tattling tens


Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Zhalia descends the mountain, zipping side to side to avoid the other snowboarders. Earlier she made sure her gear was tucked and secured in every possible way to prevent cold drafts, but slivers of chill still creep into invisible cracks and kiss her skin. She skids to a stop at the bottom of the slope. Snow sprays Dante's pants.

"Your turn," he says, snapping on his goggles. "The kids are doing well, but you have to make sure they don't separate from the group."

"How can I convince you to take up my babysitting shift?"

"Zhalia, love, you could offer me your hand in marriage, and it still wouldn't be enough."

"Cheeky," she says with a shove.

"You know it." He leans forward, bumping their helmets. "These are getting in the way, but pretend I kissed you."

"What do you mean? I put this on as a safety measure against your advances."

He grins and trudges off to catch the ski lift. The team has always wanted to take a winter trip―either at a mountain cabin for ice-fishing or at a resort for winter sports―but she never expected their much needed vacation to include three tag-alongs. On top of that, the ones most excited for the trip are currently enrolled in a beginner level class, surrounded by 10- to 12-year olds.

Amusing, considering Normal Lok shreds down advanced slopes without breaking a swear and Normal Sophie does tricks Zhalia never learns the names of. But the class offers discounted rental gear, and that was the deciding factor: no one wanted to buy new equipment for the two.

Zhalia sits on a nearby bench with a coffee. Around her, adults mill about, to-go cups in hand and too occupied with their own friends to strike up conversation. Good. She doesn't need a repeat of that park lady.

As Dante warned, Lok and Sophie are at the group's outskirts, glancing around as they edge out of the student area. Zhalia clears her throat. Not meeting her eyes, they shuffle back into place with little pouts that she seriously has to get used to before they exploit it as her weakness.

Ten years old. When she first met them, they were barely sixteen, thrown into the Foundation before becoming legal adults. They couldn't even sign their own medical release forms. She's only a few years older than them, but the way they see the good in everyone, their innocence shining through the smallest of actions...it makes her feel her age.

Maybe Sophie could make a counterargument, being the only one suspicious of Zhalia's initial alliance, but Zhalia chalks their bad blood up to Sophie's jealousy over Dante, not actual, honed instincts.

They're so small now. Bundles of smiles and happiness. What were they doing at ten years old?

She could see Lok running through the fields of Ireland, holding onto Mrs. Lambert's hand and picking flowers with Cathy. Picnics in their vast backyard. Watching the sun rise and set on their front step. Climbing trees along the path, always thinking about his next meal. And Sophie, she could see reading by a window seat, head rested against the glass. Eager to learn, taking lessons from LeBlanche. Practicing martial arts with Santiago. Training to become a Seeker. Boltflares and Raypulses and special Casterwill spells until she mumbles them in her sleep.

Zhalia? Her early years blend together. Was she taken in Klaus by then? Or was she still stealing bread and digging through dumpsters for expired food? Was she still fighting people twice her size? Learning to pickpocket and swear and spit on the ground like tobacco-chewers?

Ten. So tiny, she now realizes. Hard to believe she was hardened at that age, burdened by the responsibility of being her own adult.

.

Zhalia blinks. She hopes she heard wrong.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ms. Sylvia," a teacher's aide says. The other clicks away on his phone with a less-than-genuine apology. "We looked away to help out other students."

So she didn't hear wrong.

"It's understandable. Those two get into more trouble than you'd expect." She tosses her cup into the compost bin and hikes up her snowboard. "You can stay here. I'll check out the nearby areas. Call the contact number if they come back."

She pretends not to worry because the one aide gnaws on her lip hard to draw blood, and Zhalia knows what it's like to deal with upset customers on top of a thorough tongue lashing from a superior. But as they turn away and she heads towards the woods, she texts Dante and the others with fumbling fingers.

Over the course of their Foundation careers, Lok and Sophie have racked up more enemies than she can keep track of, and now that the Organization knows about their vulnerable states...she tries not to think too hard about it.

As she suspected, a smattering of tiny footprints start at the edge of the trees, partially swept away with hands and fir branches. An amateur attempt, but it's cute they tried. She follows the tracks.

It's a long time until Zhalia sees anything. She expects a number of things: Lok and Sophie wandering, lost and confused; them playing in the snow, distracted from their quest to get away; a snow fight. She doesn't expect a log cabin with two child-sized boards and three pairs of boots lined next to the mat. She fires off another text before leaning her own board next to the others.

