Closed Behind Red Eyes (Sayana, Nephti)

[Aislyn Leavold]

57th of Winter, 515 AV
Evening

Gods, what was going on this season?

It had been, according to her incredibly accurate timekeeping log in her journal, about sixty days since the season had begun. Yet it seemed like so much longer than that. The divided feeling amongst the city. The feeling of foreboding and dread. It all felt so… Wrong. There was a danger of being alone at night. No, not just alone, and not just at night. There was a danger of being out at all. It was constricting, suffocating. Yes, Aislyn had, at first, valued her safety and stayed indoors, but after five long rotations, her patience ran thin. Illusions were short lived, she of all people knew that, but this had been going on for more than hours, more than days. It had been seasons.
Since she had first met the horned man, since the Speakers had announced that prophecy. They are coming, but when? Why?

Of course, she’d wanted answers.
So, one night, Aislyn decided. If every Alvad cooped themselves up inside for the whole season, who was there to find out what was really going on?
Aislyn Leavold, that was who.

Her plan was simple. Incredibly, blatantly simple. In the most Alvadas-esqe way, she would go out, alone, in the night, and find where the streets led her. She had yet to actually, physically see what people had been so afraid of, which of course usually meant there was nothing there at all. Illusions were typical that way. So, out she had ventured.
It had been quiet, at first. After that, it had been silent. Eerily so. She usually had little trouble seeing in reasonably dim situations, but this was true darkness. Like even the light was hiding. A few glowing, rather sharp-looking butterflies floated past on the opposite side of the street. Then they did something rather peculiar. They flickered. Into little glowing balls of light. Then back. And then again, until they scattered, the floating orbs spreading into the night.

That was wrong.

Alvadas’ illusions didn’t flicker. Aislyn’s might, yes, but her power was very little compared to that of actual Ionu. That shouldn’t happen. But it looked like it had; a small lapse in power, despite the small size of the illusion.
What was going on?

Deciding to follow one of the strange lights, Aislyn crossed the deserted street. She had plenty of options of which to follow, but many of them disappeared upwards, the one direction she, unfortunately, could not follow. So she followed the ones that went onwards, instead. Through an alleyway, behind a building. She tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, but her curiosity won overall. She had to know what was happening.
After several twists, many turns, and at least one circle, Aislyn found herself staring in the face of irony.

Ionu’s Temple.

If that wasn’t a sign, the illusionist didn’t know what was. So inside she went.
It was quiet, in a disturbing kind of way. The temple was usually quiet, but this, this was abandoned. Even so, it still held the comfort of familiarity. Her footsteps echoed on the tall ceiling and stone walls, her gaze wandering before falling upon the shrine. That must have been her answer.
She set her possessions on her lap, closing her eyes and folding her hands together.

Ionu, my deity, hear me if you will. I plead for answers, for something that would explain the confusion of this season. I still sense your presence, as I always have, so I know you have not fallen from us yet. But, my deity, I pray to you for an explanation. Anything, no matter how small. I’ve heard whispers of a death by your illusions, those which we have always coincided with before. There’s even more prevalent whispers of fear, or injury. Children are no longer allowed outside to play with the whimsical images we all revered. I am forever faithful to you, my deity, but now, I only wish for your mercy.

Slowly, Aislyn opened her eyes. She came to focus on a shinily reflective token, around the size of a plate, that was left resting on the shrine. In it, a wispy reflection of a tall, almost featureless, but not quite, shadow. It was quite obviously another trick of the city, so Aislyn gave it no heed, refusing to even turn around and acknowledge she had seen it. She was in Ionu’s temple, the most sacred of places in Alvadas. Illusions barely even made it inside, nevermind dangerous ones.
Besides, she’d already been teased enough by mirror reflections this season. She wasn’t going to pretend like this one was any different, like it actually posed a danger.
So she ignored it, closing her eyes again and reestablishing her connection.
That was, until a cold, callous, and most importantly clawed hand wrapped itself around her neck.

Immediately, her eyes flew open and her clasped, praying hands turned to grasping ones as she tried to pry herself away from whatever it was. Slowly, she was pulled up from the ground, her backpack and notebook tumbling from her lap in an unceremonious heap. With the breath she was able to muster into her lungs, she let out a string of curses. Including, but not limited to What the petching hell-shyke is- Ionu’s Hai what- how- by the petching gods-.

