[ The price had been cheap: a few drops of blood from a finger on each hand. The pain hadn’t even been worth flinching for and what the Operator has received in return has already made up for it tenfold.

They soar on new wings over the districts of Trench, the taste of chocolate still rich on their tongue. Flight itself is not new to them—they’ve flown as a Warframe before, Archwing hooked to their back. But they’ve never flown in this form and never have they had wings that were an extension of this body. They can feel cold wind ruffle their features, the warmth of the sun close above them. Many times, it’s all they can do not to burst out laughing from the sheer joy of it.

Yet, the one downside to flying in this body is that it’s much more easily exhaustible than a Warframe’s. After an afternoon spent flying, they’re forced to flutter down for a rest. Still, the Operator isn’t so keen to give up the sky just yet. They’ll perch on a rooftop rather than the ground, figuring they’ll only need to rest for a few minutes before they’re ready for another round of “aerial reconnaissance.”

Hopefully, no one inside is too alarmed by what sounds like a very, very large bird landing on their roof. Anyone who goes out—or up—to investigate will find a winged teenager sitting at the edge of their roof, feet dangling off the edge as they enjoy the last hour of late afternoon sunlight. ]

[ The second chocolate is consumed the next morning with a good deal more anticipation than the first. The black-and-ivory feathered wings are still a comforting weight on the Operator’s back and they’re eager to see what other blessing they might receive from a second helping. Yet, once they eat the chocolate, they’re disappointed to find that nothing seems to happen. Maybe it’s because they’re still under the effects of the first one?

In the end, they can only shrug and continue on with their day. It’s a letdown, but the Operator can’t be too dispirited with the taste of enchanted chocolate still lingering in their mouth and wings still on their back.

Yet, as the minutes tick by, an uneasiness begins to steal over them. Flying doesn’t feel as good as it did yesterday. The openness of the sky that had once been so liberating now feels disconcertingly exposed. How had they not noticed it before? Everyone can see them fluttering about up there. Anyone could see them.

They decide to continue the rest of their errands on foot. They’re already in Willful Machine, so they head towards the market to pick up some incense for Junia’s church. Still, as they walk, they can’t shake that feeling that they’re being watched. They turn around at multiple points, eyes casting around for their hidden observer, but nobody ever seems to be paying them any mind.

Why does that only make them feel worse?

’You know the answer already. Don’t you?’ The thought echoes in their head, low and mocking. It makes them start, their head jerking up as if a voice truly had been whispering in their ear. But it was only a thought. Of course it was. ]

Ridiculous, [ they mutter, face reddening. Yet, the very act of speaking makes their heart pound. The silence that follows is full of promise that there will be a reply.

They veer unthinkingly into the nearest shop entrance, suddenly desperate to be out of the open. The fear in them is growing more and more familiar. They know what it is—how could they not? But acknowledgment only makes him stronger.

Their thoughts, traitorous, run on anyway. If he appears to them alone, they can cope. They always have. They can pretend that the Lotus was right: that he isn’t real, that they’re just confused, that it’s all in their head. They can keep him quiet—keep themself quiet. But they can’t end up like Rell, driving everyone around them to madness. They won’t let themself— ]

Don’t be stupid, [ they whisper. ] He’s not here.

[ But they still have their powers, don’t they? They’re still connected to the Void. They’re still connected to him.

They find the quietest corner of the shop they can and put their back to the wall. He’s coming for them, the same way he’d come for Rell. That much, to them, is increasingly certain. They need to get everyone out of the store, get everyone away from them, but their voice is stuck in their throat. What if they call out and it just brings people running? People don’t know what they are here—they’d see only a frightened child in need of comfort, nothing more. No, they can’t talk, can’t cry out. Rell had tried for so long and look where it had gotten him.

They’ll stall him, then. If they don’t speak, don’t look, don’t show their face, then he can’t appear to them like he usually does—a Void-eyed doppelganger, vying for their attention. They’ll cut themself off, deny him a reaction from them or anyone else.

Of course, it won’t matter if he goes straight for possession. They’ll just have to hope that his hunger for their acknowledgment outweighs his practicality.

In the end, they can be found in the corner of the shop, turned towards the wall, face hidden behind their wings. They’ll remain there, unmoving, for however long it takes for the terror to pass—which, unfortunately, may be very long indeed. ]