Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #30: The Gates of Hell]

Log Date: 11/12/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Room

7:19am SGT

Waking.

I used to hate waking up in the morning. The whole process of leaving sleep, of being groggy and hazy and half-cognizant, of knowing and feeling that my brain simply could not handle the task of being fully conscious. I used to hate knowing that it would be fifteen minutes before I was able to think and process things like a functional person. Hated dragging myself out of bed, feeling like a half-dead ragdoll.

But when you’ve got someone to share a bed with, waking up can be one of the best parts of the day.

It’s warm under the duvet, and I don’t have to move very far to find Raikaron, who seems like he’s similarly half-asleep. I don’t waste any time in snuggling up to him, nuzzling into his neck and curling up against his side; he lets out a sleepy little mumble, his jaw bumping gently against my head as he repositions his arm to wrap it around me.

“L’il demon.” he mumbles.

“M’lord.” I mumble back.

“Mmm.”

“Mm?”

“Mm.”

We both start to settle again, dozing back to half-sleep — at least until we hear a meow, and I feel little paws padding at the top of my head.

“Mnehhh.” I grumble, lazily ducking my head under the covers and rolling to sprawl across Raikaron’s chest. “C’mon, Cinder. You know where the kitchen is.”

“She’s playing with my hair now.” Raikaron mumbles. “She wasn’t in here last night, was she?”

“Prolly got in by ghosting through the door or walls.” I yawn.

“Regretting giving her that collar now.” he say, his chest rising and falling with a longsuffering sigh. “I suppose one of us should get up and feed her.”

“Nu, you’re warm.” I mumble, flopping an arm on his shoulder like I could keep him from getting up. “Jus’ leav’it, she can go to the kitchen and they’ll feed her…”

I feel him tense up as he moves his free arm. “Ah! She’s bitin’ my head now… quit it, you little menace…”

I puff a breath. “ ‘ere, lemme take care of her.” Pushing myself up on my forearms, I shuffle forward, popping my head out from beneath the duvet to lock onto Cinder, who’s trying to get her mouth around Raikaron’s bright red bedhead, and failing. Reaching out, I snag her by the collar and pull her up some. “Look here, you little sootball. You know where the kitchen is. Stop trying to chew on a demon Lord; that’s my job.”

“You are a bit nibbly, aren’t you…”

“Hush.” I say, scruffling Raikaron’s hair with my other hand. “Or I’ll start nibbling you once I’m done with the cat.”

“Not if I nibble you first.” I can feel him move underneath me, followed by a gentle nip at the base of my neck.

“Ah! Rai!” I yelp, dropping Cinder and tangling my fingers in his hair. “You’re just as bad as the cat!”

It’s not helped by the fact that when I look down at him, he’s giving me the smuggest look in the world. Doesn’t even bother saying anything, because the look says everything.

“Oh, you little…” I growl, then look back up at Cinder, shooing her away. “Get on out of here, you know where the kitchen is. I got a lesson to teach to someone that’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

“Mm, I think it’s the other way around.” he purrs, lazily motioning a hand towards Cinder. A portal opens up beneath her, dropping her through into the kitchen before closing up behind her. “I know, better than anyone else, what a mouthful you can be.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” I challenge him, using my fingers tangled in his hair to tilt his head back a little.

“I do.” he chuckles, then slips an arm around me, pulling me down so he can whisper in my ear. “And you’re delicious.”

A shiver runs up my spine as I take a sharp breath. It feels irresponsible to indulge this early in the day, and yet he’s right there, so warm and close and it would be so, so easy…

“Goddammit, Rai.” I breathe, grabbing the duvet and pulling it over us. “C’mere.”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Third Floor Hallway

8:54am SGT

Coming down the stairs about an hour and a half later, after getting a shower and getting dressed for the day, I’m feeling pretty good. Until I hear a familiar voice, just as I’m hitting the landing on the third floor.

“Well, looks like the skinny strawberry really knows how to put some pep in your step.”

I stop, already knowing what I’m going to see when I turn around. And sure enough, when I twist on my heel — there Harro is, leaning back against the rising wall that forms the backbone of the staircase. Battered leather duster, scruffled brown hair, yellow eyes, buster sword slung across his back.

“Oh, you noticed?” I say, folding my arms. “What can I say. Knowing that you won’t get thrown under the bus really puts a girl in the mood.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re still harping about that?”

I stare at him. “You’re unbelievable. What, did you think I was just gonna let it go after you almost got me killed by Kolob’s angels?”

“And the skinny strawberry came and bailed you out, didn’t he?” Harro points out. “Just another spot of special treatment for his favorite toy.”

My fingers curl into fists, and I march into the hall, over to him. “And it cost him.” I snarl, jabbing a finger into his chest. “He came back injured because of that stunt you pulled, and I almost didn’t come back at all. He got me out of there and took an archangel’s sword across the chest for it, and it damn near killed him.”

“Oh, please.” he scoffs, swatting my finger away. “You say that like killing him is as simple as whacking him with a sword. You know what happens when his body dies? He just gets another one out of his marionette closet. That creep isn’t like us normal demons, and he only pretends to look like us so he doesn’t scare away everyone when they see what he really is. You do know you’re making love to an eldritch nightmare from the Dreaming, right? He might look like a prettyboi on the surface, but if you peel back the skin you’ll find a creepy, crawling, cosmic horror underneath.”

I bare my teeth. “So it probably says a lot that I’d still rather sleep with him than with you.”

“I knew you were freaky in bed, but I didn’t know you were that freaky.” he sneers. “Guess that means you’re into tentacles, then? Wonder what Lust would say if she knew—”

I jerk a hand up towards his head, but he’s faster and catches my hand before I can grab his face. “You better watch yourself.” I growl. “I put up with your shit before. I’m not going to put up with it now.”