That was what she got for dismissing an illusion, she supposed.

[Sayana]

She had done everything she had promised to do. She had given hope, she had united them, she had trained them, and even rescued one of them. And yet there had been nothing. No sign at all from the Seamstress, no word of thanks, and absolutely no lifting of the damnable illusion. It was there, always there, and she could see it on the faces of those around her. Sometimes it was fear or uncertainty and sometimes it was even friendliness by other zith. But it wasn’t her. And moreso, she was finding herself lonelier than ever despite interacting with the various zith on an everyday basis. She could pretend but she could never truly be one of them.

Sayana found herself roaming the darkened streets on foot. Every now and then she could hear the faint call or chatter from above somewhere. Perhaps that was what isolated her so much. She could not fly and be one of them, even if she had any desire to. But more importantly she didn’t feel like one of them. Her arms were sometimes sluggish, but they were still her arms and she wore her black cloak comfortably, something not as easily done by a zith. Yet she had mostly switched to a nocturnal schedule and out of habit she kept to the shadows.

A rare bout of movement caused her to duck into a doorway out of sight. Cautiously she watched from the edge of the frame until the pair of people had passed. Breathing slowly and silently she counted to three after they were out of sight before setting off once more. Except… Sharply she turned around and looked back at the entrance she had just been hiding in. Initially she had thought it just to be a house or empty shop but upon a second glance it seemed far more spacious with long winding corridors. Curious, she stepped further inwards. Perhaps this was where the missing people had gone.

She examined the weathered moss covered stone and traced a hand along the wall as she proceeded further into the maze of corridors. It was dark and at times she had to almost feel her way along. There was an eerie prickling at the back of her neck and more than once she glanced behind her as if someone was following her. It soon opened up into a great hall. Quiet, ominous but beautiful at the same time. And clearly a shrine of sorts. For a moment she paused, taking in the grand stonework and wondering who the shrine was for. Ionu. She almost reprimanded herself for even posing the question. This was Alvadas and this was the deity they worshiped.

But just as swiftly as she had felt the wonder of the temple, it turned to anger and defiance. “I have lived in your city of wonder, felt its beauty but now you fill it with danger. I have protected and given hope, yet you’ve cursed me with this illusion. You’ve silenced me. I will not be silenced forever. Do you try to toy with me, play tricks on me? I have my own tricks up my sleeve. You’ll see, you’ll--”

Suddenly there was movement from the edge of the hall and for the barest moment she thought that Ionu had indeed come to speak against her insolence. But she quickly crossed off the idea and instead darted for a shadowed crook and crouched behind one of the benches near the back to one side. The woman who entered seemed young and also rather devout. She had beautiful hair and had a quiet patience about her as she knelt before the shrine.

Sayana watched from her crouched position for what felt like eternity. Didn’t the woman have anything better to do? Didn’t she have friends? What if she didn’t have any friends? The Eypharian tried to keep her own sense of isolation at bay but it gnawed at her heart with every passing tick. Slowly she came out from her position and took soft careful steps towards the woman. Her boots were dampened and she didn’t rush. She simply wanted to reach out to the woman. Let her know that she wasn’t alone. Reach out to caress that beautiful hair…

Before she knew it, she had extended her hand to gently stroke the lady’s neck and weave her fingers into her hair. The lady suddenly moved and Sayana’s hand tightened instinctively. Even as the woman struggled, Sayana held fast, adjusting her grip and wanting to see the face of who it was…

Maya? She quickly let go in surprise but not after she had caught a glimpse of fierce dark red eyes. The next tick, they had returned to blue. “Who are you? What are you?!” Sayana spoke fiercely, now unsure of whether to believe her eyes. Of course, she wouldn’t be heard even by the half-zith but her facial expression was one of skepticism verging on anger.

Sayana speaking Zithanese

[Aislyn Leavold]

It was rather hard to keep one’s focus when one was writhing in the grasp of certain death. For one, singular moment, Aislyn lost all grip, lost that constant, clenched hand in the back of her mind, and let go. Let go of the lie, of the illusion, of everything, in a moment of pure surprise. As she was turned in the monster’s hand, she met its eyes.

