interlude;

antioch sniffs disdainfully at the murmurs of the townsfolk as he and his party finally vacate the village to continue on their quest, horses well-fed and rested.

the people seem frantic, fearful, voices hushed and shaking about some new monster or other, just after yet another monster, one that was unrelated even to the corruption of that terrible ravenous beast he and malmr had dispatched back in the jungle.

his jaw tightens, his lips pressed together in a grim line, dark brow stern.

good, he thinks, tightening his grip on the reins.

for all the pain the order has wrought upon him, he hopes they feel it tenfold. to the core of his bitter black heart, he hopes miriam and her merry band of witchfinders find no comfort in perishing to these beasts, prays that there is some afterlife in which they will be reminded daily of their terrible crimes and punished thoroughly.

his signature smirk is slow to reappear, only doing so once he has spent some time thinking in detail about the types of torture he, personally, would be allowed to inflict. of course he would be - he has power over souls, doesn’t he? if he can rend them free of their bodies, then could he not also tear them apart, slowly, piece by piece and consume them if he so desired?

he doesn’t know for certain - he’s never tried it.

perhaps, soon, he might.

the taste of their misery would only be a temporary comfort, but it would be better than the ache of the knowledge he bears now. the knowledge that his best friend and closest ally, who he’s believed dead for centuries, has been alive the entire time. the knowledge that his father had orchestrated her entire “death” in order to regain control of the vow in siregal …

his smirk slowly disappears.

the knowledge … or, what he assumes to be the knowledge, of the truth behind medea’s magic …

his eyes flick to malmr, slowly wasting away beneath his garb. is this the fate she is suffering? kept alive and appearing healthy only by the nature of her powerful healing stars? the familiar ache of her absence throbs in his chest, in his stomach, and he feels sick with guilt.

he’s done this to her, hasn’t he?

and worse yet, he’s denied her affection for all these years, believing his father’s lies, fearing his father’s abandonment, his wrath.

well, he thinks.

damn the order, damn miriam, and damn the order mages. they could have their monsters, they could have a million and one of them and antioch would be happy to keep them coming. they deserve it.

but medea?

oh medea … a slow, heavy breath escapes through his nose as he presses his horse ahead of the rest, knowing his expression will betray him and unwilling to share it - even with missy.

medea, at least, deserves the truth.

and, after all they’ve been through, after all he’s endured in the half-year she he’s had to deal with her absence, he thinks he might be entitled to some truths as well.