Chapter Text
Margarito Larsen did not remember getting onto the train, merely waking up mid ride. They looked out the window, trying to get a sense of where they were. Before them was a city, moving slower past the window than perhaps it should have been. Skyscrapers reached out like fingers to caress the twilight clouds and beyond them, crystal clear waters reflected the dwindling sunlight. The roads, the arteries of the city, lay empty save for a single Fire Truck speeding off into the distance.
The train slowed to stop, the doors opened, and Larsen took their first steps onto a ghostly platform. They had never been here before, and yet they felt a deep sense of familiarity. This was, and perhaps always had been home. Larsen took a deep breath and felt a warmth in their chest.
The Firetruck sped by, and in that moment Larsen was sure they could hear something playing alongside the siren: a voice.
“Welcome to Chicago,” it whispered gently, “where you are now from.”
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Chicago is a sprawling city bordered by the large body of water known as Lake Michigan. Her roads are quiet and empty, save for the occasional firetruck. A snake-like monorail courses along phantom paths around sturdy buildings. At her heart, hidden from all but those who know where to look, lies a great and eternal flame.
The Primordial of Temperance, Chicago is balance in all aspects. Where the streets lay empty and worthy of caution, the spectral train takes denizens wherever they need to be. Where the dark forces of the Blean drag in all who dare get too close, the reflection of the Bean soothe and repair. Most importantly, where the light and the heat and the smoke of the fires that run through her body burn and destroy, they also light homes and warm the bodies of denizens against the chill of the winter. Every aspect of Chicago is reflected either by another aspect, or by itself.
In their “human” form, Chicago is a sight to behold. A towering visage of soft flesh and hard igneous rock. Four arms, two connected to the expose ribcage that encase Chicago’s fire like a cage. Their hair flows, made of the Chicago River and their face is obscured by a shadowed gas mask. Two sets of wings extend from her head, one set feathered and one leather, graced by a crown of flowers. They are delicately dressed, covered only by a soft white cloth attached with a golden belt and golden bands around naked ankles.
They’re often seen carrying a staff whose head contains the Sirens and Dispatch radio that are used to send out “The Call” as well as the divine symbol of Chicago: the Diamond Spark.
If the other primordials could use a single word to describe Chicago, most would use the word: attached. They have a deep sense of love for their denizens, chosen, and souls that some primordials refer to as irresponsible. Still, defined by their aspect of temperance, Chicago knows they cannot interfere when the trials of the immaterial plane come calling. The Chicago River may flow with their tears after each incineration, but they can do nothing to stand in the way.
Of course, their chosen can.
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Elias saw the smoke in the distance just as the sirens rang out. They were loud, but not in his ears so much as in his chest. His vision went white, for a second, like a flash in the distance: and he understood. His body grew warm and he swore he could hear a quiet “please” over the sound of sirens; crackling over an unseen radio speaker. Without a moments hesitation, he ran for the smoke.
Across town, Piper sat huddled in the corner of their basement. The flames had overtaken their only exit, the basement windows long since fallen into disrepair. They had nowhere else to turn. They were trapped. And then they heard it, the distant sound of sirens. They should have felt relief, but the sound could only conjur dread.
“Be not afraid child,” came a voice. Piper turned and looked at the old ham radio, still turned off on their workbench. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
A tear fell from Piper’s eye, turning to steam on hitting the concrete floor. A grin spread across their face as their eyes reflected the firelight from the burning basement door.
Perhaps they were right.
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The Firefighters, the better known of Chicago’s chosen, are a single side of the temperance coin. They embody protection, care, devotion, and responsibility. Their role is containment of the fire that burns in the heart of the city, but also protection from those who would see it extinguished. In the same way, their role is fostering the warmth in connections between others while containing the passions that drive each of us to cause harm to others. They are the light that shines, the smoke that warns, the warmth that comforts, and the renewal that comes after destruction. Chicago chooses each Firefighter with great care, the dispatch radio guiding them to souls who embody the noble aspects of the flame.
The Firefighters, however, are not Chicago’s only chosen. Chicago’s heart burns bright, even tho the waters of the river and Lake Michigan temper it; and similar passion strikes their interest as much as noble hearts.
Firestarters, the opposing side of the coin, are less unified than their counterparts and generally far more wild. Their role is about exposure of the flame; breaking it free from the bonds of the city. To feel every emotion, to try everything fast and hot. To burn bright. They are the light that blines, the smoke that chokes, the warmth that burns, and the raw destructive power of the flame. For each Firefighter that takes up their role, the spark splits into another: always in constant balance. Of course, each individual brings their own to their role. There are Firefighters with bold passions and blinding visions and Firestarters who burn low and slow in soft stoic circles.
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“Why do you listen to that station anyway?” Evelynn asked, stretching on her tip toes to grab a bag of coffee off the top shelf. A soft feminine voice droned out over the speakers listing number after number in a non-distinct order. Every once in a while, a soft chime played.
