FiG 26 - Chrysalis

Do you remember how you returned from the other world?

"No.  Frost said...Frost said that we were named heroes.  That we saved --"

He lied.

Collin swallowed his unspoken words.  He tried to muster up surprise, or protest, but he couldn't.  Numb resignation sat like a weight on his tongue.

"...I know," he replied.  He always knew.  He just chose to believe what was easiest to hear.

Let me show you the truth, Collin.  Let me set you free of this cage of secrets.

"What if I -" Collin swallowed nervously, his mouth dry.  "What if I don't want to know?"

Trust me, Collin.

Collin bowed his head, and memory rose up to meet him.  

****

When the portal opened, it was a moment of revelation.

Akin to a ray of sun lancing through the curtains, a beam of warmth and golden light filled with potential.  With possibility.

Somehow, his blood-bonds had entered The World.  Oberon's realm of petty squabbles -- quaint little wars solved by curses and treaties between orcs and men and dwarves and elves.  

Soon, all that would change.

The Winter Fae's power, a piece of it trapped in each blood-bond, flooded back into his body.  In a blink, the wound in his stomach closed, flesh knitting itself back together as though the dagger had never broken the skin.  

Collin opened his eyes.  

Above him, through the sapphire crystal of his glass coffin, he saw his brother, Frost.  Broken and weeping like a baby.  So absorbed in grief that he did not even hear the body-guards.  Collin watched as they entered, weapons at the ready, with Tony at the head carrying the sorcerer's text that granted them entry to this World.  

The young Fae reached up and rapped the glass with his knuckles, just barely repressing a laugh as Frost nearly collapsed in surprise at the sound.  Then the blue-haired buffoon was scrabbling at the edges of the case, babbling, his tears renewed.  Presumably, these were the happy kind.  

Frost's condition after the battle with Lena had left him with the visual appeal and effectiveness of ground hamburger.  The skin on half his body was a ragged mess, eye swollen shut, collarbone broken, arm likely dislocated.  His blood-slicked fingers were quivering digits, unable to find the seam between coffin case and lid.  Collin rolled his eyes at the delay.  His tiny fingers curled into a fist, idly eying the glass above him.

Perhaps he should…?  No, best to save that for later.

The blood-bonds had reached Frost now.  Most of them, ignorant of who Collin was, latched onto Frost and dragged him, writhing and flailing, away from the box.  They fell on him like a plague of nurses, ripping up their shirts and pant legs for bandages, opening up the First Aid kits that some of them had the presence of mind to bring.  Frost resisted at first, until Tony patted the distraught Fae on his one uninjured shoulder, reassuring.

Tony always did know how to handle Frost.  Like a master comforting a dog.

Guess that's family, for you.

Tony found something to pry open the coffin, and while the mortal was focused on his labors, Collin took a moment to school his features.  Wouldn't do to let the little people know the secret thoughts of their betters.  

So when the lid popped off its casing, what emerged was nothing but sweetness.

"Tony!" Collin cried, leaping out to hug the lumbering man about the waist.  "I thought we'd never see you again!"

Tony knelt down to his level, gathering Collin's slight form into his muscled arms for a closer embrace.

"I thought the same thing, kiddo.  Glad we both thought wrong.  When I showed you that book, it wasn't so you could follow your brother into another dimension.  Please, promise me, no more magic, okay?"

Collin smiled, but only the length of a mortal's grin.  "Okay."

*******

Once Frost had regained his wits, he set the blood-bonds the task of sweeping and securing the area.  Somehow, the Winter Lord doubted that the elves would be pleased in how things turned out for their ruler, and Frost wasn't eager to become a scape-goat.  Rhiannon and Lucian were clustered around the magic tome Tony had brought across the portal, looking for a return ticket.

Collin couldn't help but stare at Lucian, a human wizard trapped in the construct of a demon.  The movements were all wrong -- rough, clumsy, jerking fumbles of a mortal man rather than the fluidity and grace that should have animated the form.  The expressions were off as well, far too dour.  Lucian seemed frustrated by the mouth of teeth he'd acquired, constantly nicking his tongue on the razor-sharp rows of shark teeth.

He didn't even smile right.

Still, despite the poor puppeteer, there was no denying the craftsmanship of the form.  Asmodeus had been quite the handsome devil.

Collin snorted, shaking his head at the passing thought.  He gave a glance at his battered elder brother, who had fallen asleep in a boneless heap on the floor.  Then, with hardly a sound, Collin slipped away.

*****

Puck sat on the ramparts, staring down at the bloody mess that had once been an elf named Oberon, and then was a monster named Sophia, and now was mostly meat with no heart and an exposed rib-cage.

It was a long story.

The godling still wore his child form, tapping his heels on the edge of the wall as they dangled over the stone defenses of Oberon's castle.  He was at an impasse.  Ever eager for something to keep him free of boredom, he'd pushed his pawns about in the hopes of some passing entertainment.  Now, after things had run their course, he found himself overtaken with his usual malaise.  

Yes, forces were marching on Oberon's keep, orc and dwarves and humans alike, but that was hardly news.  Puck had seen war upon war in The World, and frankly, you've seen it once, you've seen it six-thousand-three-hundred-twenty-nine times.  He was bored of war.

But what else was there?

He heard a chuckle behind him and nearly leaped out of his skin.  Who in the World could sneak up on him?

Puck turned, ruffled, and regarded the little boy who had joined him on the ramparts.  Bare feet tread in Oberon's blood without concern, the coagulating gore stained the edges of faded blue pajamas.  The soft fleece was printed with the greek symbol Pi.  The boy's skin was pale to the point of translucence, almost like his body was made of snow-coated ice.  Flat black hair framed a round, innocent face, square glasses perched on the end of an upturned nose.  The stomach of his shirt was marred by a bloody tear, but no wound appeared underneath.

He seemed…passably familiar.  Puck was rarely one to focus on mortals, unless they showed potential for causing interesting types of trouble.  

Still, something about this one seemed…odd.

"Do I know you?"

The child smiled, and then kept smiling, the grin stretching farther than it possibly should.  A flash of brilliant yellow flickered in the blue depths of the child's eyes.

"Forgotten me already, Puck?" the boy said, teasingly, "And here I thought we were becoming such fast friends."

Puck hopped off the wall, as giddy as the child form he wore.  "How could I forget such a winning smile?" he returned jovially.

Finally!  Things were about to get interesting.