And she flickered.

She didn't always feel flickers. Usually, since they only happened in lapses of strength, the surprise of whatever had overwhelmed her was of more importance than the loss of her illusion. But the eyes, the eyes, the eyes… She met with them as she struggled in the beast’s grasp, as the claws gripped harder for a moment, piercing her skin in at least one place on the side of her neck. Not deep, but painful. She was dead. She was dead, she was dead, may Ionu please claim her soul as she passed. May she finally be with her god, and finally be free of this wretched life. Perhaps she’d be reincarnated as a crow, should Ionu not claim her. Crows were nice. She'd like to be a crow.

Then she was gasping, for the air she hadn't realized she had lost.

The illusionist crumbled, finally breaking contact with those eyes. The red ones, the blood, red, dark ones. The ones she saw her reflection in, where eyes of the same stared back.
She had felt herself flicker. She had felt the hold break, the power lapse, and she had felt it in her eyes. It had never been so concentrated before. Never so small. It had always been all, or nothing, unless something else was directly interfering. Her flickers had always been a problem, yes, the price of a singular mark, but this time, she knew, she’d felt, that the rest of her remained in tact. The hair, the skin, the face, all still Maya. But her eyes had fallen out of concentration. But her concentration was not… Concentrated. It was spread evenly throughout her illusion.
Then why the eyes?

She tried to pray again, as she rapidly pushed herself, back and away from the hulking beast in front of her. The windows to one’s soul, the eyes were supposed to be. They told stories, they portrayed emotion in ways that words could not. And they proved a connection; they had the same eyes, the monster and her. The thing she faced down was not an illusion, but a Zith.
Scream, scream, someone will hear.
No, there was nowhere around. And she couldn't if she tried. Everything was happening in slow motion, but still going by too fast. She didn't feel helplessness all that often, but adrenaline was not one to save face.

Unable to tear her gaze away, Aislyn watched as the Zith recoiled, presumably having the same idea. It opened it’s mouth to yell, shout, scream, whatever. The only issue was nothing came out.
Or perhaps not nothing. Something, certainly. Something that dissolved to a quiet, shrill wail just out of Aislyn’s range of hearing.
Why did her blood give her the eyes of a Zith, but not the ears?

”Wait-” What was she doing? Talking to a monster? A monster that, in all technicality, shared blood with her. They were technically brethren. But she was human. She was human, and didn't kill for fun. She wasn't Zith. She would never be Zith. ”I can't-”

The woman couldn't hold onto a solid train of thought. She had hit the alter, pressing herself against the cold stone. How fitting. She was going to die in the sacred place of her favoured deity. How would they clean that up? Mop the blood off of the offerings, no memorial to be had? There was no one to miss her, after all. What would they do with the body? Would she become the next offering to her god?
Her neck was stinging. Whoever- whatever it was- was not one for introductions.
Her heart felt like it was forcing itself out of her chest, and her breathing certainly wasn't helping matters. When she had been dropped, her breath had come in ragged heaves, but even after the claws were gone, she still felt like she was choking. The woman had all but sought release from her anxiety attacks, but it seemed all her work could be undone in the face of death.
In the face of those eyes.

”I can't... understand you.”

Her grip had returned, surprisingly. Red eyes once again cloaked in a blue veil. She was trembling, but alive. As was the Zith in front of her. Alive, and very, very real.
Aislyn had never had a true problem with the Zith. She’d always been living proof of what monsters they could be, proof of what they did to the women they sought to claim for their own. But she was as well the proof of the humanity they could obtain. She had realized in her childhood she could call the bestial race them instead of us and proclaim them to be monsters over and over again, like a drawn out pledge, but in the end, outsiders would always see her as one with the race that had mutilated her mother. And what was stopping her from being a monster, as well? Thus, the benefit of the doubt was granted. But that didn’t grant immunity.

Actions proved intentions, so with or without a bias, Aislyn feared for her life.

”Ionu save me...”

