A Cat in the Kitchen
Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil)
In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!
Ready for a short supplementary cooking class?🌟 A day in the life of Prefect Gordon and his familiar Grim, told in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After all, food is tastier when it's shared with friends and family~
Imagine this…
Gordon Ramsay stirred before the rats and the ghosts of Ramshackle dorm did. He was up by 5 am most days, first exercising and then rustling around in the kitchen fighting the gas stove to light (and stay that way!) and taking inventory of the dwindling ingredients in the pantry. At 7 am, the delicious smells would start up, rousing his housemates from their slumber.
This was the magic of a human incapable of spellcasting or sorcery.
"Mm... You're up super early again," Grim muttered from the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, still struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep that clung to him. "I dunno how you do it."
"Not so hard once you've got the hang of it," he grunted in response. Gordon wiped his hands off on a dish towel before sliding a plate toward Grim. "Eat up now, we don't have much time before classes start."
"I dunno, I'm not too hungry."
"You? Not hungry?" Gordon's brows raised. "That's new. You feeling under the weather?"
Grim leapt, looking as though he had been caught with his entire body stuffed into a cookie jar. "N-No, I'm not! Yup, there's my hunger comin' back to me!"
He hurriedly yoinked a tuna sandwich and chowed down.
"See?! Ah'm jus' fine," Grim insisted, cheeks stuffed.
"Hmm, alright." Gordon tucked into a small bowl of oatmeal--prepared with baked bananas, almond milk, and dried cranberries.
"You got class today too or what?"
"Yup. Ashengrotto and the smaller Shroud this time."
“Think they’ll drive ya mad like the rest of them did?”
“I’ll hold my tongue until I’ve seen how they are in the kitchen for myself.”
“Keh, you’re no fun.”
The beast’s ears flattened. The blue fire that burned so brightly seemed to dim. Something weighed on his mind—of that, Gordon was certain.
“That means you'll abandon me before lunchtime again..." Between chews, Grim complained, "How come I gotta be just a student and you get to be a teacher too? The great Grim-sama oughta be showin' these newbies a thing or two!"
"I only teach what I know. I'm still a student in some ways, learning new things about food every day." Gordon shrugged, giving his friend a rough ruffle on the head. "You can be a teacher when you've mastered everything there is to master--neither of us is quite there yet."
"Why can't it be? I wanna fast forward to the part where I become an archmage already!!"
"Don't be impatient about making progress. I’ve made hundreds of dumplings in a day and still came nowhere near the level of perfection of a dim sum master.“
“Tsk, that sucks. Didja at least get to eat the bad dumplings?”
“It was all I had that day. They weren’t fit to serve to customers.” Gordon shook his head. “My point is, you’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."
He spooned up the remainder of his oatmeal, then deposited his dirty bowl and spoon in the sink. Gordon plucked up Grim, who still had a mouth full of tuna, and tucked him under one arm.
“M-Myah?!“
“Right then, let’s head out. Brisk morning jog to wake up the senses—it’s a brand new day!”
“Lemme finish my breakfast first, sheesh!!”
Three classes before lunch, and they all went about as well as Gordon had expected them to. (That was to say, not well at all.)
During first period Alchemy, Grim had earned the ire of Crewel by disregarding the potion recipe. In spite of Gordon's reminders and warnings, Grim had taken one too many missteps. The wrong ingredient, the incorrect amount, the temperature too low or too high, the stirring too much or not enough.
He was then caught catnapping during Magic History and extensively told off by both Trein and Lucius. (The meowing had gotten very intense.) Gordon had apologized profusely in Grim's place.
Flying had not fared any better--Grim struggled to concentrate, his unsteady magic causing his broom to wildly buck, attempting to chuck him off. Gordon had to stop his rep of 100 push-ups to fetch his friend out from a shrub. Twigs poked at him, leaves caught in his fur.
By the time they were dismissed back to the locker rooms, Grim had melted into a furry puddle on Gordon's shoulder. "Maaan, I'm beat!! That was rough!"
"Rougher than usual." Gordon crunched on an apple. He had taken to the habit of eating small platters or snacks throughout the day over whole meals—it was more efficient for his lifestyle. “Something you want to tell me, or…?”
“N-Nothing’s up!” Grim snapped. "Quit worryin' about me. It's the boss's job to do that for their minion."
The chef rolled his eyes as he set Grim down on the floor beside him. He handed off a boxed lunch wrapped in a checkered cloth. "I'm off to teach. You'll be fine on your own, right? Find Trappola and Spade, settle down with your food, and don't cause trouble."
"I got it already!" Grim huffed. "Catch ya after...?"
"Always." His smile was strained, a bit tired but true. "Maybe I'll bring back some disastrous stories to share with you over dinner."
One last pat on the head, and then he was gone. Hustling down the hall, the white of his pristine chef’s jacket vanishing behind a corner.
Grim managed the rest of the hike to the cafeteria, balancing his lunch in his paws. He squeezed past the legs of various mob students, emerging safely on the other side. They rushed to line up for trays of food.
