[Downtime] The loophole

Imbolc had unleashed a torrent of emotions and experience that had cascaded over the next couple of months. Most of which Riley had addressed, some blossomed into meaningful relationships. Yet as they balanced their time from a demanding job, a newly forming motley and a relation with Firebringer, one thing ate at the back of Riley's mind.

The Renegade king, his very presence, muted the music of the room. His form clad in power, familiar and alien. His very form demanded all to kneel, and a desperate unshaking need to survive. Survive no matter the cost.

Before him a lost, no more than a boy. Terrified and determined, bearing a weapon to his own sovereign, in defense of another. His fear is palpable, unmistakable across the rave. He kneels.



No matter how hard the Moth tried they could not shake the memory. It gnawed at them in the silent moments, begging to be seen, to be discovered. They wanted to know, they needed to know.

But speaking of it was forbidden, nothing that night was allowed to be said again. How can you learn if you cannot ask? How do you open a book when you're not allowed to touch it.

Unless, there was a loophole. What if they could see the events, but not on those days and speak of a memory made not under the weight of clause? It was worth a try.

Seeking Goldenboy took time, Riley had little connection to the young man, but the Dawn Catcher motley was a young lot. Cinder is easy enough to find, and in time that leads the darkling to the campus. It takes time carousing the campus, asking questions without drawing attention. Keeping a face that others lost would not notice, hiding their mien beneath a hardened mask.


It was a sunny afternoon when Riley finally caught sight of him. It was lunch time and he and other students were on the green, chatting at a distance. The darkling sat in the shade of a tree, protecting their flesh from the sun's gaze. Seeing him was all they needed. Leaning back against a tree, their eyes covered by sunglasses drained into a milky white. As a series of words like hushed whispers spewed from their mouth.


The wyrd would guide them to the truth if they were lucky.