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animeomegas · 6 months

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The Quest for a Second Life - Part 4 - Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My! (3)

ITACHI X ALPHA!READER

Summary: This was it. The climax. Narratively and physically. You could safely say that there was potions and magic and sex, oh my. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple Naruto Characters

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Explicit n-sfw content. All alphas have penises, fyi.

A/N: It's finally December! Happy holidays everyone! Anyway, enjoy the final part of Itachi's book! I really enjoyed writing for him and his witchy goodness. I don't know if this chapter is good because I'm so tired lol. Next chapter we'll meet the second mystery omega in the second book, no spoilers yet, but I think my dearest friend @omeganronpa will have quite a difficult choice ahead~ I do like to make my gifts slightly torturous of course ;) Enjoy <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

You pulled back from Itachi and knelt at his feet, chomping at the bit to shower him in love and pleasure. You were grateful that your discarded shirt provided enough of a cushion to keep your knees from being bruised by the rock floor, although at this point, you weren’t sure there was any injury big enough to stop you.

Itachi’s feet were resting on the stone, with his calves and knees pressed together. You gently ran your hands over Itachi’s calves, up to his knees and then back down again, admiring his soft skin.

“Can you open your legs for me, pretty?” you cooed, not ceasing with your ministrations.

Itachi shivered, “I… You do it. Please.”

His desire for complete submission was certainly one of the sexiest parts of his newly discovered temperament, and one you were eager to encourage.

You placed on hand on each of his knees and then slowly drew his legs apart like you were unwrapping a gift. They parted easily, showing a great amount of flexibility in his hips, and soon he had his feet placed on the floor, one each side of the stone slab. Then, taking care to avoid any friction burns, you grabbed Itachi’s hips and dragged him closer to you, until his bare crotch was in front of your face, completely uncovered and unobscured.

The shadows created by the fire accentuated the angles of Itachi’s body, drawing your eyes in a multiple of directions at once. First to his hip bones, then to the valley of his surprisingly toned stomach, and finally, to the star of the show, his rock-hard, rosy cock that curved towards his stomach and twitched cutely as you stared at it. It was a good size, just a little smaller than average, and had a pleasant colour and presentation. All around, it was a pretty dick that suited him, and you couldn’t wait to get your mouth on it.

You glanced up and noticed that Itachi had propped himself up on his arms to watch you. When you caught his gaze, he broke eye contact bashfully. Cute.

The pliant skin of Itachi’s thighs was so soft that you had no difficulty redirecting your focus to them. Watching the skin move around your thumbs as you massaged him was hypnotising. His thighs were also surprisingly toned. Did having to walk everywhere cause this, or was this yet another nod towards his questionable childhood? It hardly seemed like Itachi had a passion for working out.

Regardless, you laid your cheek on his left thigh and gave it an affectionate nuzzle. You also left a little kiss for good measure, one that could have probably been described as chaste had it been on Itachi’s lips instead.

You had been given a blank canvas and you were going to paint it so thoroughly that the marks would stay even if this world reset.

You started at the lower part of his left thigh, kissing, teasing, and biting your way up. Every gasp and whimper that you drew from your witch inflated your confidence and spurred you on further. A hickey here, teeth marks there, kisses everywhere you could.

But then, just as you reached the crease where his thighs ended and his hips started, just as Itachi’s cock twitched in anticipation, you withdrew, starting again from the lower parts of his thigh, this time the right one.

Itachi hissed in frustration but didn’t voice a complaint.

You repeated your ministrations on the other thigh, but once again, as you reached the place Itachi wanted you the most, you withdrew.

Itachi made a little petulant noise this time.

“You’re teasing me,” he accused, the shadow of a pout on his face.

“Hmm, am I?” you teased back, scratching your fingernails over his hips and lower stomach. You laughed as he glared at you. You made to go for his cock but diverted at the last moment to press on one of the love bites.

“Stop teasing,” he said, his pout deepening.

“Oh, so demanding.” You blew some air onto his cock and watched it jump. “You don’t look like someone in a position to be making demands, ‘tachi.”

Much to your amusement, Itachi huffed, blowing some loose hair from his face.

“Itachi,” you cooed, nuzzling his thigh. “I know what’s going to get you feeling really good. Just lay back and let me give you what you need. Your job is to take it, not demand it.”

You had fallen easily and quickly into your role as a dom, the words spilling out before you could stop them. You were worried for a moment that you crossed some lines, but Itachi’s pupils expanded, and the fight bled out of him instantly. Oh… he liked it. He liked that you were in control of his pleasure, and he had just been playing a little at being the brat, not that he was particularly good at it.

You watched as Itachi pressed a shaky hand to his mouth, a healthy blush on his cheeks that was slowly creeping down his chest. Yes, you could tell he was a good boy, not a brat, and you expected no further petulance from him now that you had set your expectations for his behaviour.

Despite all your teasing though, you had no intention of making him wait. Primarily because the saliva pooling in your mouth was becoming unsustainable as every cell in your body screamed at you to take his pretty cock in your mouth and make him see stars.

Without warning, you enveloped his dick with your mouth until your lips were sealed around the base, taking him completely in one movement. Itachi let out an aborted scream, out of shock or pleasure you weren’t sure, but you hoped it was both.

“Ah, fuck, that’s—”

That was the first swear you had heard from him, which only served to remind you that you were the first person to ever use your mouth on him like this. You were the only one who got to see him like this, and that thought made you hot, even in the middle of the Winter.

You hollowed your cheeks and slowly and deliberately moved up and down. The weight of him on your tongue was satisfying and he tasted surprisingly pleasant. You swirled your tongue around the head. Itachi seized for a moment, and when you looked up at him, you saw that his jaw was hanging open.

You couldn’t smirk at him while you had his cock in your mouth, but you hoped your eyes could convey your thoughts well enough.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Itachi was muttering to himself, looking like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

You paid special attention to the largest vein that ran along the underside of his cock, using your tongue to massage and caress it. Itachi’s hips jolted, lifting towards your mouth. He let out a strangled noise, like he was trying to moan and gasp at the same time. As his hips jolted, his cock hit the back of your throat. You coughed, not expecting the sudden force, and pulled back.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?” Itachi looked mortified. He tried to sit up, presumably to check on you, but you finished clearing your throat and placed a hand on his stomach to keep him reclined.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” you said, sending him a reassuring look. “It was my fault; clearly I should have been pinning your hips down.” To make your point, you grabbed his hips in your hands and held them firmly to the stone slab. “There. Now you can’t be naughty anymore.”

Itachi made an outraged noise, “I’m not—I’m not—I’m not naughty.”

“No, not anymore.” It was hard to keep your grin supressed but teasing him was simply too much fun.

“You—”

Itachi’s words cut off as you returned to the blowjob, the argument dying on his lips. He was leaking precum steadily now, but it wasn’t nearly as bitter as you had expected. Was the more pleasant taste a feature of his very healthy diet, or a feature of living in an erotica? Perhaps both. Would the same be true for you? A hypothesis for a later time.

After a few minutes, you pulled off the omega’s now glistening dick and took to lathering the sides with your tongue to give your mouth a bit of a break. You paid extra attention to the head; Itachi seemed the most sensitive there. You used your tongue to circle it in tight loops, occasionally dipping into his slit.

“Oh my god, don’t stop, please, please, please,” Itachi babbled. He sat up and laced his fingers in your hair, still rambling incoherently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t, I can’t, don’t stop!”

You weren’t normally a fan of your partner trying to guide your head when you were giving oral, but Itachi seemed to be less interested in guiding you, and more interested in using you as a way to stay upright, so you allowed it. You could already tell that, if you stayed in this world, Itachi would have you wrapped around his little finger. Good job he wasn’t a brat, because you didn’t have the heart to tame him.

As the blowjob continued, Itachi kept proving that he was incredibly sensitive. As you kissed up his cock, he whole body shivered, and when you were lucky enough to catch glimpses of his face, his eyes were clenched tight. Any semblance of vocal control had flown out the proverbial window, and Itachi’s cacophony of moans were echoing around the cave, filling your head from every direction. That, combined with the way his silhouette was pasted in shadows on the cave wall, made it feel like you were being entirely consumed by Itachi. You were surrounded by him and his pleasure, and it was the most invigorating feeling imaginable.

This hadn’t at all been what you imagined when you swore that today would be the day that you and Itachi would take things further, but there was something about it that made it perfect.

Itachi looked entirely wrecked at this point, making little ‘ah’ noises whenever you moved your tongue. You wondered briefly if Itachi’s sensitivity was his own trait or born from existing in an erotica. Would you also be more sensitive? You hoped so. Oh! Would you be able to stay hard for longer or recover faster? Now that would be handy.

You gave a particularly harsh suck and suddenly Itachi’s legs came up to wrap around your head, trapping you against his dick, much to your surprise. Itachi didn’t seem to notice, even as you coughed.

Without warning, Itachi plummeted into an orgasm, filling your mouth with his sweet cum. Considering his inexperience, you figured that even he hadn’t known what was happening fast enough to give you a warning.

“Hah, there’s— hngg, how, I can’t—” Itachi was coiled like a spring while he came, his stomach muscles clenching with every shot. Dutifully, you swallowed everything, trying your best to keep up.

After the final shot, Itachi suddenly went limp. He flopped backwards, returning to his original reclined position. His legs fell from their tightly gripped position on your head to lay limply on your shoulders. He was taking deep, shuddering breaths, but didn’t move or speak.

You used your new freedom to wipe your lips. Yep, this world was definitely making everything taste better, there’s no way a good diet would be enough to make it taste like that.

Carefully, you moved each of Itachi’s legs off your shoulders and placed them on the ground. Itachi made no attempt to stop you, physically or verbally.

Once you were free to stand, you went to his head end and perched on the edge of the stone slab. Itachi looked completely blissed out; his entire face was flushed, his eyes were still closed, and his breathing was still a little uneven. You doubted he’d ever had an orgasm like that, and the part of your brain controlled by your base instincts was ever so cocky about it.

“You okay?” you asked, ignoring the instincts and going with the softer impulse. You caressed his forehead lovingly, swiping away stray hairs. “That must have been a lot, huh?”

Itachi hummed in agreement, his eyes slowly fluttering open to look at you. He held your gaze for a few moments, his eyes still lidded, before they shot fully open in panic.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t warn you, and I manhandled you, and I’m so sorry, do you need some napkins, let me grab you some.” He sat up and tried to reach for the basket, but you caught his hands and held them to your chest.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay. You didn’t hurt me, and I don’t need any napkins, I swallowed everything.”

There was a beat of silence before Itachi’s jaw dropped. You snorted at the scandalised look on his face. He was staring at your lips like he’d never be able to look at them the same way ever again. He looked a little faint, so you poked him on the nose to bring his attention back to the present.

“How was that?” you asked, changing the subject.

Itachi drew his legs up to his chest, “That was amazing,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you said sincerely. You certainly didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth after his performance. “You must be tired now though, maybe we should get home.” It was hurting your heart, (and your dick), to say that, but having just had his first real sexual experience, Itachi might not be in the mindset to reciprocate.

“A little, but—” He looked down and noticed your painfully tight trousers. “Oh! You haven’t finished yet.”

You sent him a wry grin, “Believe me, I’m aware. Sucking you off was incredibly hot and all, don’t get me wrong, but I need a bit more stimulation than that to get off.”

Itachi’s brows furrowed and it was incredibly obvious what he was thinking.

“Don’t worry about me, Itachi.” He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “We should head home before it gets dark.”

You really weren’t trying to play the martyr; that had been intense, and Itachi probably wanted a break, erotica or no. You didn’t want your first orgasm with him to be one of obligation, no matter how much your animal brain was arguing that that was better than nothing.

Itachi bit his lip, looking indecisive, but quickly his expression melted into one of determination.

“Itachi—”

“No. I want to try.” The look in his eyes was one you had seen before, mainly when he was trying to wrangle a new dinner recipe into submission, but also that one time he’d almost fought the waiter in town. It was the look of someone who wasn’t going to be easily swayed.

You hesitated, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now swap places with me. And take off your trousers.”

You did as he asked, throbbing in anticipation. The second your trousers had been discarded, Itachi stood up on his slightly shaky legs and pushed you down onto the stone bench. He then dragged your shirt into a better position for him and knelt down in between your legs.

Your legs were already spread, so Itachi placed his hands on your crotch, head tilted like his was trying to study the outline of your dick through your underwear. The whole situation reminded you of the time he’d spilt hot chocolate on you. At least this time he was aware of what he was doing.

“Itachi, you are so stunningly hot, has anyone ever told you that?”

Itachi smiled, “Only you.”

“That’s a crime, but I’m also glad I don’t have to fight off any competition. Imagine if we lived in a town; I’d be fighting suitors away from you with a stick.”

“Shut up.” Itachi’s voice was full of embarrassed amusement. “I’m trying to focus.”

“My bad.” You mimed zipping your lips, locking them, and then throwing away the key.

Itachi sighed, shaking his head, before focusing back on you. He studied you for a moment.

“I’m taking these off.” Impatiently, he tugged at the waistband of your underwear. You lifted your lips to aid him, and soon he had them off, and the fabric fell to your ankles.

Itachi had been studying you so closely that as its cloth prison was removed, your cock sprang out and thwacked Itachi directly on the cheek, an audible skin slapping noise reverberating around the cave.

“Oh!” Itachi jumped, his hands grabbing your erection automatically. Because he was so close, he had to go a little cross eyed to keep your dick in his sight.

You giggled, pushing him a little further back, just until he was sitting back on his knees. Itachi blinked up at you through his dark eye lashes, looking confused and a little upset that you’d pushed him away. He was so cute, completely out of his element and yet so sexy.

“Slow down,” you said, squishing his cheeks in your hands. Itachi shot you a glare, but the impact was lessened by his squishy cheeks. You laughed and let him go. “First, let me remove these.” You took your ankles out of your underwear and kicked it off to the side. “Now, relax. Why don’t you use your hands first, ‘tachi. Get a feel for it.”

Itachi’s look of determination returned as you gave him some instructions, and he immediately started to explore.

He ran his hands around the shaft first, wrapping you in a fist and stroking up and down. He moved slowly, occasionally looking up at you to see your reaction. He ran his fingers over the head, even tapping on your slit when a bead of precum appeared and then examining the liquid on the tip of his finger.

You were dangerously close to blowing your load all over his face and he had barely touched you. It was just so deeply erotic the way he was using you to satisfy his curiosity and learn what he was supposed to do. The innocence was enticing, but you were also going to have fun watching experience slowly overcome it. You wanted to corrupt him.

‘James, I’m developing new kinks.’

‘Congratulations, human alpha. Is it a human custom to mark such an event with a celebration?’

‘Oh, I’ll be celebrating in a moment, James, that I can promise you.’

Itachi was holding your erection in his palm, almost like he was testing the weight of it.

“It’s hot,” he said, trailing a finger down it. His eyes jumped up when he realised what he said. “I mean, warm, the temperature is high.”

You snorted, “I hope it’s also hot as in sexy. And I’m pretty sure your dick is the same temperature.”

“That’s different,” he mumbled, returning to his task with a pink glow to his face.

His bashfulness quickly disappeared once you stopped speaking. Itachi seemed to be enthralled by your dick. He was rhythmically squeezing at your knot with one hand and weighing your balls in the other. You were tempted to tell him to slow down because you were getting close, but your pride refused to admit that out loud, so you allowed him to continue.

Itachi’s hands stilled suddenly, and he bit his lip, staring down at a bead of precum that was running down the side. You were about to ask him what was wrong when he hesitantly leant in and caught the drop with a little kitten lick.

You didn’t know if it was because this was the first time you’d had his mouth on you, because you were more sensitive in erotica pocket dimensions, or because the lick had been devastatingly cute, but you swore your soul left your body.

‘James, I’m dying, this is it.’

‘You are already dead, human, please do not panic.’

Itachi hummed consideringly as he pulled away, licking at his lips a little. Whatever he found didn’t seem offensive, because he leant back in for another few gentle licks.

Take his mouth, show him your strength, cum on his face to mark him so other alphas know he’s yours. Your instincts were screaming. How could one omega drive you so wild? He was treating your dick like it was an ice lolly. You were about to cum as quickly as a teenager, so for your own ego, you decided that you were definitely more sensitive in porn dimensions.

Itachi suddenly slipped the head into his mouth and began to suck gently.

“Oh, Itachi!” you moaned, toes curling. Itachi looked up at you in shock, almost as though he had forgotten that you were attached to the dick he was worshiping. You affectionately brushed some hair from his face, drinking in the sight of Itachi’s lips stretched around your dick. “Why don’t you try to go a little further down, baby? You’re doing so well; you feel amazing.”

With a determined glint in his eyes, Itachi took a deep breath and then forced himself down until the head of your cock hit the back of his throat. Not expecting that, you almost came at the feeling of his throat spasming and massaging you as he inevitably choked.

“Woah, woah, slow down.” You pulled Itachi’s head back as he coughed. It had felt amazing, but he was clearly lacking enough experience for that to be comfortable, and you wanted this to feel good for both of you. “Deep breaths.”

As Itachi stopped coughing, you wiped some of the drool off his lips and gave him a tap on his bottom lip with your thumb.

“Easy,” you soothed. “You went too fast. You need to work up to deep throating if that’s something you’re interested in. Give yourself some time to get used to it.”

He pouted, “You’re too big.”

“Are you complaining? Because you seem unable to keep your hands and eyes, your mouth too now, off it for very long.”

“You’re also mean.”

You chuckled. Perhaps it was a little mean to tease him about his obvious fascination with your cock, but it wasn’t like you were criticising it. If anything, you loved this newfound part of Itachi. Call you an alpha knothead or whatever, but you were proud of your cock, and knowing that Itachi loved it so much was hot and ego-boosting.

“Why don’t I guide you a bit? I can help you find your limit. Here.” You gently gathered his hair into a mock ponytail and held it in your fist. With that, you should be able to move his head without hurting him. “Open your mouth and put your tongue out.”

Itachi obeyed instantly, even though his blush gave away his embarrassment. See? He was definitely a good boy at heart.

You took your cock in your free hand and rested it carefully on his tongue. Itachi blinked up at you but sat still and took it.

“Get used to the weight of it, the size, the taste, everything. Don’t put it in your mouth yet, just use your tongue.”

Itachi wiggled his tongue a little, creating a pleasant, if a bit ticklish, sensation.

“Good boy.” Itachi moaned a little saliva dribbling down his chin. You wiped it away with your thumb, marvelling at the way Itachi’s eyes started to droop as his focus returned to your dick. You had no trouble believing that he was specifically created for an erotica novel, even with the whole murder backstory thing.

‘James, if I die here, can you make sure that everyone knows that I went out getting a blowjob from the prettiest omega in existence?’

‘It is literally impossible for you to die in pocket dimensions, human. I am worried about how many times I’ve had to explain that to you. Did you lose some of your mental facilities during your untimely death?’

‘I don’t think so, but I’m definitely losing mental facilities on Itachi’s tongue.’ As you ‘spoke’, Itachi panted hot breath onto your cock and you shivered, tightening your grip on his hair instinctually, something which caused Itachi to make a little proud and pleased noise.

‘Human, while I understand those words separately, your completed sentence is nonsensical.’

You tuned James out; you had far more important things to attend to.

“’tachi, try putting it in your mouth properly now, just around the tip.” He did as you instructed, eyes glazed. “Very good, you’re doing so well.”

Itachi tried to speak, but the words were incomprehensible. You hissed at the combination of the delicious vibration and the sting of his teeth.

“Pull off if you’re going to speak, okay?” you instructed. He nodded, so you tried to pull him off so that he could say whatever he’d been trying to say, but he made a noise of discontent and pushed back against you so your dick would stay in his mouth.

Was it weird to say that his inexperience was only making this whole thing better? There was something inside you that was endlessly pleased by having this omega, who had never even touched an alpha’s dick before, worshipping yours like it was his reason for living. The idea that he was so dedicated that he couldn’t bare to take things slow was the cherry on top of an already perfectly horny scenario.

As you were lost in thought, Itachi idly suckled, more relaxed now that you had stopped trying to remove him.

“Okay, good boy, you can go a little further. Try and focus your tongue on the head and the biggest vein at the base.” His tongue wiggled around for a moment and when he found the vein, he looked up at you for praise. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep your voice steady. “That’s the one, very good. For many people, those are the most sensitive places.”

Not that you ever wanted his mouth on anyone else’s dick of course. The thought made you a bit nauseous in all honesty. You wanted to be his first and last. But if you didn’t pick him… someone else eventually would, for good this time. You felt angry just entertaining the possibility. Your upcoming choice was going to be painful if the second omega was as easy to love as Itachi. Part of you was tempted to just tell James that you’d already made your mind up, but you knew you’d forever wonder about the other book if you didn’t experience it.

Seeing that Itachi was comfortable, you guided him a couple more centimetres down, watching him closely, although the wet heat on your cock was admittedly making it hard to focus.

Too quickly, he tried to push down further, but you held his hair tight to keep him where he was.

“Take your time, Itachi, how many times do I have to say that? My dick isn’t going anywhere.”

He growled at you, but you only moaned in response as the vibrations ran straight to your lower stomach, knotting it in the best way. Itachi seemed shocked and intrigued by your reaction.

“Vibrations feel good, Itachi,” you explained, trying to mush out words when your brain was slowly turning to mush. “That’s why—” Itachi started to purr. He started to purr around your dick.

Damn, you really were going to die here. Shocked and pleasured, you let out a little cry and dropped the hold you had on Itachi’s hair. Making the most of his newfound freedom, Itachi pushed himself further down, until only an inch of your dick wasn’t in his mouth. He couldn’t seem to get any further, but he didn’t let that discourage him. He moved his head up and down with reckless abandon, purring and humming all the while.

Eventually, through your pleasured haze, you noticed that Itachi was firmly pressing the pressure point on his palm that the nosy old man in town had suggested. At least you now knew that strategy worked.

Itachi sucked and licked and kissed, moaning loudly, eyes heavily lidded, drool leaking out of the edges of his lips. The noise was obscene, bouncing off the walls of the cave and filling your head from every direction. The extra sensitivity was hurtling you rapidly towards your orgasm. You stomach felt like it was filled with molten lava. You needed to warn Itachi.

“Itachi.”

He didn’t respond. It was like his mind had emptied of all thoughts so that he could focus on your cock. It would have been much hotter if you didn’t need him to listen to you right now.

“Itachi? Come on.” You took the initiative to pull him off your cock. There was a wet pop noise as the seal he was creating with his mouth broke. Itach whined, tugging back towards your cock.

“Baby?” Itachi looked up at you, dazed. “I’m going to cum soon.”

Itachi blinked at you, swallowing a few times before he got the words out. “In my mouth?” he asked, staring up at you.

You hummed, stroking his face a little, “No, not yet. I’m going to use one of the napkins, but are you okay getting me to the edge with your tongue?”

Itachi nodded and went to return to your cock immediately. You stopped him with a hand.

“Let me grab a napkin first.” Itachi shook his head. “No? Why?”

“I want you to cum on my face,” he mumbled, nuzzling at your cock. “Please?”

Fuck. You swallowed heavily at his words and attempted, and subsequently failed, to keep your voice steady as you replied.

“If you want me to, darling.”

Itachi clearly did, because he immediately started to kiss and run his tongue all over you. While he worshipped you, you thought about how hot everything was, and how obsessed Itachi was with your cock. It took an embarrassingly short time to knock you over the edge.

“I’m cumming!”

Itachi stopped licking and sat back, closing his eyes. Quickly, you grabbed your dick and aimed it at his face. The first cum shot felt like you were firing a gun. All that tension, all that build up, the prettiest target in front of you, it wasn’t shocking that it was one of the best orgasms of your life.

The first shot hit Itachi in the cheek. He squeaked and jumped slightly, but his eyes remained closed and waiting. Perhaps you were just too horny for coherent thought, but you thought the sticky, white cum suited him.

Your stomach clenched and the second shot ripped through you, hitting Itachi just above the eye. Some clung to his long eyelashes, creating a striking contrast between the deep black and pearly white.

The third and largest shot hit Itachi in the forehead, some of it getting caught in his hair. You had expected that to be the end, and so the fourth one took you by surprise. You almost doubled over with the intensity of it.

It was then quickly followed by a fifth and sixth shot. Baffled and addled by your ongoing orgasm, it took you a few moments to realise that the porn logic must have been affecting the amount of cum you had, because this was not normal.

It continued until your stomach ached from the prolonged muscle usage, and Itachi’s face was covered in your cum. Despite your sudden exhaustion, your instincts were roaring in delight. You had claimed your omega. You had drenched him so thoroughly in your scent, in your seed, that no other alpha would dare make a claim on him. No one could threaten your bond, not when he was like this. You gazed proudly down at Itachi.

Slowly, the euphoric and instinctual haze receded, and you realised that you were leaving Itachi kneeling at your feet, covered in your cum, without even trying to help clean him up.

“Oh! Hang on! I’ll grab some napkins!” You scrambled for the basket and rifled through it until you had a couple of the napkins. Itachi didn’t move, he just knelt there at your feet. Was he okay?

You held the back of his neck to keep him steady, and delicately wiped him up, starting with his eyes, then his lips, and finishing up with the rest of his face. There wasn’t much you could do about his hair until you were home.

“Are you okay, Itachi?” His eyes flickered open, but he seemed to be having trouble focusing on your face. His scent was calm, and yet still geared towards keeping you attracted to him, and he didn’t speak, even when you prompted him to do so. You recognised the behaviour straight away; he was in subspace. You had been thinking about the way he sometimes got spacy after intense make outs, but you’d written it off because surely there was no way he was that easy to put into subspace. But here you were, looking at the evidence that proved you were wrong.

You gently stroked his neck, adjusting your intentions to be more of what he needed if he was in subspace. You were honoured that he felt safe enough with you, and you weren’t going to ruin that by upsetting him.

“You did so well, Itachi, I’m so proud of you,” you said quietly. Itachi smiled tiredly but didn’t speak. You supported him to his feet, standing yourself too. His shaky legs caused him to lean on you heavily, but eventually, with your encouragement, he found his balance. “Stay there, ‘tachi.”

You peeled the cloak off the stone slab, cringing at the wet spot. The dampness wasn’t ideal, but Itachi wouldn’t be able to get home without its warmth, so you didn’t have a choice but to wrap him up in it. Itachi sighed happily at the warmth, burying his face into the collar, and let you guide him to sit back down, light purrs escaping him.

Once he was okay, you put on your own clothes, also revelling in the artificial warmth. The fire was on its way out by this point, and you had to leave as soon as you could to get home before dark. It was unfortunate that you couldn’t let Itachi come down from his high here in the cave, but being caught in the cold and dark would at least be unfortunate and more likely disastrous.

“Are you ready, darling?” You slipped your hand into his, hoping he’d be okay to walk. Itachi nodded, allowing you to lead him out of the cave. Unfortunately, you really needed him to lead the way back, as you had only the vaguest idea of how to get back to his cottage. “Which way d—”

Itachi stumbled over a branch, and it was only your conjoined hands that stopped him from face planting on the ground. Itachi looked up at you, a confused chirp escaping him, like he was asking you how you’d let him fall when you were supposed to be keeping him safe. It tugged on your heartstrings so much that you immediately pulled him into an embrace and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m cold,” he muttered, pushing his face into your shoulder. While the cloak was charmed, without any clothes underneath, it was also probably pretty breezy.

You cooed, “I bet. Why don’t I carry you home?” You couldn’t bear to have him uncomfortable for even a second, not when you could prevent it. “That would be warmer for you, but you have to show me the way home, okay?”

Itachi nodded, looking relieved, and held out his arms. You scooped him up into a princess carry, and he looped his arms around your neck before settling his head on your shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

…

You had arrived home just in time to avoid having to stumble through the woods in the dark, and the subsequent evening had passed by in a whirlwind of cleaning, cooking, eating and cuddling. Itachi had mostly recovered by the time you had arrived, even walking the last hour himself, but he remained mostly silent unless addressed directly, and you had to take extra care to help him navigate away from a subdrop.

In contrast, the following morning seemed to crawl by like a snail. It was the day you were supposed to be brewing the potion, but Itachi had insisted on cooking a massive breakfast that had taken him an hour to cook and just as long to eat. He maintained that he just felt like making an elaborate breakfast, but considering the significance of the day, you didn’t know if you believed him. You had a feeling that he was either stress cooking, attempting to show you how good of a mate he could be, or just trying to delay the inevitable.

At least you had managed to entertain yourself by admiring and pressing on his copious amounts of hickeys.

“Mm, if you keep doing that, the food is going to burn.” Despite his words, he arched into your touch as you pressed on a particularly large hickey on his neck.

You eyed the pots and pans on the hob, all of which were stirring themselves. “They’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about; what if you get lonely because I’m not kissing you?”

Itachi laughed, “You’re ridiculous.”

At least the long breakfast and clean up had allowed you plenty of time to tighten up the details of your backstory, ready for your memories to ‘return’. You were grateful for that last opportunity to plan, because now, having gathered all the necessary ingredients, the time had arrived to make the Amnesia Reversal Potion.

You and Itachi were sitting cross legged in the corner of bedroom that he used for experiments, meticulously cutting, grinding, and adding ingredients into his black cauldron. It was equal parts cool and overwhelming to watch potion brewing in action. If you ended up in this world, you were for sure going to learn to make as many as you could. Maybe you could convince Itachi to move slightly closer to a nearby town so that you could access supplies a little easier?

“This potion is extraordinarily simple,” Itachi remarked, dropping in the crushed Amplexus seeds. “No wait times, no stirring instructions, no temperature requirements. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“Weird.”

“Indeed. All I have to do is add the ingredients into the cauldron in the order that they’re listed in the ingredients list.”

“Isn’t it a good thing that it’s simple?”

Itachi grabbed a sprig of thyme and dropped it in, “Of course, it’s just strange.”

You watched the wooden tray empty as each ingredient was added to the potion in turn. The potion turned from brown, to pink, and then to purple at various intervals, bubbling, smoking, and spitting all at once. It seemed a little dramatic, but Itachi didn’t react as though anything was weird.

Eventually, there was only one ingredient left: Cinnamon. How weirdly mundane to be the climax of this potion making adventure.

Itachi added it and then began to stir, wrestling with the hydrophobic powder that seemed resistant to joining the potion. As he stirred, the potion gradually turned into a bright lime green. That was it then, right? That must be the potion!

But Itachi didn’t stop stirring, brows furrowed. He stared down at the cauldron like he was waiting for something more. He even picked up the recipe again to double check it.

“Is something the matter?” you asked, after the silence had stretched to uncomfortable levels.

“Look at the recipe, here.” He handed you to recipe, but you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be looking at. You send him a helpless gaze and he tapped on the sketch of the potion on the right side. “This is a sketch of the potion and it’s a shimmering gold. Our potion is green.”

You bit your lip, “Maybe it’s just artistic interpretation?”

“No, a shade or two different, fine, but a completely different colour? Our potion isn’t correct, but I’m not sure what I did wrong. I don’t even know how I could have gone wrong; it just says to add everything in order!” He plucked the recipe from your grip again and held it closer to his face, as though that would somehow solve the mystery.

It was then, as he held up the piece of paper, that you noticed something written on the back. Did the recipe continue on the other side? You had looked at this over a hundred times over the past fortnight, how could you have missed that there was something written on the back?

“Um, Itachi? Try flipping the page over.”

He hummed, confused, but did as you asked.

“Oh! You’re right! There’s one more ingredient, we must have missed it. It’s written much smaller than the other ingredients.” You silently passed him his glasses, which had been abandoned earlier once the steam from the potion had fogged them up, and he gratefully put them on.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can find it somew—”

The sentence died as Itachi finally read the words on the back of the page.

You watched him, anxiously. “Itachi? Is something wrong?”

Itachi’s eyes flickered back and forth between your face and the recipe. Slowly, his face grew pink and heavily flushed. He didn’t speak.

“Itachi? What does it say? Is it something bad?”

Itachi opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Giving up, he thrust the paper out to you before bashfully burying his face in his palms.

Intrigued and vaguely concerned, you read the back of the recipe.

‘100ml of the fluid of a squirting omega.’

You coughed in surprise, dropping the recipe which floated slowly to the floor. Well, that answered your earlier question; you didn’t see it earlier because it would have screwed up the pacing of the plot if you had.

The erotica pocket dimension clearly wasn’t satisfied with the sappy mutual blowjobs in the cave yesterday. It wanted you to fuck Itachi properly, and it wanted you to do it hard.

“Oh. That’s quite the final ingredient.”

Itachi hummed in agreement.

Bizarre as it was, the longer you thought about it, the hotter it became. You had to overstimulate Itachi until he squirted, then use that to make a potion? Hilarious, and deeply erotic.

