With You, Always

"Okay, okay. We have three hours left now." John checked his phone for what felt like the thirteenth time in as many minutes, resisting the urge to re-read Moira's messages yet again. "Correction, less than three hours. I'm feeling good, I'm completely relaxed. Can we please talk about this now?"

He directed a furtive glance at each of the women surrounding him, but none of them showed any signs of being moved by his plea. From some of them, that was almost comforting to John, from others, concerning. Even Farrah had managed an inscrutable expression, as if mimicking the white-haired woman seated beside her.

"Tricia, what's the verdict?" Lerianna glanced to the drone hovering at John's side, the only one of the group to focus as much on the readouts as the face displayed on the video call.

"Neurotransmitter and hormone levels are both elevated, but within acceptable parameters." Tricia's analytical voice matched the atmosphere of the room to a concerning degree. "At the very least, they are levels which a mundane human could feasibly achieve. Given the incident with Aria does not appear to have regressed his condition to its prior state, I believe it is safe for John to experience short-term stressors."

"Is that good enough for everyone?" John gestured to the screen, giving the others a challenging look. "At this point, not having this talk is even more stressful than having it."

"John makes a reasonable point," Orria mused, mirthless and clipped. "Keep monitoring him anyway. Let us know if the conversation becomes too much."

"Of course." Tricia didn't even look away from her screen this time. "I will require further data to be certain his body has not adapted a tolerance for stress hormones, or primed itself to release excess amounts in the future. This conversation will surely prove useful."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad to hear that. At this point, I don't care if it's for data collection, we need to talk. I feel like when my mother used to make me wait until Dad got home from work before she'd tell me what my punishment was…"

"Nyaa, you expecting us to punish you, Myaster?" Maera tilted her head, appearing perplexed.

"I don't know," John admitted. "I deserve something, don't I? I went too far, I lost myself, I was angry, and bitter, and- and I almost died!"

"Some would say that's punishment enough." Lerianna's tone rode the line between sarcasm and sincerity. "Besides, it wasn't exactly your fault."

"My abilities might have had something to do with it, but in the end, I'm the one who caused it. Who else's fault is it, if not mine?" John's challenge went unanswered. Lerianna's expression tightened, and she refused to look back at him.

"Right. Well, who'd like to go first, then?"

The whole of the household had gathered, only the kittens hidden away in their room, yet no one volunteered. Sophia remained still, but the subtle shifting of her eyes screamed in the room's silence. Lerianna was still fixated on the stationary drone, her lips pursed, the muscles of her forearms taut as she crossed them over her chest. Farrah's gaze shifted between the gathered women, fidgeting every few moments as a new sensation washed over her.

Even the blissful look that Aria had been wearing the past few days had been worn away. The incubus fidgeted and stared down at her own crossed legs rather than risk meeting anyone's eyes. Aclysia was the only one who bore no signs of discomfort, at least outwardly, the perfect neutrality of her features all too easy for her to slip into place.

"I'll go first, then." John stiffened under the weight of the shattered silence. He found the strength to let his eyes rove the full arc of the room, though it cost him dearly at times. "Let me start by saying that none of you will be doing me any favors by holding back. I still don't really remember much of the last few days before I passed out, but I remember enough to know I was callous at best, spiteful and paranoid at worst, and- and I don't want you to pretend I wasn't. Tell me how to fix this. At the very least, tell me how you feel—how you really feel. Please. I need to hear it."

Another length of silence began to stretch, but this one was broken more easily, a faint mewling preceding the onset of a hesitant voice.

"Nyaa, Myaera doesn't need anything fixed," Maera began. She was shifting in the chair she shared with Mithra, though hers at least seemed more from the difficulty of remaining still for so long. "As long as Myaster learned his lesson, Myaera is okay. Myaera was really sad that Myaster wasn't having fun playing anymore, but Myaster wasn't mean to Myaera. Well, nyaa, not meowre than Lerianna when Myaera peeks on her in the shower."

"It's not mean to shout when-" Lerianna's reflexive defense died on her lips without outside intervention. The bunny-eared athlete spent a moment shooting fumbled glances around the circle, then returned to studying the unchanged drone with a fervent intensity.

"I'm not sure I'd describe what I did as 'not having fun'," John murmured, staring at Maera. Her eyes were as bright and hopeful as ever, and though she tilted her head in worry when he turned his attention on her, he couldn't say she looked uncomfortable or repressed. "Alright, Maera. I learned my lesson, I won't ruin 'playtime' anymore in the future."

