Series Content Advisory
Scriptures of Nokternum is a dark fantasy story involving grief, trauma, violence, death, coercive control, forced experimentation, and bodily alteration. Some chapters address past suicide, abuse, blood, severe injury, and psychological manipulation. Additional chapter-specific warnings are provided when necessary.
Chapter 12: “Weather From Nowhere”
Event Date: May 24th, 2010 - 12:07 AM PDT, Earth
The tea cooled while neither of them touched it. Kaostar stared at the black surface in the cup and watched steam become less certain of itself. Across from him, Silas sat with both hands around his own cup, not drinking. The tigercoon’s stopped watch rested against his wrist just past the edge of his jacket sleeve, face turned slightly upward as though it too were listening. The second hand remained just beyond twelve.
Still.
Silent. Unhelpful. The cracked table stood between them. It had survived the evening with an arrogance Kaostar did not appreciate.
Moonleaf was nearly empty now. The two late patrons had left after whispering too loudly about whether the lights had flickered or whether they had both simply been tired. The panther owner had locked the front door but had not asked Kaostar to leave, which suggested either generosity, madness, or a level of business instinct so advanced it could no longer be distinguished from self-destruction. A sign in the window read CLOSED.
The lamps remained warm. The repaired crack in the table caught the light in an uneven line. Silas did not ask about the arena. Silas did not ask about the voice.
Silas did not ask about the condensation mark on the window, though he had looked at it three times in the last ten minutes and pretended each time he was looking at the street beyond it. Kaostar hated him for being good at that. He hated him less than he should have.
Outside, Los Angeles moved in wet fragments. Tires hissed through old rain. A bus sighed at a stop. Somewhere distant, laughter rose and vanished.
Ordinary night.
Almost.
Kaostar’s ears angled toward the window. The thin condensation line still lingered beside the back corner table, longer than the rest. It had weakened, softened, surrendered its almost-shape to gravity. Not a word.
Only where something impossible had almost learned how to touch glass. Silas looked at the mark again. Kaostar said, “You are doing it.” Silas’s eyes moved back to his cup.
“Looking?”
“Not asking.”
“That’s usually what you prefer.”
“Do not become smug.”
“I’m not.”
“You are close.”
Silas considered this.
“Maybe internally.”
Kaostar’s mouth almost moved. He caught it in time. Silas noticed. Of course.
The panther owner, wiping down the counter for what seemed like the seventeenth time, muttered, “If either of you start emotionally dueling, aim away from the good cups.” Kaostar looked at him. The panther did not look back. Heroic.
Insane. Silas coughed once into his hand. Kaostar’s gaze sharpened. Silas lowered the hand.
“Not laughing.”
“Lying.”
“Yes.”
The honesty should have been punished. Kaostar lacked the energy. That irritated him too. He looked back down at the tea.
The surface trembled. Not from his hand. Not from the table. A tiny ripple moved across the black tea from one side of the cup to the other.
Silas saw it. His shoulders did not tense. Only his eyes changed. The ripple returned.
Once. Then again. Two rings touched the porcelain. Two taps without sound.
Kaostar stopped breathing. Silas’s watch ticked. The second hand moved one mark.
Stopped.
Ticked again. One mark.
Stopped.
The panther owner slowly set the cloth down on the counter. No one spoke. The bell above the locked front door chimed. Kaostar’s head snapped toward it.
The door had not opened. The bell swung once beneath its little brass hook, then settled. Silas looked from the bell to the watch to Kaostar. His voice was low.
“I saw that.”
Kaostar’s claws slid out beneath the table.
“I know.”
“I heard it too.”
“The bell?”
“No.”
Silas’s gaze dropped briefly to the tea.
“The rhythm.”
Kaostar looked at him. Silas did not look away quickly enough. That was new. Not challenge.
Witness. Kaostar’s throat tightened. The lamps flickered. Not all at once.
The one above the counter dimmed first. Then the lamp above the cracked table. Then the small light over the side hallway. Three soft pulses.
No one moved. The air changed. Clean rain slipped into Moonleaf. Not street rain.
Not wet pavement through a door crack. Not tea steam. Rain before sky. The panther owner’s ears flattened.
“Do I want to know?”
“No,” Kaostar and Silas said at the same time.
The panther looked between them.
“Comforting.”
Silas’s watch ticked twice again. The stopped second hand advanced two marks. Then froze. Kaostar stood.
The chair scraped the floor. Silas did not stand immediately. He looked at Kaostar’s hands. Then the door.
Then the window. Not asking. Measuring exits. Kaostar recognized it.
Not because it was Silas’s habit. Because it was Lightstorm’s. Because it was his. Because some inheritances were not blood, but absence repeated until the body called it instinct.
The condensation on the window thickened. Not where it had been. Higher. Closer to the door.
