She and Agare sat apart from each other, silence anything but companionable.

  The moment Menoux left that day, toothy as if heading for a feast, the buzzing at the back of her mind returned in full force. With it came craving, and with craving came hunger, irritation, and no small amounts of shame.

  It didn't help at all the rotation of soldiers outside. Unlike her room, this cave was always swarming with all sorts of people; the beautiful half-naked to heart poundingly nude men and women like those who accompanied Menoux in his last visit, occasionally, but mostly, those in full gear, shelled in metal and armed with large weapons, clubs and enormous butcher cleavers mostly.

  He would come by from time to time to. Not Menoux, who had left them alone since his offer, but that one Citrine who had talked to her, the one with the one handed scythe. He never said a word, only stared at her for a few seconds at a time, before leaving. She would see him help with carrying enormous bleeding sacks from the depths of the guts, but at those times he would dignify her with even a glance.

  An on top of it all...

  "Agare," she piped up, and waited several seconds before he stirred.

  "Yes?"

  "I think I saw movement again." She pointed towards to the cell right in front of theirs, where a curtain of sheets had been nailed in from the top. It was always slight, but she could swear she had seen it being pushed from behind a couple times now. If there was something locked up behind it, that was the only sign of life she had caught on so far.

  "I see," Agare said, again after a small pause. "Leave it. If we don't know what it is, it's better not to get its attention."

  She took a deep breath. She knew what she was about to do was an exercise in futility, but she just needed to ask. "A-are you okay?"

  "I am. Just thinking," it was the only answer he never needed to think through.

  "I guess. Figured out something yet?" she said, trying to put some pep into her voice, but as always, it came forced. The small turn of head, which she was sure was equivalent of some sort of side-eying, was all the answer she got, but it was enough.

  Seeing the mystery that was Agare ponderous in itself wasn't all that worrying. Rather, the problem was something she wasn't entirely sure she was seeing right, but was certain of from her heart of hearts.

  The movement of Agare's Mark had changed. Or rather, it was stalling. It happened every few minutes, a simple, diminute hitch of its usual slow swirls, before it went back to normal. At first, she though she had simply never noticed it, that it was normal, The more recurring it became, the more she doubted her own conclusion.

  She knew she shouldn't insist. After what she had caused, she became less and less sure she should even talk in his presence. Yet, she couldn't resist it for long. "A-are you sure?"

  "I am," he said. Blunt, curt, and done.

  She simmered for a few seconds, before turning back towards the hallway.

  She knew, logically, she shouldn't be mad. After everything? She deserved a little cold shoulder. And yet! Why so suddenly? Weren't things going alright? Wasn't he talking to her normally? and then, out nowhere, this. Had she done something else she didn't notice? Or, did he think she hadn't noticed something was going on?

  She was mad. Turning, she was going to insist.

  A jolt from Agare stop her dead. His head turned, tracking something right behind her back.

  She looked just in time to see Menoux sit his bare rear on the ground, not five paces away from her through the bars. No crowd had followed him this time, only Scythe, who stood a polite distance behind his master. Even further back, the usual wordless guards that kept them from escaping began to leave, curious eyes lingering until they turned out view.

  "You," she said.

  "Me!" His usual smile felt sedated, almost modest. "I take my previous offer has been rejected?"

  "As if you didn't know I wouldn't!"

  "What, accusing your gracious host of making proposals he knew would always remain on the table?!" He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. "Why, such outrage! Though I must admit, I rather glad you decided to stay with us."

  "I-I didn't have another option," she said. Her hairs were going crazy, striking the air as if they wanted to attack him themselves. She tried to stay calm, but with him so close it was impossible. "W-what are you doing here?"

  "I live here! Who is to forbid me from coming and going?" he laughed.

  "Who are you trying to kid? Y-you would sit right there, face to face, just cause?!"

  His cheer dropped for just a moment, and she bristled with dread. He look her up and down, but his eyes were analytical, his expression cold. The usual mock was there a second later, but did she catch a hint of strain?

  "Godling," the word drawled out. "Has somebody ever told you speak like a child?"

  "A-a-and what is your business with the way I talk?!" she rose to her knees, ready to show a washing!

  He chuckled at her threat, shaking his head. "Oh, now that would be a good answer! Although, I wish you would commit it to heart, rather than just bring it out like a cudgel. I may be suspicious to speak, but I always though morals deserved a little more

  With every word out of his mouth, she saw red. She wanted to beat him into tears so bad it hurt. She threw herself at her bars, but even with her strength they didn't budge a bit. Next, flew out her Will, enveloping him whole, strays burning against the Mountain Guts, and dug in. Tried to, anyway: She had not been mistaken, the innermost Heir of Citrine was an indestructible barrier which she could not so much as hold on to.

