Hoping for and/or but others welcome to be around!

I feel pretty sure Hotep would have already told the pair about everything except the dream with Osiris, but by the time some threads finished they were fairly old and even more had happened so things got a bit lost in the shuffle :'D Up to you how much you want the leaders know ahead of this, or even believe, though!

SKILL: SEER 1/5

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The fog touched her first.

Cold, wet, and soft in a way that made her panic instantly—because nothing soft ever touched her without something terrible following. She jerked awake with a sharp, choked inhale, legs kicking out before she even knew she moved. For a second she thought she was tangled in bodies again—dogs scrambling over her, teeth snapping, the handlers yelling—but there was no weight on her. No cage wall slamming into her ribs. Just dirt and open space.

Too open...

Her chest rose and fell too fast. She pressed herself low, practically flattening against the earth like she expected a boot to come down on her spine. Her right eye blinked hard at the pale blur of light, her left eye staring blankly the way it always did.

Where am I—
Where am I—
Oh god, what did I do—

She held her breath. Listening and waiting for the familiar noises to reach her tattered ears.

The barking.
The crying.
The metal gates.
The chains sliding across concrete floors.
The men’s voices—laughing, shouting, and spitting.

But all she heard was… nothing. A quiet so thick it felt dangerous.

Her stomach twisted with nerves. The sagging pouch beneath her swayed as she trembled, and she sucked it in on instinct, trying to hide it even though there was no one here to judge her body. An old habit. She had always been “prettier” and “more appealing” without her tired old womb hanging low. At least, that’s what the males brought to her used to say. They would criticize her body even while using it—hoping to fill her belly again and again, wanting a line of progeny to follow in their bloody pawsteps, regardless of her thoughts or objections.

All of them lived inside her still. Ghosts she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. The evidence will forever be etched upon her skin.

Her ears flicked, the one that still worked did. The shredded one hung useless atop her head. Her whole body felt wrong, too big and too empty at the same time. Like she was a shape carved out just to be filled again.

The fog moved around the trees in a slow, creeping way that made her think of hands reaching. She sucked in a breath that didn’t feel full enough and tried to pick out something familiar from the scent of earth and pine sap.

Nothing.
Nothing she knew.
Nothing she trusted.

Her throat tightened until it hurt. H… hello? she whispered, voice barely there. Like maybe she didn’t want anyone to hear after all.

No answer came. The fog ate her words like it was hungry abyss.

She pushed herself upright on shaking legs, slipping once because they felt too long and too light. Not like the days she could barely stand after giving birth. Not like the times they forced her to fight when she was still bleeding bewteen the legs. This was… something else. Wrong, but wrong in a different kind of way.

Then she saw the glow.

A tiny pulse of green across the ruins, like a flame trying to breathe. Something in her ribs went cold immediately at the sight. Magic wasn’t real where she came from—but neither was silence without violence. Neither was waking without any pain.

She froze, staring, every scar on her face pulling tight with fear and apprehension. The flowers tangled in her mane—half-dead and half-forgotten brushed her cheek in the fog. Even the blue jay feather trembled where it was pinned.

No no no… what is that?
Is this a trick? A test?
Did I die? Is this the part after dying?


Her paws shuffled backward before she even meant to move. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt her ears. She could feel that old lesson rising in her bones: if something glows, if something looks strange, if something pulls at you—

Stay down.
Don’t move.
Don’t draw attention.
Don’t give anyone an excuse.

But the silence was unbearable. It pressed in around her until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She swallowed hard, the sound too loud in her own skull, and forced one paw forward.

It didn’t matter that no one was here. Her mind filled in the shadows anyway—faces she never dared look at, teeth she remembered too well, hands that grabbed, voices that said good girl with cruelty wrapped inside the praise.

The green flame flickered as if responding. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe it wasn’t. Eulalia didn’t know. She only knew her legs kept moving even though she didn’t want them to.

This place felt wrong.
Free felt wrong.
Breathing without someone watching her felt wrong.

But she kept walking toward the ruins because she didn’t know how to do anything else except move when told—even when the command came from fear itself.

And deep down, beneath all the shaking and the terror and the wild beating of her heart, a single thought whispered like a wound reopening:

What if no one ever comes for me again? What if I’m alone now?

She didn’t know if that was a nightmare or a blessing.

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Skill: Expert Sadist

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Joxer heard the thudding steps behind him before he ever bothered to turn. He knew that rhythm — that kind of desperation that drove much of his victims to do insane shit. His brother’s paws beat mud into the earth like a heartbeat begging him not to go.

And for half a breath, Joxer thought: Don’t you fucking dare.

But Jaxxon dared.

He crashed into Joxer’s back like a falling tree, muddy and frantic and fueled by terror, and Joxer’s body lurched forward a full stride before he caught himself. Rain exploded around them, mud splattering up Joxer’s chest, his jaw snapping from the impact alone.

A snarl tore out of him, sharp, vicious, and all instinctive, the kind of sound no one survived standing in front of.

He twisted under Jaxxon’s weight, muscles coiling and teeth flashing white-hot in the stormlight. His claws dug deep into the earth, anchoring him as the force of his brother’s tackle dragged them both sideways.

Are you fuckin’ SERIOUS right now? he roared, the words cracked open with disbelief and betrayal.

His shoulder burned from where Jaxxon hit him. His throat burned from how fast he’d breathed trying not to lose control. His heart burned the worst of all because Jaxxon wasn’t just trying to stop him.

He was choosing them over him.

Again.

Joxer shoved up hard, trying to slam his back into Jaxxon’s chest with enough force to jolt the air out of him. Mud slicked them both, mixing with rain and the scent of panic — Jaxxon’s panic, not his. Joxer’s scent was all wildfire and fury, sharp enough to sear the nose.

You’re gonna tackle me? he snarled, twisting enough to see his brother’s face, his muddy fur, and that pathetic, heartbroken look in his eyes.

His voice dipped lower, more dangerous than ever, the snarl softening into something worse, something cold, intimate, and unhinged.

You think you can STOP me?

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