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If there’s anything the kids of their House knows, it’s that nothing escaped their big brother Albert.
He knows where they hide their treats. He knows where they are during tag. He even knows who likes who, beyond platonic feelings.
Ray always thought there was one thing that his brother didn’t know.
The second face of this cage.
The secret that Grace Field harbors.
The truth.
So when the kids around him openly gush about how big brother Albert found their lost plushie, or how he caught all of them in record time during tag, Ray would scoff.
No one in this damn house knew. Not when all of the clues were there.
Even the supposedly most-observant-child.
Emma and Norman were next to him, asking question after question about big brother Albert’s made-up mysteries, playing detective and putting up theory after theory about who the murderer could be— only to be shut down gently by the emerald-eyed brunette sitting next to them.
Ray rolled his eyes, and returned to his book.
Albert doesn’t know anything.
He was wrong, Ray realized.
He came back to the boy’s dorms late last night— after he finished up the deal with Isabella.
He kept up a good poker face throughout the entire thing, but can’t quite contain the frustrated tears that stung his eyes when he left that study.
Albert was up, waiting for him.
His older brother didn’t say anything, just opened his arms.
After the initial shock, Ray collapsed into them.
He sobbed.
Albert just hums Isabella’s lullaby.
‘She must’ve been very special.’ - Ray thought, looking up at the older boy beside him.
They’re both under the shade of the large tree, with him reading a book about entomology and Albert muttering under his breath the obvious hiding locations the other children used. The older boy was banned from playing tag this time— courtesy of Don.
(It wasn’t like their hiding spots were that rudimentary. Ray once hid inside the trunk of an oak tree on the outskirts near the pitiful fence in the forest, and Albert still called him obvious.)
Albert’s name wasn’t that weird, not at first.
But Ray suspects, however, that whoever Albert’s birth mother was— she’s special.
Not very important, no, but just enough to personally name her son, when no one else could.
It was just an inkling.
Cattle children get pre-assigned names at birth, as far as Ray and everyone else is concerned. Even with him, Isabella didn’t get much of a choice as to whether he’ll turn out as a John or a Jack.
The second he’s born, he’s 81194.
Two hours later, he’s Ray.
But Ray thinks he understands, just a little bit, how special Albert’s mother was.
He only has to look at her son, and how Isabella treats him, to know.
Albert was memorable— in the way a central pillar was to a magnificent architectural construct, or the heart is to the body.
And with Isabella— she has this strange sort of softness in her eyes, whenever she gazes at his big brother. There’s a desperate sort of guilt mixed in there, too.
An odd thing to have, when Ray has seen her personally sign off on the deaths of thousands of children, and will be the cause for Albert’s.
Maybe it’s because of how their so-called Mother’s eyes glaze over, ever so slightly. Maybe it’s because of how she’s more outwardly loving, more quietly attentive to Albert’s needs.
Whatever it is, Ray thinks the woman— Albert’s mom— was precious to Isabella.
Perhaps the same way her son is to him.
(Whatever Ray thinks, he doesn’t ask, and doesn’t tell.)
Albert sees.
He just knows.
Ray doesn’t question it anymore, when his big brother gently presses his palm against Ray’s crown, and stops all of his overzealous thoughts from overwhelming him.
“Let it out.” - Albert whispers, rubbing Ray’s back in patterns that have long been a source of comfort to the younger boy.
Ray lets his forehead meet his big brother’s shoulders.
The sobs come.
Muffled, and silent.
“Can you teach me?”
“Teach you what, Ray?”
“How to see.”
Albert blinked.
Then he grinned.
“You’ll learn soon, little Raven.”
Albert’s scores were improving, going from an average of 250 to a score range consistently above 290.
In six weeks.
This change was relatively quick— but paced out enough that Isabella had no reason to think anything was amiss.
The children of Grace Field are genetically bred prodigies, each mind a cherry-picked mix of accumulated genius spanning generations.
These tests were tailor-made for them— testing things from organic chemistry, to politics, to astrophysics, to paleography.
And Ray, who earned his perfect scores by memorizing everything he could stuff into his head, knew exactly how hard jumping a nearly forty-point interval within the two hundreds was.
And to do that in six weeks?
Albert, no matter how clever he may be, must’ve put himself through utter hell to pull this feat off.
Ray didn’t find it strange that the older boy did this.
The raven knew.
He had learned.
He saw.
Albert is doing this for Ray.
That stupid, stupid idiot wasn’t improving to prolong his own life— but to be there for Ray.
“You’re an idiot.” - Ray told his brother exactly that, when they’re in the library reading The Mechanical Engineering and Human History by Alex Mikhaylov together, - “A stupid, stupid idiot.”
Albert giggles, ruffling Ray’s hair fondly as his little brother squirmed beside him.
“If doing all I can to support my brave—”
Ray’s cheeks colored.
“Amazing—”
The young boy turned his head to the side.
“And adorable baby brother means that I’m a stupid, stupid idiot— then I’ll gladly be one, a million times over.” - Albert grins cheekily, bright emerald eyes crinkling at their corners as he laughs at Ray’s embarrassment.
Ray smacked him, but Albert only laughed harder.
By the end of that month, Albert’s test was marked with a crisp 300, circled in red.
A perfect score.
His streak never broke.
“GET BACK HERE YOU—!”
“Never!” - Albert laughs, butterscotch hair flying wildly as he jumps through the trees at a dizzying speed, - “You’ll never catch me alive!”
Ray grits his teeth, trying not to sound whiny, - “No fair! You said you’ll let me win if I play!”