Suckers, Grim thought, paying in cash for food. Luckily for me, I’ve got something way better than whatever they’re serving.
“Oiiii, Grim! Over here!!” someone called to him. He looked—and there they were, the duo of troublemakers, marked by a heart and a spade upon their faces.
“Ace! Deuce!”
He scampered over to the two Heartslabyul freshmen. They had already secured their lunches, as well as an open seat for him.
“Hard night? Looks like you didn't get much sleep," Deuce commented. A fluffy omelet wobbled atop a mountain of ketchup fried rice on his plate.
“He's right, you really do look awful," Ace added cheerily--blunt as ever. He had opted for a slice of some savory pie, vegetables and meat oozing out from a buttery crust.
"Sh-Shuddap! The great Grim-sama was up all night cookin' up something big!" He slammed a paw down on the table. "Just look at your sorry lunches. They can't compare to what I have!"
"Did Prefect make your meal again? You should try to not trouble him too much.”
"’S not like I tell’m to! He does it on his own!” Grim snickered to himself. "He takes all these cheap ingredients and throws'm together to make these tasty dishes."
"Well, don't keep us waiting in suspense," Ace groaned. "Show us what you have already."
“Let’s see, let’s see!”
Grim undid the fabric knot that held his lunch in a swathe. The checkered pattern peeled back and the lid, once removed, yielded a creamy, cheesy bed of tuna bake.
Gordon had taken his beloved canned tuna and fried it down into flakes. It was then combined with a special mixture of seasonings, pasta shells, melted cheeses, onions and broccoli, and topped with bread crumbs. After a generous bake in their ancient oven, the dish had come out golden brown and bubbling.
“Whoooa, smells delish!!” all three of them drooled.
“Lucky bastard,” Ace muttered. He quickly put on a cheeky grin, his spoon prepared. “Ne, ne~ Lemme try some, Grim!“
“D-Don’t be cheeky, Ace! You can’t demand to mooch off of someone else’s lunch,” Deuce scolded his peer. “… Even if it does look really good.”
“Paws off!!” Grim shielded the box with his body. “My minion made this for me and me only!”
“Tch.” Ace’s expression dropped. “You get to eat like a king for free while the rest of us have to shell out and make do with whatever’s on the school’s menu.”
“It’s not that bad,” Deuce pointed out. “It’d be nice to be able to eat for free but I’m happy with the quality of food we get for the price.”
“This comin’ from the guy who was running low on pocket money for a snack the other day?” he smirked.
“H-Hey, I need to budget, okay?!”
While the duo bickered, Grim had started to shove his face into the box (silverware was too difficult to maneuver) and wolf down his meal. Cheese sauce painted his fur, bits of broccoli and tuna dotting his jaw.
It was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could get on the earth.
He licked his lips appreciatively, mopping up what was left on his face. Not even a little could go to waste. Grim was determined.
As he went back in for another mouthful, he felt a phantom hand cascade across his head, his back. Advice from that morning filled his mind.
“You’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."
He shut his eyes, making a silent vow.
I’ll definitely… definitely pay ya back for all the hard work you’ve been puttin’ in too, partner.
Gordon bid farewell to the ghost chefs on his way out of the kitchen. The day’s leftovers and unused ingredients overflowed from his arms—a perk of the teaching gig, which helped to feed him and his feline roommate. He mentally parsed through what was available, dreaming up new dishes for the days to come.
There was a nice chunk of fresh tuna (Grim would love it) in his brown paper bag. Perhaps he’d sear it with a sesame crust, then drizzle the seafood in a yuzu-lime dressing to brighten it. He’s plate it with a microgreens salad. Chives, arugula, celery, radish, and ruby sorrel to encourage Grim to eat a variety of vegetables.
He made his way out of the school building and down the long, winding path to Ramshackle dorm. The sun was still out, warming the worn Prefect.
On the front porch, he rustled around in his pants for the keys. When he finally fished it out and inserted the teeth into the lock, Gordon swore he heard a series of suppressed giggles from beyond the door.
Odd.
The door swung open, and he was immediately accosted.
"Welcome baaack," the Ramshackle Ghosts chirped. One ushered him in from behind, another too his groceries off of his hands, and a third tugged him along by the arm.
"Come this way! Grimmy's got a treat for ya!"
"He's been working hard on it the second he got back from his last class."
"Oooh, you're gonna LOVE it!"
"What about dinner?" Gordon protested, watching his beloved ingredients sail off.
He was thrusted into their dingy kitchen--which doubled as the dining room, thanks to the table and chairs set up in one cobwebbed corner. The same old Ramshackle he woke up to every day. Rusty knobs and hinges, chipped cupboards, electricity and running water that blinked in and out.
But there, set on a table with uneven legs and splintered wood, was something extraordinary.
It was a stout cake, iced in light blue with a layer of dripping white and several lit candles stuck into the top. Black frosting formed the vague shape of a fish, TUNA piped over it in white. A single lollipop--pale blue, and in the shape of a paw--casually rested against the cake, as if it had been tossed on top for an extra flair.