"Good," Maera purred, wiggling on the seat. "Then Myaera is done."

"Myaster wasn't too mean to Mithra, either," Mithra concurred, shaking her head with a quiet emphasis. "Just impatient. Mithra knows she's not the fastest, especially since the kittens joined. But-"

"Don't try to rationalize the things I said." John's voice was the angriest to be heard so far. He made an effort to ignore the way that several around the circle recoiled at the volume, but it still pained him. "I don't-" He lowered his head to avoid meeting their gazes, clenching one fist over a knee. "I don't want to hear you act like what I did, or said, was justified. Not after what I put us through."

A breath passed before a cream-colored blob with luxurious black hair found its way over to him. Mithra knelt at his feet, leaning underneath John to stare up into his face as she caressed his outer leg with the soft skin of her cheek.

"Mithra is being honest." The comforting presence remained so even as her lips curved down into a frown worn with little familiarity. "It makes Mithra sad when she's holding Myaster back. Mithra knows she's not the strongest, especially with kittens nyow. But it did make her more sad when Myaster was angry about it. Mithra would rather be left behind than feel like a burden."

"You're not a burden; exactly the opposite, in fact. Alone, I would never have come this far. I would never have gotten this strong. I'd probably have died a long time ago without you. Without all of you." John's amendment came as he raised his eyes once more. He struggled to return the gazes that were directed at him, relieved by the lack of fear he saw lingering from his outburst.

"Mithra remembers how upset Myaster looked when he fixed her." Mithra lifted herself up to rest her chin in the crease of John's legs. Her ears pinned back and her tail drooped, creating a soft gliding sound as it drifted along the floor. "Mithra doesn't really remember any of what it was like, but Myaster looked so sad when she first woke up. Sad because Myaster thought Mithra was someone else. Mithra doesn't want Myaster to become someone else, either. Always be Mithra's Myaster. Nyaa?"

"I will try to keep a better hold on myself," John vowed. His fingers grazed along Mithra's scalp and caressed the soft backside of her ears. "And I will be your 'Myaster' for as long as you let me."

"...Forever," Mithra affirmed, purring as she nuzzled against his inner thighs.

"I will go next. I failed you as the Mother of this flock." Sophia's head was bowed as she spoke, looking almost as abashed as John.

"I told you, I don't-"

"Please, Father, I cannot speak words that I do not mean," Sophia cut in sharply, but the fire in her tone was directionless. "It is my duty as the Mother of this flock to watch over you, as you look over the rest of us. I am the one tasked with stopping you before these things happen. But I-" Sophia's jaw tightened. The rest of the words escaped from between her clenched teeth.

"-I failed in that. You were not in your right mind. I realized that gradually, but certainly by the end. Yet it was easier for me to retreat, to become the fledgling that follows orders dutifully, rather than challenging you. Easier to let my pride in you beguile me, convince me that intervention was unnecessary. Since you offered me this role, my body no longer urges me as it once did. I accepted this position, but I have not lived up to the responsibilities it entails. You acted foolishly, endangering the flock and yourself alike. I allowed it to happen. I am disappointed in you. I expect better. But that goes for myself as much as you."

The rationale of Sophia's self-imposed duties was not one that was mirrored in every eye that had gathered on her, but it was easy enough to empathize with. John's body loosened imperceptibly as she finished. He would have preferred anger, or perhaps scorn, something that he could bear the weight of alone and think it was handled – but from Sophia, even the gentle utterance of 'disappointed' seemed to echo in the room, as it would echo in his mind in the times ahead.

"I try to nurture you the same way that you support us. Especially when I see you beginning to tread the trails I know so well." Orria's voice rose after the silence began to turn, filling the void Sophia had left. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her usual brightness dimmed. "You gave me a second spring, John. I adore you, I love you, and I owe you this life. But my gratitude does not blind me to the rot that sets in when the gardener abandons his post."

The low-grade coolness, the veil of careful restraint that had settled over Orria since Aria was successfully returned finally lifted. Beneath it was something deeper, something somber that demanded attention simply by virtue of the eternal smile it had replaced.

The shift in the room was subtle at first, like the pressure drop before a thunderstorm. Orria’s gaze was level, stripped of her characteristic wonder. The mask of the cheerful elven girl seemed to thin, revealing something far older beneath—a calmness that sat heavy on her features, with all the stillness of a barren wasteland.