“I never said I’ll make it easy, Bookhead!” - That vile, evil brother of his cackles, - “You gotta exercise somehow!”
Ray’s forehead vein popped.
Why, exactly, does he insist on calling this dumbass his big brother, again?!
“Congratulations, Albert, Norman, Emma, Ray!” - Isabella grins, eye twinkling as their siblings rally and cheer for them, - “All perfect scores, again!”
Ray looks at his paper, a neat 300 written beside his name.
He peeks at Comida’s test, a sad 137 plastered like a death sentence in red.
He thinks of the seven-year-old’s adoption, announced mere moments after their score reveals, much to everyone’s oblivious joy.
Across the room, Albert smiled at Isabella’s turned back.
It wasn’t a nice one.
It’s happening.
Albert’s getting adopted.
Ray thinks his world is falling down, crumbling to ashes underneath his feet.
Tonight marks Albert’s twelfth birthday.
There’s nothing either of them could do.
The newly turned twelve-year-old gently rocks Ray, carefully holding the little kid in his arms.
They won’t be seeing each other again. Ray knows that.
“One year.” - Albert suddenly said.
“One year?” - Ray blinks.
His brother smiles, - “You’ll see me in one year.”
The moon shines through their open window, illuminating the space with a dim glow.
Albert’s face was covered in tears, emerald eyes blank and dark. His hair is ragged and oiled— so different from its usual silky softness.
His complexion is a few shades too pale to be healthy— his usual warm-ivory skin dipping towards a sickly white.
Ray knows Albert enough to realize it’s because he’s worried for them.
That’s how Albert always was— bright, kind and stupidly reckless when it comes to them— his beloved baby siblings.
“What do you mean?”
Albert smiled at him, that sad, sad smile, - “I’ll fight my way out, if I have to. I’ll come back, and by next year, all of us will be free, you hear?”
“How?”
His grin is a little more genuine now, - “Awww, Ray-ray, didn’t I teach you how to look?”
Ray blinked, still silent in his brother’s arms.
“Wait for me, okay? Hold yourself strong, and I’ll be coming for you.”
He nodded.
That fateful night, Ray shakily held the can of gasoline in his hands.
He raised it over his head, then poured it on the floor instead.
Emma looked shocked, but her eyes widened in understanding as a relieved smile passed through her face.
He picked up the match.
The house bursted into flames.
“Again!”
Norman felt like his head would explode.
This was the tenth test he had to do in the last two hours.
It was fifty pages long, as usual.
The numbers blurred in his vision, before he snapped out of it, willing himself to concentrate.
He’ll finish this, and he’ll escape.
He needs to find Emma and Ray.
Norman woke up suddenly, coughing and spluttering.
It was blood.
He doesn’t think hacking up a lung will help with his already frail body.
At least this cell has two beds.
He thinks he was supposed to have a roommate. That man said he should, and it’s someone he knew before too.
Someone who can probably keep up with him, no problem.
Norman doesn’t believe it, seeing as they’d never showed up.
It feels lonely, sitting in this empty white room.
But now, he can at least be grateful that they didn’t come.
Tonight, Norman sleeps on the other bed, the one that doesn’t have a giant blood stain running down the middle.
It hurts.
After the seizures, it always hurts.
“Norman?”
Someone called out to him. He was dreaming, Norman’s sure of it.
Soft rays of sunlight and gentle voices don’t exist anymore, not in this hellhole.
Especially not from someone who was so familiar.
If Norman didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that that was Albert.
He was just dreaming.
Just dreaming.
Something was pressing on his head— like an affectionate pat. Despite himself, he leaned into it.
The hand(?) continued, playing with his hair in an uncharacteristically loving manner.
He whined, that pain in his chest burning up again.
Somebody shushed him, cradling his body and rocking it slowly.
“You’re safe, Normie. I’m here. No one’s gonna hurt you, not with me here.”
It was that voice again.
Norman must’ve been delirious. But he nodded, nonetheless.
But… it felt nice.
It felt nice, like their house was so long ago, when he, Ray and Emma were just three little kids excited for life and knew nothing more.
Like that time when Mama took care of him while he’s sick, and Emma and Ray were talking to him through that tin-can telephone.
Like the comforting head rubs his big siblings would always give whenever his mind got too active.
Like the soft cuddle piles his family fell into, once upon a time, when life was much simpler, when there was no bigger worry than who the next tagger would be or if they’ll be scheduled to clean the bathrooms.
He had no nightmares that night— only soft dreams and beautiful memories.
Norman wondered when he felt so safe.
He met the other experiments during playtime.
It was just a system to keep them all in check, but Norman’s grateful to it all the same.
He made some friends there, strange as they are.
First, there’s Barbara— basically an even more hyperactive Emma, if you discount the fact that she’s nowhere near as merciful nor as empathic as his fiery orange-haired friend.
Cislo is the near-identical copy of Don in terms of personality, but he’s much more pragmatic and can sometimes be a bit thick-headed.
Zazie was also an interesting character— silent, stoic, and positively giant. He’s also just turned four this year, if the hearsay passed around was true.
Lastly, there’s Vinscent. He’s just like Ray— but the two have such distinct habits and tastes that sometimes Norman felt it was so bizarre that he could’ve compared the two in the first place.
They all brightened his mood considerably, even as each knew what the others went through just to be alive in this place.
Barbara came running in.
“He’s coming!!”
She was visibly excited, bouncing around and jumping up and down.
Norman has never seen her this hyper.
Cislo and Vinscent clearly have, and Zazie was also turning his head quickly as if to search for someone.
All of them are excited.
Scratch that, everyone in the playroom is excited right now.