‘James, who is responsible for designing pocket dimensions, and can I shake their hand?’

‘That is confidential, and they do not have hands.’

‘Well, whoever they are, they need a raise.’

‘Why do they require increased elevation?’

‘Because these are mad times we’re living in James, mad times.’

‘You are not making any sense, human. Perhaps you should turn your attention to the omega in front of you. His body is displaying signs of heightened arousal, and I believe he would like you to solve that for him.’

One glance at Itachi and his newly tented shorts proved that James was correct, so you dropped the connection. Itachi, with his hands still covering his face, didn’t seem to have noticed his own raging boner quite yet.

“Well, at least we don’t have to leave the house to get the final ingredient,” you said, mouth moving faster than your filter.

Itachi gave an embarrassed squeak, peeking at you in between his fingers. When he spoke, the words were hesitant and muffled. “That’s… um, I mean… I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” you said confidently. You figured that it wouldn’t make any sense to set this up as the erotic climax of the story if Itachi wasn’t capable of squirting. “I’ll make you squirt, trust me.”

Your brazen confidence seemed to have an effect on Itachi, who was looking progressively more flustered as he processed your words. His pupils were wide, cheeks pink, and there was a little wet spot at the tip of the tent in his shorts.

Oh yes, there was something about this situation that was getting to him, just like it was getting to you. You already knew he was submissive, of course, but perhaps your confidence in talking about his body was doing something more to him, or maybe the idea of mixing sex with magic was what was making him so hot.

Either way, you leaned right into his space, smirking. Itachi’s released a delicious scent, something submissive, something horny, something to entice you to fuck him. Who were you to deny him?

“Now, do you have anything we can use to collect liquid?”

…

You remembered, on your very first day in this world, how you studied Itachi’s living room to prove to yourself that this hole fever dream was real and find clues about the kind of life you might have here. The room looked a little different now. Itachi had levitated all the furniture against the wall and laid down a tarpaulin in the newly cleared space, creating the illusion of both more clutter and more space that the living room normally had. A large, red bucket stood innocently, front and centre by the fireplace, ready for a not so innocent purpose.

The room was bathed in an orange glow thanks to Itachi’s permanent fire magic crackling away in the fireplace. All these fires were going to give you a complex. It wouldn’t surprise you if you ended up being conditioned to pop a boner whenever you saw an open fireplace. But if you didn’t end up in this world, you were glad to know that fire would remind you of Itachi and your time here with him.

From the ceiling hung a metal bar, about 50cm in length, hanging horizontally from two sturdy pieces of wire.

“For drying flowers,” Itachi had said when you’d questioned why he had a bar in his ceiling capable of holding the weight of an adult person. His explanation didn’t really make any sense, but you had accepted it as porn logic and moved on.

Now though, there were no dried flowers in sight. Instead, from the bar, hung something much more precious. Itachi’s wrists were bound together above his head, secured to the metal bar with an old scarf you had found and swiftly repurposed. He was completely naked again, and although that always made for an enticing view, this particular moment was perhaps your favourite so far. Because your beautiful witch looked utterly wrecked.

You circled him, footsteps crinkling on the tarpaulin, and committed every inch of him to memory. He was shining, hot and sweaty from your games, with the hair that was not scraped back into his ponytail sticking to his face. His chest heaved in an attempt to beat his exertion with enough oxygen, and his hands, tied up though they were, periodically clenched themselves into fists.

Lovingly, you loosened his ponytail and then retied his hair back to include all the strands that had wiggled loose. Itachi didn’t comment on it, even as you pulled his hair away from his sweat-soaked skin. He only panted, head lolling against his extended right arm.

If you had known that overstimulating him had made him look so pretty, you wouldn’t have held out for so long.

“How many is that now, Itachi?”

“Three,” he panted, lifting his head up to look at you. “I’ve cum three times.”

“That’s right.” It had been a handjob, a blowjob, and a rimjob respectively. “Glad to see you’re still with me, for now at least.”

Itachi bit his lip; he was still embarrassed over how easily you’d put him into subspace yesterday. You used your thumb to remove his lip from his teeth and then held it there.

“You drive me crazy,” you breathed, watching his eyes dilate. “I want to take you apart just so I can build you up again. I want to see every face you make and claim every inch of your body. I want to get every artist in the world to paint you, just to find the one that can manage to even get close to your real-life beauty. I want to be the first person to touch you on the inside.”

To emphasise your point, you snaked an arm around his waist and slipped your hand down until you could slide your fingers over his hole. He was soaking wet, and after only a few seconds, you withdrew and held your dripping fingers up to the light.

“You’re so messy, Itachi,” you teased, rubbing your slick fingers together. “It’s like your hole is trying to tell me something.”

“You’re so embarrassing,” he muttered, cheeks going pink. You laughed and pulled him closer, until you were pressed right against him.

“Don’t worry, baby.” You returned your hand to his hole, but this time started applying a small amount of pressure. “Even if your mouth is too shy to admit it, I’ll give your hole what it needs.”

Your forefinger slipped in just as you finished speaking, only up to the first knuckle for now. With how wet and swollen he was, it was surprisingly easy, even for a virgin. Itachi stiffened, pulling at his restraint a little.

“You okay?”

“Fine, it just feels a little weird,” he said, squirming. “It feels bigger than I thought it would, for a finger.”

“It’s normal for it to feel a little strange at first, but I promise I can make you feel good. You’ll be squirting all over the place in no time.”

Itachi made a little embarrassed noise and dropped his head on your shoulder to hide his face. You gave him a little nuzzle, which he quickly returned. You purred so that he could feel the vibrations; you hoped that would help him relax.

“Deep breath.” You pushed the finger in to the second knuckle and then held it there. You wiggled it to help him get used to the foreign sensation. Itachi kept his head on your shoulder, where he occasionally pressed little kisses to your skin, as you worked on fingering him open.

You fucked the single finger in and out, meeting little resistance. The obscene squelching noises forced a shy whine out of Itachi, who you imagined would be fidgeting a lot more had you not secured him to the ceiling.

“You’re a natural, darling, I’m going to go up to two fingers. It might feel uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt. If it hurts, tell me immediately, okay?”

Itachi hummed in agreement but as the seconds ticked on, he seemed more and more focused on fucking himself back against your finger. He was so funny; He always got so embarrassed before and after orgasms, but the build up made him so shameless. As soon as he felt good, all those shy impulses disappeared and you were left with a completely different Itachi.

The second finger went in like a hot knife through butter. Itachi moaned, and with the hand that wasn’t fingering him, you rubbed his back in encouragement. You had originally chosen to finger him like this to give him some comfort as he entered unfamiliar territory, but you couldn’t deny that there weren’t also benefits for you, including the way you were positioned so perfectly to get his strongest, most unfiltered scent. You took a deep breath, letting Itachi’s floral scent of pleasure curl inside your lungs.

“How… How do I squirt?” Itachi asked quietly, face nuzzled into your neck. “I don’t know if I can… how does it even work?”

“I just need to find your prostate and then I can make it happen, don’t worry.” You picked up the pace, fingering him in and out, now with two fingers. He was accepting you so easily, drenching your hand in his liquid arousal.

“A prostate? What’s that?”

Your fingers paused their movements as you froze, shocked. Itachi didn’t know what the prostate was? That couldn’t be right, could it? Maybe he’d misspoken? Or you’d misunderstood? You opened your mouth to ask him to clarify, and maybe also ask if he’d ever had proper sex education as a child, but then you realised that it might ruin the mood to bring up his dysfunctional childhood or imply that he was wrong for not knowing something and inadvertently make him feel bad.

You couldn’t not ask someone though.

‘James? Do you know about this? Did Itachi ever have a proper sex education?’

‘Hmm, let me see.’ You got the distinct impression that she was flipping through pages, although you could neither hear nor see them. ‘Ah, yes. Itachi’s father presented him a book on the topic on his seventh birthday before instructing him not to have any questions.’

You rolled your eyes, of course. No wonder the poor man was confused.

“The prostate is a gland in your body that secretes the fluid part of ejaculate,” you explained, slowly starting up the fingering again before Itachi worried that he’d done something wrong. It was his terrible excuse for parents that had done something wrong after all, not him. If you stayed here, you were going to have to step in and give Sasuke the talk, because neither his parents nor older brother seemed qualified. Perhaps that was one mark against staying here… From Itachi’s sketches, you got the distinct impression that Sasuke wouldn’t neither take it well nor make it easy for you. “But it also feels very, very good. Here, let me find yours and I can show you.”

Seeing as Itachi was taking your fingers so well, you saw no issue in moving on to your next target. You crooked your fingers in search of the gland. It shouldn’t be too hard to find; it must be incredibly swollen after all the previous orgasms. Somewhere around here…

“Does it feel different to—”

Found it.

Itachi gasped hoarsely as you found it and began immediately pressing and rubbing at it. His back arched and his hips jolted as he tugged against the bar. His knees went weak for a moment and his weight dropped back to leaning against you as he gasped for air.

“That’s—That’s—” He couldn’t finish the sentence as you continued to abuse his insides. “Oh my god, oh my god, how, how, it’s so much!”

He shook against you, biting into your shoulder. His moans got louder and more desperate until he was almost screaming. You kept it up until he was leaking all down your hand, some clear drops splashing against the tarpaulin. You pulled the hand from him in a flourish and caught him as he sagged.

There. The next one would be the squirt for sure, you thought, eyeing the liquid rolling down Itachi’s legs.

Itachi was completely limp in your grip. You readjusted your hold on him to make sure that his shoulder joints weren’t too strained, and then focused on bringing him down from that high as tenderly as you could. You stroked his back, whispered sweet nothings, and held him against you as firmly as you could. Four orgasms were a lot for one evening… although with your straining underwear, you reckoned you’d rather have four than none.

Eventually, when he gathered some of his wits about him, Itachi lifted his head from your shoulder and looked you in the eye.

“What the fuck?” was the only thing that came out of his mouth. You almost snorted in surprise at his swearing. “How did that happen? That’s never happened before.”

“I told you that the prostate would feel good,” you said, pecking him on the forehead. “Now, stand up properly so I can fetch the bucket over. I can give you a sex ed talk later, because right now we have a potion ingredient to harvest.”

“Harvest?” Itachi repeated, pulling a face.

You grinned sheepishly, “Yeah, I’ll admit that sounded sexier in my head.”

Itachi giggled a little, but stood up properly, allowing you to let him go and fetch the bucket, which you placed underneath him.

“Now,” you said, wiping your hands on a nearby towel, “do you want to squirt on my fingers or on my cock?”

Itachi’s laughter died off as embarrassment overtook it. You shook your head fondly at his predictable return to bashfulness now that he’d orgasmed.

“I… don’t know.”

“Come on, Itachi, how can I know what to do if you don’t tell me what you need.” You tapped him lovingly on the cheek. You had expected him to become more relaxed at the affectionate gesture, even with the teasing, but instead his face glowed an even brighter red and he struggled to maintain eye contact with you.

What?

‘Human, those are the fingers that were just inside him, meaning he can likely smell his own slick and is embarrassed.’

‘Oh yeah! Haha, forgot about that, thanks James.’

‘You’re welcome, human.’

You withdrew that hand, and while you briefly debated sucking on those fingers to see how he’d react, you discarded that though pretty quickly; you didn’t want to give the poor omega a heart attack.

“You’re not answering my question, ‘tachi. Come on,” you goaded, “tell me how you want me to make you squirt.”

Itachi huffed, still blushing, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Fingers or cock, it’s a simple choice, my darling.”

“I want… can I… your cock, please?” he eventually whispered, looking at you through his dark lashes.

You decided to try your luck in teasing him a bit more. “Oh? And where do you want my cock?”

He squirmed, “You know where.”

“Do I?”

He huffed again, sending you a glare for all the teasing.

“Okay, okay,” you conceded, pecking him on the lips. “I’ll put my cock in your greedy hole, but you need to practice your begging for next time, okay?”

He pouted, “You’re mean.”

“Maybe, but I think you’re into it.” You ran a finger up his hard cock. Four orgasms in and he was still going strong, that had to be porn logic at play. Itachi didn’t respond to your hypothesis, which you took to mean that you were right.

Regardless, now was the moment that you’d been waiting so patiently for: you were going to fuck Itachi. Properly. You quickly shed your underwear and allowed your cock to spring up, rock hard and ready for action.

All that build up, from the very first time you met him and his beautiful nipples you’d been imagining what it’d be like. And now, as he looked at you, wide eyed and waiting, you knew that it would be perfect, for both of you, there was no other option. You just had to choose the right position.

You debated briefly going behind him and slipping inside from there. It would make the most practical sense considering the way he was tied up, but something about it didn’t feel right. Itachi deserved something a little more romantic for his first time and you wanted to be able to see his reactions.

Yes, from the front felt right, but with the way he was tied, you’d have to do something a little unconventional.

Standing in front of him, you tenderly stroked his hips, one hand on each side.

“Is everything oka— Ah!”

Itachi yelped as you suddenly hooked your hands under his knees and lifted him off the ground, taking half of his weight in your arms and leaving the other half for the metal bar to hold. As carefully as you could, you shifted your hands from the back of his knees to his butt and dragged him closer until his legs were splayed around your hips.

There. This was the perfect position. You could see his reaction, you had a good angle to fuck him, and most importantly, his nipples were perfect height to kiss, which had recently become a favourite hobby of yours.

“Are you ready?” you asked, rubbing your cock against him to cover it in his slick. He was open and ready for you, you’d made sure of that, but extra lubrication never hurt.

Itachi took a fortifying breath, “I’m ready.”

“Relax.” You grinned at him before delicately slipping the head of your dick into him. Itachi gasped, his muscles clenching immediately and clamping down on you like a vice. You hissed at the warmth and tightness but remained as still as possible to give him time to adjust.

A drop of Itachi’s slick dribbled down your cock and severely tested your resolve to remain still, but you persevered.

“Does it feel alright?” you asked in a strained voice.

“It’s much bigger than your fingers.” He leant forward and looked down at the place where you were both now joined. He gulped at how much there was still left to fit inside him. “Are you sure it’s going to fit?”

“Are you in pain right now?” He shook his head. “Then it should fit just fine.”

“I trust you, it’s just… it’s so big.”

“As you’ve said, many, many times,” you teased. “What is it with you and my dick?”

“I’m ready for you to go in a bit more,” he said, pointedly ignoring your question. He could ignore it all he wanted, but you knew he was obsessed with it, and that would fuel your ego and wet dreams for the rest of your life.

You decided you were too horny to press the issue though, because this omega was telling you he wanted you inside him, and you weren’t going say no.

Balancing his weight on one hand, you used the other to rub at his sensitive dick as a distraction. Once Itachi’s eyes fell closed at the sensation, you pushed in another few inches until you were about half way inside.

His gooey walls felt like heaven, and you were stopping both for his benefit, and your own, because cumming before you’d made him squirt would be unfortunate.

“You’re beautiful, so stunning, so perfect, the best omega,” you muttered, trying to distract yourself. You leant down and licked at his right nipple as the urge to taste him again surged.

Bending down to reach said nipple had the inadvertent effect of angling your cock directly into Itachi’s prostate. He jolted, mouth dropping open.

“There, hit there again.” His voice was as urgent as the throbbing dick in between his legs. “There, right there, please!”

You did as he asked, angling your hips again. Itachi shuddered, his arousal pushing out his earlier embarrassment, just as it had on the build up to his other orgasms.

“Put the rest in, I want it in!”

“Are you sure? We should move slowly to make sure—”

“No!” Even Itachi looked shocked at how loudly he had protested the idea of fucking him slowly. “I mean, I can take it, I promise, just put it in.”

You raised an eyebrow, but when Itachi refused to waiver, you decided just to go for it. Internal tears were not sexy, so porn logic would probably protect him.

You pulled on his hips and pushed forward with yours, sliding effortlessly into the wet heat that was more than ready to welcome you.

“It’s so big! It’s stretching me out!” Itachi babbled, head falling back. “Oh my god, I can feel it, it’s inside me.”

You almost laughed; you had never met an omega that was so easy to make cock drunk. You had even heard him talking about your dick in his sleep last night. He was so perfect.

“You love my cock, don’t you baby?” Itachi nodded furiously, drooling a little. Finally, your hips hit flush against his cheeks. “There you go, baby, is that what you wanted?”

Itachi whined, still nodding. “I need it, don’t take it away.”

“I won’t, darling,” you said, cock throbbing at his words. You glanced down and what you saw almost forced your cum from you immediately. He had a tummy bulge. You could see the outline of your cock in his tummy. You felt your instincts clawing at your mind in delight, a slight tinge of something distinctly feral lining your scent. “Open your eyes, omega, I want to show you something.”

Itachi did as he was told, his heavily lidded eyes meeting yours. Several strands of hair had somehow escaped from his ponytail again and were stuck with sweat to his face. He had never looked prettier.

“Look at your tummy, darling.” Itachi’s brows furrowed, but he did as asked. He stared for a moment as though he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. To help him, you pulled out completely, only to immediately plunge back in. Itachi’s stomach flattened out and then bulged as you moved.

Itachi’s eyes snapped fully open. He jumped to look up at your face, wide eyed and shocked into silence.

“That’s my cock inside you, I’m carving out a place, so that no other cock will ever be able to satisfy you like mine. Your hole is going to ache for me now, it’s going to miss me when I’m gone, I’m making sure of it.”

Itachi was staring at the bulge like he didn’t know how to process what was happening.

“It’s a good job we live in the middle of nowhere, because I’m going to need to feed your slutty hole my cock all the time to keep it satisfied.”

All at once, Itachi’s eyes bled red like that day in town, he seized up, and his cock shot cum all over his tummy bulge. You watched, obsessed, as Itachi started to cum from your dirty talk. The bliss that overtook him was so powerful that you were worried he would tug the metal bar out of the ceiling as he spasmed and moaned. You almost forgot that you were here to make him squirt.

Almost.

Recognising that this needed to end soon because Itachi had to squirt and you couldn’t hold in your own orgasm for much longer, you grabbed his hips and set a brutal pace, fucking in and out of him with abandon.

Itachi’s moans became moaned screams as you pounded him through his orgasm, elongating it and then quickly sending him hurtling towards another one.

The position you were in was aiding your pace, as you were able to move Itachi up and down by his hips, dragging his entire weight down onto your cock, using him almost like a fleshlight.

You had never felt more single minded. You were chasing your orgasm with reckless abandon, and the only rational brain cells you had left online were fully focused on making sure you didn’t accidentally give Itachi a mating mark.

Itachi’s moan was now one long syllable, broken only by voice cracks that plagued him on every other thrust. Itachi’s walls were massaging you perfectly, flexing and fluttering in an almost wave-like motion that Itachi was definitely not capable of performing consciously; it must have been an inherent erotica trait.

You had to fuck him, you had to make him squirt, you had to cum inside him.

“Alpha, alpha, alpha,” Itachi babbled, tears slowly running down his face.

“’m going to cum, omega, I’m going to cum inside you, I’m so close.”

“Don’t stop,” he sobbed, pulling fruitlessly at his restraints. “Alpha, don’t stop, I think I’m going to cum. It’s so hot!”

Your knot was starting to swell, and much to your displeasure, you knew you couldn’t knot him if you wanted to properly collect his slick. You had just enough restraint left to jerk away as your knot started to catch on his tie.

Itachi thrashed as you held him over the bucket. He pulled at the scarf and kicked out with his legs. His eyes flashed red under his eyelids. Clear liquid shot out of him with force, and the sound of his ejaculate splattering in the bucket filled the room.

There was no way you’d have been able to hold back your own orgasm at such a sight, and so you followed suit, cumming a load all over Itachi’s newly softening dick, until it was completely covered, and some was dripping steadily to join his slick in the bucket.

You both fell silent in the aftermath, panting heavily. The crackle of the fire suddenly sounded louder than you had realised, and your limbs felt like they were made of lead.

You had never felt anything so intense.

‘James?’ Even your mental voice sounded tired.

‘Yes, human alpha?’

‘Picking erotica was the best choice ever.’

‘I’m glad you are satisfied.’

A laugh bubbled its way up. Satisfied indeed.

…

“It’s done,” Itachi said, stirring the newly shining gold potion. “It took a day longer than expected, but the potion is perfect.”

You peered into the cauldron, “Do I have to drink some of it?”

“No, several of the ingredients are very toxic, so please don’t drink it. I will use the potion to paint some runes on your face, which should trigger the process of retrieving your memories.” He grabbed a little paintbrush and nervously ran his fingers over the bristles. You had done your very best to convince Itachi that you weren’t going to abandon him as soon as you got your memories back, at least, not in the way he was thinking, but it was obvious that he was still deeply apprehensive.

You sat down in front of Itachi and closed your eyes, letting him paint the runes. You were weirdly nervous even though you knew the potion wasn’t going to have any effect at all. Mentally, you ran through the backstory you had crafted. MLHH, you repeated, Money, Love, Health, Happiness.

You startled as the first brush strokes hit your skin. “It tickles.”

“Sorry,” Itachi said, not sounding very sorry. His voice was tense, but you didn’t hold it against him.

It was a strange feeling, after spending over two weeks with him, knowing that you were leaving him behind, at least for the moment. It was a cocktail of emotions. You were sad to leave Itachi, excited to see the next pocket dimension, guilty about being excited… It was a lot.

You comforted yourself by reminding yourself that you could return if you wanted to. No one would force you to leave Itachi for good, that was entirely your decision. You didn’t have to leave him if you didn’t want to.

“It’s done.” You opened your eyes and saw Itachi watching you nervously. Was he waiting for something to happen? Was something supposed to happen?

‘James, is something supposed to happen with this potion? To show that it worked?’

‘Of course.’

‘What?! What’s supposed to happen? Am I supposed to glow, scream, black out? Do I need to act? What do I do?!’

‘You’re supposed to regain your memories, human alpha, have you been paying attention?’

‘…’

You took that to mean that nothing spectacular was supposed to happen, and you just pretended to suddenly gain clarity with a gasp.

“I remember everything,” you said, acting like you were processing the returned memories. “It worked!”

“What do you remember?” Itachi was nervous, clutching the paint brush tightly to his chest.

“I was hiking in those woods, but I tripped and hit my head, that’s why you found me unconscious. I had intended to leave before nightfall, but I was knocked out and got caught in the snow. I was trying to kill time on my own, as my family are away on a business trip, they’re merchants you see, and my best friend is currently travelling for a wedding.”

“You’re from a merchant family? They must want you home soon.” Itachi sounded dejected, but like he was trying to be happy for you. His fake enthusiasm hurt your soul. Thankfully, you had come up with an explanation that would allow you to stay.

“Not really, you see, I never wanted to follow in their footsteps, I always wanted to carve my own path. My family love me, they just want me to be happy, and I know I’m happy here, with you. They’ll support me no matter what. They own a big house that we can stay in any time, but here is where my heart is.”

“And you’re single?” Itachi asked, desperate hope in his voice.

“Completely and utterly single. Although… I would be honoured if you would help me change that.”

Itachi’s face split into a big grin and he threw himself into your arms.

“You want to stay?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” he said firmly. He beamed at you with watery eyes and leant in for a kiss.

“Forever,” you repeated, but just as his lips were about to meet yours, your vision went blurry, and faded to black.

When our eyes refocused a half second later, you found yourself back in the library, staring at James, the ghost of a kiss on your lips. You were disorientated and already missing Itachi.

“Here, human.” James touched your head and your thoughts and emotions cleared. “Until you have the time to compartmentalise, it is more convenient if I supress conflicting emotions. It would be unfortunate if you could not give the next pocket dimension your full attention.”

“Yeah, it would be,” you agreed, already feeling lighter. As much as you loved your time there with Itachi, you were looking forward to the next book too. If anything, you were even more excited because you knew that no matter what happened, you had a life you wanted with Itachi. Even if you hated this next world, you could pull as many shenanigans as you wanted, knowing you had a safe world to return to.

“We do not have time to discuss anything here. Put your hand on the second book.” You did as she asked, watching as her hand joined yours. “Welcome to the world of ‘Fifty Shades of Audacity’.”

Next chapter

#the quest for a second life #itachi #itachi uchiha #omega itachi #omega!itachi #sub itachi #sub!itachi #reader insert #gn reader #dom!reader #dom reader #omegaverse #a/b/o #alpha!reader #alpha reader #n-sfw #itachi x reader #gender neutral reader

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irafuwas · 14 days

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Love that Lets Go Summary: Lilia Vanrouge has witnessed the rise and fall of great nations, has criscrossed the world, traversing distant realms strange and unknown, but never before in his life has he faced a challenge as grievous as this: parenting a teenager. Or: Silver stops calling Lilia "Papa", and Lilia loses his mind. Content Warnings: blood, explicit language, contains depictions of animals being hunted and butchered, canon divergent Pairings: There's like one reference to past Lilibaul, but otherwise, none. Length: 38k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

A/N: I began working on this fic last summer, right after I finished Electric Dreams, and was able to complete the general outline and write about a third of it before I promptly abandoned the project for over half a year. By the time I started working on it again this past January, Book 7 had progressed greatly on the JP server, and pretty much everything that I'd written regarding Lilia's background and his involvement in Mal's upbringing/their relationship had become uncanonical in the meantime ://// I decided to go ahead and keep those parts in the story unchanged from how I had them last summer, partly so I wouldn't have to rework the plot, and mostly because I am lazy. So the setting is more or less the same as the game, but with some major changes in Lilia and Mal's pasts, with no major Book 7 JP server spoilers for those wishing to avoid them.

It was a speculative day, the kind that could not fix upon a proper humor or color, hesitating in turns between the brilliant bustle of spring and the sultry lull of summer. The morning air was thin and cool, not unusual even that late in May, but several months would pass by that afternoon, so that a sticky July heat would descend upon the valley once the sun reached its zenith. In the evening, there would be a light rain. All this the boy Silver calculated as he stepped outside.

The sky above him was a perfect meadow of morning glory and larkspur, bordered by a flourish of honeysuckle and cockscomb as golden-red as amber sap. He thrust his hand high above him, wishing for a moment he could pluck one of the dandelion clouds from its indigo plot and press it for his collection. It would be his secret treasure, and he would not reveal it until his friend Sebek next designed to inflame him. He carried within his mind a catalog of every expression and shade his friend could take, and this he now opened and paged through while he wandered towards the pig pen and lean-to that stood opposite his home, contemplating what combination of flush and scowl the other boy would respond with. He smiled at his private entertainment while he walked.

He was one of the few beings awake on that land. An industrious blackbird chirped quietly off in the distance, but the surrounding forest was otherwise silent, the pine trees and giant firs still dozing in the early morning shade. He was not, however, lonely; nor was he in want of more. His heart was light, and it gently thrummed with the same anticipation that had slipped into the hearts of all the valley’s creatures as of late, just as the sunlight slipped into their skin. May was an in-between month, an intermission, a time for Nature to enter her great chrysalis and prepare for the summer months to come. She would re-emerge sometime in late June, the earth’s prodigal daughter carrying in her arms the red-ripe wildberries she’d hang in the thicket all around him, the bright yellow coreopsis and vetch of the softest pink she’d set down in the meadow near his home, and the pearl white blossoms she’d drape across the canopies of the sweet bay beyond the fields. And she would beguile, too, the whip-poor-wills into beginning their annual summer serenades, allowing the robins and the orioles to retire from their heraldic duties at last, having spent several weeks announcing the season prior.

“There are two summers,” his father had once explained to him years ago, when he was very small. He held up two fingers while he spoke. “There’s the summer that starts on June 1st every year. That one’s based on dividing the calendar into four periods of three months each.”

“Three months each,” the little boy repeated with a nod.

“And then the other summer, the real one, starts on the solstice.”

“When’s the solstice, papa?”

“Easy,” the man grinned, “it’s when summer starts!”

The boy memorized this and all his father’s other teachings as his catechisms, and he knew, based on his observations, and based on all he'd ever learned from his masters - his father and the stars and the entire natural world around him - that the solstice was but a few short weeks away. This knowledge captivated him, and when he awoke at twilight each morning, he would spend a few minutes lying completely still in bed, nearly holding his breath, listening for those first few notes of the whip-poor-will’s call.

After releasing the animals from their detainment, he watched as the small procession of cows and pigs and chickens trod dutifully into the adjoining pasture. He would wait to fill their troughs later; each creature would automatically find for itself its morning fare amongst the acres of dew-wet grass – on this day the milk cow and her calf selected a patch of dark green clover for their breakfast, and the pigs beside them dined noisily on tall stalks of chicory, their pink brows misting over with sweat as they feverously chewed. The chickens, however, quickly stumbled upon a single, tender petunia they had overlooked all month. Gathered around the shining lilac jewel, they could not decide who amongst them would be permitted to destroy it. A forum was immediately convened, with each hen arguing her case in turn, and Silver gathered their eggs while they debated. Their hues were as soft and as delicate as a watercolor wash; some were tawny brown and speckled, others a faded green or blue. They reminded him of river stones, and they felt as smooth as clay in his work-worn hands. Each one he gingerly wiped against his pant leg before depositing into his wicker basket.

He had, for a time, believed – largely due to his father’s persuasions – that a bird’s diet determined the color of its eggs, and he’d spent one summer collecting armfuls of nasturtium, cone flowers, and bright red peonies every single day from the meadow by their home, attempting to invent an egg as ruby red as his father’s eyes. But while the chickens had delighted in their daily carmine feast, his efforts proved fruitless, the egg shells failing to develop even the slightest indication of a blush. When the truth of his father’s scheme was revealed later that fall, Silver had not rebuked him. He'd only blamed himself for being deceived, and for neglecting to include some beautyberries and rosehips into his mix, secretly believing that this was the true genesis of his failure.

The chickens resolved their quarrel by the time his basket was full. In celebration, he scattered a few handfuls of scratch over the ground for them. The bits and pieces of grain could not have delighted the small party more even if it had been the rice thrown for nuptials, and Silver turned and left them to their devices.

On slow days, when he had little else to do but drink in the air and watch the sun move across the sky, he liked to sit in the pasture and listen to them talk. The tall grass would form four walls all around him, and the hens would often come sit next to his verdant cabinet, offering to him their confessions through the screen of sorghum and fescue. They were perfect in their gesticulations, and he particularly enjoyed the mechanical way they moved their heads; it was as though invisible strings were jerking them this way and that, moving not unlike the marionettes his father had once brought home on one of his travels. There was, overall, a hilarity to their character that he missed in his other animal companions – the cows were too listless, he thought; the pigs, too cavalier.

The pigs he favored the least. He had helped his father erect a new fence along the south side of their property last summer, working sun up to sun down for over a week, and it had taken only a single afternoon for one of the boars - newly purchased with money his father didn’t have to spare - to rip a hole through the wire mesh and lead his brethren into the open forest, never to be seen again. He had been with his father the morning the vandalism was discovered. It was one of the few times in his life he’d seen the man angry, and he had been unsympathetic towards the species ever since.

He glanced at them occasionally while he backtracked to the vegetable garden beside the cottage, quickly looking away when they returned his stare. He walked around the fence that protected the garden, giving it a cursory inspection before stepping inside. There hadn’t been any break-ins yet, but he had noticed the shallow, hoof-like indentations that would sometimes manifest in the soil around the gate, and he could tell, too, that something heavy had been pressing itself against the fence posts lately, evinced by the unnatural angles a number of them were now inclined. However, the pigs defended their innocence with a brazen confidence that stupefied even his father, and the animals had so far been spared of any further interrogation.

He entered the gate and filled the watering can sitting by the pump. The alternating rows of green and orange and red and yellow buds dotting the area convened into a checker pattern, as though one of Ma Zigvolt’s gingham dresses had been spread out over the ground. He carefully stepped over and around and in between every sprout and seedling, dancing, almost, as he worked through each row, providing only just as much water to the young plants as they demanded, pausing only when he reached the tomatoes. His father was severely particular about them, fussing over the vines like a sculptor would his block of clay, and would, at the end of every season, declare that he had grown the "best tomatoes this side of the valley", but as he was one of few fae who grew them, and perhaps the only one who enjoyed their tart taste, his countrymen gladly indulged him in his boasting. Silver tilted his watering can and aimed the stream into the soil around the base of the plants, avoiding the foliage as he’d been instructed. He hummed to himself as he continued his ministrations, his thoughts drifting brightly towards the harvest to come.

