As Seven slipped from reality, he entered an empty space, a dreamscape he had never been in before. All around him, was naught but darkness, a void. It felt suffocating, empty. Effectively numbing all of his senses. He was breathing, but he could not breathe. His heart was beating, yet it was still. A panic washed over him, still he remained calm. It was a sensation of total contradiction.
"Last child of mana, the Uncorrupted Heir. You can not escape primal greed."
Seven startled awake, his body in a cold sweat. The cool air of night greeted him coolly, almost sympathetic. Though it was dark in the hut in which he laid, it felt safe and comforting. What he had heard still resonated with an ancient evil that threatened his entire existence, all with only its voice.
Outside of the hut, the sound of rain was gently drumming, insects were chirping, somewhere near frogs were humming. Yet, under it all, there was a voice singing. Not in words, but in resonance with the life of the rainy night. The blue glow in Seven's veins pulsed in and out with the melody.
"Can you hear it? Mana calling out to you? I've never felt such joy and sadness mixed like this before. Its as if two lovers found each other after years of being apart, yet not being able to see who they loved in the other anymore . Tragic isn't it?" The winged child sat upon the windows sill, looking out into the rainy night.
"I- I honestly don't understand any of this. Before all of this, I was completing a mission. Gunfire, blood, death. All of that, seems so filthy now. I feel filthy…" Seven sat up, his mind wandering to the past, and comparing it to the present.
"It's not filthy, it's just a different perspective. A different face on the same coin. Both worlds are yours. Both define you, neither are wrong." The child looked at Seven, her eyes the same bright glowing blue as the pulse in Seven's veins. Her hair was jet black with soft blue highlights lightly strewn in individual strands amongst the sea of black, like the night sky.
Her wings were a light shade of teal, not quite the same color, but contrasted well with the variety of blues. She was innocent yet wise looking, making her an ethereal and domineering presence, and she wore a simple black tunic to tie it all together.
"Who are you?" Seven asked, the singing the mana grew louder, and his mind lighter.
"I am a Faeori. Spirit child of Meewa. Elves call us Messengers. Others call us Tragedy. Where mana sings the loudest, we converge. You coming here, has made mana sing louder than anytime we can remember in our history. There will be more Faeori that flock to you in time." The Faeori explained.
"Why do they not flock now? Is there something else that prevents them?" Seven inquired, almost with uncanny intuition.
"Unfortunately, that is correct. A darkness desires you, craves you most greedily. Its evil stench lingers near, even though it has never touched you." The Faeori responded ominously.
"Do Faeori have names?" Seven continued his series of questions, interested in the winged child and her presence.
"We are nameless—yet we can be named. But names bind. They carry power, and the weight falls on the one who gives them." The Faeori warned, understanding what Seven wanted to do for her.
"It's just odd that you don't have a name, and it's awkward for me to address an entire species when I would wish to speak with you." Seven began to ponder what name would suit the child best.
"Seven, I implore you to reconsider. I did not come to you for a name, I simply wanted to see why mana cried out so loudly for you." The Faeori gained a look of panicked worry, yet even under that, a seed of hopeful curiosity.
"Siren. Your name is Siren." Seven decided based on his first impression of her. She came to him with warning, advice, and philosophy. She was a melancholy voice in a sea of chaos.
Thunder crashed with a resonating finality, the rain changed from gentle drumming to insistent cadence. The insects quieted, the frogs went silent, yet mana sang louder. The blue pulse was now mimicked in Siren's eyes. Fatigue instantly washed over Seven as he lost the strength to sit up. He fell back into the bed, his eyes drooping closed.
"Names open doors, Seven. Some open to tragedy, others salvation. Walk carefully, mana doesn't only give favor, it takes too." Siren said as Seven slipped into a deep sleep.
Dr. Steam sat in his office, pictures of Seven scattered all over his desk, ranging from when Seven was just a young boy to the morning before the heist. Every picture had pretty much the same face all across. No smile, no hint of child-like wonder. Just stoic and curious.
The stench of alcohol was strong, lingering in the air heavily, a tell tale sign of grief. Bottles of finely distilled vodka and rum, scattered on the floor around the Doctor, a symbol of memories he tried to throw away. Melrod sat across from the doctor, his arms crossed, his head down as he dozed.
"He never, doesn't come home." Steam muttered, like a mantra, as if whispering it over and over, Seven would suddenly walk through the door, his usual stoic, lighthearted insult primed as he says, 'I've completed your noble task you old gasket.'.
Dr. Steam reached for a half drank bottle of Gafnir's Spiced Rum. In his inebriated state, instead of grabbing, he pushed the bottle off the desk. The glass landed with a shatter, the liquid splattering with the shards over the thrown documents from an earlier fit of enraged grief.
"Oh, blast it all! Can't a pathetic old man at least have his liquor? You've already taken my son from me!" Steam yelled to the heavens as he sat back roughly in his seat. His eyes were sunken and accompanied by deep, dark circles. His usual, neatly combed hair, now mangled, bangs plastered to his face from sweat.