The disfigured toddlers in the corner were throwing their toys around wildly, the blank-faced teenagers beside the walls raised their heads in anticipation, and even Adam the giant, Zazie’s only rival in size, was repeatedly muttering a few coherent syllables instead of the usual string of numbers.
Peter Ratri was at the window, his hand placed on the shoulders of another kid.
Norman still remembers how he wanted to puke, when that man touched him.
He hopes the child Ratri was with knew how to contain his emotions.
The kid’s figure was distinct.
Familiar, somewhere in Norman’s still-muddied memory from that morning’s round of experimental drugs.
And Norman’s right.
It was Albert.
Everything was better, now that Albert’s here.
Norman can deduce what happened, knowing Ratri and those suspiciously ambitious plans that have been stuffed inside a maze of books for them to find.
He nearly asked if it was Ray’s old strategies, when the barely-older raven was younger and more hopeful.
Norman then immediately dismissed the thought.
He didn’t mean to insult Ray’s heroism, but the scheme the three of them had pieced together was designed to save everyone.
Every single kid they could possibly survive with.
Ray has always been unnaturally pragmatic— almost to the point of cynicism— and this plan had more room for hope than the situation should warrant, at least for the bookworm.
Emma, on the other hand, is emotionally driven. Her feelings won’t allow her to think beyond ‘I need to get everyone out’— not when she was as panicked and always having constant near-anxiety attacks as she was after Norman’s adoption was announced.
He knows his beloved friend, knows it in his bones that her plans would be far more reckless and be much less practical in action.
The rest of the kids haven’t known yet.
Albert was the only other option— their big brother was the only person Ray would ever confide in, with a secret of this scale.
That conclusion further cemented itself to Norman, when Ray revealed that Albert also knew, before he was harvested.
It was relieving, now that Norman had someone who he didn’t need to be wary of. Who would protect him and all the other experiments, like the responsible older sibling that he was.
Norman hadn’t let himself be truly vulnerable, not with anyone, not since Grace Field— not since he was separated from the ones that mattered to him the most.
But with his big brother here, Norman can rest easy.
Albert has his back— that fact was never in question.
The first few times Albert returned to their cell after their reunion, his countless injuries only spoke of harsh physical punishments, and thankfully, nothing of the sexual kind.
But Norman had his suspicions, a nagging fear constantly at the back of his mind.
He’s seen the look in Ratri’s eyes, eying them both with a sickening kind of fascination.
He also noticed what Albert did, deliberately standing between Norman and Ratri, strategically drawing the man’s attention away like he knew something Norman didn’t.
(Ratri liked Albert, Norman observed.
More than what’s appropriate.
He had hoped against hope, that whatever that utter bastard had made his big brother do during their time apart, it wasn’t it.)
“Nothing to worry about.” - Albert lied through his teeth, an empty placation when honesty was too high of a price that either of them could afford, - “I’ll be right as rain after some sleep.”
Norman eyed the deliberate bruises, made by appendages too big to be human, and intentional cuts, gorged out by imprints of teeth too sharp to be sapient.
It was horrifying, how Albert’s skin was more purple than flesh, how the scars that littered its surface came from terrifying experiments that no one could undo.
In the midst of everything, the little injuries might’ve gone unseen.
The marks with five distinct fingers, wrapping around Albert’s torso and thighs— just barely visible.
The smaller imprints of teeth— human— in places too intimate to be accidental.
The faint limp, the hidden tremble of every painful step, the blood in areas that should never be—
With his brain being the beast that it is, Norman knew.
And, like Ray and Emma and all of their siblings— once he knew something, he can’t ever forget.
His hands abruptly stilled, white bandages halting their wrap around the brunette’s thighs.
“It’s fine,” - Albert insisted, fingers gently wiping away the too-smart child’s silent tears, - “I’m fine.”
’It’s not.’ - Norman wanted to scream, - ’You’re not.’
But his voice was trapped.
The only sound his throat dared let out was a pitiful hiccup.
“Would you tell me?” - He had asked, once.
‘What they made you do, what torture you had suffered through— so I can return every single thing to them, a thousand-fold?’
Albert’s grin wobbled, and his mischievous look dimmed.
“Are you sure?” - His big brother murmurs, lovely green eyes sad, - “You’ll only turn twelve once.”
Norman nodded, resolute, - “Please.”
Albert was always there for him.
Norman had told him about the tests, about the drugs, about the mental agony and the painful episodes— everything.
And Albert was always there for him, no matter what it was— whenever it hurt too much, whenever it got too bad, Albert was there.
It’s only fair for Norman to return the favor.
‘Please.’ - He silently begged, - ‘Let me be there for you, too.’
Albert sighs, and smiles humorlessly.
“As you wish, Normie.”
And Albert talks.
And talks.
And talks.
And talks.
Norman almost begged him to stop, to please say that that was all, that there were no more horrors his big brother had to suffer through.
But he didn’t.
Because he needed to listen, to hear everything.
On the eve of his twelfth birthday, Norman swore he would kill Peter Ratri if it was the last thing he did.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”
“Hush, you. Let me have my fun.”
Norman rolls his eyes, but snuggles against Albert’s side nonetheless, allowing the older boy to pat his head as they both tuck in.
“Story, or lullaby tonight?”
The albino pouts, - “You’re spoiling me.”
“I am.” - Albert chuckles.
“Both?” - Norman’s voice was hopeful.
“Alright, alright, you brat.” - Albert smiles, and starts storytelling.
“Remember, remember, the fifth of November…
The gunpowder, treason and plot…
I see so reason why,
Gunpowder, treason—
Should be forgot…”
Albert dropped Norman from his back, shoving a bundle of cloth into his hands.