“Temper temper.” he chuckles, still holding my wrist. “Someone’s gotten pretty spicy over the past six months.” Pushing off the wall, he straightens up, the smirk disappearing from his face as he towers over me. “Last time you tried this, I seem to remember I handed your ass to you. Might wanna pick your fights more carefully, little demon.”

The corner of my mouth twitches in a snarl, and my manacle marks flare to life around my wrists. I shove forward with the arm that Harro’s holding, easily overpowering him as I grab him by the throat, spin him around in the hall, and slam him against the opposite wall, as if I was holding a plastic mannequin and not someone that’s twice my size.

“Last time I tried this, I was an ingrate that was being punished by my Lord for disobedience and disloyalty.” I hiss, tightening my grip around his throat as he tries and fails to dislodge my hand. “Now I’ve earned back his trust, and the privileges that come with that. Notice anything different?”

Harro wheezes and gags, probably wondering why I’m so strong. His eyes dart around frantically, before settling on the chainlinks hanging from my manacles — and realizing that my chains now reach most of the way to the floor.

“That’s right.” I rumble. “And after breakfast, Raikaron wants me to go down to the library to pick up another couple chainlinks from Mek. So maybe you should take your own advice and pick your fights more carefully, because pickin’ a fight with the Mistress Lady of a demon Lord looks like a real stupid move, from where I’m standing.”

With that, I throw him to the ground in the hallway. He coughs and scrambles back to his feet, staggering away a safe distance and glaring at me. “You’re a spoiled brat, is what you are. You’d be singin’ a different tune if you weren’t pickin’ up a chainlink every time you took a ride on the Eldritch Express.”

“I was a spoiled brat up until the point that you almost got me killed, and got me in trouble with my Lord.” I retort. “And he punished me for that. I spent months slaving away, working practically every day from dawn til dusk, paying the price for the trouble that you got us into. Working the same jobs as every other servant demon in this House, working myself to the bone, until I learned my lesson and got back into my Lord’s good graces. The difference between me and you is that you never learned your lesson. That’s why I’ve got everything I have, and why you’ll be stuck here forever. You never admit you’re wrong, and you’re never sorry for the shit you do. You’re only ever sorry that you get caught.”

He spits on the floor. “If it’s a choice between being trapped in hell and groveling to that redheaded freak, I’d rather keep my pride. You seem to be happy getting on your knees for him, enough for the both of us, so I’ll leave it to you.”

I start to wrap my hands around my chains, intending to lash him with them, but the sound of someone clearing a throat grabs our attention. Both of us turn to see Danya ascending the stairs from the second floor, dressed as usual in her tight pinstripe suit and her hair pulled back into a severe bun, fingers laced together as she arrives on the third-floor landing.

“I do not think I need to remind both of you that physical altercations are to be conducted outdoors.” she states with a certain brittle tone. “And if I were you, Harro, I would think very carefully about what you choose to say to a Lesser Lord’s Mistress Lady. In the House of any other Lord, Greater or Lesser, the sort of disrespect you have demonstrated to her would’ve gotten you vaporized on the spot, assuming the Lord was feeling lenient enough to grant you a quick death instead of a slow one.”

“Lucky me.” he mutters, turning and heading for the stairs leading down to the second floor. “I’ll see myself out. I’ve got work to do.”

“Indeed? One may wonder why you were wasting your time antagonizing your betters, then.” Danya remarks. There’s no response as he trudges down the stairs, and once he’s out of sight, I let my chains and manacles fade away.

“Thanks.” I mutter to Danya. “He’s really good at finding ways to get under your skin…”

“Yes, it’s rather aggravating that he has chosen to develop that skill above all others that he could be honing.” Danya agrees, then glances back to me. “You are the Mistress Lady of this House. Your word carries the same authority as Lord Syntaritov’s within these walls — obviously you should not wield it lightly, but when the situation calls for it, do not hesitate to use it either.”

I give a skeptical puff at that, moving over to the stairs. “You don’t want me marching around here, acting like I’m Raikaron.”

“Hardly. But if it’s a matter of putting Harro back in his place, then I certainly will not object.” Danya says, turning and starting down the stairs at the same time I do. “Remember, you are a demon of the Sixth Circle, and he is a demon of the Fifth Circle. You two belong to the same House, and you are a Mistress Lady. It is well within both your authority and power to compel him and force his compliance, as Lord Syntaritov is able to do.”

“Really? I can force him to do stuff?” I say, a little surprised.

“Yes, although not with the ease Lord Syntaritov can.” Danya says, resting a hand on the railing as we descend the stairs. “Lord Syntaritov merely needs to will it. You and I, on the other hand, must issue a verbal order and back it with the force of our will. If you do not know how to do that, we can have you train on one of the House staff once you and Lord Syntaritov return from your trip to the Old City.”

I take a deep breath at that. “I’m a little nervous about that. The trip, that is.”

“Mm.” she says as we reach the second floor landing, and continue down the stairs. “I have no comfort or guidance to offer you. Among the many hells, the Old City is one that is rarely spoken of, mostly because there is no need to learn much about it. The Aurescuran afterlife does not interact much with other heavens and hells.”

“Is that because of the…?” I begin.

“The Witchling? Yes.” Danya answers. “You saw how aggressively she prosecutes violations of her territory. I do not know anyone that could invade the heart of Sjelefengsel, interrupt a Congress of archdemons, confront the Queens of Sjelefengsel, and then depart without incurring retribution. She has either the power or leverage to back herself up, to the point that the Sovereigns would rather let the incident slide and avoid picking a fight with her. But that… unyielding, emotionless prosecution is why other hells go out of their way to avoid the Old City and its natives. It’s an afterlife that follows its own set of rules, and responds poorly to outside interference. They are very difficult to work with, so most of the time they are simply avoided — we leave the Old City alone, and the Old City leaves us alone.”