Soon, there would be fresh corn pone and hoe cakes and yellow squash fritters fried in pools of marble white pork fat, heaping bowls of piping hot green beans sauteed in pats of golden yellow butter, and tender, fresh baked apple dumplings topped with a creamy homemade vanilla glaze, all washed down with the coldest, sweetest lemonade the valley had to offer. And he and his father would make preserves – of everything; jams and jellies from the wild raspberries and blueberries they’d gather from the forests, and from the bushels of strawberries now growing in their garden, and they’d pickle cucumbers and beets and radishes and fennel and bell peppers and cabbage; the tiny root cellar under their home would transform into a museum over the summer - its shelves filled to the brim with rows upon rows of glass jars containing their colorful fermented treasures, with giant slabs of dark red elk meat and pale pink sausage links hanging from the hooks lining the ceiling, and pounds of wild-caught bass and catfish curing in salt baths on the floor, nearly every specimen in that small space a self-contained microcosm of bacterial delight.

Silver was not one to favor any season over another; he found pleasure in the flora and fauna of his surroundings all year round. But so long as his father was strictly supervised in the kitchen, it was summer fare that delighted him more than anything else, and he wished every day for the watermelon and the strawberries to ripen faster, and for the honeybees to finish constructing their summer combs.

A pine warbler’s sharp trill snapped the boy out of his daydreams. The sun had at last emerged above the umber line of the horizon, and the golden edges of the sky were rapidly fading into a soft baby blue. The land was rapidly beginning to awaken. He could hear the low drone of the honeybees as they pushed past him on their way to the meadow, and the goldfinches warming up for their morning performances in the forest yonder. He hurried to complete the rest of his chores, invigorated by a mixture of excitement and hunger and still that same dull throb of anticipation in his heart.

When he was finished at last, Silver lay down on the grass, tucking himself under the blanket of fog that hung low over the ground. He could hear only the cows lowing and the chickens murmuring and the wind brushing up against the pine trees. And if he lay still enough, he could hear even the earth itself breathing. If he pressed his ear against the damp soil, he could hear the planet exhale, could hear the molecules of water vapor rising through the air, lifting themselves off the slick blades of grass, unifying and condensing into the wave of fog that rolled across his body. His world was now perfect. And it remained perfect for half an hour longer, until his father threw open the cottage door and called him inside for breakfast.

The air grew warmer and warmer as the morning languidly transitioned into afternoon. Pleased that his prediction had been correct, he suggested to his father, Lilia, that they begin making their way to the Zigvolt's before it grew too hot, and the man agreed. The mass of burnt scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast still festered heavily in Silver's stomach, and he quickly wolfed down a plain butter sandwich and an apple for lunch. His gangly body could get by on very little, and the Zigvolts always had refreshments at the ready, anyways. He grabbed his knapsack from his room and accompanied his father out the door. Together, they followed the dirt path that led from the clearing into the forest.

Lilia had settled down there decades prior, appearing in the neighboring town one day with little more to his name than a few gold coins in his pocket and a raggedy shawl strewn across his back. He'd been a drifter for decades, having retired from the local military under circumstances he never cared to divulge, and while some of the townsfolk were glad to welcome him home, most others thought him a stranger. A pack of these skeptics descended upon him one evening, cornering him in the run-down hostel where he'd been temporarily residing. They poked and prodded him with their questions, asking him why he had left and where he'd been to and why he'd now suddenly returned, at times turning away to whisper amongst themselves, as though evaluating a head of cattle. To each of their scathing rebukes he simply replied, "Doesn't matter anymore." He repeated those three words like a mantra, like a prayer to exorcize the specters gathered around his bed. His defense was as solid as a leaden curtain, soundly deflecting each and every one of the inquisitors' attacks, and when they finally scattered that night, rendered stupefied by their defeat, Lilia gathered up his sparse few belongings and vanished amongst them.

He ultimately bought his property from a man who'd recognized the name "Lilia Vanrouge", but not the mysterious little creature attached to it. The landowner was however only glad to finally rid himself of the place; it had been sitting vacant for years, long overgrown with its own miniature forest of brambles and weeds, and he was easily dismissed with what little money Lilia had to offer. There was a dilapidated cottage the last tenants had left behind, as well as the rotting remnants of a barn that hadn't been touched in ages, and the water pump, rusted over from decades of unuse, snapped in half the first time Lilia tried to use it.

He began making renovations immediately. He patched up the roof on the cottage and spent a week removing all the cobwebs and rat nests he could find inside. He cleared out the overgrowth suffocating the area and tore down the old barn, erecting a lean-to for his cows and a coop for his hens in its place. He sectioned off a small plot of land next to his house for a vegetable garden, and sowed his new fields with the fervor of a devotee. Decades of working the land yielded a soil heartier and more robust than anything the locals ever seen, as though the very earth itself was repaying him in kind for liberating it from its long imprisonment. His tomato plants bore him perfect rubies bigger than his fists. His corn and his wheat stood like giants, towering high above his head. He found his heart lifting up and growing lighter and lighter together with the green stalks soaring up into the sky. All these things slowly grew in tandem with his household - he'd added another wing to the cottage when he took in Silver, and the garden, having more than tripled in size since it was first built, now produced a far greater variety of colorful fare than Lilia could have ever imagined. It was, in all, a meager living - a little home with little in it, the glass jar of rainy day funds sitting above the fireplace never to be full, always repairs around the property to be made, always hand-me-down clothes and toys to be mended - but it was enough for the man and his child, regardless.

When Silver grew older, Lilia began letting him operate the homestead on his own when he went traveling, a leisure he'd picked up in his older age. He would leave Silver a list of rules to follow and projects to work on while he was gone - in addition to his regular everyday chores - which he adjusted for each season, such as chopping firewood in the winter, and making preserves in the summer. But above all, no matter the time of year, and barring an emergency, he absolutely forbade Silver from leaving their land. Lilia had marked off a boundary for him years ago: the river to the west, a felled oak tree to the north, the meadow to the south, and the base of the nearby mountain range to the east. Lilia trusted his son, minimally, to the extent he had no doubt the boy could procure the food and water needed to keep himself alive when left alone. But the mountains and the deep forest and even the castle town he did not trust, didn’t believe in the sincerity of the light that flooded the silent earth bordering their home.

Five miles separated the Vanrouge’s homestead from the Zigvolt’s home. Five miles that cut through the forest that extended far beyond Lilia’s land. As such, Lilia would supervise his son's travels to and from his friend’s home. They only ever walked - teleportation magic gave Silver extreme vertigo, and Lilia found his powers could no longer cover the long distance as easily as in his youth. But it was a pleasant journey, and the pair quietly admired the same mass of towering pine and spruce trees they'd admired hundreds of times before as they continued down the winding road. The forest was handsome in its late spring attire, adorned in a thick flush of bright green foliage, and the charming white faces of the star flowers and wood anemones peeked at them from amongst the undergrowth as they passed by. Overhead, a symphony of chaffinch and dunnock calls accompanied the gentle stir of the treetops brushing against each other in the wind.

Silver often called on the Zigvolt’s. The youngest of the three children, a boy named Sebek, was the only non-animal companion he had his age. They had first met a number of years prior, when Sebek apprenticed under Silver's father, and while their rivalry had been immediate, their friendship had formed only slowly, over years of tense acquaintanceship. Sebek had held a grudge against Silver since the day they’d met, or possibly longer - that much Silver had been able to determine, but he could never puzzle out what he’d done to injure him so. He was frequently agitated - over Silver’s abilities, his actions, the clothing he wore, the way he walked and the way he talked. He was “wound up tighter than an eight-day clock”, as his father would often laugh. Had Silver grown up interacting with more children his age, had he an index against which to measure his friend’s volatile attitude, then he would have understood that Sebek was simply a very immature boy – he’d not yet outgrown his foot-stamping tantrums and his jealous remarks, but there was never any true venom behind his words, only that primal, juvenile desire to convince himself and the adults around them that he and Silver were equals. But Silver liked him, at any rate; there was only so much one could do to persuade a rabbit or a songbird to gambol with one, or to explore make-believe worlds that stretched far beyond their animal imaginations, and Sebek was as eager a daydreamer as he. Even a child’s heart can be a guarded thing, as Silver’s was, having matured in a world comprised of only a small handful of faces and an even smaller stretch of land, but he’d long placed Sebek in that corner of his heart only his father and Malleus and the blue birds and honeysuckle otherwise occupied, and he cherished his friend for his outbursts and rare affections, both.

It was an “off day” for the boys - neither had any training exercises scheduled, and Silver looked forward to their rendezvous. He figured they'd be spending most of the afternoon outside, in light of the pleasant weather. Later in the summer, when the heat would spoil their entertainment, they'd move indoors, reading comics and old almanacs together in the Zigvolt's parlor, sprawled out like a pair of lazy tomcats on the cool hardwood floor. And if he was lucky, Ma Zigvolt would invite him to stay for dinner (he was always too shy to ask). She was one of his strongest allies, and had rescued him from his father’s well-meaning meals on more than one occasion. He kept his fingers crossed as he walked, hoping she and Pa Zigvolt wouldn't be staying late at the dental clinic they operated.

Once they entered the deepest part of the forest, Lilia cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to speak. Silver braced himself. His father was a habitually cheerful and easygoing man, able to make merry with nearly anyone that crossed his path, but the man's good humor came at the cost of his interlocutor's, at times.

First, Lilia asked what plans he had with Sebek for that afternoon.

"Not much."

Lilia shrugged off the curt response. They'd crossed several miles already, and the afternoon heat was prickling at his fair skin. He chastised himself for neglecting to bring a hat. He next asked, smiling broadly this time, hoping both to coax his son and to take his mind off the heat, if Silver was excited for all the fresh vegetables they'd soon be harvesting from their garden.

"I guess."

Still not discouraged, Lilia dispatched his probes once more, asking if Silver had any requests for dinner, and whether he'd read or heard anything interesting lately, but the boy deflected each one with a “Yes”, or a “No”, or an “I don’t know”. Silver had recently discovered that the briefer he kept his answers, the quicker he could get his father to stop talking, and this observation proved itself true once more, the man quitting his examination a few moments later. A feeling of discomfort prickled at his skin as the heat did his father's; the perfection of that morning a few short hours ago now seemed to him like a distant memory. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

By and by, the dirt road transitioned into a gravel walkway, and the Zigvolt’s farmhouse at last came into view. It was a noble building - tall and spacious, constructed from dense heart pine lumber, the eggshell white finish still shining brightly after so many years, with a towering red brick chimney that rivaled the surrounding cottonwood trees in their noble height. An amber light glowed softly from one of the windows. Silver and Lilia stopped before the stairs leading up to the front of the wraparound porch, where a clothesline heavy with freshly washed bed sheets rocked gently in the breeze. Ma Zigvolt was known to perfume her wash, and sunny notes of bergamot drifted down to them in waves.

The pair said their goodbyes, but when Lilia leaned forward to kiss the boy’s cheek, Silver moved away, ducking and turning around so quickly that Lilia stumbled as he fell through the empty air. He steadied himself hastily, his arms whirling for a moment before plummeting to his sides, his puckered lips collapsing into a frown. The rejection stunned him. His mind hastily reassembled and played back the insult it had just witnessed, finally ascertaining after the third repetition that he had not just been struck.

Wide-eyed, he croaked, “Silver?”

The boy took a step towards the house, his back turned to Lilia. “I’ll see you later,” he grunted, as though struggling under the weight of his father’s heavy gaze. And then he stormed up the porch, threw open the front door, and disappeared inside without a second glance.

Lilia stared imploringly at the silent house, but it offered him no answers. He shook his head and sighed. “The hell’s been going on with him lately?”

Sebek’s older sister Iris emerged onto the back porch carrying a tray of milk and pound cake. She set the tray on a small table by the door and began arranging the glasses and plates. She’d been away from home the past year, busy with her university studies, but had returned for the summer. Her absence had been difficult for the family – for Sebek most of all.

Though he was now the apple of her eye, Iris had been opposed to the idea of a younger brother at first. She’d spent the first few months of her mother’s pregnancy curled up against the low swell of her belly, regaling the child - her new little sister - with all the fantastic plans she had in store for the two of them. But when her parents returned from a doctor’s appointment one day, a set of grainy monochrome photographs in hand, and they announced the baby was, in fact, a boy, she felt the faceless black thing staring up at her from the pictures had betrayed her. She staunchly refused to address her mother’s stomach for the rest of the pregnancy.

Ultimately, Sebek entered the world as an absolute bear of a baby, all rolls and dimples and folds and milk white skin that smelled as sweet as honey. The first time Iris saw him, he was dozing open-mouthed, lying curled up on the pillow of his mother’s breast. He looked like a dollop of pure butter, and with that single glance the girl was thoroughly convinced of his perfection.

As the baby matured, growing conscious of himself and of the world around him, his burgeoning mind, incredibly receptive to every new stimulus that entered his environment, quickly took note of his sister’s eager affections, and it wasn’t long until he ascertained that his incapability was the trick to his own allure. A halfhearted grumble would earn him a kiss, for example; a miserable wail, liberation from his crib. It was almost cunning, the way he’d play the fool for her, wrapping her tighter and tighter around his plump little finger with every feigned ineptitude he devised. “Oh, Sebby!” Iris would laugh, scooping his doughy mass into the cradle of her arms when he'd whine to be held. “You’re just a helpless little thing, aren’t you?” And the baby would bat his cub paws at her and smile his gummy smile, as if to say, “Just you wait and see!"

When their brother Horace, the eldest of the three siblings, moved into his own apartment in the castle town a few years ago, Sebek had been secretly pleased, for their mother now looked to him for help with splitting firewood and mending the fences and tilling the garden. He knew his father could not be entrusted with such things - Linus Zigvolt was a kind and good man, but he was also foolish. And boring. And unforgivably human. Sebek’s mother and his sister - and his grandfather, when the man was in an affable mood - were the center of his juvenile universe. His father and brother merely orbited them. And whereas Horace’s departure had been no more noteworthy to him than the changing of the seasons, his sister had taken with her a sense of stability he still hadn’t grown accustomed to living without.

She was a tall, muscular girl, with a broad, handsome face that was rimmed by the family’s trademark scales. A star member of her school's track and field team, she had recently broken the district's shot put record, a fact which her parents and grandfather had been proudly mentioning at least once every day since. Although soft-spoken, like her father, she was also in possession of a tongue as caustic as her mother’s, and more than one naïve suitor had abandoned his endeavors a much meeker man than when he’d met her. Her long, green hair was bundled in two intricate fishtail braids that trailed down her back – a style popular amongst valley girls her age – and she brushed away a loose strand from her face as she straightened out the napkins. Her mind dimly registered that she'd need to schedule a trim before returning to school.

Content with her work, Iris turned to the garden and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Sebby! Silver! I brought you guys some snacks!”

The boys rose from behind the jumble of cardboard boxes they’d been working on taping together. They raced each other to the porch, politely offering Iris their thanks as they sat down at the table. Silver gingerly cut into his cake, careful not to scatter any crumbs. Iris had always thought of him as bird-like, with his wiry frame, and his too big head that hung so awkwardly from the end of his long crane neck, and she was struck once again at his meagerness as he pecked at his meal.

After observing them for a few moments, she asked, “Why’d you drag all those boxes into the yard for, anyways?”

“That’s – I mean – ‘Tis our fortress!” Sebek explained between mouthfuls of cake. “We’re defending our home from those wretched ne’er-do-wells yonder!” He pointed towards the garden with one hand and shoveled another piece of cake into his mouth with the other.

Iris followed the line of Sebek’s outstretched finger. Beyond its glaze-covered point lay a pair of rabbits, lazily nibbling on a patch of grass by the boxes.

“Ooh, so you guys are playing pretend again?” She smiled as she put her hands on her hips. “Are you knights this time? Do you want me to be, like, your damsel in distress again or whatever?”

Sebek’s face reddened. “Sissy, stop it!”

Iris laughed and pinched his cheek. He resigned limply.

“Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your little fun.” She turned away, and then added, “I’ll be in my room, so just shout if you need anything.”

Sebek huffed as his sister closed the door behind her. He scrunched up his round little face and balled his fists. His cheeks were permanently ruddy, flushing darker or lighter depending on his level of agitation, and it was clear by their scarlet hue that Iris's words had hurt him. Silver pushed his empty plate away and stood up.

“Come on, Sebek,” he sighed, rubbing the other boy’s back placatively. “You can be the General of the Right this time. I’ll ask some birds and rabbits to be the townspeople, and you can come save us.”

Often, Silver’s ability to brush off any injury with the placidity of a rock would only inflame Sebek’s rage further, but he permitted his friend to coax him back into the garden. As he watched Silver recruit a regiment of forest creatures for their schemes, he decided there was fairness in the world yet.

Baul Zigvolt was dozing in his rocking chair when Lilia returned that evening. He was perhaps the progenitor of his family members' incredible statures. His wife had been a modest woman, of average height and unremarkable in her build, but he in turn was a veritable mountain of muscle and hardened flesh, so massive that the top of Lilia’s head just barely reached the enormous blocks of his shoulders. He was squeezed into his chair rather than sat upon it, and the wood groaned threateningly as he rocked. The family’s only pet, an equally massive black tomcat with a lone white spot on the tip of its tail, was sprawled comfortably by his feet. The creature was as lazy as it was amiable, having not once dispatched any of the vermin that made merry of its owners’ grain stores, but the children were so enamored with its corpulence that their parents could not bear to rehome it. It shared with Baul a passion for evening naps, and neither of them stirred as Lilia approached.

The two men had served in the Imperial Guard together for centuries, and though they’d stepped down from their posts and re-entered civilian life ages ago, having both established households and produced children, and were now enjoying all the slow pleasures of retirement, Baul still offered advisory services to the Guard on a voluntary basis. The truth of Lilia’s retirement, however, had never been fully absorbed into the folds of Baul’s brain, and he continued to address his erstwhile superior as “General” at their every meeting. “It’s just a bad habit!” he’d defend himself sheepishly when rebuked. But he would soon disremember his error, and would, in the next breath, refer to Lilia by his long-vacated position once again.

“Hello, Baul.” Lilia dipped his head in greeting.

“Evening, General,” Baul murmured, slowly blinking his eyes open with a yawn. “You come to get your boy?”

“Yes, do you know where he is?”

Baul leaned forward and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Yeah, he and Seb are playing out back.” He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes again, opening them once more a second later. “Oh, and while you’re at it, could you tell Seb he needs to get home before nightfall?”

“Oh?” Lilia raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite unlike you to worry about him,” he replied with a smirk.

“Hell if I care!” Baul huffed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been seeing bear tracks around here lately, and I don’t want him to come crying to me if he runs into one of the dumb bastards. That’s all.”

“I see, I see,” Lilia laughed. He reached out and stroked the cat’s head, cocking his own head as he did so. "Well, I don't hear them close by. Can I wait here until they come back? They're probably off playing in the woods somewhere."

Baul huffed again. "I certainly wouldn't mind any if you'd like to take a seat."

Lilia stepped onto the porch and lowered himself into the chair across from Baul with a groan. He was occasionally stricken with bouts of rheumatism, and the frequent trips to and from the Zigvolt’s that year had been taking their toll. Baul raised an eyebrow as Lilia pawed at his back, but made no comment on the subject, electing instead to remark on how nice the weather had been lately, and how excited his grandkids were to go swimming in the river that weekend. Lilia offered in turn the latest updates on his own son. The men exchanged these little stories about their children and grandchildren as passing travelers exchanged their wares. They would file away each anecdote into their hearts for safekeeping, and take them out later to smile at when left alone.

Their habitual pleasantries concluded, Lilia asked Baul if he'd noticed anything unusual about Silver that afternoon.

"Unusual?" Baul frowned. "In what way?"

"Ahh, was he..." Lilia searched for the right word. "Quiet at all?"

Baul scoffed. "He's always quiet. Never met a child made so little noise in my life. I always wondered how he turned out like that, being raised by a loudmouth like you."

"Hey!" Lilia frowned.

"Hah! Sorry, sorry," Baul replied with a laugh, throwing up his hands in defense. "But I mean, other than that, only thing I noticed is the kid's been growing like a weed lately. Guess that's one more thing where you don't have to worry he'll take after you. Heh."

Lilia paid no heed to his baseless fibbing, and instead concentrated his thoughts towards one of his oldest pleasures: finding ways to agitate Baul. He never wished to start any real fights, but was simply possessed by the natural urge to tease him, as a child might like to prod a sleeping bear. Baul found the topic of his son-in-law particularly sensitive, and Lilia grinned as he formulated his attack.

"And how's dear Linus? I heard from Silver the clinic's been pretty busy lately."

Lilia's ploy worked immediately. A vein throbbed on Baul's forehead. "That human is fine, far as I know."

"As far as you know?" Lilia looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you here almost everyday? When's the last time you spoke with him?"

"Hell if I know. I don't give a damn what he has to say."

Lilia rolled his eyes. "Will you ever get over yourself?"

"No!" Baul grunted automatically, flushing hot red once he understood Lilia's insult. "The hell's that even supposed to mean! General!"

Lilia laughed. "Oh, come on! Why can't you just cut him some slack already? I still can't believe he agreed to take your last name like you wanted, with the way you treat him."

"Hmph! One of the few things he's done right by me."

Like so many of his fae brethren, Baul did not favor humans. He and Lilia had witnessed their evils firsthand during their time in the service, and they had watched, powerless, as so many of their friends and comrades, so many of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were crushed and destroyed under the iron heels of their enemy. Over time, after peace treaties had been signed and all the war flags had been taken down and neatly folded and put away, Lilia's heart had softened enough to accept humans with a frivolous neutrality, going so far as to adopt one to raise as his son, but Baul's had not. He was immediately suspicious of the handful of humans that came to live in the valley after the war, turning up his nose at their strange wares and customs and ways. When even more of them began to pour into the castle town, he and his wife sold their house and fled to a small homestead in the forest.

But fate continued to torment him, and he ended up a widower shortly after their first and only child, Thalia, was born. Even through all of his pain, he found his daughter was perfect - more perfect than anything he had ever seen. He was at first cautious in his parenting, aware at all times that he might one day lose her, too, as he had lost so many others before, but the child embraced all the challenges of her life with a ferocity that stunned him, and his concerns quickly proved themselves unwarranted as the years went by. She grew to be a tall and proud woman - she was heavyset, soft and plump in all the places her father was lean and hard, and more beautiful than a dahlia in full bloom.

They remained close after she moved out, meeting together for dinner most nights, and he thought nothing of it when she mentioned she'd started working at a local dental clinic. She would now and then talk about her boss, a human who'd immigrated to the valley some years ago, and to Baul's dismay, her innocent admiration quickly burgeoned into something more serious. Her infatuation with the human felt to Baul like a betrayal. He and Thalia fought when she announced she was courting him, they fought when she announced her engagement, and they fought when she announced she was pregnant. It was Horace's birth that finally allowed for their armistice, and his arms trembled the first time he held his newborn grandson. A child's eyes are the truest mirror one can face, and when Baul gazed into the wet emerald panes peering up at him, he realized for the first time in his life how ugly he had become. He locked himself in his room when he returned home that night. All alone, he reached as far and as deep as he could into his heart and ripped out the black seed of his hatred, casting it far away - farther than Zeus could launch his bolts of lightning or Thor his hammer.

But even though he'd finally been able to make peace with his daughter, nothing could be done to mend his relationship with his son-in-law. Linus had been intensely curious of the world around him from a young age, and the interest he'd developed in fae dentition during his studies had drawn him across the ocean and into Briar Valley upon his graduation, where he established a successful dental practice that treated both human and fae patients, alike. He was a pinched and narrow man, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and his heavy-lidded eyes had never lost the childlike spark that so often betrays us as we grow older. It was this spark that had first piqued Thalia's interest, and he was just as obsessed with his wife as she was with him. There was very little of him to see in their children - they had inherited neither his shaggy black hair nor his brown eyes, neither his wiry frame nor olive complexion; their mother's genetics had overpowered his so completely it was as though Thalia had simply sculpted each child from the white clay of the earth by herself. But he fiercely adored them, regardless, showering them with praise and affection, and with an abundance of sugary treats that would make other members of his profession light headed. Over the years, Baul had grown to appreciate Linus for his kindness and for his intellect, and for his devotion to his family, but still could not stand how weak he was, and how small. He was a foot shorter than his wife and several hundred pounds lighter - a miserable twig next to a glorious oak tree, and Baul often complained that he would "snap in half if he sneezed too hard." Worst of all, he was magicless - a transgression Baul knew he would never be able to forgive. He could only tolerate the man, and offered him no more mercy than that.

Lilia shook his head, exasperated. "My god, I'll never understand how Tally puts up with you. Woman has the patience of a saint."

"Yeah," Baul murmured. "Yeah, she does." He folded his hands in his lap and contemplated.

They rocked in comfortable silence. The sun drifted leisurely towards the horizon, and the golden-orange sky looked as soft as an oriole feather. A nightingale, determined to outwit its rival suitors, began his serenade an hour early. Lilia had come to that place with the sole intention of retrieving his son, but the evening breeze dislodged that singular thought from his mind, and it floated away to join the cloud of fireflies gathering in the front lawn. The cat observed all of this with great interest. It was suddenly wide awake where the two men beside it were growing slowly unconscious, its body twitching with the primordial knowledge that night would soon fall.

Silver and Sebek found the pair fast asleep when they returned an hour later.

II.

Sometimes, when the sun seems to hang frozen above him, stubbornly refusing to give up its domination to the pleasant respite of night, when there are no chores to distract him with and his boy isn’t around to tease, Lilia will wander - usually carelessly, at times with a pointed determination - into the dim labyrinth of his mind. It would always astound him how, despite nearly seven hundred years of escapades and follies, despite almost a millennium of joy and heartbreak and unrest and sorrow, there were so few memories for him to parse through. Some of them had simply faded away as he grew older, others had burst into his consciousness and then vanished like spring lightning, dragged down by his heart into an unknown place where they could no longer hurt him. When he’d at last reach the center of that great maze, he would cling onto the earliest memory he could salvage from its shadowy depths, and always he would find himself next blinking his eyes open into the dull light of the castle barracks. He was no longer certain if the memory was from the day he’d enlisted, or if it was from a time much later in the service. He only knew that he must’ve already been an adult then, that he must’ve already accepted all the solitude and responsibility that had been thrust onto his small shoulders by the forces that determined his life.

He'd been told by the queen, along with all the lords and ladies and every other manner of noble and aristocrat he had ever served, on numerous occasions and under no pretense of kindness, that the royal family had taken him in as a young orphan, but he could not remember if that was true. He was certain, at least, that they had given him his name. "Lilia" was derived from the fae word for lily flowers, a plant whose legends and symbolism encompassed grand ideals of hope and purity, and something about it - the sound of it, its grandiose meanings, the way it would catch itself on his teeth, as though his body could not recognize what it was he was trying to say - had always felt wrong to him - foreign, even, so that he always felt like the people addressing him were talking to someone else. Out of discomfort, he often went by his last name, instead. "Vanrouge" had a sharpness to it that he found suited himself much more - both the sharpness of his temperament, and of his body. He was bony and stunted in height, his back no broader than the sticks used for kindling, and he stood shoulder height or lower to most adults his age. The nobility was not beyond recoginizing his strength and his talent in magic, however, and for all that his self-proclaimed benefactors gave him - a place to call home, people he could call family, military prestige beyond his wildest dreams - they took away just as much. Their orders came down like axe heads, and for centuries he dutifully served under their beck and call, acting as a guard dog for them one day, a scapegoat another, an undertaker the next, folding for them like a blade of grass forced flat by the wind.

He stumbled through the years as haphazardly as a tightrope walker, going only where he was told to go and doing only what he was told to do. He worked to the point that he could work no more, and when his incapability was discovered, he was immediately ordered to resign. It was one of the few times in his life he had ever felt afraid. Each and every one of the sovereignty's commands had been a link in a long fetter that bound him to their sides, but it had also been his lifeline, and without it, he feared he would be lost. The day of his resignation, he received one final order to remove his things from the barracks before leaving. The truth of it all pierced his mind like an arrow just then. He realized all at once that the tiny room with its cot and its chest and its wardrobe would be his prison cell no more, that the four walls that had been closing in on him for centuries had finally halted in their paths. He realized the thing that had been beating in his chest all his life had not been stamped out, had not been taken away from him - he had lost his dignity, his strength, even some of the people he had permitted himself to love, but not this. He smiled as he left the castle, made giddy by the greatest secret he knew he would never be able to tell. The discharge papers in his hands suddenly seemed to him like a pardon.

However, he had spent so many years bowing down to others he found he did not recognize the world when he finally stood up and looked at it again. With nothing more left in his life to guide him, he left his homeland shortly after his expulsion. He traveled from country to country with no real destination in mind - if a locale displeased him, he simply packed his things and departed for the next. As the years went by, he gradually began to operate with less and less reason, doing everything and anything he could "just because". Time had molded the clay of his person into a confusing and crude shape, and after decades of slow disentanglement and reformation, of reclaiming all the good things he had been forced to cast out of his heart, he discovered that his truest pleasure was to simply live by his whims. When he at last exhausted his traveling funds, he returned to the valley, settling down only because he'd never done so before, and was curious how well it would go. The people around him pitied him, as one often does those whom Life seems to have forgotten in its haste, but he was far too absorbed in his newfound self-indulgences to pay them any mind.

Even the acquisition of his son had been unplanned. He'd periodically scavenge from the ghost towns that dotted the countryside, in search of tools and good lumber he could use for his repairs back home, and on one such excursion, while searching through the rooms of a crumbling little cottage located deep within the valley's eastern forests, he found a human baby, fast asleep in its cradle. It was gaunt, with an evident pallor to its face, and Lilia quickly concluded it had been abandoned; the stagnant air in that place told him no other living being had been there for days. When he turned to leave, not wishing to disrupt Nature's process, an idea struck his mind so suddenly and so violently he had to steady himself against the doorway before he fell. What if he were to keep the child? What if he, a fae, were to raise the very flesh and blood of his nation's most ancient enemy? The notion intoxicated him. His head spun as he slowly returned to the crib.

"Now wouldn't that be a lark," he murmured as he raised the child. It blinked up at him weakly with eyes the color of the aurora, and Lilia was immediately convinced of his own genius.

"Let's get you something to eat, you poor thing! I'm quite famished myself, you know. You have excellent timing," he said with a wink. The baby watched him silently as he carried it back home.

He thought it would be simple. He knew from his time watching over the infant Malleus that babies needed little more than food, play, clean diapers, and naps. His first charge had flourished splendidly in his care, and he had no doubt his second would do the same.

But Silver was difficult. After its initial, desperate feeding, the baby, seeming to finally remember it was in possession of lungs and a vocal instrument, began to cry incessantly. If it wasn't in Lilia's arms, it cried. If it went a moment too long between feedings, it cried. Even when it slept Lilia was not safe. If he set it down for a nap and attempted to leave the room, it would awaken immediately, understand it had been abandoned once more, and would cry. There were times - random, and frustratingly rare - where it would suddenly stop in the midst of one of its fits, and smile at Lilia so sweetly he'd wonder if someone had snuck in and swapped the child for another when he wasn't looking. Once he realized his legendary frivolity had met its match, he began consulting with the Zigvolts on a regular basis, as Pa Zigvolt was the only human in the valley he trusted. It was the height of summer then, a time he'd usually spend taking refuge in the cool shadows indoors, but he did not mind walking the five long miles back and forth between their homes, preferring even the heat over the child's endless screaming. Pa Zigvolt assisted him to the best of his abilities, imparting to Lilia all the knowledge he had acquired over the years as a then-father of two, and Silver's fits ended a few months later as abruptly as they'd started.

The second hurdle arose when the little boy began to talk. His first, crude word was "Ba pa", and it took several days for Lilia's mind to finally register that he was the intended recipient of this title. He'd planned to have Silver call him by his first name, just as he'd been forced to do when Malleus was little, and hearing the child acknowledge him as its parent made him uncomfortable, as though both of them were breaking a rule he didn't know the name of. The baby, however, refused his every plea for reconsideration, and gradually figured out all the tricks of human speech as he grew older, learning to perfectly pucker his lips, and mastering the rhythm of the two syllables he so desperately wished to string together. He would repeat "Papa" throughout the day, singing out "Papa, Papa, Papa!" with the joy of a hymn. But for Lilia, each utterance was like a stone launched against the walls he had built up around his heart, and when they collapsed and faded away into nothing, he realized his discomfort had vanished with them.