"I'm sorry, if that's what it seemed like. I didn't mean to abandon anything," John said, his voice quiet. "I pushed myself so I could protect this place. To protect you."

"I know." The words were soft, yet they carried the weight of falling timber. Orria didn't move, yet her presence seemed to unfurl, pressing against the walls. The air in the room grew thick with the scent of moss and rich, damp loam. "You believe that your worth is as a shield. It is in your nature to act as a guardian, to watch over those you care about. You believe your sacrifice, should it become necessary, will better serve them than protecting your own life. It is a noble lie, John. But it is still a lie."

John felt the hairs on his arms rise. He had the sudden sense that he was in danger, something that startled him. It wasn't the sort of adrenaline-fueled awareness brought on by a snarling enemy – more like the instinctual chill that came from standing on the edge of a cliff. "You’re angry."

"No. I am afraid," Orria corrected, her eyes locking onto his. "Because I know what comes after. If you burn yourself out, if you die to save the world outside, this world dies with you."

"I've tried to make sure that won't happen," John noted, more an acknowledgment of his own importance than a defense of his actions. "We have sources of food now. Something else I largely owe you for. And in time, I hope that one of you would be able to find a way back to the old world, so-"

"I don't mean food, or a connection to a world many of us hardly care for," Orria interrupted quietly. She arched her back as she spoke, then leaned forward slightly, the magical light of the room's enchanted fixtures seeming to bend away from her.

"You are a cornerstone of this world. Without you, it cannot grow, it cannot expand, and new life is unlikely to bloom here. Stagnation is to wilt. It is ****, measured in years, rather than moments. I will not sit idly by and watch it happen again. I will not watch this home become a tomb." Her voice dropped to a whisper that carried more **** than a shout. "You asked us for honesty, John; I am giving it to you. What you did has stirred soil better left unturned. I do not want an apology, and I do not resent you for what you did, but that does not mean I enjoy the prospect of you leaving us all to the wild. The wild has no mercy for groves left untended."

There was no further elaboration, and from the way Orria unflinchingly met his gaze—ancient, sad, and terrifyingly solemn—there would be none. The others gradually unwound as Orria seemed to recede into herself once more, the atmosphere of the room returning to something approaching normality. Only Farrah showed continuing signs of distress, her legs pulled up to her chest, a contemplative gaze settled on Orria. The elven woman never acknowledged her attentions, but Aclysia wrapped her arms around Aria to steady her.

"Thank you." John wasn't entirely certain what more he could say, what he could offer in the wake of Orria's raw pronouncement. "Orria, are you-"

"I will be well in time. Allow me that, please."

Breath left John in a heave as Orria shut him down. His mouth remained open until he gathered the awareness to close it, and the strength to **** his attention on the others instead.

"Lerianna?" John pleaded.

"Pass." Lerianna didn't even turn her gaze back to him.

"You're obviously upset, Lerianna, you don't have to pretend for-"

"I'm passing, okay?" Lerianna shot back. Her attention turned his way long enough to deliver a withering glare, then diverted again. "I'm still figuring this out. Give me time too."

"O-okay. Shishun?" The white-scaled snake warrior was furtively wrapped around one of the ottomans, which she had moved into a corner of the room. The furniture creaked under the tension as her name was called out, her already impeccable posture stiffening further under the weight of so many eyes.

"You are my Master. It is my duty to follow you through life, through battle, and through ****, if necessary. You should not concern yourself with my feelings, and I ask no recompense for what occurred."

"Speak your mind freely. I can't remember everything that happened over the last few days. I want to hear your honest feelings about what happened," John insisted.

Lips pursed until they nearly disappeared. A faint, dry creaking sound echoed in the quiet room. John thought the ottoman was about to give way until he spotted the tip of a throwing knife peeking out from behind Shishun, at which point he finally noticed the tensed lines of the tendons in her right arm.

"The way that you acted toward me did not bother me, Master. You were more strict than usual, but still far more forgiving than any of my instructors," Shishun admitted. "It is not a Hyanbae's place to feel such things, but if you would ask my true thoughts, I am bound to obey. For the sake of the others, perhaps you should work on your self-awareness? It is important to know when your state of mind is altered. A difficult discipline, but one that you would do well to-"

Shishun managed more than John thought she would, before she broke down, a shame-filled despondence washing over her stance. She bowed all the way to the floor, her forehead tapping the wood with a soft slap.

"Th-that is what I have learned in my training, at least. Your needs may be different; it is not my place to tell you what skills your time is best spent learning. I should not assume to understand your ways, Master. Forgive my insolence."