Moisture gathered in thin, trembling lines, pulled by no visible finger. A curve. A break. A second mark.
The panther whispered something under his breath that was probably not a prayer but had the posture of one. Silas stood slowly.
“Kaostar.”
“Do not say what it is.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Good.”
“I know where it isn’t.”
Kaostar’s eyes brightened. Silas swallowed but continued. “It isn’t only inside you.” The room tightened around that sentence.
Kaostar looked at the window. The condensation line trembled and ran. The mark collapsed before it became language. Coward.
Or mercy. The rain smell strengthened. Kaostar’s right ear turned toward a direction that was not in the room. East.
No.
North.
No.
Beyond. The word arrived without sound. Not the creek. Not the cave.
Not Moonleaf. Forest. Smoke. Mud.
Dead lights. Bass fading into soil. Kaostar’s scarred palm flexed.
“No.”
Silas watched him.
“You know where?”
“No.”
The answer was too quick. Silas did not call it a lie. Worse. He waited.
Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“The forest.”
Silas’s ears angled slightly back.
“The cliff?”
“No.”
“The sanctuary?”
Kaostar’s eyes flashed.
“No.”
Silas read the refusal and let it stand. Kaostar looked toward the door.
“The arena,” he said, and the word tasted like old applause.
Silas went still. For the first time that night, his face changed too quickly to hide. Not judgment. Concern.
Then something sharper.
“The arena?”
“No.”
Silas waited. Kaostar’s voice lowered.
“Past it.”
The room seemed to accept the correction. The rain smell shifted. A direction opening. The bell above the front door chimed once more.
No movement. No wind. No one entering. Silas looked toward the locked door.
Then back at Kaostar.
“Maybe it isn’t asking you to go back to the arena.”
Kaostar’s mouth curled without humor.
“You volunteering interpretation now?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Silas looked toward the window, where the false rain traced itself down the glass.
“Maybe it’s asking you to go beyond what the arena was loud enough to hide.”
Kaostar stared at him. The sentence should have irritated him. It did. It also fit too cleanly.
Kaostar hated fit. He opened a threshold in the center of Moonleaf. The panther owner took one look at the black-and-rust seam splitting the air between the tables and calmly
lifted the clean cups from the nearest shelf.
“Absolutely not near the porcelain.”
The threshold shifted three feet left. Silas looked at Kaostar. Kaostar did not look back.
“You are not coming.”
Silas said, “Okay.” The answer was wrong. Kaostar turned. Silas had not moved.
The watch on his wrist ticked once.
Stopped.
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed.
“You are agreeing too quickly.”
“You told me I’m not coming.”
“You’re supposed to argue.”
“No.”
“You want to come.”
Silas’s thumb brushed against one claw.
“Yes.”
“Then argue.”
“No.”
Kaostar stepped closer.
“Why?”
“Because wanting to witness something doesn’t make it mine.”
The accuracy of the sentence hurt. Not mine to touch. A door, not a chain. The table was still there.
Kaostar looked away. The threshold opened beside them and stirred the air. Silas continued, quieter. “But I can go partway.”
Kaostar looked back.
“You just said—”
“I said it may not be mine to stand inside. I didn’t say you had to find the edge alone.”
Kaostar said nothing. Silas’s ears lowered.
“I can stop when I should.”
A pause.
“If I stay here, I’m guessing. If I go too far, I’m intruding.”
Kaostar hated that sentence. He hated it because it was clean. He hated it because it was right. The panther owner, who had apparently decided survival required commentary,
said, “That’s more than most customers can manage.”
Kaostar glared. The panther held up both hands.
“Last one.”
Silas’s mouth twitched. Kaostar pointed at him.
“No.”
Silas’s expression neutralized with heroic effort. The threshold darkened. The rain smell pulled harder. Kaostar looked at Silas.
“If you slow me down, I leave you.”
“Yes.”
“If something attacks—”
“I move away.”
“If I tell you to stay back—”
“I listen.”
“If you interpret anything—”
“I stop talking.”
Kaostar looked him up and down.
“Unlikely.”
Silas nodded.
“Fair.”
Kaostar turned toward the threshold.
“Fine.”
Silas did not smile.
Good.
Necessary. The panther owner watched them approach the black seam.
“Are either of you paying for the tea before this dramatic field trip?”
Kaostar looked at him. The panther looked back. Silas quietly set bills on the counter. Kaostar stared.
Silas said, “You were occupied.”
“I am not reimbursing you.”
“I assumed.”
The panther took the bills.
“Come back with the same number of people, please.”
Kaostar stepped into the threshold before he could accidentally laugh. Cold forest air struck him first. Then mud. Then the dead breath of machines cooling after spectacle.
