Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #19: The Confession]

Log Date: 2/21/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka

Jayta’s Journal

I had a dream.

And in that dream, I had been forgotten.

In that dream, people forgot me if I was not there, if I was not present. It was not that I was permanently forgotten, or that I was quickly forgotten. If I was not there, then their memory of me would fade over time, instead of disappearing outright. And if I returned, then so would their memory of me.

I spent time moving between the groups of people I knew, always trying to refresh our relationships, to keep their memories of me from fading. I was almost constantly on the move, always visiting the people in my life, trying to keep them from forgetting me. But time was always my enemy, because time spent with one group of people was time I was not spending with the other people in my life. And everyone I wasn’t currently spending time with was slowly forgetting me.

It became a balancing act; of visiting the people that were closest to forgetting me, then always rushing to the next person that was about to forget me. Back and forth, to and fro, trying desperately to spend enough time with people so they wouldn’t forget me. And in the end, it was too much; I couldn’t keep going on. I collapsed in exhaustion, and passed out.

And when I woke, everyone had forgotten me.

But that was not the part that had hurt the most. Somehow, I was able to see their lives from the spot where I had collapsed. I could watch them go about their lives, every last detail, from the mundane to the joyful to the shameful. It was in watching them that I had a realization that was more painful than being forgotten:

Their lives were no different than they were before they had forgotten me.

I realized everything was exactly the same as it was before, and the universe kept turning, and people kept living, and nothing changed about how they lived their lives. I hadn’t made a difference. The universe, and the lives of the people that I knew, were exactly the same as they would’ve been, regardless of whether I had existed or not.

It wasn’t being forgotten that hurt.

It was that I didn’t matter enough to be remembered.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Danya’s Office

8:06am SGT

When I use my knuckles to knock on the doorframe of Danya’s office, the sound comes out louder than I was expecting.

She looks up from her desk, studying me over the tops of her reading glasses. “Jayta. I expected you would be either getting breakfast or already splitting wood.”

“Yeah, usually I would.” I say, rubbing at the calluses on my hands as I tentatively linger in the doorway. Unsure of whether I’m allowed to come in. “I was wondering… is Lord Syntaritov busy right now?”

“She is fairly busy in the mornings, yes.” Danya says, setting a report in the outbox on her desk and pulling in another folder, flipping it open. “Maximum productivity often occurs in the morning, after the mind and body wake from being well-rested. Lunch is when that momentum starts to wear off, as I’m sure you’ll agree from your recent education in manual labor.”

“Yeah, that’s usually the case.” I agree hesitantly. “Could you… ask her something for me?”

Danya pauses just as she’s about to set pen to paper, looking up and raising an eyebrow at me. “Is there a reason you cannot ask her yourself?”

“Well, I mean, if she’s busy—” I begin.

“If what you intend to ask her is not important enough to interrupt her work, then asking me to ask it for you will not somehow increase its importance.” Danya says tersely. “If it is important enough to interrupt her work, then you ought to own that inquiry, rather than trying to fob it off on me.”

I wince. “Okay, but, it’s just that—”

“Is this about Lord Syntaritov’s disclosure of her feelings to you?” Danya interrupts.

That startles me. I hadn’t realized she knew about that. “No no, it’s not about that, it’s about something else.”

“Yes, but the underlying reason for your reluctance to go speak to her.” Danya says, motioning her fountain pen at me. “It is because you now know how Lord Syntaritov feels about you, isn’t it.”

I gape at her for a moment, then wave it off. “What? No. No, it’s nothing like that.”

Danya stares at me for a long moment, then closes her eyes with a sigh, reaching up to massage her brow and the bridge of her nose. “It’s a mercy you aren’t a succubus. You’re godawful at lying.”

The tips of my ears heat up at that. “Look, I’ll just… forget I said anythi—”

“Oh no you don’t.” Danya says, taking off her reading glasses. “Get back in here.”

I look around. “Am I in trouble?”

Danya snorts. “Not yet. If you have something you want to ask our Lord, then you should go ask her, instead of trying to proxy it through others because you are afraid to come face to face with her after you have rejected her. What you need to understand is that our Lord is a consummate professional. She will not treat you with animosity because you have declined her feelings. You are still a servant of the House of Regret, an avenger of the Sixth Circle. She will continue to treat you with all the respect you deserve, so long as you have earned it.”

I fidget until my hand finds my arm, rubbing it anxiously. “Are you sure? I was kinda… I didn’t really… I wasn’t nice about it.”

Danya gives me a flat look. “She is a demon Lord. Getting friendzoned by a subordinate will undoubtedly bruise her ego, but it is not nearly the mortal blow you believe it is.”

I wince again at that description. Friendzoned by a subordinate. Brutal. Danya had an astounding gift for cutting through the bullshit and demolishing egos at the same time. “Okay. So I can just… go talk to her?”

“If there is something you need to discuss with her and you feel it is important enough to ask me permission to do so, then yes, you should go discuss it with her directly.” Danya says, setting her pen back to paper. “If you must interrupt her, ensure that you do not spend too much time dithering around whatever you wish to discuss with her. There is nothing more vexing than being interrupted, then having to wait for the interrupter to get to the point.”

“Right. Got it.” I say, starting to back towards the door now. “I’ll go talk to her, then.”

