**Astraea's Ship - Late Afternoon**
The ship rocked gently on the Atlantic swells, the rhythmic motion creating a lulling effect that made time feel suspended. The afternoon sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and deep purple that reflected off the water's surface in shimmering patterns.
Inside the small cabin, Eve and Carmilla sat surrounded by holographic displays that cast blue light across their faces. They'd been working for hours, refining their infiltration plan, calculating probabilities, accounting for variables. The displays showed complex overlays of patrol routes, weather patterns, and security grids all the data they'd need to slip past Nazi Germany's defenses and reach Valenora.
But now the work was done. The plans were as complete as they could make them. All that remained was waiting for tomorrow evening's storm and the narrow window of opportunity it would provide.
Carmilla leaned back in her chair, her remaining hand reaching automatically for the cigarette pack in her jacket pocket before she remembered she'd smoked the last one an hour ago. She grimaced slightly at the empty feeling, both from the lack of nicotine and from something else something heavier that had been weighing on her mind since they'd started this journey.
She glanced over at Eve, who was still studying the displays with that intense focus that seemed to be her default state. The synthetic woman's crimson eyes tracked across data streams with inhuman precision, her processors working through scenarios and contingencies even though the planning phase was technically complete.
Carmilla watched her for a moment, observing the way Eve moved, the way she thought, the subtle expressions that crossed her face even though those expressions weren't strictly necessary for a synthetic being. There was something genuinely alive about Eve, something that transcended her artificial origins. And that made what Carmilla was about to do the information she was about to share feel more significant somehow.
"Eve," Carmilla said, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. The word came out softer than she'd intended, carrying a weight that made it feel less like a casual address and more like the opening of something important.
Eve's head turned immediately, her attention shifting from the displays to Carmilla with that complete focus she brought to everything. "Yes, Miss Carmilla?" Her voice carried curiosity but also a hint of concern Carmilla's tone had been unusual, uncertain in a way that the normally confident scientist rarely displayed.
Carmilla took a breath, organizing her thoughts. This wasn't easy for her. She'd spent years hoarding information, keeping secrets, maintaining operational security through compartmentalization and need-to-know protocols. Sharing knowledge freely went against every instinct she'd developed working for S.O.W.
But the alternative keeping Eve ignorant while they walked into extraordinary danger felt worse. Felt like the kind of choice that got people killed for stupid, preventable reasons.
"I want to tell you something," Carmilla said finally. "Before we go. Before we attempt the infiltration tomorrow evening."
Eve's expression shifted slightly, her synthetic features arranging themselves into something that approximated concern mixed with curiosity. "Then what do you want to tell me?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, giving Carmilla her complete attention.
Carmilla's jaw tightened, and she looked down at her remaining hand, flexing the fingers slowly as if checking that they still worked properly. When she spoke, her voice carried a note of reluctance, like someone forcing themselves to tear off a bandage they'd been protecting for too long.
"It's about the Blessed," she said quietly.
Eve's crimson eyes widened slightly a programmed response to indicate surprise, but one that felt genuine in context. "What about them?" she asked. The question was simple, but beneath it was clear hunger for information. Eve had encountered multiple Blessed individuals now Astraea, Pranit, Florencia, possibly others and each encounter had raised more questions than it answered.
Carmilla stood up from her chair, her movements stiff from sitting too long and from the phantom pain of her missing hand. She walked to the small window that looked out over the ocean, speaking with her back to Eve as if that made the confession easier.
"Well, I've hidden too much," she began, her voice carrying self-recrimination. "I told myself it was operational security, need-to-know information, standard protocol. But the truth is..." She paused, her remaining hand clenching into a fist. "If I hide even more, if I keep withholding information that might save your life or help you understand what we're actually dealing with, then I think we'll all die. And that would be my fault."
She turned back to face Eve, her expression serious in a way that transcended her usual analytical detachment. "So hear me. Listen carefully to what I know about the Blessed. It's not complete there are gaps in my understanding, things I've only theorized about but it's more than I've told you before."
Eve nodded slowly, her entire posture shifting to indicate she was ready to receive and process this information. "Tell me," she said simply. "I'm listening."
