Chapter Text
Over the past hundred years, Anaxa had watched — from behind the eyes of his enemy. No… not merely an enemy. His comrades, his kin, all dancing to the same unseen strings.
He had wagered everything: his reason, his essence, even his body, to witness it all unfold — the guests from beyond the stars, the cycle of destruction and creation repeating under countless skies.
And yet, this time felt different.
From the beginning, he too had walked the Path of Erudition, a seeker of truth who valued knowledge above all else. He once believed that understanding alone could free them from the cycle. But now, as he stood at the edge of yet another rebirth, he found something unexpected within himself — sympathy.
Not only for his comrades, doomed to repeat this eternal game, but even for the mastermind behind it. If that being could still be called human.
That being — once human, now a god — had long abandoned the warmth of a heart in pursuit of truth.
To Anaxa, observing within the woven data stream of Lycurgus, there was something painfully familiar in that transformation.
He saw it — a reflection of himself.
The same hunger for knowledge, the same unflinching gaze that found beauty even in ruin, truth even in horror.
Cycle after cycle, he watched his old friend — Lycurgus — lay siege upon Okhema, the city of beginnings, in endless reenactments of devastation. He watched the Chrysos Heirs, radiant and proud, fall again and again beneath the weight of their own creation.
And through it all, Anaxa could not look away.
To the scholar, Lycurgus was what he might become — a mirror of his own potential ruin. A man who had lost his heart, and in time, his wisdom — unable to see humanity for what it truly was.
And so, when Anaxagoras sought the mind of his old friend — or perhaps his eternal enemy — he conceived a plan. One that had taken root over centuries, ever since he had become something more and less than human: a constellation of consciousness scattered through time.
Fragments of reason crystallized into shards of philosopher’s stone — each one a piece of himself, a vessel of his thoughts, scattered across the dying data of Amphoreus.
A myriad of Anaxas, each observing, experimenting, and enduring the endless apocalypse that replayed in cycle upon cycle. Some within the boundaries of data, others beyond it, hidden in the cracks between realities.
All of them striving toward the same distant purpose: To understand, to redeem, and perhaps… to save both his comrades and his enemy from the fate they had chosen.
In that experiment, he uncovered yet another truth—one he could never have discerned alone.
Each fragment of himself, born from the shattering of his soul, chose its own path.
Each decision, each life, each failure—woven together into their own versions of Amphoreus, worlds bound by a single thread of destiny.
That thread, invisible yet absolute, stretched across the cosmos—a root of a vast and unseen Tree, binding all realities together through the pulse of thought and memory.
And so, at last, Anaxa returned to the Buffer—the liminal plane between cycles—aware that the final battle approached. He knew it would be the end.
Yet among the infinite echoes of himself, one single fragment had strayed.
It drifted beyond the fray, beyond the black tide and the endless wars. In that quiet branch of reality—there was an iteration of the world where the Black Tide never came.
And thus the story began with a single experiment, from a researcher who search her own truth.
The walls of Rhodes Island’s laboratories teemed with life. Medical operators bustled through the Core Wing, studying the nature of Oripathy—analyzing pathogen samples, running treatment tests, and decoding infected genes.
Across the hall, the Psychological & Neural Lab hummed with quiet focus as researchers mapped cognitive responses, trauma patterns, and the elusive bridge between the mind and Arts.
Yet, beyond the commotion of science and steel, there was one wing that remained eerily still—the Originium Arts & Energy Lab. Here, Rhodes Island studied the resonance of Originium, its release of energy, and its strange effect on consciousness itself.
And within this silent chamber worked a single figure—not an operator, nor officially under Rhodes Island’s jurisdiction.
Ho’olheyak, the slitherine consultant, stood by her desk. Before her lay a mountain of case files—each one more cryptic than the last. The room was pristine, the air heavy with antiseptic and secrecy. The only sound was the steady drip of an amber reagent onto a peculiar green Originium crystal suspended in a web of metal instruments.
Her emerald eyes followed the slow reaction within the crystal, its faint glow reflecting against her scales. The clock ticked quietly in the background, marking the passage of time—each second carrying her closer to a truth buried deep in the past.
This was... an experiment.
For years, Ho’olheyak had sought to uncover the secrets buried within the Originium crystal. She had pulverized it to dust, extracted its molecular traces, even performed the more dubious acts—once secretly diluting it into a tonic and offering it to unsuspecting operators. Yet, nothing.
No revelation. No whisper of the truth she sought.