"Speech" - Thought

[Sayana]

The girl was scared. Sayana could see it in her eyes. The eyes… what was wrong with them? They had been red only ticks before. Maya, the beautiful young woman trembled and stammered before her. The sheer terror of the woman made her feel even more isolated. Terror that wasn’t even something Sayana sought to provoke. And yet… The illusioned zith found herself drawn again and again to Maya’s eyes. Blue, beautiful, but clouded with a dark shape. When Sayana took a step forwards she hardly realized that she had backed Maya up against the altar, so focused she was on finding out what lay beyond those eyes. The movement was enough to see the shadowed form move, and at last the image and realization hit her.

Reflected back, and faintly, was herself. At least her face looked generally like herself, except more wild and somewhat hairy with black fur. Her hair was the deep red she had dyed it but dominating the background were two enormous wings. She could see the faint outline of her cloak, but as she drew out her other arms, they did not appear in the reflection off those beautiful blue eyes.

She stood transfixed for several ticks and she was only mildly aware of Maya’s assertion that the artist couldn’t understand her. The artist… could Maya draw…? Is this what she saw? Is this what everyone saw? She felt a clenching of her heart at the prospect. She theoretically knew that something had happened to her and changed her, but she had always been able to see her own arms for what they were, and she was never shadowed by dark wings. And now, really seeing it for the first time…

At last, at the mention of Ionu, Sayana took a step back. She was scaring the poor woman even if she did not intend it. She was about to attempt to communicate her identity but then she remembered those eyes. Was Maya forced with an illusion too? Or had she found a way to overcome it? Or was she just hiding behind an illusion and was something more?

After seeing such a startling reflection of herself, Sayana decided to try a more subtle tactic in case Maya wasn’t all that she seemed to be. She pointed to her eyes using her illusioned claws, and touched them gently with a flutter of her eyelashes for good measure. Then she pointed almost accusingly at Maya’s eyes. Slowly, with the intent curiosity of a zith, Sayana began to examine Maya. Her clawed finger tips graced gently over the artist’s arms and eventually were drawn back to her hair. She tucked a lock of hair behind Maya’s ear and she gave a soft smile. Once again her fingers went to her own eyes, as if stressing the importance of them or wanting to learn more since she repeated the pointing to Maya’s eyes.

There was one more thing she needed. Slowly Sayana began gathering the djed within her, feeling it course through her veins and move into her mind. She wanted Maya to trust, to share, but it wouldn’t be as simple as that. Those would be strange thoughts to occur after been frightened. Instead, Sayana continued her meek curious approach, pretending to merely be a curious zith. Little by little she fueled her djed with feelings of pity, pity towards someone else or something else. Gradually she pushed the djed outwards to seep slowly into Maya’s mind and slip through the cracks of the natural boundaries into the soul. One can still fear what they pity but it is a different sort of fear and not the paralyzing kind.

Sayana speaking Zithanese

[Aislyn Leavold]

She was still alive.
That was a good thing. Supposedly.
All her body parts were still attached, most of her mind still in working order. And of course, she was still unable to do anything but stare back into the black void of the eye that were now just inches from her face. Large, black, probing eyes that connected for what felt like bells. No matter the length, however, one thing was certain. There was something wrong.
Something more wrong than the fact that there was a Zith in Ionu’s temple with no apparent intention to pray. More wrong than the fact that Aislyn had been practically attacked and wounded by said Zith, yet now the being seemed passive.

No, more than passive. The Zith was communicating. Or at least, trying to.

Eyes. The eyes. Claws, pointing towards black eyes, then “Maya’s” blue. Angry, accusing, and… Curious.

”I… Don’t understand.”

The Zith didn’t even appear to speak common. Out of all the things that may have caught Aislyn in the act of an illusionary malfunction, a Zith was certainly not one she had prepared for, nor expected. But she also hadn’t expected another soul in the temple, and she certainly didn’t expect the claw. Digging into her skin, then dragging along her arm. Trapping her, when the woman couldn’t physically back up anymore, no matter how much she tried to fade into the surface she was pushed against. The physical contact set her teeth on edge; Aislyn absolutely, positively, did not like being touched. And the smile on the Zith’s face was all the more unnerving. If much more of this went on, plans to escape would be in order. She couldn’t fight it, that was certain. But diplomatically, perhaps she could escape. Trust. Maybe if she earned enough trust, the Zith would let her free. The question was, how?

”I’m not going to hurt you.”