Carmilla moved back to her chair but didn't sit, instead standing beside it with one hand resting on the backrest. When she spoke, her voice took on a lecturing quality the tone of someone who'd spent years studying a subject and was now attempting to distill that knowledge into comprehensible form.
"Well, Blessed are beings that have abilities which can be unique and different from others," she began, starting with the basics. "The powers vary tremendously. For example, they can have control over fire, ice, electricity
elemental manipulation is common. But it's not limited to elemental powers. They can have far more than this."
She pulled up a holographic display, creating simple icons to represent different ability categories as she spoke. "Enhanced physical capabilities strength, speed, durability beyond human limits. Regeneration that can heal catastrophic injuries. Reality manipulation in various forms teleportation, matter transformation, temporal effects. Mental abilities telepathy, mind control, memory manipulation. And some powers that don't fit into any category, that seem to operate on principles we don't understand."
Eve watched the display, her processors cataloging each ability type, cross-referencing with the Blessed individuals she'd encountered. Pranit's speed and apparent regeneration. Florencia's strange body that seemed partially artificial. Astraea's underwater capabilities. Carmilla's own defensive barriers and analytical enhancement.
"The specific power someone receives seems to be influenced by multiple factors," Carmilla continued. "Their personality, their desires when they encountered the Tree of Hope, their fundamental nature, possibly even random chance. Two people can visit the Tree and come away with completely different abilities. There's no way to predict what power someone will develop."
She paused, and her expression became more grave. "But there are commonalities. Rules that seem to apply to all Blessed individuals, regardless of their specific abilities."
"What rules?" Eve asked, leaning forward with obvious interest.
Carmilla's remaining hand moved through the holographic display, pulling up new information medical scans, historical records, incident reports from S.O.W. archives. "The most important rule, the one that fundamentally defines what it means to be Blessed, is this: they are immortal."
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.
Eve's eyes went wide, genuine shock registering across her synthetic features. "I-immortal?" she stammered, the word coming out broken and uncertain. She stared at Carmilla as if the scientist had just claimed the sky was actually green. "Are you sure, Miss Carmilla?"
Carmilla nodded slowly, her expression grim. "I'm sure. I've verified it through multiple sources historical records, direct observation, testimony from Blessed individuals themselves. They don't age. They don't die from disease. Their bodies don't break down over time. Some of the Blessed I know about have been alive for over a century, and they look exactly as they did the day they received their powers."
Eve's processors were working overtime, trying to reconcile this information with her understanding of biology and physics. Immortality violated fundamental principles
entropy, cellular degradation, the simple fact that all complex systems eventually broke down. "But that's..." she started, then stopped, unable to articulate the impossibility of what she was hearing.
"Impossible?" Carmilla finished for her. "Yes, by conventional understanding, it should be. But the Tree of Hope operates outside conventional understanding. It grants powers that shouldn't exist, that violate known physical laws. Immortality is just one of those violations."
She pulled up more data, showing what looked like medical scans and damage reports. "However," she continued, and her tone shifted slightly, "immortal doesn't mean invulnerable. They can still die."
Eve blinked, confusion replacing shock. "How?" she asked. The question was direct, cutting to the heart of the contradiction. "If they're immortal, how can they die?"
Carmilla's expression became even more serious, her voice dropping slightly as if discussing something particularly dangerous. "By eating them."
"Eat?" Eve repeated, the word sounding strange and wrong in the context of the conversation. Her mind immediately conjured images of Pranit consuming Florencia, of the cannibalistic horror she'd witnessed. "You mean... literally consuming their flesh?"
"Completely," Carmilla clarified, emphasizing the word. "Not just damaging them, not just killing them in a conventional sense. A Blessed individual must be entirely consumed
eaten fully, nothing left behind. Only then can they truly die. Only then does their immortality end."
She gestured to the holographic displays, showing incident reports and case studies. "This is why Blessed individuals who become antagonistic are so dangerous. You can't just shoot them or stab them or blow them up. Even if you reduce them to scattered pieces, they'll regenerate given enough time. The only permanent solution is total consumption."
Eve's synthetic mind recoiled from the implications. "That's... that's monstrous. It means the only way to stop a dangerous Blessed individual is to engage in cannibalism?"