“And Jayta?” Danya adds just before I step out.

“Yes?” I ask, turning quickly to face her.

Danya pauses thoughtfully, holding her pen between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, rolling it back and forth as if she were considering her words. “Life is full of limited opportunities. You do not have to act on each one that is presented to you, but do not be surprised when someone else seizes the opportunity you took for granted.”

I open my mouth, then close it, unsure of what to make of that. I know it’s in reference to something, but I don’t know what, and I feel like if I ask, Danya’s going to give me that exasperated look that makes me feel stupid. So I just nod. “Alright. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good. Now get along.” she says, making a shooing motion. “I do not enjoy the same luxuries of free time that you do.”

I nod again, exiting the room without a word. Walking back through the House, I arrive in the main foyer, pausing there to stare up the doubled-winged stairs, one of the many paths leading to Raikaron’s study. No matter what part of the House you were in, getting to Raikaron’s study always seemed to be one of the longest walks you’d take.

Taking a breath, I pivot on my heel and take the first step in that long walk.

Jayta’s Journal

Everyone needs to be seen, whether they realize it or not.

Being seen and acknowledged is validation, however small. It means that your presence has some weight, some purpose in the grand scheme of things. Whether we like it or not, we exist in the presence of others, always connected to them, affecting them and affected by them in some way. And in the absence of being actively seen and acknowledged, the next best thing is to be remembered.

Being remembered is like being seen and acknowledged, except you aren’t aware of it. In a way, being remembered is a stronger form of validation, because your importance is such that you are acknowledged even when you are not present. It is a sign that your actions, your existence, have had some relevance beyond the immediate moment; that the effect you have had on your environment lingers even when you are no longer there. In the moment you are remembered, you are important. Your existence has purpose.

And that is why it hurts to be forgotten. For all that holds true about being remembered, the opposite must hold true for being forgotten. Being forgotten is the absence of importance; it is the denial of relevance. Instead of validation, being forgotten is rejection — the rejection of the idea that your purpose or actions in the universe matter.

And that is why mortals have a need to be seen, to be remembered, to be acknowledged. Regardless of who we are, or whether we even realize it, we crave that acknowledgement, that validation of our existence. We want to know that we are here for a reason, that our presence has purpose, that we have an effect on the universe around us. We have a need to know that it isn’t all for nothing.

And it is the reason why — when some of us are forgotten — we take action to ensure that others remember us once more.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

8:18am SGT

Despite Danya’s words, I still find myself hesitating as I stand in front of the door to Raikaron’s study.

There are thoughts running wild in my head, fears and uncertainties and what-ifs. What if she’s still mad about our last encounter? Or worse, what if she is mad about our last encounter, but hides it instead? Will she deny my request because of that? Or maybe she’ll think my request is silly. I don’t want to end up embarrassed, but the more I think about it from the perspective of a demon Lord, the more it does seem petty and sentimental and silly. I don’t know what would be worse — being embarrassed, or Raikaron still mad, or my request being denied for either of those two reasons…

I shake my head roughly, squeezing my eyes shut. I’ve gotta stop; if I keep doing this to myself, I’m going to end up psyching myself out of it. I needed to stop thinking about it and just do it, so that’s what I do — I reach up and knock on the door before I have a chance to second-guess it.

There’s no response at first, and for a moment, I wonder if it was heard — then the door clicks and drifts open a few inches. Reaching forward tentatively, I give it a gentle push and peer carefully inside; Raikaron is sitting behind her desk, and motions for me to come in and close the door the moment she sees me. Stepping in, I carefully close it, taking care to be quiet as Raikaron’s voice drifts across the study, and I realize she’s on a call.

“Well, that is most interesting to hear.” Raikaron says as she sorts through envelopes on her desk. To the left of her chair is a crimson holoscreen, which is probably carrying the call she’s on. “It must be thrilling to be in the thick of it, especially during a time like this.”

I don’t hear any audible response, though I do see an earbud tucked in her ear as she motions for me to come over. I hurry across the study, though by the time I get there, Raikaron is replying again.

“Well, I should imagine that if you’re patient enough, you will get to dress all of the… what did you say they were calling themselves now? The Valiant? You merely need be patient and you will get the chance to tailor for all of them, especially if they eventually become a legitimate organization. They would need to attend social functions at that point, and you can be on hand to advise them in their fashion choices.” she says as she picks up a stack of envelopes and holds them out to me, pointing to the fireplace as she does so. Reaching out hesitantly, I take the bundle, pointing at myself and then to the fire to confirm; Raikaron gives me a single firm nod. Turning, I head over to the fireplace to start feeding the envelopes into the fire one by one, as I’ve seen Raikaron do so many times before. After another stretch of silence, I hear Raikaron talking again.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Taylor. Prestige is not microwave-ready; it does not come easy and it must be earned. If you wish to stroke your ego on a galactic scale, you will need to wait for the Valiant to grow into their purported role as galactic heroes.” Swiveling in her chair, she rifles through some of the other folders on her desk. “Myself? Oh, the same old. Punishing the damned, pushing paperwork, being generally dissatisfied with the lack of movement on any of my proposed reforms for Sjelefengsel. Even for those of us that were not condemned to be here, the very design of the place seems like punishment nonetheless. Speaking of which, would you like to visit sometime? While you are waiting for your star to rise in the mortal realm once more, perhaps tailoring for a demon Lord would scratch the itch you have for commissions of import.”

