The Seventh Stone

Fight, damn it… Got to fight it. Fight my own damn body. I can’t pass out, not now—not like this. I won’t.

My fingers slide against the dirt as I sway back and forth for a moment, trying to steady myself—and not throw up. I look up at Loki, amidst the few people standing dispersedly, and staring down at me. I watch them step away reluctantly, recoiling at my slightest movement as I try to lift myself up—while Loki steps over to my side.

He kneels in front of me, peering down with a solemn look as he grasps both my shoulders and lifts me up. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly, leaning over to meet my eyes.

“Yeah, I…” I pause, regaining my composure. “Loki, the stone—I… I think I know where it is.”

All movement ceases for a moment as Loki narrows his eyes, processing the information. “Alright,” he nods. “But let’s talk about it later—not here.”

I bob my head in agreement, parting my lips to speak. Though before a sound can manage to rise in my throat, four large, metal spikes send tremors through the earth, plunging into the ground around us with terrible force, and caging us in the middle of the path. My pulse shoots upward as my eyes dart from side to side—trying to summon all halves of my brain to figure out what's going on, and what to do with the rest of my body, to avoid being impaled. A cylinder of dust kicks up suddenly between the stands ahead, drawing my gaze back over to the path—where a large ship materializes slowly in the air. It takes a moment to realize that it resembles the ships from the fleet, and dread accompanies the fear in my chest as I watch it descend down to the ground, inch by inch.

Loki steps in front of me, eyeing the ship and saying nothing as people continue to scurry past us. The ship finally begins to hover with a hiss, and a pair of round, sliding doors rotate open at its front. I squint—trying to see what’s inside, but hardly anything is visible from the height it’s at. Save for the blinding lights—and finally, a cloaked figure contrasting against them as it slowly emerges. With a subtle click, a ramp slides out from a hidden component beneath the entryway and slides to the ground, allowing the hooded figure to stride over it—with the hood covering everything but a pair of pale, thin lips.

“Not ominous at all…” I murmur quietly as it steps down to the ground.

With a wave of the figure's hand, Loki flies from my side between the metal spikes, and crashes into one of the stands. I turn my head sharply, trying to find him in the rubble as white-hot nervousness bleeds back into my chest. My eyes dart to the figure as the spikes suddenly dissipate into thin air—as if they were never there to begin with.

"Who are you?" I growl at the figure.

He continues to stalks toward me, fingers curled amusedly in the air, "My name," the figure purrs, with a voice split into multitude of pitches that seem to echo in my mind. I slide a foot backward as it steps in front of me—ready to jump away. "Is Seron." 

The voice smooths into a soft, stable tone—matching the eerily bright pair of beady, violet eyes peering darkly at me from beneath the hood. 

Seron… 

I know the name, but no—it can't be.

The first bearer of the god stone was a creature born of the dark realms… Olen’s voice threads across my thoughts. Absorbing Soren’s armies, along with the life force from his body, was a feat that the bearer could not withstand…

Heat and color melt from my face. “Seron?” I mutter, forcing the sound out of my tense throat. “Seron is—”

“Dead,” he interjects, holding my gaze as his head tilts slightly to the side. “That’s what you told everyone, wasn’t it?” An unsettling hint of admiration resonates in his tone. And with the intensity of his gaze, I’d bet he caught the subtle shake of my head.

“Actually, that’s what everyone told me,” I respond in a low voice.

Seron steps toward me—eyes locked on mine—and his mouth stretches into a menacing grin. I slide a step back, raising my hand up calmly front of me while I hold his gaze—demanding his eyes stay locked on mine.

“Don’t,” I say threateningly, trying to maintain my composure—while fear and anxiety take turns tossing and turning inside my chest.

His eyes fall slowly—curiously—down to my palm. “Well,” he breathes out, peering intently down at the shard. “And here I thought we might be friends.”

A sliver of amusement wisps through my body like electricity. “Am I only one who doesn’t think out loud?” I blurt out, and he pauses, glancing up at me pensively. I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter—I know what you're after, and you won't find it here.”

