feet, his isenulf rolled his eyes.

"I told you to stop calling me that." Evan grumbled, his Kerch heavily accented with Fjerdan. Pandora felt like she could cry. She might. His voice was deeper than she had been imagining but that's alright. She loves him anyway.

Pandora pretended not to notice the slight flush gathered under his ears. Her gaze flickered just once from her brother - eeeeeeee her brother! - to the man beside him. She had a feeling about those two.

Barty grinned, tapping Evan's nose with his finger, which Evan then tried to bite. "You love it."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"I've never heard such a vile nickname and people back home called me a half-breed."

Pandora tried, and failed, not to wince.

Evan's gaze snapped to her. His eyes widened, expression overtaken by confusion as he looked her up and down. "Well this is uncanny."

Behind her, Casper snorted.

Evan's eyes met hers. "Who are you?"

Pandora took a deep breath, ignoring the whimpering of the animal that was her heart. "That's alright, he said that might happen," she muttered to herself before straightening up. "I'm Pandora Rosier. Your twin sister."

Evan stared at her in utter shock for a minute. And then two.

Then he promptly burst out laughing.

Barty looked concerned, confusion creased between his brows. Cas tilted her head in curiosity, taking another sip of whiskey as she glanced between the twins. Pandora blinked at him because this was not at all the reaction she had been expecting.

The laughter cut out as soon as it started and he simply said, "No."

"No?" Pandora sputtered. "What do you mean 'no'? That's not how that works."

"It's exactly how this is going to work because if I had a twin, I would've known about it." Evan snapped, gaze hard as he glared at her.

And well. Pandora hadn't travelled all the way here for a no.

Her jaw tightened. "You're Evan Rosier, son to Mikael Rosier and Kala Lovegood. Your birthday is June twentieth, you were enrolled in the drüskelle army at ten, escaped at fourteen. You-"

"Enough!" He shouted, though Pandora didn't fail to notice rigidness of his spine. "Whatever cruel joke this is, where ever you got this information from, I don't care. Just go. I don't have a twin."

Pandora wouldn't cave so easily. "Most of it I know because I share the same damn information but everything else I got from Pa."

She threw the letter down at his feet. Evan paused before slowly picking up the piece of paper. He flipped the letter open, reading through it quickly. "This is Father's handwriting."

Pandora threw the photo at him too. "That came with it."

Evan took the image in his hands and Pandora noticed the way they trembled. He quickly set the two documents down on the table next to him, shaking his head back and forth repeatedly. "No. No, no, no. There is no way I've had a twin this whole time and that fucker didn't even tell me." He trailed off, muttering something angry in Fjerdan.

"Evan," Barty said slowly. "It's true, mate. Familial hearts all beat to the same song and...yours are identical."

Pandora glanced at him quizzically but didn't mention it.

Evan pulled out a chair, dropping his head into his hands. When he spoke, his voice was littered with cracks. "What am I thinking? Of course he didn't fucking tell me. I didn't even know my mother's name until now."

The wolf whined in concern, leaping up into Evan's lap. One of his hands wound its way into his wolf's fur. "I'm fine, Zar."

Pandora smiled at the name.

Evan's other hand dipped into his pocket, pulling a worn photo from it. He set it down on the table and Pandora glanced at it curiously. "This is the only thing I've ever had of her."

Pandora gasped. The photo was of baby Evan, swaddled in Kala's arms. It was torn directly down the middle, the other half presumably long gone.

Except it wasn't.

Everyone watched with different levels of curiosity as Pandora dug through her pockets, pulling out her own withered image. She set it down, lining the ripped edge up with Evan's.

A perfect fit. An image torn apart for fourteen years, once again whole.

Evan out a small sob and Barty materialized behind him, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders.

Pandora let out a shuddering breath of her own, silent tears dripping down her face. "Do you believe me now?"

Evan nodded frantically.

Pandora smiled and dug through her pockets once more. She set her Sankt Salazar card down in front of him. Evan picked it up curiously, somehow managing to read through blurry eyes. He met Pandora's red-rimmed gaze with his own. "Why?"

She shrugged before nodding down at Zar. "I figured you'd appreciate it more."

He let out another sob, a fresh wave of tears rolling down his face. His fingers twitched like he would claw his own eyes out if it meant stopping but he refrained, instead reaching out to grab Pandora's hand.

"Thank you."