A light knock on the door is enough to make it give and ease open to reveal a fireplace and blankets on the ground. Only Sophie is sitting there, hands curled around a steaming cup, alternating between blowing and taking sips. In front of her is a thick book.

"Sophie, where's Lok?"

She doesn't answer. Only chews on a marshmallow and tilts her head towards what Zhalia presumes is the kitchen. From her angle, she can see a table and three chairs, one of them occupied by a older woman wearing what looks like her curtains. Zhalia treads lightly.

"No need for the sneaking. Take a seat, Zhalia," the woman says, waving a leathery hand to the last chair.

She straightens her back, hiding her surprise. "Thanks." Across from her, Lok beams, and Zhalia files away a reminder to re-teach stranger danger. "I seem to be at a disadvantage here. You know my name; what's yours?"

"Morgana." She pushes a mug forward. Chip on the handle, hand-painted flowers on the side. "Coffee, just how you like it. Unless you're in the mood for tea now? I'm going to fix myself a cup. I don't mind making one for you, too."

"Morgana." She pushes a mug forward. Chip on the handle, hand-painted flowers on the side. "Coffee, just how you like it. Unless you're in the mood for tea now? I'm going to fix myself a cup; I don't mind making one for you, too."

Zhalia watches Morgana rise to her feet and ruffle Lok's hair on her way to the cabinets. She's older, with wrinkles on her face and hair a white halo at her crown. Her braid is swept over one shoulder, but it's long enough to reach her elbow, knotted at the end with a dark elastic. Though there's a practiced grace to her movements, her gaze remains unnaturally on the horizon. Blind, Zhalia realizes as Morgana pats the tea sets and settles on an herbal mix.

"I'm good with the coffee," Zhalia says. "Does anyone else live with you, Morgana?"

"Only me. It's been this way for decades."

"Decades? I didn't know they had residential areas on the mountain."

"They don't. I keep a barrier up to turn away visitors unless, of course, they're welcome."

Lok leans over the table. "She's a psychic," he whispers. "She told me about my future. Said I need to eat well and sleep more and get good grades."

"Psychic is not incorrect, but I prefer the term oracle." Morgana pauses, raising her head. Faint hints of a smile on her face. "It seems the rest of our friends are here."

.

Morgana's eyes are a pale pink, like crushed flower petals in water. They settle across the room, unfocused yet holding a sense of clarity that sparks Zhalia's unease.

"Thank you for inviting us in," Dante says to Zhalia's right. He leans back against cushions. "Can you explain more about this curse you're seeing?"

They're sharing the smaller of the two couches, across from Morgana in her big armchair and next to the bigger couch with Montague, Tersley, and Scarlet. With six adults trying to occupy the living room, the log cabin feels smaller than before, and Zhalia crosses her legs to stop herself from fidgeting. She wants to open a window, stand by the door―anything to stop the fire's heat from pressing against her collar. Maybe this is another one of Morgana's spells of suggestion.

"As I said before, my human eyes are offered to the gods, and in return, they've given me the power to see beyond this plane of existence. Those two―" she points out the window to Lok and Sophie playing in the snow―"have a strange layer of magic surrounding them, like it's suppressing their energy. I'm guessing it has something to do with their altered forms."

"Yes, there was an enchanted book with supposed information on the Elixir of Youth."

Tersley stops scribbling in his notebook to ask, "Miss Morgana, what do you mean suppressing their energy?"

"Imagine seeing an outline of a person's body," she says, creating a circle with her hands. "In the center is a ball of energy, life force, that extends to fill up the space so that the energy ends where it meets the outline. As the body grows, the energy grows, too. For people like yourselves―what word did you use? Seekers?―the energy organizes itself differently, but it follows the same principle.

"Lok and Sophie, however, have more energy than normal within their space. They're surrounded by a magic that's compressing them, forcing them into smaller forms, but the good news is the magic isn't strong enough to keep them like this forever. They're pushing against it. Does this sound right?"

"That could explain their changing ages," Tersley mutters, writing that down.

"I don't mean to pry into your affairs," Scarlet begins with a disarming smile, leaning her elbows on her knees. Morgana tilts her head, not charmed, and Zhalia squashes down her desire to smirk triumphantly. "But your powers are quite unique. Have you ever been approached by the Foundation? We'd love to have someone like you as a contact."

"Ah, yes, I had a brief alliance with your people during Metz's early days..."