A furry mass tackled and hugged Gordon's leg.
"Grim?!"
He was suited up in his own little chef's uniform. It was deep gray, verging on black, his apron tied with a striped-purple ribbon. A tiny toque--a chef's hat-- sat between his ears, a bandage over the bridge of his nose. A smear of white icing decorated his left cheek, and he carried with him a telltale piping bag squeezed thin.
Gordon blinked. "You did this?"
"Nyahahah! Were you surprised?"
"You told me you couldn't cook to save your life."
"He can't," a ghost piped up as he deposited the groceries onto a counter. "He's worse than I was when I was alive!"
"That's why Grimmy's been getting up in the dead of night lately. Been, what? Gotta be a few weeks now."
"He's been practicing his baking and then cleaning up the traces of his crime before you get up."
"What..."
"I wanted to pay ya back, yanno! For all the cookin' and cleanin' and whatever," Grim mumbled shyly, kicking at the ground. "So I figured I'd treat ya for once! I was thinking of a sticky toffee pudding at first since that's your favorite, but... it gets so sticky, it was hard to work with!"
He patted his stomach. "I couldn't put my stuff in the trash can or else you'd notice, so I had to eat up all my mistakes too! It was a lotta effort and way harder than it looked, so you'd better be grateful!!”
Grim looked away, rubbing at his bandage.
“… It helped me better understand and appreciate all the things you do on the daily.”
It clicked.
Everything suddenly made sense. Grim's tiredness, lack of focus, decreased appetite, defensiveness—it was all for this very moment.
"... I see." Gordon bent down, a smile taking shape on his mouth. A steady kindling in his chest. “This is your way of saying ‘thank you’.”
“M-Maybe! An archmage has gotta take good care of his minion,” Grim muttered.
The prefect laughed softly. “And you’re doing a great job at it. Hang tight, I'll get the stove going and whip us up some seared tuna to go with the cake."
“Myah?! Y-You’ve got tuna? Like, the real stuff?!” Grim’s eyes were wide and sparkling. A line of drool ran down his chin. "Fancy tuna...!!"
"Yeah. We can plate some for the ghosts too--so they can join us for a meal in spirit." Gordon nodded at their other roommates. Their pale faces brightened with excitement.
"Can we really?"
"It's been so long since I was last invited to a celebration like this!!"
"Oh, but we can't eat... Ghosts don't have digestive systems. The tune would pass right through us."
"... Grim, you have eat their shares. More importantly, it's being together for the occasion that matters, right?"
"Whoo-hoo!! You're the best minion an archmage could ask for!!" Grim cheered, leaping into the air, furry fist pumping.
“Let's get this dinner party started…!”
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The First Fairy Tale
ahdbalidbaidf I'M SUCH A SUCKER FOR UNREQUITED KNIGHT X PRINCESS STUFF (even if it's not clear whether or not Lilia's crush persisted beyond childhood in canon) SO. I'M WRITING THIS… 😭This fic is purposefully ambiguous about the type of love Lilia feels in the end for Meleanor. It’s up to the reader to interpret it as they please.
This piece was inspired the story of Madame Red from Black Butler. You don't need to know either to enjoy, but if you do happen to know them then I think you'll appreciate it more. There’s also some references to a few Disney films besides Sleeping Beauty—can you find which ones? I also purposefully repeated some phrases and blended a few references together to give the fic a “dream-like”/deja vu feeling.
There was going to be a wedding scene opening with “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky” in reference to We Don’t Talk About Bruno, but I had to cut that since the fic was getting long. Even without that and some other cut scenes, I think this is the longest fic I’ve written before. It’s almost 8k words!!
... Do you remember? I told my first fairy tale to you, my most beloved.
***Spoilers for book 7 part 5 of the main story!***
Imagine this...
In a castle forgotten by time, a lone figure walked among the creeping thorns. The plants swallowed the grounds, yet he moved swiftly and stealthily, passing over briar as easily as water over stone. Not a single movement was wasted as he traversed the brambled floors.
His ponytail—black streaked with red—fell in his path, the slight whip of it the only trace of his presence. He had traded his battle armor of old for plainclothes long ago, but still hadn’t filled into them yet. To shed the life of a general for that of a civilian was no simple task.
The small, doughy creature pressed against his shoulder sleepily lifted its head. Upon the infant’s crown was a cap of shockingly silver hair, the same color as moonlight. The boy thrusted a pudgy hand into his cheek, delivering a soft pap to the hardened veteran.
“Tch…!” Lilia pulled away brusquely. “Troublesome little creature, aren’t you? Hold still. We’d have made it out of here by now if only you weren’t so…”
Weak, defenseless, frail, vulnerable.
An array of potential words rose to fill in the gap. He settled on the least abrasive one he could muster.
Something cute.
Children like cute, right…? Right.
“… squishy.”
The infant—no, Silver, he corrected himself—seemed curious about the response, staring up with sudden interest. Lilia’s skin prickled at the sensation. He averted his eyes to an interior that had seen better days.