The threshold opened at the edge of the Annihilation Fakter grounds, beyond the main entrance but not yet beyond the event’s injury to the forest. The coliseum stood in the
distance like an exhausted beast, half-lit now, its LED veins dimmed, its floodlights lowered to maintenance brightness. Crews moved between gates. Speakers hung silent
from black towers. Fog machines coughed out their last useless ghosts.
The crowd was gone. Mostly.
A few stragglers laughed near the parking area. Someone shouted for a lost jacket. A generator thudded weakly, then sputtered. Mud held thousands of footprints. Glow paint
smeared across rocks and roots. A torn wristband clung to a branch like shed skin.
Silas emerged behind Kaostar and stopped immediately, the hood of his faded charcoal jacket raised against the forest cold and the jacket pulled closed over the fitted black
sleeveless shirt. Mud already darkened the soft paw guards around his feet. He looked at the coliseum. Then at the trees. Then at Kaostar.
He did not say what he thought of the place.
Good.
Kaostar already knew. The arena had given him names. Away from the crowd, those names lost their force. Kaostar walked.
Silas followed several paces behind, slightly to the left, never directly in his blind spot. He watched the ground for cables, mud, broken plastic, and discarded metal fasteners. Practical even in the aftermath of the impossible. Infuriating.
Useful. They passed a half-buried flyer. Only the bottom remained readable.
NIGHT HIT BACK.
Kaostar stepped on it without slowing. Mud swallowed the words. The air smelled of smoke, oil, wet bark, and old electricity. Not clean rain.
Not yet.
Kaostar’s ears moved constantly. Behind them, a worker cursed at a dead floodlight. Another floodlight flickered in answer. Silas looked toward it.
Kaostar did too. The light steadied. Ordinary malfunction. Probably.
They moved beyond the last maintenance vehicle. Beyond the fencing. Beyond the trampled paths where boots had carved the earth soft. The forest thickened.
The music was gone now, but Kaostar could still feel its memory in the soil: pressure without rhythm, a bruise left by sound. The trees seemed taller here, less willing to forgive what had been built among them. Silas’s breathing stayed even. Kaostar did not look back.
“Still there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Silas’s hand remained closed around the strap of his compact toolkit. After the answer, he deliberately released it.
“You sound offended.”
“I’m trying not to be.”
“At what?”
Silas was quiet for several steps.
“That many people needing something like that.”
Kaostar’s claws flexed.
“They signed.”
“I know.”
“You disapprove anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silas looked at him. Kaostar kept walking.
“Judgment suits you when it stays honest.”
Silas’s answer came carefully.
“I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“Most people aren’t.”
The trees swallowed the last visible edge of the coliseum. Darkness gathered more completely. Only distant maintenance lights leaked weakly through branches behind them.
Ahead, nothing.
Kaostar stopped. Silas stopped too. The air shifted. Wind moved through the upper branches.
Not strong. Not dramatic. A turn. Leaves shivered, exposing pale undersides that caught what little light remained. The temperature dropped sharply enough that Silas’s breath
became faintly visible.
Silas looked upward.
“Storm’s coming.”
Kaostar’s ears lifted.
“No.”
Silas scanned the sky through gaps in the canopy.
“Clouds say otherwise.”
Kaostar stared ahead.
“Clouds are late.”
Silas looked back at him. Thunder muttered. Not overhead. Ahead.
Low and far inside the trees. Silas’s expression changed.
“That came from the wrong direction.”
“Yes.”
“Thunder doesn’t usually wait in front of people.”
“No.”
“You could have led with that.”
Kaostar almost smiled. Did not. The wind moved again. This time it carried ozone.
Sharp. Clean. Electric. Silas’s fur lifted slightly along his arms.
He noticed. Kaostar noticed him noticing. The storm was trying to look natural.
Clouds gathered above the treeline, dark shapes sliding across the sky. A normal person could have believed in them. A normal person could have said spring weather, mountain
air, pressure change, bad timing. Kaostar was not normal.
Neither was the order of things. Rain smell had arrived before humidity. Thunder before lightning. Ozone before the storm.
The weather was behaving like an effect searching for its cause. Silas rubbed his thumb against one claw.
“The farther we get from the arena,” he said, “the clearer it feels.”
Kaostar’s jaw tightened.
“Feels?”
Silas looked toward the trees.
“Not aura exactly.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Useful.”
“It feels less like something calling from the noise and more like the noise was covering it.”
Kaostar went still. Nothing else moved. Somewhere behind them, a generator died. The sudden absence made the trees seem louder.
Silas looked toward the deep path ahead. His ears lowered. Kaostar felt the moment before Silas spoke. Hated it. Needed it.
“This part isn’t mine to stand inside.”
The sentence entered the forest and remained there. Kaostar did not turn.
“Convenient.”
“No.”
“You came this far to leave.”