There was very little opportunity for the woman to hurt the beast, but if the Zith believed otherwise… Well, it was best to douse that belief before it became an issue. If they were equals, she couldn’t be toyed with. Or that's what the woman wanted to think, at least.
Once again, the Zith pointed a claw towards its face. The eyes.
If she spoke slowly, made gestures just like the Zith had been trying, maybe, maybe...

”I don’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, right?”

Her voice shook, but she tried to hold on to any ounce of control she had left. Slowly, cautiously, Aislyn raised herself off the ground, until she was standing eye-to-eye with the Zith. There was certainly a strange curiosity to be seen in the being’s expression, but if she were entirely honest with herself, the woman didn’t trust it. Cautious until proven harmless, but there was no doubt that whatever, whoever the Zith was, they were dangerous.
And yet, she… Pitied it?
There was no reason to pity something that had just moments before held the strings of her life in it’s hands. But yet, she couldn’t blame the thing. It was curious. Confused.
Dangerous.

The eyes, a repeating piece of imagery in the way the Zith moved. It had seen her flicker. Not everything, just… The eyes.
That made sense. The surprise, the fear, the…
Someone had seen a flicker.
The thought was more horrible than she could have imagined. There had been few times where Aislyn had shown weakness when it came her her power, even fewer where someone had seen. None where someone had actually noticed.
Contrary to popular belief, there was a large margin between seeing and believing. The whole situation didn’t feel real. A Zith. In the temple. An extremely localized flicker, and a witness to see it. That couldn’t happen, that couldn’t be real. She could still control this. Turn it to her advantage.

”What do you… What do you want?”

But again, the question was how?

"Speech" - Thought - oocI like the fact that both Sayana and Aislyn believe themselves to be in control of the situation.

[Sayana]

Sayana struggled not to laugh when Maya said she wouldn’t hurt her. By the way the woman was quivering, Sayana wasn’t even sure if the poor artist could even manage a slap let alone some real damage. She rather pitied the artist, being so vulnerable and unable to defend herself. But, if the artist had managed to say that, then clearly she wasn’t quite so terrified as before and she might stay long enough to be able to share or help the illusioned zith.

When the artist began negotiating terms, Sayana nodded encouragingly. She wanted Maya to feel safe. Safe enough to be helpful. I don’t hurt you and you don’t hurt me. Again Sayana felt the urge to draw upon her magic. She needed to make sure that Maya was willing to help her and she couldn’t tell if her earlier bout of hypnotism had worked. Concentrating fiercely, she pulled within herself and felt the tinglings of her magic. I need your help. She infused the message with her djed, repeating it over and over in her mind as she wrapped it with a strong layer of magic.

However, when she released the magic to shoot through to Maya’s blue eyes to her mind, it would not have the effect Sayana had intended. Where she had meant to simply communicate her own words via her hypnotic magic, on the receiving end it would most likely seem like a suggestion from the viewpoint of the artist. That Maya was the one that needed help.

Sayana was vaguely aware that she was trying something a little different and for a moment she hesitated, unsure of whether she had done it right. Then Maya’s words echoed in the empty temple.

What do you want?

Had Maya gotten her message? Had she heard it right? Had the timing been off? The illusion of the zith fidgeted this way and that unsure of whether she had successfully reached Maya’s mind. She’d have to do it again, more clearly. But not so obviously that Maya would know she was doing magic. No, no, magic was dangerous here and people were suspicious. The illusioned zith was obviously unsettled but she made a very purposeful grab for Maya’s bag and started rummaging through it to find some appropriate art supplies. Would Maya help her if she knew? It was worth trying.

Sayana pulled out a piece of canvas and found a couple of charcoal sticks the artist had used last time they had met. Slowly she began to calm herself as she set the canvas upon the ground and started drawing with her clawed hands. First was a circle with several ticks around the edge. A simple version of Syna and her rays of light. As she drew, she began clearing her thoughts knowing that she couldn’t be distracted if she was going to successfully draw upon her magic once more. Then, with a quick glance towards Maya to make sure she was still there, the illusioned zith placed her hand on the canvas and started tracing it with the charcoal. It was lumpy but it was a simple enough task that she could start building up the djed inside her again. She focused on the desire to be helpful. To help someone in need. The satisfaction that one would feel about being helpful. To help a friend. As she focused on those thoughts and mixed it with her djed, she forced the magic outwards to Maya.