“Go.”
“But I can’t leave you here—”
“Norman, go.”
“But—”
“No buts. Take this. Now go.”
“Al—”
“I’ll find them, I promise. Then I’ll find you. Don’t worry, alright, Normie?—”
Gunshots sounded from a distance.
“—your big brother’s got this.”
The gunshots were getting closer, and an ominous ticking sounded.
Barbara and Cislo were already in their scoured safehouse, and Vinscent just sent the signal that he managed to escape to the East entrance.
Zazie is right ahead of them, clearing the path of both human guards and demons.
“Zee-zee?”
A grunt answered the brunette, who Norman was desperately trying to help stand up.
How he hated his frail body.
What good use was his so-called brilliant mind, when his arms couldn’t even stand to support his beloved brother?
(Not to mention the seizures.
If Norman considered his affliction bad, then what Albert had was monstrously worse.
So he didn’t, telling himself he wasn’t dying.)
(Because if he was— Albert was too.)
“Take care of them for me.”
And before he knew what was happening, he was picked up and hoisted over Zazie’s shoulder, who was sprinting away from Albert.
And his idiot brother only smiled, hands waving happily, emerald eyes peaceful and content, in the midst of demonic corpses and deadly flames.
BOOM!!
“ALBERT!!!!”
In the bundle was a bunch of needles.
Large ones filled to the brim with some kind of blood, if Norman were to guess.
All but some smaller, medical-grade vaccine needles.
Those were filled with a clear liquid.
Albert’s included a little note that made it clear what it was for.
The clear needles are a prototype for the antidote. The large ones contain some blood from one of Smee’s assets that I based the antidote off of.
This should help with the aftereffects of the experiments, but try to refine it. I didn’t have the time to do it while we’re planning.
Keep moving forward, alright? I’ll see you soon, lil bro.
- Albert
The seizures. The aftereffects. The pain.
Somehow, despite being put through a circumstance worse than hell in that place, Albert managed to synthesize a medicine that could counteract most of the side effects of the experiments.
‘And he says he isn’t a genius.’ - Norman laughed humorlessly, shakily injecting a dose into himself.
Immediately, the pain subsided.
He urged the others to do the same.
(None of them could thank Albert enough.)
Norman was just a tad mad about being left out of Albert’s recently improvised barely-survive-then-go-find-my-other-baby-siblings-because-I-promised-one-of-them-that-I’ll-see-them-again-in-a-year section of their escape plan.
Well, okay, he’s very mad.
Crossed, upset even.
His stupid, reckless, meathead of a brother had tried to draft himself up for what was, essentially, a suicide mission.
Albert is capable, and Norman had no doubts that his big brother would be able to find Ray and Emma, but it’s still a suicide mission.
Norman had already lost too much— he can’t lose Albert too.
(The albino hopes, for everyone’s sake, that Albert comes back, healthy and hale.
If Norman would burn the world down for his big brother, there’s no telling what the rest of the surviving Lambda kids— most of whom had received their first taste of kindness and love from the brunette— would do.)
A week later, Norman found something in his pant’s pockets during laundry.
It’s a black pen— with the same mechanism as William Minerva’s pen.
He twisted it, and a holographic screen emerged.
— — —
[CHAT]
dont worry bout me
im alive
finding ray & ems, dont waste ur resources
love u
— — —
Norman doesn’t know if he should be grateful that his brother sent him an ’I’m alive’ text, or be mad that Albert sent him an ’I’m alive’ text and barely anything else.
So, Norman settled for a message that’s been haunting his mind for the last seven days.
— — —
[CHAT]
You’re an idiot.
dang normie
loosen up a bit, would u?
wat r u, an earl in 19th century victorian england?
Emma— she thinks her name is Emma— has forgotten everything.
Her memories are gone.
She… doesn’t know what to do.
Gramps was nice. He said she could stay with him for the time being.
She… she’d like that.
Emma has a strange pendant— a horizontal vesica piscis, with a glittering half-globe in the middle that resembles an eye.
She has a habit of holding onto it, whenever she sleeps.
The dreams that came were strange.
“Emma.”
“Emma.”
“Emma.”
Someone was calling out her name.
A beautiful horned figure.
A faceless woman, in a caretaker’s uniform.
Two older men, smiles fond and gentle.
Children clothed in formal suits and skirts and white fedoras, a looming gate behind them as their small hands excitedly waved goodbye.
A crowd of people, all faceless, all beaming with love— at her.
Two boys— one that peculiarly covers half his face with his bangs, another with snow-white locks.
And every time, every night—
‘Who are all of you?’ - She wants to scream, - ‘Who’s ‘Emma’?’
But this dream feels good, and so, so warm.
Perhaps it was heaven.
How nice.
Yet, without fail, whenever she reaches out to them— they vanish.
Emma wakes up, gasping.
‘That dream again…’
Clutching the pendant, she makes her way downstairs.
She found Gramps outside in the snow, in front of a massive graveyard of wooden sticks for headstones.
“They’re my family.” - He said, melancholy, - “My family, my friends, my home… I’ve lost them all, in a stupid war.”
Gramps sighed. “I alone was left behind, alive.”
They sat in silence, for a minute.
“That must hurt.” - Emma murmurs.
“Yeah, it does.” - Gramps peered at her, - “But although they’re dead, they’re still my family. And this buried village is still my hometown. As long as I can stay here and remember them, I can be with my family and friends.”
“I wish I could search for your family, child.” - He says, eyes sad, - “If they’re still alive, you’d want to see them, yes?”