  "Jokes aside," he said, relaxed as if he wasn't surrounded by her right now. "I actually do have a serious question to make."

  "And why should I care?!" She tried to keep the last crumbs of courage and righteous anger that reminder left her with. "You keep me locked up for who knows how long-"

  "Three days!" He showed it in his fingers, "Almost four now."

  "O-one would be too much! I don't like it here! I don't know what you're doing, or why-"

  He sighed, and before she noticed, his arm was held up, his palm towards her. The next second, she curled back against the ground, knowing what that fist could do to her on a mere whim. When he moved, she hissed, but then the veil lifted: the buzz disappeared from the back of her head, though leaving its effects.

  Embarassed, she slowly got back to a sitting position, trying not to meet Menoux eyes. At least now she was sure he could control the strange sensation, that all those weird she had been feeling were his fault after all!

  "Y-you-!"

  "Goding, what does being Dashi means to you?"

  The question caught her with her guard lowered. She froze. He might as well have talked to her in croaks. she glanced into the abyss of his words, uncomprehending, finding new possible dimensions to it with every passing moment. Finally, the conclusion she came to was not an answer, but a counter. "W-what are you even asking?"

  Menoux hummed to himself, leaning back on his hands. She tried very hard not to look down. "I don't mean in a scientific sense. Metaphorically, spiritually, whichever speaks truer to your core, what is the importance of being Dashi to you? Or, human specifically, wasn't it?"

  "I-I..." She gulped. "I still don't get it."

  "Yes you do!" he chuckled. "Who was the one screaming you were human? who cast away your birth name, your bloodline? Certainly wasn't me! Was it that thing crawling by the wall over there?"

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  "Y-you left him there! And no, he has nothing to do with it! I'm human because I'm human, because I was born human and raised human a-and because I am human!" she said.

  It didn't take a second to tell Menoux was not in the least convinced. "Why?"

  "W-what do you mean why?"

  "Why does it matter, that you were born a human looking larva? Is that all? Is this what makes you shouting, fighting mad about being told otherwise? A disoriented sense of normality? Ha!" he chuckled, "How sad!"

  "I-if it's so insignificant to you, then what does it matter if that's what I say I am?! Just leave me alone!" she said, scooting away. "Do you know how tired I am of this? You think you are the first to say otherwise?! And for what reason?!"

  "For what reason? I told you before: I have a sharp nose for liars, dear godling, and you stink so much it's repulsive." He grinned like he was trying to tear his own cheeks in half. She could stare at him, numb, "Oh, don't give me that look, as if you didn't know already!"

  "I-I don't- I mean- W-what's even a godling? Why do you keep calling me that?"

  "Why, a half baked god, of course!" he said. "A half way aberration that can neither return to mortality nor bridge the gap to true divinity. Or, in some cases, can, but won't! Not naming any names."

  "Hah! W-what, a goddess, me?!" This was her turn to laugh, to mock him to his face. "What a joke! And you think me saying I'm human is absurd?!"

  She hadn't know what exactly to expect of Menoux's reaction, but the look of what she could only read as sincere confusion wasn't it. "Of course you are. Didn't your father tell you himself? Or did you believe I was feigning disgruntlement when you called that thing your comrade, Heir of Azure?"

  She couldn't help but shiver. The title was like being drenched with a bucket of cold water. That was suppose to be the name of the Remnants of Eligor's enemies, of Marquise's enemies, not hers! Yet, it wasn't like the idea hadn't crosser her mind once or twice.

  Before the nonsense sounds pouring out of her could coalesce into a coherent defense, Agare came for the rescue.

  "It this your plan, Heir of Citrine?" he said. "Shake her beliefs until you find an entrance to preach your ways?"

  "Ah, and here I was wondering when you would barge into the conversation!" Menoux leaned to the side until he began to topple. A quick move, and he was suddenly laying on his side, head propped on his elbow, staring right down at Agare. "Good evening, Madhound, still holding it together?"

  "Why am I not dead?" Agare asked, and she gasped. Menoux merely chuckled.

  "Well, why deny nature its due course? Besides, I thought your kind enjoyed clinging to whichever crumbs of life they still possessed?"

  "W-what do you mean?" she said. "A-Agare, what does he mean-"

  "It doesn't matter." Agare said, wriggling back against the wall, as if trying to straighten himself out. "What matters here is clarity. I thought your ilk made ill buddies to liars and deceivers and the sort, Heir of Citrine, so why dance around your point?"

  "My rotten friend, now that was simply incorrect! Who doesn't like being a little stinky?!" Menoux laughed, hearty and amused, until he cut himself off, his expression turning dead serious. "I will grant you, however, that I should get right to it. Clarity may sweeten the pill after all."

  Menoux rolled his shoulders as he sat himself again, arms and legs crossed, eyes burning through her own. There was no cold examination there anymore, just a perfectly impassive look, one she found nearly infectious.