Once a shining jewel to house the crown princess, Wild Rose Castle was abandoned now. The thorns had invaded, climbing the walls and digging themselves into every nook and crevice. Furniture and weapons devoured, flags and tapestries consumed, meeting a similar fate as the nation that had once proudly flew them.
Ruins entombing stolen time.
What had once been a palace teeming with history, with life, was left a barren wasteland. All that remained were shadows of the past which clung thickly to the thorns. One misstep, and they would cut into him, bringing both pain and searing hot memories.
Funny, that: how the natural forces were unrelenting and indiscriminate. Yet the trace of an enchantment in the air suggested otherwise, its telltale tingle palpable. He knew the bramble had come from magical means.
A fairy's spell lingered. Some bygone blessing or curse, told in the tattered remains of a hazy vision and a wish for more halcyon days. Parents wanting to spare their child from the horrors of war.
Lilia's grip on Silver subconsciously tightened.
What rotten luck. I return after all this time to pay my respects, only to find Wild Rose Castle in this sorry state. How the mighty fall.
Silver fidgeted in his arms, as if sensing that something was off. A bit of saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, a soft whine gurgling up.
“You’re fussing again already?” Lilia frowned. He awkwardly laid a hand on the infant’s back. Are all infants this incorrigible? "The journey will be a long one if you aren't able to settle."
The infant turned its head, his cheek fitting neatly into Lilia's palm. There was a coo, then a sigh of contentment.
Still shaking off the sleepiness.
"... You're so needy," Lilia grumbled, noting the drool wetting his skin. Silver blinked at him with large, iridescent orbs. "I don't understand. Do people actually find this endearing? To find such joy in raising their young is..."
He hesitated to finish his sentence.
What did a man like him have to say on the matter? Long-lived as he was, that kind of love was something he had ever experienced for himself.
A gentle, warm hand to guide him through the darkness. The love of a parent.
Yet here I am, a loveless fae robbing a baby from its cradle. Just as the humans believe we do.
What irony.
Sadness nipped at Lilia as his thoughts turned to Silver. If anything, the little one had more power to shape the world around it than he ever could.
It was for this sort of creature that the Dawn Knight made a prayer for the future. It was for this sort of creature that Baul's rigid heart shifted. It was for this sort of creature that she...!!
Lilia's fingers had clenched into a vice grip on Silver. The infant cried out, squirming uncomfortably in his new guardian's grasp.
"Shoot...!! Er... there, there. It will be alright."
He clumsily rocked the baby back and forth. It was too vigorous, for Silver bursted into tears. His wails echoed off the desolate walls of the castle, piercing loud in Lilia's ears.
The fae jerked back, holding Silver at a safe distance from him. His grasp, precarious.
This is proving to be much more challenging than I initially thought... H-How do I silence it?!
Lilia glanced around helplessly at his surroundings. Everything was encased in a cage of thorns: antiques, drapes, even the axes mounted for decoration—to liven up the room. They were impossible for him to reach, else he could swing them around to amuse the boy.
Pieces of the past far out of his reach.
It’s not an option. A human babe is not like a fae babe. Lilia’s head swarmed with stress, Silver’s sobs only multiplying his worries. What do I do? What… would she do?
Meleanor…
The name of his princess emerged. Along with it, a scene blossoming in sepia shades.
Her, in a regal black gown and dripping in green gemstones and finery. Him, in a general's armor. A princess and her knight, straight out of a fairy tale.
She was humming while caressing a large egg, a marbled violet flecked with green, dark webbing laced the shell. It conformed perfectly to her chest, pulsating with a strange warmth as she ran taloned fingers over it. Another role she had adopted: mother.
A low chuckle rose from the back of her throat. "Fufufu Look, Malleus. Our dear Lilia has taken the time out of his busy schedule to come pay us a visit."
"It's been quite some time since I last heard you giggle like a schoolgirl. Nice to know that you remain in good spirits." He arched an eyebrow. "... But since when did you decide to name the child? I thought the medical mages hadn't even determined a gender for your heir yet."
"Oh, some time ago," she replied flippantly. Meleanor was always like a storm, unpredictable and acting on her own whims. "I don't need anyone to tell me what my child will be. I already know... my Malleus will grow up to be an upstanding, beautiful man just like my Raverne."
She had a dreamy, faraway look on her face. A slight blush to her high cheeks, a shine to her eyes, a kind smile at her lips. Completely unlike her, the tomboy who snuck out of the castle unsupervised and caused trouble for all the servants.
So utterly smitten.
For that moment and that moment alone, Lilia would have believed her a patient princess awaiting a knight in shining armor's rescue. Not him, but her beloved.
Raverne.
He had to bite back a terse laugh, mask it with a joke. "Your Raverne? Hold on now, you've got to share him with the rest of us. We'd simply crumble without his wisdom."
"I don't intend to share what's rightfully mine.” A teasing smirk he knew well had found its way onto her pert mouth again. “I'm a very possessive woman.”
"As I’m well aware. Alas, I serve such a cruel mistress of evil.”
