But still, she was nothing but resourceful, and Mobius was nothing if not full of loopholes. Ciara's claws drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against the throne's armrest as she calculated her next move—her shadow twisting into thorned serpents that slithered across the floor, tasting the air for weakness. There were other ways to claim Sonic as hers, even now. The child was already more weapon than boy, forged in betrayal and bathed in the afterbirth of Diamond Heights' collapse.
She could use that.
Mold it.
*"Simple,"* Ciara mused, her claws tracing a slow, predatory circle in the air—as if carving sigils into reality itself. The motion left faint trails of violet light, shimmering like poisoned honey before dissolving.
Sonic couldn't know everything about her, but Ciara knew everything about him—how his trauma pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath that cocky grin, how his claws twitched whenever someone mentioned Bernadette the Hedgehog.
And she would be there to comfort him.
Soon enough...
And he would be ever so thankful for her 'help'.
/////
The Augur of Apollous remained silent as he always did. He watched her closely, not with fear, but with the careful attention of someone observing a complex machine at the moment before it engages. Ciara drummed her claws against the armrest again—tap, tap, tap—each sound like a blade sinking into flesh.
Static crackled between them, thick with the scent of roses and ozone, until he inclined his head.
"Yes, Lady Ciara," he said. "I will bring them to you at once."
He did not wait for acknowledgment. He knew her well enough to know she already approved of the action. And so, with a gesture precise enough to be ritual, the Augur of Apollous stepped backward and vanished. Purple smoke bloomed where he had stood, curling upward in lazy spirals before dissipating into nothing.
He was in a well enough looking clearing.
Lady Ciara's daughter; Sonya should be around this general vicinity.
The Augur of Apollous' golden eyes scanned the clearing—its edges blurred by creeping violet mist—before settling on a lone tower that looked at most five minutes away by walking. Its jagged silhouette jutted against the relatively clear skyline, its spires twisted like broken fingers grasping for a salvation that would never come. The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly metallic—blood, perhaps, though whose remained unclear. He stepped forward, his clawed feet sinking slightly into the soft ground, the sound muffled by the unnatural quiet pressing down on the clearing like a held breath.
You might ask why the Augur of Apollous didn't just teleport to the tower instead of walking there to save time and energy—but he had long since learned when he was barely hatched from his egg that rituals demanded their own pace, their own theatrics. So he walked, his clawed feet leaving no prints in the damp earth, the violet mist curling away from him like a living thing repelled by his presence.
The tower drew nearer as he noticed two guards near the entrance—both wolfish in build but with serpentine tails twitching behind them, their armor carved from fused bone and reinforced with stolen plating. One glanced up, nostrils flaring at the Augur of Apollous' ozone scent, before nudging the other with the butt of their plasma spear.
Neither even thought of speaking.
Neither ever needed to in all of his visits here.
They knew by now who—and exactly what—approached the two of them.
The Augur of Apollous stepped past the guards without acknowledgment, his claws clicking against the tower's warped stone steps. The air inside was thick with the scent of rust and something sickly sweet—rotten fruit, maybe, or old blood left to fester. At the top, the chamber door hung slightly ajar, its hinges weeping thin trails of black fluid. He pushed it open with a single talon, revealing Sonya reclining on a chaise of luxurious velvet, her quills fanned out like a crown of knives. She didn't turn, but her tail flicked once, the tip curling in lazy recognition.
"You're here again Augur of Apollous," she halfway hissed the words—not a question—as she rolled onto her side, one claw tracing idle circles on the chaise's armrest. The scent of ozone clung to him, sharp and electric, but beneath it was something older—something that smelled like the moment before lightning strikes.
Sonya's pupils narrowed to slits, her quills shifting with a sound like unsheathed blades. The Augur of Apollous remained motionless, his golden gaze unreadable—yet she smelled the ozone thickening, the static crawling up her spine like a warning.
She fucking hated that.
Hated how he never flinched, never groveled, never so much as blinked when she peeled back her lips to show the needle points of her teeth. "You reek of her," she hissed, rolling upright in one liquid motion, her quills flaring like a viper's hood. The Augur of Apollous remained statue still as always before he began to speak again, "Indeed I am Princess Sonya, although I must admit that this meeting is very different from all the other meetings we have had previously."