"Essentially, yes." Carmilla's voice was flat, clinical, but Eve could hear the disgust beneath it. "And here's where it gets worse. When one Blessed individual consumes another completely, they don't just kill them. They absorb their power."
The holographic display changed, showing what looked like power transfer diagrams
arrows flowing from one figure to another, abilities stacking and combining. "The consuming individual gains all the abilities the consumed one possessed. If you eat a Blessed who could control fire, you gain fire control. If you eat one who had super strength, you gain that strength. The powers accumulate."
Eve's eyes widened further as understanding dawned. "So theoretically, a Blessed individual could become exponentially more powerful by consuming other Blessed?"
"Exactly." Carmilla nodded. "Which is why there are... let's call them political considerations among the Blessed community. Alliances, treaties, mutual non-aggression pacts. Because if open conflict broke out between Blessed individuals, if they started consuming each other en masse, whoever survived would become godlike in their accumulated power."
She paused, letting that sink in. "The Sinners understand this principle very well. It's part of why they're so dangerous. They've been accumulating power for decades, possibly longer. Consuming enemies, absorbing abilities, becoming stronger with each victory."
Eve sat in silence for a long moment, processing this information. Her synthetic consciousness worked through the implications, the game theory of immortal beings who could only truly die through consumption, who gained power by killing their own kind.
"You said they're immortal," Eve finally said, "but that doesn't mean they won't take damage or have insane regeneration, right? It just means they can't die?"
"Correct." Carmilla pulled up more medical data. "The specifics vary by individual. Some Blessed have insane regeneration they can recover from catastrophic injuries in minutes or hours, regrowing lost limbs, healing fatal wounds. Others have insane durability their bodies are incredibly difficult to damage in the first place, almost invulnerable to conventional weapons. Some have both. Some have neither and rely on other defensive mechanisms."
She gestured to herself with her remaining hand. "I, for example, don't have particularly notable regeneration or durability. If someone cuts off my hand which they did it doesn't grow back. I'm just as vulnerable to physical damage as a normal human. My immortality manifests as not aging and not dying from conventional means, but I can still be hurt, still feel pain, still be permanently maimed."
"Is that so?" Eve murmured, studying Carmilla with new understanding. The scientist's missing hand suddenly made more sense in this context immortality didn't guarantee wholeness.
"There's another rule," Carmilla said, her voice becoming uncertain now, less confident. "One I think exists but I'm not completely sure about. It's based on observation and theory rather than confirmed fact."
Eve's attention sharpened. "What is it?"
Carmilla's jaw tightened, and she looked away briefly before forcing herself to meet Eve's gaze. "Remember how that monster Pranit acted? During the fight at the facility?"
Eve nodded slowly, remembering the horror of watching Pranit lose himself to madness, his eyes going black, his behavior becoming bestial and uncontrolled. "Yes. He seemed to... lose himself. Become something less than human."
"Maybe," Carmilla said carefully, "maybe using Blessed powers too much can hurt you. Not physically or not just physically but mentally. Psychologically. There might be a cost to using these abilities, especially using them intensely or frequently."
She pulled up data on Blessed individuals who'd been observed exhibiting erratic behavior, whose personalities had seemed to degrade over time, who'd become increasingly unstable or violent. "I think that's the reason Pranit became like that. He'd been using his abilities heavily the speed, the strength, whatever other powers he possesses. And the cost was his sanity. His humanity."
Eve considered this, thinking about the implications. "So the powers corrupt? Or burn out the mind that wields them?"
"I don't know exactly," Carmilla admitted. "It could be that the powers themselves have a corrupting influence, changing the user's personality and thought patterns over time. Or it could be that using abilities that violate natural law puts stress on the human psyche, and eventually that stress accumulates into breakdown. Or it could be something else entirely maybe the Tree of Hope extracts a price, and the price is your mental stability."
She shook her head. "I don't have enough data to be certain. But the pattern exists. The longer someone has been Blessed, the more frequently they use their powers, the more likely they seem to develop psychological issues. Paranoia, violence, loss of empathy, dissociation from reality. As if the power slowly erodes whatever made them human in the first place."