She chuckled, resting a hand on her egg. "... When Raverne returns, we shall arrange for tea. The two of you can regale me with the stories of your journeys. It gets to be so dull trapped in these castle walls. Oh, and of course, Malleus will be joining us. He has yet to experience our cozy little get-togethers.”
Their group. Their trio. The three of them. And now a new member. An expansion of the family unit—no, rather, the realization that something didn’t belong among them.
His heartbeat quickened.
"There you go again, making rash requests of me. You really ought to be more considerate of others. I came all this way out of the goodness of my heart, only for you to bark more orders at me. Don't I get to take a break?"
"I am being considerate," she insisted. "I'm considering Malleus. He is invited. You cannot uninvite him."
"That's not the point. Agh, what am I going to do with you?" Lilia ran a hand through his hair. The frustration was familiar—but so was the fondness that chased it.
“My, my. Such insolence. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a long, looong time. You should be less stubborn and more kind to your princess,” she purred, her words touched with dry sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, Malleus?”
“I’m too kind to you. Too patient as well,” Lilia sighed. “… It’s you who is headstrong.”
“I must be. I have a country and now a family behind me. A scorned mother’s rage is insurmountable, you know.”
He should have said something back. Played into their usual banter. But he didn’t—couldn’t bring himself to. Lilia looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.
“Oh? What nerve you have to avoid the gaze of your princess.” She dropped her playful tone. “Something weighs heavy on your mind.”
“… I can never hide anything from you, can I?”
“You will inform me at once.”
“So you can obliterate what ails me?”
“So that I may put you at ease." She lifted a hand, gesturing toward him. "That is the duty of a queen to her people… and, more importantly, of a friend to another."
Friend.
It stung right down to his bones, hurting more than a blast of righteous lightning. A reminder of what he was: a footnote, a supporting cast member in her grand story. Without that, he was nothing.
An outcast.
His stomach clenched. He forced down a bitter pill and spoke.
"I was just wondering what it must feel like to be in your position, Meleanor-sama," Lilia whispered. "Mother to a nation, and to a child. To wholly devote oneself to the service of others... I will never know what that is like."
At this, she laughed darkly. "I am strong. I have to be, because I have people to protect. You have that strength as well. You wouldn't be able to serve as one of my generals without it. There are just some things in this world worth risking your life for, hmm?"
"I don't understand. My loyalty will always lie with you, with Briar Country... but for a child, I cannot...!!" Lilia stopped himself, reining his emotions back to calm. "I've never known how that kind of love feels. I'm not capable of it."
Meleanor narrowed her eyes as she listened to his woes. Unwise men would think her contemplative. He knew better—she was scheming.
"... Let me tell you a secret, Lilia," she said at last. "A dragon's egg needs its parents' love to hatch. However, true love is a special spell. It's more powerful than any magic, and able to be cast by anyone. If you are able to protect me, then that alone is proof enough that you are capable of 'true love'."
"You make it sound so simple, but is it really like that? The children of man say that fae cannot tell an untruth, yet you so expertly reassure me with lies."
"You're questioning me? Laughable. I am a woman of my honor, unlike you with all your tall tales."
"They're not tall tales. They're real stories of the danger I was in. Danger that, mind you, I got in half the time on behalf of your demands."
"Is that so?" Meleanor had smiled at him then, her teeth gleaming in the dim candlelight. Long lashes fluttering against the emeralds of her eyes. "Then you wouldn't mind sharing a story or two with Malleus."
Lilia bristled at the thought, an old wound reopened. There was a burst of relief that accompanied the dull pain.
I can't sing her lullabies. I don't have her strength either. No partner to speak of, no family to look to. What I do have is...
He pressed Silver into him, keeping a hand rested reassuringly on the infant's upper back. Muffled cries and a warm wetness pooled on Lilia's shoulder. His steps slowed, coming to a steady pace.
The first words were the most difficult to get out.
"... Once upon a time, there was a princess living in this castle." His voice was slow and deep and sorrowful. Not a song, but a longing croon for days he could never return to.
They entered a corridor lined with paintings. The sound of Silver's sobbing funneled into the passage, a greeting to the dour faces of important officials portrayed in each frame. Horned, with raven hair and reptilian eyes, obsidian scales dotting their skin, milky and smooth as wax.
Lilia lowered his head to one as they passed--a woman upon a throne, scepter in hand, her pointed features dappled by moonlight.
"She was many things. Selfish, impetuous, and stubborn… but also brave, strong, and beautiful."
So beautiful.
That had been his first impression of her. A single pale rose amid a garden of thorns.
She was tiny in those days, still trotting about in small, polished heels that clicked with each step, her black dress swishing about. A scaled tail—fluffy at the end--poked out from under there, proof of dragonic heritage. Her long hair was slicked back, proudly displaying a pair of horns and the scales that crowned her forehead.
When she wailed, the skies turned stormy. When she beamed, the sun came out. Her expressions so lively as she spun around in her skirts, the fabric unfurling like the petals of a blossoming flower.
A princess both adored and feared by her people.
"She befriended an unruly ragamuffin.” Lilia's lips quirked, unable to fight them from tugging up. “He was without loved ones, so the princess extended a hand to him."