Sonya scoffed, flicking her wrist dismissively—the motion sending a trio of throwing knives embedding themselves into the wall with a dull thunk. "Spare me the theatrics. If Mother sent you to lecture me about my 'shameful attitude' again, tell her I'll carve my apologies into someone else's spine." Her claws scraped against the chaise, leaving thin white scars in the fitting.
The Augur of Apollous exhaled—a rare concession to tension—before producing a sealed scroll from within his cloak. The parchment shimmered faintly, its edges sewn shut with strands of Lady Ciara's own hair. "Your presence is requested," he said, the words weighted like a blade balanced on a fingertip. Sonya stared at it, her smirk freezing into something sharper.
She knew that seal.
She also knew what it meant.
Her tail lashed once, violently, before she snatched the scroll with a growl. The moment her claws pierced the wax, the binding dissolved into violet smoke—and the scent of roses flooded the chamber, thick enough to choke on.
Sonya's quills flattened abruptly as the words seared themselves into her vision—not ink, but memory, not letters, but sensations: the taste of ozone and iron, the pressure of a crown too heavy for any mortal spine, and beneath it all, the mocking lilt of Lady Ciara's voice whispering one phrase—"Bring me the hedgehog." The scroll crumbled to ash in her grip, the embers stinging her palms like kisses from a branding iron. Sonya bared her teeth in a grin that had nothing to do with joy. "Oh Mother," she purred, "you always did know how to make things fun. So mother finally wants something to do with me, huh, well then what is it Augur of Apollous?"
"I am deeply afraid that the answer to your question can not be revealed until we go to your twin brother first Princess Sonya."
She was afraid he would say that, "My twin brother..." She began already dreading the answer.
"Yes Princess Sonya, your twin brother; Prince Manik. Now then, let's get going, shall we then?"
"Fine, but can we please just teleport right to him instead of just kinda near him?" Sonya begged the Augur of Apollous—her tone dripping with the exaggerated suffering of someone forced to endure mild inconvenience. She flicked her wrist with theatrical exasperation, sending another knife thunking into the wall. "Ugh, and please tell Manik to bathe before we arrive. Last time I visited, he smelled like a week dead skunk rotting in a sulfur pit."
The Augur of Apollous exhaled—a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone—before inclining his head. Violet smoke coiled around their ankles as Sonya wrinkled her nose at the acrid sting of sulfur and spoiled roses flooding her nostrils. The teleportation deposited them near a mine and a large log house—the latter's walls reinforced with stolen plating and adorned with trophies: gold coins embedded in resin, jeweled daggers displayed like art, and the polished skulls of merchants who'd dared haggle.
The scent of molten metal and widely unchecked greed clung to the air, thick enough to choke on. Manik lounged atop a pile of plundered currency—Mobium gold coins embedded between his claws, jewels clicking against his teeth as he gnawed on them absently. His throne wasn't crafted from wood or steel, but from the hollowed out husk of a Sector 395 bank vault.
Behind him, servants shuffled in chains, their hollow eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as they sorted stolen gems into piles. Manik's tail twitched with each clink of coin—a predator's rhythm—until Sonya's voice sliced through the metallic haze like a knife through silk. "Ugh, *brother*, must you wallow in this *filth*?" She wrinkled her nose, flicking a stray emerald off her shoulder with a disgusted click of her tongue.
Manik didn't bother turning, instead rolling a Mobian sovereign between his claws, savoring its weight. "Ah, my dear twin sister. Always so *delicate* despite your brute strength." He flicked the coin into the air, catching it between razor sharp teeth. "Tell me—does Mother's summons smell like roses or rotting promises this time?" The vault groaned as he shifted, coins cascading like water, his tail flicking dismissively at Sonya's sneer.
Sonya's quills bristled, her claws tightening around the Augur of Apollous' scroll—now just crumbling ash in her grip. The scent of Manik's hoard—molten gold and sweat soaked greed—clung to her nostrils like a bad perfume. "Oh *please*," she sneered, kicking aside a pile of loose rubies with deliberate disdain, "must you always be so *predictable*? Sitting here like some common thief, counting coins while Mother's plans unfold without you." Her tail lashed, sending a stray emerald skittering across the vault floor with a sharp *clink*.