“The way you’re saying that, it sounds like we work with other hells regularly.” I say, mulling all of this over.

“We do. There are extradition treaties, transfer agreements, soul-lending arrangements, even intern programs between Sjelefengsel and other hells.” Danya says as we reach the first floor. “The Great Inbetween is a complicated place, and a complicated place needs rules and customs to govern interactions, and prevent conflicts between heavens and hells. The Old City, however, either does not care about those rules, or thinks itself above them. It is usually not an issue, since they keep to themselves anyway, but when there is a hiccup and an Aurescuran soul is taken or otherwise handled by another hell on accident, the resulting confrontations are very… tense.”

“Yeah. Tense is one way to put it.” I say, thinking back to the Congress’s closing conference. “Do you know anything about the Old City itself? Like… what it’s like once you get there?”

“I have heard rumors, but that is the extent of my knowledge. No demon wants to go there, and of those that do go there, even fewer return.” Danya answers as we pass through the hosting room on the way to the kitchen. “What I have been told is that is a grey hell, lost in an eternal, sunless twilight of muted colors and dead cities. An endless, quilted patchwork of a world destroyed a thousand times over. That it is a quiet, lonely hell, and all the more torturous for it.” She glances at me. “Being an Aurescuran, however, I would imagine you would know more about your afterlife than I do.”

“I didn’t exactly have a great relationship with religion or spirituality.” I mutter.

“Understandable. Sjelefengsel is the place for the agnostic and those that have been rejected by other hells, after all.” she says, her pace starting to slow. “At any rate, I have much work to do in preparation for Lord Syntaritov’s absence. I understand you are visiting Mek after breakfast to receive additional chainlinks. While you are there, you should ask him what he knows about the Old City. He may know more about it than what your standard demon would have at their disposal.”

I nod. “I’ll remember to do that. Thanks, Danya.”

She reciprocates the gesture, then turns and heads back the way we came. I continue on to the kitchen, mulling over her advice and my upcoming visit with Mek.

I’d spend years running from it, but it seems like my cultural roots have finally caught up to me.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: The Library Labyrinth

10:00am SGT

“Mmm, the Old City.” Mek says, thunking an old, chunky book down on one of the tables in the center of the labyrinth. It exhales a rush of dust as he does so; embossed on the cover is what looks like an amorphous figure in a cloak. Where the head would be, there is only an empty space, surrounded by an orbit of masks. “A fascinating and unsettling topic, and one that is shrouded in obscurity.”

I cough, waving away some of the drifting dust. “You were able to retrieve that mighty quick. It’s like you knew I would be asking about it.”

“Because I did.” he says, brushing his pawhands off on his pants, and adjusting his spectacles. “After you three returned from Morningstar, Danya gave me an abbreviated telling of what happened at the end of the Congress, and asked me to start researching the Old City in preparation for this day. I have learned a fair bit; more than I can tell you in a sitting, and you certainly will not remember it all. So rather than expecting you to memorize all of it, I will simply give you the book, and tell you the most prominent parts you need to know.”

“Makes sense.” I say, running my fingers along the battered edge of the old tome. “Did she tell you about what the Witchling asked us to do?”

“Only that she required a task of Lord Syntaritov. The retrieval of something that was precious to her, and stolen by one of his ancestors.” he says, turning and picking up one of the old books that contains the chainlink templates. “I heard that you and Lord Syntaritov have already retrieved it, and now you must go deliver it.”

“Yeah. A memory, I think, that once belonged to the Witchling. Raikaron won’t let me see it, though.” I confirm, turning and boosting myself up to sit on the table’s edge while he leafs through the old pages of the chainlink book.

“A memory, mm?” he muses. “Then withholding the memory from you is probably for good reason. The Witchling is a power beyond mortal comprehension. Any memory belonging specifically to her may contain things that were not meant to be perceived by mortal minds.”

“But for an immortal?” I ask as he pulls a chair up to the table and sits near me.

“Lord Syntaritov is of the Dreaming. I know you may be tired of hearing that by now, but creatures of the Dreaming are not like us Waking creatures. It is easier for him to perceive the universe through stranger lenses.” Mek says as he starts peeling patterns from the pages of the book, each one taking on embering light as they are slowly collated together in the air. “But I know already that you trust his judgement.”

I give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know what it means, Mistress Lady.” he says, smiling a little. “Congratulations on your new position, by the way. It is no small thing you have achieved — you are his first. Mistress Lady, that is.”

I snicker at his wording. “Mek, you rascal. Thank you.”

“I am glad for the two of you. And I think most of the House is glad as well.” he says as the embering patterns merge together into a clementine chainlink. “A Lord ought not be alone. They are usually better balanced when they have someone at their side, and I think your presence is good for him.”

“Really?” I ask as he takes my arm, tapping my wrist until my manacle mark glows to life and projects around my arm. “How do you mean?”

“Simply that I think you provide him a perspective he does not have.” Mek says, pulling up my translucent chain until he’s reached the end, and hooks the newest chainlink on it. “You are mortal, and young, and curious. With you at his side, it gives him an opportunity to see the world as you see it, unburdened by the weight of cynicism and time. To see through different eyes.”

I reflect on that for a moment. The implication is that I can get through to Raikaron in a way that nobody else can, which is something that had never occurred to me. “You really think so? He knows so much, compared to me.”

“I do. Youth often has a different way of seeing things. Often because they grew up in a different environment than their elders did.” he says, holding up the end of my chain. “This most recent acquisition is the premonition chainlink. It is passive, and allows you to dream glimpses of the futures which could be — you cannot control when you will receive these glimpses, and they will always show you the worst-case scenario, so you will have some guidance on how to avoid it.”

