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rainbowfic2026-01-24 03:56 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2026-01-24 03:56 pm
Light Black #14, Realgar #16 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Tying Up A Loose End
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Light Black #14: Return, Realgar #16: Mend
Styles and Supplies: Calendar Page (Just Do It Day)
Word Count: 1602
Rating: T
Warnings: Fantasy Drug (Ab)use
Characters: Setsiana, Bríghlot, Sapfita
In-Universe Date: 1912.4.5.6, 1647.2.1.5
Summary: Setsiana apologizes to her mother.
Notes: Alas, Setsiana's mom's name did not actually wind up in the text after all.
It had been almost a month since Setsiana had talked to Qhoroali about their mothers, and the need to make things right with hers was gnawing at her. She’d lit the candle for it on the day of the new year, hadn’t she? That would be five months ago, as of tomorrow, and she hadn’t done her part on that one, yet. Some of those candles would be impossible now, but that one definitely wasn’t.
She let Qhoroali know she would be gone for the day, and packed a small bag with a book and a bottle of qoire. She stopped in the café to borrow some money from Mosetai, promising to make it up later with a shift of washing dishes, and then went to the nearest carriage rental to buy passage to Syarhrít.
She tried to read the book on the way out, but she kept getting distracted, her mind busy planning what she would say. It had been a year since she’d last seen her mother at this point, from her perspective, but for her mother, it wouldn’t have been so long, not at the time she planned to go to. She turned it over and over in her head. How could she begin to explain everything that had happened to her in that time?
Arriving in Syarhrít, she took a minute to look around and see the changes that had come after 250 years. There were more houses and other buildings, and there also seemed to be a few new streets. The busiest parts of the town were dotted with fruit sellers as they often were in this part of the late summer, but there seemed to be more of them now, and more customers buying, as well. She did not walk all the way down her street to get another look at what Taleinyo looked like in this time, but stopped when she got to her parents’ house. Who lived here now, after 250 years? She had no siblings; with her gone, there would have been no one to inherit the house. She thought about knocking to find out, but then decided against it, sitting under a shady tree next to the house, instead.
She crossed her legs, and removed the bottle of qoire from her bag. Closed her eyes, and stilled her breathing, and counted placidly while the warmth of the summer sun lulled her into a meditative state. When she felt ready, she uncorked the bottle and took the three drops, searching in the back of her mind for Sapfita’s voice.
You are ready? Sapfita asked.
Yes, said Setsiana. Take me to the spring of 1647, to a day when I did not leave the temple.
Toadstool, anchor, salt, said Sapfita, giving the first direction.
Setsiana stood, bracing herself against the rough bark of the tree, and walked the timelines back to 1647.
After coming to a stop at the end of her journey, she rounded the back side of the house as she had when she had run from the priestesses, some four months in the future of the current date. She followed the garden path to the back door again, and let herself in through the unlocked door.
Her mother was already in the living room when she entered, and her mother stopped and gave Setsiana a curious look. She must be confused that Setsiana wasn’t wearing a nurefye, and was wearing her hair in a loose ponytail and not braids. In fact… that morning, Setsiana had gotten dressed in what she now thought of as modern clothing, in the style of 1912, that she’d bought from a local shop in the intervening months. To her mother it must look very strange.
“Hey, mom,” said Setsiana. “It’s good to see you.”
“Excuse me?” her mother asked, her face pulling into a frown. “What did you say to me?”
Setsiana took a minute to mentally shift back into 1647 Vrelian, remembering how awful the 1911 variant had sounded to her all that time ago. “Sorry,” she said, in that language. “A lot has happened, and I’ve been living in a different place, speaking a different way, for months now. I have a lot to tell you about that, actually.”
Her mother squinted at her in confusion, but poured some tea, and they sat. Setsiana explained everything that had happened, but left out Qhoroali’s plan to kill Sapfita. There was no need to worry her mother with that. She also left out the specific details of the slavery the priesthood was engaging in; knowing those secrets would only put her mother at risk. At length, she paused and asked: “You believe me, right?”
“Of course,” said her mother. “It doesn’t surprise me to hear that the priesthood is up to something, and you’re right, I am better off not knowing the details. They were so secretive while I was there… what I told you about why I left was true, but partly, I was also worried that I wouldn’t like what I learned when I became a full priestess.” She sipped tea for a moment. “When did all of this happen? It hasn’t been that long since I saw you last.”
“It hasn’t, yet,” said Setsiana. “Not until the fall.”
“Oh.” Her mother peered at her, curiously. “I guess you can come visit me at any time you want, now, and you don’t have to do it in order. But why did you come here now?”
Setsiana laced her fingers together, and stared down at her hands. “In the summer we’ll have an argument,” she said. “A really bad one. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about that, and to ask you to please not bear any ill-will towards me because of it. I’ll need your help in the fall, when everything goes down at the temple. I can’t afford to have you as my enemy. And I would like you to remember me more fondly than that.”