Her purpose, in her eyes, was noble—sacred, even. And yet the only achievement her peers seemed to celebrate was how Originium served as an energy source to power Terra’s cities, rather than a key to understanding its soul.
The lab was silent, empty but for her. She preferred it that way; interruptions were inefficiency. Obsession demanded solitude.
So when the softest flicker of movement crossed her peripheral vision, her heart stilled.
The crystal— The same green Originium she had been preparing to melt—was pulsing.
She rose from her chair, the fabric whispering against the sterile air, and leaned closer. From within the crystal’s core, a faint light began to stir, trembling like something alive.
Her breath caught.
From the cabinet, she pulled an ophthalmoscope, its lens gleaming under the lab lights. She focused on the crystalline heart. The glow was coalescing—lines, curves, symbols forming and dissolving again. A rune? No... not quite.
It resembled something older, deeper. A sigil that was not of this world.
A star… or perhaps a tree.
The symbol grew brighter—too bright. Its light swelled and expanded, spreading like veins through the surface of the crystal until faint cracks began to spiderweb across it.
A sharp sound rang out—Then another. Until the entire Originium stone splintered, fragments scattering across the table like shards of emerald glass.
And there, suspended in the air where the crystal had been, the symbol remained—no longer bound by matter. A luminous shape, pulsing softly with a slow motion.
It took form—an outline, branching, reaching—A tree, glowing in brilliant, spectral green.
The pulse deepened, a shockwave rippling through the lab. Beakers rattled. Instruments groaned. Papers flew from the table in a storm of fluttering white.
Ho’olheyak stumbled back, the ophthalmoscope clattering to the floor. Her hand reached instinctively for her staff, the artifact’s runes flaring faintly in response to the surge of energy.
And then—The light contracted.
It folded in upon itself, faster and faster, as if reality were gathering data from the void—compressing, calculating, reforming.
When the light finally dimmed, something… someone stood in its place.
A man, robed in garments of archaic design, intricate patterns stitched with unknown symbols. He held a book in one hand, and a piece of chalk in the other—its tip still glowing faintly from a half-finished equation.
His back was turned to her.
He stood frozen, then lowered the chalk, his hand trembling slightly as he surveyed the room—the sterile lights, the cold steel, the humming devices that had no place in his world.
Confusion flashed in his movements, his posture taut with disbelief.
For Anaxa, confusion was not an emotion he entertained often.
Moments ago—he was certain of it—he had been standing in his study, the air thick with the scent of chalk and parchment. The experiment had been a success; at long last, the Coreflame of Reason within him had responded. Its extraction—its fusion with soul essence—was complete.
The implications were staggering. Theories swirled in his mind like constellations in motion—new frontiers of thought, the very blueprint of consciousness itself. He could almost feel the heat of the Coreflame pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
And then without warning—reality fractured.
The air twisted. The chalkboard vanished. The scent of old stone and incense was replaced by the sterile tang of antiseptic.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
Gone was Amphoreus. Gone were his instruments, his books, his world.
In their place stood… nothing familiar. A sterile white chamber, gleaming metal, alien devices humming faintly around him. The Coreflame’s resonance still echoed faintly in his chest, but the world itself was—different.
His lone eye narrowed, trying to make sense of what he saw.
“This… is not my laboratory,” he muttered, voice low, clipped, precise.
He turned slightly, scanning the space with practiced calculation. Instruments of strange make. Walls too smooth, too pristine. The energy in the air was… artificial, yet alive.
And then—he sensed it. Another presence.
When he turned, he froze.
A woman stood across the room. Almost his height—perhaps a fraction shorter—but her presence was nothing short of otherworldly.
She wore a white research robe over black stockings, the attire oddly practical yet graceful. Her silver-gray hair shimmered faintly under the sterile lights, framing a face both composed and alert. But what drew his eye most were the… features.
A pair of wing-like appendages extended from her head, subtle yet unmistakably alive, twitching with faint motion. And behind her—a great tail, sinuous and scaled, coiled protectively around her like a living serpent.
Anaxa blinked once, disbelief flickering behind his calm expression. Was this a Chimera? A half-blooded divine? Or something beyond the reach of Amphorean taxonomy?
She looked as startled as he felt, though she masked it better—her stance was guarded, staff raised, emerald eyes watching his every move. Her voice broke the silence first.
“...Who are you?”
The words reached him strangely—familiar in structure, yet fragmented, their meaning tangled in alien phonetics. He caught fragments only—who... you... something between.