Eve absorbed this information, her processors working to integrate it with everything else she'd learned. "Miss Carmilla," she said slowly, "if this is true, if using Blessed powers causes mental degradation... are you affected?"
Carmilla's expression became complicated
guilt and fear and resignation all mixing together. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I want to say no, that I'm still myself, still in control. But how would I know if I was changing? How would I recognize my own degradation if it's happening gradually, subtly, altering my perception along with my personality?"
She looked down at her missing hand again. "Sometimes I wonder if my increasing detachment the way I've stopped feeling things as intensely, the way I can discuss horrible subjects clinically without emotional reaction if that's just natural adaptation to my work, or if it's the powers changing me. Making me less human."
The admission hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable in a way Carmilla rarely allowed herself to be.
Eve reached out slowly and placed her hand on Carmilla's remaining one. The gesture was awkward Eve wasn't practiced in physical comfort but the intent was clear. "I think you're still human, Miss Carmilla. Still yourself. The fact that you're worried about losing your humanity suggests you haven't lost it yet."
Carmilla looked at Eve's synthetic hand on her biological one, and something in her expression softened slightly. "Thank you, Eve. That's... kind of you to say."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over them.
Then Eve spoke again, her voice carrying a different kind of curiosity now. "Miss Carmilla, are you Blessed?"
Carmilla had been expecting this question, but it still made her tense. "Why do you ask that? You already know I have abilities—you've seen me use them."
"Yes," Eve agreed. "But you seem reluctant to discuss the specifics. And now that you've explained all this about the Blessed their immortality, their power accumulation, the mental degradation I'm wondering why you don't know all of this more definitively. If you're Blessed yourself, shouldn't you have access to better information? To the community of other Blessed individuals?"
Carmilla sighed heavily, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost ashamed. "Well, Eve, you see... I'm pseudo-Blessed."
Eve's head tilted slightly, confusion evident in her expression. "Pseudo-Blessed?" she repeated, the term unfamiliar. "What does that mean?"
Carmilla stood up again, moving to the window, speaking to the ocean rather than to Eve directly. "There are two types of Blessed," she explained. "Original and pseudo. The distinction is... significant."
She turned back, her expression troubled. "Original Blessed are those who encountered the Tree of Hope directly, who underwent the full transformation, who received the complete package immortality, powerful abilities, the works. They're the real deal. People like Pranit, like Florencia, like probably Astraea. They have genuine, full Blessed status."
"And pseudo-Blessed?" Eve prompted.
"Pseudo-Blessed are... incomplete," Carmilla said, and the word seemed to pain her. "We never encountered the Tree of Hope. We received powers, yes. But the transformation was partial. Maybe we didn't stay long enough, or we couldn't withstand the full process, or the Tree didn't give us for some reason. Whatever the cause, we got a lesser version."
She gestured to herself with bitter frustration. "I have pseudo status. That's why I'm not truly immortal I don't age, but I can be killed by conventional means. That's why I don't have infinite stamina or regeneration. That's why my abilities are so limited compared to true Blessed individuals."
Eve processed this information, understanding dawning. "So there's a hierarchy? True Blessed are superior to pseudo-Blessed?"
"In terms of raw power and capabilities? Absolutely." Carmilla's voice was flat. "A true Blessed individual could kill a hundred pseudo-Blessed without significant effort. The gap is that enormous."
She walked back to her chair and finally sat down heavily, exhaustion evident in her posture. "And I also lied about my powers. Earlier, when you asked what abilities I had, I gave you a sanitized version. The truth is more... limited."
Eve leaned forward, giving Carmilla her complete attention.
"I have only the power of knowledge," Carmilla continued, her voice carrying self-deprecation. "Enhanced analytical capabilities, perfect memory, rapid information processing, intuitive understanding of complex systems. It's useful for planning, for strategy, for scientific research. But it's not combat-applicable. It doesn't protect me in a fight. It doesn't let me go toe-to-toe with someone like Pranit or Astraea."