“Now, why would that be?” his lips twist into a frown.  “Come, Lara—”

“How do you know my name?” I interject tightly.

Seron tilts his head, rolling his eyes about the scene demonstrably, and back to me. “One could say I've known about you for a very long time—much longer than you've been alive.”

I raise a brow. “What?”

"I've been watching you. For the longest, longest time, I watched over you until the time was right—I'm the reason you're here now."

I shake my head. "No, you're not." 

“Yes—I am,” he says dryly.

The sheer certainty in his expression is enough to send a chill down my spine—it can't be true, but he damn well believes it is. I glance at Loki, who’s barely managed to crawl out of the rubble, and is peering at us quietly from the side—listening with a calculative expression. I look back up at Seron, keeping my mouth shut tightly.

“That's not possible,” I say darkly, barely moving my lips.

"It is," he nods. "I was there in your room, that night—when you first witnessed the image of the god stone."

It takes an active effort to keep every muscle in my body from clenching up in disgust, but I raise a brow—keeping an icy mask of calm on my face. “Not creepy at all…” I mumble under my breath.

Seron lets out a breathy chuckle, stepping forward as I step back. “Call it what you will, but yes—I brought you that vision. I gave you the initiative. The rest was up to you, of course.”

"I don’t believe you,” I say, cocking my head toward him. “How the did I end up on Asgard then, if the stone didn’t send me there? And the voice I heard—”

"Was my voice—guiding you," he tilts his head as he pulls back the edges of his cloak, revealing the tesseract in his right hand. For a moment, my eyes fill with the pale blue tint of the its light. 

So that's where that went... My eyes trail over to Loki for a moment, glancing over him as he steps closer to us quietly from behind.

"If that's true," I blink, looking back at Seron. "Then you must have brought me here to find you the stone, didn't you? You can't find it on your own."

Seron grins assentingly, and his boots slide across the gravel as he stalks about me. “I wonder why you think the god stone chose you, Lara?” he says slowly—I sigh at the continued monologuing. “You and I—we’re cut from the same cloth, and that is why I’m here—why we're both here. I would like to make you an offer.” 

I raise a brow, tilting my head slightly. “Oh, I bet you would,” I grumble. “What kind of offer?”  

“The kind you’ll want to take if you wish to return home—to your normal, ordinary life,” he raises the tesseract slightly. “I’ll give you this, as long as you agree to bring me the stone.”

I glance down at the cube in his hand, and then back up at him. “So—you want a trade,” I say. “I thought only the ‘living bearer’ could wield the god stone.”

“Bearers,” he says, and his voice softens into a solemn pitch as he peers down at me attentively with a raised brow. “As I said—you and I are the same.”

I hold his gaze for a moment, giving my brain a moment to assess the situation—the information being fed to me. I look over to the left, at Loki, and then to the right—at the broken shops and hidden faces peering fearfully at us from behind the corners. Finally, my eyes trail upward, to the suspended clouds of twisting smoke rising over the metropolis—remnants of the chaos and destruction that Seron had caused, which I suspect it wouldn’t be the end, if I let him go. 

And there it is—the simple answer. I look back down at his pale face, laden with some contented expression—like he knows what my obvious response should be.

“No.”

He frowns suddenly—lowering his chin. “No?”

I shrug sarcastically, shaking my head. “Nah.”  

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a faint grin tugging on the corner of Loki’s mouth.

Seron pulls back the tesseract—slowly. “Are you really so sure about that?” he asks flagrantly, shaking his head. “This is your only way home.”  

Dread weighs my expression downward slightly as I narrow my eyes at him—trying to focus the strings glowing around his body, as I curl my fingers slightly against the pressure.

“I’m sure.”

With a sharp tug, I pull at the strings with my right hand. Seron tilts his head annoyedly as they pass straight through him—without the slightest ripple. My throat caves in with shock as I watch the strings blow past him, leaving a soft tickle against my loosened hand. My eyes dart back to him—while Loki trails along the edge of the path in the corner of my eye, creeping up slowly with a dagger in his hand.