“...I don’t know.” - She finally offers, after a moment of quiet, - “Since I don’t remember anything.”
No matter how hard she tries, the inside of her head was like the snow— white, and blank.
Carved out, and hollowed.
Emma clutches the pendant.
Whenever she holds it, she feels something stir within her. Whenever she wakes up from that dream, she feels sad, and hopeful.
“Even though I don’t remember anything, even though I don’t know the people I dreamt of— even though I forget them the moment I wake up.” - Tears roll down her cheeks, and Emma hiccups, - “I feel warmth. I long for them.”
And as always, without understanding why, it makes her cry.
Gramps gathers her into his arms, rocking her gently as she sobs.
It felt strangely familiar.
The dreams continue, night after night.
Sometimes, Emma felt scared. Sometimes, she felt sad.
Most of the time, she felt happy.
When she ran through a large meadow, playing tag with faceless children she knew she loved with all her heart.
When she sat under a tree, where two others were pressed beside her, comfortingly.
When she was sick, curled up under the blankets, as warm hands rubbed her back as she vomited into a bucket.
When she felt a horse(?) rocking her body, as a figureless friend taught her how to hunt.
When she’s injured and hurt, carried on the back of someone that made her feel safe.
When she poured over books, maps and charts— with them by her side, every step of the way.
There were so many of them, so many more instances.
Of when she felt content, peaceful, happy.
Emma doesn’t know how to feel.
She can’t remember them.
She doesn’t know them.
Emma doesn’t know what to feel.
About missing the blurry people in the faraway land she can’t hope to recall.
Her memories aren’t coming back.
Nothing concrete.
Emma’s been living in this little cottage for about a year now.
The possibility of never getting her memories back— it’s a reality she’s long accepted.
Gramps was warm.
He was the only thing keeping her from running away, honestly.
She doesn’t know what’s scaring her, what’s waking her up every night.
Every time she’s hunting in the woods, bow and arrow in hand, she can’t shake off the feeling that it’s…
…familiar. Habitual, in a sense.
The urge to fall to her knees and say something to the dead corpses of animals was another one too.
So is the back-glancing.
Emma’s much too wary of her surroundings to be on alert for predators nearby.
Gramps also acknowledged it, albeit with more worry than she intended for it to have.
The polaroids were the only things she had, from whatever before.
Three of them, actually.
The first was just her in white clothes— some sort of uniform. She was in the motion of flailing her arms, part of it blurred out as the picture was taken. It looked like she was shielding her face from something— flash, perhaps?
The second picture had her beaming brightly in the middle of the frame, in clothes not unlike the ones Gramps found her in.
She looked older and worn in the second one, but much happier as well.
The last was older than the other two, where a little Emma— probably eight— sat next to a giant tree, dozing peacefully.
What bothered her the most was the fact that the pictures didn’t just include her.
The amount of space surrounding all three ‘Polaroid-Emmas’ confirmed it.
In the first picture, there was enough room beside her to fit another person inside the photo. From her position in the first polaroid, she should’ve fallen over by the time the picture was taken.
It meant that someone was in there, supporting her weight.
The second one was the most chilling. She was alone, in a large, scuffed room.
Chairs of all sizes were situated beside her, and the way her arms were spread could only mean that she was hugging someone next to her. It seemed like a group photo, if it weren’t for the fact that she was the only one in it.
The third one looks normal, but something inside her told her she wasn’t alone, that someone else was meant to be there.
So who are those people? Why aren’t they there? Why is she alone in these photos, when she’s clearly with someone else at the time being?
Who took these?
(Why are her eyes drawn to her neck in these pictures, as if something was missing? Why did she feel so cold, so lonely, when she thought of the people that aren’t there? Why does her chest ache, and her head hurts, whenever she tries to recall?)
(Why, why, why can’t she remember anything?)
Those are the questions she never had the answer to.
(The only thing those pictures told her, was that they’re made from Polaroid-600 film and were taken by a Polaroid One-Step Flash 600. It’s an extremely outdated model, used in the early 1970s.)
(Emma didn’t think she’s that old, though.)
Another year passed, and she’s about sixteen? Maybe?
Well, they never had any concrete evidence of her age.
Anyhow, to celebrate, Gramps brought her down to the main square of a nearby village, fields away from their little cottage on the off-shoot of the woods.
It’s bustling with activity, this time of year. The square is adorned and beautiful— fairy lights hung up on every corner and lanterns lit with candles decorated every door. The aroma of burning essential oil and spices was prevalent, and snow lightly drifted through the well-lit stalls.
It’s still light out, but night will come very soon.
Gramps had some business to do— friends to meet, stuff to trade. Emma would normally tag along, but her grandpa had all but shooed her away and told her to ’Go have some fun’.
She loves him to death.
Anyhow, he was right— she did have fun.
She even made a friend too.
Her name’s Nancy, the local pub’s new hire and occasional performer.
The girl has curly brown hair, blueish-green eyes, and soft peachy skin.
A very ordinary appearance, overall.
But that mischievous, eye-crinkling grin? The sharp, protective movements the girl does as she stands between her co-workers and the occasional creep? The liberating way Nancy moves around the pub, as if she’s dancing through a meadow?
Emma feels as if she’s seen all of that before.
Gramps said he was happy she made a friend.
Emma didn’t understand.
He said being cooped up in their cabin all the time isn’t ideal for a young woman such as her— she should be going out and having fun like everyone her age.
She said she had fun being here with him.
Gramps smiled, and patted her head.
“It’s a good thing to have a friend, dear. I won’t be around much longer, and I hope to entrust you to someone we both can agree is trustworthy. Respect an old man’s wishes, won’t cha?”