I furrow my brow at that. “That… doesn’t sound like a fun chainlink.”

“No, it’s not. But, it is a rare one. Premonition is usually only given to Lords, and demons which are considered exceptionally loyal and valuable.” he answers, dropping my chains and picking up the chainlink book once again. “To receive one usually indicates a strong investment in a demon, and longevity for their station and role. I believe the only other demon in this House that has the premonition chainlink, aside from Lord Syntaritov himself, is Danya.”

So that puts me on par with Danya. “Do you think he’s giving me… too much?” I ask hesitantly. “I mean, I’ve only been here for a little over a year, but my chains are longer than most demons’ chains, I feel like.”

“Well, the rate at which you have acquired chainlinks certainly is not normal.” Mek says, flipping through the pages. “There’s simply no denying that. And the trust that Lord Syntaritov places in you carrying out tasks has grown unusually quick. But you have carried them out, and your chainlinks have typically been given to you in the interest of servicing the tasks you have been assigned. So while unusual, I would not say that it has been unreasonable in the context of the work you have done.”

“I suppose so.” Over the year I’ve been here, I’ve grown sensitive to accusations that I’m spoiled or pampered. When I first arrived, I was told, countless times, that I was receiving preferential treatment. And though I didn’t want to believe it at first because of what had been done to me, it had become clearer and clearer to me that I was, in fact, receiving preferential treatment. With the work I’ve done over the last six months or so, I’ve tried to prove that I deserve what has been given to me. That my rank is justified, and my privileges are earned. “Raikaron told me that you’d have a second chainlink for me as well?”

“Indeed. This one also is a precaution for your upcoming trip.” Mek says, starting to pull more patterns from the pages of the book. “It is the forestall chainlink. You are probably aware, but demons do not have much in the way of regenerative or recuperative abilities. That’s typically the province of the various heavens. However, we do have the forestall chainlink — it allows us to preserve a creature in a state of suspended animation until they can receive proper care.”

“Wait, I think I… you’ve used forestall before.” I say, watching him overlay the glowing patterns in the air.

“Yes, indeed. Earlier this year, when our Lord returned wounded after retrieving you.” Mek confirms, smiling a little. “I do not often have the opportunity to use my chainlinks, but Lord Syntaritov has given them to me anyway. I think he has done so at the behest of Trinity — their eyes see beyond the present to the future. I never thought I would’ve used my forestall chainlink, since I am away from the action and violence, yet Trinity likely saw the end from the beginning, even with all this knowledge at my disposal.”

“So this trip is going to be dangerous, and that’s why you’re giving me this chainlink?” I ask as the patterns in the air start to merge into a glowing chainlink. That’s the implication I’m getting out of this, at any rate. They wouldn’t be giving me a forestall chainlink if they didn’t think I would be using it.

“Dangerous, yes. The forestall chainlink is a precaution, not a guarantee that something bad will happen.” Mek says as I give him my other hand so he can hook the chainlink on that chain. “It is better to hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. If you never have to use this chainlink during your visit to the Old City, that would be for the best. But if things do not go as planned, it is good for you to have this tool at your disposal.”

“Okay… yeah, that’s fair enough.” I say as he lets my chain drop once again, the clementine manacles disappear as they go dormant once more. “Not gonna lie, was kinda hopin’ it would be another strength chainlink.”

“I think you have plenty of strength chainlinks already.” he chides, standing up. “Besides, strength will only carry you so far. Especially in the Old City.” Opening the book he’d brought out earlier, he starts leafing through the pages, which contain old text and illustrations of… things. Mostly creatures, but also what look like maps and diagrams. “There is much to be wary of in the Old City. First and foremost are the Old Ones. Do you know them?”

“Yes. Aurescura’s first creations.” I say, sliding off the table to stand beside him and watch as he leafs through the pages. “Her… prototypes. Castaway creations that were hidden in the earth.”

“Indeed. The misbegotten and forsaken, hidden away because she was ashamed of them, and they did not fit into world she was fashioning.” Mek says somberly. Page after page passes before us, containing illustrations and descriptions of the Old Ones — some of them misshapen, but most of them symmetrical, but simply unnatural in their construction or design. “Many were created without intelligence, but there were some that possessed it, whether in small or great degree. The ones with intelligence are the oldest of all Aurescura’s creations, and they remember the history of your world, of its sins and struggles.”

I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. “I didn’t think they were real. On Aurescura, they’re things that we just tell stories about. Stories to teach moral lessons, or horror stories to scare people from going into places they’re not supposed to go.”

“At the foot of every myth there is a seed of truth.” Mek says. “The Old Ones, at least from what I’ve read, seem to be the most common danger in the Old City. They are there primarily because are tasked with punishing the damned and maintaining the Old City, but if they are so disposed, they will not hesitate to move upon visitors as well. I would advise you to study the different types shown in the book when you have the time available to you.”

“I will.” I nod. “Is there anything else we should keep an eye out for?”

“There are various environmental hazards and pitfalls, but a full accounting of what they are, and where they are, is not possible.” Mek says, taking a chunk of pages and flipping towards the middle, to what appears to be a collection of maps. “As you know, your world was trapped in a cycle of destruction that repeated ten thousand times, perhaps more — each time reshaping the geography of your world. The Old City is a patchwork of each of those ten thousand iterations of your world — it is, simply in terms of raw geography, the largest hell. No one has ever mapped all of it; I am not sure it would be possible to do so, and even if it was, I am not sure why you would want to, given how dreary it is and how many lifetimes it would require.”