He would later realize, too, that where he'd long forgotten much of his early life, he found he could now remember, to an almost startling degree, much of what he'd seen and experienced ever since he took in the boy. He could still remember a freezing day in January over a decade ago, when Silver had chanced upon a lone snowdrop shivering off the cold in the meadow near their home. The flower had fascinated the boy severely; he sat before it, stone still, tilting his heavy head this way and that, trying to understand the small creature’s drooping frame. Eventually, Lilia came over and accompanied him in his study. He had seen snowdrops countless times before, while marching through the countryside, while working on the clearing, but only then, as he knelt in the snow with the young boy at his side, both of them shivering quietly in the late winter light, only then did he finally realize its perfection. He could still remember, too, the snow slowly melting later that year, and Silver pointing out to him the magnolias blooming in the copse behind their shed, and the daffodils and tulips breaking through the frost that blanketed their small garden, and the linden trees releasing their sweet perfume. He could remember Silver revealing to him with a boyish surety the strangeness of rain showers on sunny days, and the comfort of the mist that lingers on cool autumn mornings. So many sights and sounds and sensations had passed by him all his life in a blur - colorless and dull, abstract and undefined, and when his son entered his life, it was as though a bolt of lightning the color of the aurora had struck the earth and finally given all these things their color and meaning.

But Silver had begun to change recently. Not physically - no, he still had the same rosy, cherubic little cheeks; the same bright blue-grey eyes; and the same sweet, half-crooked smile that Lilia would proudly boast about to all who would listen, and even to those who would not. It was his attitude, his tone of voice, his humor that had changed, and Lilia had not noticed it willingly, at first. Where he'd always been so agreeable and forthcoming, so that Lilia was unsure if the boy had ever kept a secret from him in his entire life, he was now secretive and temperamental. At times, Silver would whirl on him like a wildcat, his eyes narrowed, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, upset at something Lilia could not understand. There was always a strange look to his eyes during these flares, not quite panicked, yet not angered, either. He looked, if anything, confused - as though he could not believe the truth of the thing he'd just done. When he was amicable, he was as loquacious as a monk. He'd also been showing a newfound apathy towards Lilia's jokes and teasing, and to his presence overall, expressing more and more his desire to be left alone. Most alarming of all, Silver had recently stopped addressing him as "Papa", and now called him "Father", instead. It felt as unnatural as if a songbird had stopped singing. He found it vulgar. "Father" was harsh, adult, stern - formal and distant where his previous moniker had been so intimate and sweet. He'd pleaded with Silver more than once the past month, asking if anything was wrong, demanding to know why he was acting like this, but the boy was unwavering in his defiance, curtly assuring him each time that everything was fine, before excusing himself to go be alone his room once more.

Lilia ultimately decided not to push the matter further, presuming Silver would recover his good attitude in due time, and had instead been focusing his attention on preparing the homestead for summer. The garden work and other miscellaneous chores had all been welcome distractions, but an incident the past week had revived his concerns.

He and Silver had gone to the Zigvolt's for dinner. Ma Zigvolt prepared a feast of grilled corn cobs, roast venison slow-cooked with creamy golden potatoes and carrots, and a whole pile of her buttery homemade biscuits. The pair ate heartily, having both worked up a respectable appetite from hoeing weeds together all that morning, and as usual, they stayed with their hosts late into the evening, if only so Lilia and Baul could talk, and so Silver and Sebek could listen. It was the boys' greatest pleasure in the world to gather in the parlor and listen to them talk. Sometimes, they would simply muse on the recent weather, or discuss local politics. Other times, they'd tell stories - the boys always begged for a story. The former war heroes would weave tales about all the faraway lands they had journeyed to and the greatest enemies they had ever faced, and about fearsome beasts the children had never heard of and stars they'd never seen - “Men’s talk”, as Ma Zigvolt would scoffingly call it. But there was always softness in her voice whenever she rebuked their late-night gatherings. Horace and Iris used to join the small audience, too, but gradually stopped as they grew older, claiming the men's yarns had lost their appeal. It was one of the few things Sebek disagreed with his sister on - he worshiped her, but understood at his young age that even an idol's opinions could be wrong, at times.

The boys' habit was such:

Sebek would sprawl on the bearskin rug before the fireplace, and Silver would curl up against his father’s chair, his head resting on the man’s lap. Lilia would play with his son's hair absentmindedly while he spoke. It could’ve been the shining hands of the angel Gabriel himself carding those gentle fingers through his hair and the boy scarcely would’ve noticed a difference. This was his great reprieve, the most delicious reward after a long and tiring day of chores and training and schoolwork and hard labor; a time for him to sigh out all the aches and pains that gripped his thin body and a time for him to rest.

Lilia knew all this. He had always known this. His son’s heart was a rose; he needed only to whisper the boy's name and its petals would unfurl for him.

The meeting last week had proceeded as usual, at first. Dinner was enjoyed by all, the fireplace was lit, Baul and Lilia took their seats in the parlor, and Sebek planted himself on the bearskin rug. But when Lilia smiled at Silver and set his hands on his lap, his palms upturned, the boy turned away, sitting down in front of the fireplace next to Sebek, instead.

In that moment, Lilia realized Silver's strange behavior the past month was a symptom of an issue far graver than he could have anticipated. When they returned home that night, he consulted his trove of parenting books after Silver went to bed. He'd bought a number of them when the infant Silver had begun his fits, turning to them for advice whenever the boy fell ill or reached a new developmental milestone. He hadn't read any of them in ages, and he sneezed as a cloud of dust billowed when he pulled them down from the shelf.

He flipped through the yellowing tomes one by one, smiling whenever he came across a dogeared page. Each bookmark and scribbled note he could trace back to a specific period in Silver's life, and the memories of those first few stressful years he now counted amongst his greatest treasures. He worked through the tall stack throughout the night, giving up at dawn with a sigh. Were he a more sensible man, perhaps he would've taken note of the fact that his entire collection was made up of books concerning a human's first few years of life, and that his son was now thirteen.

III.

A massive thunderstorm exploded into the valley in early June. It seemed to have materialized from nothing, catching the residents off guard like a cottonmouth's strike. On the first day of the storm, Lilia presumed it was nothing more than a typical summer shower, and felt confident it would quickly pass. On the third day, he remarked he had never seen anything like it before in his life. By the fifth, he was too stunned to speak again. The rain fell down in sheets as thick as pure marble. The sun and moon and stars all vanished beneath a sky as dark as bruised flesh, and only the candles melting above the fireplace gave any indication that time had not stopped. Some days, the rain would harden into hail, and it would pelt the earth like white meteors for hours on end. The deluge pounded on for over a week. The first morning after the storm, the valley denizens stepped cautiously into what seemed like a brand new world. Entire villages had been washed away in some areas, and miles of farmland now stood underwater in others. The river, engorged with rainwater, had flooded over, transforming large swaths of the surrounding forest into a veritable swamp. Carcasses of the animals that hadn't escaped the disaster - deer, boars, turkey, elk, wolves, snakes, predator and prey, young and old - drifted in a black line down the muddy waters. Buzzards whirling their death dance filled the skies.

The Vanrouge's clearing, located uphill, had been mostly spared - a drowned chicken the lone fatality. But the corn fields had been left flattened, and the thatching on the cottage roof lay in shambles. Silver and Lilia worked quickly to dig a maze of deep trenches to help drain the excess water from the garden and pasture. They ripped out the molding stalks of corn and salvaged as many of the clean cobs as possible, hanging them to sun-dry from a wooden rack they'd erected in the yard. "The animals will be glad to have them, at least," Lilia had sighed.

Realizing they were quickly running out of nails and boards to finish making the repairs, Lilia decided one morning to head into the nearest town and replenish their dwindling supplies. Before leaving, he found Silver lying on his stomach in the living room, peering intently into a bird identification book he'd received for his birthday. He called out to the boy while he finished getting dressed.

“Silver, darling?”

Silver’s face, framed on one side by an illustration of a juvenile blackbird peeking out from its nest, and on the other by an adult in flight, emerged from between the pages of his book. Without looking up, he replied, "Yes, father?"

He still on that “father” thing? Lilia swallowed the annoyed groan building in his throat. “While I’m gone, could you butcher one of the shoats, please? I just noticed we’re about to run out of pork belly.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it today.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Lilia grabbed his leather coin purse from the table by the door and secured it to the hook on his belt. He threw a light cloak over his shoulders, anticipating more rain, and glanced at Silver across the room while he fussed with the clasps.

The boy had retreated into his book.

Lilia sighed. The past week had been quiet. Even with the hail exploding all around them and the wind howling and the rain pounding like sledgehammers against their home, it had been quiet, because Silver had hardly spoken a word the entire time. The child's voice seldom rose above a pleasant murmur as a habit, and yet its absence had made the little cottage seem so much vaster and emptier than it really was; there were times during the storm Lilia had felt like the only living thing in the world trapped within its black fury. He hovered at the door for a moment, debating if he should try to kiss the boy goodbye, but his every attempt at parental affection the past month had been met with hostility, scorn, and disgust, and he feared any further attempts would only end the same. Electing for the path of least resistance, he opened the door and departed without another word.

Silver waited for the door to click shut before he pushed his book aside, sitting up with a grunt. He grabbed his pig sticker from his room and slipped on his work boots and gloves. Butchering was laborious work, more so than even his father's rigorous training regimes, and he gripped his knife expectantly while gathering his things.

The clearing glittered with rainwater as he stepped outside. The air was heavy, weighed down by a thick layer of petrichor, smelling somehow both earthy and sweet at once, and it felt like he had to push through it as he walked, as though he were swimming upstream. While struggling towards the pig pen, he contemplated his soggy surroundings. The wet ground was as dark as umber. The chickens, equally as wet and as dark, were scratching dejectedly at the mud, and the cows looked on wisely from underneath their dripping lean-to. He was thankful the garden hadn't been harmed. The brightly colored heads of the newborn squash peeking out from their leafy cradles lifted his heart where the rest of the world drooped and dripped so miserably around him. On the second day of the storm, when it was evident the rain and the wind would not soon abate, he and his father had rushed to cover all the plants with heavy sheets of plastic in a last-ditch attempt to save them. The covers had served them well, having prevented the incurrence of any vegetative losses, and though they now sported deep abrasions where the hail had struck them, Silver found the markings as noble and as handsome as any other battle scar.

Upon reaching the pen, he selected the smallest of the shoats, doubtful he could handle one of the larger animals on his own. The blade of his pig sticker shone dully in the dappled light. The mahogany handle felt cool in his sweat-slicked hand. With a practiced surety, Silver plunged the knife up into the pig’s rib cage, and the animal collapsed to the ground. He cleaned the blade in the grass while he waited for the body to stop moving. After the shoat finally stilled, he hoisted its heavy body onto the metal gambrel hanging from the tree by the shed, and then he began the long work - extracting the tender leaf fat hidden deep within it.

He grabbed the set of butcher knives from the shed and used the longest one to cut into the hide. The skin was rough against his hands, coated with a thick layer of wiry hair, and he grunted as he ripped it off. The head and wet mass of guts and other organs he removed from the torso as quickly as possible, discarding them in a pile far behind them, where he did not have to look at them and remember what he had just done. He slowed down to a comfortable pace as he began removing the leaf fat. The pigs had been enjoying a hearty diet of sweet potatoes, mulberries, and corn for most of the year, and the shoat he'd selected was richly packed with thick sheets of candle white fat. He plunged his knife into the carcass and began separating the fat from the muscle, working in a rhythm, stopping at times to put down his knife and use his hands to tear back the white slab, then picking it up again to continue cutting. He dislodged the mass with one final flick of his knife and deposited it into a bucket by his feet. Once rendered, it would be used not just for cooking, but also to make soap and candles, as a poultice for minor burns and wounds, and as lotion for chapped skin.

After swapping his knife for a bone saw, he split the carcass in half, and then hung both pieces inside the smokehouse. In a few days, once the meat had tenderized, he and his father would finish quartering them and divvying up the meat, grinding some of the portions to make sausage, and putting aside others for bacon and jerky.

He could feel beads of sweat crawling down his back like a line of ants as he plodded over to the water shelf to wash his hands. He figured by the sun's position there were still a few hours of morning left. Might as well see if I can't hunt something he thought, having already exhausted all the distractions the clearing and the cottage could offer.

He washed himself hastily, glancing in the mirror as he dried his hands against his pant legs. He was a demonstrably plain boy – not outstanding in height or wit or strength or speed. His body was lean and wiry, his hands prematurely calloused from years of grueling work, and only the few meager lumps of baby fat that clung to his face protested weakly that he was, indeed, just a child. The only remarkable thing about him was his eyes – they were a brilliant blend of amethyst and steel blue, almost prismatic in nature, seeming to change color with the rise and fall of the sun. The few adults in his life often remarked on their beauty, but Silver never paid their compliments any mind - in truth, he rejected them. He'd always thought his eyes plain, just as he thought the rest of himself plain, especially in comparison to the fae, and if there was any one thing he begrudged Sebek for, it was the serpentine pupils he'd inherited from his forefathers. He frowned at the mirror, then averted his gaze from his dissatisfied reflection.

Before leaving, Silver printed on the back of a used envelope a short note for his father, letting him know he was going hunting, and that he would return home before supper, and this he left on the counter, held in place with a coffee tin. He then retrieved his crossbow from his room, and left the clearing, cutting a path straight North, far away from the bloated river and its poisons. Huge puddles of muddy water dotted the trail before him, and the damp ground squelched noisily under his boots. The trail was bordered by a lavender frame of honeysuckle in full bloom, but the trumpets sagged poorly, still heavy with water. His father had said it would likely take another week or two for the land to dry completely.

Silver had observed the storm with great interest. Pa Zigvolt had once told him how people in other countries conceived of the beginning of the world, and in one version, he spoke of when the planet was all water, and a god had sculpted the land and the sky and all living creatures, and Silver had wondered during the storm if this was how the world had looked during those primordial seven days, or if perhaps that wrathful god had come back to restart its creation. Never before in his life had he seen so much rain, so much wind and lightning and hail all at once before. The sky was one ocean and the land was another. The rain seemed to move back and forth between them, falling and rising, the drops of water shining like the million wings of a dragonfly swarm. He processed novelties such as these almost programmatically. If he understood something, then he determined he would not fear it. His comprehension was a beam of light he could shine upon his abhorrations, it would cut through the shadow of his uncertainty and allow him to see the face of the thing, to touch it, and to understand it. He was afraid of very little: the forest at night, adders (he'd been bitten once as a small child), all the various tinctures and teas prescribed for his occasional afflictions, and his father's Halloween performances. Darkness was one thing he'd studied and studied since he was very young, but had never been able to puzzle out, perhaps because it did not end. It was too broad, too immeasurable; he could lift up one corner of it and step underneath it and walk a thousand miles and still never glimpse its face. Even when it receded during the day, he felt it prowling beyond the safety of the clearing, like a panther in waiting. The storm, too, had seemed infinite in its wrath, but it had ended, and now it was gone. Now there was only a liquid world, shimmering, iridescent, like one great droplet of water sitting on an endless spiderweb.

The frenzied drumming of a male grouse sounded off in the distance, beyond a thick wall of fir and aspen. Following the clamor, Silver slipped into the underbrush. He moved over the wet leaf litter as quiet as a shadow. The performer soon came into view, perched atop a fallen cedar tree. It was in the midst of a thunderous crescendo, beating its spectacled wings so feverously the air around it seemed a solid tawny blur. Silver dropped to a crouch, stalking slowly forward until he reached a mass of undergrowth tall enough to conceal him. Kneeling in the grass, he loaded an arrow into his crossbow, disengaging the safety as he raised it to his shoulder.

A noise above drew his attention. A red squirrel, high up in the tree beside him, was glaring at him, its eyes blazing as fiercely as its bright copper fur. Silver held his breath. If the squirrel let out a warning bark, the grouse would surely hear it and scatter. His gaze flew between his observer and his target - the bird had paused in its performance, its small black eyes scanning the tree line where he was hiding.

After a few tense moments, the squirrel disappeared into the privacy of the canopy with a huff. The grouse cocked its head, alert, but not alarmed, and then resumed its drumming. Silver quietly let out the breath he'd been holding and moved his finger over the trigger. The arrow soared through the air and struck the grouse with a heavy thud. It fell to the ground, disappearing behind it's earthen stage.

Silver stood up and thrust his crossbow behind him. He rushed in long strides to the log and hoisted the grouse's limp body with one hand, his own body still thrumming with adrenaline. A scarlet blot bloomed in the animal's chest where his arrow had pierced it. The sight of the blood immediately muted all his excitement. He whispered an earnest "Thank you" to the creature before slipping its thin neck up under his belt and turning around. As he stood there, awash in the late morning light, contemplating the still-warm body resting against his thigh, his mind finally acknowledged that he knew this place.

One day, a few months ago, on his way home from collecting armfuls of wild sorrel and burdock in the forest, Silver had discovered a great horned owl sitting atop a towering oak tree while passing through there. The creatures were rarely seen during the day, typically active only during crepuscular hours, and Silver carefully set down his leafy bundle upon spotting it, taking the opportunity to quietly study the bird for as long as it allowed him to. He concluded that its long, brown ear-tufts reminded him of the projections in his father’s hair, and he smiled, pleased by the genius of his observation. When he walked up to the tree and craned his head back, the owl slowly blinked its yellow eyes down at him in perplexment.

“Could you please help me?” Silver asked.

“Whooo?”

“You, silly bird!” he laughed. He explained that he'd learned a new word recently, and desired an audience before which to practice his pronunciation.

The owl obliged his request and swooped down to a branch directly before him. He unfastened his cloak and draped it around its neck, carefully hooking up the fastener so as to not pinch its feathers.

He stepped back to admire his work. “Looks good to me,” he murmured to himself, nodding. “Now, I want you to please pretend to be my papa- I mean, my father.”

The owl stared at a toad loitering by Silver’s feet. It looked up and blinked its spotlight eyes at him slowly.

Flustered, Silver continued. “Oh, if you just sit there, that should be okay! I’ll go ahead and start now. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his back, crossing his arms. “Hello, Pa-, erm, Father. Today, I’m going to go play- I mean!! I’m going to go train with Sebek. I’ll be back for dinner. Farewell!”

He spun around and marched off, swinging his arms importantly, just like he’d seen the imperial guards do on his rare trips into town. After a few heavy steps, he stopped and turned around again, nervously searching his spectator's face for any sign of reproach.

“...How was that?” he asked after a moment.

The owl bobbed its head excitedly, but Silver could not determine if the gesture was meant for him, or for the toad that was now clinging plaintively to his feet. He reset his stance and repeated the exercise from the beginning. Again and again he stuttered through his short speech and pumped his arms and stomped across the ground, and then turned around to be greeted by a feathery face as unintelligible as some ancient cipher. This cycle continued for so long his pile of greens had begun to wilt by the time he was at last satisfied.

His request had been sincere, if not misguided. The new moniker he'd chosen for Lilia sat as heavy and awkwardly as a foreign word on his tongue, and he'd often lapse into calling the man "Papa" as a course of habit, which he'd aimed to rectify through this practice. But there was another, graver reason why he'd felt so anxious that day - a secret dilemma had been plaguing him for weeks.

He had discovered, unwillingly, and to his great alarm, that the adults in his life had suddenly developed an irritating air about them. He wished, for example, to push away Ma Zigvolt’s pinching hands when they reached for the roundness of his face and to flee from Pa Zigvolt’s awkward attempts at conversation. Baul and his father’s stories had lost their wonder, too, no longer coloring the quiet expanse of his dreams. And his father, by far, presented the most extreme case of this mysterious ailment.

It was as though, after thirteen long years of worshiping the very ground he walked on, Silver had woken up one day with his mind rewired to find everything the man did purely annoying. When he'd suddenly start to sing in that strange, deep voice he could conjure on a whim, or when he’d pester him with questions, asking him how his day was, and what he and Sebek had gotten up to, or when he'd declare to the world what a splendid, hardworking boy he was, instead of laughing or smiling or nodding along, as per his customary response, Silver instead found himself praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Even Malleus had changed. All his life, Silver had approached the young prince unabashed and forthcoming, as he was never taught the fear that lurked in the hearts of many of the valley’s citizens. Indeed, for Silver, Malleus was one of the precious few cornerstones of his meager world – he was a comforting shadow in the dim haze of Silver's infantile memories, and the green glow of his magic was as reassuring to him as the North Star’s guiding light. More than anything, he was someone - the only one - who’d come visit Silver when his father was away.

Lilia had resumed traveling for leisure after Silver was old enough to look after the homestead on his own. He was never gone long, in his own opinion, only a week or two at most. He'd pack the fridge full of questionable food for the boy, leave him a list of chores and rules to follow that was, at times, as questionable as the food, kiss his cheek goodbye, and then promptly disappear to whatever locale he'd selected for his itinerary that month. He'd always send Silver postcards of the places he'd visit. They often arrived faded and torn, or sopping wet from the rain, but Silver kept each and every one of them, regardless if damaged or illegible, or otherwise totally destroyed, in a little box underneath his bed. When he lay down to sleep at night, in his mind he would reach his hand underneath his bed, open his box, and quietly step into the distant worlds contained within the postcards.

Some nights, he and his father would stroll through the glass-topped bazaars of the Shaftlands, their arms heavy with paper shopping bags filled to the brim with newly purchased clothing and trinkets and toys, slowly moving through the crystalline cloud of cologne and parfum drifting out from the stores and boutiques, each establishment a gem of its own, the arcade an endless line of diamonds, amethysts, pearls, topaz, and rubies; then this vision would vanish, and he and his father would be pulled another thousand miles away to the golden plains of the Sunset Savanna, where sky touched the earth, where a boiling sun raged like an angry god above a scorched plateau of rock and grit and sand and red clay dust, and they would journey across this shimmering land marveling at all the beasts and vegetation Silver had only ever read about in his books, and would likely never see for as long as he lived.

He'd spend the entire night thus traipsing from one postcard to the next, so that by the time he awoke in the morning, he'd crossed nearly half the planet in his sleep.

This habit he continued for over half a year, at which point Malleus at last learned of Lilia's departures. Often kept detained at the castle by mountains of paperwork and other bureaucratic trivialities that left him too exasperated and too occupied for leisure, he did not regularly call on the Vanrouges, and when he'd taken a rare opportunity to drop by their cottage one day, many years ago, he was surprised when Silver opened the door and informed him that his father was gone. Silver did not notice anything strange about Malleus's reaction, at first. He'd gotten another postcard recently. On the front, an image of massive, stone towers rising high into a cloudless turquoise sky, their spires terminating into crowns shaped like pyramids; on the back, in his fathers prim script, a short note explaining the structures were called "obelisks'', and that they were monuments dedicated to the local gods of that region. All of Silver's dreams lately had been of endless deserts and great golden towers and the ancient kings and queens that once ruled over them, and when he saw the pair of black obelisks that were concealed in Malleus's slit pupils, his fantasies materialized temptingly in his mind once again.

But Malleus's low voice, inquiring on Lilia's return, pulled him back to the clearing and the small cottage and its plainness for a moment. Trying to focus, he stated bluntly that his father would not be back for another week.

"A week?" Malleus said, his tone halfway between a scoff and a cry.

"A week," Silver repeated absentmindedly, busy trying to determine how a pharaoh's headdress might sit between Malleus's horns.

When his gaze drifted lazily back to Malleus's eyes, he finally realized the man was angry. The black obelisks had vanished, and all the kings and queens in his mind bowed their heavy ornate heads, crumbling away to nothing in the face of the prince's quiet rage.

From that day on, Malleus dedicated himself to visiting Silver as much as possible when Lilia was away. He would bring with him cakes and pies he'd stolen from the castle's kitchen, and books he'd snuck out of the royal library, and they would sit together and enjoy these treasures in the living room, or stroll through the forest when the weather was fair. These visits made Silver feel very important, a sensation he seldom had the privilege to enjoy, and he'd imagine he was a duke welcoming a fellow aristocrat to his palace whenever Malleus stopped by. The lonely late-night journeys through his postcards melted away into this new pleasure.

As Silver matured, he slowly began to comprehend the gravity of Malleus’s periodic decampments. It first felt like nothing more than a small discomfort, as though he were wearing a garment a size too small. As time went on, the discomfort only grew, transforming from a minor inconvenience into an ever-present malaise. But Silver was attentive as he was reticent, and he’d noticed how, when he’d caper with Malleus through the forests, the pixies living in the oak trees and the river would whisper and whisper all around them, their high voices a chorus of reproachful chimes. And he’d noticed, too, the confusion that had flashed across his father’s eyes the day he’d confessed to these secret visits. Silver collected these observations as his evidence, examined them, and concluded that Malleus was doing something wrong. But to accuse their crown prince of misconduct required a level of brazenness that far exceeded his capabilities, and he'd waited several months until he finally voiced his suspicions.

He broached the topic the spring prior, when his father had departed for a week-long sojourn in the Shaftlands. That first night, Malleus appeared at the cottage door with a pan of freshly baked apple strudel in hand. After they were sat at the table and Malleus began cutting their portions, Silver at last revealed all his concerns.

When he finished speaking, he watched Malleus’s hand slow down as it moved the knife through the steaming pastry.

“I…” Malleus pursed his lips in thought, lifting them into a soft smile a moment later.

“I remember how I felt whenever Lilia would vanish on one of his excursions when I was little, and I suppose I simply wish not for you to feel the same.”

“But that’s-”

“You needn’t worry, Silver.” Malleus laughed gently, pushing a plate heavy with warm strudel towards him. “I shan’t get into any trouble - so long as my grandmother remains none the wiser about all this, that is,” he finished with a wink.

Silver was at once overcome by a rush of joy and shame and guilt and relief all combined together. His body, unable to process this strange emotional amalgamation, resigned to color itself with a vicious crimson flush. The chameleonic display was so severe it shocked even Malleus, and he spent the rest of that evening marveling at the different shades of red human skin could take.

Something shifted in Silver's relationship with Malleus that day. He felt it before he understood what it was. When his father returned from his trip, he revealed to Silver the truth that had been looming over him all of his life, and explained to him all the different rules that Malleus had been egregiously breaking for him for years on end. When the lecture was finished, Silver asked his father to leave his room so he could ruminate. He concluded that if it was wrong for Malleus to show him this kindness, if it had to be locked away and kept a secret, then he would keep his own secret - he would take his love for Malleus, for his brother, and he would bury it. He would construct a pedestal in his heart, as all the other valley citizens had long been taught to do, and place upon it the man he'd been too ignorant to realize had never truly been his equal and his friend.

He was bothered greatly – by his father’s antics, by the dullness of the adults around him, by the solitude of his strange and sudden affliction – and yet he never could find a remedy for his discomfort. It was like an insect had stung him in a spot his hands couldn’t quite reach, and the words to describe how he felt evaded him just the same.

All of this he considered once more as he left the forest, stumbling back home in a haze of speculation. By the time he reached the clearing, the darkened sky looked like a giant raven's wing stretched out over the land, and the treefrogs had already begun their evening serenade. Even in the low light he could feel their beady eyes staring at him as he approached the door.

Inside, the cottage was warm, and his father's humming radiated quietly from the kitchen. After slipping off his muddy boots by the door, he set the limp grouse on the counter and went to wash his hands at the basin.

His father stood before the cookstove, stirring a pot bubbling with a substance as black as tar. He looked up, and the smile he’d been planning to offer Silver rapidly faded away. Knitting his brow in concern, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

Silver swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’m fine.”

IV.

Summer crept forward like an inchworm. The land dried out completely within a matter of weeks, as Lilia had predicted, and one could now comfortably move around outside without fear of the humidity's oppression. The linden trees, made anxious by the pounding wind and rain, had been steadfastly clutching their bright yellow flowers against their leafy breasts since the start of the month, and had only recently just begun allowing the satiny petals to unfurl, as though acknowledging the valley's languid recuperation. Their delicious perfume billowed out across the entire nation, eventually overshadowing even the contaminated river's foul odor.

The Zigvolts had fared well through the disaster, their tall, white house still standing proud and pristine amongst a mess of downed trees and waterlogged foliage, not a single red brick from the chimney missing or otherwise harmed. Their neighbors, however, had not been nearly as fortunate, and the elder Zigvolts had agreed to close the dental clinic while they helped their friends repair their homes. The children eagerly assisted wherever possible, and they spent the better part of June lugging armfuls of wood and shingles, readjusting crooked fences, and clearing out dripping debris from the trails that weaved around their home. The entire family would work from morning until late at night, reserving one day a week to either relax or to see to any high-priority dental cases.

It was on one of these holidays, in late June, when Lilia and Silver dropped by in the morning for a scheduled call. The two families gathered in the parlor, the adults chatting amicably, while the children competed to see who'd had the most interesting experiences during the storm, but as noon rolled around and the boys lost interest in conversation, Baul suggested they go outside for an impromptu sword fighting lesson. The group thus disbanded, Lilia remaining with Pa and Ma Zigvolt in the parlor, while Iris joined her grandfather and the family cat in supervising the boys, taking turns cheering for her brother or for Silver as she saw fit.

After they left, Ma Zigvolt went to the kitchen and refilled the pitcher of ice tea she'd prepared that morning, topping up Lilia's glass for him before retaking her seat. Looking at him expectantly, she asked, "Now what were you saying before? About Silver."

“Ah, about Silver acting strangely during the storm?” Lilia waited for her confirmation before continuing. “Well, there was this one day I was able to get the fireplace going and I gathered up some blankets on the couch. And when I asked Silver if he wanted to come cuddle with me for a bit, he… he…”

Ma Zigvolt balled up her apron in her hands and leaned forward, wide-eyed. “He what?”

“He said no!” Lilia cried, throwing his arm over his face with a flourish.

“No?!” she gasped. “Not Silver!”

“Yes! I could hear my poor heart breaking in two on the spot.” Lilia slumped back in his chair. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone about the problems he'd been having with his son, and he felt somehow encumbered by the weight of his confession.

Ma Zigvolt gently asked if he'd had any luck talking to Silver about his behavior, and he begrudgingly shook his head.

"He always says he's fine, and that's about as much as I can get out of him." He sipped his tea, setting his glass down on the table beside him with a frown. "It almost feels like he doesn't even like me anymore..."

Pa and Ma Zigvolt exchanged a pointed look. It was not unlike the one they'd share with each other at the clinic, when a patient, complaining of mysterious symptoms that had "simply popped up out of nowhere!" would throw themselves into the examination chair with a huff, only to confess after much prodding that they had been consuming a poor diet, and had been practicing even poorer dental habits.

Pa Zigvolt spoke first. “It’s normal for kids Silver’s age to go through a phase like this. It just means he’s growing up.”

Lilia blinked. “Growing up…?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ma Zigvolt continued. “We went through the exact same thing with Horace and Iris. Horace especially had it rough, the poor thing. You remember, honey?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day." He nodded solemnly. "He’d stay holed up in his room all the time, and trying to get him to talk to us was harder than pulling a tooth. It’s like he thought we were the most embarrassing people in the world.”

“Oh, but he still thinks that way about you, dear.”

“Tally!”

Laughing, Ma Zigvolt reached over and patted his knee soothingly.

Lilia considered their words. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I just don’t understand why he’s trying to grow up so quickly. For most of his life, I pushed him much too hard, had him undergo training better suited for soldiers thrice his age. The day I finally realized what an awful mistake I’d been making, I don’t think I’d ever felt so ashamed of myself in my life.”

“From that moment on, I swore to ease up on him and just let him be a kid, and to make sure he could enjoy his childhood as much as possible. Especially since I… Ahh…”

Lilia thought of the castle barracks. There had only been one window in his room, a pitiful little square cut high into the stone wall adjacent to his cot. It faced East, and for a few, meager hours in the afternoon, when the sun was positioned directly before the castle, a singular column of light would enter the window and illuminate that small, dark space. He thought of how he would lay transfixed in bed, watching the light glide across his body like a golden serpent, how he would thrust out his hands, trying to capture it, trying desperately to stop this one thing from exiting his life as everything else had, and how each time it would slip through his groping fingers like water and evaporate into nothing. He thought of marching for days, of the sharp iron stench of the battlefield, of the bone-deep ache that would weigh heavy like a stone over every fiber of his being. He thought of all the things he experienced growing up that he never wished for his son or any other child to go through.

Lilia swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Looking past Ma Zigvolt, focusing on the wall clock behind her, he finally continued, “When I was a child, I didn’t have the… the kinds of opportunities that he has, so I just want to make sure he makes the most of them while he can.”

"I see..." Ma Zigvolt sighed, folding her hands in her lap. She had grown up knowing Lilia to be an evasive - if not frustrating - man, and her father had warned her repeatedly over the years to be cautious in her prodding. He was like an uncle to her, and she dutifully acknowledged his seniority, if only in regards to his age, but he was also a fellow parent, and her neighbor, and where the wellbeing of children was concerned, she was known to reveal the full extent of her caustic rhetoric, so that more than once she'd had to quit all civility and rebuke Lilia for his parental failures. Still, she considered each of her questions carefully, as though treading across a sheet of ice, knowing full well that if she chose her next step incorrectly, it would shatter the man's trust and terminate the conversation.