At last, she had a simple drawing of a sun and her traced out hand on the canvas. Finally, she pointed to herself, then the hand, then held up six fingers. She repeated it again and even a third time to try to get the message across. She desperately hoped that Maya would make the connections and feel the desire to help out an old friend. From so much usage of the hypnotism, Maya would surely see faint trickles of blood forming around Sayana’s eyes even before Sayana herself would notice the effects of the overgiving.

Sayana speaking Zithanese

[Aislyn Leavold]

Alright. That was a step forward. She wasn't going to be eaten. That didn't put her in any particularly safe place, but it put her somewhere. If she had been carrying a weapon… This situation could be a whole lot better. But her crossbow was too big, and the woman was sure the Zith would have reflexes faster than the speed at which she could load a shot. In future, she’d need something small. A blade, perhaps. She wouldn’t be able to wield it expertly, but anyone could stab a target with a blade.

The encouraging nods from the Zith were strange. The inconsistent way the beast approached her was strange. Everything about the situation was strange. One minute she was dead, assaulted by a Zith, and the next, she was making friends.
Dangerous, pointy friends. With wings and claws.
The idea of a Zith ally was certainly appealing. After all, Aislyn wasn’t exactly the strongest in a fight. Her strengths came from her illusions, and, as proven by the flicker that had gotten her into the situation in the first place, said illusions were not the most reliable. But alliances required trust, and that was something in short supply when it came to this particular being.

”Who are you?” Zith, however inaudible, were still sentient. As far as she knew. From her knowledge, they gave each other names, had personalities. Monsters, they might have been, but if she were to be getting out of this situation anytime soon, she needed to know more. Once again, she repeated herself. ”What do you want?”

By that point, the underlying fear of death and possible maimed had washed away, leaving Aislyn feeling tense and with the vague sense of cool anger. A cool anger that stemmed from large black claws rummaging through a neatly organized bag.
“What- Get away from that-”

She made a move for the bag, before having second thoughts. The last time something had gone rummaging through her things, it had been a bear. An artistically inclined bear that had wanted her to draw things.
Hold on a moment. Draw things.

The Zith turned away from Aislyn, allowing her the brief entertainment of the thought of freedom. She could make a run for it, if she’d so wished. But if her opponent was fast, she didn’t stand a chance.
Inspecting the crouching figure, Aislyn tried to look past the wings and the claws. If she were to think of whatever it was she was facing as an individual, it was probably best to give it a name. Especially if it didn’t have the ability to communicate a name itself.
The first detail she noticed was the Zith’s bright red hair. The second thing was that, as far as she could tell, the Zith was a woman. For the moment, then, she’d go with Red. Simple enough, until she could figure out how to get a message across.

”What are you doing…?”

”Red” seemed to have taken a liking to the artist’s materials. It pained her to see the charcoals held so roughly and used up so liberally, but again, the Zith had the claws. And the teeth. But the fear had dissipated, at least a bit. Aislyn’s hands were still shaking, of course, but that was not unusual. A life full of looking over one’s shoulder tended to allow panic to set in easily, and for an extended about of time. She was still shivering, as well. But now the Zith was doing something. Something that didn’t involve Aislyn’s death.

As Red turned back towards her, the illusionist was struck with a sudden thought. Help. She needed help. The Zith could help her.

No, she didn’t want help from her- whoever she was. Aislyn wanted to leave. She wanted Ionu to answer her prayers and the city to go back to whatever sense of normalcy it had achieved before. She didn’t need the Zith, and the Zith didn’t need her.
Or perhaps that wasn’t true.
The look in Red’s eyes was strange. A recurring theme in the encounter, it seemed. And certainly nothing to be dismissed. The windows to one’s soul, if that were to be believed. And there was certainly something behind the blackness. Help, the look said. But the facial expression didn’t seem pitiful, nor in need of help. The facial expression didn’t seem like much of anything, really. Yet she got a message.

That was strange.