“I— yeah… I’m starting to remember now.” I say, running my fingers over the maps. “The size of the Old City is the punishment. When Aurescurans die, we are returned to the Old City — and whether we lived well or lived badly determines where we arrive. Whether it is close, or far away…”

“From the Ocean of Souls, yes.” Mek says, reaching forward to flip through several more pages to a section on the Ocean of Souls. “Those who were good often arrive in the Old City closer to the Ocean of Souls, while those who were bad are deposited further away, increasing the distance you must travel in order reach it. An Aurescuran soul must literally walk the length of entire worlds, stitched together at the edges, in order to reach the Ocean of Souls, paying for their sins both with the distance traveled and the tribulations suffered along the way. The more sins, and the weightier your sins, the further you have to walk, and the longer you have to endure your miseries.”

“So where will me and Raikaron arrive?” I ask, feeling worried. “We won’t be dead when we get there, so…”

“From what I was able to find in the records, the bridge between the Old City and other hells is located close to the Ocean of Souls, as a courtesy to the other hells.” Mek says, clasping his pawhands over each other. “But it still requires you to travel the length of three worlds before reaching it.”

I look at him in alarm. “Three worlds? But that’s— New Aurescura is— that’s like—” I pause for a moment to do some math in my head. “That’s like seventy-five thousand miles! Or, well, more like thirty thousand, when you subtract oceans from the total surface, but still! We’ll be walking for months, maybe years!”

“Just be glad it isn’t more. There are reports of some souls that have to walk the length of a hundred worlds before reaching the Ocean of Souls.” Mek says, reaching out to leaf through a few more sections. “Time in the Old City also passes differently than in the mortal plane, and in many other hells. You might enter the Old City and be in there for months, and return to find that only a few days have passed. Or the reverse: you may be there for a few days, to find that months or even years have passed.”

I bite my lip, mulling that over. “That’s… so long. Both in time and distance. How will we carry that much food? And I’m not sure my boots will hold up over those kinds of distances, so I might have to pack a second pair, but boots are heavy…”

“Lord Syntaritov is aware of the challenges that await in the Old City. I briefed him on everything I have just told you, and he has planned for the trip accordingly.” Mek says, closing the book. “He is stocking his personal tesseract with enough food for a few years of travel, and doubtless he will be including other supplies as well. He is a meticulous planner, and he would not leave anything to chance when it comes to a trip like this.” With that, he holds the book out to me. “And you should go prepare as well, starting with this. I don’t know whether you’ll get the time for it, but making sure you have material to entertain yourself may go a long way if you journey ends up being a longer one.”

I reach out and take the book, still concerned. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go to the Old City for months. Maybe years.” I confess.

“It is not an easy thing you have been asked to do.” Mek says, resting a pawhand on my shoulder. “But you have done hard things before. I know you are capable of it. Besides, doing this will answer the Witchling’s demand for restitution, and free you from her condemnation. You will come out on the other side better for it, and we will still be here, waiting for you.”

I take a deep breath, nodding and hugging the book to my chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” I’ve done hard things before; my first six months here was nothing but hard things. If I could survive that, I’ll survive this. “Alright. I should go start packing.”

He nods. “Indeed. Go check in with Lord Syntaritov; he may have counsel for what you will need to take with you. He’ll likely be storing it in his tesseract, along with all of the supplies he has gathered already.”

“I will. Thank you, Mek.” I say, backing away from the table so I can start to leave. “Here’s to hoping that it won’t be too long before I see you again.”

“And I hope much the same, Jayta.” he says, waving as I turn and depart back into the labyrinth once more.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

10:54am SGT

“Well. Years is a bit much. I do not plan on being there for years.” Raikaron says as he moves along the shelves in his study, scanning the spines of the books stacked there. “It will be a long journey, certainly. But there will be opportunities to speed the journey, and I intend to take full advantage of those opportunities if and when they present. I expect we probably will be there for anywhere between a couple to several months, depending on our luck.”

I let out a breath. There’s a sense of relief now that years is off the table. Months isn’t great, but it was doable. “Okay, good. And it’s just gonna be the two of us?”

“Indeed. Fewer people makes for faster travel, and less supplies needed. I will do my best not to aggravate you with my continued presence.” he says, pulling one of the books down from the shelf.

I smile a little at that. “Hey, this is how couples figure out if they’re right for each other, right? Go on road trips… see how long it takes the other person to drive them crazy and whether they can put up with them for years to come.”

That does get an amused look out of him. “Yes, I suppose that is how mortals do things, isn’t it? I suppose we could think of it as that sort of trip.” He flicks the book over his shoulder, and it goes spinning through the air, curving up into twisting, revolving gaps in the puzzle-block tesseract that’s hanging in the air in the center of his study. “I’m sure Mek’s already told you that it won’t be all fun and games.”

“Yeah.” I say, pushing off his desk and moving across the room with the old book in my hands. “He got me a book on the Old City when I went to visit him. I haven’t gotten a good look at it yet, but him and Danya gave me their general impressions from what they’re read or heard.”

“Good. We’ll be alternating between travel and rest every twelve hours, and I’m hoping that will allow us to make good time.” he says, turning to take the book from me and look it over. “There is no day and no night in the Old City, only the endless grey twilight. Sticking to a steady schedule should help alleviate the disorientation that comes with having a light-based rest cycle disrupted.”

“I imagine I’ll get tired of that pretty quick.” I say, watching as he skims through the pages. “The grey twilight part, that is. The schedule thing sounds good. Should help preserve my circadian rhythms and my sense of time.”

He smiles at that. “Ever a scientist.” Closing the thick book, he hands it back to me. “Mek gave you a good volume. There’s an abundance of good information in there, and it will be worth study while we are resting between shifts. You can go put it on the round table in the tesseract, and after that, you can go start packing clothes for the trip. We’ll store them in the tesseract as well, along with anything else you need to bring with you.”

“Not clothes alone, nor your tesseract alone, Lord Father.”

“Tell her to bring her hammerspace case.”

“And have it stocked — not heavily, but stocked nonetheless.”