He frowned, his mind already dissecting the phonemes, searching for patterns. But before he could reply, the air shifted.
She moved.
The staff in her hand glowed a sharp, viridian hue, and with a whispered chant, a gale burst forth—visible to the naked eye, a stream of compressed wind infused with Originium’s green light.
Anaxa pivoted, his robe swirling as the wind tore through the space where he had stood a moment ago. The blast struck a nearby chair, wrenching it from the floor and slamming it against the wall.
The second gale came faster.
He raised his arm, Coreflame energy shimmering faintly beneath his skin as he sidestepped the roaring wind. The gust skimmed past him, scattering papers and instruments like a cyclone trapped in glass.
“Why do you attack me?!”
Anaxa’s voice cut through the storm — calm, deliberate, but with an edge of command.
The woman gave no reply. Her slitted emerald eyes glowed faintly, serpentine and unblinking, locked on him with cold precision. The hum of Originium energy filled the room, and for a brief instant, he could feel her intent as clearly as heat from a flame — she saw him not as a man, but as an anomaly, a threat.
The lab was too small for evasion. Metal counters boxed them in. Instruments clattered and toppled. Every breath tasted of ozone and dust.
Another gale gathered at her staff’s tip, the green light pulsing.
Anaxa’s mind raced. Each gust carries a kinetic field — focused, not destructive. She’s restraining, not killing. His lone eye narrowed. A containment spell… perhaps instinctive defense?
The sixth wind howled into being, curling toward him like an invisible serpent.
In that instant he made decisive judgement.
Using the turbulence itself, he leapt from a half-floating table — twisting midair as its edge buckled beneath him — and closed the distance between them in a blur of motion.
Her eyes widened, staff rising reflexively to block — too late.
A shimmer of light burst from the markings along his right arm. The sigils flared — alchemical runes forming in the air — and from them materialized a weapon: a sleek, ornate firearm inscribed with geometric glyphs, his signature Alchemical Gun.
In one swift motion, he caught her wrist, spun her around, and pressed the barrel beneath her chin — firm, steady, not cruel. His other hand pinned hers mid-gesture, halting the spell before it formed.
“Cease your attack,” he said, his tone low but clear. “Or by the Coreflame’s vow, I will return the force in kind.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing — sharp, measured, heavy with tension. The green wind died down, fading into silence.
Anaxa’s grip remained steady, the barrel of his alchemical gun resting beneath her chin. Her emerald eyes, half-lidded and burning, never left his.
“You… speak,” she murmured.
He opened his mouth to answer, to demand an explanation—
—but he didn’t see it.
From behind her, the long blackish-gray tail moved—slow, deliberate, silent as smoke. Its coils rose like a living rope, tracing the air until, with sudden force, it snapped forward around his neck.
The pressure was instant and brutal.
Anaxa choked, the weapon slipping from his grasp. It clattered to the floor, the sound sharp in the quiet. His fingers clawed instinctively at the scales tightening around his throat, the strength in them shocking even to him—dense muscle, alive.
She turned, her expression unreadable, tail constricting with measured precision.
For a while he saw nothing but green light and silver motion—then the world flipped. The tail whipped, slamming him back into the ground with a force that drove the air from his lungs.
“…GAKH!”
The shock left him gasping, the world spinning. But pain sharpened him. He rolled to his side, coughing once, hand pressed to his chest where the impact had burned like fire. The Coreflame inside him flared in response, threads of heat running beneath his skin.
The attack did not stop.
The hybrid woman’s tail lashed again, its scales gleaming like polished steel beneath the lab lights. Anaxa barely managed to twist aside as it cut through the air with a sound like cracking thunder, shattering a monitor in its path.
Her movements were precise, trained—not wild aggression, but controlled power. Each strike came faster than the last, the tail blurring in wide arcs meant to crush or entrap.
He ducked low, the wind from the next swing grazing his cheek. His eye flicked toward the floor—there. His weapon lay amid the debris.
Another strike came from the left. He rolled beneath it, grabbed the gun, and—without thinking—bolted.
The door hissed open at his approach, and he dashed through the threshold just as the tail struck again, denting the metal frame behind him.
The noise and fury of the lab vanished, replaced by the low hum of machinery and the echo of his own footsteps. He stopped, catching his breath—then froze.
What he saw left him speechless.
The corridor beyond looked nothing like the stone halls or marble chambers of Amphoreus. It was smooth, metallic, alive with cold light—a bunker, perhaps, but crafted by hands of another age. Lines of soft luminescence traced the walls, and a faint antiseptic scent hung in the air.