Breaking eye contact to look down at the drawing “Red” had made, Aislyn found… Something. The sun, from what she could see. And a hand. Syna’s hand? Was the Zith trying to say something about Syna? About her mark? Did Syna even have a mark?
Aislyn had learned that other gods held the power to gift those, just as Ionu had gifted her. But did goddesses such as Syna do that?
Hands, “Red”, six. Six people? Six hands? A helping hand?
What was this helping thing? Aislyn didn’t help people. It was her principal. Especially against those who threatened her life, as the Zith had. If one wants help, they earn it. They do not threaten for it. Then where was the thought of help coming from?

”Hand… Hands? Syna’s hands?” She looked up and down between Red and the drawing. ”Six hands? Six…” In a final look, Aislyn almost missed the look on Red’s face.
”...Eyes. Your eyes-”
She didn’t look like help anymore. She looked strained, exhausted. And bloody. The Zith’s eyes were bleeding.
Maybe it wasn’t Aislyn that needed help.
”What did you do? Are you alright?”

"Speech" - Thought

[Sayana]

When Maya spoke the word ‘hands’, Sayana nodded vigorously. She nodded again at the word ‘Syna’ but quickly shook her head when the artist phrased it as ‘Syna’s hands’. Then at ‘six hands’ she nodded again, smiling gleefully that the artist seemed to understand. It seemed so obvious to her and yet Maya didn’t seem to be making the connection as quickly as Sayana would have thought. Syna, six hands, what else could she possibly mean?

But soon Maya changed the subject to eyes. Sayana’s expression grew confused as she shook her head. That wasn’t what she was trying to say. Your eyes? If anything it was Maya’s eyes that were the interesting ones. Those eyes that changed colour like a Vantha… Could she be a Vantha? For a moment she hesitated. Maybe it was something normal, and yet Maya’s eyes weren’t continually shifting colour like a Vantha she had met in Syliras.

However, as Maya grew more concerned about Sayana’s eyes, the illusioned zith began to doubt herself. Was something wrong with her eyes? Were they bright red like a zith or were they changing colour or…? At last she felt a hint of wetness, and she quickly brought up an illusioned claw to her eye. A streak of blood marked her finger and she quickly understood why Maya was concerned. She was pushing herself. Pushing too hard with her magic but she needed to let Maya know it was alright, that she could be trusted. That she needed help.

Would the artist remember her name? It was worth a shot. Slowly she began writing with the piece of charcoal.

Sayana
ilus…
help.

When she was done, she put down the charcoal stick and looked around the temple. Was she right to curse the god of illusions? Or should she be praying to him to be her salvation? Or praying to her… Emotions played upon Sayana’s face. Confusion, anger, fear, loneliness…

After her short lapse, she returned her attention to Maya. Her dark black illusioned eyes gazed into Maya’s blue once more as she saw the small image of her zith form reflected back.

"Please help me."

Sayana speaking Zithanese

[Aislyn Leavold]

Eyes, hands, six… Help?
That appeared to be the reoccurring theme with the cryptic messages Aislyn was getting. Syna’s mark… But why the hands? Why six of them? Six fingers? Six… Arms? Why would a Zith need help? And why was said Zith acting so strange?
Of course, the woman didn’t have all that much first hand experience with Zith, but from what she did know, they certainly didn’t act like how ‘Red’ was acting. And again with the charcoal! This time, words. Or rather, letters. Very slow, careful letters. The Zith knew how to write, then, to some extent.
S. Syna again? A. Something else, then.

Patiently, Aislyn waited, eyes surveying the temple for any other alternatives to... Well, helping a Zith. Though, now she was curious. A Zith that could read, write, and presumably understand common. And a Zith that needed help.

S-A-Y-A-N-A

”Sa- Sayana?”
Ionu preserve her soul.
The connections made themselves at the name. Syna, the hands, the arms, the help. But that was impossible. That would mean Sayana was- that the Zith was-

In an effort to move away from the crouched figure, Aislyn fell backwards against the shrine again.

”You’re… You’re Sayana?”
She remembered Sayana. The beautiful dancer atop the rooftop, the season before. Syna the Dancer; that was what Aislyn had taken to remembering the Eypharian as. Six arms and Syna, and now she was a Zith asking for Aislyn’s help. But that was impossible.
Zith-Sayana drew closer. Aislyn, once again, could not back away. Her gaze locked with the beast, and behind the black eyes, she really saw. Saw the anger, the confusion. The distress.
Sayana, the invincible dancer who seemed to lack the ability to fear, was scared.

