Ceyda woke up in a painfully familiar bed. Instead of rough straw or wood, it was a soft, goose feather bed, with the poorly placed window that always shone the sun directly in her eyes just as she was waking up because her mother didn’t believe in curtains.

There were people in her room.

Her mother, fussing over the bruises on her arms. The family physician was checking her pulse. Her father was on her other side, fixing on what looked to be a new bracelet.

Fuck.

Bzzt.

Ceyda groaned.

“Ceyda!” her mother whispered. “Do not fret, you’re home now, this nightmare is over.”

Ceyda nodded numbly. “Where’s my book?”

Her mother stared at her. “What book, dearest?”

“I--I had a book on me--where is it?”

“Do you mean the Ancient Grimoire that was stolen from the Blanches by those insurgents?” her father asked.

“...possibly,” Ceyda said quietly.

“Why were you holding an ancient artifact?” her mother sputtered. “Were they making you hold it? Were they going to sacrifice you to their dark gods? Is she cursed? Doctor Halls, is she cursed?”

“She’s not, but if you want I can check for the fourth time,” Doctor Halls, the underpaid chisel replied.

“You are going to keep checking! Those monsters cut my daughters hair! Do a health test. What if they--damaged-- her?” her mother said in hushed tones just barely within earshot of Ceyda.

“I’m perfectly fine, mother!” Ceyda said as loudly as possible, causing her bracelet to shock her in confusion.

“Sweetie, don’t yell, you’ve been kidnapped for three days, you’re full of miasma--”

“Mother. I. Am fine,” Ceyda repeated. “Please, you have to believe me, I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t listening. Instead her mother kept talking. And talking. And then her father talked. And then the doctor talked. And then her mother talked. And then she was prodded with a needle.

Ceyda shut her eyes, whispering Dorskina on her breath, only to be answered by the gaping void of nothing. No sense expansion. No light. No magic beam. Nothing. Exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Just like that. In the blink of an eye, all gone.

“...please…” Ceyda muttered. “Let me sleep.”

“Is that wise? Perhaps we should get her to a Rites Giver first--” her mother cut in.

“Rites Giver wouldn’t really know what to do with a sleeping child,” her father responded.

Doctor Halls sighed. “In times of trauma, rest, sunlight and fresh air can clear up the toxic ruminations and cleanse a body of miasma. Open the window, tuck her in, and we’ll continue this conversation downstairs.”

Her eyes fluttered. They were leaving her. Mehdi hadn’t been there. Was he ignoring her in his room? Or was he off in a far away city, learning magic with the other mages?

Right. He had become a fff---freaking mage. Ceyda hadn’t thought of that in days.

It had been nice.

“Didn’t even get to try half the stuff I wanted to do,” Ceyda blearily muttered to the invisible Doc that wasn’t there. “Didn’t get to try and kiss a girl, or try and punch someone in the face, or set something on fire, or take that poll, or liberate an entire nation…”

She fell asleep.

When she dreamed, she was on a charred and ash cloud, floating in the complete abyss. No red sclera’d eyeball following her.

No Reiner locii.

No Teractus.

Not even a nightmare-also-called-rumination to attack her.

Nothing.

She floated quietly, idly pulling at the tufts of her cloud.

“Doc?” Ceyda called into the never ending abyss of the dreamscape.

“Doc, are you there?”

No one responded.

It had happened so fast. One second everything was fine. She was learning things! She was teaching magic! She was the one with the grimoire! And now--nothing.

Merlin.

Oh sacred skies.

That poor kid. He had been there! And the others--what about them?

What if they died? Ceyda had been to executions before. The public ones where they read out the crimes and it was super fancy and the adults drank champagne afterwards. Merlin was too young to be in a public execution, right?

She was alone again.

Those handful of days had been a blitz of unreal adrenaline, emotions, pain, sobbing and bonds.

And now it was gone.

Just like that.

Some chosen one she was. She had her chance. She had her shot. She had the one in a million title that made her the gods damn (bzzt) special one.

Gone. gone. gone.

She should have been less selfish. Started trying to get others to learn magic as soon as possible. Then she could have been protected!

“Esterath,” Ceyda said. “Avatar of this stupid dream place. If you’re listening, I’m very lonely, and very sad. Please pay attention to me.”

No response.

Ceyda drifted back into consciousness, leaving the crumbling dream world behind her. She was greeted to breakfast in bed, a treat that she would have adored not long ago. Instead of being brought to her by Danette, it was brought to her by a lean, young man she didn’t recognize.

New servant.

Her stomach twisted inwards.

Was Danette gone? Had Bricketfriar been purged of insurgents? Were they dead? Opal. Lyle. Merlin. Danette.

All dead.

Ceyda started to choke on the cornbread she had been provided.

“Gretian?” Ceyda pleaded quietly.

But once again, all she felt was exhaustion.

Fuck.

Bzzt.

Fuck!

Bzzt.

Ceyda started to sob into her tray. She was certainly pathetic now, wasn’t she? She had thought she was at rock bottom before, but alas, there had been a shovel! And that shovel had been Rembrandt and Fontaine.

