11:55pm, Glyfada
Monica, rolls of thunder behind her, stumbled as if drunk through the door to her apartment. She and Chrysaor had spent the afternoon traveling across the whole city of Athens. Between that, the confrontation and following fight with Assassin, mental and physical exhaustion was to be expected.
-But not to this degree.
Her mind was little more than white noise, barely able to even comprehend the environment around her, without even enough awareness to turn on the lights. Her consciousness, which she had spent so much effort to maintain, felt like little more than a phantom, a ghost that threatened to leave her body at any moment. As the weighted door shut itself behind her, she felt a sensation like a coffin lid closing, or perhaps, a trapdoor opening underneath her. Her knees buckled and she fell, the static of her mind filling her vision and drowning out even the faded shadows of thoughts.
-She fell into the arms of another, the static beginning to lift from her mind. The sensation was somehow both alien and familiar, the unique combination leaving her sure of his identity even with her addled mind.
"Chrysaor?"
"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"
Her weary mind, anxious for some comfort, the comfort of a pillow, of rest, of safety, lead her to lean deeper into his chest without realizing. "You're back. I was worried-"
"I never went anywhere." He hoisted her up, bracing her on his shoulder so she could walk. "But you should rest. You did a lot today; you should be proud."
"Did you see? Did you see what happened?"
They began to walk together towards the back of the apartment, slowly and deliberately as Monica stumbled and struggled to summon what was left of her energy, "Uh- no, afraid not. But the fact that you're alive and well speaks enough. Not many humans can fight a Servant and survive."
She whimpered slightly, "Man, I don't even know. She was this weird girl, purple and blue. Kinda cute though."
"Purple?"
"Yeah. She had purple skin- or was it gray?-and she was wearing-like- nothing, dude. Just this weird sash-thing. Her hair was white, and her eyes were big and pretty."
Chrysaor remained silent, allowing his half-conscious Master to continue her ramblings.
"-She was like- really quiet, too. You couldn't hear her move, she didn't even talk. I'm not sure she even can talk. When I cut her, she screamed, but didn't scream; no sound came out. The weirdest thing is, I think she -like- was sound, you know? That's how she ghosted us, and I think that's how she transformed, too."
They reached the bedroom, and Chrysaor gently opened the door for her while continuing to brace her. "That's- a big deal, Monica. Her appearance, her powers..."
He looked at her, and she looked back with a half-vacant expression. Even in the dark, a smile, somehow both softer and wider, with more sadness and more joy than was usual, could be seen on his face.
He ruffled her hair. She grunted in half-hearted frustration, but said nothing. "You really did a great job. Hehe. I'm sure you two would get along."
"What?"
The smile remained, "Nothing."
In another time, she would've pressed him, but for the moment, her weary mind and body were drawn irresistibly to the bed. As he sat her down, she couldn't help but immediately roll over. She didn't even notice when he pulled the covers up over her.
As he started out the door, she became suddenly possessed with revelation, "Wait!"
"Hm?"
"Shouldn't we... talk more about this? I feel like- like this is important."
"Won't be much of a talk if you fall asleep halfway through."
"But-"
"Sleep. Don't waste what energy you have. Save it for tomorrow, alright?"
She grumbled with discontent, but nonetheless fell back into the comfort of her mattress. Before the pull of dreams stole her away, she managed a final thought, a question, "Are we gonna be okay?"
"Of course."
She pulled the covers higher over her neck- and was gone; finding the rest she so desperately needed.
...
Closing the door as gently as he could, Chrysaor walked into the central living space of the apartment.
His breath was uncertain. His hands began to tremble even as he clenched them, and, with the moonlight that drifted through the patio door, a glimmer could be seen from the corner of his eye.
But nevertheless he steeled himself, and turned to the glass with renewed strength, ready to face the storm he knew to be brewing across the city. Wasting no more time, he went forward with quiet confidence, and out the patio door. Resolving himself a final time, he jumped from the balcony and into the night.
...
2:06 am, the deck of a mystic long-ship, location unknown
Aaron opened his eyes with effort, each eyelid too heavy to measure. But, though the exhaustion was absolute, once his mind began to taste the world around, like water, the rest of him came to the surface.
The air was cool and crisp, biting into his flesh and his... bandages?
He carefully tapped his forehead and affirmed his suspicions. Around his forehead were cloth bandages, wrapped tightly, but not uncomfortably. He could also feel an area that was heavier, that clung to his flesh more tightly: the places soaked with blood. As his consciousness emerged, he became more aware of himself. He was in a cot identical to that which Rider had set up for him. Similarly to the last time he'd been so amateurishly hospitalized, he could feel his body stripped underneath the thin blanket, as well as the presence of more bandages across his body. These however, felt lighter and less burdened, but also more irritable. They had been there longer than the ones on his forehead, and precisely because the wounds there were less serious. The pounding, pounding, pounding in his skull could affirm at least that much, not to mention the pile of bloodied, tattered cloth by his head, and a similarly bloody water bowl next to it.
Where was he exactly?
He found himself on what appeared to be the deck of a ship, deep, dark wood underneath him, and a railing of green somehow both wooden and metallic, glowing gold vines across them which revealed their origin. Though it seemed to be a ship, there was no rocking, only the vague sensation of drifting, sailing across waters calm and tranquil.
The sky was filled with a dense fog, so dense as to obscure the moon.