We both turn to see that Trinity has popped all three of their heads out of the gap on the bottom of the tesseract, their white hair hanging in the air as they stare at us with pale red eyes. “Is the tesseract not enough? There will be plenty of room in there for storing all the supplies and resources we will need.” Raikaron points out.

“Do not question, only obey.”

“You must do as we say.”

“Not a matter of storage, but of shelter in time of need.”

Raikaron’s brow furrows in a combination of concern and perplexion, but he doesn’t argue further. “Very well. I will heed your counsel.” He turns to me. “I suppose we will be stocking your hammerspace case as well. I had planned for us to take our repose in the tesseract during our rest periods, but if you’ll grab your hammerspace case, we can see about stocking it with about a week’s worth of supplies, and a couple changes of clothes for both of us, if we find ourselves having to take shelter in it suddenly.”

I nod, glancing at Trinity as the three of them retreat back into the tesseract one by one. “Will Trinity be coming along?”

“No, she is simply helping us pack. It would be dangerous to take her to Old City; there are many ancient and twisted things that would be drawn to their clairvoyance, and would want to claim it for themselves.” Raikaron says, turning back to the shelves and searching the collected titles. “I am leaving her here, where she can advise Danya and help her maintain control of the House and my domain in my absence. The other Lords of Sjelefengsel will assume that my absence will be an opportunity for them, but Danya, with Trinity’s clairvoyance, will ensure that the influence and the holdings of the House of Regret are not diminished in my absence.”

“How much do you think will change in the time we’re gone?” I ask, looking out the windows of the study to the skyline of Hautaholvi around the estate.

“The seasons, perhaps. But little more than that. And perhaps not even that, depending on how time bends while we are in the Old City.” he answers, pulling down another book. “The House will still be here when we return, as will the life we knew. None of that is going away, I promise you.”

I know that’s meant to comfort me, but I can’t shake my doubts. “Just a few months?”

“Less than a year. I know that much for certain. Whether it will be a few months or several, of that I am less sure.” he says, pulling down another book before turning towards me. Upon seeing the doubt on my face, he cups his free hand to my cheek. “If I could make it shorter, I would. I’d prefer not to have to go at all. But I cannot spurn the Witchling; I must make restitution, and settle the debt I owe for breaking her Law.”

“I know. I know.” I say quickly. “It’s just… it’s such a long time.”

“A long…” he repeats, then drifts into silence, seeming to think about it. “…well. Yes. I suppose that does seem like a long time, doesn’t it? You are barely more than a quarter century old; anything that might take better part of a year probably does seem like a long time to you.”

“That’s not a long time to you?” I ask in disbelief.

“I’m over three thousand years old. To me, a year is not all that long, and months are so short they seem to pass by in the blink of an eye.” he explains. “I hadn’t thought much about the length of this trip, because to me it did not seem all that long. But I can see now that’s not the case for you.” His bright green eyes search me. “You do not have to come if you don’t want to, Jayta. The Witchling’s grievance is with me, not with you, and I am capable of making the journey alone.”

I’m tempted. Very tempted. It would be so much easier to stay here, to not have to venture into the twilight afterlife of my people. To sleep in my comfortable room, to enjoy having the kitchen at my beck and call, to handle the tasks of the House, which I am familiar with by now. It would be much easier and more comfortable than going on a months-long trip into the grey.

But then Raikaron would have to venture into the Old City alone, likely for the better part of a year, and there was no telling how that time might be bent. Perhaps only a couple of weeks or a month would pass here in Sjelefengsel before he returned. Or it could be months, or years before I saw him again — there was no way to know for sure. And after what I had gone through to be with him, I was not ready to give up what I had claimed after only three weeks.

“I will come with you, my Lord.” I say quietly, leaning my cheek against his hand. “I wouldn’t want you to do this alone. And I would be lonely without you.”

His face softens. “You are braver than most would be. And kinder, as well.” he says, leaning down to give me a soft, thankful kiss.

I reach up, sliding a hand around the back of his neck before he can fully pull away. “No, my Lord.” I say, staring into those bright green eyes, then pulling him into another gentle kiss. “I am loyal.”

Jayta’s Journal

I had no intention of being a housewife when I was growing up.

I want to say that this is because I had determined, of my own volition, to be strong and independent. To have the same privileges and regards that were given to men in common society. But if I’m being honest, my determination to be a strong, independent woman wasn’t anything new.

After all, I was raised by a single mother in a witch coven.

My life was filled with strong women in leadership roles, doing hard things. My mother was a strong woman, raising two adopted children on her own. There were strong women that came before me, and strong women around me, and strong women that would come after me. That was the reality of a witch coven: generations upon generations of strong women that took an active role in leading, defining, and shaping their communities. Coming out of a community like that, I couldn’t imagine wanting anything other than that. To be able to support myself and be independent and not be rendered helpless by the absence of a partner.

But being independent is hard, and it’s lonely.

Life is hard for most of us, and there is just nothing to be done about that in most cases. Every day can be a struggle, and some days you don’t want to be independent. Some days you don’t want to be strong. Because being strong and independent is hard, and it takes effort and work and persistence, and it can be exhausting. Some days, it would be really nice if someone could do the hard stuff for you, so you could curl up and just be weak and tired for a little while. Days like those, being a housewife seems nice. You don’t have to worry about the bills or work or the soulcrushing grind of a career job. Just tidy up the house, make dinner, watch some of your favorite shows, and call it a day. It seems so much easier than grinding away your life for the claimed privilege of being independent.

The truth, the ideal, is somewhere in between, of course. Most of us are happiest with something in the middle — just enough independence to feel capable and confident that we could take care of ourselves if we had to, but with the option to retreat back to the safety and support of a relationship or a family when things get too overwhelming. The amount varies between person to person, but people’s preferences for dependence and independence are measured not in terms of yes or no, but rather in terms of how much of each do you want. A sliding scale, rather than a toggled switch.

