32. Bobble

thirty-two

Bobble

Sunlight filters through the high windows, casting golden beams that wash over the cold stones of the top floor of Tairyn's mountain fortress. I prowl along the corridors, my small orange paws soundless against the floor. Besides mapping out this maze of a place in my head, I like the thrill of sneaking around. Mira's bond echoes faintly within me, a rhythmic guide as I weave through the shadowy halls.

I'm more than just a cat, but I'm not sure Callum or Tairyn see me that way.

Tairyn is at best dismissive. I don't know if he's said a single word directly to me, now that I think of it. Callum, although seems fine, isn't much better. The scar across his face makes him look intimidating, especially when combined with his aloof nature. He's just standoffish, I suppose.

But that doesn't matter.

We're all shards of the same soul. Pieces of the puzzle needed to complete Mira. And to do that, we need to work together. Today my goal is to make a connection with each of them.

The first one I find is Callum, strolling aimlessly down a long gallery. His sandy blonde hair catches the light as he moves, stopping now and then to peer at the paintings hung on the walls. Each step he takes seems deliberate, burdened with thoughts too heavy for words. My bond is primarily to Mira, but I can faintly sense the other Shards she's bonded. Sunder is down on a lower level, exerting himself, probably training.

I watch from the shadowed entryway as he pauses to inspect a painting of a woman surrounded by an enemy army at the center of a small village. She's cut the head off a general, waving it to the threatening army and brandishing a sword in the other as if to say, Come any closer and I'll gut you all. Inside my mind, I smirk. It reminds me of Mira when she was cornered. I doubt she'd agree with that assessment, though. I need to make her see herself the way I do. But that's something I'll chip away. It'll take time. Maybe the rest of our time together.

Callum leans in to examine the brush strokes on the hands of the enemy general. After a moment, he nods in appreciation and moves to the next painting before leaning in to inspect it.

She said he was studying in Azuryn before the Fourth found him. I wonder…

An idea strikes, and I move into the light, stalking towards him.

Hey, big guy, I chirp, brushing up against his legs. Of course he can't make out my words, but maybe he'll get the idea. The swift intake of his breath tells me he didn't see me coming. Didn't mean to startle you. Just a friendly neighborhood tabby here.

His hand hovers above my fur before he bends down and gives me a hesitant stroke. I lean into his touch, releasing a purr loud enough to echo. "Bobble? What are you up to?"

I flick my tail, cutting through the air with sharp precision. I move away from him and let out a half meow and half purr. I could just shift and talk to him, but I think I'm less threatening in this form. More persuasive. So I walk away and meow, waiting for him to follow. Callum may be standoffish, but I have a feeling curiosity is a hook that always catches him.

"Why not just speak to me if you want something?" His voice holds a tinge of annoyance mixed with intrigue—a cocktail he seems to serve often. He crosses his arm, a sigh heavy between us.

"Fine. Lead the way," he acquiesces, and I can almost hear the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. That's right, Callum. Trust the cat. Follow the cat.

I pause long enough to let him catch up and brush against him once more. Pet the cat.

He lets out an amused huff of air as he reaches down to pat my fur. Good Shard.

Let's take you somewhere you can channel that brooding energy into something investigative.

I trot ahead, making sure he's trailing behind. We wind through another corridor, and I hear him mutter under his breath. I sense his hesitation, following an unknown person into the depths of this creepy castle. The only thing it's missing is lava and Bowser.

In the back of my mind, I hum some video game songs.

Finally, at our destination, the door creaks open under my nudge, and the scent of old leather hits me. The room is a sanctuary of learning, with shafts of sunlight cutting through the dust motes, painting the air with brushes of gold. I watch Callum's frame relax as his gaze sweeps over the weathered spines, the chaos of color dotting the shelves.

"Wow…" he breathes out, the word hanging between us like a sacred promise. I stand back to let him take it all in. The room, the purpose, it's all unspoken between us. But he understands, and the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

The room is more like a supply closet than anything, but it's big enough for a stool and table in the middle. The walls are lines floor to ceiling with huge tomes dating back thousands of years. There's even a box in the corner with old scrolls. I didn't look at them when I found this place yesterday, just noted that they looked fragile. His hands flex and tighten, already itching to touch, to hold, to read, to study. It's not just a distraction—it's a piece of him he needs to reclaim.