Realizing I’m reaching the end of the stack of envelopes I’ve been given, I start feeding them into the fire more slowly. I take time to read the addresses stamped on each one, the way that Raikaron does when she’s tossing letters in the fire. There are many letters from the courts of Sjelefengsel, and taking a moment, I furtively open one of them and take a quick look at the paper within. A quick scan of the text shows that it’s an official request for clemency, presumably filed by a demon in the midst of their sentence.

“Well, yes, it is true that you provided much of my current wardrobe, but there’s been a recent… adjustment in my day-to-day form. Namely that I have been forced to make use of my spare vessel, and the wardrobe I have for this one is not quite as… extensive.” Looking over my shoulder, I can seen Raikaron’s idly signing her way through the folder she’s got open. “I have outfits sufficient for day-to-day matters, and few selections for formal events, but nothing really, truly, ceremonial. And while I find it unlikely that I will be summoned into the presence of one of the Sovereigns before my default vessel recovers, I do not want to be caught off guard.”

Tucking the letter back into the envelope, I start to rifle through the other ones that have come from the courts. Nearly every one of them are clemency requests — all from the same template, with only the names and sentences altered. All of them destined, apparently, for the fire, at least by Raikaron’s decision.

“Yes, I was thinking something simple, elegant, and white. A single piece, so it would need to be a dress. Yes, my hair is still that shade of red; I thought white might pair well with it, and besides, there is a certain thrill, wearing white in the middle of hell… Precisely! Subversive thematics. See, you understand what I’m going for.”

I hesitate in throwing the clemency requests in the fire. While I know what I’m supposed to do, it just seems so callous, disposing of someone’s request for mercy like this. Granted, I was only seeing their sentence, and not the sins that earned them that sentence, so these people might very well deserve whatever punishment they were getting. But throwing it in the fire just seemed so much… crueler than simply throwing it in the trash. If you wanted, you could always go back through the trash and dig it out later if you changed your mind. But throwing it in the fire was a more permanent denial, one that could not be taken back even if you wanted to.

“Very well. Let me know once all the excitement is over; I can arrange a visit for you during a time when you won’t miss out on any of the action. The single piece would be the focus, but if you are so inclined to produce more arrangements for other occasions, I would not be opposed, and you would be compensated accordingly. Soon? Sometime within the next month? Yes, that would be stellar. Perfect. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing, then. I must get back to work myself; I have someone waiting on me. Yes, of course. Take care, Taylor.”

There’s a fading bell tone as the call closes, and that brings me back out of my reverie. I hurriedly stuff the rest of the letters in the fire, watching long enough to make sure the fire catches them and starts to curl their edges, then turn around and carefully return to Raikaron’s desk as she’s pulling out her earbud and closing the screen beside her chair. “Good morning, Jayta.” she greets me, with neither warmth nor coldness. “I perceive you have a request of some import that you wish to make of me.”

My mouth drops open in surprise. “Did Danya tell you already?”

“No. It was a simple matter of deductive reasoning; you never visit me unless you are forced to do so, and after our last… encounter, you would not be visiting me of your own accord unless the matter was very important to you.” She leans back in her chair, motioning for me to go on. “Let’s hear it, then.”

The way she’s so… standoffish gives me pause, but after a moment, I take a deep breath. “I would like to visit Coreolis to… uhm… tie up some loose ends. If you would allow it.”

Raikaron does not respond right away. After a moment, her brow furrows, as if the words were still processing. “You would like to… visit Coreolis. To wrap up some loose ends.” she repeats slowly, as if this was not the kind of request she’d been expecting. “After all this time?”

I swallow hard and nod.

The standoffishness seems to melt into something almost approaching concern as she leans forward in her chair, resting her forearms on her desk. “What do you wish to do while you’re there? And how long is this requested visit?”

“Uh— not more than a day, I think. At the most.” I answer quickly. “And it’s kinda, um, kinda personal.”

“So noted.” she says, reaching up and taking her glasses off. “But I cannot allow you to visit the mortal plane without first knowing what you intend to do. I know it does not seem like it, with how often you have visited the mortal plane in the last six months, but there are rules for the presence of demons in the world of the living. They are not allowed to simply run amok and do as they wish. Almost every instance in which you have been sent to the mortal plane, up until now, has been work-related. You always had an assignment; your actions were sanctioned as per the regulations agreed between Kolob and Sjelefengsel. That is not the case if you visit the mortal plane without an assignment — there are rules, and the actions you take will have consequences if they break those rules. So I need to know what you intend on doing while you’re there — it’s not a matter of being nosy, but of being safe. I don’t want a repeat of the last time you visited the mortal plane without express permission from your Lord. And I don’t think you want that either.”

I wince at the reminder of my jaunt with Harro, which had gone so very, very sideways. “I…” I say reluctantly, starting to feel embarrassed now. “I want to visit people. Get some closure. That’s all. I don’t want to hurt anyone, or start any fights, just… see some people, talk to one of them, and come back ho…” I catch myself, and change my phrasing. “…come back here.”

Raikaron allows a moment for that to settle, quietly mulling it over. “You want to talk to your ex, ask him questions that you wish you’d had the chance to ask him before you signed the contract.” she says softly.