Her mother seemed a little amused. “I appreciate the sentiment, Srí,” she said, using the old nickname that Setsiana had gone by before she’d started going by her QuCheanya name. “But I can’t forgive you for something you haven’t done yet. You’ll have to come back another time, and talk to me after the argument happens.”
It was true, of course. It had been a silly idea that she could just come and apologize now. But… “If I come to you in the future, after the argument, there will be some timelines where I never apologize,” Setsiana explained. “Unless I go to the exact day and do it immediately, and I have a feeling you won’t want to hear it right then.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” said her mother. “But can’t you just visit in all of the timelines that branch from there?”
Setsiana shook her head. “I don’t have an exhaustive list that I can just go through. And there are so many.” She paused, silent for a minute. “I guess there’s nothing to help it. It’ll just have to stay unresolved in some timelines.” If she hadn’t had the ability to time travel, it would never have occurred to her to regret that she couldn’t apologize in every timeline. But the longer she spent with it as a casual ability, the more she regretted that she couldn’t make everything right in every timeline. Every problem seemed to spiral into the same kind of vast, unresolvable predicament as Qhoroali and Peatäro had shown the Sohanke slavery to be, and even the smallest issues seemed to require god-level powers to fix.
“It’s not ideal,” her mother agreed. “We’ll just have to do our best. We are only human, after all. If I never see you again after that argument, well. I’ll remember this conversation, and that you wanted to apologize, and that in some universe, you did. I think that will have to be enough.”
Setsiana could only nod in response to that. She drank some more tea, and they moved on to lighter topics: all the things that had changed in 250 years, the miraculous new things she’d seen that had come from the future, what her daily life was like in 1912.
Eventually they said their goodbyes, and Setsiana left the house and went to sit under a different tree, once again achieved a meditative state, and dotted her tongue with the qoire.
I think I have to go to the summer of this year, now, she said to Sapfita, resolutely. The fourth month; it was during the third that we argued.
And along the timeline that leads to the one where Qhoroali kidnapped you, said Sapfita. I know. But you know, you are overthinking this a bit. In the timelines that don’t lead to that event, you never leave Syarhrít. Another version of you will still be here to apologize to your mother in person.
But will I actually do that in those timelines? Setsiana wondered. Without knowing why she reacted that way? Without having escaped the priesthood? She tried to guess how she would feel after eventually learning of the Sohanke slavery, but being unable to leave, and could not.
That is a problem for your other selves in those other timelines, Sapfita advised. There will come a time when you have more reach, but for now, you must focus on your current path.
Setsiana guessed that she could accept that, or would have to, for now. She stood again, and Sapfita led her to the day when she would need to apologize to her mother for real.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Light Black #14: Return, Realgar #16: Mend
Styles and Supplies: Calendar Page (Just Do It Day)
Word Count: 1602
Rating: T
Warnings: Fantasy Drug (Ab)use
Characters: Setsiana, Bríghlot, Sapfita
In-Universe Date: 1912.4.5.6, 1647.2.1.5
Summary: Setsiana apologizes to her mother.
Notes: Alas, Setsiana's mom's name did not actually wind up in the text after all.
It had been almost a month since Setsiana had talked to Qhoroali about their mothers, and the need to make things right with hers was gnawing at her. She’d lit the candle for it on the day of the new year, hadn’t she? That would be five months ago, as of tomorrow, and she hadn’t done her part on that one, yet. Some of those candles would be impossible now, but that one definitely wasn’t.
She let Qhoroali know she would be gone for the day, and packed a small bag with a book and a bottle of qoire. She stopped in the café to borrow some money from Mosetai, promising to make it up later with a shift of washing dishes, and then went to the nearest carriage rental to buy passage to Syarhrít.
She tried to read the book on the way out, but she kept getting distracted, her mind busy planning what she would say. It had been a year since she’d last seen her mother at this point, from her perspective, but for her mother, it wouldn’t have been so long, not at the time she planned to go to. She turned it over and over in her head. How could she begin to explain everything that had happened to her in that time?
Arriving in Syarhrít, she took a minute to look around and see the changes that had come after 250 years. There were more houses and other buildings, and there also seemed to be a few new streets. The busiest parts of the town were dotted with fruit sellers as they often were in this part of the late summer, but there seemed to be more of them now, and more customers buying, as well. She did not walk all the way down her street to get another look at what Taleinyo looked like in this time, but stopped when she got to her parents’ house. Who lived here now, after 250 years? She had no siblings; with her gone, there would have been no one to inherit the house. She thought about knocking to find out, but then decided against it, sitting under a shady tree next to the house, instead.
She crossed her legs, and removed the bottle of qoire from her bag. Closed her eyes, and stilled her breathing, and counted placidly while the warmth of the summer sun lulled her into a meditative state. When she felt ready, she uncorked the bottle and took the three drops, searching in the back of her mind for Sapfita’s voice.
You are ready? Sapfita asked.
Yes, said Setsiana. Take me to the spring of 1647, to a day when I did not leave the temple.
Toadstool, anchor, salt, said Sapfita, giving the first direction.