And the people.
Figures in white coats and uniforms turned toward him, alarm flashing in their eyes. They looked human—mostly—but not entirely. Some bore furred ears, others tails or horns, subtle animal traits woven seamlessly into their forms.
The scholar stared, struck silent by the impossibility. Hybrids… countless hybrids. An entire society of them.
Whispers rose. The crowd parted as one figure stepped forward—a woman in a pristine white robe, her blonde hair tied neatly behind her, a pair of long, delicate bunny ears twitching atop her head.
Her tone was cautious but firm as she spoke, voice echoing faintly through the corridor.
“Who are you?”
He caught fragments only—intonations, patterns, the edges of meaning. Who… you…
Anaxa lowered his weapon slightly, the scholar in him struggling to override the instinct to defend.
“I could ask the same,” he said quietly, his accent strange to their ears.
The woman—Dorothy, her name murmured among the onlookers—took a tentative step closer. The light reflected in her pale eyes as she studied him, equal parts wary and curious.
His weapon gleamed faintly in the sterile light, and that alone made the air tense. Fingers hovered near sidearms. One wrong move, and the whole place would ignite into chaos.
He kept his stance steady, posture deliberate. He could feel the tremor in the atmosphere — the weight of eyes, the collective breath of unease. Then, from among the crowd, the meek-looking woman with the rabbit ears approached slowly, palms open in a gesture of calm.
“Stay back,” someone warned her in a sharp tone.
But she took another step forward.
Anaxa opened his mouth to speak — to demand an explanation — when a sudden sting struck the side of his neck.
He flinched, fingers instinctively brushing the spot. A needle.
His vision blurred for an instant, the edges of the corridor bending, rippling. His lone eye darted sideways — and there she was.
That damn snake woman.
Her movements were silent, predatory. The serpentine tail that had vanished beneath her coat now coiled behind her once more, alive and restless. Her gaze met his briefly — calm, assessing, faintly irritated — before she spoke, her tone low and clinical.
“He’s still conscious,” she muttered, almost to herself. “That dosage should’ve subdued a lesser being.”
Anaxa staggered, catching himself on the wall, his grip on the alchemical gun faltering as his fingers began to lose sensation. “You—” His voice was hoarse, distorted by the numbing agent coursing through his veins. “What have you—”
He didn’t finish.
In one fluid motion, Ho’olheyak was on him again. Her arm pressed hard against his throat, pinning him to the floor with practiced precision. The gun clattered to the tiles beside them.
Her tail curled around his leg, tightening just enough to keep him still as her face hovered inches from his. Her emerald eyes glowed faintly — cold, sharp, filled with restrained fury.
“Stay down,” she hissed, her voice measured, a serpent’s patience behind every word.
Anaxa met her gaze, his lone golden eye burning with equal parts confusion and defiance, even as the sedative dragged at his mind.
The onlookers said nothing. They only watched — a room full of whispers and tension frozen in time — as the scholar from another world and the serpent of Rhodes Island stared each other down in silence.
He was awake for all of it.
The sedative had stolen his voice, his breath, even the faintest twitch of his fingers—yet left his mind burning, conscious, aware. His body was stone; only his eye obeyed him, darting sluggishly from shadow to shadow.
The serpent-woman still sat astride him, her weight heavy against his chest. She was speaking to the others—calm, clinical tones mixed with clipped orders—but he could catch no full meaning. Her tail flicked once, irritated, as if she were scolding a subordinate. Around them, the corridor buzzed with restrained curiosity and fear.
He wanted to speak. To protest. To reason.
Nothing came out.
A group of operators arrived, silent and efficient. He felt hands grip his shoulders, his legs. The floor slipped away beneath him as they dragged him back through the same doorway he had fled minutes before.
The room beyond was chaos incarnate: overturned tables, shattered glass, scattered notes. A greenish haze still lingered in the air from the earlier gale. And above the wreckage, a black metal sign hung crooked over the door—its letters etched in three languages:
“Originium Energy & Arts Division – Restricted Access.”
Below it, scrawled by hand in white ink: Enter, and die slowly.
Her personal lab.
They set him down onto a reinforced examination table at the center. Cold metal met his back. Straps—no, cables—snaked over his arms and chest, tightening with mechanical precision until he could not so much as shift his weight.
Ho’olheyak moved around him with eerie composure, adjusting instruments and checking monitors as though this were a routine autopsy.
Then something moved at the edge of his vision.