And I was no different in that regard.

I wanted to believe that I was strong and capable and that I could take care of myself if I had to, and I wanted to do things that would test my limits. But I didn’t actually want to live that reality, at least not for long periods of time. I wanted to be able to retreat when I wanted to, to lean on others when I needed to, to shelter under the wing of a lover when I was feeling stressed or overwhelmed or vulnerable. I didn’t have it in me to be strong all the time.

And if you ask me, I think most people would tell you there’s nothing wrong with that.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Sjelefengsel: streets of Hautaholvi

6:45pm SGT

“I suppose we’ve never taken you to the Gates before, have we?”

I shake my head, watching the streets of Hautaholvi slide by outside the windows of the limo. “I didn’t realize they were a thing until now.”

“In fairness, we’ve never taken you to any of the other hells.” Danya says from where she’s sitting in one of the seats, legs primly folded over each other. “Your tasks have always seen you traveling to the mortal plane on enforcement actions and punitive actions. We haven’t yet sent you on matters of state, which typically take place in other heavens or hells.”

“Will I have to start doing those once we come back from the Old City?” I ask. Not that I actually want to know, but it’s something to talk about. Keeps me from being nervous as we get closer and closer to leaving Sjelefengsel.

“Yes, but such tasks tend to be rare. Matters of state and formality do not arise often, and the duty is shared among the Houses.” Danya answers. “We are assigned a matter of state about once every two to three years. Typically it is handled in person by either the lieutenant or an avenger.”

“So you or me.”

“Correct.”

I glance at Raikaron, who’s studying his pocketwatch. “And he doesn’t handle those sorts of things because he’s got more important things to do?”

Before the Congress, Danya would’ve given me a verbal shellacking for showing such insolence to Raikaron, but now, she remains silent and merely wears a disapproving expression. Raikaron looks up, realizing that the question is addressed to him, and gives a polite smile. “I would hate to deprive my subordinates of the opportunity to travel, see new sights, meet new people, and experience new places.” he demurs. “You enjoy the privilege of getting out of Sjelefengsel and visiting the mortal plane, do you not?”

“Visiting the mortal plane, yeah. Visiting other hells? Not so sure about that.” I say. “If I’m going to visit a place, I would prefer to visit a place I’d enjoy, not a place where people are being tortured and punished.”

“Understandable. However, I will say that if you can overlook the suffering of the damned, the other hells have some impressive sights to enjoy.” Raikaron says. “The geography is usually quite commanding, and provides excellent vistas that look stellar when rendered in oil paintings. I believe the Lord of Despair keeps such a collection in her House, and commissions certain demons to go to other hells and paint some of the landscapes that can be seen there.”

“Seriously? That’s a thing that people do here?” I know I shouldn’t be surprised, since there’s a lot that happens in hell that mortals don’t know about. But even with how long I’ve been here, the fact that a demon Lord will commission other demons to visit other hells and do oil paintings of the landscapes is… it’s just so oddly specific that it’s not something you could’ve ever predicted.

“Indeed. Every Lord has their indulgences.” Raikaron says mildly. “Little hobbies that we keep separate from our work. Despair collects oil paintings, I brew my Dreaming draughts… Envy plays the cello, I believe; Lust enjoys wind sailing on her free time. We all have our pleasures that allow us respite from the work we do.”

“We have arrived.” Danya states as the limo starts to slow down. I look out the window to see that the office buildings and streetside shops have started to fall away, yielding to what looks like a massive jut of black rock protruding from the ground. It’s shorter than most of Hautaholvi’s skyscrapers, which is probably why I’ve never noticed it before; but it’s broad around the sides, and dwarfs all surrounding buildings with its size alone, since it takes up a couple blocks. While most of the taller structures in Hautaholvi have holographic advertisements playing against their visible sides, this outcropping has none of that — it’s a black monolith that serves as a jarring contrast to the garish lights of hell.

“Wow… has this always been here?” I ask as the limo starts to pull up to the dropoff area. A slot canyon appears to wind through the massive ebon outcropping, though it’s unclear how deep it goes — the bends and turns in the canyon obscure the furthest reaches from view. Surprisingly, there’s no infrastructure around the entrance of the cavern — no guardposts, no tollbooths, no lines, nothing. There’s only a single demon towering at the cavern’s entrance, and they look like an actual demon: humanoid but dragonlike, with black scales, furled wings, a bladed tail, and thickly muscled arms and legs.

“The Gates have always been here, yes. They are not spoken of often, because they are not often used.” Danya explains, stepping out of the limo as the driver opens the door for us. I grab my hammerspace case and follow her out, with Raikaron close behind me. “The only people that use them are those that have been given permission to visit other hells. Those that attempt without permission are given a painful reprimand by one of the Gate guards.”

“We have permission, though.” Raikaron says as the driver closes the door behind him. “Lucifer has told me to go settle the matter so that there will be no further… visits from the Witchling. And that is what we will do.”

He starts towards the black outcropping with that, and I hurry to keep up with him, with Danya moving apace with us. The walk to the foot of the canyon is longer than I expected it’d be, and the closer we get, I start to realize that the Gate guard is even bigger than I thought it’d be, largely because the outcropping itself dwarfs them.

“Is there anything further you’d like to ask me before we embark, Danya?” Raikaron asks on the way there. “I have briefed you on everything that feels necessary, but if there is anything more…”

“You have answered all I asked. I have no further questions; if a situation arises that we did not cover in briefing, I will handle it to the best of my ability.” Danya replies. “I will not delay your departure further. The sooner you go, the sooner you can return.”

“And I do intend to return as soon as possible.” he says, starting to slow as we near the canyon’s entrance. “I trust my House to you, Danya. Keep it well in my absence.”