Emma huffed and pouted, angrily glaring at her grandpa.
He knows she never liked the implication that she would outlive him.
He laughs. She laughs with him.
It was warm in their hut-like cabin.
The fire had nothing to do with it.
That night, her dream featured someone else.
Kind voice. Loving hands. Gentle hugs.
Dream-her calling out to them.
Their faces were blurred. Their answers were muddled. Their touches were phantom.
But in this dream, this perfect, perfect dream—
Emma felt safe.
Protected.
Like someone, or someones, were shielding her against the world.
The next morning, Emma woke.
With tear tracks on her cheeks, and a damp pillow, covered in snot.
Nancy was an amazing singer, Emma found.
Her friend was amazing in many ways, but her voice might just take the cake.
It was by no means anything grand— not soft, angelic or anything of the sort.
In fact, had Emma judged her by how her gruff voice sounds on a good day, she was sure she could’ve found someone with a sweeter and gentler voice just down the road.
What really makes Nancy’s voice special is how warm it is.
It’s something indescribable.
It just fills one up with so much warmth and fulfillment.
Like hearing love with your own two ears.
The love of a parent; the love of a sibling.
Of a friend, of a family— somehow, it was all beautifully portrayed.
Emma’s heart aches, whenever she hears it.
Something told her that the song the voice was supposed to sing was far, far away.
There were two tourists in the pub— one with dark hair, one with light hair.
Both look incredibly familiar, but not quite so.
The dark-haired one, his locks were too short.
The light-haired one, it’s too blonde.
Something in her expected the former’s hair length to be past his ears, at least long enough to cover half of his face. The same thing said that the shade of the latter’s hair was wrong, and wasn’t light enough.
Emma doesn’t know why.
So she doesn’t say anything, looking around for Nancy.
The girl wasn’t here.
She went to the market.
Nancy was at the bread stall, somehow waving at her, hands filled with baskets of goods.
Emma smiled, running to her friend.
It was a good day.
Sometimes, her dreams weren’t happy memories with blurry faces.
Sometimes, her nights were filled with unseen terrors and nightmares.
Emma could never wake up from those, not until dawn breaks.
She could taste her own desperation, her overwhelming fear, without fail.
She feels tired, because she’s been running and running and running and running from something terrifying, but she couldn’t remember what.
She hates it.
Mostly because of the little blurs beside her in the nightmares, also running desperately to escape whatever it is. Mostly because of the pained screams, the faraway yells of the bigger blurs telling them to run, that they’ll hold whatever monster it is back.
Emma never liked those dreams.
She much preferred the other ones— where everyone was happy, smiling and content.
Where everyone was safe, not scared or hurt.
Nancy’s leaving.
“Heya, it’s not like I’m gone forever.” - The girl smiles, teary, - “I’ll miss you, though.”
Her contract has ended, and now, Emma’s seeing her off at the station.
“Me too.” - Emma tried to wipe her tears away, but they kept falling nonetheless, - “Be safe, and call me when you make it to town, okay?”
It’s not like it’s the end.
They have ways to communicate— Gramps had gotten Emma an older phone from the electronic shop a while back, and Nancy knows her number.
They’ll be in touch soon, no need to get worked up.
But Emma felt sad, either way.
The brunette was always a drifter, going from place to place, with stories of her travels spanning the globe.
Nancy thrived with her nomadic lifestyle.
Sooner or later, they’d part ways.
There’s no way Emma would stop her best friend from pursuing her dreams, and she herself foresaw this.
Nancy giggled wetly, - “Yeah, yeah. I know, Mom.”
“Oh hush, you,” - Emma laughs at her teasing, hugging Nancy tightly.
Nancy hugs her back, even tighter.
It’s probably the last hug they’ll share for a while.
The station bell chimes, and the conductor announces the nearing departure of Nancy’s train.
“Later, alligator.”
Emma smiles.
“In a while, crocodile.”
They pull away, and Nancy boards her cabin.
Emma stays at the station platform, waving at her friend until the train becomes a little dot in the distance.
She turns, and makes her way back to the ticket booths, where Gramps was waiting.
The first snow falls, signalling the start of a white winter.
This year’s winter is more temperamental than usual.
As if the skies itself was anticipating something.
Emma and Gramps make a trip to the larger town a train over, stocking up some of their supplies for the moment the relentless snow blocks all of their roadways until spring.
Emma marvels at the new scenery, taking in the pretty houses and bustling square.
She can’t help it— it’s the first time she’s been to such a populated place.
“Don’t get lost.” - Gramps chuckles, ruffling Emma’s hair affectionately, - “We’re going home as soon as we finish shopping, else there’ll be no trains to take back.”
She grins, bouncing on the heels of her feet, - “Okay!”
They browsed some shops for hooks and rope, and others for non-perishables and warmer coats.
Emma listened intently as Gramps explained which hook is good for ice climbing, how to find sturdy rope for their particular need, and many other things she has yet to learn.
“Oh?” - Gramps paused his lecture on the advantages and disadvantages of fur-lined coats, - “Hey, where’s your necklace, Emma?”
“Huh?” - Emma blinks, startled— indeed, her pendant wasn’t on her chest, where it should be, - “Oh! I’m gonna go check outside.”
Emma quickly ran, eyes roaming the streets for her precious memento.
Fortunately, it was still there— glistening under the winter sun right in the middle of the street.
She grins, picking it up, - “There you are.”
“...Emma?” - A trembling voice— desperate, hopeful— called her.
Emma looks up, and sees him.
One of those boys from her dream.