“Well… yes.” I admit with a reluctant shrug. “Sorry, I know it’s silly, but I just… ever since the thing, with Valentin’s Day, and that teenager, I just couldn’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about it, and… I just want to put an end to things properly. Just want some closure, some answers.”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting answers.” she says gently, pushing back her chair as she stands up. “Desiring answers, seeking truth, is one of the quintessential aspects of existence. But if you go, you may only speak to him. If your anger is roused, you cannot lay hands on him or harm him. His indiscretion against you clearly demonstrates a lack of moral fiber, but it is not a grievous sin, and it does not demand immediate judgement. Is that clear?”

I blink rapidly as she stands. “You’re… you’re letting me visit?”

She pauses in making her way around the desk. “Does that surprise you?”

I quickly realize how rude a truthful answer would seem. “Oh! No, it’s just… thank you. It means a lot to me that you would let me do this.”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.” she says, starting to walk again.

I don’t know how to reply to that, but it doesn’t seem like she was expecting a response, as she walks right past me, crossing the study. I turn to follow her, watching as she folds her hands behind her back and clears her throat. Her manacle marks flare to life on her wrists, translucent manacles forming around her forearms as her chains pile on the floor around her in snaking patterns.

“Harro. Girls. Unto me. Submit yourselves unto the will of your Lord, as she requires you now.” Raikaron intones, but her voice carries a second layer to it, one that is guttural and deep, almost an eldritch growl that travels underneath her milder voice. It travels through the walls and across the rest of the House; I can feel it tremor through the floor beneath my shoes, and I shiver as it passes by. It isn’t long before I hear the muffled chattering of the harpies in the halls, and they start to spill in the door of the study, quick to kneel before Raikaron as they arrive. Somewhere among their arrival, Harro shows up as well, looking worn and cross, but otherwise compliant as he takes a knee before Raikaron.

“I have tasks for all of you.” Raikaron says as the last of the harpies filter in and settle down. Trinity is among them, their pale red eyes peering curiously at me. “Trinity—”

“We are to determine those which the hound must track.” the first one says before Raikaron can finish.

“The harpies shall go as vanguard.” the second says.

“And finally, the flower returns to the place where it bloomed.” the third concludes. “Is this the order of things, Mother?”

Raikaron inclines her head, gesturing a hand. “It is.” Her gaze turns on Harro. “You will receive your task from Trinity. You are not to exceed your orders, nor stray from them. You will locate only those who Trinity dictates to you, but not disturb them or otherwise interact with them. Once you have secured their locations, you will dispense that information to the harpies, so they may pass it along to Jayta. At no point in time are you to trouble Jayta in the course of this task. If you do not carry out these orders in exactness, the girls will be permitted to have their way with you upon the conclusion of this project.”

Harro scowls, but doesn’t say anything, and Raikaron doesn’t bother asking if Harro understands. She looks next to the harpies. “Crows and magpies, rise.” Once they have done so, she goes on. “You are to go before Jayta unseen. You will be her eyes and ears. You are to watch and scout only; your only intervention will be at her behest, or if she is in danger. See her safely there and back again. Ravens and hawks, rise.” Once they have risen, she continues. “You are to take the wider and higher patrol. If there are divine forces in the immediate area, forestall or distract them as necessary. Owls and shrikes, you are to arm your sisters and yourselves, and stand ready in the event you are needed.” Once all the harpies are risen, Raikaron concludes. “Are there any that do not understand? Let them speak, if so.”

There is silence in the room, and when nobody raises their voice, Raikaron motions again. “You are dismissed to your tasks. Be ready within the hour. Depart now from us.”

The harpies all give a quick bow, and then surge towards the door, whispering and chattering to each other about how they’ll get to breathe the air of the mortal plane and feel the warmth of the sun again. Harro is shortly out after them, following Trinity with all the enthusiasm of a conscript. It’s only when the last of them have left that Raikaron turns back to me, her manacles fading away. “You ought to go get dressed. I don’t think you want to confront your ex in your House uniform.”

“You didn’t have to do all that for me, you know.” I say, quietly.

“No, I don’t suppose I did.” Raikaron replies, passing me on her way back to her desk.

I don’t know what to say to that, but again, it seems like she spoke it without expecting a reply in turn. After a moment, I turn and start back towards the door of the study, deciding that for now, it’s best not to push it.

It’s time to go get ready.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Coreolis: The Daily Grind

10:05am SGT

“This is the place?”

I don’t answer Taiga right away, staring across the street at the coffeeshop on the other side. It’s midmorning, halfway to noon, so the coffeeshop isn’t as busy as it would be during the morning rush. Neither are the streets, for that matter; most people are at their jobs by now. It will be quiet within the coffeeshop; not wholly empty, but still sparsely populated. It’s why myself and my friends would go at this time, at least when our schedules lined up for us to do so.

“Yes, this is the place.” I murmur back to her. She’s the harpy that was assigned to be my personal escort, ordered to attend me during travel. The other harpies are roundabout; the crows and magpies have left their human forms and have turned into flocks of birds, perched on awnings, streetlights, ledges. Monitoring everywhere we go, keeping an eye on our surroundings for us.

“Then why aren’t you going?”