Seron shakes his head slowly. “I’m afraid that's not going to work,"  A nervous lump rises in my throat as he raises his free hand out beside him, turning his head toward Loki. “And neither will that,” he scowls sharply. Loki stops, completely frozen.

An impulse flashes across Seron's expression, prompting me to step forward. “Don’t-” I growl, and my voice pours out like a hot, blistering tar.

Seron turns his head toward me—holding my gaze, and standing perfectly still.

His eyes suddenly widen. “Oh—is he dear to you?” he croons, curling his fingers again. “Well, then how about a different offer—”

“No-” I hiss, and my shoulders tense aggressively—knowing exactly what he's about to say. “Touch him and I end you.”  

Anger roils in my chest—while in the corner of my eye, Loki’s eyes snap toward me. Seron’s amused grin twists into a contemplative smile as he lowers his arm, and snaps it suddenly in my direction. A low, rumbling noise hums in my ears as an invisible pressure suddenly twists around my neck and torso, forcing the air out of my lungs. Tears pool in my eyes at the excruciating pain that radiates through me—as if every single organ in my body is being twisted, turned, and pulled to the point of snapping. With a quick vibration that blurs the edges of his body, Seron appears before me—wrapping his cold, electrifying fingers just under my jaw, and lifting me up.

I couldn’t breathe even if I wanted to, and I struggle to fight the pain as I look over his shoulder at Loki—who also seems to be overtaken, and driven to his knees by the same force that’s holding my body hostage. I fight with every ounce of will that I have to move, only managing to get a small swing in my legs.

“You will tell me where it is, Lara,” Seron growls. “Or this,” he tightens his gip. “Will be his end.”

Loki. My heart tightens as I watch him struggle to look back in my direction, his face contorting violently with the same pain tormenting me. I’d been taking freedom for granted—freedom to even want to run and help him now—now, when every instinct in my body is fixed on simply breathing… I just can’t think of anything else. I need to breathe….

With a snap of willpower, I reach up with my right hand to grab the arm that’s holding me up. Seron grins as my hand passes through it, and there’s hardly any room left in my chest for shock—only pain. I wince, feeling the faint tickle of tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring the sight of the strings jerking and snapping accordingly with my panic—panic ensuing with complete and utter helplessness.

Pressure tugs and presses against my palm as it falls back to my side, and the strings tighten slightly around it—pushing it about slightly in the air. Brisk air passes swiftly between my fingers as I near the loss of consciousness, until an idea finally comes.

I close my eyes tightly, focusing the last of my thoughts and energy. I open them slowly to Seron’s violet eyes, seeing the strings pass between us both, creeping along my skin as they spiral tightly around my limbs—around my neck. Warmth spreads under his palm, filling the minute space between us, as air slowly begins to pass into my throat again. Seron’s brows crinkle angrily with confusion as I send more strings toward Loki. Relief pours over his expression immediately—allowing some of the tension in my chest to disperse—while space opens further and further in my throat.

I look back down at Seron. “You were wrong,” I croak, clenching my fists at my side and narrowing my eyes darkly at him. “We’re not the same.”

With a quick impulse, I throw my hands out to my sides, palms open, and the strings glow brightly against my skin as they pull me back up into the air. The rushing wind blows my hair up over my shoulders as I descend backward—down to the level of the shops—feeling the threads of energy tightening around my ankles, and slowing my momentum until I'm held suspended in the air.

I look up, toward the sound of footsteps breaking the silence that ensues for a moment. Olen’s face appears behind them both, along with a troop of guards. Steam blows downward onto them as they thread underneath the space between the ship and the path, and Olen stops abruptly in the moment that he sees me—looking between myself, Seron, and Loki.

I sigh. “About goddamn time!” I call out tautly—still hanging over the rooftops.  

Olen’s mouth tightens as he peers up at me. He opens it slightly, but only a sharp breath escapes his lips before a sudden movement draws both our eyes to Seron. We lock eyes briefly, and I revel inwardly at his dour expression—before all traces of him and his ship dissipate with a flash of light. 