After a moment, she asked, “And you two haven't had any fights recently? You don't think you've said anything that might've upset him?"

Lilia paused for a moment, and then shook his head again. “No, not at all.”

Ma Zigvolt pressed further, sensing his hesitation. “Well, regardless, you don’t think there’s anything you’re doing that might be making him act this way?”

She'd stepped too far. Lilia frowned. “I think I know my own child, Thalia. If he had a problem with me, he’d say so.”

"I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, Lilia."

“Alright.”

Pa Zigvolt glanced rapidly between his wife and Lilia. Confrontation historically made him nervous, and it was clear from their stony faces they'd reached an impasse. He rubbed his clammy palms against his pant leg and rose from his seat, asked politely if anyone would like another round of refreshments, and fled to the kitchen before receiving a response. Lilia's gaze followed him as he walked off, his thoughts drifting away together with the man's receding figure.

He could hear the children's laughter floating in through the open windows, Sebek's loud and exuberant, Silver's quiet and breathless. Other sounds poured in, blending together like a symphony. There was the harsh percussion of their wooden swords clashing together, ringing out at times as viciously as gunfire; there was Baul's voice, low and clear, gruffly barking out his commands in tune with each thunderous strike; and there was the shining thread of Iris's singsong voice, interweaving amongst the clamor as she called out her gentle encouragement.

But still through it all his son's voice came to him, as direct as a beam of light, sounding sweeter and brighter than the goldfinches chittering away in the cottonwood trees.

It'd been so long since he last heard his son's laugh he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. For over a month, he'd failed to elicit from the boy anything beyond the faintest imitation of a grin, yet here he was, just out of arm's reach, laughing and smiling so freely it was like his body demanded it more than breathing. He looked away from the window and glanced at Ma Zigvolt. She sat with her back erect, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes closed, awash in her children's joy, her round face as radiant and golden as the sun. Lilia fought back the urge to call out to Silver, knowing he would only destroy this moment.

He thought again of the past few weeks, scrutinizing everything he'd said and done to his child. He sifted through his memories, upturning each one and twisting it around and inspecting it from every angle, but still he could not find any evidence of his error. And he couldn't make comprehensible, either, the notion that his son was "growing up", as the Zigvolts had claimed. How could he, when Silver only had taken his first, wobbling steps just the other day, when it was only just yesterday that he'd learned to string his words together and share his quaint little thoughts, when he was still so small - his body, his voice, his hands, all no greater now than they had ever been before in his entire life? Lilia bit back an incredulous scoff, humored greatly by the absolute absurdity of the notion. And yet - his son's laughter drifted into his consciousness like a spring breeze. Why this drastic change in his demeanor, then?

Maybe there is something I'm doing wrong. But I just...

Lilia cleared his throat. "I'll certainly need to mull this over some more, but if you have any advice, I'm all ears."

“Well…” Ma Zigvolt smiled, smoothing out her apron before folding her hands in her lap again. “I know I’m no expert, but I’ve found that sometimes, being a good parent means you gather your babies in your arms and you hold onto them as tight as you can. And other times, it means you let them go. And he's at a point in his life where you might just have to start letting him go.”

"Hm."

The Vanrouges departed for home that afternoon. Before they left, Pa Zigvolt pulled Lilia aside, and let him know he was more than welcome to come speak with them again about Silver's behavior at any time. Lilia thanked him, reassuring him that his wife had already given him more than enough to think about for a while yet, and politely declined the couple's offer to meet for dinner later that week. As he stepped through the door, he winked at Ma Zigvolt, and she grinned at him audaciously.

Silver retreated into his shell as soon as they stepped off their neighbor's property, but Lilia was for once too occupied to take offense, busy ruminating on his conversation with the Zigvolts. Their dinner that evening was silent, and he later fell asleep dreaming of the boy's twinkling laughter.

Lilia would come to regret rejecting the Zigvolts' offer. Over the next several weeks, Silver seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into himself with each passing day. The boy's emotional carapace was thicker than any suit of armor or garrison Lilia had encountered during his time in the service, and some days he receded so deeply Lilia would have to call his name multiple times and rap his hand against the table just to wrest the child's attention away from himself. It was all Lilia could do to maintain the fraying strand of his composure from completely snapping. He'd been hotheaded as a youth, and positively vicious to his troops as a general, but had sworn off his every inclination towards corporal punishment once Malleus was born. During this period he often found himself questioning the rationality of his vow, and would sometimes envision giving the boy a lashing, only to immediately chide himself for his own weakness.

Something sinister seemed to be building up inside their little home. It was as though there was a great coil lurking underneath the floorboards, one that wound itself tighter and tighter with each of their disastrous interactions. The palpable tension only further stymied Lilia's every attempt at repairing their relationship, and the blowout he'd been fearing finally materialized one afternoon in early July.

Silver had spent the better part of that day in a state of quiet agitation. He would approach Lilia, open his mouth, close it, open it again, and then spin around and march off to his room, proclaiming hastily he needed to close his window, or make his bed, or any other excuse he could find to justify his escape. Lilia would only laugh in response. The previous day, while cleaning the kitchen, he'd glanced out the window and noticed the boy speaking animatedly with the chickens. He watched for hours as Silver paced back and forth before them, waving his arms and moving his mouth rapidly as the birds pecked indifferently at the ground.

Since then, Lilia had been eager to learn the truth of Silver's recital, but he did not press the boy, choosing instead to bide his time sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a stack of traveling magazines he'd been meaning to read.

After an hour of consternation, Silver planted himself before Lilia, his spine erect, his shoulders drawn back, and stated with perfect confidence, "Father, there's something I'd like to ask you!"

"Hm?" Lilia lowered his magazine, his eyes peeking over an editorial on deep-sea diving in the Coral Sea. "What is it?"

Silver's shoulders slumped. He'd not gotten this far in his rehearsals.

"Erm." He nibbled on his lower lip. "Is it okay if I go to the Zigvolt's by myself today?"

Lilia blinked. He'd been hoping - expecting, even - to hear from the boy a teary-eyed apology for how poorly he'd been acting recently, or perhaps a plea for his forgiveness, but not this. After a moment, he muttered, "What?"

"Is it okay if-"

"Sorry, I heard you." Lilia sat up and placed the magazine on the coffee table. "Why are you asking that?"

"I dunno. I just thought I-" Silver licked his lips. "I guess I just thought I could go by myself now. And I know it hurts your back to walk all that way, so."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, darling." Lilia said, inwardly cursing at himself for allowing the boy to notice his infirmity. He made a note to check the bathroom after they were finished talking, wondering if he'd neglected to put away his pain relief balm and bottles of medication where he typically hid them, at the back of the medicine cabinet.

Sitting up as straight as his bruised back allowed, he offered Silver a smile so brilliant it was as though he wished to expunge the shadow of the boy's doubt with its radiance. "I'm fit as a fiddle!" he proclaimed through gritted teeth.

Silver returned the smile, unaffected. "I'm glad. But I still wanna start going by myself."

Lilia's lips dropped into a frown. He shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Silver. But the answer is 'no'."

Had Silver heard those words at any other point in his life prior to that moment, he would have conceded, and bowed out of the conversation in recognition of his father's perfect judgment. But this time, rather than his usual disappointment, he felt a strange anger welling up inside of him, instead. He clenched his fists and set his jaw, ignoring the hiss of his instincts warning him that he was about to step into a fight.

"No? Why not?" he asked, interrupting Lilia as he reached for his magazine.

Lilia leaned back into the couch and bit back another sigh. "Simple, because it's not safe for you to go all that way by yourself." He spoke slowly and carefully, hoping an air of manufactured calmness would mask his irritation.

Silver's voice, in contrast, blatantly swelled with indignation. "But I stay home by myself when you're gone."

"Staying home by yourself is different. My magic is all over this land. Magical beasts and fae know not to come here, and you know that, too."

Here, Silver paused again. The hiss of his instincts had at that point deformed into a mangled screech, which he knew would soon summon the animal panic that had struck him before a handful of times in his young life - once when he'd gotten lost in the woods as a small child, and another when his father had fallen gravely ill after returning from one of his trips, and Silver had been powerless to help him. There was one, final question that he now wished to ask the man, though he knew the answer to it might hurt him. As his mind frantically tried to draw back the words already forming on his tongue, he hastily wrenched them out and spat:

"Well, what about when you drop me and Sebek out in the middle of nowhere for our training? We always get along just fine without you."

Lilia crossed his arms and looked away. "That's... different, too."

Silver's heart skipped a beat. "...How?"

"It just is-"

"How!" the boy cried, his voice bursting into a screech.

"Because I watch you guys the whole time! I've always been watching you when you train. I would never leave you alone like that, you're just a child."

Lilia realized too late the poison of his words. It spread immediately into Silver's heart. His eyes were two perfect shining wet opals; his tears fell silently - gliding, almost, lifting off as they fell from his face, as though afraid to mar his skin. He turned and ran to his room, hesitating as he took the door into his hand before, for perhaps the first time in his life, he slammed it shut. Lilia leapt from the couch and raced after him, hissing out a choked "Damnit!" under his breath as he tried the knob and found it locked. He pressed his ear against the door and called out Silver's name. At first, he heard nothing, and feared for a moment the boy had slipped out his window and fled into the forest, in repeat of that awful, wretched night from so long ago, but then he heard it - it was like a whisper at first, nearly as imperceptible as the clap of a butterfly's wings, but still he heard it, heard the stifled, quiet sobs drifting through the heavy panel of hardwood separating him from his son. Lilia stood there, petrified, listening, feeling as each of the boy's sobs pierced his flesh and bore down into the deepest folds of his heart, as if seeking him; as if they were his own.

Once a month, when the moon casts aside her shadowy veil to grace the valley with all her beauty, the Zigvolts and the Vanrouges and their neighbors gather together in a log cabin at the edge of the forest, and they dance.

Regular merriment was a necessity for the fae - mirth coursed through their bodies like the blood in their veins, and any opportunity for celebration, any chance they had to raise their voices together and join hands under the soft light of the stars, they would take it. Baul would scoff and say they were all plagued by a sickness, Ma Zigvolt would click her tongue at him and say it was rather an inclination.

The monthly dance was a rare opportunity for Silver to socialize freely with the townspeople. His father had always been honest with him about his species' general attitude towards humans, and the boy understood very well that the glint in their gemstone eyes - some of them deep ruby red like his father’s, others mesmerizingly green like polished emeralds, or as molten as bright blue sapphires - was not always a kind one. Only on those full moon nights, when the whine of the band’s violins accompanies the forest symphony of nightingales and tree frogs calling out their lonely verses, when the humans and the fae breathe each other in and twist and turn and dip and whirl and spin each other out, only then was it safe for Silver to take their clawed hands into his own and look unabashed into the fire of their eyes. They could and they would return to their quiet judgment and whispered denouncements later, but not on those nights, not when their bodies burned hot with jubilation and the music bewitched them so.

It was for this reason, and for his love of the communal mirth he habitually longed for, as isolated as he was at home, that Silver looked forward to the dance each month with great excitement. The night before the July dance, however, a war had raged inside the Vanrouge household.

Partway through their silent dinner, just as Lilia had gotten up to refill his glass of water at the sink, Silver had announced, plainly, and without a moment's hesitation, that he would not be participating in tomorrow's festivities, and offered neither an explanation nor any willingness to compromise when prompted. But Lilia was equally insurmountable in his parental concerns, and he questioned the boy until his blood boiled. The conversation rapidly crumbled into an argument, before further disintegrating into an all-out screaming match.

They volleyed their rebukes at each other from across the dining table, both unbending in their determination, Silver deflecting each of Lilia's pleas and demands with an iron-clad defense that bordered on hostility.

"You're going to that dance whether you want to or not!" Lilia had nigh snarled at one point as he launched his next attack.

But his words had ricocheted off Silver as harmlessly as though they were filled with air, and he ultimately fired back a retort so scathing it made even Lilia's marble white skin flush in mortification.

Their clamor poured out the open windows and flooded the clearing, where the sows and the heifer in the pasture looked at each other in concern. A songbird that had perched on the windowsill for a moment’s respite burst into the sky a second later, alarmed by the ruckus within. After an hour of tense contestation, they finally reached an agreement: they would go to the dance, but would not stay the entire time. But the foul atmosphere from the great storm of their quarrel lingered in the small cottage, and the pair kept to themselves the next day, Silver sulking in his bedroom, and Lilia fussing in the kitchen, busy preparing a dish for the dance's customary potluck.

They convened in the evening. The partygoers traditionally wore their Sunday best, and Silver and Lilia both donned their black slacks, white button up shirts, and leather-soled shoes. Their jackets and vests they left hanging in their closets, the threat of the summer heat overpowering any inclination for gaiety. When Silver emerged into the living room, he was finishing buttoning up his shirt, and did not look up as he called out a quiet greeting to his father. It was the first time Lilia had seen him all day, and once the boy had completed his toilette and finally met his gaze, Lilia offered him a reconciliatory smile, which Silver at first returned, reflexively, then retracted a moment later, substituting it with a scowl in its place.

Shortly before dusk, underneath a blue-gray sky streaked with clouds of pure amber, they departed for the cabin, joining up with the Zigvolts as they neared the edge of the forest. Baul was not with his family, having excused himself to instead partake in an evening nap, and the small troupe reached its destination just as the last golden wisps of the sun had withdrawn into their equatorial den.

While Ma and Pa Zigvolt and Iris set off for the dancefloor, Lilia headed towards the tables at the back of the one-room cabin, Silver and Sebek in tow. He gingerly set down his tray of charred cookies amongst the other desserts while the boys took a seat. As Sebek gazed at the rows of meat pies and pound cakes spread out before them, Silver fidgeted in his chair.

The last of the partygoers having finally assembled, the band picked up their instruments and began to play. There was no electricity in the valley, and aside from the small handful of families that could afford imported record players, music was traditionally played live, both for private enjoyment, and for public celebrations. Most fae children, as a result, learned to master at least one instrument as part of their general education, and while Lilia and Malleus both were highly skilled in a wide variety of stringed instruments, Silver could play only a few, clumsy chords on the guitar - and nothing else - having suffered greatly under his father's abstract instruction.

The theme that night was "Rhythm and Blues", and the band played a selection of human songs that had lately entered the valley's cultural zeitgeist, a record-short 50 years after first debuting overseas. The partygoers danced uproariously, all of them eager to show off the new steps they'd been practicing the past month - twisting and turning and stomping their feet so thunderously the entire cabin shook from their gesticulations.

After the first song ended and a transitory lull settled over the party, Silver took the opportunity to finally voice his discomfort. Sitting up straight in his seat, he said, “I’m gonna go sit outside, it’s hot in here. You wanna come, Sebek?”

Sebek tugged absentmindedly at his suspenders while he thought. “I should like to partake in some of the fare, so I shall remain here with Sir Lilia for now.”

“Okay,” Silver replied with a shrug. He walked into the swarm of dancers just as the next song began, vanishing amongst the undulating crowd a moment later.

Lilia wished desperately to follow after him. He'd apologized repeatedly for snapping at Silver the other day, and for their fight the evening prior, both times attempting reparation through the offer of a new sword or other training implement, or ordering dinner from Silver's favorite restaurant in town - methods that had always proven successful in the past - but the boy had shot down any notion of making peace. Deciding to allow Silver his space, Lilia rose from his seat and cut a large piece of cake for Sebek, grabbing for himself a glass of berry juice before sitting back down again. He drank deeply; a familiar warmth began to pool in his stomach and radiated pleasantly into his skin, gathering up and pushing out the restlessness that had been plaguing him since the night prior, so that it lifted away from his body like the mist after a rainstorm. He downed the rest of his glass lethargically, only getting up to move whenever Sebek politely asked for another slice of cake.

The pair observed the dancers in silence together, Lilia apathetically, Sebek with great interest, his bright eyes jumping excitedly between his parents and his sister, narrowing in contempt each time the latter's current dance partner whispered something in her ear that made her smile. He resolved not to dance with the perpetrator, a young woman he recognized as one of his sister's classmates, if offered, and the prospect of this future rejection delighted him even more than his final bite of cake.

Half an hour later, Pa Zigvolt came staggering over to their table, his pinched face dripping with sweat. He stood before them for a moment, swaying slightly, trying to catch his breath, then cleared his throat and announced, meekly, “Seb, your ma said she wants to dance with you next.”

Sebek's heart plunged into his stomach. He nodded and slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he marched stiffly towards the dance floor.

After watching his son leave, Pa Zigvolt sank down into one of the empty seats with a groan. He took out his handkerchief, and as he began dabbing at his wet face, a pained smile formed on his lips. “What a woman!” he panted, amazed. “I’m telling you, she’d go all night if you let her.”

Lilia smirked. “Sounds like she’s just like her father.”

“Yeah,” Pa Zigvolt sighed. And then he frowned. “Wait, what…? What do you mean by that?”

“What did you mean by that?” Lilia countered with a gentle smile.

The color drained from Pa Zigvolt’s face. The layer of sweat he’d only just managed to wipe off suddenly rematerialized across his skin, and he nervously balled his soaked handkerchief in his hands. “I- I was just talking about dancing!!” he stammered in defense.

Lilia laughed. “Then we’ll say that I was, too.”

Exasperated, Pa Zigvolt clicked his tongue. He timidly glanced around the room, and, upon confirming none of the other partygoers appeared to have heard them, deflated in his seat once again, kicking out his still quivering legs in front of him to let them rest. He set his used handkerchief on the table and extracted a fresh one from his crumpled breast pocket while scanning the dance floor, and quickly spotted the shock of his son's bright green hair weaving through the crowd, heading towards Ma Zigvolt at the front of the cabin, where she stood towering above the other partygoers. Smiling, he resumed mopping his face, and quietly breathed a prayer of good luck for the boy.

“There you are, honey! I was waiting for you.” Ma Zigvolt smiled brightly as her son approached, and Sebek nodded in greeting. In stark contrast to his father, whose haggard breathing still rang out far behind them, his mother was the very definition of radiant; the cabin walls were lined with rows of glass lamps, each one burning a magic flame of an amber hue, and where their dim incandescence reached out and cupped her rosy face, her skin seemed to effuse its own milk white glow in return. She grabbed his arm and drew him flush against her, causing him to yelp in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure, and placed his trembling hands on her broad waist as she instructed.

They stood directly before the band, so close that Sebek could see his warped reflection in the gleaming brass of the saxophones; next to his doppelganger, within the piano's raised lid, was an umber copy of his mother, smiling gently at him. Turning his gaze, he watched as the singer stepped forth and clapped his hands, casting a simple spell to amplify his voice. The band members, thus signaled, each became animated in turn; one after another the horns swung in golden arcs up to their players' lips; the drummer and the pianist sat rigid in their seats; the guitarist and the bassist hovered their fingers over strings that seemed to vibrate in anticipation; finally, the singer, glancing around him, issued with a nod of his head a silent affirmation of their readiness, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“Here they have a lot of fun

Puttin' trouble on the run

Man, you find the old and young

Twistin' the night away”

The dancers convened before the band immediately, some forming pairs, others choosing to shuffle on their own. The song called for a basic step, if danced solo: one need only to dig one's foot into the floor and twist it, as though "squashin' a damn bug", as Baul had once commented - with the elbows and hips swung in a similar, rhythmic fashion. Those who'd coupled up alternated this movement with a variety of turns, spins, and other footwork predominant in the swing style of dance. As they moved, the sound of their shoes scuffing and squeaking against the hardwood floor became a backing beat to the music.

The cabin was formed from stacked logs of hewn pine, affixed together with a mixture of mud and clay; the night's heat slipped through any miniscule gaps it could find in this rudimentary sealant - through the walls, the flooring, the roof - combining with the warmth that radiated from the mass of bodies packed together in that small space, so that the air within the building was as heavy and hot as the air without. Sebek's face quickly bloomed bright pink from the heat, and then dark red and splotchy; the impudent strands of hair he’d spent over half an hour in the bathroom slicking down fell limp over his eyes, heavy with perspiration. He understood at once his father's fatigued condition, and discarded the disgust he'd felt when he saw the man staggering to their table earlier, a newfound compassion taking its place.

“They're twistin', twistin'

Everybody's feelin' great

They're twistin', twistin'

They're twistin' the night away”

It was all Sebek could do to brace himself against his mother's thunderous exuberance. She swept him across the dancefloor as though he were a leaf caught up in a storm. His gaze shifted rapidly between her smiling face and his own shuffling feet, worried he might stumble and fall. Noticing this, Ma Zigvolt’s heavy body shook with laughter, her voice deep and rich like a dove’s call, and Sebek decided that he would never hear a more wonderful sound in his life. He soon forgot all his apprehensions; his shining white smile accompanied his reddened cheeks, and he nuzzled his face below the swell of his mother’s breast, as content as a nursing kitten.

A moment later, several of the dancers detached themselves from their partners and floated away. One of the Zigvolts' neighbors caught Sebek's mother, and his sister drifted over to take her place. He steadied himself against the thick trunk of her arm. She was wearing a pleated, pearl white dress, with a floral pattern sewn in golden thread along the neckline, the bottom falling down to just below her knees. The dress billowed out as she twirled, so that the hem unfurled around her like the petals of her namesake. Her pretty face was just as flushed as his, and her bright green eyes shone like pure jade; it was as though she had grown several years younger that night, no longer appearing to him as the young woman who had departed for college a year ago, but like the little girl of his infantile memories. They whirled and whirled, giggling until their stomachs hurt, as if sharing together in some great secret.

The floor groaned under a storm of stomping feet, the windows shook precipitously in their crudely cut frames. The crowd roared, voices low and high emerged from the swaying mass to accompany the singer at the end of each verse. Though there was not a drop of alcohol to be found in that cabin, many of them moved belligerently. They were intoxicated purely by the clang of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, the rumble of the singer's low voice - each of these more potent a drug to the fae than any other known substance on the planet.

At the back of the cabin, Lilia and Pa Zigvolt laughed and clapped along from their seats. Lilia's eyes darted around the room as he clapped, trying to locate his son, but the wall of dancers surging back and forth blocked his view.

“Lean up, lean back

Lean up, lean back

Watusi, now fly, now twist

They're twistin' the night away”

Outside, Silver sat alone on the doorstep. The sounds pouring out of the cabin washed over him in tumultuous waves. He'd heard many of the songs before, at prior dances, or on Pa Zigvolt's record player, and the familiarity of the music felt like a reassuring hand on his thin shoulders that night. He swayed gently to the beat, noticing at times how the slurred voices of the partygoers would rise above the band’s thunderous performance, and at one point he looked up and wondered if they had all grown drunk on the wine-dark sky.

He yawned loudly. The hot anger from his father’s recent injury still burned dimly in his stomach, and he wavered between his desire to snuff out the last few dying embers, or to let them fester still. He wasn’t used to this feeling, this irritation that clung to his tired flesh like a tick. His father had upset him before, over trivial matters that had seemed substantial to his child’s heart at the time – and once over something he understood was sincerely very grave – but he could not recall ever feeling truly angry towards the man.

All his life he'd thought himself plain and unmemorable, a pale, living blemish upon the fair folk and their preternatural beauty. But that day, when his father had revealed the truth to him, that was the first time in his life he'd ever felt ugly. The lone attestation to his maturation - all those miserable nights he'd spent in the wilderness as part of his training, often alone, other times accompanied by Sebek, cast hundreds of miles away from the clearing and all its conveniences, relying solely on his magical prowess, his wit, and a small set of tools to make it through the night - had all this time been a lie. Had any of his accomplishments been real? Had a single jot of his father's pride for him ever been genuine? What good was the torture of his training! What good was the endless exhaustion, the cold fear wrought by those awful, lonely nights, all the callouses and scars he'd been led to attain as a child and would now forever mar the alabaster of his flesh! To have ascended the black crags of the Forbidden Mountain, to have crossed endless deserts and forded raging rivers with trembling arms and legs, and yet to have failed to notice his father had been there with him the entire time! Or, perhaps he had noticed, perhaps he had noticed and merely pretended not to, to assuage the frightened little boy he now realized he truly was. Or, perhaps the man had secluded himself somewhere far beyond Silver's reach, perhaps he'd been observing him from behind the stars or the moon. But this last thought only wounded him further, as though even the heavenly bodies had betrayed him, too. He turned away from them now, not wishing for them to see him cry.

Humiliation is one of life's cruelest teachers, and that day it had taught Silver that nowhere in his house, nowhere in that land was he safe. Nowhere could he escape from the prison that was his father's gaze.

The dance proceeded languidly, drawing on as the stars drifted quietly through the night sky. Pa Zigvolt, having at last recovered from his wife's fervor, had left Lilia to go dance with his daughter. Alone, Lilia remained in his seat at the back of the cabin, tapping his feet on occasion, or humming along to the songs he recognized, but did not otherwise participate any further in the festivities. He tiredly declined each of his neighbors' offers to try their cakes and their pies, raising an eyebrow when he noticed, an hour into the party, that his own plate of cookies was still untouched. He angrily crunched one of the charcoal black disks - frowning not at its flavor, which he found as decadent as anything else his impotent taste buds could detect, but at his neighbors' general ignorance towards good food.

Upon exhausting their repertoire of fast-paced numbers, the band called for a short interlude, at which conclusion the singer cleared his throat and announced, “Alright, ladies and gents. We’ll be slowing things down a bit for these last few songs.” The band behind him reassembled itself; the guitarist and the bassist returned their instruments to their cases, trading them for a pair of violins, and a portion of the brass section retired entirely. The violins, perched proudly on their players shoulders, let out a long, plaintive note, and then the singer parted his lips once more.

His voice hitherto had been brash and booming, a perfect accompaniment to the vibrant music, but now it melted into something as smooth as velvet, flowing like a summer breeze over and around the audience, dripping into their hearts with the sweetness of honey. The thunder of shuffling feet was no more. There was only the slow swaying of couples - lovers with their partners, mothers and fathers with their children, and neighbors with their friends.

“I wish you bluebirds in the spring

To give your heart a song to sing

And then a kiss

But more than this

I wish you love”

Lilia perked up as the first verse concluded, his gaze darting immediately to the front of the cabin. He recognized the song; he'd first heard it decades ago, while on a weekend trip he'd taken to the Queendom of Roses. It was during a period of his life where he'd been "going through the motions", as he'd regularly complain to Baul, plagued incessantly by an ennui that so often strikes those transitioning into their twilight years. In desperate need of a distraction, he spontaneously booked a flight to the nearest country - he didn't care which one, only that the ticket was cheap enough to justify paying for a farmhand during his absence. On the evening of the first day of his trip, while having dinner in his hotel, he learned from the waiter that there was to be a jazz orchestra - or "big band", as the humans called it - hosted in the ballroom located on the establishment's ground floor, and that patrons could attend the performance for free. His interest piqued, he rented a suit from a local tailor, freshly pressed, and perfumed with a crisp eau de toilette he'd brought along with him, and ordered a bouquet of fresh roses sent to his room, the brightest of which he trimmed and placed in his lapel.

Fae and human relations had long cooled down to a congenial level by then, and he danced comfortably with a number of human partners that night, free from the vicious admonishments that had disturbed him on his prior travels. They danced the same dances the fae before him had been dancing all night, and the performance concluded with the same song the band at the front of the cabin was playing now. It was the only number he'd sat out for, not wishing to engage in the cumbersome intimacy that slow dances demanded, and he'd observed the other couples with great interest; they all swayed in a gentle unison, moving like the fields of tall grass that grew near the meadow before his home, so that he felt like he'd been cast under a trance while watching them. When he returned to Briar Valley later that week, he promptly disremembered everything about the song - its lyrics, its rhythm, its melody - his attention wrested first by his responsibilities on the homestead, and then by his young son.

It was a few months after his acquisition of Silver, when he and the child both were still suffering from the boy's interminable fits, for which Lilia had long exhausted all his patience and energy into locating a cure, that he finally recalled the song he'd once heard all those years ago. One morning, with the wailing infant in his arms, its little face bright red and puckered, he was despaired to find his usual consolation tactics - rocking the baby, swaddling it, offering it a moistened rag to suckle on - had all lost their effects, and he paced back and forth across the living room, debating if he should call on the Zigvolts again, or attempt to find an alternative solution on his own.

He was tired, both mentally and physically; the weeks lately had been passing him by in an endless, uniform blur, each day demarcated by whatever twilight hour the baby would surrender to its circadian needs and drift off to sleep. In the midst of his fatigued panic, something that had for decades been slumbering in the recesses of his mind finally awoke then; the lyrics and melody he'd long forgotten burst forth from the cerebral pit they’d been cast into, reassembling themselves as brilliantly as the molten birth of a newborn star. Parting his lips, his voice nigh higher than a shaky whisper, he began to sing, “I wish you bluebirds in the spring…”; by the end of the first verse, the child's loud cries had hushed into a quiet whimper; before the conclusion of the song, it had fallen fast asleep. It was like he'd discovered a panacea; from then on, any time Silver was upset or fearful, or on stormy nights when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright for him to be able to fall asleep, Lilia would gather the boy into his arms and sing to him, dispelling the child's every perturbation with the low hum of his voice.

Lilia's heart sank, realizing in that moment just how long it'd been since he'd last sung it for Silver, likely not for months, or for a year, even, and yet - he smiled; this was their song, and now here was the perfect chance to finally reconnect with his withdrawn and sullen child once more!

Trembling with excitement, he shot up from his seat. He fought his way through the throng of dancers until he found Silver, still sitting alone on the stoop outside. He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him back into the cabin, but Silver dug his heels into the ground as they reentered the crowd.

“Stop it, I don’t want to dance,” Silver said with a glower.

Lilia sighed. “Oh, come now. Can’t you entertain your old man just for one song?”

“I don’t want to dance!” Silver repeated louder, putting as much stress on each word as he could muster. Some of the partygoers turned to look at them, and their curious stares made him flush.

Lilia tugged on the boy’s arm and offered him a reassuring smile. “Just this one song, and then we'll go home and you can sulk all you want.”

Silver ripped Lilia’s hand away, his face contorting into an angry grimace. “I said stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”

“But Silver! This is-!”

He pushed past Lilia and stormed out the door. Outside, the sky and the ground below it had merged into a single, black swath, so that his white head contrasted like a point of light against it, appearing like a star floating through the darkness. Lilia watched him walk away from where he stood frozen in shock, his rejected hand still hanging in the air. He did not move as the dancers silently drifted all around him; most of them did not turn to look at him, as though he were nothing more than a small obstruction in a stream.

“I wish you shelter from the storm

A cozy fire to, to keep you warm

But most of all when snowflakes fall

I wish you love”

Later, long after the last notes of the music had faded away, Lilia whispered, “But this is our song.”

VI.

Silver awoke the next morning long after the songbirds had concluded their matinal performance. The world outside was grey and silent, and he stepped through it as quietly as the pine boughs brushing together in the wind. He moved with confidence, his eyes habitually adjusted to low light, and followed a patch of wild coreopsis and daylilies that spread lace-like on the ground before him. They appeared to have claimed for themselves all the meager drops of sunlight that percolated through the clouds, shining like gemstones in the dim darkness.

He'd slept poorly last night, plagued by dreams of the dance, and his thoughts once more drifted away from him while he plodded through his chores, traveling far beyond the clearing, down to the cabin just past the forest's edge, where they pooled within it alongside the stagnant summer heat. Last night at the dance, a warmth had flowed from his father and into him where his fingers had touched his arm, and again and again, as he lay in bed upon returning home, he'd felt it anew, felt it erupt into the hot rage that had coursed through his veins when he'd stormed out the door. A part of him was sorry to have upset the man, having now belatedly realized his harmless intentions, but a greater part of him was struck by a deep frustration - his body ached with it; it prickled at his skin as though he'd bathed in poison oak, so that more than once he felt his face twist into a scowl while he worked.

The animals, too, noticed his contortions. The chickens coalesced at his feet as he gathered their eggs; the pigs butted him gently as he refilled their trough; and the young calf, renown for its stubborn shyness, detached itself from its mother for once and loitered by his side, unsure of what to say. Silver sighed at all of this. His whole life he'd had a peculiar connection with animals. They would sense his vexations and his fears, and would come to him, unbidden, offering him their crude affections in a variety of forms - sometimes pinecones or hickory nuts covered with specks of leaflitter, other times poorly picked wildflowers still dangling with heavy roots, each of these gifts held with utmost tender in their mouths or little hands. But he had not the patience for their ministrations that day, and he dismissed the chickens and the pigs and the calf each with a scoff and a wave of his hand. The heifer, however, he failed to evade.