Morgana delves into her story, describing events and people that have the others nodding in recognition, but none of the names ring a bell for Zhalia, so she scans the mantle instead, taking in the scattered photographs and trinkets. In one frame, gold paint flaking with age, Morgana stands behind a young girl as they pick herbs from a garden, and the girl beams up at her, wide brim sunhat nearly slipping off her braided pigtails. The next frame has them riding a horse up a mountain path, and Morgana is too busy guiding the horse to look at the camera, so the girl makes up for it by blinding the lens with her wide smile. The pictures continue in chronological order, following the girl as she grows into adulthood and finally becomes a withering elder that's the spitting image of Morgana, if not for the pin straight hair. The last one is of them side by side at the kitchen table. Zhalia traces through the images again, noting the changing fashion and quality of the pictures. Strangely, Morgana looks the same in every one. And what did she mean by Just me. It's been this way for decades when there's photo evidence of at least one other person?

Zhalia's turtleneck feels tight. She wants to leave. She hooks a finger beneath the collar, tugging, and looks back to the oracle.

"―more firewood, that'd be perfect," Morgana is saying in Montahue's direction. He chuckles, a rumble Zhalia feels through her padded socks, and leaves the room. Moments later, she hears a grunt and the familiar thwack! of ax splitting wood. Morgana turns her attention to Zhalia. "And you, dearest Zhalia, could you step out and make sure the children are alright? Even with my spells in place, the woods can be awfully frightening, and those two have a penchant for trouble."

What timing. Can Morgana read thoughts, too? Zhalia nods and shuffles out the door as they discuss how to weaken the curse. Maybe being with Lok and Sophie could bring clarity to her mind.

.

Zhalia was wrong―being with them brings headaches, a trend that she complains about but conveniently forgets every time.

Screeching, Sophie aims her next Raypulse above Lok's head and hits the evergreen branches, and snow drops onto his head. In retaliation, he takes a chunk of snow and throws it. It falls short, breaking apart by her boots. Zhalia drops her head into her hands. She just got them to stop fighting about stomping through each other's snow angels. Arguments between Lok and Sophie aren't uncommon, but something about their younger forms arguing is unsettling. Genuine anger, not annoyance. Primitive and juvenile. High pitched yelling that splits her ears.

"Zhalia! Look what Lok threw at my head," Sophie whines, holding up the offending pine cone. She probes at an invisible bump on her forehead until Zhalia examines it closely and gives her a verbal You're okay.

At that, Lok scurries over. "Yeah, well, she started it first! Did you see how she pushed over my mini snowman? And stepped all over my snow village?"

"That wasn't a snow village; it was just a bunch of piles in a circle!"

"That was my snow village, Sophie."

"Well, it's not like I was hurting you."

Did she forget the Raypulse minutes ago? Cheeks flushing, Lok readies a retort, and Zhalia thinks back to her childhood, trying to remember if she was like this at all. This kind of behavior would have earned Klaus's disapproval, and the Suits who occasionally babysat her were immune to crying child charms. Not that their scowls were very comforting.

With their upbringing, she doubts Lok and Sophie were bratty kids. Must be part of the curse. Being forced through developmental stages leaves little room for learning manners. She leans back on her hands, scanning clear blue sky for clouds, birds, anything. As Lok and Sophie age, they keep the memories of their previous state, but every memory from before the curse was wiped. She kind of misses their original forms.

Wait. Her gaze snaps to them. What happens when they reach their normal forms? Will they keep these personalities, or will the curse breaking also mean the return of their old memories? She gnaws on her lip. If they don't revert back to their normal selves, these barely tolerable traits will develop into something actually intolerable. If that's the case, Dante's going to have her resignation letter on his desk, ink still drying.

"Careful, you might draw blood," a voice behind her says. Footsteps, a sigh beside her as Dante sits down.

"So what's Morgana's advice?"

He takes out a glass bottle, a mixture of herbs and a dark liquid that swirls ominously. A tape label on the side lists the ingredients, but she can't make out the slanted scrawl.

"This supposedly helps them push against the curse, makes them age faster," he says. "They need to drink it every twelve hours or so with food, but they can't mix it with anything else."

"Can we trust her?" She takes the bottle from him, uncorks the top, and gives an experimental sniff. Nothing suspicious, but her nose twitches from the heavy scent of clove. She passes it back. "This is intense. I can't imagine the kids drinking it without complaint."

"It's our best shot. Besides, an oracle isn't the strangest thing we've seen," he says with a low chuckle. "Magicians, golems, castles in the sky. What's an near-immortal woman living alone in the mountains?"

"Are Tersley and Scarlet still talking to her?"

"They wanted to ask more questions about her abilities, and she's telling them stories about her past. Apparently, she was told to train someone as her successor, but it didn't pan out well."

"The girl in the pictures."