Small, spider-like automatons scuttled across the floor—metal limbs clicking softly as they began to clean, to rebuild. One righted an overturned chair; another lifted shards of crystal into a tray. They obeyed her gestures perfectly.
By the time the last of the automatons scuttled out, the lab had regained a fragile semblance of order. Tables were upright, shards swept away, and the air no longer hummed with raw energy—only the steady rhythm of machinery and quiet breathing.
Anaxa flexed his fingers. A tremor—small, stubborn—answered him. Then another. The numbness was fading.
The cables still held him to the table, but his mind was clearing, the fog receding. His lone eye shifted toward the workbench across the room, where the serpent woman now stood, her tail coiled loosely behind her. She was examining something—his gun.
“Don’t touch that,” he rasped, voice hoarse but sharp enough to make her pause.
Ho’olheyak turned, her brow arching in mild surprise. “So soon?” she murmured, clearly more to herself than to him. “The sedative should’ve left you unconscious for at least a full day… and yet you’re already speaking.”
He caught fragments of her words—familiar tones twisted by unfamiliar structure. Soon… unconscious… day… speaking. Enough to guess her meaning, not enough to grasp it fully.
“Your language,” he managed, his accent thick, syllables oddly weighted. “Slow down. Clearer.”
Ho’olheyak studied him for several seconds, her tail curling slightly as if in thought. His tone wasn’t defiant—it was frustrated, earnest. He wasn’t pretending.
And in that moment, it struck her.
The man strapped to her table—the intruder she’d fought, sedated, restrained—could barely understand her.
Her expression softened, the edge of hostility giving way to something else—curiosity. “You… don’t understand me,” she said slowly, as if testing the idea aloud.
Anaxa said nothing, his gaze unwavering.
Ho’olheyak left her workstation and stepped closer, the faint click of her heels breaking the hush of the lab.
Now that she was within arm’s reach, Anaxa could study her properly.
He noted the fine scales that caught the light along her neck, the slight taper of her pupils, and when she spoke, the brief flash of small, pointed fangs. A creature both human and not—another puzzle in this bewildering world.
Fascinating, he thought, the scholar’s instinct momentarily outpacing caution. A society of such hybrids.
Ho’olheyak seemed to murmur something under her breath, the words quick and technical. Then, as if struck by a new idea, she turned back to the table, retrieving a small device from among her instruments—a compact, metallic earpiece lined with green circuitry.
Without warning, she leaned closer, brushing aside a lock of his hair to fit the device against his ear. The sudden nearness made him flinch; the chill of her gloves and the faint scent of metal reached him before the mechanism clicked into place.
“Hold still,” she said, tone somewhere between order and amusement.
A low hum followed, the earpiece warming as it powered on. Anaxa blinked, startled, as the sound in the room shifted—voices at the edge of his hearing smoothing into recognizable syllables.
“…There. Let’s see if this helps.”
Her words came clearer now, almost understandable.
His mind whirring as the strange hum of the device in his ear stabilized. “Ah, finally,” he said, voice hoarse but confident. “Your tongue—primitive, yet decipherable.”
Ho’olheyak crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”
He tilted his head, studying her with that scholar’s curiosity that somehow always sounded like an insult. “Remarkable. You—speak, you reason, you even wear garments. Tell me—how does wild animal such as yourself choose which fabric to adorn its—”
WHUMP!
Before the question could finish, Ho’olheyak’s foot connected solidly with the metal frame of the examination table, which, unfortunately for Anaxa, carried the shock upward and straight into a part of his crotch he would have preferred remain unstudied.
His breath caught. The entire world briefly reduced itself to a single point of white-hot understanding.
Ho’olheyak lowered her leg, tail twitching as she gave him a smile far too serene for the act she’d just committed. “Lesson one,” she said evenly. “Don’t call your host an animal.”
Still trying to breathe, Anaxa gave a strained laugh. “Duly... noted. Though—admittedly—quite effective pedagogy.”
The snake woman pulled one of the lab chairs closer, the legs scraping faintly against the floor before she sat down in one fluid motion. One leg crossed over the other, posture immaculate—sharp, composed, and calculatedly intimidating.
Even so, Anaxa found his attention persistently drawn elsewhere. The massive serpentine tail coiled loosely behind her, its scales catching the sterile light of the lab. It moved—idly, almost subconsciously—with a grace that defied its size.
Ho’olheyak noticed his gaze immediately. She tapped her pen twice against the open notes in her lap, eyes glinting. “If you’re finished staring, perhaps we can begin the interview,” she said coolly. “Or should I add ‘unprofessional fascination’ to the report as well?”