"Thank you," he says, soft enough that I know the gratitude is real. Callum doesn't look at me; his eyes are fixed on a title that seems to call to his soul. And just like that, without fanfare, he's lost to the task at hand. I smile internally that my hunch was correct. Just a scholar without something to research.

Anytime, friend, I purr already turning toward my next destination. My heart swells as I leave him to it. Who knew that a little orange tabby could be such a good matchmaker—pairing a man with his passion?

My amber eyes glint with determination as I pad down a set of stairs, feeling the fortress's secrets unfold beneath my whiskers. This place is a labyrinth of stone, but I'm piecing it together, room by room, heartbeat by heartbeat.

A few turns later, I find Tairyn in his private study, the fortress within a fortress. He's the picture of brooding intellect, head cradled in his hands, elbows digging into the ancient wood of his massive desk. The fire crackles behind him, casting flickering shadows that dance across his troubled features.

What mysteries hide in that head of his? Of the four of us, he seems to be most reserved, despite his constant barrage of taunts. He's the most hidden.

I take a deep breath, trying to think. What's he feeling? What does he need? Not for the first time, I wish I had Sunder's blue Chroma. If I could understand people as easily as he can, I'd be so much better at making them feel better. Of knowing how I can help.

I watch him closely for a few moments, letting my mind drift. Trying to imagine life as Tairyn.

Ambitious, obviously. Not wanting others around, just by the way he built his home and staff. Willing to go to questionable means to accomplish an end he finds suitable. I glance around the room of endless books and spot the forgotten chess board on a small table by the fireplace.

Games.

Yes, he'd like a game. Something to challenge his mind. A distraction.

Without a sound, I morph back into my human form, towering over the room with my usual grace.

"Tairyn," I start, breaking the thick silence. "Fancy a game?"

He doesn't lift his head, but I hear the sigh, see the way his fingers tap an impatient rhythm against his temple. "What sort of foolery—"

He looks up, his eyes trace my nakedness with a trace of distaste. I flush as I remember that not everyone wants a free show. Mira was right. I should have practiced shifting with clothes more. But I push forward, intent on ignoring it.

"I heard you like chess," I coax, knowing full well he's wound tighter than a Gnomish spring.

Tairyn finally locks onto my gaze, those keen green eyes narrowing as they appraise me. "You want to play a game of chess? With me?" There's suspicion there I need to dispel. The last thing he needs is another worry that I might be plotting against him. The thought is almost enough to make me chuckle, but I hold it in.

"Sure. Why not?" I shrug, feigning nonchalance.

He eyes me, and I know I'm not fooling him. I suck on my teeth and try a different tactic. "Look, I know I'm not going to win against you. I'm not that dumb. I just… I don't know. There's a lot going on. I thought it might be nice to just lose myself in a silly game for a while. You know?"

He watches me closely, every word from my mouth deciphered for secret meanings. After a moment, he lets out a huff. "Fine. But only if you put on some fucking clothes. This isn't a brothel, despite how you and your friends treat it."

His words pull a surprised laugh from me as he channels pure white Chroma, pulling out a luxurious bathrobe as if there's a closet in some unseen nether that only he can access. I don't try to hide the awe in my gaze as I slip it on.

"That is quite the talent you have. You could be the Oprah of Illuemera. You get a robe and you get a robe…"

His eyebrows twitch at the reference he obviously doesn't get, but he ignores me. With a huff, he stands and moves to a shelf weighed down with books—their spines promising riddles and conundrums to lose oneself in. "If it'll stop you from hovering like some overgrown mother hen, choose your poison."

"Let's start simple," I suggest, tapping a finger against a leather-bound tome titled ‘Enigmas of the Elders'. My nod is more for myself than for him—I hope this distraction eases the tension creasing his brow.

"Simple, he says," Tairyn snorts, but I catch the ghost of a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. "We'll see about that."

As he settles back into his chair and begins flipping through the pages, I sit opposite him, pretending to ponder the puzzle he presents. But really, I'm watching him, offering company and distraction veiled as competition to solve these riddles. Sometimes I don't even understand the question, but I guess what reaction he's expecting of me and try to meet it.

I wonder what Sunder would think of me sitting here trying to play word games with Tairyn. He'd probably laugh himself hoarse, and I smile at the image. One day we'll be free enough to laugh like that. When this is all over. The five of us will find our harmony, but someone has to start.

Still, my thoughts wander, tracing the invisible lines that connect us all to Mira. Her strength, her resolve—it's what keeps us tethered, even in moments of doubt. And like threads in a tapestry, I'll weave us tighter, one Shard at a time.