His three piece suit now just a long sleeve, unbuttoned three buttons down and half tucked into his slacks. The fabric clung to his body, like wet paper to a wooden surface. Melrod stirred awake and looked up in half awake delirium.
"Mmm, fresh chicken dinner for ya Seven." Was all he muttered before going back to sleep. In his own way he was thinking of Seven, whatever his dream may have been, it still contained Seven in essence.
Amidst the sounds of beeps and pings if the analog machines, a resounding knock echoed through the otherwise desolate shop. Dr. Steam looked in the direction of the front door and swung himself up out of the chair in begrudging reluctance.
"Who visits on a stormy night like this?" He mumbled as he stumbled his way through the clutter of his shop, occasionally knocking over equipment as he attempted to catch himself after tripping over his own feet. Once he reached the shop front and grabbed hold of the slightly rusted, steel door handle, he swung it open rapidly.
"What do you want, you cretinous bast- Huntress?" Standing outside in the thundering rain, was a beefy woman, robust and dressed in a large cloak, plague mask and a wide brimmed fedora hat. Not a stylish appearance, but one quite recognizable.
"Allow me in, Dante. You know how I detest the human realm. The silence of mana gives me a terrible ache." Huntress demanded coldly.
"What is an elf doing here in the late night, middle of a raging storm, for?" Steam asked, his words a stark contrast to his inebriated state, as he feigned sobriety.
"A boy, unlike any that have existed in thousands of years, well before the time of elves and machines. He's ancient Dante, at least the mana he holds is." Huntress stepped inside the shop, the blue pulsing light of flashing lightning outside, turned to a dull orange glow of the shop reflecting from her mask.
"What does an ancient Elven boy have to do with me? As far as I have been most heinously reminded, humans are not welcome in Elven affairs." Steam dismissed the conversation before it even began, symbolized further by slamming the heavy steel door.
"Because, Dante, he is not an elf. He is human, just not like humans today." Huntress replied, finding a cluttered couch. Sheltered at it briefly before swiping the clutter off and onto the floor, a cascade of disorganized documents fluttered to the ground.
"Sure, make yourself at home, glad you asked." Steam scoffed as he walked over to a nearby icebox and opened it. He reached back, typed a code in on the back panel of the freezer. A beep echoed from within the chamber and the panel opened, revealing a softly glowing clear blue liquid.
"You seem distraught Dante. What happened to that completely arrogant, enigmatic boy I met so long ago?" Huntress sat heavily onto the couch, knees slightly apart and her arms draped over the back of the couch lazily.
"I have no inclination of obligation to explain myself to you, Elvidia." Steam spat out her real name like a curse. Elvidia rarely came to the human realm, but every time she did, she was disguised as the human persona; 'Huntress'.
"Oh, pah-lease, Dante. Get over the exile already. It was hundreds of years ago now, surely this grudge shouldn't last between friends." The grace of Elvidia in her Elven form was completely absent as Huntress.
"FOR-! Ahem. Former, friends. I was exiled for no good reason. That Immortal Beast offered me its essence, I simply created a consumable elixir for myself." Steam retrieved two glasses and sat on a cluttered desk opposite of Elvidia.
"It was selfish and immoral. It betrayed mana and showed us that even kind humans can't resist their primal desire and greed." Elvidia countered, her tone emotionally charged with sadness and anger.
"I did it to be closer to you. I feared living a short lifespan and not being able to see you for an eternity." Steam slammed the glasses down with a heavy clink.
"Hah, this subject is old, too old. What's with the glasses Dante?" Elvidia shifted the subject, tired of the recurring banter.
"It's Moon-Brandy. You elves love liquor on such somber nights, yes?" Dante opened the jar and began pouring.
"I wouldn't call this night a somber one. It's more of a joyous night. Mana sings loudly in our grove. A human boy arrived with pure mana unlike the kind we know. The strange part is, a number seven on the boy's arm houses the mana and spreads it like the tendrils of a trees roots-" Elvidia paused as the sound of shattering glass echoed in the shop. Steam stared at her, tears in his eyes, the unattainable jar of Moon-Brandy evaporating on the ground.
"Seven?" Dante quivered. His voice breaking audibly as he spoke the name as a slew of emotions threatened to destroy his already unstable condition.
"Yes? The number seven. Why do you look as if you had lost something so precious?" Elvidia looked at Dante, worry heavy behind the unbetrayng mask.
"His name… that's his name. That's my boy." Dante shook, the dam of emotions breaking as sobs took over his body. Elvidia jumped up and caught him before he completely collapsed. All reason, all calm intellect abandoned the man before her. His cries of relief, fear, fatigue reverberated in the air. The sound of the melancholic Rain seemed to amplify the raw emotions with unrelenting intensity.
"Why is only now, that I get to see you again, Dante?" The unspoken hint at who Dante used to be was louder than the words spoken. The man sobbing in her arms the spitting image of the pure child she had met so long ago.