I take a deep breath. “I just… needed a moment.” I say, taking my hands out of the pockets of my leather duster. I know what I intended to do, but now that I’m here, I realized I hadn’t thought about what I wanted to say. If I’m being honest, I still don’t know what I’m going to say. But time is wasting, and the longer I wait, the more likely that they’ll leave the coffeeshop before I can catch them.

So I wait for a break in the traffic, and then cross the street, with Taiga trotting along behind me. While Coreolis is a mostly-human world, other races do live alongside them, and tend to be more concentrated in the cities. While Taiga’s half-bird legs and the feathers in her hair certainly make her stick out, she’ll likely be mistaken for an errant vashaya’rei, and not a harpy from the depths of hell.

Reaching the door of the coffee shop, I pull it open, then glance to Taiga. “Wait here.” I order. I’d acceded to Raikaron’s insistence that I have an escort, but on the condition that I have the privacy I desired during my encounters. While I didn’t mind having a harpy along as a personal bodyguard, I’d rather not have an audience for what might be intensely personal moments. If nothing else, it would make it hard to find the closure that I was looking for.

Once inside, my gaze immediately goes to the seating area, where tables were surrounded by chairs. There was a table that we always sat at, if we were able to; and it’s where I see them now, at ease and sipping at their coffee as they chat with each other. The clothes are different, but the faces are familiar, even if some have changed.

I don’t move right away. For a moment, I get to be frozen in place, once again caught between my doubts and actions, the way I was outside the door of Raikaron’s study. When I do start moving, it’s not at a rush, but a slow pace that takes me to the table at a leisurely stride. Only a couple of them notice me before I arrive; the others have to turn in their chairs, and the conversation dies out when they see me. It dies out as I come to a stop a few feet from the table.

And their looks say everything.

Shock, mostly. Shock and surprise and disbelief, melting into uncertainty and fear. Nobody greets me; nobody says hi; they are all processing the simple fact that I am here. This wasn’t an encounter they thought they’d ever have, and so they don’t know how to react to it, at least beyond the way they are reacting now.

“Jayta?” one of them eventually asks, as if unsure it was really me.

After a moment, I clasp my hands behind my back, and I realize that this is how my Lord must feel whenever she turns up unannounced. Always to the consternation and terror of those who have come to fear her. Because that’s what I see on the faces of my friends, or these people that used to be my friends: consternation, most likely because of who I killed, and everyone I hurt, during my escape. My departure had come without a chance for explanation, so they knew only what the news, and friends, had told them; and whatever they had been told, it could not have not have been the truth. Not the full truth.

Standing here now, watching them stare at me with this mix of surprise and horror, I found myself angry. It was a rising anger, one that was starting to bubble up from the depths as I watch them and realize that these little meetings we used to have continued in my absence. That they had gone on with their lives; that my absence had not mattered, and had not changed things.

It was the pain and fury of exclusion, and even though it made sense within the context of my disappearance, their willingness to move on as if I had never existed riled me all the same.

If I had anything I was going to say to them, I no longer have it in my head. I am furious at them; furious that they had moved on and kept living their lives while I had been dragged down to hell, and slaved to a demon Lord. I am furious that I had suffered and raged against the chains that bound me, while they walked free, probably never appreciating how truly amazing that freedom was. I am furious at them that they still have that freedom, and all the things that they will get to do with it that I never will.

These are no longer my friends.

I turn without having said a word, stalking back through the coffeeshop. What would I have done? Sat down with them and tell them the story of how I’d met a demon Lord that talked me into murdering another girl, and then fled to hell because I’d had no other option? Discussed the suffering I’d been through as if I was discussing the weather? Tell them about all the people I’d killed and brutalized and reaped souls from as an avenger in the service of the Lord of Regret, discuss it as if it was a job like any other? I could do none of those things. The life I led now was beyond them, beyond their ability to empathize with. They would never be able to understand the things I struggled with now, and to think I would be able to sit down and talk with them again had been foolishness.

I exit the coffeeshop, stormy and brusque, almost welcoming the slap of chill February air that greets me. Taiga is quick to push off the window and fall in step with me. “So soon? That was quick! I thought it would be longer. What did you say to them?”

“I said nothing.” I reply, short and tart. Though I know her enquiries don’t come from a place of malice, they irritate me nonetheless.

“Why did we come here, then?” she asks as we stride along the sidewalk. “Didn’t you want to say something to your friends?”

I grit my teeth as I feel my eyes start to dampen, and I reach up, wiping them with the cuff of my duster. “They are not my friends anymore.”

“Oh.” Taiga says, clearly taken aback by that. She doesn’t say anything as we keep walking down the sidewalk, and it’s not until we reach a crosswalk and a red light that she speaks. “I’ll be your friend, then.” she says, turning and hugging me.

I’m caught off guard by that, not sure how to respond. When I look down at her, she offers me an eager, unsettling smile full of piranha teeth, jagged and sharp and just a touch too wide to be natural. But it’s earnest, in that wholesome, uncomplicated way that you expect of children and animals. A smile that contains no lies or deceit; only the honest, somewhat unflattering truth.

I smile a little, reaching up to pat her feathered hair. “Thank you, Taiga.” She wasn’t the friend I wanted, or even the one I needed right now, but she was still a friend. Even if her company would likely leave something to be desired, I couldn’t fault the intent. She meant well, and that had value unto itself.