That day was a haze of nothing.

The day after that was no better, only interrupted by a brief meeting with the Rites Giver.

It was on the third day that she was allowed out of her room. It was like three days had passed in a blink of an eye. It wasn’t even because of her somehow mastering the time domain belonging to Quasinonce. No. she gained this amazing ability from the depression domain. Belonging to fuckyoubrain. Bzzt.

She sat down in the dimly lit dining room, with just her mother. Her father was undoubtedly in his demesne, and Mehdi hadn’t been seen at all. It was still quite, quite possible he was just avoiding her for being too embarrassing.

“Ceyda,” her mother said, smiling, arms folded.

“Mother,” Ceyda replied.

“How has your rest been?”

“Restful,” Ceyda replied flatly, staring at the ceramic plate.

Her mother frowned. “There is no reason to have a tone with me.”

“It’s not a tone,” Ceyda said, as her voice became duller in response, as she tried to eliminate any tone from her voice. As much as humanly possible.

Two hours later, after an extended argument with a lot of yelling, Ceyda was back in her room. It wasn’t even that depressing, it was just predictable. The only difference now was that Mehdi wasn’t rolling his eyes at her. Younger Ceyda would have tackled Mehdi, but now that little brat was going through puberty and was getting stronger than her. Absolutely rude.

She rubbed her wrist. The enchanted bracelet was still warm. Maybe if she cursed enough, it would overheat and stop working.

Ceyda waited a half hour in her room, and then got up and left. That was probably enough time that her mother forgot how angry she had gotten. Besides, she had been kidnapped! That had to count for something! She made her way to her father’s demesne, walking down the stairs, and softening her steps as she passed her mother's demesne, just in case.

She paused, not knowing if this was a good idea or not. But she had to try all the same. She knocked on the door.

Her father gave a small squawk from behind the door, and opened it a crack to see Ceyda.

He frowned. “Your mother is very mad at you, Ceyda.”

“Yes, father,” Ceyda said.

“You’ve been very infantile.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I don’t think you do, because you keep acting in such a way.”

Ceyda sighed. “I have a question and I was wondering if I could see your atlas.”

Her father stared at her in confusion. “An atlas? Why do you want to see an atlas?”

“Uh,” Ceyda paused, as she tried to think of a good explanation that wasn’t immensely suspicious.

“If you’re looking for something to read, I think you’d be better reading some of my grammar books. They are great topics for a young chatelaine to learn. Really in general you should be focusing on improving yourself as a person, that’s some of the best advice out there--”

“I just realized that I had never been outside of Bricketfriar. And now Mehdi’s in… uh…”

“Nevan,” her father corrected.

“Nevan!” Ceyda exclaimed.

“You don’t need an atlas for geography, you can just subscribe to the sun rule.”

Ceyda frowned. “What’s the sun rule?”

“Is the sun in the sky? You have work to do. Is the moon in the sky? You should be sleeping. Nothing in the sky? You’re probably inside.” her father replied, nodding seriously.

“Your jokes are horrendous, father,” Ceyda said.

“Oh, no,” her father responded, clasping Ceyda across the shoulder. “My jokes are in Lystratan.”

“Can I please see the atlas?” Ceyda pleaded. “I have been dreadfully bored and I feel like I lack perspective. I want to know what the world looks like.”

Her father sighed, closed the door, and for a few torturous moments, Ceyda thought she had been abandoned. Instead, he returned, a thick musty book in tow. In silence, the two went to the parlor. Her father sat down, wiping at his glasses, and Ceyda gracelessly flopped onto the floor, opening the atlas to the maps of Kesterline.

“What are those?” Ceyda asked, pointing to the dark spots with small shield symbols on them.

“Cities. Towns. Any major population area in Kesterline. Of course, this was made thirty years ago so it lacks some of the newer towns. Bricketfriar was just the Blanches and the servant class, so it’s not there,” her father said.

There were certainly a lot of tiny shields. Page after page, region after region. So much of Kesterline.

“It’s incredibly populated.”

“Quite. Over five thousand miles from top to bottom,” her father replied. “And we have found a way to populate every corner.”

Ceyda turned the page and saw that past the land were strange, squiggly inky lines.

“What’s this? Current lines?”

“The poison fields.”

Ceyda stared at the atlas, then back at her father. “I don’t know what that is.”

Her father took a long, deep breath. “It’s the part of the world humans can’t inhabit. It was ravaged by war, and is now toxic to all organic life.”

“Oh. Did we do that?” Ceyda asked. Did the mages of the past do that? With what spells? Ceyda didn’t know any Avatars that gave spells that ravaged the land, but surely there had to be something.

“No. Our enemies set themselves ablaze, rather than surrender to our military might.”

“Ah,” Ceyda stared at the atlas. She had known bits and pieces of this history, but being able to see the actual planet made it more jarring. Ceyda had been sort of hoping that she could find out where the other nations were that Doc talked about, but that was answered, she supposed.

Ceyda stared at the pinpricks, squinting. “Are there any parts of Kesterline where there are no nobles?”

Her father laughed. “Of course not.”