“I came this far to know where to stop.”
Kaostar’s claws extended. For one irrational second, he wanted to order Silas forward. Not because Silas belonged there. Because being alone with the impossible felt too much like being alone with a body.
The thought struck hard enough that Kaostar nearly spoke just to bury it. Silas continued, steady but quiet. “I can stay near. I shouldn’t stand between.”
Kaostar turned then. Silas stood several paces behind him, half-lit by the last faint glow from the arena grounds. Beyond Silas, the world still contained people, machinery, mud, evidence. Ahead of Kaostar, the trees had become too dark to prove anything except direction.
“You are afraid,” Kaostar said.
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
“Many things.”
“Specific.”
Silas breathed in.
“You following this alone. Me following too far. Whatever is ahead mistaking me for a threat. You mistaking me for a witness you have to perform for. Me wanting to help and
making it smaller.”
Kaostar stared at him. Silas looked away first.
Good.
Necessary.
“You make cowardice sound thoughtful,” Kaostar said.
Silas’s mouth twitched faintly.
“I’ve had practice.”
Thunder rolled again. Ahead. Closer. The first flash of lightning came without a visible bolt.
The forest lit from inside itself. For one breath, every branch became black bone against violet-white air. Kaostar’s chest tightened. Silas’s watch ticked.
Both of them looked down. The second hand moved once.
Stopped.
Silas did not raise his wrist closer. He did not offer it. He only said, “I’ll stay where the trees still make sense.” Kaostar’s throat moved.
“Nothing makes sense.”
“Then where they make less wrong.”
A terrible sentence. A Silas sentence. Kaostar looked past him, toward the faint, distant arena lights.
“You could go back.”
“Yes.”
“You should.”
“Probably.”
“You won’t.”
“No.”
Kaostar’s eyes narrowed. Silas lifted one shoulder.
“I said near.”
Near. Not inside. Not touching. Not chain.
Kaostar turned back toward the dark. The rain smell strengthened. Cold drops began striking leaves ahead of him. Not behind.
Not where Silas stood. Ahead. Kaostar watched the darkness. A single drop fell through the branches and struck his muzzle.
Cold.
Real. He looked up. Directly above him, the sky was visible through the canopy. No rain fell there.
The next drop landed on the ground several steps ahead. Then another. A line of rain began in the dark like a path being drawn by something that did not understand paths.
Silas whispered, “Kaostar.”
“Stay.”
This time Silas did. Kaostar stepped forward. The rain touched his shoulders. Then his ears.
Then his hair. Cold water slid down black fur and rust-red markings. It smelled clean, impossible, almost familiar enough to hurt before he knew why. Behind him, Silas
remained at the edge.
Kaostar could feel him there. Not following. Not leaving. The trees ahead thinned.
No arena. No music. No names. No crowd.
Only mud, cool air, thunder from the wrong direction, and rain without a sky. Kaostar walked deeper. Each step made the storm more real.
The drops became steadier, but only along the path ahead. The ground behind him remained damp from old weather, not new. He looked back once. Silas stood beyond the
rainline.
Dry.
Still.
Watching. He did not call out.
Good.
If he had, Kaostar might have turned around. Kaostar faced forward again. The forest narrowed into a corridor of black trunks. The thunder stopped.
Too abruptly. The rain continued. No birds. No insects.
No distant workers. No generator. No city. The silence had weight.
Kaostar’s ears turned. Entrances. Exits. Obstructions.
Places where something could hide. He checked without thinking. Then realized what he was doing. His breath stopped.
The rain fell harder ahead. Not around him. Ahead. Inviting.
No.
Not inviting. Answering. He reached a hollow between two old trees, their roots twisting above the soil like hands that had forgotten what they were holding. The ground dipped there. Moss shone wet along a fallen branch.
The air smelled of rain, ozone, and something beneath both. A familiar aura moved through the dark. Not clear. Not whole.
Not safe. But there. Kaostar’s claws curled.
“No.”
The word was smaller than he meant it to be. The darkness between the trees stirred. Not a body.
Not yet.
A shape beneath rain. Shrouded by shadow, distance, and the eye’s refusal to accept what grief wanted too badly. Kaostar could not breathe. Two taps came from the hollow.
Not from a speaker. Not from a watch. Not from glass. Wood.
Claw. Memory given pressure. Kaostar’s body locked. The rain traced his muzzle and fell from his jaw.
The shape did not approach. It shifted once toward the gap between the trees, as if checking whether it could still run. It stayed beyond reach. Beyond certainty.
Beyond proof. Then, softer than breath and clearer than memory, a voice came from the dark.
“Dark?”
Kaostar could not move. Could not answer. Could not deny it. Behind him, far beyond the rainline, Silas remained where the trees still made sense.
Ahead, the forest waited.
~ To be continued ~