“What are we going to do now?” she asks, letting go of me. “There was someone else you wanted to see while you were here, right?”

I nod, taking in another deep breath. “There was. I will go see him, eventually. But…” I look around the street that we’re one, so familiar and yet so foreign. “I have a few other places I want to go to right now. Just to… put things to rest. See them one last time before I leave this world for good.” I’m sure that Raikaron would let me come back here if I wanted, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to, or that it would be good for me. Six months ago, I would’ve killed to come back here, back to my old life.

But Coreolis was my past now, and the life I’d had here didn’t exist anymore. There was nothing for me to come back to but memories, and I couldn’t live in memories. All that was left to do was to come back to see them one last time, say goodbye to them, before getting back on the path that my actions had put me on.

“So we’re going to see other places?” Taiga asks as the crosswalk turns green, and we start to cross the street.

“We are, yes.” I confirm, tucking my hands in the pockets of my duster. “And then at the end, when night draws near, I will go see one last person before leaving for good.”

“So you can say goodbye to them?” Taiga guesses.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” I nod, half to myself. “A last goodbye.” After a moment to let that settle in my mind, I give Taiga a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go get some lunch. We’re going to be doing a lot of walking today.”

“Oh! Food! What kind of food?”

“There’s a cafe around here that I used to visit between shifts. They do a mean country club with spicy mustard. I think you’ll like it.”

Jayta’s Journal

In the end, there is nothing unnatural or shameful about being forgotten.

We are all forgotten, sooner or later. Most of us will be forgotten within the course of two or three generations. Many mortals have never known or met their great-grandparents, and often never have the chance to do so. What is there for you to remember if you never met the person in the first place?

Even among peers, we forget people all the time. In the churn of life, the constant swirl of social groups, we pass in and out of others’ lives over the course of months, years, and decades. We cannot always cling to the people that we meet, because if we did, all our paths would be straight lines, trapped in lockstep with each other, unable to go to new places or experience new things. Most people we will meet, and then eventually pass by, with only a select few staying with us through the wandering path of our lives. And the longer our paths have been diverged from those we once traveled with, the easier it is to forget them, and to be forgotten in turn. Time functions like distance, with most memories growing fainter the longer we have been separated from the events that created them.

So it is we are forgotten. The common among us are forgotten easily, fading from mind within a few generations of our deaths, preserved only in old records, as a statistic or a number. The great among us live on in stories or history, but even those have their limits. Even the great may one day be forgotten, their stories lost to unrest, change, or fading relevance. History is an imperfect discipline; the art of recording what happened and reconstructing what might have happened. Things are inevitably missed, excluded, or distorted, and history only ever tells the parts of the story it was able to capture. If one is not forgotten in full, then they are almost always forgotten in bits and pieces, details lost to the erosion of time, facts chipped away until it is little more than an echo of something that may or may not have once existed.

In the end, we are all forgotten, sooner or later. And though painful, it is a natural process, the universe’s way of clearing out the old to bring in the new — even if the new has been done a thousand times before, it is made new simply because we do not remember the old.

It is no great crime to be forgotten, for in being forgotten, the story is born anew.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Coreolis: 842 Roadrunner Way

9:34pm SGT

“This is it?”

“It is, yes.” I say, my hands firmly tucked in my pockets, and my duster zipped up against the cold. We’re standing on the sidewalk in the suburbs, staring at a nondescript house that’s much like any other, but for the fact that I recognize it, because I’ve been here before. It’s the house that my ex’s parents live in.

“It doesn’t look like a very impressive place.” Taiga opines, looking left and right as if to compare it with the other houses in the neighborhood.

“It’s a house. Only rich people can afford those.” I say, watching as Harro comes around the side of the house, slipping back through the fence. He heads back towards us, though angling in such a way that will take him past us, instead of right to us.

“The parents are gone. They’re up at the lakehouse. He’s alone.” he grunts on his way past us, avoiding looking either of us in the eye. Taiga glares at him until he’s away from us again, then looks back to me.

“You can return now, Taiga.” I tell her as Harro’s footsteps fade. “The rest of the girls may return to the House as well. I can handle it from here.”

“But Mother told me to guard you—”

“I know what Lord Syntaritov told you. Her concern is appreciated, but unnecessary.” I say, cutting her off. “This last part I will handle alone.”

“But—”

“Taiga.” I say, looking at her. “On my authority as a demon of the Sixth Circle and an avenger of the Lord Regret, you and the other servants of our Lord are to return to the House. I will handle this on my own. All I require is that the portal be kept active until I return. Is that understood?”

She stares at me with her mouth hanging open. “Okay. I guess.” she says helplessly after a moment.

I reach out and give her a pat on the back. “Good. Go on home and get some hot cocoa. It’s cold out.” Giving her a push back towards the street, I start down the driveway, walking up the path leading to the porch. By the time I get there and look over my shoulder, Taiga is gone, with only the sound of wings fading in the distance.

Turning back to the front door, my manacle marks flare to life as I set a hand to the door, the locks twisting to their open position. Pushing the door open, I step inside, allowing a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, closing the door behind myself. Some part of me wants to linger a bit, look around, see how the house has changed since the last time I was here, but the demon in me doesn’t care for it. There was no point in observing changes of home decor, and it wasn’t the reason I was here.