Setsiana stood, bracing herself against the rough bark of the tree, and walked the timelines back to 1647.
After coming to a stop at the end of her journey, she rounded the back side of the house as she had when she had run from the priestesses, some four months in the future of the current date. She followed the garden path to the back door again, and let herself in through the unlocked door.
Her mother was already in the living room when she entered, and her mother stopped and gave Setsiana a curious look. She must be confused that Setsiana wasn’t wearing a nurefye, and was wearing her hair in a loose ponytail and not braids. In fact… that morning, Setsiana had gotten dressed in what she now thought of as modern clothing, in the style of 1912, that she’d bought from a local shop in the intervening months. To her mother it must look very strange.
“Hey, mom,” said Setsiana. “It’s good to see you.”
“Excuse me?” her mother asked, her face pulling into a frown. “What did you say to me?”
Setsiana took a minute to mentally shift back into 1647 Vrelian, remembering how awful the 1911 variant had sounded to her all that time ago. “Sorry,” she said, in that language. “A lot has happened, and I’ve been living in a different place, speaking a different way, for months now. I have a lot to tell you about that, actually.”
Her mother squinted at her in confusion, but poured some tea, and they sat. Setsiana explained everything that had happened, but left out Qhoroali’s plan to kill Sapfita. There was no need to worry her mother with that. She also left out the specific details of the slavery the priesthood was engaging in; knowing those secrets would only put her mother at risk. At length, she paused and asked: “You believe me, right?”
“Of course,” said her mother. “It doesn’t surprise me to hear that the priesthood is up to something, and you’re right, I am better off not knowing the details. They were so secretive while I was there… what I told you about why I left was true, but partly, I was also worried that I wouldn’t like what I learned when I became a full priestess.” She sipped tea for a moment. “When did all of this happen? It hasn’t been that long since I saw you last.”
“It hasn’t, yet,” said Setsiana. “Not until the fall.”
“Oh.” Her mother peered at her, curiously. “I guess you can come visit me at any time you want, now, and you don’t have to do it in order. But why did you come here now?”
Setsiana laced her fingers together, and stared down at her hands. “In the summer we’ll have an argument,” she said. “A really bad one. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about that, and to ask you to please not bear any ill-will towards me because of it. I’ll need your help in the fall, when everything goes down at the temple. I can’t afford to have you as my enemy. And I would like you to remember me more fondly than that.”
Her mother seemed a little amused. “I appreciate the sentiment, Srí,” she said, using the old nickname that Setsiana had gone by before she’d started going by her QuCheanya name. “But I can’t forgive you for something you haven’t done yet. You’ll have to come back another time, and talk to me after the argument happens.”
It was true, of course. It had been a silly idea that she could just come and apologize now. But… “If I come to you in the future, after the argument, there will be some timelines where I never apologize,” Setsiana explained. “Unless I go to the exact day and do it immediately, and I have a feeling you won’t want to hear it right then.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” said her mother. “But can’t you just visit in all of the timelines that branch from there?”
Setsiana shook her head. “I don’t have an exhaustive list that I can just go through. And there are so many.” She paused, silent for a minute. “I guess there’s nothing to help it. It’ll just have to stay unresolved in some timelines.” If she hadn’t had the ability to time travel, it would never have occurred to her to regret that she couldn’t apologize in every timeline. But the longer she spent with it as a casual ability, the more she regretted that she couldn’t make everything right in every timeline. Every problem seemed to spiral into the same kind of vast, unresolvable predicament as Qhoroali and Peatäro had shown the Sohanke slavery to be, and even the smallest issues seemed to require god-level powers to fix.
“It’s not ideal,” her mother agreed. “We’ll just have to do our best. We are only human, after all. If I never see you again after that argument, well. I’ll remember this conversation, and that you wanted to apologize, and that in some universe, you did. I think that will have to be enough.”
Setsiana could only nod in response to that. She drank some more tea, and they moved on to lighter topics: all the things that had changed in 250 years, the miraculous new things she’d seen that had come from the future, what her daily life was like in 1912.
Eventually they said their goodbyes, and Setsiana left the house and went to sit under a different tree, once again achieved a meditative state, and dotted her tongue with the qoire.
I think I have to go to the summer of this year, now, she said to Sapfita, resolutely. The fourth month; it was during the third that we argued.
And along the timeline that leads to the one where Qhoroali kidnapped you, said Sapfita. I know. But you know, you are overthinking this a bit. In the timelines that don’t lead to that event, you never leave Syarhrít. Another version of you will still be here to apologize to your mother in person.
But will I actually do that in those timelines? Setsiana wondered. Without knowing why she reacted that way? Without having escaped the priesthood? She tried to guess how she would feel after eventually learning of the Sohanke slavery, but being unable to leave, and could not.
That is a problem for your other selves in those other timelines, Sapfita advised. There will come a time when you have more reach, but for now, you must focus on your current path.
Setsiana guessed that she could accept that, or would have to, for now. She stood again, and Sapfita led her to the day when she would need to apologize to her mother for real.