She was the eldest of the Vanrouge's livestock - a wise, if not shrewd, creature; only a year younger than Silver, they had tumbled across the clearing together in their infancy, and most of what he knew of animal husbandry he'd learned from her. That morning, she had refused to vacate the lean-to in protest of the dismal weather, and she was waiting for him there when he approached her with his milking pail and wooden stool in hand. Once seated, his hands and his attention preoccupied with stripping the foremilk from her teats, her broad body blocking the exit, she turned her heavy head towards him, and issued from her liquid eyes the same question that had been tormenting him all that morning: Are you alright? Her plaintive gaze struck him like an ambush. Ensnared, he fumblingly released her udder and stroked her sides, ensuring her through gritted teeth that he was perfectly fine. Satisfied by his response, she turned away, and leisurely resumed her meditations.

After finishing his chores, he returned to the cottage and forced down a tasteless bowl of oatmeal and some scraps of white bacon. His thoughts raced while he ate. Within his mind flew bits and pieces of anger, trepidation, worry, and sorrow, and these he took into his calloused hands and pressed together, trying to mold them into something he could understand, but they ultimately formed into an idea, instead. This discovery satiated him where his meager meal had not, and he smiled as he brought his dishes to the sink.

When Lilia stumbled out of his bedroom an hour later, half-asleep, and still clad in his dress shirt and pants from the night prior, he found Silver waiting for him by the front door, his canvas knapsack slung across his shoulders. As he began to yawn a greeting, Silver stiffened and cut him off, rapidly spitting out a gruff request to go to the Zigvolt's before turning to face him. His tone was so severe that his words struck Lilia's skin like a splash of ice water, causing him to sober immediately, and he numbly gave his permission with a slow nod of his head. They left together after Lilia got changed, Silver leading the way, Lilia trailing far behind him.

The grey curtain of the sky had pulled back to reveal an angry red sun behind it. Summer had reached its height then, and the entire valley was plainly sullen. The trees, seeming to sag in the heat, stood with their great branches drooping weakly; the songbirds concealed amongst them cycled between a restless dozing and a fitful agitation, too uncomfortable to sing. Silver, however, cut unphased through the stifling air. His hair blazed like white fire, and the shimmering light around him made him appear at times like a mirage to his lagging father. Upon reaching their destination, and after an exchange of curt farewells, Silver glanced behind him as he opened the front door, but all he saw was the thin line of the man's back receding into the haze of the forest.

Silver found Sebek upstairs in his bedroom, pouring over sheets of magical formulae spread out across the floor. He stepped gingerly into the room, being careful not to disturb any of Sebek's materials, announced himself with a throaty, "Hey", and then promptly launched into a recount of last night. He spoke so rapidly it felt like his words were slipping blindly off his tongue. He blinked away hot tears as he talked, his anger and his hurt boiling up each time he mentioned his father. When he finished, he sighed, and then began nibbling on his lips, unsure of what he next wished to say. Sebek waited patiently for him to continue.

Finally, after a tense pause, Silver grumbled, “He keeps treating me like I’m a dumb kid and It’s driving me nuts. I just dunno know what to do anymore.”

Sebek frowned. “And you’re certain you’ve cast aside all your childish whims?”

“Yeah,” Silver nodded solemnly.

“Hmm…” Sebek thought for a moment, and then his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Then I should think the solution is obvious, you twit!”

“And what’s that?”

Sebek crossed his arms. “Recall Sir Lilia’s and my grandfather’s old war stories. Whenever they carried out some grand feat or other, they’d be lavished with adoration upon their return home. Clearly, you simply need to accomplish some sort of heroic act, and then your father shall finally recognize the man that you’ve become.”

“Yeah…” Silver murmured, nodding his head again. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Sebek. That’s a great idea, thank you.”

The praise made Sebek swell like an adder. He puffed out his chest and jutted his chin. “Truly, you are fortuitous, Silver! To have a friend as clever as I!”

Silver smiled. “I sure am.”

Sebek was taller than Silver by a single, coveted inch. And he was stronger, too, heavy and thick everywhere his companion was gangly and thin. But still Silver was more skilled at magic and combat than him, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d bested his fellow apprentice in battle. Silver held over Sebek's head something he would never be able to reach no matter how much taller he grew: namely, the fact that Silver was older.

Sebek was only twelve, still just a child. Adolescence fascinated him severely, having watched it radically transform his older brother and sister before his eyes, and he was jealous that Silver got to enjoy all its mysteries before he could. Every morning, gripped with excitement, he’d snatch the desk calendar from his bedside table with trembling hands, eager to see if it was finally the day when he, too, would be permitted to enter that strange and curious world of young adulthood. And every morning his little shoulders would sag in disappointment as he read the date. He’d begun wondering lately if it would ever be March 17th again, thinking that perhaps the planet sought to deny him his wish, and was intentionally dawdling in its flight around the sun. The idea of a great conspiracy pleased him, which helped to placate his usual disappointment.

Now presented with the chance to prove his capabilities before all the adults around them, he trembled with excitement. They fell immediately to their plotting. First, Sebek suggested they apprehend a robber or other trivial criminal, but Silver quickly dismissed the idea, doubting its feasibility. He additionally dismissed Sebek's propositions that they search for long lost treasure and other such artifacts for similar reasons. When Sebek mentioned they could contact Malleus for assistance, Silver balked. He hadn't seen the man all summer, and hadn't heard his name in weeks - the young prince had been preoccupied with helping their country recover from the aftermath of last month's monstrous storm, traveling from waterlogged village to waterlogged village, magically repairing homes and rejuvenating flooded farmlands wherever he went. Silver rejected this proposal, too, explaining that Malleus likely wouldn't have the time available to help them, and noting internally that he'd only betray their schemes to his father, anyways, and they quickly moved onto their next point of contestation. After much debate, and much grumbling and whining, and following a short intermission to enjoy some of Ma Zigvolt's lemon pie, Sebek finally proposed an idea that the both of them agreed on.

A rogue grizzly bear had been making a feast of the local livestock over the summer, a missing sow of the Zigvolts and a milk calf of their neighbors amongst its victims. Any attempt the past month to detain or eliminate it had ended in failure, and it'd been outwitting the small community unlike anything the elders had ever seen. Recently, for example, a family living down the road had attempted to capture it after it had devoured several of their chickens during one of its nightly jaunts. They placed a series of foothold traps around the coop, buried under leaf litter, and totally de-scented using a complex spell, and awoke the next morning to find their yard blanketed with bloody white feathers, not a single trap containing within its undisturbed jaws even one strand of the creature's hair. Silver and Sebek decided they would bring an end to the terror themselves.

Its massive tracks had last been spotted heading into the Obsidian Forest - a congested strip of towering firs, spruce, and pine trees located to the north of the Zigvolt's. The trees there grew so closely together that hardly any sunlight was able to pierce through the thick canopy, casting the land inside of it into an endless shadow. One had the feeling Nature had forgotten that place in her designs; it was quiet as something alive should not be. There was no birdsong during the day, and neither the soft gurgle of the river nor the wind brushing against the trees. Tawny owl cries could sometimes be heard emanating from it at night - lonely, sharp trills that rang out almost like a warning. The fae were not known for being a judicious people, but they were perceptive, able to detect on their skin the slightest gradations in magic and other immaterial energies that even the finest tuned devices could not, and they stayed far away from the forest in confidence of its dangers.

Silver, however, was a human, and Sebek, a half-fae, and they had long viewed the forest with a simple, innocent curiosity, both unable to sense the unseen forces that made their countrymen so cautious of that unknown realm. As such, and with Silver consumed with thoughts of his redemption, and Sebek thinking of little more than all the praise their great adventure would earn him, they boldly made plans to meet together early the next morning before their parents awoke. Lilia regularly went to bed shortly after 11 o'clock, and Silver would make his escape several hours later. He would cut a path straight to the Zigvolt's, avoiding the long, winding trail his father had erected for him through his land, and would rendezvous with Sebek behind their home. They talked until the sun set and shadows flooded the room, but neither moved to turn on the light, for the excitement in their hearts brightened that dark space better than any candle or lamp ever could. Silver returned home that evening feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

Silver dipped his hands into the kitchen basin and splashed some of the cold water onto his face. The windows above him were a pair of jet black panes, dotted with a smattering of stars that twinkled distantly like lightning bugs. He couldn't remember ever having seen a sky so desolate before, and he marveled at the miniscule pinpricks of light as he slowly dried his hands with a terry washcloth, anxiously aware of each and every sound he made.

He completed one final circuit throughout the house before leaving. Moving on his tiptoes, he double-checked that the covers were drawn over his bed and the pillows beneath them were positioned correctly, and that his father was still asleep, the last of which he ascertained with a furtive glance thrown inside the man's room. When he reached the front door, he sank back down on his heels and bent over to re-lace his boots.

He'd packed his knapsack before going to bed, filling it with a handheld lantern, his canteen and compass, an emergency kit, a small bag of cornmeal and a cast iron pan, and some pemmican and soda biscuits he'd wrapped in napkins. His crossbow hung snug over his shoulders; his favorite hunting knife was nestled deep into the leather sheath hanging from his belt. He and Sebek had agreed not to come back until their mission was fulfilled, and if they ran out of provisions before felling their quarry, they'd be well prepared to secure more.

The house breathed him out like a sigh. The moon unfurled overhead like an orchid in full bloom, vastly outshining the indolent stars hovering around it, and it bathed his surroundings in a pale film of argent light. The broad, black blocks of the cows and the pigs asleep in their enclosures jutted out from the darkness, and the black pyramid of the chicken coop rose silently above them. He crept past the dozing creatures and slipped into the woods. His legs instinctively followed the same trail he'd taken countless times before. His feet he lifted and placed methodically, stalking as he did when he hunted, fearing that the soft crackle of the twigs and leaves underneath him might awaken his sleeping father from hundreds of yards away.

Presently, the felled oak tree that marked the northernmost boundary of his father’s land appeared. Its withered roots splayed out like the gnarled fingers of an outstretched hand, their grasp extending far above his head. He reached out and rested his palm against the trunk. Its bark was soft and brittle from decay, blanketed with a thick layer of moss and algae. He knew not if his father had struck down this once mighty giant himself, or if it had merely collapsed in its old age, only that he was forbidden from passing by its sentinel gaze on his own. He grabbed onto the slippery bark and scrambled atop the trunk, letting out a shaky breath as he stood up.

All of the land before him stretched beyond the confines of his father's territory. Each and every bush and tree and creature, every shadow, every undefined mass lurking in the darkness there was to him an alien, a stranger. Somewhere further beyond lay the Zigvolt’s homestead, and further past that, the Obsidian Forest. The mountains erupted in the distance like a row of black fangs piercing the sky. Behind him waited the clearing and the cottage, the toolshed and the garden, the wheatfield and the pasture and the meadow – each of these forming another slat of his boyhood cradle, another barrier around the only world he'd ever truly known.

He lifted a trembling hand and groped at the air. He'd been expecting some sort of rebound from broaching his father's magical perimeter, but it did not come. He leapt off the trunk and landed on the ground with a loud crash. The sound echoed viciously all around him and yet - there was nothing. No harsh cry of his name. No thudding of feet racing up behind him. Nothing. Had he successfully escaped? Gasping, he rapidly swung his head this way and that, scanning his surroundings. Here was the copper blur of a fox slipping through the forest undergrowth, there was the heavy grey body of a raccoon lumbering slowly behind it. And here, again, the silver outline of a barn owl peering at him from the thicket yonder.

He could see now that these were no specters, no apparitions - they were living things, with eyes like his and beating hearts like his, things that drank in the same sweet night air as him. All his fears vanished - it was as though he'd finally let out a breath he never realized he'd been holding in all his life. Re-shouldering his bag, he set off once more, his heart pounding with excitement, his body coursing with the ecstasy of this newfound freedom. He swept through the forest like a beam of moonlight. The five miles to the Zigvolt's he crossed in what felt like five steps.

Why was I ever afraid of this place? he wondered. Why was I ever afraid of anything in my life?

At three o'clock in the morning, less than an hour after he'd left the clearing, Silver stepped onto the dirt road that led to the Zigvolt's farmhouse. Breathless from his record flight, he took in long, quiet gulps of air as he neared the agreed-upon rendezvous location - the left-side porch, for there were no windows there - his eyes flicking occasionally to his sides, and to his rear, and to the spider web of starlight draped across the cottonwoods towering around him, his steps falling lighter than even the cloven feet of a vigilant deer. He immediately noticed the small, darkened figure hovering by the porch, and watched as it detached itself from the greater mass of shadows, revealing itself to be Sebek. His friend flashed him a triumphant smile, his little fangs shining bright white in the darkness.

"You made it!"

"Hush!"

Sebek's hands flew over his mouth. "Sorry!" he yelped as he turned to look at the house, his heart racing, but the stalwart building gave no reaction, remaining stone still, silent. Through his fingers, he sheepishly repeated, this time quietly, "Sorry." He quickly readjusted his knapsack from where it'd slipped down his shoulder, then hurried to join Silver in the road.

Silver rolled his eyes, grinning.

They padded cautiously through the darkness, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust from the earth beneath them, each one rising like an ochre breath before dissolving a moment later into the blue-black of the night. After walking for a length, Sebek pointed out from a row of identical log cabins his neighbor's home - namely, the one who'd recently tried to apprehend the beast after it'd feasted on their flock. They circled around back, ducking as they passed the lower story windows, and found, by a pair of crooked fence posts surrounding a small vegetable garden, a set of lumbering bear tracks that trailed away due North. Sebek crouched down and placed his hand in one of the prints. The massive groove was as broad as a dinner plate, so that even when he splayed and stretched out his hand as wide as he could, his fingertips stopped several inches short from the rim. The indentations from the claw marks looked like a set of daggers had been dragged through the ground. Silver swallowed thickly as he observed this. Tugging at Sebek's sleeve, he whispered hoarsely, "Come on, let's go."

The tracks led them further and deeper into the bowels of the adjacent woodland. Neither spoke, both of them gripped with a nervous excitement that bordered at times on trepidation. Occasionally, Silver's hands reached behind him for his crossbow, finding reassurance in the solidity of its metal stock. Sebek, too, had taken with him the children's rifle he'd received for his birthday last year. Purchased by his father while traveling overseas for a dental conference, he'd gloated joyfully to Silver upon receiving it, and had been treating it with the utmost care the past year, polishing it daily, and keeping it secured in a case he kept hidden underneath his bed. The fall prior, Silver had accompanied Sebek and his father when they'd gone duck hunting at the river and had received a turn using the weapon, with both boys dispatching several birds, each. Though Silver was amazed at its great strength, and though he found it a very lovely piece of craftsmanship, indeed, the sound of it firing hurt his ears, and he secretly hoped they wouldn't have to use it.

The trees gradually thinned out and fell away, receding into a tall, grassy meadow that, in turn, soon bowed down and terminated before another stretch of forest. But the shadowy structure looming before them was somehow different than all the other natural places they'd ever come across in their lives. It was darker than the night, silent; foreboding in a way that left them wondering if it was about to reach out a gnarled, earthen hand and strike them. This was the Obsidian Forest, and the bear's tracks disappeared within it.

The boys, having simultaneously come to a standstill at the edge of the forest, their hearts pounding, exchanged a tense look, then turned back to face the verdant bulwark. The moonlight fell like a curtain before them; Silver took Sebek's larger hand into his own and they stepped through it together. The air within the forest was several degrees cooler than without, and the shock of the cold was like jumping into the river on a warm Summer day. Sebek shook off Silver's hand with a grunt, and once freed, zipped his jacket and pulled up his collar. Silver, ignoring his friend's indignation, extracted his lantern from his bag, and lit it with a simple spell. He held up the device and slowly swung it back and forth it as he turned around.

All the light in the world was now contained within Silver's hands; everything around them was only an abstraction of what they understood to be total darkness. The copper glow from his lantern struck the surrounding fir trees, dimly illuminating the bone white bark covering their emaciated trunks. Their scraggly canopies converged together and formed a single, continuous, vegetative wall that strangled the moonlight within its matted foliage. The air was heavy with the clean smell of pine, underlaid with the rich musk of a humus that had been forming undisturbed for centuries. It was quiet, as the adults had described, but not completely devoid of sound - they could hear, emanating like an invisible vapor from the leaf litter, the silver song of crickets drawing their bows across their instruments; the wind had dropped its voice to a whisper, but they could hear this, too, threading through any microscopic gaps it could find in the leafy barrier overhead; and as they walked, there was the soft crunch of their boots sinking into the plush carpet of pine needles underfoot.

After a moment's consideration, Silver declared, "It's no big deal," and Sebek nodded mutely in agreement.

They'd been misled countless times before by the adults in their lives, having been warned of dangers they'd later discovered were, in truth, harmless in nature, such as cracking one's knuckles, or staying up until the early hours of the morning, and the Obsidian Forest they now added to this ever-growing list. But they remained cautious - Sebek walked with his hand looped around his rifle's strap, and Silver's eyes followed wherever the roaming light of his lantern touched the earth.

Their abscondment from home and their entry into the forest having now been completed, the final phase of their plan would be simple: they needed only to track the bear to its den, and kill it. This would not be unlike their usual training exercises, during which Lilia would deposit them in a remote location - often high atop some distant mountain range, or in the middle of a barren ravine - and they would be forced to survive on their own for days or weeks at a time, typically with an additional command to secure a target of Lilia's choosing, such as a wild animal, or an object he'd hidden deep in the wilderness. They had felled various species of direbeast before, both together, and on their own, and a bear would be no different. Knowing the creature's massive body would be too heavy for them to drag out of the forest on their own, they planned to cut off one of its paws to bring back as proof of their accomplishment, and would come back later to retrieve the rest, with assistance from the adults. Bear meat was a popular delicacy in the valley, and after the carcass was carved and distributed amongst the local community, Silver was determined to request a bottle of its golden oil - renowned for its anti-inflammatory properties - as a gift for his father.

Silver swept his lantern low over the ground, and with its pale glow as their beacon, they followed the tracks deep into the forest. They would occasionally notice movement in the darkness, fleeting figures and shapes that their nervous minds would automatically warp into the hulking mass of the bear, and each time, as they would begin to reach for their weapons, they would realize a moment later they'd stumbled upon nothing more than a small raccoon or an opossum on the prowl for food. They jumped at every such encounter, and at every unexpected noise that entered their peripheral - a heavy branch Sebek mistakenly stepped on rang out like a gunshot; a tawny owl's sudden cry boomed like a crack of thunder. For hours they proceeded tremulously; fear had been stalking them all that time like a shadow, and as the veil of darkness surrounding them lifted and gave way to daybreak, it vanished together with the night. They could not see the sun's yellow face above them, but they could feel its dappled light falling down on them like a warm and gentle rain. The canopy, which had hitherto been a solid, dark green streak, was now dotted with flashes of a vibrant cerulean blue.

With the night's vanquishment, they steadily grew more and more confident, feeling now important - older, even. They walked with their heads held high and their backs erect, pumping their arms and swinging their legs as though on the march. They kicked up cedar chips and pine needles as they walked, scattering them onto the ground like birdshot. The blood coursed through their veins hot as liquor; the temptation of glory drove them on like a whip. Each child began to envision himself seated like a king in the Zigvolt's parlor, regaling this tale to their neighbors and family, and joining a long line of men who had come before them - heroes and explorers, great and mighty conquerors of the strange and unknown.

They would stop - intermittently, and only for brief sprints - to rest, to drink water, or to re-lace their boots, and would then immediately resume their march as zealously as before. They hurried as fast as their legs could carry them, knowing that the creature would likely have returned to its den by that point, and that it would be fast asleep in preparation of its nightly activities - tracking it down before it awoke that evening would be vital to their success.

When they came across a noticeable gap in the canopy - a hole ripped open where a pine tree had collapsed, through which they caught their first, true glimpse of the sky since that morning - they agreed to take another short break. Amongst the various survival skills that Lilia had taught them was the ability to derive the time, and working together, they erected a rudimentary sundial using some branches they gathered from the ground. They calculated that it was presently midmorning, and that they must have covered several miles since entering the forest. They remained there for a few minutes longer, Silver sipping quietly from his canteen, Sebek dismantling their earthen clock. Languid clouds passed through the gap overhead. Silver recalled how, every winter, the pond near his home would freeze over, and yet he could still see fish swimming undisturbed beneath the thick panel of ice. He wondered if this was how they felt, watching the world pass by them silently up above. As he wiped his dripping mouth with his sleeve, he glanced over, and noticed that Sebek was frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm getting hungry, that's all."

Silver put his canteen away. "You brought some food with you, right?"

"Of course I did!" Sebek bristled. He slid off his knapsack and rummaged inside it, cataloging each of his belongings out loud, more so to himself, than to the half-listening Silver.

"I've got biscuits and cornbread, some jerky, some apples..."

"Uh-huh," Silver said, stifling a yawn.

"My water bottle, of course. Aaannnd..." He reached deep inside, smiling when he felt his fingers touch what he'd been looking for.

"Some of my mother's snickerdoodles, freshly baked." He pulled out a brown paper bag, shaking it with a grin. "Sissy has been hogging them, but I was able to pilfer a few without her noticing." He poured several of the cookies onto his hand before returning the bag to his knapsack.

"Would you like one?"

"Sure, thanks."

Silver gingerly took one of the cookies from Sebek's outstretched hand and bit into it with a sigh. The soft dough crumbled in his mouth deliciously, each piece dissolving like a sugar cube on his tongue. The almost overwhelming smell of cinnamon, the faint hint of vanilla, the rich, buttery aftertaste, all made him think of Ma Zigvolt. He'd overheard her lamenting the loss of the family's sow a few weeks ago - she loved each of their livestock like her children, and the bear's cunning attacks had wounded her pride and her heart, both. He imagined, upon their return home, how her face would break into a smile when they told her what they'd done, presenting the news to her as though it were a freshly picked bouquet. The image was somehow sweeter than the cookie itself, and he licked the sugary crumbs off his fingers, tasting little more than a delicious contentment.

They resumed walking. For over an hour the forest stretched on unchanging and uninterrupted, before it began to angle sharply downhill, transforming eventually into a semi-exposed slope. The incline was so severe they had to descend on their hands and knees, slowly zigzagging from one tree to the next, at times using the exposed roots and fallen branches to rappel downwards. The plateau they arrived at was bisected by a meager creek, appearing as blue and as thin as the veins running down their arms. They lay on their stomachs and drank deeply from it, bringing the crystalline water to their mouths with their hands. Silver shook his head like a dog when he was finished, spraying ice cold drops everywhere, and Sebek pushed him away with a laugh. A school of minnows, each one a silver grain of rice, darted away at the commotion, but the water striders on the surface above continued their skating, unaffected. They washed their hands and refilled their canteens before moving on.

The sunlight filtering down through the forest canopy gradually became more intense as the morning rolled into afternoon. Silver and Sebek had been talking with one another at length ever since daybreak - discussing their plans and their upcoming glory, and pointing out all the flora and fauna around them - and their conversations slowed to a comfortable lull as the air grew increasingly warmer. Unable to tell the time without a further break in the canopy, one hour blended seamlessly into the other, so that occasionally, when they blinked, they would open their eyes to a world remarkably brighter and warmer than the one they'd been in just a moment before.

Late in the afternoon, as they picked their way through a pleasantly mild Summer haze, Sebek suddenly stopped walking and threw out his arm, blocking Silver. His bright green eyes bore laser-like into the distance; his whole body stiffened like a bird-dog alerting to game.

Unmoving, he stated plainly, "I do believe we've been here before."

Silver blinked. "Huh?"

"That spruce tree yonder, with all the moss on it," Sebek said, now pointing, "I've seen it before."

Silver studied the tree indicated for several moments, but could not determine how it differed from any of the other dozen trees surrounding it. Shrugging, he said, "It probably just looks like one we passed earlier. Tons of trees have moss on them."

"I know they do!" Sebek huffed, gritting his teeth. "But that patch there's shaped like a star. That's how I recognized it."

Silver looked again. The patch of moss did indeed resemble a child's simple depiction of a five-pointed star, but his mind refused to accept what it had just heard.

"That's impossible," he murmured, shaking his head. "We've just been following the bear's tracks this whole time. How could we..."

Silver frowned. His incredulity obscured his mind like an eclipse. As he stared at the bear's tracks - crisscrossing the ground in some areas, and issued in a straight line in others - they began to swirl before his eyes, forming a nameless thing that Silver knew he'd seen before, and after a terse moment of contemplation, he finally recalled where.

He thought of a time, years ago, when he and his father had spent the whole Summer attempting to snare a devious buck. The animal had pillaged their vegetable garden every night for weeks, tearing up their sweet potatoes and corn, and even daring to defile Lilia's prized tomato plants, and had avoided all their various traps and attempts to trail it. One day, after sitting together for several hours in a cramped tree stand, they were able to witness its genius. After passing directly before them, it disappeared for approximately fifteen minutes, then doubled back, retraced its steps to just before the stand, and cut into the forest in the opposite direction, at a sharp angle, so that its path formed a "V" when viewed from above. Even the most experienced hunter - whether human or animal or fae - would likely follow the original set of tracks, which would appear - and smell - fresher, having been laid down twice, and by the time the error was realized, the quarry would have long escaped. The buck, as if having calculated all of this, strode off that day waving the chestnut flag of its tail in victory.

And now here again was that same whirlpool of footprints, now here again was that same irrefutable display of animal cunning. The eclipse passed his mind; the light of his revelation nearly blinded him - they must have been going in circles for hours.

His eyes flew wide open; his heart thundered so viciously he wondered for a moment if it was about to burst. His eyes darted wildly about him, as though hoping to find some form of consolation hidden amongst the leaf litter. And then, in a moment of clarity, he recalled a new trick he'd recently learned, the very same one he now knew adults had been using on him and other children all his life: he lied.

"It's fine, Sebek. I know exactly where we're going." He turned away, so that his friend would not see him nervously biting his lip. He pulled out his compass and held it out this way and that, making a show of orienting himself.

"The bear just circled around here to try and shake us off its trail. We'll find it if we keep going..." His eyes scanned the ground, trying to deduce which set of tracks looked the freshest. "That way."

Sebek, frowning sternly, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a moment, his face relaxed, and he slowly replied, "If you insist..."

Silver let out a shaky breath. Sebek's immediate acquiescence, which he at other times would only earn after much coaxing and arguing and persuasion, excited him. He experienced once more the feeling of being much older and more important than he really was, and wondered for a moment if this was the true pleasure of being an adult. He made a note to emphasize this part of the story when he'd later recount it to his father - how he'd outwitted the terrible beast where all others before him had failed, and how he'd led himself and Sebek through what was sure to be their darkest hour. They would return home heroes, indeed!

"Come on, this way."

Thus continuing their journey, they picked a new trail in the direction Silver had indicated. Portions of the sky peeking through the canopy slowly turned a golden orange, others light pink or red, forming a mosaic of the sunset. The bear would now likely be active again, and out roaming the forest with them, and when Sebek mentioned this, Silver hurriedly explained that they could still locate its den in the meantime, and lay in wait for it to return, to which Sebek, still in an unusually agreeable mood, only nodded. Their enthusiasm from that morning waned together with the fading sunlight. They plodded on halfheartedly for hours; identical trees and shrubs and rocks extended all around them for miles. They nibbled on their sticks of jerky and pemmican as they walked, breaking off and exchanging pieces of dried meat with each other in lieu of conversation. Sebek's apples and corn bread and most of their biscuits they soon finished off, too.

Finally, evening gave way to night, and the world around them was plunged once more into darkness. As Silver fished in his bag for his lantern, Sebek suggested they quit for the day and set up camp, but Silver adamantly disagreed.

"Just a little bit further and then we'll stop," he said, struggling to relight the lantern as he spoke. "The den's gotta be close by."

"Hmph!"

And again, an hour later:

"We're almost there, I promise."

"Hmph!"

They slogged on wearily. Periodically, Silver would command they stop, and, taking out his compass from his pocket, would double-check the accuracy of their orientation, then indicate with a satisfactory grunt that they could continue moving. They did not rest, otherwise. Low hills and mounds they climbed felt to their leaden legs like mountains; meager creeks and streams they crossed seemed to stretch on for miles. The trees, crowding down on them, reached out and scratched at their arms and legs and faces with wooden claws as sharp as needles. Foxes and barn owls screamed out from deep within the forest, and their fatigued minds, instinctually recalling legends of all the various monsters that lurk within such darkness, heard amongst their mangled cries the laughter of evil witches, and the terrible roars of bogeymen and other foul beasts. The stars shone coldly above them, ignorant of their torment.

Eventually, the line of the bear's tracks duplicated, and then further split into a third and a fourth set, all at various points overlapping and crisscrossing the first one. Silver felt his heart sink further and further at the discovery of each new set, and when they all converged and disappeared into a tangled copse of towering spruce and fir trees, he felt it stop moving entirely. Stopping, he drew the lantern in a wide arc before him; his steady gaze swept across the rows of identical giants like the roaming beam of a lighthouse, moving slowly, searching them, daring them to offer him what he was looking for, as though conducting a silent interrogation. His pale watercolor eyes, always so soft, hardened into steel. Sebek became at once afraid of him.

"Silver, what are you-"

"Quiet!" Silver hissed, waving him off with his free hand, his other hand tightening its grip on the lantern until his knuckles bloomed white.

And then - he saw it.

There, deep within the copse, standing just off to the left, partly obscured by the long shadows cast by its brothers, was the same spruce tree from earlier that day, wearing the same star-shaped patch of moss upon its wooden breast. They'd simply gone in another, massive circle around the forest.

"Damnit!" Silver spat. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!"

"Silver!" Sebek whined, but Silver ignored him.

He ripped his compass from his pocket and held it before him with trembling hands. Its needle pointed North. He spun around 180 degrees, yet still it pointed North; he spun a quarter further - again, North. His jaw dropped. No matter which way he faced or how he held the compass, its needle only spun and spun, racing in time with his pounding heart. He threw it to the ground in disgust.

His adam's apple bobbed precipitously. "I swear I..."

"You see! I told you so!" Sebek huffed, stamping his foot. "We're lost!"

"Shut up!" Silver growled. "I need to think."

For several, long hours leading up to that point, Sebek had been languishing under a terrible secret, the truth of which was that he had known, ever since he'd first glimpsed that verdant star, that they were utterly, and completely, lost. However, he did not wish to embarrass his friend, for although he found pleasure in showing off his strength and his intellect, and in being able to do things that other children his age could not, he was not a cruel boy, and had no interest in causing others pain, for which reason he'd decided against questioning Silver's judgment. He had trusted that Silver would architect for them some miraculous solution, just as he always had done any time they'd encounter an issue when training, but Silver had failed, and now Sebek was scared. The volcanic plug that was his faith in his friend having been destroyed, he finally erupted. "I don't like this! I want to go home!" he cried, his voice quivering. "This isn't fun anymore!"

"Fun?" Silver spat. "We didn't come all the way out here to have fun, Sebek!"

He stormed towards the other boy; the pine needles snapped and popped like firecrackers under his feet. His voice rose to a crackling scream. "We came out here so I could get my dad to trust me! And now it's all ruined!"

Sebek sniffled, cowering. His eyes shone with the threat of crystal tears. Silver's anger shot out of him as rapidly as it had come.

"Everything's ruined..."

Their venture was over, and what had they to show for it but their knobby little elbows and knees, scraped and bruised and smeared with blood; their filthy clothing, torn and stained with their tears; their ruddy, dirt-smeared faces; and their eyes, red and swollen from crying? What were they, but two scared little children, who would now sit down and fold their hands, prim and proper, and wait for their parents to come wipe their faces and clean up their mess? There would be no glory, no praise; no retribution against Silver's father. He half-expected the man to suddenly emerge from the shadows and begin chastising him.

Silver picked up his compass, wiped it against his shirt, and shoved it back into his pocket. He quickly glanced at Sebek, then ducked his head again, ashamed. Staring at his shoes, he grunted, "Sorry."

Drawing his sleeve across his soiled face, Sebek grumbled through the fabric an acceptance of his apology. He then turned and stepped behind the wall of foliage to collect himself in private.

Silver waited for him. He rolled a pinecone back and forth under his boot for a few moments before gently kicking it away. The air buzzed with the sounds of nature's nocturnal choir; its leading members, a cloister of tree frogs hidden amongst the copse before him - each one a piece of peridot, emerald, or jade - sang quietly, joining their crystal voices with the crickets and katydids plucking their chitinous strings. He could hear Sebek's hushed sobs filtering through to him, carried upon the silver chorus like a pine needle pulled down a stream. He wished to go join him in his anguish, to throw his arms around his friend and to weep with him, but the shock of his failure had drained his body of all its frustrations, leaving him numb. He knew there would be time to mourn later; for now, his only focus would be on getting through the night.

Once Sebek returned, his eyes and his face cleaned and dry, if not still inflamed, Silver cleared his throat and said, "Remember what my father would always tell us: Best thing to do if you get lost..."