Manik's grin didn't waver as he leaned forward, his throne of plundered wealth creaking under his weight. "Predictable?" He chuckled, plucking a diamond the size of a knuckle from the pile and rolling it between his fingers. "Sister, *you're* the one who still whines like a kit denied dessert. At least my predicable 'common thief' habits keep me *well fed*." He flicked the diamond at her—she caught it midair, her claws sinking into the gem with a satisfying *crack*. The fragments scattered like shattered stars at her feet.
The Augur of Apollous then spoke up, his voice carrying the weight of centuries buried beneath shifting tectonic plates of prophecy. "Enough of this petty bickering you two, your mother Lady Ciara still awaits us," he intoned, and the vault fell silent as a tomb—even the clinking coins stilled in midair, suspended by unseen force. Manik's smirk froze halfway to smugness, his fingers twitching around a half chewed gold ingot.
Sonya's quills bristled, but she held her tongue, recognizing the ozone sting of her mother's impatience in the Augur of Apollous' tone. Manik exhaled through his nose, tossing the mangled ingot aside with a clatter that echoed like a death knell. His throne groaned as he stood, mobium coins cascading from his lap—each one a tiny betrayal. "Fine," he drawled, cracking his neck with a sound like snapping ribs. "But if Mother wants us to play nice, she better have something shinier than my riches and hollow promises waiting."
The Augur of Apollous didn't dignify that with a response.
He just activated his magic for a final time today—teleporting the three of them right to Lady Ciara's throne room in a violent burst of violet smoke and ozone. The stench of roses and sulfur clung to the air, thick enough to make Sonya gag theatrically, fanning her claws in front of her nose like the smell might tarnish her perfect quills.
Manik, meanwhile, barely flinched, already calculating how much mobiums the obsidian floor could sell for.
He adjusted his brown orange suit and tie as both him and Sonya looked up.
And right there still on her throne, was their mother.
It was Lady Ciara' herself.
Lady Ciara did not rise when they arrived.
She did not need to.
The throne room bent around her presence like reality had learned, long ago, to yield preemptively.
The chamber was vast without being symmetrical—its architecture grew rather than stood, columns spiraling upward like petrified thorns, walls layered in living stone veined with faintly glowing sigils that pulsed in slow, organic rhythms. Roses bloomed directly from the black marble floor, their roots visibly coiled through fractures in the stone like exposed veins. Some were fresh and crimson, others desiccated and brown, their petals curled inward as though ashamed of having once been beautiful.
At the center sat Lady Ciara.
Her throne was not built. It was claimed.
A massive tangle of fossilized vines and obsidian bone formed the seat, its back rising high like the ribcage of some ancient god she had slain and repurposed. Thorns curved protectively around her, yet never touched her skin, as though they feared her displeasure. She reclined with effortless authority, one claw resting against her temple, the other draped lazily over the armrest.
Her eyes opened slowly.
Sonya stiffened instantly.
Manik froze—just for half a second—before masking it with a practiced grin.
The Augur of Apollous knelt.
Not out of fear.
Out of correctness.
"Mother," Sonya said first, stepping forward with a sharp flick of her quills that sent a ripple through the air. Her voice dripped saccharine sweetness stretched thin over irritation. "You summoned us. I assume it's important, because you interrupted my very busy schedule."
Lady Ciara's gaze slid to her daughter with surgical precision.
"Busy," she repeated softly.
The roses nearest Sonya shuddered.
Sonya felt it—pressure, like fingers tightening around her spine—but she refused to show it. She crossed her arms, chin lifting in defiance, eyes flicking briefly toward Manik as if daring him to comment.
Manik, of course, did.
"Well," he drawled, adjusting his tie and stepping forward, boots echoing against the obsidian floor, "if Sonya's schedule is anything like her temperament, I imagine it involved screaming at servants and polishing mirrors."
Sonya snarled.
Manik grinned wider.
Lady Ciara watched them the way one might watch twin blades spar—interested not in who won, but in how they moved.
"My children," she said at last, her voice velvet wrapped around razors, "you stand before me not as rivals, nor as disappointments… but as repurposed assets."
That got their attention.
Manik's eyes sharpened immediately, greed clicking into place behind them like tumblers in a lock. Sonya straightened, quills settling, her irritation replaced with alert, predatory curiosity.
Lady Ciara rose from her throne.
The room exhaled.
She descended the steps slowly, deliberately, every movement choreographed by centuries of manipulation. As she passed, the roses leaned toward her, thorns retracting, petals unfurling in reverence. Her shadow stretched impossibly long behind her, branching and splitting like a web of living ink.