Anaxa’s single eye flicked up to meet hers. “I was merely admiring the structural efficiency,” he said, tone entirely serious. “The way you balance such an appendage—it must be heavy. Does it aid in movement or serve as additional support? Quite remarkable, really.”
Her pen paused mid-tap. The corners of her mouth twitched.
He caught the shift in her posture—the faint flex of her leg—and quickly added, “Purely academic curiosity, I assure you. Perhaps we could redirect it into a civilized exchange? I would be more than happy to answer your questions… provided I’m released first.”
For a moment, silence lingered between them—heavy, but not hostile.
Then Ho’olheyak leaned back in her chair, her serpentine tail coiling idly behind her in slow, deliberate movements. Her eyes narrowed, reflecting the sterile light with faint amusement as she seemed to consider his words.
“…No,” she said at last, voice light but edged. “I don’t think I’ll be letting you go just yet. You did, after all, destroy half my samples. Some of those Originium crystals took months to synthesize.”
Anaxa exhaled through his nose, a scholar’s sigh of restrained irritation. “If my memory serves me correctly, that ‘destruction’ occurred because you were attempting to kill me. I, for the record, have yet to fire a single shot in your direction.”
Her expression didn’t shift—only one gloved finger rose to his lips, silencing him effortlessly.
“I don’t like details,” she said, tone almost playful but laced with warning. “And if I were you, I’d be less concerned about my property and more about your position. A stranger suddenly appearing inside a restricted Rhodes Island facility tends to raise… unpleasant questions.”
Anaxa blinked once, his single eye narrowing slightly. “Then I assume this is your method of interrogation?”
“Mm.” Her smile returned, sharp and knowing. “Consider it a courtesy that you’re still breathing.”
Still bound to the table, he kept his composure—eyes half-lidded, but sharp. Every word the woman uttered, every phrase she let slip, he stored and dissected.
Rhodes Island.
Facility.
Originium Crystals.
These fragments formed the edges of a puzzle he could not yet see, but he was already sketching the outlines in his mind. Whatever “teleportation” had occurred—no, translocation would be the better term—it had flung him into a civilization far removed from his own, one whose science twisted unnervingly close to the arcane.
The woman—his captor—finally straightened her notes, speaking with that same blend of poise and calculation that reminded him of a council scholar dressing down a reckless apprentice.
“I suppose you deserve an introduction,” she said. “Ho’olheyak. Special consultant for Rhodes Island.”
The name rolled strangely off her tongue, the syllables alien to his ear. He tested it under his breath, quietly. “Hool… heyak.”
If she noticed the hesitation, she didn’t comment—merely arched a brow in silent amusement.
An unusual phonetic structure, he mused. Likely native to this world. Not unmusical, but odd.
His mind wandered briefly back to the others he’d glimpsed earlier—the blonde woman with the long rabbit-like ears, the fox-tailed figures in lab coats. A society of humans and beastfolk coexisting openly… remarkable, if real.
Ho’olheyak leaned slightly forward, pen tapping her notepad. “Now that we’ve covered introductions,” she said, voice smooth but expectant, “how about you tell me who—or what—you are?”
Anaxa straightened as best he could under the restraints, regaining some semblance of dignity. His tone shifted—measured, articulate, the kind of confidence only centuries of scholarship could breed.
With a courteous nod and a graceful motion of his bound hand, he began, “Anaxagoras. Scholar of the School of Nousporism—an academy devoted to the study of consciousness and metaphysical structure. I hail from… a faraway land.”
Ho’olheyak arched an eyebrow. “Anaxa—what?”
“Anaxagoras,” he repeated, enunciating carefully.
She leaned back slightly, tapping her pen against her chin. “Mhm. Anaxa, then.”
He frowned. “A-n-a-x-a-g-o-r-a-s.”
“Right, Anaxa.”
He exhaled, visibly pained. “You are deliberately omitting two perfectly functional syllables.”
“Efficiency,” she said without missing a beat, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ll find that’s rather important around here.”
For a long moment, he simply stared at her—part disbelief, part silent calculation of whether strangling her with reason alone was possible.
The interrogation had gone nowhere fast.
Ho’olheyak sat back in her chair, tail lazily swaying behind her as she scribbled a few notes, only to sigh dramatically. “Let’s try again, shall we? Why did you suddenly appear inside my laboratory?”