Thoughts of chastising her for apologizing vanished as quickly as they formed. It would have been a waste of breath better used for his own apologies, and it would have only made the lamia feel worse, regardless.

"No. You're right, Shishun." The acknowledgment didn't relieve Shishun's full discomfort, but it did lift her head an inch from the floorboards. "Between the Shard of Bishamonten and now this, I should have learned more self-awareness a long time ago. That's a failure on my part."

"I-I would nev-never imply a failure on your part, Master," Shishun babbled in protest.

"You did no such thing. I did. Well done, Shishun, you have performed your duties honorably." The words were stiff against his tongue, but they calmed Shishun in ways his cozy reassurances never had. When she straightened at length, her face had returned to its usual placidity, shedding her former mortification. "Yvara, would you go next, please?"

"I- I- oh dear," Yvara murmured. Her nerves expressed themselves with less tension and more awkward fidgeting than the snake woman's. "I was busy with work in the alchemy laboratory or the temple most of the time. I barely saw you, except in passing, when you were supposedly at your worst. I'm not sure my opinion matters much on these things."

"Your opinion matters as much as anyone's. You don't have anything you'd like to say to me? No concerns, no fears, nothing I can do to ease them?"

"My view of you is different from the others, Lord John," Yvara replied softly. The sound of something almost metallic gliding over cloth filled the air as her tail flicked against the couch cushions. "I was raised on tales of your greatness, on prophecies and visions of your gallant deeds, told they were all but certain. It is difficult for me to imagine you being slain at all. If it were to happen, I would be convinced of your return, however long that might take. But it would be a cold, lonely wait, with no idea how long that might take. And my faith has been tested against your absence, but never your loss. I- I should say my faith can withstand any test, but imagining it feels- I would rather not be tested, please, Lord John…"

Yvara's fidgeting grew more restless as she continued, until the dropping whispers of her voice almost faded behind the sounds of her spasms and twitches. John nodded his head deeply, his eyes fixated on the deeply unsettled expression Yvara was making.

"I wish there wasn't a war. I wish that I could promise all of them I'll never put myself at risk again. But I can't do that. So I need to remember all of these feelings." John's face trembled with the effort of keeping his expression straight as he did his best to burn Yvara's reaction into his mind, along with the others. "If I do something reckless, if I put my life on the line, I need to remember what it costs. It has to be worth putting everyone through this. Or worse."

"I feel a duty to you that matches Shishun's, and a reverence for you that matches Yvara's." Aclysia shifted on the chair, lifting her arm away from Farrah so that she could straighten her posture. "You are my Creator. All this means that your time would be better spent making amends with the others, rather than myself."

"Aclysia, I know you seem to feel a natural-"

"You were restrained, even in your hostility. And we now understand that you were not in your right state of mind. Even at the time, I simply assumed this was a facet of emotions I had yet to discover." Aclysia's interruption was no louder than John's words, but the deadpan delivery cut into John's weary voice with ease. "I do not feel overly harmed by your actions, and you have already vowed not to repeat your mistakes. Should that prove false, I will remind you of your words, Creator John. Until then, address those who were most affected."

There was already a question balanced on the tip of John's tongue, but it was swallowed back in silence. Aclysia was not making a vague suggestion this time; she had leaned to the side, emphasizing Farrah behind her. Farrah tried to shrink away, but Aclysia's steadying arm acted as a bar now, keeping her from retreating too far.

"Farrah." The word emerged from the pool of guilt welling in John's chest. "I'm sorry. It can already be hard on you when we come back from training. I can't imagine how much I added to it by being in the state I was in."

"I appreciate that, but I don't feel right having you apologize for that." Farrah picked at one of the ruffles on her dress, looking nearly as uncomfortable as John did. "Everyone shouldn't have to watch their emotions just because I can feel them. That's not fair to anyone."

"This is a little more than just watching my emotions," John countered with a hesitant lilt. "I was short and agitated with everyone, but they didn't have to feel it so intimately. I don't blame you for avoiding me, for holing up in your room like you did."

"You noticed?" Farrah asked, wincing.

"I don't think I saw you- no, I think you did come out once, but not for long. It's a bit hazy," John admitted. "But I completely understand. You were still recovering from what happened at the manor, too; being around me while you were still traumatized from whatever that was, I mean, it was probably unbearable."

"...problem... wasn't that... bear…" Farrah's words were lost to most of the room. Only the sudden narrowing of Orria's eyes and the knowing grimace that carved itself into Aclysia's expression revealed some level of understanding.

