View source for Dawn in Auremelion/3

The cabin of the ''False Positive'' looked and felt every bit the sanctuary it was meant to be. A collection of mismatched chairs were scattered around a great wooden table, on which - under stacks of papers and trinkets and chipped mugs - was spread out a huge, intricate map of the city. The walls were covered in shelves stacked high with books of all shapes, colours and sizes, intricate brass instruments, glass bottles in brown and green, wooden chests, roughly folded cloth, and a particularly odd lamp made of what appeared to be a dried pufferfish. Bentley made a beeline for the small kitchenette in the far corner of the room, lighting up the stove and setting a kettle full of water on to boil.

“Tea and biscuits, I think,” Bentley declared, peering out the porthole window at the rain lashing down outside. “I find there’s nothing better after a rough transition into a new reality.” They popped the lid off a big tin of biscuits and pressed one into Ilyar’s paws with a grin and a wink. Soon enough the kettle began its lazy whistle, and Bentley prepared three teas in three odd mugs grabbed off the table. The cabin filled with the warm scent of slightly spiced tea.

Ilyar perched on the edge of a battered wooden chair, gently nibbling on the biscuit. It tasted comforting, like root-bread from the warren bakery. 

“So… Are you… Wizards?” Ilyar asked, after a pause.

Bentley spun around and leaned on the back of an armchair with a soft laugh. “Wizards? Oh no, goodness no. Wizards wear pointy hats and take themselves very seriously. We are…” They glanced over at Solivane, who was sitting cross-legged on a daybed sipping tea. “Sol, what are we again?”

“We are not flesh and bone like you are, Ilyar,” Solivane explained, their voice taking on a softer tone. “We are semiotic entities. Our kind was born with the multiverse itself.”

“You are ancient?” Ilyar asked, his eyes widening. 

“Immeasurably so,” added Bentley, leaping over the back of the armchair and settling comfortably into it with a crack of their back. “And don’t I feel it!”

“We originate in the space between worlds, Ilyar. The space you fell through to end up here.”

Ilyar rubbed his ears, visibly confused. “But if you are not flesh, why do you ''appear'' to be? Why are you raccoon and coati?”

Bentley, who was balancing a piece of biscuit on their nose, snapped their head back and caught the piece in their mouth with a grin. “It’s easier for everyone, kid. If you saw what we really look like, your eyes would pop right out of your head. Besides, it’s hard to drink tea without hands.”

“To interact with material worlds, we must adopt material forms,” Solivane explained. “We chose these shapes long ago. We wear them as you wear clothing. They allow us to touch, to taste, to speak.”

Ilyar gave a half nod. They looked down at the swirling patterns in their tea. “And the ''multiverse''? I know only my own world.”

Solivane rose from the bed, walked over to the table and took a stray piece of paper from a pile of junk. “Look,” they said softly, drawing a cluster of circles on the paper, “This is the multiverse. Each of these circles is a reality, like yours. They are anchored together, but they do not intersect. They form what we call the lattice.” They ran a clawtip around the empty space between the circles. “This is the Void, the space between worlds. This is where we come from.” They drew a wide oval underneath the cluster. “This is Auremelion. Everything that falls from the multiverse, through the Void, ends up here.”

“Like me? Did I fall?” asked Ilyar. 

“Straight into our laps, kid,” Bentley replied cheerfully. “Sol picked up the signature of a reality rupture, we tracked the trajectory to that warehouse, and there you were.”

“We were looking for ''objects'',” Solivane noted, stirring their tea. “Living things do not survive in the Void. That was my understanding, anyway. You, somehow, did.”

Ilyar nodded, and was silent for a moment, flicking the biscuit crumbs around the table in thought. “… Why? What happened to my world?”

Bentley and Solivane looked at each other. The cheer evaporated from Bentley’s face. Solivane’s fur darkened, crackling faintly with static.

“You tell him, Sol, you do this better than I do,” said Bentley finally, leaning back in their chair.

Solivane took a deep breath and fixed their eyes on Ilyar’s. “Your world… is gone, Ilyar. It cleaved from the lattice and dissolved into the Void. You are all that came through.” They gave a deep, weary sigh. “I am sorry.”

Ilyar didn’t hear their apology. He felt a wave of numbness wash over him. The room suddenly felt cold and empty, the sounds of the barge tuned out into noise. Gone. Everyone, gone. Mother, father, his siblings, his friends, the elders. Everything, gone. The warren, the fields, the grass, the sunlight, the moon. The moon. He touched the crudely crafted tin crescent moon that hung round his neck. Tears welled in his eyes. 

“When I was a leveret, my mother told me of our kind… that we were hares born of the moon to carry her blessing to the land.” A tear dripped down onto the crescent moon. “If they are gone, if she is gone… Am I the last?”

His tears became a torrent. He sank off the chair onto his knees with a piercing wail of grief, scratching his claws desperately on the wooden floor as if he could break through to the safety of his warren again. Immediately Bentley shifted to the floor beside him and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Ilyar, Ilyar, I’ve got you… Listen,” They cradled the weeping hare’s head against their chest, and Ilyar heard the slow rhythmic pulse of their heartbeat. “Listen, focus. You’re here, despite it all. You’re here, with us. You’re safe.”

Solivane watched on silently, a look of intense sadness piercing their stoic expression. 

Bentley gently pulled Ilyar’s head up and looked into his tear-streaked eyes. Their face looked old, older and wiser than Ilyar had seen until now. “Moon-hare. I like that. It suits you,” said Bentley softly, wiping the tears from Ilyar’s cheek. “I don’t know if you’re the last, kid, but you’re here and you’re alive, and as long as you are, you’re keeping them alive too.”

Ilyar sniffled, blinked his eyes clear, and buried his head into Bentley’s chest again. The amber light of sunset began to peek through the porthole window. Bentley held on tight to the moon-hare in his arms, and their gaze met Solivane’s. It was going to be a long evening.

{{Dawn in Auremelion}}