Anaxa, still bound to the table, raised an eyebrow. “I could ask the same thing of you. After all, you’re the one who dragged me here.”
Her pen stopped mid-scratch. She blinked once, twice — then tilted her head with exaggerated patience. “Oh, am I?”
He gave a small, knowing smirk. “Who else could summon me into a place like this? Certainly not your charming assistant automatons.”
That earned him a flick of her tail and a faint exhale of irritation. “Fine,” she muttered, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “Next question, then — where are you from?”
“I don’t see why I should tell my captor anything,” he replied, voice smooth but firm. “Knowledge is currency, and you haven’t offered me a price worth speaking for.”
The silence that followed was thick. Ho’olheyak’s emerald eyes narrowed, the lazy sway of her tail stilling midair. Then, with serpentine grace, she rose from her chair.
“Uncooperative and arrogant,” she murmured.
Before he could answer, she moved — faster than he expected — and seized his face with one hand, her sharp, well-manicured nails tracing his jaw. The motion was precise, practiced, a gesture of dominance rather than violence.
“You really should learn,” she whispered, her tone dropping into a silken threat, “that I’m not one of those dull researchers who likes playing nice. I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face… but if you keep wasting my time—” she let her claws press slightly, just enough for him to feel the promise behind her words “—I might just make an exception.”
Anaxa met her glare unflinching, his tone calm even as her grip tightened. “You’re quite proud of your methods, aren’t you?”
Ho’olheyak’s lips curved upward, the dangerous moment melting into a smirk. She released him with an elegant flick of her wrist and straightened her posture — all grace and authority once again.
“Oh, darling,” she replied, straightening up with regal poise, voice once more taking that lilting, superior tone, “I’m quite proud of everything.”
As he watched the serpentine woman pace around the room, muttering under her breath and rifling through scattered notes, Anaxa couldn’t help but think back to how ordinary his morning had been.
A cup of coffee. A dash of ambrosia. A slice of cake baked by his young assistant for her eighteenth birthday — the texture uneven, the frosting a little too sweet, but her smile had made it perfect nonetheless.
It had been a good, quiet morning.
Before the world folded in on itself and spat him out into this… whatever this place was.
Now, instead of the faint hum of his study lamps, there was only the cold sterile buzz of machinery. Instead of scholarly chatter, there was a woman with fangs and a tail — a self-proclaimed consultant who seemed equal parts scientist and sadist — circling him like a cat sizing up a particularly strange mouse.
Ho’olheyak had been prattling about “identification markers” earlier, her voice rising and falling in a rhythm that almost sounded musical. She’d initially pegged him for a Sankta because of his gun — until she’d taken one look at the complex engravings and mechanisms, and abandoned the idea entirely.
He’d refused to indulge her curiosity, of course. Partly out of habit, partly out of principle. Knowledge was leverage, and he was in no position to give any away.
Still, as she searched through a drawer for something — perhaps a scanner, perhaps a more creative instrument of interrogation — he couldn’t help but assess the situation with a scholar’s calm.
No overt malice so far. No intent to kill. Just irritation, curiosity, and… pride. Yes. Pride practically radiated from her. In another life, perhaps, she could have been a colleague.
But for now, he was her curiosity — an anomaly strapped to a table, studying the one studying him.
Anaxa’s instincts began to hum — not metaphorically, but viscerally, every fine hair on his body rising like static before a thunderstorm.
Something was wrong.
Ho’olheyak had stopped pacing. Her serpentine tail flicked once, slow and deliberate, before she turned around with a bright, utterly mischievous smile.
And in her hands… was a contraption.
Not a tool of science, certainly. Not something that inspired confidence in any sane man.
It looked like a cross between surgical pliers and an antique nutcracker. It even squeaked ominously when she squeezed it once for emphasis.
“Oh, wonderful~ it still works,” she said, sing-song in tone, her fangs glinting under the lab light. “Now, my dear intruder, since polite conversation failed, we’ll be moving on to a more empirical method of extracting information.”
Anaxa’s eye twitched. “Empirical,” he repeated slowly, “is not the word most people use for mutilation.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Ho’olheyak said cheerfully as she came closer, turning the instrument over like a proud artisan. “I’ll only need a finger or two. You’ve got… what? Ten? A luxury, really.”
She stopped beside the table, tapping the metal tips together with a clink that sent a shiver through his spine. “I’m sure you’ll cooperate quickly enough. I’ll even let you pick which one to start with!” she added sweetly, as if offering him a menu.