Everyone stands frozen in place for a moment—looking around briskly for signs of movement. Myself included, until I finally lower my hands down to my sides, allowing the strings to loosen enough for me to descend fully down to the ground.

“Spread out,” Olen calls out, turning toward one of his guards sharply in conversation.

I make briskly toward Loki as soon as I touch down, and anxiety grips my chest once more as I get close to him—looking over him for signs of pain or injury.

Loki peers straight at me as I approach him. “Are you alright?” I ask breathlessly, trying to meet his eyes.

He nods slightly, and shrugs a shoulder. “A bit disappointed,” he says, straightening his leather. “But otherwise fine.”

I tilt my head. “Disappointed?”

His eyes soften for a brief instant, as he smiles and exhales sharply. “Well,” he says wryly, and the corner of his mouth curls. “You didn’t end him.”

I blink, and turn sharply without so much as a word or adverse reaction. I stalk toward Olen—still hearing the sound of Loki’s breathy chuckle behind me, and trying not to let it affect the color in my cheeks.

Meanwhile, Olen turns to face me as soon as he hears my steps. “Lara," he says. "Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I nod, gesturing to where Seron had been standing. “So apparently, that was—”

“Seron,” Olen interrupts grimly, and I pause—peering up at him slowly.

I pause. “Wait, you—you knew who that was?”

He nods. “Unfortunately.”

My lips part angrily, while my eyes begin to narrow—proportionally with the anger rising in my chest.

“How?” I ask flatly.

Olen blinks, studying my expression for a moment before raising a hand exhaustively. “Not here. Let’s talk with my father.”

He turns away from me, and something inside me snaps at the sight of his backside facing me—dismissing me. If not for Loki grabbing my shoulder from behind, I’d have probably assaulted him right here and now. I guess I’ll have to grit my teeth instead.



***


Neither Olen nor the yellow-eyed king seem to have many questions for me. None outside the flavorful topic of how and when these new abilities manifested. My trust for them both couldn’t possibly be more dissolved, so I give them a vague recounting of everything that happened—while dim, ambient light passes through the broad windows of the large, mid-tree parliamentary hall. Including the pillar of light I’d seen over the horizon—limited to its exact location.

“I believe that’s where the stone is,” I say, and my voice echoes as I sit cross-legged atop the titanium table that runs the length of the grandiose hall. Neither of them seemed terribly thrilled to see me do it, but that was intentional—though Loki seemed to find my retaliation rather laughable.

It’s been quite the endeavor otherwise, to keep my temperament under control—while they discuss the ‘implications’ of the god stone’s power, and its use against Seron.

“Well,” Olen says, crossing his arms contentedly with a nod. “We’ll need to go after it.”

“Oh no, I’ll go after it myself,” I say calmly, tilting my head. “But first you’re going to give me some answers—except this time, you’re not going to hold back. Do you know why?” I ask in a honeyed tone and pause, allowing Olen and the king to stare back at me confusedly for a moment—likely sensing the aggression rising in my voice.

“Because,” I continue matter-of-factly. “First you lied to me about the shard, and then I had my organs played with like a toy by someone you told me was dead. So now, the only the person who can find the stone is really pissed at you.”

Loki exhales sharply, drawing my eyes toward him for a moment—toward the sight of him chuckling lightly under his breath, as he runs a hand over his mouth.

Still smiling, I roll my eyes back to Olen. “Tell me what you know about Seron,” I demand dryly.

Olen purses his lips slightly, as his chest rises and falls with an exhaustive sigh. “He’s not dead.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” I say. “You didn’t think that was an important piece of information to share with me?”

Silence.

“We didn’t know,” Olen says, shutting his mouth tightly.

I peer at him from a moment, feeling my temperament rise. I blink, looking away with a heavy sigh—and wave a hand annoyedly through the air, summoning the strings to wrap around their bodies, holding them still and silent. Loki raises a brow, glancing at them from the side with an amused grin.