Black hair, long enough to cover half of his face. Teary violet eyes, ones she swore she has seen roaming the line of texts in between pages of books he buried himself with, underneath that tree in her dreams.
Unconsciously, his name slips out of her lips, - “...Ray?”
Like a whirlwind, Ray rams into her, crying on her shoulder as he hugs her tight.
Then, the others came.
An albino boy with crisp white locks, too-sharp ocean eyes blurring with unspoken relief as he embraced her, too.
A bespectacled girl with ash-green hair, tied back into a messy bun, running towards them in a desperate-worried hurry.
An olive-skinned boy with a rambunctious gait, not that far behind.
A blonde girl wearing a beanie, filled to the brim with handmade patches and artistically childish doodles.
Another blonde, her hair in intricate braids that looked to be made with too-small hands.
More— all familiar faces.
‘Norman.’ - That buried part of her, the part she thought she forever lost, murmured contently, - ‘Gilda. Don. Gillian. Phil. Anna. Yvette. Violet. Oliver. Everyone.’
‘My family.’
When they laid eyes on her, everyone burst out into sobbing cheers, happiness and relief moving over them in waves.
“Emma, we’re so glad you’re okay!” - Violet exclaims, grin wobbling with overwhelming tears, - “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Stupid Emma!” - Alicia rams into her from behind, clutching her back tightly.
Jemima cried, hugging her arm with the force of a battle-hungry army, - “How could you do that to us, disappearing all of a sudden?!”
“You have guts pulling this shit, Antenna.” - Mister— Yuugo— Dad— cries, visibly trying to control his breathing, - “Never again, young lady. Never again.”
Lucas— Pops— nods, standing beside Yuugo and rubbing his shoulders for comfort, - “You gave us quite a fright with this stunt.”
“Don’t leave us again, Emma.” - Phil, older and more joyful than ever, mutters into her neck, - “Please don’t leave us.”
Ray and Norman, still squishing her tightly in their hug, nods against her shoulders— still too overwhelmed to speak.
Emma’s mind was running a thousand miles a second, as she laid her eyes on every face she’s forgotten and every person she missed with her whole soul.
The memories trickled back to her, like a steady stream of snow melting underneath the spring sun.
Amazingly, Emma remembers.
Gracefield.
The House.
The creatures.
Her beloved siblings.
The Shelter.
Sonju and Mujika.
Leuvis, the bastard, and that annoying monkey-thing of his.
Goldy Pond.
Paradise Hideout.
The Seven Walls.
The Tifari.
The capital, the queen, the revolution.
Peter fucking Ratri.
The New Promise.
She— she wasn’t supposed to remember.
Emma wasn’t supposed to remember anything.
Because that was the price she had to pay.
The Reward.
But… then—
“‘Protective, that boy, would not even let me take my Reward in peace.’”
“What do you mean…?”
মশ্লয় blinked, before tilting His head in amusement, - “‘Ah, seems like your dearest brother did not tell you.’”
Emma felt her eyes widening, and her face paling rapidly.
“No—”
“‘Yes.’” - মশ্লয় smiled indulgently, - “‘He has negotiated to shoulder the heavier half of your Reward.’”
“Who is it?” - It says something, that she knew immediately who the most likely candidate was— but let’s be honest, all of her siblings would give up their lives for each other and her in a heartbeat— so Emma demands, furious.
“‘Now, now.’” - মশ্লয় giggles, - “‘Where’s the fun in that?’”
—like a freight train, it hits her.
Emma flinches harshly, looking through each and every one of the faces she has been yearning for for the last two years, desperately searching for the head of curly butterscotch hair that housed warm, loving emerald eyes.
A void gnawed at her chest when she couldn’t find them.
“Where’s Albert?” - Emma whispers, her voice shaking, - “Where’s— where’s Albert?”
“Huh?” - Ray made a bewildered sound, - “What do—”
The raven abruptly cuts himself off, pressing a hand against his forehead as his face scrunches in agony.
Beside him, Norman does the same.
“Norman? Ray?” - Gilda worriedly questioned, - “What’s wrong?”
Emma turned toward her, wide green eyes burning with unadulterated panic, - “Where’s Albert?”
Immediately, Gilda collapsed, holding her crown in pain.
The surrounding orphans that heard the question reacted similarly.
Before the others— the ones further away— could do more than hurry over, Norman screams.
“THAT FUCKING IDIOT!!” - The albino shouts, completely out of character for his usually composed demeanor, - “THAT STUPID, SELF-SACRIFICIAL IDIOT!!!”
Gilda echoed Norman’s sentiment, as did their younger siblings.
“When we find him, again,” - Ray hissed, violet eyes blazing with a maddening promise, - “I’ll skin him alive.”
“The hell are you brats muttering about?” - Yuugo interrupts, crouching beside them with worry.
Ray makes eye contact with their adoptive father, - “Albert.”
Yuugo grasps his crown in pain, before hurling out a string of profanities that made several nearby parents cover their children’s ears.
Fortunately, Lucas had enough common sense to usher them and one very worried Gramps (who took quite a bit of convincing to not separate Emma and the snot-nosed children that were clinging to her) towards a fleet of high-tech buses, and then driving them to a more private location than a town’s central square where their reunion was sure to become the latest hot gossip for the old ladies to pass around over tea.
During the bus ride, she and Gramps were regalled with tales of what Emma has missed during those two years of magically induced amnesia.
Of how everyone’s been doing.
Of how, for the first few months, they all decided to skip traditional schooling and get their high school degrees online. How her siblings were going to the colleges and universities of their dreams— all having gotten into their top choices. How, hilariously enough, most of them ended up studying in various campuses all across the world that belonged to the Moriarty International University.