Lilia had stolen glances at her when he was convinced she was distracted. During royal processions, tending to the horses, when they crossed paths in the halls.
He never let himself stare for too long. To do so was nearly a death sentence. The guards would be upon him in an instant—or worse, she would.
But without doubt, she did.
She would look back, letting a telltale grin take shape when their gazes met.
Him, the nobody picked up by the royal family on a whim. A hopeless squire boy, a knight-in-training, a ward.
Him.
She noticed him.
Picking up her skirts, she'd made a beeline over. Grinning like a gremlin, she would inevitably set a tragedy into motion.
"Lilia, I'm sick of studying! Let's play instead."
"What? I don't want to. Besides, I have training to tend to."
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. That's an order from your princess, so you can't refuse!"
“And that's the way the story always goes, a princess and her knight." He passed a glance at Silver. The infant's crying had quieted, and he returned the look, eyes wet with wonder.
Lilia sighed. "... I guess you wouldn't know that, would you? Well, it’s not as though she were your average girl.
"A wicked princess, that’s what she was. There was not a day when she wasn't making mischief and pulling the knight into it with her."
She had had many games, not all of them clearly defined or with rules. Sometimes she changed them on the fly. Sometimes she played without guidelines at all.
Pretend escalated into full-scale magical duels. Scavenger hunts spanned the entire castle grounds. They’d race to see who could relieve the gallery of the most apples in the least amount of time, dig through the treasury for the biggest gems.
On particularly lazy days, a roll across the lawn was enough to amuse them. Petals were plucked, sugary honeysuckle trapped between their teeth.
"You have something stuck in your hair," she'd tease him, picking loose petals out. "Let me get that for you, my most loyal retainer."
He'd hold still, as commanded, let her take as long as she wanted tidying him up.
When the guards combed the garden for them, they’d squish into shrubbery and lay low until the coast was clear. Sometimes their lids would grow heavy and collapse—and when they roused, stars had spilled into the sky, and they’d count constellations until the morning.
Starlight dappling her noble face, her fiery spirit ablaze.
How many diplomatic meetings had they crashed? How many ancient items had they broken? How many headaches had they collectively caused?
Lilia chuckled faintly.
… Those were the good old days.
He continued down the path laid before him, the paintings seemingly chugging along in slow succession. Both people and time passing him by.
"There was another as well. A clever, kind-hearted duke who also warmed up to the knight. The three of them formed a most formidable group.”
“Are you two at it again? You never stop, do you?”
The voice came from the top of the stairwell.
"Raverne. So good of you to join us," Meleanor said breathlessly—she had been running about. She slicked back a strand of glossy raven hair and beamed toothily. It wasn't the smile of a princess, but of a dragon yet to be tamed.
He quirked a brow. "Am I joining you? Whoever said that?"
“If you’re jealous, no need to play coy," she teased as the Dragon Duke descended the stairs. "You’re welcome to join us anytime.”
"The princess has already roped me into her antics," Lilia sighed. "Why not make it a party of three? We can all get scolded together later. Misery loves company."
"A tempting offer." Raverne lazily tilted his head to one side. He always had a languid way of moving, like a curtain of night veiling the day. "I think you've got me convinced."
"Why did you agree when Lilia asked and not when your princess did?" Meleanor demanded, stomping a foot.
Raverne shrugged. Effortless, defiant. "Perhaps you're not as charming as you think you are."
Any other person would have faced her wrath. Anyone else would have been forced to tango with lightning.
Not Raverne. He was too hard to stay mad at, and too easy to forgive. His presence alone smoothed over tensions, settled storms.
“He’s a dreamer,” the dusty old court advisors would remark with disdain.
“He’s a dreamer,” Lilia would say, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“He’s a dreamer,” Meleanor would sigh, the stars in her eyes.
Now, she just smirked at him. "I'll have to demonstrate to you just how charming I can be."
She had looked at Raverne differently in that instant. Her eyes did not glint at the sight of new prey to toy with, but with keen interest. There was something else too, an undercurrent of some tender feeling Lilia couldn't quite place.
Meleanor had never looked at Lilia like that.
Only Raverne.
He shook his head.
I should have known then... I was fighting a losing battle.
"With time, they grew ever closer. Unexpected feelings arose. The knight came to love the princess.” Lilia's feet came down upon the bramble that knitted over the floor. He could not feel it through his boots, but it felt as though he was still being pierced in the chest.
Silver blinked as Lilia plodded along. The gentle rise and fall drying his tears.
It had been a heady spring day, another escapade dodging servants and sneaking beyond the gardens. The flowers had blossomed, the same as the princess. She had grown lovelier by the day, her spitfire attitude untempered.
His flower of evil.
They were crossing a brook then, Meleanor lifting up her skirts to float to the other side, Lilia hopping on rocks to cross. He could have flown with her if he tried, but he was feeling cocky, had wanted to shown off the fruits of his training.