"Yes. The gods accepted her as a channel, but she wasn't worthy of immortality. After she passed in her eighties, Morgana didn't have the heart to raise anyone else."

Zhalia whistles, impressed. "Eighty years. That's an long time to just be met with disappointment. You weren't interested in hearing her stories?"

"Oh, I was interested. I figured you needed help out here, though."

He gestures in front of him to Lok and Sophie building separate snow people, pouting but in some kind of truce. Between them sits a shared pile of branches and pebbles, and Zhalia blinks at how fast it settled while she wasn't looking.

"She asked to talk with you, by the way, but she knows you're uncomfortable."

"I don't really have anything to say to her."

His eyes search her face before he hums in acknowledgement. That's an annoying ability of his: seeing through her words, her barriers, and into secrets that she herself doesn't know. Her next words are interrupted by a screech of her name, and that's all the warning she gets before Lok launches into her lap, Sophie doing the same to Dante seconds later.

"Zhalia, we challenge you to a snowball fight," Lok says with a grim expression. He offers her a hand. "You'll have accept to our terms and conditions, or you lose."

She raises an eyebrow. "And what are these terms and conditions?"

"Well, first, if you hit us, it's half a point, and if we hit you, it's ten points."

"Isn't that a bit unbalanced?"

"Does this mean you and Dante are okay with losing?" Sophie crows. Her carefully pinned hair falls over her face in wayward strands, plastered to her face with melted snow, but emerald eyes twinkle with mirth behind the curtain of strawberry blonde.

"Oh, absolutely not," Dante scoffs. "What are the other rules?"

.

For the weekend, Montahue, Tersley, and Scarlet shared a room, and how they figured out that sleeping arrangement is a Tetris game Zhalia never wants to play. Though the three of them occupied such a small space, she feels their absence now.

She stretches out on the couch, Holotome open, and hopes for some peace and quiet. She gets no such thing.

"Whatcha up to?" Lok asks, flinging himself over her legs. His fingers stop flying over his latest puzzle: interlocked chains that clink when he drops them to the floor.

Words can't express how relieved she is to find that her teammates enjoy puzzles and books no matter their stage in life. She's watched an episode of Paw Patrol and understands why so many parents get haunted looks in their eyes. Zhalia picks up the puzzle and sets it on the coffee table.

"Going over plans for a mission."

"I thought Guggenheim said taking care of me and Sophie was your mission."

"For now." She smooths his hair, still wet from playing in the snow. "If Morgana's drink works, you two will be back to normal in time for my Ontario trip. Where's Sophie?"

"She's waiting on the porch for the next box to come. I tried to tell her that it wouldn't work. I stared at the doormat all day, and it appeared when I yawned. I think Morgana knows and doesn't want us to see her magic." He pauses. "That's a cool power, teleporting things to people. I think I'd send my mom stuff. And Cathy, too. Maybe. Maybe I can teleport myself; then I'd get to see them more often."

Zhalia's always wondered how much Lok misses his family. Going on adventures is fun compared to being at school―something about fighting for your life made for a more effective distraction―but there are some nights where she stares at the stars and slips back into the comfort of fond memories. She's about to say something when Sophie gives a cry of annoyance, and Lok launches himself onto the couch, wiggling between Zhalia and the cushion. He yanks the blanket over himself as heavy footsteps―followed by lighter, faster pattering―approach.

"Hey, Zhalia, have you seen Lok?" Dante pulls a beaker out of the box in his arms. "New shipment."

"No, I haven't seen him. I'll let you know if he comes by." She draws her knees to her chest, tenting the fabric to hide Lok's lumpy form. "Did you check around back?"

Dante shakes his head no and leaves the room again, and Zhalia waits for the back door to close before she pokes what she guesses is Lok's shoulder.

"You know, it's good for you."

"Yeah, but it's gross."

"The faster you guys grow, the faster we can go back to traveling."

"...you make a good point, but it's nasty. You said it, too."

"I'm not the one who messed with ancient magic. Consider it a lesson learned."

He huffs dramatically, throwing the blanket off his face to give her a pointed look. "Zhalia, does anyone on this team ever learn their lesson?"

"...you make a good point."


a/n.

i'd like to reiterate that this story has no plot. like, at all. even if you squint, there is nothing. there's no conflict, no surprises, probably no "organization uses this new weakness to their advantage to attack the huntik team," but we'll see on the last one. morgana exists only for my convenience and won't be mentioned again LOL maybe one day i'll write something that's not vapid, but this is just for me to get the silly idea of lok and sophie being children out of my head