Instead, I follow the signs of life within the house. The jacket hung on the coatrack, the low murmur of the holoarray in the living room, the hum of a microwave at work. Unzipping my duster in the warmer air of the house, I roam the hall, stepping into the living room and spending a moment staring at the flickering images of the holoarray. Then I turn my attention to the lone light that’s on in the kitchen, a yellow glow that paints the counter and my ex, who stands in front of the microwave, waiting for it to finish.

Though he’s exactly as I remember him, he’s… different now, and for a moment, it’s hard to exactly pin down that difference. Nothing about him has changed in the physical respect, and it takes a moment for it to click as I stare at him. I realize I can see him now as he is, and not through a filter of emotion. Before he’d cheated on me, I’d always seen him through a lens of yearning; after he cheated on me, through a lens of betrayal. But now, months removed from the event and having literally been through hell and back again, I felt nothing when I looked at him. And that lack of emotion allowed me to see him clearly for the first time.

As the microwave beeps, I cross the living room to stand at the edge of the kitchen, and he only notices me when I come right to that edge. He nearly jumps out of his socks, twisting in place and taking a few paces back; it’s clear that he doesn’t recognize me at first. It only clicks after a couple of moments; I see the recognition, then disbelief in his eyes. “Jayta? Is that you?”

Though I had expected something along those lines, I don’t answer. I instead turn my head, looking around the kitchen, sizing up the dishes in the sink, the plates on the counter. I imagined that I’d feel something when I’d come to this moment; I had imagined it dozens, hundreds of times. And yet now that I’m here…

“Why’d you do it?” I ask, returning my gaze to him. “Cheat on me.”

I can see him start to pale as he realizes that it is indeed me; I can see his mind racing behind his eyes. I have some idea where it’s going, though his assumptions are mistaken. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you—” he begins.

“I don’t want to know, actually. I don’t think it matters anymore.” I say lazily. “It’s not like you could take it back. And even if you could, I don’t think you would.” I turn a little so I can stare at the living room; size up the basket of laundry there, the chips and beer on the coffee table. And for the first time since I stepped in this house, I feel something, though it’s not what I expected: pity, and disdain — pity, learned from Raikaron, and disdain, learned from Danya. “I wanted to let you know that I killed her.”

His reaction to that tells me a lot. He doesn’t say anything, not right away. I can see the look in his eyes, and it is fear — not anger, or grief, but fear. In that moment, in that little instant, I learn more about their relationship than I ever did in two months of stalking their socmed profiles. Confirming to him that I killed the new girl didn’t rouse any sense of grievance in him, no sense of mourning loss; only fear — fear that I would kill him just the same as I killed her.

He never really loved her, not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that would’ve convinced him to lay down his life for her. I wish I could say that made me feel better, but it doesn’t bring me the satisfaction I thought it would. I only feel pity, pity that he’d been too stupid to keep it in his pants, pity that the new girl had to be the target of his attention, and that she’d paid for it with her life.

“Look, Jayta.” he starts again, after finding his voice, raising a hand as if to signal me to be calm, as if I wasn’t already. “I’m sorry about what happened, and I—”

“Of course you are. Someone died.” I say, interrupting his measured, faintly fearful tones. “I’m not here to kill you. I just wanted to tell you, to let you know it was me. I was the one that did it. I wanted to see the look on your face, and I have now. It’s told me a lot. All I really needed to know, actually.” Setting my hands back in my duster’s pockets, I look around the kitchen again. “In retrospect, I suppose this was for the best. I’ve had to grow since you dumped me, and I’ve been through hell in the last six months, but at least I can see clearly now. I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d stayed together, but I think I’m okay with not being a part of your life anymore, now that I can finally see it with clear eyes.”

He looks weirded out by that. “You’re… not going to do anything to me?”

“If I wanted to, I would’ve done so already.” I say as more feelings start to seep in atop the others. Boredom, disappointment — as I start to realize I’d spent four years of my life on a relationship that had been going nowhere, and probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere extraordinary. I can’t help but look around at the kitchen, the living room, the laundry, and keep feeling pity. “I wish there was more to say, but there really isn’t. I came here to tell you I killed her. I figured you were owed at least that much. Looking back on it now, I wish I hadn’t done it, if only because it didn’t hurt you as much as I thought it would. Waste of effort, and waste of a good life, though I’m the one that will have to live with that, not you.” I nod quietly, mostly to myself, before smiling at him. “You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.”

With that, I turn about and start to head back the way I came. I make it all the way to the doorway of the living room before he manages to fumble his words out. “Wait a minute. You’re just going to come in here, confess that you killed her, smile about it, and leave?”

I pause, turning around to study his disbelief. “Pretty much. What are you gonna do about it?”

“You— you can’t just do that!”

I smirk a little. “You gonna come over here and stop me?”

He starts to answer, and then hesitates. I think he sees the look in my eyes, sees that I want him to try, to give me a reason to break out my demon manifest. I’m not the same girl he dumped, and I think he’s only just now starting to see that.

“That’s what I thought.” I say softly. “We probably won’t see each other again. I hope you have a good life. But if you don’t, you probably deserved it.”