One misstep, and Lilia went flying forward, crashing into her. Their bodies collapsed against one another's as they roll, roll, rolled into a field, blades of grass and stray petals collecting on them. When they at last came to a stop, they laid on their lacks and laughed until their lungs hurt.
Lilia had stared at her again. Her smile, a powerful spell. She caught him in the act, demanded what he was looking at.
"You have something stuck in your hair," Lilia told her as they sat up. "Let me get that for you, my most benevolent princess."
"Stop stealing my lines," she giggled back.
Only if you stop stealing my heart first, he thought. But Meleanor was selfish, and once she had claimed something as her own, she refused to return her new treasure.
Lilia reached--and produced a single white daisy between his fingers. Kneeling, he offered the token to her. "Here. For you."
"Prankster. You planted that so you could appear impressive," Meleanor chuckled, accepting it. "... However, the gesture is sweet, so I thank you for it."
She held the flower to her nose and inhaled its scent. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips brushing the velvet-soft petals of the daisy. Wind weaving its hands through jet back hair, spots of sunshine dancing across her.
The entire universe was conspiring against him, it seemed.
He remained kneeling, remembering his place. Him, the knight. Her, the princess. But if that was the case, then weren't they perfectly suited for a fairy tale?
Lilia steeled his courage and let the words he had been holding in all that time loose. "M-Meleanor-sama! I... I like you. Not just as a friend. More than that. P-Please accept my feelings!"
Rare surprise dashed her beauty. A crack of light, dawn chasing away the darkness. “Lilia...?"
Here was his weakness, more terrifying than any enemy their country had faced. One young lady, and he folded like a paper crane. His heart in her hands.
And she squeezed.
"I'm not sure if I enjoy this joke. What we had before... I liked that."
More delicate than he had ever heard her speak. Like she was afraid of breaking this.
"This isn't a joke. I'm... I'm serious about you! Please answer me!!" he pleaded. "Will you be mine?"
At once, her face fell. The daisy, and his heart, slipped from her grasp.
"Oh, Lilia," she whispered, a hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm sorry. So, so, sorry."
A resounding rejection, chased by a dreadful loneliness. It had been nothing like the storybooks had promised. Lilia almost wanted to weep at his juvenile naivete.
He hushed, the awareness of it all consuming him.
So this is love.
Love, and the lack of it. How it hurt him so, as it had from had the start. He was always alone, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with.
Was that really love then?
The thought struck him like a fist to the gut.
I thought I loved you. But maybe that wasn’t true love. Maybe I was desperate to be loved back. To have someone to call my own, when I had no one at all before. Maybe I clung to the first person that showed the slightest bit of attention to me.
Even so, my heart ached for you. Longed for you. Believed it was meant to be. Dreamt of you. I wanted to give you my everything.
Lilia tucked the infant’s cheek to his chest. Felt the child’s warmth, his physical presence. The steady drum of something buried deep in him.
There was a wobbly yawn in the silence. Silver, tuckered out from crying, awaited the next part of the story.
The breath Lilia held released. The words, painful as they dropped from his lips.
“But she had eyes for another: the duke. The knight watched as his two best friends fell in love.” Lilia’s nails dug into the cloth that swaddled Silver. “The princess and the duke were happy, so the knight, too, was happy. And why wouldn’t he be? The woman he loved the most was going to marry the man he loved the most. It was a happy ending for the trio."
He had been summoned by the princess that fateful day. Returning triumphant from the battlefield, adrenaline running high, he hadn’t even bothered to make himself presentable first. His hair was a mess, his armor stained with the remains of slain foes.
She waited for him beyond the door.
“Melea… Oh.”
His princess was seated beside Raverne. She clung to his arm like a vine on a trellis, beaming like the moon on a cloudless night. Meleanor was drunk on the Dragon Duke.
He had never seen her so happy.
“Lilia! You’re here at last,” she called, waving him over. “Just in time.”
He glanced from her to Raverne. “In time for what?”
“For our exciting announcement.” Meleanor wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she gazed adoringly at the man beside her. Somewhat shy. “Would you like to tell him? Or should I? Ooh, this is quite exciting."
Raverne smiled softly—but Lilia could sense the slight discomfort in his eyes, the way they darted to his. Guilty acknowledgement, an awareness of betrayal.
I'm sorry, he seemed to say.
Lilia’s blood ran cold.
“I think you ought to tell him,” Raverne suggested. His voice was gentle, but they felt like a slash to the throat, cutting deep.
Then Meleanor announced it, unable to contain the secret any longer. "We're getting married!!"
She showed her left hand. The flash of the silver band upon her fourth finger was unmistakable. A ring, binding them with a promise.
Together forever, those two.
Lilia’s world violently tilted. The castle crumbling, the sky collapsing around him. Yet he, the trained soldier, dug his feet in and stood his ground.
You've been bested. Admit it. Admit defeat...!!
He said the only word he could.
"Congratulations."
Lilia could make out the light at the other end of the tunnel now. The world beyond the walls and castle corridors. He knew the end of the story was fast approaching, and how it would sap his strength, his will to fight on.
Still, he continued.
