The Nightscape

The Nest

It was a strange sensation, letting Zidros in, and it didn't get any less bizarre after she became accustomed to it. It was a horrible pressure on the inside of her head, followed by a second of splitting pain, and then it was over. Instead, there was a heaviness in her skull, something tickling and moving at the back of her mind like a hair in the throat. Lyra sat down heavily as there was a wave of dizziness, laying on her back as Zidros seemed to move through her mind and settle at the nape of her neck. The entire time, she could feel calm reassurance coming from him, and it helped a little. She was focusing on Anya and the monster she had seen, firmly keeping her mind on that and not letting herself think about anything else, just in case he could see it. Of course, he might be able to know anything anyway, but she had to at least make an effort. 

And then, Zidros began to move. Or rather, Lyra did. Or both of them did. It was hard to tell, really. It was as though someone had their hands on her spine and limbs, moving her, and all she could do was go with them to try and reduce the strain. Clunkily, she stood up, almost tipping right back over again as they tried to get their balance. 

"Sorry, it's been a very long time since I've done this." Lyra's mouth said, but she hadn't meant to. She jolted and fell to her knees again, and realised that it was Zidros was using her mouth to speak to her. She didn't like this at all, and the urge to try and force him back out was strong. But she swallowed it, because she was sure it wouldn't be for long and it was needed. 

"It's fine- let's just save Anya and then we can stop this, yeah?" She said, and Zidros nodded her head in response. 

"Of course. Give me a moment, I'm sure I can track her down." He said, and Lyra paid very close attention as she felt him move around in the  body, dragging up magic and using a certain part of her brain to look around. A moment later, their surroundings lit up, into a pulsing, crazy landscape that made her eyes hurt. She could see the different tones of magic dancing, mostly purples but with a track of yellow winding into the trees. There were traces of different colours, that didn't match any aura she had ever seen, a muddied mess of all of it but always leaning one way. They were the creatures, the creatures and the plants, a muddied mess of the magic of all the clans. And when she looked down at herself with these new eyes, she saw that she was oozing the same violet that her aura did, but now it was muddied. Like someone was mixing every colour of paint together, giving streaks of brown that were coming from Zidros, and yet also from inside of her. That part of her that had been irreparably changed when Zidros first reached into her soul and made it so she couldn't die, that oozed the same muddy mess that the creatures and lives around her did. Only those of the clans were pure, and that struck her as profoundly odd. 

But as Lyra was taking in everything that appeared before her and wondering at the implication, Zidros was moving. Picking out a trail that was a mix of red and purple that barely stood apart from the rest of the noise and following it with certainty. There was something quite clinical he walked, the moment he got used to her body, and now she was sharing a head with him, she realised that she could feel his energy much more acutely than she ever had before. 

And it was... cold. Cold and uncaring, so empty and hollow that it seemed to seep into her and ache like your fingers would if you plunged them into snow. There was nothing else, no other feeling, not even a flicker of warmth, simple in it's horror. Lyra felt that chill sink into her own soul, and realised once again why they couldn't let him do as he pleased. No one who was this empty, this cold, could be trusted to lead people. It wouldn't end well, no matter how beneficent he seemed now. It couldn't end well. 

But soon she was forgetting about all of that, because Zidros was running now, ducking between the trees and hurdling obstacles with a dexterity Lyra herself didn't possess. When she paid attention, saw what he was looking at, and saw that dappled along the trail of colour the monster had left were bright splotches of fresh blood. Lyra's own alarm wasn't echoed by him as he hurried along, eyes glowing a bright purple. Magic swirled in her veins, wilder now, but still moving with a carefully controlled current that concentrated at her hands and eyes. Bones crunched underfoot by the time he finally slowed down, and glancing up, the boughs and leaves on the trees were all fused together. The bark had been slashed open, the yellow sap leaking out and sticking everything together in a sickly matt, and there were strings of something bright blue mingled among it.