A thunderstorm of what ifs loomed over the woman. Out of the gate, the figure had been a Zith. Which meant nothing. A Zith that didn’t speak common, that couldn’t communicate with her, nor anyone else, and that was fine. But this was not a Zith.
A screeching noise that occasionally delved into a silence Aislyn assumed she could no longer hear appeared to be “Sayana”’s only form of verbal communication. Which meant she could no longer speak. But she still had her mind. So this was…
”...an illusion? This is an illusion?”

The question was, how?
”How did you do this? Who did this?”

Aislyn was afraid she already knew the answer. She herself knew illusions could only affect one sense at a time at a basic level. Those were her illusions; only visual, or only auditory, or otherwise. Those illusions were fragile, and weak. The second level was, presumably, two senses. Then three, then all. Each time getting stronger. But Sayana’s illusion… Her appearance was visual, her speech was auditory, and her claws… Those were most definitely physical, whether Sayana could use them or not. Which meant at very least three marks. Or something ulterior at play.
Ionu. Ionu could do this. Ionu’s illusions had no limit, no extent. Their power was infinite, and Aislyn was forever respectful of it. An illusion of this caliber would be child’s play, despite the devastating impact on its victim. The perfect trick.

”Did… Did Ionu do this?”
Her voice was soft, as if speaking her deity’s name would somehow summon them. She could never go against the divinity of Ionu. If it were them who chose this for Sayana, Aislyn couldn’t help her. If Ionu’s will was for Sayana to be this way, then Sayana would stay this way. They had met only once, and Aislyn owed nothing to the Eypharian.
Besides, Ionu didn’t make mistakes.
”What did you do?

"Speech" - Thought

[Nephti]

Nephti was scared. She didn't want to admit it, but she was. Sayana had gone and the Zith had started to get rowdy. Nephti was young and small. She had left quickly, not wanting them to go too far. Now she stood in the city, alone, with no idea where to go. She wanted to find Sayana even if the city would let her go where she wanted to go, she had no idea where that was.

"Priskil, light my way," she whispered, hugging herself with her mid hands. She could feel eyes on her, but at the same time, there was nothing there. Then there was. It seemed the goddess had answered her prayer. Small glowing orbs lit up, floating in the air. The girl moved forward, reaching her hand out towards them. The marked hand. The orbs grew brighter, larger, purer. They shifted towards her, towards their mark. She tried to touch one, but it seemed to dart away, avoiding her touch.

The lights then twirled, spiralling into the streets, asking her to follow. Leading her way. Nephti stepped slowly forward, then again, then broke into a run, have faith that the lights were Priskil's gift to her. Her feet thundered through the streets, chasing the orbs as they spiralled around, seeming to stay in one spot but get endlessly further as she moved towards them.

Until they disappeared completely. She was left standing, out of breath and panting, outside a weathered building, a temple. Not one Priskil, her goddess, but of the god of Illusions. Ionu.

Gingerly, she stepped forward, uncertain why Priskil would take her here. As far as she knew, the two gods had no relation, no connection. They were separate, not opposites or allies, just separate. But the people of the city of one had needed the help of the follower of the other. Perhaps this was just another task she needed to complete for her goddess, for the divine woman couldn't meddle with mortal affairs too much.

She moved inside, the darkness hanging over her as she moved into the shadows. Candles lit up around her, but she didn't use the gnosis. They were bright enough on their own.

There were two people there. A zith and a human.

Sayana was one, Nephti knew it. Breaking into a run again, she moved in, jumping out from the silence and the shadows into the light. She stopped before them, panting harder, but smiling, smiling so brightly. She was safe now. And she could be of assistance.

"I am Nephti. Sayana, she can't say Common." She looked down at the words, the drawings. "You know that." She smiled meekly, wondering how far into the discussion they had gone. "Speaker made Sayana Zith. She fight zith. She must give now hope and... 'nite?" That wasn't the word, it was missing something. "Lots of Zith, one group? 'nite Zith." Did that make any sense? She hoped so. She looked back at Sayana's companion, curious. The woman didn't seem to be scared of the Zith, but trying to converse normally.

"You Sayana know? As Zith or Eypharian?"