She paused, then added almost reluctantly: "And I have weak mind control. Emphasis on weak. I can suggest things to people, nudge their thoughts slightly, make them more inclined to agree with me. But I can't master it yet. Can't force anyone to do anything against their will, can't control multiple people simultaneously, can't affect anyone with strong mental defenses or Blessed status. It's barely functional."
The admission seemed to cost her something
pride, maybe, or the comfortable fiction that she was more capable than she actually was.
Eve sat quietly for a moment, processing everything Carmilla had revealed. The scientist had essentially admitted to being a second-class Blessed individual with limited abilities that were primarily intellectual rather than combative. She'd exposed her vulnerabilities, her limitations, her fears.
"Well," Eve said finally, her voice gentle, "I didn't expect that much detail from you, Miss Carmilla. But..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Okay. I will remember this. All of it. Thank you for trusting me with this information."
Carmilla looked at Eve, and something in her expression shifted gratitude, maybe, or relief that the confession was over and hadn't been met with judgment or disappointment. "Well, I believe in you then," she said quietly. "You'll need this knowledge where we're going. The Netherlands, Valenora, the Tree of Hope all of it involves Blessed individuals and their politics. Understanding the rules might save your life."
Eve nodded seriously. "I understand, Miss Carmilla. I won't forget."
They sat together in the cabin as the sun continued its descent, the orange light fading to purple and then to the deep blue of approaching night. Outside, the ocean rolled on endlessly, carrying them toward whatever awaited in the NethNetherlan
**Berlin, Nazi Germany - Evening**
The scene shifted abruptly, traveling thousands of miles from the Atlantic Ocean to the heart of Nazi Germany's capital.
Ravina's apartment was exactly what one might expect from someone with her particular brand of chaos cluttered, eclectic, filled with strange objects that seemed to have been collected without any coherent organizing principle beyond "this seems interesting."
The main room was dominated by camera equipment. Tripods stood in corners like skeletal sentries. Lighting rigs hung from the ceiling, their cables creating a web of black lines against the white walls. Editing workstations covered every available desk surface, multiple monitors displaying frozen frames from various videos some completed, some still in production.
But interspersed among the professional equipment were stranger items. A taxidermied crow perched on top of one monitor, its glass eyes reflecting the screen's glow. A collection of vintage medical instruments hung on one wall, their steel surfaces polished to a mirror shine. A shelf full of old books with cracked leather bindings and titles in languages Ignis couldn't read. A mannequin in the corner wearing what looked like Victorian funeral clothes, its face painted to look diseased.
The apartment had only one bedroom a small space barely large enough for a bed and a dresser which Ravina had claimed for herself immediately. Ignis had been relegated to the couch, which was technically fine since his regeneration was complete and he didn't strictly need sleep anyway.
He sat on that couch now, his newly regenerated body still feeling slightly wrong in ways he couldn't articulate. Everything worked perfectly all his organs were in the right places, all his limbs moved correctly, his senses functioned properly. But there was a phantom memory of being torn in half, of dying (or nearly dying), that lingered in his consciousness like a bad taste he couldn't wash away.
Ravina emerged from her bedroom wearing different clothes than earlier black pants and a dark purple shirt that seemed too cheerful given her personality. Her bob-cut hair was perfectly styled despite the late hour, and her makeup was fresh as if she'd just finished preparing for a video shoot.
"Well, my cameraman!" she announced brightly, her voice carrying that same performative enthusiasm that seemed to be her default mode. "Before we go, let me show you something!"
Ignis looked up at her with an expression of profound exhaustion and resignation. "What is it now?" His voice was flat, drained of any energy or emotion. He'd been through too much in the past twenty-four hours burned alive multiple times, torn in half, forced into partnership with a psychopath, subjected to agonizing regeneration. He had no capacity left for surprise or curiosity.
Ravina grinned and walked to a large shelf unit against the far wall. It was covered with objects, but she'd draped a dark cloth over the entire thing, hiding its contents from view. With theatrical flair, she grabbed the cloth and yanked it away, revealing what lay beneath.
The shelf was full of dolls and toys, but these weren't normal children's playthings. Each one was designed to be disturbing, frightening, engineered to provoke discomfort and fear.