I continue on my way with that, and there is nothing but the sound of silence in my wake. No last calls, no questions, no requests for me to wait. I reach the front door and step out, and when it closes behind me, I take a deep breath of the chilly February air, then exhale it as a crystallizing cloud.

It was done. Wrapped up. And I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest, as if a tether holding me down had been severed. I’d returned to where it began, said my piece, admitted my crime. The truth had been dispensed to those that needed it. It was no longer a secret I would carry to my grave; the fault for the crime, if it was ambiguous before, would no longer be in question.

Everything was now as it should be.

Smiling a little to myself, I zip up my duster against the chill, descend the stairs of the porch, and take up a brisk pace as I start the long walk back to House, basking in the cold light of the moons overhead.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Lesser Common Room

11:06pm SGT

“What was the look on his face? Was he scared?”

“I bet he was! It must’ve been a shock, seeing the girl he dumped!”

“Did you show him your manifest? Did it scare him out of his mind?”

“Girls! That’s enough.” Danya orders sharply, shooing away the harpies clamoring around my armchair. “Jayta’s excursion tonight was a personal matter. She does not have to speak of it if she does not wish to, and clearly does not wish to. Finish your hot cocoa and start preparing for bed; we are but an hour shy of midnight.” Once she has cleared a path through the harpies, she leans down to offer me a mug. “Be careful; it is still hot.”

“Thank you, Danya.” I say, reaching up and taking the mug. After walking for so long in the cold, it feels good to be holding something warm. Blowing over the top, I watch as Danya shoos away the harpies; as they hiss and hop away, I see Raikaron standing at one of the doors to the common room. She starts crossing the room at the same time that the harpies are exiting it, grabbing one of the armchairs and bringing it with her before setting it caddycorner to mine, where it’s facing towards one of the common room’s windows.

“Thank you again for letting me visit.” I say as Raikaron sits down in the chair, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dark vest as she does so. “It meant a lot to me.”

“I had figured.” she says, turning her head and reaching up to accept another mug of hot cocoa as Danya returns with one. “Thank you, Danya. You may retire for the evening now. I can take it from here.”

“Understood. I will see you in the morning, then.” Danya says, giving a light bow before backing away and exiting the room. Raikaron doesn’t speak again until the door clicks shut behind Danya.

“Was it everything you expected, then?” Raikaron says, sipping lightly from her mug.

“Not quite.” I say, studying the marshmallows in my cocoa. “Some things weren’t the way I’d expected they’d be. I didn’t do some of the things I’d thought I’d do. But it was what I needed, nonetheless.”

“Often the things we have looked forward to for a long time don’t turn out quite the way we thought it would.” Raikaron answers, staring out the window at the darkness beyond. The black sky is pinpricked with crimson stars, profane constellations made up of the conduits that lead in and out of the barrier around Sjelefengsel. “Whether consciously or not, we build up this idea in our head of how it’s going to go, often to find ourselves disappointed by reality.”

“I wasn’t disappointed, necessarily.” I say. “It didn’t go the way I’d expected, but I understood the reason why.”

“And what was the reason?” she asks without taking her eyes off the window.

I hesitate in saying it, then go on anyways. “I realized it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing I did or said would undo what happened. There was no point in being angry at him over it.”

Raikaron doesn’t respond right away. “You realized what it was doing to you, and you finally let it go.” she surmises, still gazing out the window.

“I did, yeah.”

She nods, letting the rim of her mug rest against her lips. “Are you at peace now?”

I look back out the window as well, at the sin-bright glow of Hautaholvi’s city skyline in the distance. The harsh and jagged mountains that enclosed the valley, the miles upon miles of barren hinterlands that surrounded it. Though I once despised the desolate landscape, I now found it… familiar. Almost comforting. “As much as I can be, I suppose.”

Raikaron nods, sipping from her mug. “Good.”

“Yeah.” I agree, cupping my mug in my hands. “It is good.”

We sit there for a long while in silence, staring out the window and sipping from our hot cocoa. The night ticks by; the fire crackles in the fireplace across the room; both of us lost in our own thoughts. It’s quiet, and it’s calm, and I really haven’t had a chance to enjoy something like this ever since I was put to woodsplitting. This was the first night in a long time where I wasn’t dead tired and falling asleep on my feet.

“Well, it is time for me to retire.” Raikaron says eventually, having drained much of her hot cocoa. “Managing our little corner of hell is no small task, and I have a backlog I must catch up.” Standing up, she turns to leave, pausing by my chair and using her free hand to gently nudge a lock of hair out of my face and back behind my ear. “Get some rest. You need it more than you know, after the day you’ve had. There will be hot water for you, as well.”

I hesitate, then turn my head slightly, pressing it against Raikaron’s soft, slender fingers, warm to the touch. “Thank you, again.” I say quietly, closing my eyes. “I know you were under no obligation to do this for me.”

I can feel her knuckles brush over my cheek once, then pull away. “To see you at peace brings me peace as well. Get some rest, little flower. There is a new chapter ahead.”

With that I can feel her depart, her footsteps slowly fading away over the carpet. I open my eyes only when they’re fully gone, cupping my hot cocoa to my chest as I stare through the window. At a night sky sprinkled with ruby stars and a distant city skyline; at the jagged shadows of mountains and the desolate, wasted badlands between them.

It’s comforting to look at, and I realize I feel more at home here than I ever did on Coreolis.