Of how, with the technology of the current era and Adam’s special genetic mutation, the survivors of the many Lambda labs are recovering steadily. How Norman and Cislo and Barbara and Vincent and Jin and Hayato and a bunch of others are doing so much better now. How the children from the mass production factories don’t need respiratory systems and can even walk on their own, thanks to this new medication.
Of how Chris woke up, and recovered healthily.
Things like how Mike Ratri is acting as their guardian, and that he seems to be a reserved neutral party.
(Ray mutters that it’s mostly to stop them from doing whatever they want. A lot of them couldn’t forgive the Ratri Clan. Even now, Norman still harbors a hostile aggression towards one Ratri in particular, and a cold sort of anger towards the Ratri Clan as a whole.)
At least everyone was getting along rather well.
On a lighter(?) note, Ayshe hasn’t yet killed Norman. Emma had laughed at Gramp’s face when the younger kids regalled him with the tale of Norman’s Very Big Mistake and Ayshe’s Very Understandable Grudge.
It was relieving to meet them again. To now receive answers to the burning questions that have kept her awake at night for the past three or so years.
Yet, something— someone— was missing.
Emma could physically feel it, the space where Albert should be.
The way Ray’s eyes danced to the side, like he expected to meet the eyes of a brother that wasn’t there.
The slightly off-kilter balance of Norman’s movements, like his body was moving alongside someone who erased himself from their lives.
The too-rowdy and too-loud exclamations from the younger kids, expressed as if it was meant to be tempered by a level-headed older sibling.
The stilted pauses in conversation, like they were expecting a warm voice to chime in with a tease, a thought, or a peculiar remark that would inevitably spark another round of debates.
The way Emma herself felt her body angle itself towards someone that wasn’t there, how her back felt exposed and her peripheral sight seemed empty.
The vacant seat at the front of the bus, where a certain emerald-eyed brunette should be seated.
When the stories were over, when everyone had exhausted all the things they wanted to say, a hushed grief settled over them.
“We’ll get him back.” - She wasn’t sure who murmured that, but it barely took a second before screams and cheers of agreement echoed throughout the bus, - “We got Emma back— we’ll get Albert back, too.”
Gilda hissed, - “We’ll flip the world upside down, if that’s what it’ll take.”
“Stupid, stupid Albert.” - Thoma grumbled, face stormy, - “When I see him again, I’ll force feed him so many peppers, he won’t be able to feel his tongue.”
Oliver nods, a steely glint in his eye, - “When I see him again, I’ll make him run fifty laps around the university building every day.”
“When I see him again, I’ll let him look at my lab then ban him from using it.” - Anna smiles, serene, - “See how he likes it.”
“When I see that brat again, I’ll—” - Yuugo starts.
“No maiming, Yuu.” - Lucas says, rubbing his husband’s shoulder.
Yuugo narrows his eyes, - “He’s grounded, then. No books, no labs, no research, no murder mysteries or heavy crafts or even parkour. Albert will suffer through a healthy sleeping schedule and proper meals like the rest of us mortals.”
Lucas chuckles. “Better.”
“When I see him again, I’ll—” - Someone continued.
And so on it went.
Emma has always thought that the Reward for such a huge promise was quite cheap.
She never saw it as a sacrifice, to give up her future for the sake of her family, because it was merely the settlement she must take to follow through with her selfish decisions.
“I don’t want to kill demons.” - She remembered telling Ray and Albert, her voice almost cracking with heartbreak, but filled with boundless determination, - “I don’t want to lose anyone else, either.”
Like she told Him— she wants to be with everyone. She doesn’t want to ever forget them, and she knows her decision may very well put them in danger, too.
But Emma’s human, and she’s very, very selfish.
Everyone will go to the human world.
There’ll be no demons, and no one will be food.
They’ll never have to be terrified again. They’ll never have to kill to survive.
Both races— human and demon— can be free of this perpetual cycle of endless tragedy that they’ve been trapped in.
It’s not just about her, or her precious family— but everyone, humans and demons and all those beings in between— can live happily.
And even if Emma forgets, everyone will surely remember.
So really, the price is dirt cheap.
“You’re going to fulfill so many wishes. It’s actually too little of a Reward.” - She had told মশ্লয়, once, when the enigma of a creature gave her the price she would need to pay.
Now, Emma understands why.
Perhaps it was better to say she re-understood, since a certain being decided it was hilarious to strip everyone’s memories of their big brother.
And maybe, Emma resents Albert just a bit, for being so needlessly selfless.
(Yes, she’s a hypocrite, she knows.
But Albert is too.)
They— the little kids that relied on him for comfort, the baby siblings he cherishes so— have always known.
There isn’t anything Albert wouldn’t do to make them happy.
And that was the one thing about their brother that Emma loathed.
There was a future they all wanted. A destiny they were told they couldn’t change.
But they fought back, relentlessly.
What the hell makes demons, makes the Farm System, makes Him, gods, fate, destiny— what the hell makes them think they’ll stay put?
They fought, and fought, and fought.
They grasped onto things. They lost so much, too.
So what?
Screw destiny. Screw fate.
And later, when Louka and Aurel, a pair of twins Albert had saved from another Lambda facility while searching for Ray and Emma after his escape from Lambda 7214, stepped foot into the Moriarty International University campus in London on their first day there and saw a giant copper statue of their big brother that took up a good chunk of the lobby of the main building— they all said screw space and time too.
They’re getting their big brother back.
If literally inventing time travel is what it takes, then so be it.
They’ve waited long enough.
It’s time to bring Albert home.