There was a porcelain doll with cracked features, one eye missing, the other staring with unblinking intensity. A stuffed bear with its mouth sewn shut and visible "stitches" across its stomach where stuffing leaked out. A marionette with too many joints in all the wrong places, its strings tangled in ways that suggested bondage rather than puppetry. A clown figure with a smile too wide, teeth too sharp, eyes too empty. A baby doll with its head turned backward, its limbs bent at impossible angles.
Each toy had been deliberately damaged or modified to maximize its creepy factor. Some had fake blood spattered across them. Others had been partially burned or torn. A few had additional limbs or features that didn't belong
extra eyes, mouths where they shouldn't be, fingers growing from wrong places.
Ignis stared at the collection, his expression not changing. "You like these things?" he asked, his voice carrying no particular emotion beyond mild curiosity.
Ravina beamed with pride, as if she'd just shown him a collection of priceless art. "Indeed!" she declared. "Aren't they wonderful? I've been collecting them for years. Each one is special, each one has its own story, its own character."
She picked up one of the dolls a Victorian-era figure with a cracked porcelain face and cradled it lovingly. "This one I found in an antique shop in Prague. The owner said it was cursed, that three different families had returned it because strange things happened in their homes after they bought it. Isn't that delightful?"
Ignis watched her handle the disturbing toys with obvious affection, and a thought occurred to him one he probably shouldn't voice but didn't have the energy to filter. "What does this have to do with me?" he asked bluntly.
Ravina set down the Victorian doll and turned to him with mock offense. "What do you mean 'what does this have to do with you?' I'm showing you my collection! My treasures! This is important bonding time between employer and employee!"
"I don't care about your creepy toys," Ignis said flatly.
"They're not creepy, they're beautiful!" Ravina protested. "Hey, just look at these masterpieces!" She gestured expansively at the shelf, as if the aesthetic value should be self-evident.
Ignis forced himself to look more carefully at the collection, studying each disturbing figure. The craftsmanship was actually impressive, he had to admit whoever had created or modified these toys had significant skill. But the overall effect was deeply unsettling, the kind of thing designed to prey on primal fears and childhood traumas.
"You like ghosts," he observed after a moment. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact based on the theme he was seeing—many of the toys had spectral or undead qualities, suggesting fascination with death and the supernatural.
"I do!" Ravina confirmed enthusiastically. "Ghosts, spirits, the undead, the supernatural
all of it! There's something so fascinating about the boundary between life and death, about things that exist in the space between. Don't you think?"
Ignis looked at her directly, his expression deadpan. "You know, no one will be your boyfriend because of this."
The words hung in the air for a moment.
Ravina's enthusiastic expression faltered slightly, a flicker of something hurt? offense?
crossing her face before being replaced by defensive indignation. "Hey, that's not the case!" she protested, her voice rising slightly. "I'm just too hot for a man to handle! My standards are very high, you see. It's not that they don't want me it's that they're not good enough for me!"
"Whatever," Ignis replied, his tone suggesting he didn't believe her excuse for a second and also didn't care enough to argue about it.
Ravina pouted slightly, then turned back to her collection as if looking for something specific. Her fingers traced across the disturbing toys until they found one particular figure. She picked it up carefully, cradling it with genuine affection.
"Look at my favorite toy," she said, her voice softer now, more genuinely fond than performatively enthusiastic.
Ignis looked at what she was holding and had to admit it was particularly striking not beautiful, exactly, but memorable in its disturbing uniqueness.
The toy was humanoid, about 9 inches tall, clearly handmade rather than mass-produced. Its entire body was wrapped in bandages not clean white medical bandages, but aged, yellowed cloth that looked stained and dirty. Only one eye was visible through the wrappings, and it had been painted or installed with remarkable craftsmanship a vivid green that seemed to glow slightly in the apartment's dim lighting.
It wore clothes that approximated a pirate's outfit a tricorn hat (also wrapped in bandages), a long coat with brass buttons, pants tucked into boots. But everything was slightly wrong, slightly off, giving the impression of someone who'd dressed as a pirate after being dead for a century.
The most striking feature was the hair long, flowing white strands that emerged from beneath the bandages and hat, cascading down the figure's back almost to its feet. The hair looked real, possibly human, which added an extra layer of disturbing to the already unsettling toy.