Anaxa looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Truly, I see now that I’ve been summoned by the goddess of sadism herself.”
Ho’olheyak laughed, a rich and elegant sound that didn’t match the device in her hand. “Flattery won’t save your fingers, dear.”
“I wasn’t flattering you,” he muttered, “I was lamenting my own bad luck.”
She leaned in close, fangs bared in a mock smile. “Mm~ I suppose that counts as research data.”
And with that, she snapped the tool once more — close enough to make him flinch — before setting it down beside her notes, perfectly pleased with herself.
Before Anaxa could even consider a desperate act of self-preservation — whether through reason, wit, or sheer divine panic — a sharp knocks echoed from the door.
Ho’olheyak froze mid-gesture, the cruel-looking instrument still in her hand. She let out a huff that was equal parts annoyance and disbelief. “Really? Now?”
The door slid open, and the familiar figure of the blonde rabbit-eared woman entered — the same one who had earlier tried to approach him with cautious curiosity. Her presence was like a cool breeze after a storm; even her steps were soft, the opposite of Ho’olheyak’s coiled intensity.
“Ah, Miss Dorothy,” Ho’olheyak drawled, tail swaying lazily behind her, “you’d better have a reason for interrupting me in the middle of a procedure.”
Dorothy — the gentle-looking rabbit woman from before — stepped in, clutching a folder and a thick book to her chest. Her soft blue eyes immediately widened at the sight before her: Anaxa, bound to a steel table like a particularly dignified specimen, and Ho’olheyak standing nearby with a menacing-looking contraption in hand.
“Uh… Miss Ho’olheyak?” Dorothy began, her voice cautious, almost apologetic. “What exactly are you doing?”
Ho’olheyak didn’t even glance at her, still twirling the tool between her fingers. “Science,” she said flatly.
Dorothy blinked. “Science?”
“Uncooperative science,” Ho’olheyak clarified, finally setting the instrument down with an audible clink. Her tone was almost bored — like she’d been caught mid-hobby. “Don’t mind him. He’s an anomaly, not a guest.”
Dorothy said something in a hushed, urgent tone, clutching a book close to her chest. Whatever it was, it made Ho’olheyak’s pupils narrow into sharp slits.
The two women stepped aside, conversing in whispers too faint for Anaxa to catch. All he could do was watch as Dorothy hesitated, then handed over the book. Ho’olheyak snatched it — rather ungracefully for someone who prided herself on composure — and flipped through the pages with growing disbelief.
Her expression shifted rapidly: confusion, irritation… then genuine shock.
She looked from the open book to Anaxa. Then back to the book. Then back to him again.
Anaxa raised an eyebrow from his place on the table, his voice dry. “Let me guess,” he said, “I’m in the ‘Do Not Dissect’ section?”
Ho’olheyak didn’t answer immediately. Her tail stilled — a rare thing. Then, without looking away from him, she exhaled a slow breath through her nose, the kind people make when they realize their carefully-constructed worldview has just cracked a little.
Finally, she closed the book with a snap. Her emerald eyes narrowed, but this time, the glint in them wasn’t predatory — it was calculating.
“...You’re kidding me,” she murmured. “This can’t be right.”
Anaxa could only watch as Ho’olheyak’s expression twisted between disbelief and irritation. She flipped another page, muttered something under her breath, then abruptly looked up — her emerald eyes fixed on him like a hawk spotting prey.
Before he could say anything, she marched straight toward him and, without warning, grabbed him by the collar, pulling him forward so sharply that the bindings creaked.
Her face was close now — too close — the glow of the lab light catching the edges of her silver hair and the faint slit of her pupils as she demanded, “Your name. Say it again.”
Anaxa blinked, unimpressed despite the claws digging into his shirt. “You’re quite fond of repetition, aren’t you?”
“Say it!”
He sighed, long and resigned. “…Anaxagoras. Scholar of Nousporism.”
For a second, the only sound was the hum of the lab’s equipment. Then Ho’olheyak’s tail stiffened, every coil frozen in place.
Dorothy, standing a few paces away, looked at her superior with wide, uncertain eyes. “Miss Ho’olheyak…”
Ho’olheyak didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze darted between him and the book still open in her other hand, her lips moving silently as she reread a single passage. Finally, she spoke — her voice low, almost reverent despite the disbelief lacing it.
“Anaxagoras of the Nousporist…” she said slowly, tasting each syllable.
“The god of reason, recorded in K'uk'ulkan mythologies… has disappeared over four thousand five hundred years ago.”