  "Say, dear godling..."

  "My name is-"

  "Nothing," he said. "You cast away the name I allowed you, failed to defend the one you chose, and now you have the right of none until you can wrestle it from me. Are we understood?"

  The Buzz whispered in her ears, and her coward brain quaked in its hide. Her nod was almost unconscious.

  "Good. Now, dear godling, what do you know about the Indolent Empire?"

  She paused, the Buzz abandoning her once again and giving place to frightened logic. "T-the Indolent Empire? T-they are the Citrine, aren't they?"

  "In a way." Menoux smiled, pleased. "Ancient Ivias was home to many tribes, before the Brave Sailors and the gobans arrived, before the parasites of Kerit began to spread their seeds, five which matter most: The Towerpeople and the Silverwhisperers, each to their own islands, the warmongering Yida and the Sages of the Breathless God among them, and finally, the Empire.

  "They were the first great power of the Ivian Archipelago. Their armies made entire Regions shake, and thousands of nation surrender without the raising of a single blade! What they desired presented itself in a golden plate, knowing the consequences of angering their lieges. Before the Bear no, that would be the Lion back then descended upon our shores, they were the only force that could unite the Yida in arms. Yet, they aren't here anymore, at least not in any recognizable shape. Why?"

  Marquise's brief history lessons came to mind, as well as one particular story. "They were conquered, right? By the Yine, many years ago."

  "Ha! Very bookish answer." He scoffed. "Technically, not incorrect, but there is nuance to it you will never find in your papers: What the Lion found within their borders was not the mighty conqueror, but a deformed maggot in a hollow shell, eating it self alive!"

  Menoux frowned, though it didn't feel genuine. His tone, his affectation, it made her feel oddly nostalgic. "By the time they fought one another, the First of Ivian Empires had gone through as many names in a century as it had emperors. Yarou, Xedalia, Xanra! None stuck, no matter how the current chair warmer in charge screamed and cried, for there was always another mouth gnawing at his ankles, always another plumed noble to vie for their power. Then, came another civil war, brother against sister, armies depleted fighting themselves while the beasts nibbled at their borders Why, you ask?

  "Because they had lost their way. Because in their arrogance, they forgot that Dashi were uplifted bush crawlers, and abandoned the word of the flesh!"

  Menoux spread his arms wide, and she was caught, excited for his next words, absurd or not.

  "The gospels of the Lord in Iron have blessed this land since before its forests began to spread. Their message was simple, the kind all should know by instinct! 'Ten thousand days and ten million nights pass, claw and fang reign supreme'!" Menoux poked himself in the temple so hard it sounded like he was knocking on a door. "The animal rules, no matter how deep you bury it. Strength is fulcrum of respect, and only the animal can maintain that Strength."

  "Times change. Claws become knives, fangs become spears, but the core does not change. The animal can only be nourished through self honesty. To eat, to sleep, to fuck, to fight until your rival is a mangled corpse, that is a holy connection to the First of the Flesh, to the Father and Mother, the Lord in Iron, may the treacherous Hermit who sealed him be forever cursed!" The boom of his voice made the surrounding silence sharper, echoing like a thunderclap. "So long as you have the strength, of course. The strong choose, the weak obey, the weaker follow behind, and the weakest?"

  Menoux extended a hand, palm held up, waiting. Scythe silently reached behind him with his free hand, lifting a heavy sack right on front of her eyes. The Buzz reached a screaming crescendp as he dropped it on Menoux hand, who extended it towards the bars, the odor hit her like the aroma of a cooking feast: meat and blood, so fresh it couldn't have been butchered less then an hour ago.

  The hunger rendered her almost helpless to resist. A nagging sense made her hesitate at the last minute, digging her fingers into the ground below as she closed her eyes and held her breath.

  "They join the table, too." He giggled. "Come on, open your eyes. It's unhealthy to starve yourself!"

  "Holly." Agare said, voice almost lost in the chaos inside her head. "Step away from him. Now."

  She heard the rustling of ropes against fabric, and open her eyes a slant.

  Right there, just at the other side, Menoux reached into the sack and pulled a severed human leg from inside, bringing it to his teeth without a second thought.

  Pandemonium reached its peak. Everything disappeared. Her thoughts, her feelings, numbness could not begin to describe it. The entirety of the world became that bite. Part of her didn't want to believe she had seen what she had seen. Part of her didn't want to believe how badly she wanted to-

  No. No, no, there were no such things there. That was not part of her. That was him, all him! Messing with her mind again, burrowing were he hadn't been invited to break her, to make her doubt herself. She jumped back, hissing, howling, following any and all directions from her aggrieved, longing instinct.