"What is it?" Ignis asked, genuinely curious now despite himself.
Ravina held the toy up proudly, displaying it like a mother showing off her favorite child. "This is my favorite! It's called the Ghost of Pirates!" Her voice carried genuine warmth and affection. "I made it myself, actually. Took me three months to get all the details right. The bandages are from actual Victorian-era medical supplies I bought from a collector. The hair is well, never mind where the hair came from. And the clothes I sewed by hand using patterns from 18th-century pirate garments."
She turned the toy slowly, showing it from different angles. "The backstory I created is that it's the spirit of a pirate who was burned alive by naval forces in the Caribbean, but his rage and desire for revenge were so strong that he refused to die properly. So now he wanders as a ghost, wrapped in the bandages from his burns, searching for the descendants of those who killed him."
Ignis studied the toy more carefully, and he had to admit that the craftsmanship was impressive. The attention to detail, the weathering effects, the way the bandages were wrapped to suggest severe burns underneath it all showed genuine artistic skill, even if that skill was being applied to create something disturbing.
"Just call it Ghost," he suggested, his voice still flat but with a hint of something that might have been pragmatic advice. "The full name is too long."
Ravina paused, considering this suggestion. Her head tilted slightly as she looked at the toy from different angles, as if seeing it anew. "Ghost," she repeated, testing the shortened name. "Not bad, actually. It's more mysterious that way. More ominous. Less wordy."
She set the toy back on its shelf carefully, positioning it so it faced outward, its single visible eye seeming to watch the room. "Alright then. From now on, you're just Ghost." She patted the toy's head affectionately, as if it were a pet that could appreciate the gesture.
Ignis watched this interaction with growing certainty that his new employer was deeply, profoundly unhinged. But given that he was also a teenager with fire powers who'd just tried to commit murder for money, he wasn't exactly in a position to judge.
"Now what?" he asked, eager to move the conversation away from creepy toys and toward something more concrete.
Ravina turned back to him, her enthusiasm returning immediately. "Hey, let's go and eat something, shall we?" Her voice was bright, as if they were just two normal people planning a normal meal rather than an immortal psychopath and her reluctant fire-wielding cameraman.
"Whatever," Ignis replied, standing up from the couch with visible effort. His regenerated body was functional but still felt off, like wearing clothes that didn't quite fit right.
They headed toward the apartment door, but before they could leave, Ravina paused and turned back to her collection. She walked to the shelf and carefully picked up Ghost, tucking the bandaged pirate toy into her jacket pocket where just its white-haired head poked out.
Ignis stared at her. "Are you seriously bringing that toy with us?"
"Of course!" Ravina replied as if it were obvious. "Ghost comes everywhere with me. It's good luck! Plus, it makes for interesting conversation starters."
"That's not what people usually mean by conversation starter," Ignis muttered.
"Well, I'm not usual people!" Ravina declared proudly.
They left the apartment and descended to the street level, emerging into Berlin's evening atmosphere. The city had transformed as darkness fell he flying trains that crisscrossed the sky were now outlined in bright running lights, creating geometric patterns of blue and white against the darkness. Street-level robots moved through the pedestrian areas, their synthetic faces expressionless as they performed maintenance tasks or security patrols.
Nazi Germany had always prided itself on order and efficiency, and that extended to its urban planning. The streets were clean almost sterile. The buildings were architecturally striking but cold, designed more for impressive appearance than human comfort. Propaganda displays were embedded into many surfaces, showing rotating messages about duty, strength, and national pride.
Ravina walked with confident ease through this environment, clearly comfortable in her home territory. Ignis followed a few steps behind, his hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral. He was hyperaware of the security cameras mounted at every intersection, the patrol robots that scanned faces as people passed, the general sense of surveillance that permeated everything.
"So," Ravina said conversationally as they walked, "you never did tell me where you're from. Your accent doesn't sound local—maybe Southern Germany? Austria? Somewhere else entirely?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Ignis replied curtly.
"Come on!" Ravina pressed. "We're partners now! Coworkers! Friends, even! It's normal to share basic biographical information."
"We're not friends."