"I'm sorry?" John leaned in, but the proximity proved unnecessary. Farrah shivered and lifted her head, revealing wide eyes, colored by a deep pall of revulsion.

"The problem wasn't that it was unbearable," Farrah repeated, louder. "It was that it reminded me of what I felt at the manor."

"Wait, it did?" John leaned in closer, rather than away, brows furrowed. "Farrah, are you sure?"

"I wouldn't forget that feeling," Farrah confirmed uneasily. "It wasn't exactly the same, but it was there. Woven in with the rest."

"You didn't mention this before," Orria noted. The ghost of her earlier grimness still haunted her, but there was an empathy in her gaze that had been absent when she spoke to John. "Why?"

"I thought maybe I was imagining it, at first. It was faint, just a little sliver of- of whatever that feeling is," Farrah admitted. "By the time it was strong enough that I was sure, I was afraid. And I heard you all talking when he was gone; Sophia said he wouldn't listen to any of us at that point. Going off what I felt, I agreed."

The same grimace appeared on John and Sophia in parallel, lingering guilt worn like matching sweaters.

"Tricia checked for all sorts of magic. There was nothing, so whatever you felt, it had to be regular emotions, right?" John expected no answer, and received as much. "But you've been around long enough to feel us at all sorts of lows. You know what sadness feels like, and anger, anxiety, even panic, to an extent. You've never felt it before?"

"Maybe if it was subtle and I didn't know to look for it? But, no, I don't think so," Farrah admitted.

"Then I owe you even more of an apology. Making you relive that experience so soon after it happened is the last thing I wanted to do.” John. "In the state I was in, I'm not sure I would have stopped even if you told me, but I hate it all the same. I won't let it happen again."

"But if you wouldn't have stopped, how can you guarantee it won't happen again?" Sophia didn't wait for an answer for her own question. "Enemies may exploit this weakness in the future, intentionally or otherwise. We would share that vulnerability, but you are the most likely to relapse into such a state on your own."

"I mean, I know I can't get away with nonstop training now, so I just won't let that happen," John explained. "I only did it this time to make a final push for the war, and it backfired spectacularly. I won't put myself in that position again."

"This is not as simple as vowing not to betray one another, or to not abandon your flock. It is not a decision; you did not choose to lose yourself this time, and you may find yourself lost again without realizing it." Sophia's expression was grim. Her right leg bounced against the floor with irritation and restless energy as she continued, "I neglected my duties to the flock once already. I will not do so again. You have made your apologies, we have told you our feelings. I am sure you will find many ways to make amends in the future, but for now, we must think of a way to reach you, to call you back to us, no matter what takes hold of your mind."

"I could ask Tricia for an inhibiting device, something like what she made for Lerianna," John suggested. "But targeted toward stress hormones. She can probably design it with a baseline so it won't hold me back during a normal fight, only if I'm already way past normal thresholds for my body."

"Too specific to one possible cause. And likely not something done quickly. We are mere hours away from departing," Sophia reminded him. "This is for the safety of the flock – it cannot be delayed. It would be wise to find something for all of us, in time, but today, your need is greatest."

"Well, we have less than three hours. All we really have time for now would be a signal. Like a- a code word, or a gesture, or something," John noted. "But we already agreed I was in no condition to listen. It might be better to just knock me out and haul me away, if it comes down to it. I'm not sure what could-"

"Seras."

The name demonstrated its power through mere utterance. John felt a pang wash through his body at the sound of it, and though Lerianna had not raised her voice, his meandering train of thought was derailed effortlessly.

"That's the one." Lerianna **** a half-hearted grin, a flicker of her usual self peeking over the walls surrounding her. "Knew it would work. That one will reach him no matter how far gone he is."

"...Lerianna makes a fair point," Sophia managed. "It is an unpleasant feeling to associate her with such matters, but I do not believe you would ever overlook her name, Father."

A part of John wanted to veto it immediately. It was sacrilege. But Lerianna really had hit the nail on the head. John's imminent **** had finally broken through that haze of paranoia and panic to give him a moment of clarity. She was the only thing more important than that, the only thing that would've made him pause in that relentless march forward. And his own grief had conditioned the group to not use it lightly no matter the circumstances.

"Alright," John breathed. His eyes drifted past the others, to a place only he could see. "I guess that's our... signal? Safe word?"

"It is our tether to you, Father. That is all that matters."

John nodded slowly.