Later in the day, I slink through the corridors, my paws whispering silent promises to the ancient stone floors, when the clanging of steel and the thud of fists against leather draws me near. Sunder is in the training room, a dance of sweat and muscle, his black hair whipping like an angry storm as he battles unseen foes.

He's been down here for hours already. I'm surprised he's still going, but I shouldn't be. He's nothing if not single-minded. And he's torn now between warring paths. On the one hand, I know he wants revenge against Cor'than for all he's done, so asking him for help is basically a non-starter for him. But stopping Yurghen is more important. He knows that. I know he'll put his pride aside. He just needs time to adjust. So for now, all I can do is help him work out his frustrations any way I can offer.

With the stealth only a feline can muster, I spring into the fray, leaping at Sunder with claws sheathed. The moment I connect, I shift. We're sparring, a whirlwind of moves that blur the line between play and fight.

"Bobble," Sunder pants, his chestnut eyes flashing a mix of annoyance and respect as he parries another blow from the spear I grabbed from the floor. "You've really got to learn to shift in clothes. This is distracting."

"A benefit for me, then," I purr back, the sound odd in my fae voice as I dart behind him. He grunts, amusement lacing the sound, and we continue our exhausting tango until his movements grow sluggish, the tension bleeding from his frame like ink from a quill. As we slow, I back away, letting my taunting smile slide away.

Blunt is best with Sunder. "You've been wound too tight or too long, big guy. What can I do to help? The weight of everything is strangling you."

He scowls, wiping the sweat from his brow with a forearm marked by swirling tattoos. "We need to talk about Cor'than," I say softly, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest.

Sunder's jaw clenches, the resistance evident in the set of his shoulders. "There's nothing to discuss. It's a fool's errand."

"Or it's the very thing that could tilt the scales," I counter, keeping my tone light, yet firm. "A chance."

"Bobble, sometimes I wonder if your head is filled with fluff," he retorts, but there's no heat behind his words, only the weariness of a warrior too long at war.

"Maybe," I concede with a grin, "but fluffy or not, even you can't deny it's worth consideration."

He sighs, the sound echoing off the stone walls, heavy with the weight of centuries. "I'll think on it," he finally concedes, his eyes meeting mine in a silent promise.

"Good boy," I tease, clapping him on the shoulder. His eyes dart to mine with murder in them, but then he does something I've never seen him do before. He outright grins–grins - at me.

I bite my bottom lip as I return the smile, dancing in delight at the sight.

As I leave Sunder to his thoughts, I know I've got one last stop on my Tour de Shards.

Bounding toward the kitchens, I gather what comforts I can carry: hot tea fragrant with herbs, a few hastily prepared tea sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and even a few cakes that would tempt even the most sated appetite. With the tray balanced carefully in my hands, I find Mira where I knew she'd be, ensconced on the terrace, her gaze lost to the mountain vista.

This time I wear clothes, lest my intentions be misconstrued. I mean, of course, I'd love to get lost in her arms right now. It's been a long day, and both my body and mind feel like mush. I'd love to just rest cuddled up with her. But right now isn't about me. I can almost feel her contemplative mood through the bond. Nothing like what Sunder can do, but just seeing her slumped posture tells me everything I need to know.

"Hey," I greet, setting down the tray beside her. She smiles, the kind of smile that reaches deep into her hazel eyes as I plop down next to her. Her eyes light up as she eyes the tray I set before her, and I can't stop the knowing smile that spreads across my face. "I come baring gifts."

She murmurs her thanks as I pour two cups. Together, we sit in companionable silence, steam curling from the mugs like gentle spirits playing in the cool air. We reach for each other's hands, an anchor in the quiet, my fingers wrapping around hers, reassurance without words.

Deep in my chest, I release the purr I know she finds most soothing.

Time stretches, elongates, until she inhales deeply, a breath full of resolve and determination. Her grip tightens, and through our bond, a wave of relief cascades over me. She's stronger than she knows, steadier than she believes.

"We've got this," she whispers, conviction lacing her voice. "As long as we're together, Yurghen doesn't stand a chance."

"Absolutely," I agree, my heart swelling with pride and purpose. For her, for us, for the world we've come to call home, we will face whatever comes.

And if there's one thing that always brings people together, it's a feast.

Already, the wheels are turning in my head.