“Are there any parts that are dangerous? Like, full of unsavory sorts?” Ceyda asked.

“Most towns have ruffians and vagabonds, unfortunately.”

“Right but--” Ceyda paused, running her thumbs over the brass globe. “I mean worse than that. Like people trying to rebel against Kesterline.”

“I assume so. Can’t imagine them getting very far,” her father replied distantly.

“But has that ever happened, historically?” Ceyda pressed.

Her father chuckled. “If it did, we certainly wouldn’t know about it, now would we?”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just logical, really. Why would the Crown want someone like us to talk about that sort of thing? It’s not healthy, for one. Absolutely blasted thoughts, but it would spread and everyone would talk, and then we wouldn’t trust our military, and then our nation would collapse.”

Ceyda frowned. “All that from telling us there was a rebellion once?”

“Of course! It’s like if I told you that the neighbors were uh, stealing wine. Now you know they’re wine stealers, and you know, you’ll tell your friends, who tell they’re parents, and then a few weeks later they’ve been absolutely shamed by the entire community,” her father nodded to himself.

Well, that certainly sounded familiar, but Ceyda wasn’t too sure if a comparison of gossip and war made a lot of sense.

“You know, if you’re healthy in two weeks, we’ll be visiting your brother. In Nevan there’s a bronze statue of Kesterline,where every city glows in the sun. I have a replica of it in my demesne, but of course, it’s a bit smaller.”

“Assuming I don’t get in trouble,” Ceyda murmured.

“Oh, nonsense, it will be great for you regardless! There are many available men in Nevan. Mages too, and your mother would really like it if you married a mage.”

Ceyda nodded to herself. “Right.”

“Personally, I know this is stressful--if you want to marry a tower instead you can, I won’t mind,” her father said softly, smiling.

Ceyda pursed her lips and nodded. “Thanks f--shit!”

A sharp gash appeared across her hand. What? Now? How! Why! Reiner was supposed to be dead! Was a dead body causing this? Had he been resurrected? Were the injuries wholly unrelated and she had just been wrong?

A moment later, the gash vanished, but her bracelet was now buzzing so violently Ceyda could hear it.

Her father frowned. “Ceyda. Really.”

“Sorry I--I must have rested my hand on a nail or something,” Ceyda muttered.

Her father stepped over to the carpet, looked down at the ground, and back at Ceyda.

“Actually, it’s a reappearing magical wound that I do not know the source of, but I believe comes from a dead man possibly thousands of miles away, who is part of a mage rebellion, and will constantly reheal just as abruptly as it wounds me,” Ceyda said.

She probably shouldn’t have said that. But what was the worst thing her father could do? She was telling the truth!

Her father stared at her, in stunned silence.

If she was lucky, another gash would appear right now.

Alas, she was not.

Instead, her father picked up the atlas, bound it shut with the leather buckle, and gave a polite smile to Ceyda.

“Perhaps you should go back to getting some rest. Don’t want you ruminating too hard now, do we?”

Ceyda sighed. Well, she had tried. Perhaps she would wait a few days and see if it took. She walked back to her room, dramatically collapsed on the unmade bed, and groaned.

Desolate wastelands outside of Kesterline, destroyed by war. A map she had barely been able to examine. She didn’t even know what she could have done. Cling to the single memory she had of Reiner dying, and use that as a reference point? All that told her was it was probably somewhere north, as it had been quite cold. But, if Isaias had been torturing Reiner like any good, self respecting evil person, they’d be doing it in a basement or a cellar, which would have also been cold. Granted, it had been a rather bright room, and Ceyda could have sworn there was a breeze, but that could also be good airflow.

She had nothing to go on.

Her heart desperately hoped that when they travelled to Nevan, she would turn her head and just. There. On a road somewhere. A building made of the same white marble. Perhaps with wooden planks nailed over it becaus there was a murder.

It would be dreadfully convenient.

“Doc,” Ceyda moaned. “I don’t know what to do! I have very pisspoor forward momentum!”

Her bracelet shocked her. Ceyda made a face and hissed at the metallic clasp, which only prompted it to shock her again.

Perhaps she needed to focus on contacting Opal. But what would she tell them? They surely knew what she did. In fact, they probably knew more than her! And how would she? Danette was gone, rendered nonexistent by her mother’s words.

All she could think of was one message.

Send help. Please.

But if she returned, then would they not go back to find her? And if they were still alive, would they be alive again now that Rembrandt undoubtedly knew exactly who she was?

That was it then, wasn’t it?

There was nothing to do, not with her current information.

She was stuck here. Just like she had been before. In a slightly more empty house, with slightly more tears and blood shed.

The fantasy was gone, a living dream of what could have been with someone who knew what they were doing.

Ceyda draped the blankets over her face as she sunk deeper in self loathing.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Ceyda announced to the Avatars who were not there, but she so desperately hoped they were listening. “When I awake, Doc will be on my windowsill, having mysteriously returned to me because of our great and powerful bond. Please. This is a prayer.”

A small papercut appeared across her finger before vanishing abruptly.

By every Avatar out there, she refused to let this become normal.