"You have both served me well," she continued. "In your own… very limited ways."
Sonya bristled.
Manik smirked.
"But now," Ciara said, stopping directly in front of them, "the game has changed. Mobius is approaching an inflection point," Lady Ciara said calmly. "A moment where a single variable determines whether it fractures… or it is reforged. Tell me you two, what do you two know about the name of Sonic the Hedgehog?" Lady Ciara asked the twins slowly, with each syllable dripping with deliberate weight. Sonya only scoffed at the question, flicking her claws dismissively. "That *hedgehog*? Please, Mother. He's just some brat who got lucky—" Lady Ciara's quills twitched, and Sonya immediately bit her tongue so hard she tasted copper.
Manik, meanwhile, rolled a stolen Mobian sovereign between his fingers thoughtfully. "Rumor says his bounty is worth more than Diamond Heights' vaults combined," but with Lady Ciara's glare he also quickly shut up as well. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of ozone and impending storm, until Lady Ciara's claws flexed—an almost idle motion that made the roses nearest her wither instantly.
"You mistake luck for inevitability Sonya," Lady Ciara murmured. The Augur of Apollous stirred behind her, his presence like the hum of live wires—silent until remembered. Sonya's claws twitched toward her hip holster, tracing the familiar curve of her plasma knife's hilt. The gesture was reflexive, meaningless—like a child clutching a stuffed toy during thunderstorms.
Manik's smirk had frozen mid-taunt, his pupils contracting to pinpricks as he registered the slow drip of venom in their mother's voice. Around them, the throne room's roses blackened at the edges, petals curling inward as if burned by unseen radiation.
"Sonic the Hedgehog is the same age of you both exactly, down to the very same day of birth," Lady Ciara continued, her claws tracing idle patterns in the air that left faint violet after images. Manik's fingers twitched toward the jeweled dagger at his belt—not in threat, but habit, his mind already calculating the worth of a living weapon versus a corpse.
Sonya, meanwhile, flicked her wrist to summon a handheld mirror from her holster, checking her quills with exaggerated disinterest even as her pulse hammered against her ribs. "And?" she scoffed, snapping the mirror shut with a sharp click. "Age doesn't make him *interesting*. Unless you're suggesting we throw him a birthday party with knives instead of cake—"
Manik cut her off by tossing a diamond studded dagger onto the obsidian floor between them, the clatter echoing like a challenge. "Wait," he purred, tail flicking as he leaned forward, eyes glinting with avarice. "If Mother's bringing him up *now*..." His claws twitched, as he continued, "then it must mean something."
His grin widened as he looked back up to Lady Ciara for confirmation of his suspicions—his fingers already itching to peel whatever scheme she'd concocted apart like layers of gold foil. "What's the *real* value of his being?" he pressed, the words slithering out between teeth stained faintly.
Lady Ciara's laughter was a slow, serpentine thing—coiling around the throne room like smoke from a funeral pyre. She plucked a single rose from the nearest vine, its petals bruising instantly under her claws. "Oh, my greedy little prince," she murmured, tilting the blossom toward Manik with mocking grace, "you always did know how to ask the *right* questions. Even if in the wrong way."
The flower crumbled to ash between her fingers, scattering across the floor in a pattern that, for half a heartbeat, resembled a hedgehog's silhouette. Manik's pupils dilated—calculating, always calculating—as he tracked the movement.
"Tell me, have either of you ever seen a picture of Sonic the Hedgehog?" Lady Ciara smirked and halfway cackled—slowly—like she was savoring the punchline before delivering it. With a flick of her wrist to signal the Augur of Apollous, an illusory image manifested between them: a blue hedgehog mid-stride, emerald eyes gleaming with something beyond mere arrogance—something that made Manik's pulse stutter. Not because of the defiance in Sonic's posture, nor the way he seemed to vibrate with kinetic energy even in stillness, but because the contours of his muzzle, the angle of his quills, the damn *shape* of him.
"Wait a minute," Manik interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as he snatched the projection mid-air—the holographic image of Sonic flickering against his palm like a trapped firefly. His claws traced the jawline, the quills, the smirk that wasn't just familiar—it was *stolen*. A quick gasp—cold and jagged—escaped him as he tapped his temple with one claw. "Mother... this isn't just some random lucky brat. This is Jules' *spitting image*. Right down to the damn smirk."