Gareth shrugged. “I don’t know, I just like the way it sounds I think. Like the voice of the train, y’know?”
Evelynn grabbed the bag and let out a tiny cheer, followed by a sigh as they got into a more comfortable position. “Don’t really know why the train needs a voice.”
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Chicago’s Fetich soul is the Flame: all of duality combined into a single unpredictable package. A force of nature, the Flame is an important part of life in the city. It has no defined form other than the ball of fire most perceive it as, and spends most of its time resting in Chicago’s heart, either within the depths of the City or within the expose torso of Chicago’s human form. The Flame wants to be free, to tear across the land and grow to unimaginable strength, but is also aware that it is more than capable of burning itself out forever if it is not contained. Few who have dared to summon Chicago’s heart share the same experience in their results. Feeding the Flame appeases it, but too much and a summoner can swiftly lose control. But failure to care for the Flame has devastating effects on the health of the city, as well as the summoner.
Chicago’s Third Circle souls, those that define the city, include: The Firefighter, Betsy, the Bean, the Blean, and the L Train.
The Firefighter, a burning figure inside of what appears to be a Firefighters uniform, could be considered the patron of Chicago’s chosen “heroes.” Chicago’s inspiration for their most well known chose, the Firefighter stands as the epitome of what it means to take on the position. An ever vigilant watcher, with eyes in every spark across the city, the Firefighter acts as the Flame’s eternal guardian. It is the Firefighter that sounds the siren whenever the Flame has overreached, and the Firefighter’s hand that guides the Flame gently back to their home. Most importantly for the chosen, it is the Firefighter that watches the incinerations, and carries the sparks back to Chicago’s heart to keep them close.
Betsy is the Firefighter’s foil. Betsy takes on the form of a large cow, hooves sparking against Chicago’s pavement and igniting flames in her wake. To Betsy, the Firefighter is nothing more than a jailer, keeping the Flame from its true calling. Betsy’s role is to help the Flame escape, to spread its form wherever her hooves can reach. She’s a large and imposing force, one that could easily cause a lot of harm and spiral out of control. However, she is not without her gentle side. Not a malicious entity, Besty does not seek to do harm, it is merely something that occurs around her.
The L Train is a curious entity. It’s the constant movement of the city. It winds around on phantom tracks from destinations unknown to destinations even more unknown from the outside observer. Many would see it as merely another monorail, a simple tool of transport, but it too is a defining part of Chicago as a city. Everyone from Chicago is connected to the L, and when it is needed, it arrives nearby to pick up passengers. Once within, the train feels endless. One could travel car to car for what feels like eternity and never find an end or beginning. What’s more, every car feels the same save for whatever other entities may be traveling within. But there’s no schedule, no route. Once on, the L takes riders where it believes they need to be. For those with a deep connection to the city, such as the Chosen, this is often where they wish to be going. For other denizens, however, this could lead to odd and unintended places with no explanation.
If the Flame is Chicago’s heart, and the Firefighter and Betsy represent Chicago’s conscious internal battle, the L is Chicago’s unconscious: a long and winding confusion that always gets one where they need to be, but may take its time in doing so.
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Chicago had never mourned their chosen; not really. For a Firefighter, to die in the line of duty was frightening, but understandable. For a Firestarter, to wither away into dust was inevitable one way or another. Such was the ebb and flow of the flame. But, to see that noble child be turned to unnatural ash. To watch their spark get snatched away beyond a barrier forbidden to Chicago’s hand? That hurt. As the Firefighters mourned their loss, so too did Chicago. They begged the Firefighter to cross the barrier and retrieve the spark, but the entity could not oblige. The cooed at Betsy to lead the charge across the darkness but even she dimmed.
All they could do was sit, and watch, and weep.
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The most notable of Chicago’s Second Circle Souls is The Dispatch: Tyreek Olive.
A former chosen, few embodied the spirit of Chicago like Tyreek, and their loss was felt heavily across the city upon their incineration. When Tyreek fell, as Chicago was not prepared, they took their spark with them. A part of Chicago was lost, seemingly forever. That changed later, during the Revival, where careful negotiations brought many chosen back from the realm beyond. And on their return, Chicago wasted no time in reclaiming their lost piece. A long conversation was held, and Chicago held out a hand to offer Tyreek something more: to be a part of Chicago forever. On agreement, Tyreek’s powers were enhanced. Their soul merged with Chicago, and they became: The Dispatch.
The Dispatch works for the Fireman, acting as additional eyes over the city. Their form is new and uncertain, but their voice is clear over every radio: Tyreek.
The Dispatch operates as a guardian angel to Chicago’s more heroic chosen; warning them of troubles and trials across the city that need their attention as much as they can interfere. They cannot return to their friends in the same way that they had before, but at least this way they are never far away.