"...is to sit your ass down, and stay put." Sebek finished with a shaky sigh.

Silver set down his lantern and knapsack, and after taking out his emergency kit and placing it to the side, began clearing out a broad perimeter in the leaf litter, attempting to erect a small fire pit. Sebek, as if suddenly roused from a stupor, dropped all of his gear and moved automatically to help him. They labored slowly, dragging their long, weary arms apelike by their sides, fighting weakly against a sea of pine needles that seemed to never end. Their calf muscles, having been deflated of all their adrenaline and fear, burned with each of their languid movements. Ten minutes later, with the ground now barren, and their skin freshly pricked and bleeding, Silver used his magic to ignite the pile of tinder they'd gathered, then turned to rummage through his belongings once again. Beside him, Sebek flung himself against his knapsack and kicked out his legs with a groan. He pillowed his heavy head under his arms and observed the fire silently. The flames dyed his face in a wash of vermilion, elongating the shadows under his eyes.

Silver glanced at him as he removed the emergency blanket from his kit, still disturbed by his outburst.

"I brought some corn meal with me. We can make some hoe cakes or something later, if you want," he offered gently.

Sebek sniffled again. "Ok."

Silver circled their meager camp, searching for a place to hang the blanket, ultimately deciding upon the outstretched branch of a sagging pine tree. One side of the blanket was coated with a bright orange material, which he positioned facing away from them.

"That's to help people find us, right?" Sebek asked, pulling out the remaining biscuits from his bag.

"Right," Silver replied without looking back. He straightened out the blanket and frowned.

If anyone's even looking for us.

VII.

Had you stayed behind at the Vanrouge's cottage after Silver embarked on his misadventures, electing to observe Lilia as he went about his day, up to - and including - his ultimate reconciliation with his son, then you would have witnessed the following:

Lilia awoke, as usual, shortly past 7 a.m. He did not own an alarm clock, preferring instead to let his body awaken naturally, gently roused by the golden sunlight filtering through his curtains. He lay in bed for a few moments, wrapped in the warm pleasantries of his blankets and his lingering dreams and the ebbing darkness, yawning leisurely, listening to the song thrushes chittering softly outside his window. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the curtains drew back and fixed themselves into place. That morning was a fine one. Where the sky had been grey and congested the day prior, it had since been painted over in the brightest blue, reminiscent of a stalk of larkspur, with not a single cloud in sight.

For five minutes Lilia indulged in this his usual morning pleasure, before, like clockwork, his reality struck him - he suddenly remembered every vexing instance of his son's tumultuous behavior from the past few months; felt anew all the dull aches and pains tugging at his limbs, felt the impending exasperation of the long list of chores that awaited him that day; each recollection pricked at his mind and his heart as though they were bee stings. He threw off his blankets and sat up with a scowl.

After grabbing a cup of tea, he settled himself at the dining table together with a gardening catalog that had arrived in the mail recently. He flipped through it halfheartedly, circling with a pen any seeds and supplies he planned to purchase for fall, his gaze occasionally drifting away from the pages of colorful produce, wandering over to and slipping out of the kitchen and living room windows. He thus swept through a third of the catalog before noticing the animals' absence in the yard, realizing a moment later that he had yet to see Silver that morning, too. Presuming the boy had slept in again, he waited half an hour further before checking his room, at which point a dull uneasiness had begun to form in his stomach.

The darkness in the little room yawned cavernously as Lilia pushed open the door. The heavy linen curtains were drawn tightly shut; the comforter was pulled up flush against the headboard of Silver's bed, a long lump protruding motionlessly underneath it. His uneasiness exploding all at once in a poisonous concern, Lilia flew across the room in rapid, broad strides, alighting to his son's bedside in an instant. He whispered, his voice slightly trembling, "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?", and, after receiving no response, reached out to stroke the head of the lump, his lips pulling into a frown as the mass gave buoyantly under his hand. He wrenched back the blankets, stifling a cry as a mound of pillows tumbled out before him. He gingerly picked up one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor again, as though expecting to find his child concealed beneath it.

"Silver!" he shouted, glancing wildly around him, but the only response was his own disgruntled echo.

Frowning again, he put his hands on his hips. Where the hell is he?

Upon completing a thorough search of Silver's room - including his closet, his chest, his hamper, and underneath his bed - Lilia swept through the rest of the house and the root cellar, opening every door, and upturning every piece of furniture he could find, and when this, too, proved fruitless, he continued his efforts outside. He looked in the pig pen and in the chicken coop, checked behind the cow's lean-to and inside the shed, and, for good measure, even stopped to peer inside the empty flower pots in the garden. But each of these places and their inhabitants, whether living or inanimate, offered him no leads, and rejected all his inquiries.

Standing in the middle of the garden, he crossed his arms and considered all the oddities he'd noted that morning. Several items from the house were missing, including Silver's knapsack and crossbow, as well as some candles and other supplies from the kitchen, and the trick with the pillows was one he'd used himself in his youth for late-night abscondments from the castle. All of these observations he could trace back to only one conclusion: This was all just some sort of childish prank.

"That little...!" Lilia grunted, balling his fists. He turned and stepped towards the gate, intending to continue his search in the surrounding woodland, but the sound of the cow's mournful lowing stopped him in his tracks. None of the animals had been fed or watered yet, and the garden was in desperate need of another weeding. After a brief deliberation, he decided he would tend to Silver's chores in his absence, and then, he would return to the cottage, and he would wait - he would not indulge the boy in his games.

Any fatigue he'd felt that morning was immediately flushed out of his body and replaced with a venomous rage. He swept across the clearing like a tempest; the animals scattered before him in terror. He tore open their bags of scratch and grain and threw them to the ground, careless of the waste. He stormed back to the garden and began ripping up the tangled mass of weeds suffocating the ground, tossing muck-covered fistfuls of crabgrass and dandelions over the fence; the pigs, having recovered quickly from their fright, dove noisily for the mess.

His mind raced, his thoughts jumping rapidly between all the different ways Silver's return could occur. Likely, he would try to sneak into the house later that night, coming in either through one of the windows, up through the cellar. Or maybe, made shameless by his caper, he would stroll through the front door, kick off his shoes, and throw his bag to the ground, moving with the bold swagger of a yearling buck. Lilia would be ready for him either way. He would wait for him in the living room, on the couch, facing the door, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed and blazing. If the boy tried to sneak in, Lilia would hear him. If he came in through the front door, Lilia would see him. If he cried, so be it. If he whined and begged for forgiveness, Lilia would not give it to him. He'd had enough of the child's attitude, his insolence, his unwillingness to talk, his newfound proclivity to brush off each and every act of kindness Lilia tried to offer to him. Perhaps his own parental failures truly were to blame for their ongoing disputes, but he would not allow this blatant defiance to continue a moment longer. He would ground Silver - for a week, at a minimum - double his training exercises, forbid him from seeing Sebek- He crushed a dandelion in his fist. And have him do all the weeding that month! An impish grin flashed across his face as he plotted. The sun beat down on him reproachfully.

Hours later, frustrated and in pain, his clothes caked with dried mud and bits and pieces of crabgrass, he marched back to the cottage and threw himself face-first onto the sofa. He lay there for a few moments, unmoving, before a sharp spasm in his calf forced him to slowly, wearily, sit up. Palpating the now throbbing muscle, he realized in that moment just how much his anger had blinded him. Why didn't I just fucking use magic to do all that? Another stream of profanity poured from his lips.

He sat watching the hour hand of the wall clock slowly inch forward. He rose periodically, to glance out the windows, to refill his tea, to pace back and forth across the living room, his gaze fixed on the front door, his thoughts slowly congealing into the perfect, incendiary speech with which he'd lash the boy upon his return. But Silver did not return, not as noon rolled around, nor as Lilia prepared their dinner. By that evening, the molten rage in his body had cooled, hardening into a tense knot of worry.

Shortly before sunset, just as he'd risen to check the kitchen windows once more, a commotion sounded outside - something heavy was pounding across the clearing, heading rapidly for the cottage. Lilia leapt from the sofa and raced to the door, throwing it open with a scowl, the first in the long list of scathing remarks he'd been preparing for Silver all that afternoon poised on his lips, but both his anger and his relief evaporated when he saw that it was only Baul, rushing in long strides down the dirt path leading to the cottage. As the other man approached him and opened his mouth to speak, Lilia put up a hand to silence him. "Uh-uh, I don't have time for this today. If you're here for-"

"I'm not!" Baul huffed, tiredly swatting Lilia's hand away. "Please just listen to me, General."

Lilia crossed his arms and jut his chin, indicating for Baul to continue.

"You seen Seb today?"

"Sebek? No, I haven't. Why-..." His words trailed off, the answer to his question instantly forming in his mind.

"He's not... Don't tell me you can't find him?"

"We can't," Baul sighed. "We tore up the whole damn house, looked down by the river, all through the woods. Got some of the neighbors out helping us look. We figured he mighta snuck out to go play with your boy, so I came by to check."

"Sorry, but no, I haven't seen any sign of him today." Looking away, Lilia muttered, "...And Silver's gone, too, actually."

"Huh?" Baul's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you looked for him?"

"Of course I have!" Lilia scoffed. "I checked the whole clearing twice over. I'm thinking he just ran off somewhere because I..."

Baul raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, mirroring Lilia.

Lilia rolled his eyes. "He blew up at me the other night and probably just ran off for a while to get back at me. You know how kids are."

His apparent apathy inflamed Baul. He stalked over to Lilia, the dense column of his body twitching as he loomed over his former superior.

"That's it," he snarled, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull's. "You're coming with me."

"Wha-"

Moving at a speed that belied his great size, Baul threw his arms around Lilia, caging the smaller man in his vice grip. One moment, they were standing in the clearing; the next, the ground disappeared beneath their feet, and the world exploded into kaleidoscopic streaks of color rushing all around them. Caught off guard, Lilia hardly had time to close his eyes before they landed on solid ground again a few seconds later.

Baul released him carelessly and walked away. Lilia slowly staggered after him, clutching his head, his vision swimming.

His quivering eyes concentrated first on the red beam towering before them, then moved to the smaller white block standing beside it. A sudden shift in the breeze carried with it the clean smell of cottonwood. He knew this place - they'd hurtled five miles away to the Zigvolt's home.

"Fucking warn me before you do that!" he hissed. Over the ringing of his ears, his mind vaguely registered several voices - some talking softly, and at least one other crying, but he could not discern amidst his blurry surroundings whom they belonged to.

Baul asked if there'd been any sign of Sebek while he was gone.

A broad green shape came forward and congealed rapidly into Ma Zigovlt. She was dressed in her dental scrubs, her dark green hair pulled back in a fraying ponytail. "No! Nothing!" she cried while pacing back and forth.

The two shapes behind her then revealed themselves to be Pa Zigvolt, also in his work attire, and Iris, sitting together on the steps of the front porch. Iris was weeping quietly, her head buried in her father's neck.

Turning to Lilia, Pa Zigvolt explained that Iris had been left alone to watch her brother that day, and it wasn't until late in the afternoon that she'd discovered him missing, having gone to check his room after he'd failed to appear for both breakfast and lunch. When a frantic search of the house and the backyard proved fruitless, she rushed into town and alerted the elder Zigvolts, who promptly canceled all their appointments for that afternoon to help her look. They rallied the neighbors, forming several search parties to sweep through the surrounding forests and the river, and after several hours of unsuccessful canvassing, it was ultimately Baul who suggested they inquire by the Vanrouge's.

Pa Zigvolt turned again to his daughter, gently squeezed her arm, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and raised her head from his shoulder, allowing him to descend down the stairs. The family cat, which had been dozing elsewhere on the porch, promptly stood up, stretched, and padded over to Iris, taking her father's place. She scooped the animal into her arms and held it against her chest. She blamed herself bitterly for not noticing sooner her little brother was gone, and had been inconsolable for hours.

"Thank you so much for coming to help, Lilia." Pa Zigvolt said, shaking Lilia's limp hand. He glanced behind Lilia, then behind Baul, before asking, confused, "Where's Silver?"

"He's, erm..." Lilia hesitated, fearing another unpleasant reaction. "He's actually missing, too."

But the Zigvolt parents simply exchanged a silent look with one another, and Ma Zigvolt's voice was only gentle as she asked him to explain.

Lilia proceeded to recount his own experiences that morning, and by the time he finished speaking, the small group was in agreement that the boys had likely snuck away together. As they loitered in the front yard, heatedly discussing their next plan of action, a group of neighbors approached. One of them, an elderly fae known for his avid hunting, stepped forward, waving his hand.

"We found their tracks!"

"You did!? Where!?" Pa Zigvolt asked, his eyes shining in excitement - this was their first lead all day.

"Yessir, two little sets of feet headin' due North," the neighbor explained leisurely, scratching his arm. "We followed 'em a long ways and think we know where they're at. That's the good news."

Their hearts plummeted at his next words.

"Bad news is it looks like they went right into the Obsidian Forest."

The forest was still, the night air punctuated at times by the sound of Baul softly cursing at the branches and bushes impeding their way.

“I swear, when I find that boy,” he growled as he smacked away another insolent branch, “Ooh, I swear! When I find him, I’m gonna…!”

Lilia rolled his eyes. Baul had never so much as laid an unkind finger on any of his children or grandchildren, and his grumbled threats never resulted in anything more than a glare or a scowl or a frown.

They'd split up, Baul and Lilia forming one search party, Ma and Pa Zigvolt another, each covering their own half of the forest. The Zigvolt's neighbors remained at the house with Iris, ready to send out an alert should the boys return on their own, partly to keep the still despondent girl company, and partly out of a reluctance to come with them.

And so Lilia and Baul, and Ma and Pa Zigvolt, elsewhere, had been canvassing the forest for several hours, intermittently calling out Silver and Sebek's names, with no response other than cricket song or the occasional owl's cry. The bear's tracks - several sets of them, as it were, overlapping one another and forever winding like a loamy, coiled serpent - provided their only guideline, as the plush leaf litter hadn't absorbed the children's much lighter prints.

However, to their great luck - and to Silver and Sebek's misfortune - the boys had misoriented themselves as soon as they'd stepped foot into the forest, for as they'd trudged through the early morning darkness, their senses and their judgment obscured both by the endless shadows and the heavy fear in their hearts, they had failed to notice the numerous times they'd looped around and mistakenly followed a different set of tracks, some which had been laid earlier that week, others at the beginning of the month. The combination of the forest's perfect uniformity, its paucity of light, and its impregnable secrecy had been leading its diminutive invaders astray from the very beginning. As such, the children had only wandered a few miserable miles during their entire journey, and Baul and Lilia did not have to walk very long to find them.

Presently, the direction of the wind shifted, bringing with it the heavy smell of smoke; Lilia and Baul automatically moved to follow it. The spectral grey tendrils, unable to fully penetrate the canopy, congealed, hanging in a bloated cloud above them, through which murky haze the red light of a fire glowed softly in the distance. The men picked up their pace as the light grew stronger; Lilia soon rushed ahead of Baul, breaking into a run. But it was not the fire's glow that urged him on, that guided him, that drew him through that endless darkness - it was the moonlight of Silver's white hair, brighter and dearer to him than any star, that was his beacon.

"Silver!" Lilia shouted.

"Who's there!?" Silver shouted back, whipping his head around. Spotting the two men, his jaw dropped, and he turned to shake Sebek, who'd been dozing on his shoulder. The boys rose, Silver quickly, Sebek groggily, rubbing his eyes in confusion. Before Silver could take more than a few stumbling steps, Lilia ran to him and pulled him into his arms, and for the first time that summer, Silver allowed his father to embrace him. He ducked his head into Lilia’s neck, felt the man's pulse thundering against his skin, felt in turn as his own tempestuous heartbeat finally calmed after so many long hours of strange terror. Overwhelmed, Silver opened his mouth, and he cried.

Watching the pair, Sebek, the poor creature, threw a nervous glance at his grandfather - the man’s stony face was anger itself. The child felt wretched, and he wished for nothing more than to be held. He drifted towards Silver and Lilia, his wet eyes downcast, feeling as guilty as a whipped hound approaching its master. Before he could begin his pleas, Lilia opened his arms and pulled the trembling boy into a hug. He was at once unburdened, and his relieved sobs soon joined Silver’s.

For Silver and Sebek, the men were their heroes in that moment, their guardian angels - two mighty pillars of light within the black maw of that abominable forest. Go ahead, weary children, dry the pearls of your tears against their shining wings. But do not forget – the Lord’s angels must deliver judgment and salvation in turn. Look now as the one takes up his golden scale, and the other his blade.

The interrogation proceeded as follows:

Although the boys had, while waiting for their rescue, vowed not to reveal the true purpose of their mission, fearing the truth would only worsen Silver's predicament, they had failed to devise an appropriate excuse for their disappearance. Caught off guard, they first claimed that they'd merely wandered into the forest on accident, after having lost their bearings in the woodland behind the Zigvolt's property, but Lilia dismissed the claim at once, knowing his apprentices would never dare be so careless.

The boys retracted this statement, drew a few paces away to convene privately, and then offered a new story, one of a monster that had chased them all the way out into the forest.

“What kind of monster?” Baul pressed.

“A scary one?” Sebek shrugged.

A jury of nosy tawny owls convened spontaneously in the trees around them. They balked wordlessly at the children's flimsy defense.

Just then, and by chance, while shaking his head in frustration, Baul noticed that Sebek's hands were trembling. The movement was so subtle, so minor, that it was only perceptible when the breeze shifted towards them, so that the light from the campfire hit the child's hands just so. Baul nudged Lilia with his elbow and jut his chin towards the boy, indicating his tremors. With both men now focusing their gazes fully on Sebek, Lilia asked once more why the boys had gone into the forest; Sebek crumbled immediately under their wrath.

“W-We just… We wanted to go hunt the bear that’s been killing off the livestock so we…”

“…So you snuck off without telling anyone?” Lilia asked.

“Yeah…”

“It’s my fault, sir,” Silver said, stepping in front of Sebek.

“What?” Lilia and Baul replied in unison.

“I was the one who wanted to go. Sebek didn’t wanna come but I made him. Please don’t get mad at him.”

“Silver!” Sebek squeaked. He opened his mouth to object, but Silver silenced him with a pointed glare.

Baul crossed his arms and looked over Silver, directing his gaze at his grandson. “Is that true, Seb?”

“…Y-Yes, sir.”

“God damnit,” Baul hissed. “You damn kids had us tearing up this whole fucking forest just for-”

“Baul, please,” Lilia sighed. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get the kids back home.”

“Fine!” Baul threw his hands up and stomped off, muttering under his breath.

Lilia clicked his tongue and turned to the children. “You two, put out your campfire and follow us - and be quick. I’ll light the way with my magic.” Sebek and Silver’s pale faces shone faintly in the cold darkness, as white as the moon. They nodded dully, stunned from Baul’s outburst.

Lilia sprinted down the path Baul had taken, calling after the green and white hurricane crashing through the trees ahead.

“Baul, wait!”

“What!” Baul shouted without looking back.

“If you’d just stop for one second so I can apologize to you-”

“Apologize for what!?”

“For Silver!”

Baul finally stopped.

“I’m sorry, General, but what in the actual hell are you talking about?”

Lilia shook his head in exasperation. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to apologize for what my child did. He caused you and your family a lot of trouble, so I-”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I was standing right next to you when he said sorry. He doesn’t need his damn pappy covering for his ass.”

“I understand that. But regardless, I need to take responsibility as his parent.”

The thick pillar of Baul’s neck tensed as he worked his jaw. “…You really do still think he’s just a little kid, don’t you?”

“What?”

“I said,” he growled, taking a heavy step forward, “you really still think he’s just a little kid. Don’t you?”

“Yes? He’s only thirteen, Baul.”

Baul blinked at him slowly. “You know, I’ll be honest with you. The day you brought that kid home and said you were going to raise him, I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. But that right there takes the cake.”

Lilia pinched the bridge of his nose. Clinging onto his last, frayed strand of patience, he hissed out through gritted teeth, “Would you please enlighten me to what it is you’re trying to get at?”

Baul spat at Lilia’s feet. His yellow-green eyes blazed like canary diamonds. “Your boy’s growing up, General. He’s becoming a man. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Lilia scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? I just-”

“Bullshit! You know what I bet?" Baul licked his lips. "I bet you haven't even noticed he's already taller than you now, huh. All that fucking yapping you do, bragging about each and every little fucking thing he does, and not once have I ever heard you mention it.”

Lilia stared at him incredulously. He recognized the taunt - it was the same one Baul had attempted to provoke him with earlier that Summer, but as Lilia opened his mouth to rebuke him, he quickly closed it again, suddenly overcome by an almost paralyzing sense of apprehension. He's not taller than me... right? He tried to recall the last time he'd looked at Silver - truly looked at him, not in anger or in contempt; not as an object of his frustration nor the progenitor of his grievances; not begging him to please tell him what was wrong and to just talk to him already. He realized with a start it must've been months ago, before the sudden change in Silver's demeanor, perhaps around his birthday, or earlier, for he saw nothing more than abstract glimpses flash before his mind's eye, of Silver's back turned to him, of Silver storming away from him, enraged; of Silver snapping at him with heavy tears welling up in his opaline eyes. But still- No, it wasn't possible, he would've noticed. For what were the past thirteen years of him centering his entire life around the child if he had not? What right had he to call himself the boy's father, to claim the child as his son, if he had failed to notice something so monumental? His son was just a young boy with cherubic little cheeks and bright blue-grey eyes, who would beam at him with the most precious little smile - half-crooked, his thin lips pressed into a rosy crescent moon, and that was the truth.

“That's not...”

Baul roared over him, drowning out the rest of his halfhearted response. “And now he’s sneaking off and lying to you and taking the blame for shit he didn’t do, and you honestly still think he’s just some dumb little brat who needs his pappy to wipe his ass for him!”

Lilia winced at each of his words, as though they were daggers striking his skin. Noticing the other man's sudden trepidation, Baul paused.

"Honestly, you just..." Slowly, he began summoning the patience one required when attempting to convince Lilia Vanrouge of his own failings, and as his anger dissipated, he thought suddenly of his daughter. His expression softened, settling halfway between a scowl and a lopsided smile; his voice softened, too. “I know how much you're hurting here, but my god, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

Baul continued speaking, but Lilia could no longer hear him, could not wrest his attention away from the uneasiness still gnawing painfully at his heart.

Just then, Silver and Sebek emerged from the surrounding thicket, as if beckoned by Lilia's anguish. His gaze flew instantly towards his son.

The boy's face was filthy, covered in a greasy film of sweat and grime and dirt, with pine needles stuck to his forehead and leaf litter entangled in his hair, and a thin line of blood on his cheek where a branch had scratched him. The steely blue-grey eyes peering at him from above the sharpened cheeks evoked an almost hawkish appearance. He was angular, scrawny, gaunt - nigh spectral in the pale glow of the lantern in his hands. Who was this gangly youth? This stranger? Had his mental image of his son been all this time nothing more than an exaggerated caricature, a farce cobbled together months ago, or years, even?

“We got the campfire put out," Silver said, panting, trying to catch his breath. As he raised his arm and drew his sleeve across his wet brow, the pale circle of lamplight suddenly fell upon his father's face. His skin blazed bone white, and his bloodless lips, parted slightly, were frozen in a silent gasp, as though he were dazed; he looked cadaverous. Silver gulped and took a step back. "...Is everything okay?”

"Silver, stand up straight." Lilia's voice curled out into the chill night air like a fine mist, softer than a whisper, yet the pure animosity with which he spoke betrayed the threat underlying his words, so that the boy immediately drew himself to his full height without a second thought.

Lilia stumbled mechanically towards Silver and cupped his face in his hands, swept his eyes down from his chin up to his lips, to his nose, tilted his head back to meet the boy's gaze- Ah! There it was, Lilia felt it, felt the microscopic contractions in the taught fibers of his neck as he yawned his head back, hardly more than a few degrees, scarcely lifting it above his eye level, could almost hear them as they cried out in pain, and yet - he was looking up at his son! Lilia's palms suddenly grew cold despite the warm flesh they cradled; his hands moved on their own, weakly pressing into the face, as if making one final, feeble, desperate attempt to mold it into the infantile visage beginning to rapidly crumble inside his mind. He choked back a quiet sob and dropped his arms to his sides, receding a few steps away, visibly distraught. The whole torturous act had lasted but a mere moment, during which time Silver had stood petrified, as though caught in a trance. He now sluggishly raised his own hand and traced his cheek where his father had touched him. He shivered; his skin felt like ice.

Baul went to Lilia and spoke at him rapidly in fae language – talking too quickly for Sebek’s mind to translate, and wholly incomprehensible to Silver’s – before turning around and walking off.

Lilia stared at Silver again, opened his mouth after a moment, then closed it, deciding he would talk to the boy later, in private. Taking a deep breath, he began telling the children to follow him, but was interrupted by a thunderous crash off in the distance. The three of them pointed their gazes simultaneously to where the sound had erupted - a freshly felled pine tree, behind which stood a black shadow so towering the boys feared for a moment that it was the bear come to ambush them.

However, to their great relief, it was only Ma Zigvolt who stepped out into their lamplight, casually shaking off the pine dust from her hands. Upon spotting her son, her face broke immediately into a wide smile, while Sebek's, in turn, scrunched up as he began to cry.

“Mama!” Sebek wailed.

Ma Zigvolt rushed over and engulfed his small body between her arms. He nearly disappeared underneath her frame. “Oh, thank goodness!” she heaved, swaying gently as the tight coil of her nerves slowly unwound.

“Is everything… Okay…?” Pa Zigvolt panted as he emerged from the darkness of the forest a moment later. He coughed into his sleeve, and then gasped once he heard Sebek’s quiet sniffles floating out from the cage of his wife’s arms. The long search had exhausted him, had strangled his lungs and poisoned his mind with fear, but the boy’s hushed sobs invigorated something within him, rousing a force in his heart greater than even the weariness hanging heavy from his limbs like iron chains. He lurched forward, breathing heavily, taking one shaky step after another, stumbling as he covered a short distance that to him felt like miles. At last, he lifted his leaden arms and wrapped them as far as he could around his wife’s quivering back, collapsing into her with a sigh.

“Oh, thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!” Ma Zigvolt whispered again and again.

Lilia and Silver watched them from afar. Silver soon looked away, awkwardness prickling at his skin.

Presently, Lilia cleared his throat, announced loudly that he and Silver would be leaving, and, after waiting a moment for Pa Zigvolt to wave them off, he turned to his son, and motioned with his head that it was time to go home.

Lilia threw himself on the living room sofa with a mangled groan. He and Silver had reached the clearing shortly after midnight, their long trip culminating in several grueling miles of Lilia carrying his exhausted son on his back, trudging almost bent in half for over an hour. He'd set aside Silver's portion of dinner that evening, a plate of sausage links and biscuits that had since grown cold, and this Silver bolted gratefully before excusing himself to take a much needed bath. Consumed with a sudden restlessness, Lilia busied himself while he waited, returning the animals to their enclosures, washing the pile of dishes festering in the kitchen sink, and straightening out the piles of books and toys and other various knick-knacks strewn across the living room. He went to rap his hand on the bathroom door after fifteen minutes had passed, concerned Silver might have fallen asleep in the tub, and, after receiving a quiet response, had staggered back to the living room, where his own fatigue finally struck him.

He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, occasionally wincing as hot tendrils of pain shot up through his spine and flared out into hips. His thoughts flit rapidly between each of his aching limbs, between the anger, the fear, the sorrow that clouded his mind. While they were walking back home, he could hear Baul's words repeating over and over again, overlapping with Ma Zigvolt's remarks from a few weeks prior, and mixing together with his own, anguished thoughts that had paralyzed him as he'd finally realized how much his son had changed. A part of him, a part that he'd for so long fought to viciously stamp out and silence, knew that Baul was right, and that Ma Zigvolt was right, too. He realized now he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

When Silver at last emerged from the bathroom and came to sit beside Lilia, he did not react at first. The boy - the youth, his child, his son, the stranger - stared at him silently. His eyes, though sharper and slightly narrower than how Lilia remembered them, still bore that same, auroral hue that had first captivated him so many years ago, and he found himself being slowly drawn out of his frantic ruminations as he met Silver's gaze.

Folding his hands in his laps, he took a deep breath, and asked, "Alright, so what's the real reason you did all this? Because you were mad at me?

Silver fidgeted in his seat and nibbled at his lip. His eyes darted to a corner of the living room. "No. I mean, yeah, I was mad at you."

"Over what happened at the dance?"

Silver's gaze jumped to the other corner. "The dance and... other stuff."

Lilia recalled immediately all their quarreling from the past few months, the long days that would pass without Silver uttering even a single word to him, and the even longer nights where he could hear him quietly crying in his room next door. His heart ached for the boy. He reached out to drape his hand over Silver's. “Baby, you know I-“

Silver swatted his hand away and retreated further into his side of the sofa. “You’re doing it again!” he whined, his voice cracking.

"Doing what?"

"You keep treating me like a little kid!"

"You-!" Lilia swallowed his retort with a grimace. Exhaling slowly, he admitted grudgingly, "You're right, I am. And I'm sorry. I'll try to stop doing that."

Silver's jaw dropped open. He couldn't recall his father ever having conceded to him so easily before, if at all. Quickly recovering from his shock, he sat up straight and said, "Umm- I mean, yeah! Please do that." He crossed his arms and nodded sagely, with the air of one who has successfully negotiated for terms that are completely in one's favor.

"Now, I can understand you ran off because of what's been going on recently, but what about your behavior from the past few months?"

Silver uncrossed his arms and tilted his head quizzically. Noticing his confusion, Lilia explained he meant the very same quarrels that Silver had previously mentioned, as well as his sudden adoption of the moniker "Father".

"I dunno." Silver shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, the "Father" thing's 'cause Sebek told me about it a while ago."

Lilia blinked. "Told you about what?"

“He told me… Ah, wait.” Silver straightened his back and puffed out his chest, pointing his eyebrows sharply together like an arrowhead. “He said, “Silver! Why do you continue to refer to your father as “Papa”!? Are you not turning thirteen years old soon? It’s positively childish!”” Deflating into his usual stoic expression, he continued, “And then he told me if I wanted to be a real knight, then I need to hurry and grow up already.”

Biting back an incredulous snort, Lilia summoned as much tenderness his weary body could muster, and said, smiling, "Listen, you don't have to do everything Sebek tells you to, you know. You can call me 'Papa' all you want. If somebody doesn't like that, that's their problem."

"But I don't..." Silver looked away again. His voice dropped to a whisper, as though hoping that if he spoke his next words quietly, they would hurt his father less. "I don't want to."

Lilia's smile vanished. "You don't?"

"Uh-uh."

"...But why?"

"I just..." Silver frowned. "I don't know. You keep asking why I do this and that, but I don't know how to explain it. It's like every time I try to catch my thoughts, they up and fly away from me. And then you just keep on badgering me more and I just get so mad."

Silver had expressed similar sentiments numerous times before over the past few months, but although there were no stunning revelations to be found in his words, no breakthroughs to be made in understanding the transformation in his demeanor, Lilia, for the first time, listened to him. Lilia had stumbled blindly through that whole Summer, feeling as though he were trying to walk across quicksand, ever fearful that the next blowout with his son, that the next new symptom of his strange ailment would lead to some sort of irrevocable, irreparable damage to their relationship, but as he listened, he felt the ground beneath his feet finally, slowly begin to solidify at last.

They quietly conversed for half an hour longer, at which point Silver began to yawn and rub at his eyes, nodding off a few minutes later. Lilia stood up, intending to carry the boy to his room, only to immediately drop down onto the sofa again with a pained cry. Rubbing deep circles into his lower back with one hand, he leaned over and gently shook Silver awake with the other.

"Go on and get to bed. We can iron out your punishment some other time."

"Okay." Silver rose slowly, dragging his feet as he plodded down the hall. Standing before his door, he turned around and stammered, "I love you," before disappearing into his room.

"I love you, too." Lilia replied hoarsely, fighting to speak past the lump in his throat.

With a grunt, he lifted his leaden legs onto the sofa and lay down flat on his back, sighing pleasantly as the worst of his pain began to subside. For over an hour he drifted in and out of a restless slumber, after which he stiffly sat up, and, this time rising without issue, limped quietly across the floor and down the hallway to Silver's room, steadying himself with a quivering hand against the wall.