“You know,” I say solemnly as I lean forward—lowering my hand slowly with a finger pointed toward them. “You’re lucky it’s not just the two of you. You’re lucky there’s a whole world of people here outside of you. Because if there wasn’t, with how much you’ve been lying to me, I’d leave you here to deal with this alone—and die,” my voice drops emphatically.

“But the thing is,” I continue in a fruity tone, glancing to the side. “I couldn’t figure it out at first… You’ve had absolutely no reason to lie to me so much—so it took me a moment to figure out why you’d do it,” I pause, hardening my gaze at Olen. “And now I’d like to know—what did Seron offer you for the stone?” I turn a finger in the air—releasing him. “Talk.”

Olen lets out a cough as he drops both hands on the table, propping himself up on it, and peering darkly at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tsk. I shake my head, waving my fingers demonstrably—tightening my power around him again. “I could do this all day, Olen,” I say lightly, releasing him once more. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

He exhales sharply, looking off to the side—seemingly to avoid eye contact. I release the threads from the king as well and raise a brow, feigning patience as I lean over slightly.

“We…” he mumbles. “We were outnumbered, and… he told us he’d leave. That the war would be over, and no one else would have to die.”

“And you believed him,” I say, raising a brow.  

“What choice did I have?” Olen turns, scowling at me. “We had no choice. We couldn’t possibly defeat him. No one can.”

"I can," I say solemnly, and a weight drops in my chest as soon as the words are out. As soon as the belief that I thought that everyone had misplaced, finds a new place of its own—in me.

“You?” he scoffs, speaking in a heavy tone that finally—finally—feels genuine. “You crippled at the sight of your own bloodied hand, and you think you can defeat him!?”

Hurt winces in my chest as I peer back at his agitated expression. “Well,” I say quietly. “With or without your crap, I’m still going to try.”

Loki’s gaze trails over to me slowly, and the yellow-eyed king looks up at Olen.  

“Son,” he says in a low voice—also adopting a newly authentic tone. “Enough… No more of this.”

Olen looks down at him. "What?"  he hisses.

The king looks up at him exhaustively once more, and sighs. "This was a great betrayal to the stone," he mumbles gravely. "For the sake of our people. But now we have another option," he turns to me. "And she deserves a chance."

I peer at him for a moment, while Olen throws a hand up protestingly. “I don’t think that—”

“Oh what choice do you have, honestly?” I interrupt, crinkling my brows at him. “You think I’d ever give you the stone, now that I know the truth?”

Olen turns his head back toward me, mouth hanging open frustratedly.

I look down at the king, “I’ll help if you still want me to. But I’m doing this either way, because this is bigger than either of you. Or me. So I’m going—with him,” I look up at Loki, meeting his pale, blue eyes that’ve been watching us contemplatively this entire time. “And no one else.”

He peers at me softly as I slide off the table, and straighten up in front of him. “If you want to, that is…” my words trail off as I let a shoulder rise and drop, and a tender nervousness flickers in my chest.

A grin tugs on the corner of Loki’s mouth. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he says in a low, soothing tone that makes me smile.  

“Where do you need to go?” the king asks, and I turn away from Loki—toward him.

I part my lips slightly for a moment, considering whether I should tell him the truth. “We’re headed toward the black sand fields,” I say—offering a slice of the truth.

He peers at me contemplatively—likely realizing the tactic—and nods. “And when will you return?”

I inhale slowly, glancing at the table momentarily as I consider it. “Not too long, I think. Maybe a few days.”

“Very well,” the king nods, sliding the chair back, and lifting himself up to face me. “Come—we will inform the guard, and they will provide vehicles and weapons for the journey.”

“Father—” Olen steps forward.

“Enough,” the king turns sharply, with a raucous tone that finally lends itself to his authority. “No more entrustment—no more lies. We will discuss this later, with your brother,” he turns back to me and nods. “Let’s go.”

The king strides past us commandingly. I turn and look back at Olen’s rattled faced one last time, before following after him with Loki beside me—across the hall, and out.

[to be continued]