“With fealty unending, my Lord.” Danya slows her pace as well, and eventually comes to a stop. “Jayta, the House of Regret trusts its Lord unto you. See that he returns safely.”

Danya’s exhortation reminds me of what Kastril said when we visited the Dreaming — that Raikaron would need someone to protect him and watch out for him. I nod to her, and make sure I keep up with Raikaron as we near the canyon’s entrance, though I’m hesitant as we cross into the shadow of the hulking guard. It tilts its head down towards us, crimson eyes fixing on us as we come to a halt before it.

“Blackthorn.” The voice rumbling between the demon’s jaws is deep, and sounds like chunks of stone grinding together — it’s not quite as deep or scary as Raikaron’s voice when he’s fully manifested, but it’s still intimidating. “Wherefore come you to the Gates?”

“I must travel unto the Old City. I have broken the Law of the Witchling, and she has demanded restitution for my transgression.” Raikaron answers, staring up at the guard. “Lucifer Mourningstar has given me permission and commanded that I settle the matter, so that the Witchling no more comes into Sjelefengsel uninvited. I bring with me my avenger, so that she may assist me, and learn more of her afterlife.”

“If the visitation of the Witchling was indeed your fault, then you owe it to the guard to ensure she does not visit again.” the guard rumbles. “Her advent made fools of us; she moved through us as a hurricane moves through a field of chaff. She did not acknowledge us, and would not even give us the dignity of battle, her very presence unmaking us as she passed through the Gates. Your hubris has cost the guard their pride, and although the Ninth Circle has assured us that there was nothing we could have done in the face of such a great and terrible presence, the reminder of our failure still stings.”

“The onus for her incursion lies upon me. I am sorry for the hardship it brought to the guard.” Raikaron replies, bowing his head. “I will make my atonement in the Old City, and in doing so balance the scale that has been weighed. The Witchling will have no more reason to come uninvited to Sjelefengsel, at least on my part.”

“Then you may go. Take care in your visitation; the Old City is a solemn hell, and does not answer to the petty machinations that animate other hells. It may be quiet and still, but it is more dangerous for the soul by far.”

“Understood. Thank you for your counsel.” Raikaron says, lifting his head and looking to me as he starts around the hulking guard. I am quick to hurry after him, fighting the temptation to stare at the guard as we circle around. Within moments, we are delving into the slot canyon, the background noise of the city fading to a dull murmur, and eventually disappearing altogether.

“Did the Witchling do something she was not supposed to when she came to Sjelefengsel?” I ask as we work our way into the canyon. Raikaron had told me to dress like I was going on a hike, and I see the reason for it now. The canyon’s floor is patches of black sand, loose rock, large boulders, and uneven terrain; it’s the sort of thing for which you want boots and pants, such as we’re wearing right now.

“The Witchling does what she wants, and what she wants is sometimes to the detriment of others.” Raikaron answers as we work our way through the winding curves and the sparse light filtering in from above. “I do not think she intended harm with her visit. The guards feel that she embarrassed them by refusing to acknowledge they even existed, but to the Witchling, they may have been nothing more than vines or branches you brush out of the way when you’re on a walk in the woods. You don’t carry a grievance towards branches when you’re in the woods; you just move them and continue on your way. The Witchling probably views the guards of the Gates in the same manner: a trivial obstruction to be moved out of the way. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But is she allowed to enter other hells without permission?” I press. “I kinda thought you’d need permission to go to other hells, right? Since there’s all these rules and regulations for the afterlife, and stuff. I figured you couldn’t just waltz into someone else’s hell; you have to… I dunno. Ask permission, knock at the door, have them check your demonic passport or something like that.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong. Such regulations and customs do exist. The Witchling simply… does not feel any need to follow them.” Raikaron replies. “She keeps the Old City at a remove from all other afterlives, having no desire to interact with them, and expecting the same in turn. In a way, her Law is very simple: so long as the other hells do not trifle with Aurescuran souls, and she will not bother the other hells. Do not trifle with what is hers, and she will have no reason to visit uninvited.”

“But if they do mess with Aurescuran souls…?” I ask.

“Then she comes in the manner that the Gate guard described. As a hurricane — an unstoppable force of nature, scattering lesser beings with her very presence. Confronting demon Queens in their own throne room in the heart of hell itself.” Raikaron says, stepping over a ledge, and emerging from the slot canyon into what looks like a vast, sandy hollow. A single beam of light lances down from an opening in the outcropping high above, and only partially illuminates the hollow. Through the gloom, I can see what look like openings in the sides of the hollow — it would be a stretch to call them doorways or arches, as each of the openings are rough-hewn, and most of them aren’t rectangular. “And these, little demon, are the Gates of Hell — or rather the Gates of the Hells, as there are many.”

I follow close behind him, quite aware of how my boots are muffled against the soft black sand underfoot. “It’s so quiet.” I say, feeling a bit unsettled as I watch motes of dust drift through the shaft of light spilling down from above. “And each of these openings lead to a different hell? How can you tell which one leads to the Old City? They all look the same.”

“We will sense it.” he says, coming to a halt in the center of the hollow. I slow to a stop as well, and after a long moment of standing in silence, of my heart slowing down and soaking in our surroundings, I realize that at the very edge of my senses, I can hear…

Whispering.

Raikaron turns towards one of the openings. “That one. Can you hear it?”

“I can, yeah.” I say, getting a better grip on my hammerspace case. “That’s the one that leads to the Old City?”

“It is.” he says, looking at me. “Are you ready?”

I take a deep breath, looking up at him. After a moment, I hold my free hand out to him; he stares at it, then after a moment, reaches out and takes it.

“I am now.” I answer.

He nods, and with that, the two of us cross the hollow, and disappear into the Gate leading to the Old City.