Silver lay fast asleep, sprawled out face down atop his barren mattress, his blankets and several of his pillows still scattered across the floor from Lilia's frantic search that morning. A soft smile tugged at Lilia's lips. He must've passed out as soon as he lay down, the poor thing. Not trusting he'd be able to stand up straight again should he bend over in his present state, he instead cast a cleaning spell, and watched as the blankets and discarded pillows silently rose from the floor and arranged themselves neatly into place on Silver's bed. His eyes flicked back to Silver as the emerald sparks of his magic began to fade away, but the boy did not stir.

He cupped Silver's cheek, swept his thumb across the warm skin, moved his hand up to his hair, and began picking out the bits and pieces of pine needles and leaf litter Silver had been too exhausted to comb out while in the bath. His thoughts began to wander again while he fussed with a difficult knot.

Loss had accompanied him all his life; it was as regular to him as the changing of the seasons, as inevitable as the mighty storm that had swept across their nation and all the other natural disasters that would someday follow. But when he found Silver, he'd believed, selfishly, foolishly, stubbornly, that here was something, the only other thing besides his own heart, that he would be able to keep for himself, that life could not take away from him. Perhaps therein lay the reason why he had tried for so long to remain ignorant of his son's maturation, why he had fought so desperately to prevent the boy from growing up, from growing away from him. But he knew now that he'd been wrong, for he had split his heart in half long ago - long before he had ever left the castle. One half he had given to Malleus; the other lay before him now, curled up against the palm of his hand, breathing quietly, the moon's silver glow shining faintly in his hair.

And though he did not have a name for it, he could feel as something new was beginning to slip away from him once again, just as the soft strands of moonlight slipped through his fingers.

“And that's okay,” Lilia breathed out with a shudder. “It'll be okay. And I’ll try. I’ll let go.”

Lilia brought his folding stool into the garden and set it down amidst a semi-circle of empty buckets and baskets he'd arranged between two rows of low bushes, and, after sitting down gingerly, careful not to agitate his back, began picking off handfuls of snap beans from the bush before him. It was the second week of August - time for the Summer harvest at last, and when finished here, he would move onto the squash and eggplants next, then the bell peppers and tomatoes, then the watermelon and strawberries; the sweet potatoes he would leave for Silver to dig up on his own. Having recently satisfied the terms of his punishment, during which period he'd spent several weeks completing additional training exercises and chores every day, Lilia had granted him a short holiday, and he presently lay fast asleep in bed. Though working on his own, he moved quickly, and filled two of his buckets by the time Silver awoke later that morning and approached him in the garden.

He'd already combed his hair and gotten changed, with his knapsack slung comfortably across his shoulder. He'd grown another inch in the past month, and his face seemed miles away as Lilia looked up at him.

“Father, may I visit the Zigvolts?" he said plainly, studying his father's face. "The robins told me Sebek got a new astronomy book he’s been wanting to show me.”

Lilia dragged his sleeve across his wet forehead and nodded. "That's fine. Will you be having dinner there?”

“No, I don’t plan to.”

"Alright."

While Lilia returned to his picking, Silver shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other, his gaze jumping between his father and the forest path beyond their home. After a moment, he licked his lips and asked, “Did you, uh, want me to wait for you?”

Lilia shook his head. He looked up at his son again and smiled.

“No, you go on without me.”

Song credits

“Twistin’ the Night Away” written and recorded by Sam Cooke

“I Wish You Love” recorded by Sam Cooke, written by Albert Beach

Title is taken from the Hannah Montana song by the same name.

Just for the sake of transparency, some parts of this fic took very heavy inspiration from Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's book "The Yearling", particularly the first two chapters.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #baul zigvolt #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #txt #(although im tagging malleus he is not actively in the story. hes just mentioned in flashbacks)

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kikyan · 1 year

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Yandere Diasomnia Headcanons

TW/CW: Dark content up ahead!! Yandere headcanons means yandere content y’all! Mentions of abuse and violent acts either towards the reader or the character!! Mental instability, gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, emotional whiplash, etc. (Don’t think I’m missing anything but if I am, please do let me know!) This is your TW please proceed with caution!!

ALSO FYI!! A minor spoiler warning, it’s during the last paragraph of Lilias Headcanons! It’s slightly mentioned in book 6 but emphasized in book 7!

DISCLAIMER: These are my interpretations of his/her/their persona and none of these is 100% accurate. I don't condone any of these actions in real life and all of this is purely fictional and should be taken as such! Underage characters will ONLY be given SFW headcanons, please respect this decision!

As always, banner made by the lovely bestie @herestrish thank you for making all of these, you’re literally the best I love you so much!

Malleus Draconia

THIS IS MY DORM. THIS IS MY SHIT RIGHT HERE Y’ALL! I was and STILL am rooting for them!! Clearly, I have a bias and saved the BEST for last. Anyways, moving on! Malleus as a yandere is so popular because of how he’s literally pursuing the MC when TWST is not an otome game. Breaking the boundaries of the game fr. Not to mention, he’s so mysterious in the first chapters until you discover more and find out he’s quite sad :(( sorry babes </3. The main traits I see in him are possessive, clingy, obsessive, and overprotective. I will however start off with the main trait and the biggest thing that distinguishes him (book 7 spoilers really enhanced this headcanon), he wants a fairytale-like romance/story.

Malleus is known as one of the (top 5 I wanna say?) wizards in the world of TWST. I’m sure his magic capabilities surpass his teachers so while he has no need to attend the school, I’m sure the main goal was to get him to socialize which he does with the MC. He wants to make friends, he wants to have a relationship with his fellow peers that isn’t the “strongest mage in NRC” or “future king of briar valley”. I honestly think he wants others to see him as Malleus Draconia (mostly Malleus because his last name has power), which will make sense with the rest of these headcanons. When it comes to Malleus, his relationship with his S/O is different than any relationship out there. Think about it, we got to call him Hornton/Tsunotarou because it was a name we picked for him because he did not want to reveal his name. I feel like he had the chance to speak with us because we’re not from this world. We don’t know the rules, the powerful families, and shit, we didn’t even know who Malleus was. Someone could say his name but it wouldn’t affect us because it holds no meaning. So when Malleus found out we didn’t know him, this was his way of testing the waters which I think is really cute. He wanted us to see him as himself, not as the all-powerful malleus and future king.

He’s possessive with his S/O because you’re his friend(hopefully something more soon) and someone who saw him for himself. I think he cherished the nickname we gave him because it’s something from us to him. He’s possessive of us because we’re the only ones he has this important connection with. Sure he has one with Lilia and the others but with us it’s different. Leading me to a tiny headcanon I have that apparently isn’t that uncommon. Nice to know we think alike y’all! I feel like Lilia treated Malleus and Silver differently. I always saw it as Lilia feeling it was his duty to take care of Malleus as opposed to choosing to raise Silver. Malleus was probably raised as the future heir of briar valley, he probably had to attend many boring classes that prepared him for this role while Silver got the fun parent. I feel like Lilia raised Malleus with the intention of him growing to be a leader whereas he raised Silver with the intention of making Silver’s childhood the best it could be. Letting Silver be a child and then slowly bringing in the responsibilities, same with Sebek. So sorry for this analogy but I feel Lilia was the “daddy who was always working and never had time for me” with Malleus while it was different with Silver. Granted he didn’t treat Malleus with malicious intent, it was just that at a glance it was clear to see who got more of the ‘fun parent’. THIS IS ALL A HEADCANON BTW NOT CANON! These are just angsty times with Kikyan! So that being said, this is a very close and personal relationship that Malleus has with just you, so forgive him if he’s a little jealous. Malleus is well aware that it’s not right, but he can’t help but feel like this. He does what he can to prioritize your time, always being there in the evening for a nightly stroll. Sometimes, when he’s brave enough, he’ll try to plan something other than a nightly stroll. Maybe coming into your dorm and talking for a bit, maybe even inviting you to his? Maybe a small picnic at night because why not? Maybe a cup of tea?

While that’s partly a reason why nobody approaches him (and a part that he dislikes), I can see him using his title as a way to intimidate others. When we called him by his nickname in book 5, everyone was stunned. I think Vil even accused him of taking advantage of our ignorance, but when we still called him by that name even when knowing who he really was, he “allowed” it. I already know he was kicking his feet, twirling his hair, and giggling when he left the stage. If you’re with him and standing by his side, nobody would dare approach you nor look at you differently. You have the protection of Malleus Draconia after all, who would even DARE approach? Even if he’s not physically there, his influence makes up for it. Everyone knows you hang out with him and honestly, nobody wants to take that risk. I don’t think you’d lose friends because he still wants you to have friends (maybe even open up his circle too?). However, if it’s just you two I think he could live. This goes in hand with his unique trait, the storybook romance. Think about it, it’s so romantic that even in his cursed world you will always have your lover by your side. Imagine it, just you and him in a castle all alone, just feeding off each other’s company. Who needs the others when it’s just you two?

Obsessive and over-protective. I think they go hand in hand. Malleus would be a gentle lover, the one who wipes your tears away as he softly asks, “why do you weep my child of man” (crying, throwing up, and contemplating he sounds so pretty wtf and this is my writingDFJS). He thinks that you’re made of glass, a porcelain doll (don’t mind me I think I created possible fic ideas I’m carefully jotting all of these down) to be exact. If he looks away for even a second, you’d wither in the air. He’s so obsessed with you and so intrigued with what you do. You’re so lovely, you’re so unique and so precious. You came here from a foreign land and have no knowledge of him and his abilities. No knowledge of this world and its rules, yet suddenly you managed to rescue 6 over-blotted students and befriended so many people. Just how on earth did you do that? You don’t look at him with fear and I’m sure prior to knowing his real name if someone said “Malleus Draconia” you’d probably look confused. You probably wouldn’t have cared (I know I wouldn’t). You’re you, he’s probably head over heels for you. Absolutely smitten! He’s probably somewhere right now plucking flowers, “They love me, They don’t love me” and imagining what your reaction is. He’s probably the one keeping an eye on you, when he’s not busy he’s either taking your time or just nearby watching your peaceful life. Nobody will harm you, not while he’s alive and babes, he’s living for a LONG time.

I added that he was clingy because I feel like he would be. He seeks out your attention and love, honestly, it’s so cute. The storybook romance, it’s unique. It’s something you two have and it’s something that keeps him going. He’s a gentle lover and if you give him attention, he turns to putty in your hands. He would change the time just to have your nightly strolls come faster. He really only has eyes for you, in Book 5 when Vil over blotted, he asked US what happened. He didn’t care for the others, he looked at us and asked us to explain the situation. His eyes are on us and only us. If he’s sad or annoyed, ask him what's wrong and if you place a hand on his or on his cheek to make him look up, it’s over bro. You’ve ignited a fire that cannot be contained. He’s the perfect partner, he listens to you, he does what he can to protect you, he puts YOU above him, and you’ll always have a place with him. HOWEVER, drumroll, please! Do NOT think for a second that he’s willing to let you treat him and this relationship with disrespect. He does not WANT to act out because he does want that fairytale romance, that attraction where you both are content with the other but if he’s pushed he will. I don’t want to say he’d hurt you because he doesn’t want to, but if you fight against this relationship he too will fight. Put your boxing gloves on because it’s about to get real. He’ll understand if you don’t quite accept it at first, but once he shows you the PowerPoint on why you two belong together and why he’s the better option and you’re still not getting it, he may be a bit upset.

Wrapping off these headcanons, he’s a 9/10 on my danger scale and he’s a chain-turned saw on the rope-chain-saw scale. He’ll start off tame, he won’t take too many restrictions and he won’t say it like that. He’ll just say “that area is restricted because of construction or because they have so many dangerous magical items out in the open and it’s a huge risk! This is your room, he read that even when people are together they may need space away from each other (as much as he dislikes that) so you have that. Honestly, he’s super lenient right now that it seems like he doesn’t pose a threat but, keep in mind that he doesn’t like repeating himself. If he says that area is off limits and you’re wandering he’ll worry for your safety but then proceed to tell you off. “I did warn you that it was dangerous, I don’t like repeating myself. Perhaps I need to clip your wings to prevent you from wandering off, as much as I love that curious nature of yours. A joke, I assure you.” Babes. . .I don’t think it’s a joke anymore. Which is why I say chain-turned-saw. While he isn’t too strict on you and genuinely wants that romance between you two, he can turn strict to the point where you may find yourself with a broken limb or a cut-off one but it’s okay because he loves carrying you around! He’s the most powerful wizard (one of them at least) in the world and while he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s not above using that strength to get you to behave. He’s a 9/10 because as much as he loves you and wants those fanfic moments doesn’t mean he’s powerless and that you can get the jump on him. He gives you ONE warning and that’s it before he takes matters into his own hand. He’s been so patient with you, this is the thanks you give him? Fae live for a long time and if putting you to sleep is the only way he can do it, he will. After all, he’ll invade your sweet dreams and turn them into a nightmare if you choose. Another last measure would be branding, he once set Briar Valley ablaze but your skin is such a pretty canvas.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia, my beloved. The love of my life. I love him so much he’s so quirky and his aesthetic? To be honest, I hated neon green, like the highlighter colors. He changed that, the black and magenta is such a great combo. The green on their uniforms and their overall aesthetic. I love Diasomnia, I feel like I’m betraying Heartslabyul because I love Alice in Wonderland, but their styles never called out to me. Regardless, I am biased because I love him so much and I hope I can do justice to his character. The main characteristics that I see him having are manipulative, possessive, and overprotective.

I was tempted to say that he was obsessive, but he and Rook share some qualities where they make it a game to find out about their S/O. He wouldn’t stalk you like prey but instead, he’d create a situation where you reveal that information about yourself to him. I do have plans for a Lilia fic (again bias) but without revealing too much information I’ll get into my personal headcanons of him. I truly think of Lilia fitting the troupe where he was emotionless at first, especially during the war but eventually toward the end came to appreciate life. Something happened to him during the war, that’s my biggest headcanon. It’s not something huge and over the top, but I think this is what caused him to have a change of perspective on life which will significantly change how he sees his S/O.

He has a very quirky personality and he’s definitely unique. I love that about him! In order for this to connect, we need to talk a bit more about his personality. It’s very unique and he enjoys putting smiles on others’ faces. He gets along with the others for the most part and even teases them, especially when he hangs upside down (he's so cute omg I love him). I remember in his normal card Vignette, the one with Trey they were choosing a topic for their paper and Lilia was talking about magical pens and how they went through changes. As Lilia was explaining, Trey assumed it was a joke, and when he casually mentioned “I have the hardest time figuring out what's true and what isn't”, Lilia smiled and went “who knows”. He knows more than he’s letting on but then again, nobody believes him so that’s partially their fault too. When Epel was getting bullied and Lilia saved him, his whole mannerism was that of someone who was trying to fit in with the ‘young folk’. He gave Epel advice on how to take care of himself and mentioned that in a fight, it’s about winning unlike in a sport where you have to adhere to the rules. He’s strange, but he truly means well. This leads me to connect Lilia and his overprotectiveness on his S/O.

Lilia cares for his S/O. Though he doesn’t seem like much, he packs quite the punch that may soon come to understand if they try to take something that’s his. Possessiveness comes into play as well! If someone ever tried to hurt his S/O, they better start preparing their funeral arrangements because it won’t end well. Underestimating Lilia is what leads to their downfall and honestly, these headcanons would sound smoother if I just led with his unique trait. I want to say he mirrors Rook where he will never trust his S/O, but it’s the opposite. It’s US who CAN’T trust him. Well, we can, but we can’t take anything he says without a grain of salt. You may think Lilia is petite and a cute harmless guy, but then suddenly he’s handing out ass-whoopings left and right. You may think Lilia is joking, but his devilish grin might be one of malice as opposed to humor. Again, he cares a lot for you but he’s not above scolding you and treating you like a child, which should get on your nerves. Nobody but him is allowed to tease you but him!

Your safety is his priority, without a doubt. You mean the world to him so again, nobody will mess with you. His possessiveness is something that’s brought by his teasing nature. He may refer to you as ‘his’ and may do it in a teasing nature. He’ll do anything to get a reaction out of you, maybe even call you by some cringe-ass name. “So how’s my little snuggly wuggly piggly wiggly baby pie”. “Lilia, don’t ever call me that please”. Overly cutesy names to tease the fuck out of you. Though it’s embarrassing, he means well. He also prioritizes your time by filling up your schedule, suddenly you’re at the dorm playing online games with him and Idia (though they don’t know that which lowkey stresses me tf out). You’re trying out another dish he makes because Silver and Sebek are beyond horrified to try something else. He’s inviting you to the music club to listen to them play and to give them advice. He might even ask you to help him dye his hair. His relationship with you is so wholesome that it’s almost hard to believe he was once a war general and can scare the shit out of many.

I want to touch on his manipulative side, it’s because of the lack of trust. You think it’s silly old Lilia (emphasis on old) playing games on you. Maybe one day when you promised to hang out with him you had to stay behind for an assignment. Apologizing and here he is, “Oh well, it can’t be helped! Don’t want you to fail now do we?” Thanking him for understanding, you turn to leave only to miss out on his eyes lowering, half-lidded before smiling. That devilish grin that you can’t forget and you can’t read. You can’t read him and that comes to be your downfall. He has the element of surprise, to the point where you’d start being on edge with him (like the leech twins). He may pop out and scare you or he maybe pushes you only to cause you to tumble. He certainly underestimated his strength, are you okay? Spoiler alert, it wasn’t an accident. If you start to ignore him, he’ll get aggressive. Scaring you, causing you to fall, your books to fall to the floor, spilling drinks, etc. He’s so silly and clumsy, must be the age huh? It only gets worse when you confront him, “Hey Lilia, did I do something to make you upset?”

Eyes wide, “Why ever would you say that?” He’s surprised, what brought this on? Of course, he knows, he’s not stupid. He listens to you explain, eyes full of worry, reassuring you that it was only a joke and he never wished for you to feel like that! You believe him because when he looks at you like that he must be telling the truth! This is how it is at first until you start to realize that maybe he’s hiding something else. It gets even worse when his yandere traits start to come through. You could be crying and questioning why, why you? Why does he love you and why does he do what he does? That gentle look, those beautiful eyes are softened and he answers in pure confusion, do what? He acts surprised, are you sure you have the right guy? That doesn’t seem like Lilia does it? Oh well, the cat is out of the bag and while he had fun playing around with you, guess it’s time he gets serious (book 2 serious). His devilish grin is back and instead of it being of a playful nature, he’s hiding some ill intent toward you. His smile that usually would bring one to your face strikes fear, is this all a game to him? When he warns you of the consequences of defying him or escaping, he still has the grin on his face and that friendly tone, but the words he says are a bit frightening. Is he joking with you? Is it worth the risk? Like Rook, you never know if he’s telling the truth so should you risk it? Is it beneficial to stay put as he says and not fight him? Just like Rook, it’s about the thrill of your actions. He sits back and enjoys your reactions and how you handle the little tests he gives you.

His character is hard, I hope you know I struggled for a GOOD while when writing this despite how much I love him. As far as the scaling goes, he’s a 10/10 (dare I say 11?). He has the magic to back it up (well had is more like it) and he’s open to change. Darwin once said that a species' chances of survival are not determined based on strength but rather their ability to adapt. This is Lilia, he’s strong but given the situation, he can adapt to the circumstances. His sweet words are laced with poison and spread doubt inside your mind. He could say the next time you decide to flee it’s off with your legs, but he does his adorable huff, “I don’t think I need to worry about that though, you’re so well-behaved right now.” He seems to be serious, but the last time he threatened that he didn’t do it, so was it a fear tactic? Do you want to risk it? If you do and get caught, I see him approaching you with a hum, a smile on his face as he stares at your pitiful form, apologizing and struggling to speak. He shushes you as if you are a child. Softly petting your hair, giving you false hope that you can talk your way out of this. His hands softly trail to your ankle, you’re panicking but he continues his antics. You know well then to underestimate him, no? I can see Lilia being all three, rope because at some point he does enjoy the taste and thrill. The hunter being hunted is a delicious trope. He could be chain, he’d scold you like a child and take away your favorite toy until you think about what you’ve done. He could be saw, he could be tired of your futile running and while he’s been so nice and caring you’ve really pushed his buttons and if he needs to take away your freedom he’ll do it. Do you want to see someone other than him? Too bad, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Sebek Zigbolt

I’ll be honest, I didn’t like Sebek at first and I lowkey still am not a huge fan, but I still love him. Let’s start at the very beginning, Sebek struggles with some identity issues. He’s very prideful of his fae side, despite being half-human. When I read how much he idolizes his mother but not his father, shit lowkey brought me to tears. I don’t know if his other siblings feel the same way, but his father tries his hardest and he’s a good father, loving, caring, doting, and always makes time for them. I truly believe that Sebek grew up around people shaming his parents, specifically his father and he fell into that hole as well. As a yandere, his traits would be that of overprotective, possessive, and manipulative.

Continuing, Sebek hates humans despite being half one himself. He’s very prideful when it comes to that fae part of him. I know he talks down to them and makes it seem like he’s superior to them because he’s a fae, but deep down he probably knows better than anyone that he’s not all that. I want to curse the people who made him feel like that, they’re nothing but a bunch of gossiping hoes. If his S/O were a human, he would probably have a hard time accepting that. He’d probably hate himself for liking them. As an overprotective yandere, he’d care for his S/O. If you’re a human, everybody knows how fragile you guys are so expect him to do everything but not without belittling you. “You humans are so forgetful, fine I’ll help you find what you need! Just know I’m wasting precious time I could be used to get stronger to protect Malleus, wait don’t go!” He would probably tell you everything he could be doing instead of being here with you, but he dreads the idea of you leaving him. I think Sebek would see his S/O as a stress relief, but not in that way. He’d be like Malleus who thinks you’re the only one who can understand him to some extent but don’t expect any special treatment. He’s very contradicting, “A human like you wouldn’t understand what I mean! W-wait, but what were you saying?”

You’re so fragile, try not to double down and break! You’re only holding him back from his true potential, but don’t think about leaving! He needs to show you how amazing he is! The type who would see you get picked on and save you from them only to say, “who wouldn’t pick on you? I mean look at you! W-wait! Typical humans, won’t thank someone who saved them!” Honestly, if you see him coming your way just turn your ass around. Save yourself the emotional whiplash. This is where his ‘manipulation’ side comes out, he’ll try to get you to depend on him to boost his ego, only to realize you want nothing to do with him. Sure, you’re thankful that he’s there to help but if he’s just going to berate you for being yourself then what's the point? He’ll show signs of weakness that get you to think that he needs you but then proceeds to act the same. It’s not worth it in the long run but if Sebek is struggling, then we should help. Going back to him seeing you as someone who can understand him, this goes hand in hand. At times yes, you understand what Sebek is going through. The need to be the best and somehow stand out, the feeling that he needs to make up for what lacks, that being his other fae side.

Trying to get him to understand that it’s all an external factor that is making him feel that way isn’t helping. He’d shout and say that you nothing, so no point in helping someone who doesn’t want to help. Regardless, he does try to help you or at the very least love you in some twisted way. He cares for you because despite not liking humans, he’ll give credit where credit is due. He thinks you’re very strong but also very stupid. You managed to handle over 5 over-blots which is impressive but the fact that you’re always smack in the middle of them, how reckless! Soon you’ll get the title of “his human”, doesn’t that sound great? Silver would be confused and Lilia would be somewhat content that Sebek is changing for the better! Malleus would probably be content knowing that Sebek isn’t always there and is finally directing his energy somewhere else. While he has the support of his dorm, Sebek would constantly deny his feelings. He does love you, but he hates that he loves you. He tells you he hates you, that you’re going to hold him back, that you’re not worthy but at the same time he can’t stand the idea of you spending time with anyone else.

While his possessiveness isn’t like the others, he tries to make it like a training regiment. He’d push his S/O to be better, to be the better version of themselves. While he loves you, he wants to be proud of the person he’s next to, again emotional whiplash. He’d explain how he’s doing this because you need it! He’ll take over your time and try to mold you into someone whose traits stand out more than their human side. You’re his responsibility and under his care, so he’ll take care of you to the extent of educating you. I think he would isolate you from your friends, after all, they’re a bunch of good-for-nothings who aren’t fit to protect Malleus. So this is what it’s really been about, it’s never been about what Sebek likes but rather being someone who Malleus could approve of. Sebek would not understand you, he’d call you silly humans for harboring such feelings and how you’re so complicated, it’s annoying. Your feelings are so strange, you should be glad that Malleus approves of you. All his hard work is finally paying off!

As far as danger level, he’s a 5/10. He’s not a danger to you at the start, he’s really just annoying. Sebek has some things that he needs to work on but they’re not something he can do on his own. This is why he needs you and as much as you hate the idea or could care less, there is someone about him that guides you to him (or Lilia and Malleus causally threatening you). He could care less about you (or so he says) but as much as he says that, he cares for you deeply to some extent. You’re his support and he doesn’t want you to leave him, to add insult to injury he’s probably delusional and created this friendship/rift with you. On the rope-chain-saw scale, he’d be a chain leaning to saw. It’s not his restrictions but his training regiment on making you a better person that keeps you trapped. He’s basically in control of your life, dictating what’s the best course of action to mold you into someone others can be proud of. Let’s be honest, it was never what he wanted because if it was, you’d be perfect the way you are. It’s about the social pressure of others and maybe something he created that makes him strive harder to shape you into a pretty gem that he can show off to others. Towards the end, he becomes more aggressive because what is the point of this futile fighting? You’ve come so far, now you’re just throwing it all away? At first, he was strict but a bit lenient, you’re a human so, of course, your capabilities are limited. After a while, he’s frustrated. Like when you’re teaching someone and after 30 minutes of them not getting it, you’re frustrated and ready to give up. He’d insult you, yell at you, and he may hurt you. It’s for your own good he reminds you, it’s your fault he’s doing this. He’d get stricter if you’re not getting it through your skull and start taking away your freedom little by little. I don’t want to say it’s like a doll that he gets to dress us because he’s a bit more aggressive, but it’s like a soldier and his general. He leads, and you follow. You don’t question him because he’s doing this for you.

Silver (no last name :( )

My adoptive son, my boy! So I’m going to go ahead and say it, he’s not meant to be a yandere. Like the theory that he’s supposed to be in RSA and that he’s a hero as opposed to a villain? Yeah, I believe it. For that reason, he’s hard to see as a yandere (ironic because I can see Neige as one and possibly Chenya but not him) and if he does ever show traits like that, it’s because he has Lilia and Malleus to push him to that. One thing I didn’t mention at the start, is that Diamonia see each other like family, that being said this is one dorm (like Pomefiore) that stick together and actually encourage their yandere behavior. His main traits would be overprotectiveness, manipulative, and possessive.

Starting off strong, I don’t see him as a yandere, in fact, he’s the only sane mf up in this dorm! He would never hurt you nor would he ever want to. If anything, he’ll save you from danger and care for you. Even if he wasn’t a yandere, he’d still be overprotective of his S/O. He’d be a sweet lover, he’d walk you to and from class and would ask special permission from Malleus to be able to leave his side for a little bit. Sebek might yell at him and call him irresponsible, but Malleus is intrigued so he allows it. Lilia is ecstatic! They really do grow up so fast, he remembers seeing Silver as a young boy and now he’s all grown up, even ready to date someone! Not to mention, he feels comfortable sleeping around you. He would use your lap as a pillow, sleeping peacefully as he has sweet dreams of you and him. It’s such a peaceful life. He’d help you study any subjects, telling you stories of his past and his life, and he’d even invite you to Diasomnia to meet his family. What could go wrong?

Well, it’s under the influence of his family where it goes wrong. Maybe, just maybe you and Silver aren’t together just yet, he was a bit shy. Did someone else start to put the moves on you? They started to ask you out, and take up your time and the time you spent with Silver begins to diminish. Little by little, eventually Silver begins to accept that this is fate. If this made you happy, he’d protect you from the shadows and would let you be happy. Only thing is, Lilia didn’t let that slide. What do you mean you aren’t in love with Silver? Oh, that won’t do! After all, if you love each other why would you ever want to leave? Silver is another person who wants that storybook romance, he’d be such a gentle and caring lover, but Lilia and Malleus are the poison that taints him. His father would never be wrong and even Malleus is agreeing, so there must be something Silver isn’t seeing. He’d start to be a bit more assertive, offering to walk you to class again and spending time with you. He’ll steal you back from the others who took you away in the first place. Soon, you’ll start expecting Silver and patiently waiting for him.

Just like how he cares and wishes to protect Malleus, he’ll hold you in the same regard. You’re special, you mean the world to him. As his father says, you’re the sun that greets his day! So don’t be surprised when he suddenly starts showing up to everything. Silver would never see you as something to own, sure you’re “his crush” but aside from that, it would be immoral to claim you as if you were a prize. Lilia seems to think differently, I mean you’re practically together no? If Silver truly does love you, then surely he would fight for you no? Lilia would remind him that if he lets you go, someone will take him. If he seems weak, who is to say someone won’t come and steal you, much less hurt you to get to him? He needs to be on that ASAP! Though Silver doesn’t want to keep you on a leash like that, it’s hard to go against his father’s and future king's advice. Surely they speak from experience. Silver would start small, continuing to take up your time without it interfering with his club or other duties. When someone notices that you’ve been spending time with him, they’d ask if you’re together or not. Before you have the chance to say anything, Silver is beating you to it and answers, “yes we are.” He’s a bit of an air-head at times so maybe he’s not aware of what that means. Aside from taking up your time as his, he wouldn’t do or say anything too drastic unless pushed towards it.

Unlike the rest of Diasomnia, Silver has morals. Unlike Malleus or Briar Valley which happens to be a dark and foreboding place, Silver is different. He was raised under Lilia’s influence but I’m sure that he also wants to cultivate his own path, which is why I say he’s not a yandere of his own free will. He wants to protect you, he wants to love you, but he’ll also respect you and your decisions. Lilia on the other hand will push and brainwash Silver to believe it HAS to be him. Silver is training to be a knight for Malleus, but he can be a knight for you as well! It has to be Silver, nobody else will treat you the same. Lilia is no fool and can see that Silver is fighting his inner demons so he redirects his doubts. Sure, Silver doesn’t want to claim you nor force you, so he won’t. Instead, Lilia convinces him that nobody else but him is suited to take care of you. He’s already a knight in training but he’s been around you for so long, there is no one better. He starts to tell Silver that it has to be him, nobody else. Maybe even exaggerate and say, “not even I could be suited to take care of them, Silver don’t you see? You’re their knight.” Silver would see it like that, the relationship switching to that of knight and royalty.

His love would be suffocating. You’re wrapped around his arms and he’s not letting go, “You’re safe with me my love.” There could be no real danger, but he somehow believed that if there ever was, he was the only one qualified to protect you. You two have a bond unlike any other, you trust him so much and he’s not willing to break it. I don’t want to say he’s manipulative, but he can guilt-trip you. He knows he’s not perfect, his narcolepsy sometimes holds him back and while they tried to cure him, it just wasn't enough. He’s here to repay a debt, the debt he somehow thinks he owes to Lilia and Malleus for raising him. He doesn’t mean harm, I mean he’s such a kind soul. He cares for his father and Malleus, no doubt he means well. Then again, has Silver ever once hurt you? He probably doesn’t even know he’s guilt-tripping you, he just assumes he’s confining in a trusted friend who happens to be so nice. I can see an instance where you’ve had enough, telling Silver that you’re fine and he doesn’t need to be hovering over you. There’s no danger and nobody is out to get you, but he so stubbornly scolds you saying that the moment you lower your guard they’re there. He’s here so you can lower it, if you were someone of royalty, he’d become the very castle walls that protect you. You don’t need to fear, he’s here.

He’s a 3/10 on the danger scale, the only thing he’d be is suffocating by how much he hovers over you. He doesn’t mean to, want to, or plans to hurt you. Any and everything he does is for your safety (or so he believes). If he ever believed that your reckless behavior posed a threat, he would probably keep you locked in a room or chained. He constantly reminds you, “it’s for your safety, please understand”. So he gets some points because he can be unpredictable, but the bottom line is he does it out of love and the need to protect. Not as a selfish desire, yet. He’s a rope on the rope-chain-saw scale because he’s not one to take away restrictions and make you feel like you have to earn them. He’d only ever resort to those methods if he felt like you were a danger to yourself, because of this you could probably get the drop on Silver but his dad and future king are right there ready to alert him. You managed to get Silver out of the room while you plan your escape through the window, but there Lilia is, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’d be hurting Silver’s feelings after he went through the trouble of caring for you. Not to mention, you wouldn’t get that far.” Over time, he would start to be more alert and you won’t be able to get the drop on him, sure his a bit of an air-head but you can’t fool him twice. In the end, your safety and protection matter the most and I see Silver being the person who starts to see what Lilia means. You’re safer tucked away in a tower than so be it. If you must suffer the same fate he does and sleep, so be it. It was never about keeping you, it was about protecting you.

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