  Menoux kept eating, chewing with open adoration, humming with sheer pleasure. After he swallowed, he looked onto the bitten limb with melancholic fondness. "But they lost themselves. They tried to sever the inner beast from the people. Created castes so the weak could rule eternal, enslaved the strong so their bodies would crumble before the desire to fight ever arose, suppressed the holy desires of the masses while cattering to their own pleasures in hiding. Piece by piece, mountains crumble, lakes dry, and humans inevitably become human."

  "Waaah..." she babbled, saliva dripping down her chin in streams. Far away, her name was called, and she ignored it. Her eyes wouldn't leave the juicy, red gap, her ears could not forget the crisp wet crunch of bloody bone.

  "Some saw the injustice of it, and fought to change their homeland. They would fail, as anyone could attest, chained or executed or simply hobbled for life, except one, who escaped into exile with his family, abandoning his life under the crushing foot of his fatherland for pilgrimage deep into the mountains.

  "That man was Aenexias, and through his faith, he received a miracle: He found a long forgotten city, and at its heart, a grand monolith of iron, through which the Lord spoke."

  The opening of Menoux's maw as he took the second bit was enormous, easily capable of consuming her head with one bite. He chewed through flesh and bone like water, faster this time, while she tried to wrestle back control of herself.

  "I will spare you the details of the miracle, and the tragic centuries that followed. The Prophet and his kindred are gone, as you might already know." Menoux gave her a glance. "Or not. The mission, however, was passed forward into six, then seven, then five, then six again, great tablets of stone, a copy of the last which would become what you might know as the Citrine Tale!"

  "I-I don't..." she clawed at her own stomach, hard. "What are you doing... to me?"

  He shook his head. "Quoteth from the Lord, 'foolish Aenexias, point me a saintly kingdom, and I shall show you a mask!' No intent fully survives Dashi stubborness, no matter how pure. Even among the Prophet's many children, there were those who wished only for empty vainglory, who greedily kept the words of the Lord to themselves. Schism was born, and they fought one another.

  The third bite was the fastest, half-way through the thigh to the knee, savage and furious, practically gulped down. A bloodstained grin met her. "And yet, the name of Aenexias still haunts the nightmares of Ivias, because no matter the differences, they were all guided by the three principles: Strength is the crown, only through the animal may the crown be maintained, and only through self-honesty may the animal be nourished!"

  In one swift motion, he shoved the remaining foreleg through the bars of her cell and tossed it her way.

  She was on her feet before she noticed, mouth gaping, throat quivering with anticipation.

  It had been years since she felt this starved. She had forgotten how painful it was. All that was left of her mind was the desperate need for nourishment, now!

  Paradoxically, that's what restrained her, teeth a finger's length from sinking in. She remembered the hunger, the pain yes, but also the fear, that deep sensation of loss that only grew worse and worse with every passing day in the darkness.

  One wrong move, and Holly Seneschal would truly be gone.

  She had to wrench herself aside, crawl away as if wounded. Yelling echoed around her, laughter, howling. She didn't know where she was heading, only that she needed to get away.

  She only stopped when she felt something herself grab something pliable but tough. Her eyes widened, meeting Agare's void just in time to see it hitch. The Buzz never faded, but in his presence, she could feel it lessening, plateauing into manageability.

  "Holly, fight! Do not let yourself give in!" He said, sounding every bit as desperate as her. "The moment you give in, it's over!"

  "I-I won't, I can't!" She pushed herself up on a shaking hand, dragging herself face first against the wall. The collision, though loud, didn't clear her head as much as she wished.

  "As I expected, you still don't really know what you eat, do you?" Menoux voiced echoed, mocking.

  "G-go away!" she risked a glance behind her shoulder. She saw Menoux standing, and a glimpse of the sack, succulent organs and meat flipped open towards- she turned away again. "I'm done with you. Leave!"

  "It's only natural for old men to become fond of unruly children. There is just something so captivating about the naivete of youth!" He bellowed. "You, however, are impure, godling! You are an abomination against my beliefs, and against your own needs!"

  "Good! Leave" She said.

  "Want it or not, you will learn! Today, I have other matters to attend to, but let me leave you one last piece of advice."

  Another shift in tone, but she didn't fall for it. If he wanted her attention, he could go look for it somewhere else!

  "Reconsider my proposal from our last meeting," he said, not a hint of amusement in his voice. "The clock is ticking, and soon, the Madhound you love oh so much is going to reveal his true colors. Don't believe me? Why, the evidence is right in front of you!"

  Shaking, she did throw another quick glare over her shoulder, another way to tell him to go away.

  What she found, instead, was Menoux already leaving, footsteps no louder than a child's.

  And right in front of their cell, at the very edges of the nailed curtain, the silhouette of dark fingers pulling an edge back, viscous and slender shapes whipping through the gap before retreating into the shadows.

  Then, nothing. They were left alone, discomfort their only company.