Wait... was there a moon?
There was not even a hint of it, and yet the sky was filled with silver light, as if the fog itself were some kind of galaxy, filled with luminescent stars.
Next to him, the creaking of wood.
He looked and saw the familiar visage of Rider, poking out of the floor like a cat out of a box. His otherworldly appearance made the whole scene ridiculous, though he was in no state to laugh.
Rider climbed out of the trapdoor which presumably led below deck, "Ah, tis valorous to see thou art well, mine Master. Say, how doth thee fare?"
"Like shit."
Rider paused for a moment before continuing, "Aye, well, I am in no place to complain. We benefit from good fortune, mine Master."
Rider went to pick up the bandages and bowl, to clear them from Aaron's view. Struggling for a moment to decide where to put them, he opted instead to simply toss them overboard, into what could only be assumed to be an abyss.
"I don't feel lucky."
"If not for thine luck, thee wouldst not be alive to feel such discontent."
The sensation of thorned tentacles filling his lungs and throat, the abyss that swallowed his consciousness, came back to him. Though he didn't feel lucky, he knew what Rider said was true. He wasn't just lucky to be alive, he didn't deserve to be alive.
"So where are we, then?"
"Ah, the inquiry of inquiries."
Aaron gave side-eye to Rider, but said nothing.
Rider lowered himself to the deck, leaning back against the rail, staring up into the starry fog. "Thee and I, we art floating through the veil between life and death."
Aaron began to lift his head, raising his body, before his skull seemed suddenly both weightless and heavy, pulling him back down with a flash of pain. Pushing the pounding in his skull aside as best he could, "Does that mean... I'm dead?"
"Fortunately not. At least not at the moment."
"So... I did die?"
"In a sense, aye."
Aaron had no response. His head was swimming with pain and blood, his thoughts further constrained by the bandages around his head. What reason was there to survive? And so he just lied there, staring into nothing, seeing nothing.
"Understand, like thyself, this place is that which borders life and death. Thine existence and this realm were alike in this way, and so thy existence persisted for this reason. T'was a matter of compatibility."
"I wasn't alive or dead, so being in the place between life and death helped to stabilize me."
"Exactly so, mine Master. Thy mind is as acute as ever."
"I can promise you that it isn't."
"Even so."
"Hmph."
Aaron, though lacking in formal training, was ultimately a mage. Despite the internal and external pressure on his skull, his mind was already moving to understand as much as he could.
"Does that mean we're going to the Reverse Side?"
The Reverse Side of the World, the land of gods and spirits. The dimension where the gods, spirits, monsters, and others fled at the turn of the millennia. When Mystery, the power that maintained the gods, began to leave Earth, the gods, in self-preservation, retreated there, where Mystery was eternal. Certain types of beings are able to go back and forth, but the methods are inconsistent, and the ability of anyone to violate the barrier is near-zero and requires extensive and abstract ritual. For a human to go there was little more than an alternate form of death.
"Nay. Even I lack that power."
Aaron turned his gaze to Rider, saying nothing.
"That which mages such as thyself call 'the Reverse Side'..." Rider knocked on the deck of the ship, "'Tis the place where this ship, and mine people which it carried, hailed from. Though it cannot pierce the veil between, with the Authority of my father, who ferried to and fro, we may at least kiss the border."
"I can't imagine we can stay here long, then."
"Nay. Too long and thine body will become one with the veil, unable to exist in either life or death. Thee wouldst be reduced to substance which is indistinguishable from a spectre."
"Is that better or worse than normal death?"
"Now. I will suffer no talk of such nonsense. We shall remain for two fortnights and not an hour more. At this time, neither thee nor I will be able to return. The Tuatha emerged but once, and to retreat would require we attempt to pierce the veil, if only to stave the hell I hath spoken of."
"Two days then. And never again?"
"Aye."
...
They sat there for a moment. Rider waited patiently for his Master to churn thoughts from the murk of his concussed mind.
"What about the girl?"
"Aha. So thine heart may suffer for another?"
Aaron raised his arm to cover his eyes. Even the soft silver light of this plane seemed to give him a terrible headache. "Just answer the damn question."
"The lady will be fully recovered on the morrow. I had used what remained of my father's Authority to visit the lady and our porcine friend. I performed rudimentary first aid paired with healthy mystics, and can assure thee of her well being. Beyond a bruised spine, she faired well considering her encounter."
"Hm. And I'm over here getting my ass kicked all over again."
"There is no shame in losing to a mighty warrior. Whether it be twice, thrice, or a hundred times more. And, should thee have even a single inclination otherwise, I shall be nursing you, regardless of any foolish pride."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll let a broken arm last, but a broken body won't do."
"Exactly so."
Another thought rose.
"Is it safe to fall asleep here?"
"A wise question." Rider looked to the sky, "So and not so. Thy dreams shalt be strange and wandering, and I cannot guarantee that thee should wake in timely fashion."
"But I guess time's weird here anyway."
"I shall watch thee closely. I shalt wake you if I should detect any strangeness about you."
"Maybe don't wake me up."
"I refuse to consider it."
Aaron closed his eyes, ignoring Rider as best he could. The pain dominated his conscious mind, flowing and pulsing in his skull, his body burning. More time then he could calculate passed like this, and just as he began to accept the idea that he would never fall asleep, dreams took him.
....