Page 113 of Remnants: Disruption
“She’s precious,” I say, no longer fighting the tears.
“I’m her homeroom teacher,” Trish says, poking the fox child in the belly as she passes. “She has forty others in her class alone.”
Forty children Rey’s age.
“How many people are here?”
“Close to fifty thousand. There’s tunnels that go farther from this main cavern.”
“I don’t know that I can protect everyone,” I whisper, jostling Rey a little, making her break into another titter of giggles.
“You don’t need to,” Trish says from the kitchen. “You just need to try. We all do. And I hate that the pressure is on your shoulders, sweetie. But it is. And no one has stood up to Loki or even the Queen. Ever. Yet you’ve done both. I know it’s partially a lack of self-preservation, but it’s also that desire to do what’s right. That’s all we need.”
I nod slowly, finally letting Rey drop back to the floor. She leaps forward, colliding with my chest and settling on my lap.
“Shadow fun,” she in a deeply serious tone, as if that settles it.
“Can I–” I start, eyeing the leftovers.
“Of course,” Trish says, and I let another tendril grab the box from her hand. And then a fork.
I scoot Rey a little and devour the rest of the hot meal.
I can do this. I can be this for them.
For myself.
Chapter 44
Consequences
November 10th, 1030 A.D., Morning
Affliction War, this, Affliction War, that, how about we acknowledge that the war is the reason we now have to bend the knee to DAEMON?
Banned dNet Forum Member, December 1029 A.D.
Azazel, despite our first interaction a week ago, is an excellent teacher.
They’re also sort of funny in their own weird, fucked up way.
“You said you had an idea for a disguise,” I huff out, wiping sweaty palms on workout clothing.
“I did,” Azazel says, the lights reappearing overhead.
Evidently, they had meant what they’d said about ‘asking nicely.’ Though they’d yet to explain magic in the last few days, it was apparently part of it.
“Care to share with the class or will I need to go on a magical journey to find out?”
“Are you ever not a sarcastic asshole?” they ask, the uncharacteristic swearing piquing my nerves.
“Something happen?” I ask, sobering as I watch them approach.
“Not yet,” Azazel says, sounding weirdly nervous despite the monotone.
“You have premonitions?” I ask, frowning.
“No, you fool. You painted a target on your back and Loki has yet to collect.”