“The new couple were soon expecting a baby. Someone much like yourself.” Lilia prodded at Silver’s flabby chin. “You’ll be graced with his presence soon enough. The princess’s legacy, Malleus Draconia… My responsibility these past 160 years.”
Silver gurgled.
“So enthusiastic. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Lilia softly chided. “We fae and humans…”
… can never hope to understand each other.
"We fae and humans can understand each other," Raverne would have countered him. "We can make it a reality."
Tiny hands wrapped around Lilia’s finger. His touch, fragile.
You can afford to be hopeful. It drew a bitter chuckle from his handler. Brief reprieve before the plummet into something deeper and darker than the night that guarded them.
“… In a period of great unrest, the duke went missing. The princess was beside herself with worry—yet she remained stalwart for her people, and for their child. She wished every night for her husband to come home safely.”
They had magical might, but the humans had numbers. Each battle, an exchange of hard blows, casualties high on both sides. Reports rolled in as frequently as bodies did.
The people grew concerned, and so she had donned her mask to reassure them. Stoney faced and strong atop her tower.
“We will recover the missing couriers. We will secure our land and resources. We will beat back the outsiders. Briar Country will rise victorious in the war. Man will rue the day they came upon our shores. This, I swear to you as your princess!!”
Uproarious cheering and applause for her, their sovereign. A goddess of victory.
But he, watching from the shadows, knew better than that. All those years roughhousing with her, and he knew.
The face she showed the public and the face she made in private were two sides of the same card. Princess, mother, wife, friend. So many roles, all of them she played with such strength.
Meleanor only slipped when she thought no eyes were on her. When the servants had all retired for the night, and the moon and its stars came out.
Pressing his back to the wall, Lilia shielded his candle’s small circle of light from view. The hallway was drenched in darkness again.
A few paces away, her chambers to which she retreated every evening with her egg. With her dear little Malleus.
He listened.
Soft whimpers sounded from the abyss. Sounds and sights she would not dare show her people.
A leader such as she could not afford to be weak. The same leader who clutched her child to her and furiously prayed for a happy ending.
“Raverne, where are you? Come home… Come home, you idiotic, idealistic man!!”
CRASH!! BANG!! BOOM!!
Lightning lit up the sky. Lilia's flame trembled before righting itself.
Her voice dropped to a devious coo. "... I'm sorry, Malleus. Did that scare you? There, there. It's alright, your mother is here. Your father will be too... and when he does, I shall give him an earful for being away for so long!!"
He listened, for he was the only one who could. He listened until his lids began to droops. He listened until he had to tear himself away.
Before he knocked upon her door. Before he could tell her he was here, to please let him in. Before he could confess, “I miss him too.”
Hold her. Cry with her. Dream with her.
Ask for Raverne back.
“I will never wish for anything more than this. Please. Please…!!”
He had listened then, but no one had listened to him in return. Not even the stars.
Cruel celestial beings, he cursed—if they would not grant his wish, then he would take matters into his own hands.
Raverne…!!
Lilia swallowed thickly. His footfalls had grown heavy, as if weighed down by cinder blocks.
Silver sleepily gummed his finger. Oblivious as to what was to come.
“The conflict escalated.”
It had all happened so fast. Flying by, a blur. Time was not a concern to most fae—a year was barely the blink of an eye. Everything blending together into an indiscernible mush, taken down with ease.
But war never became more palatable. He had simply trained to become numb to it all. The strong smell of iron, the corpses piled high. It was sensory overload, the taste of too many things at once.
A crimson-eyed demon stood at the boundary of a burning village. Inhaled the fumes, smoke and flesh wrapped in fire. Witnessed the leaping flames stretching to the sky.
Who had lived here? Who had died here? Lilia thought of neither.
Had to, or he would fall to his knees and wail.
He held a small cloth doll, long black hair and red dress. Somehow it had survived the carnage. The lone survivor of a massacre. The rest had been slaughtered or evacuated from the area.
Abandoned, just as he had been.
His gaze lidded, fingers closing around the doll. "… As if it were a day. Everywhere I go, it will be in a blink of an eye. Far Cry Cradle.”
Memories arose, pulled by the strings of magic. They exploded across his vision like fireworks. Tinted green and blue and pink.
There was a ghostly child walking among the ruins, smiling as they clung to their mother, doll in their other hand. Daily life making the rounds in the village, helping with chores and playing games. Story events on fast forward.
Then came the knights stomping in their silver suits, masked fae cloaked in black. Buildings caving in, bodies falling, the clang of weapons colliding.
Screams.
Red, red, so much red.
The child horrified, dropping the doll. Staggering steps backward.
He barely cast an eye at them. Surveying the scene straight out of a hellish dream, he sought out a familiar shadow. Had he walked among them, seen the same things he had?
To no avail.
Lilia blinked, and it was the end.
He had not treaded along this path.
“… Damn it, Raverne.” He gripped the doll harder—as if to squeeze out its secrets. Making me hunt you down like this...
“General Vanrouge.”
Lilia did not turn. “Baul.”
“Sir.” He saluted to his superior. “The troops are rested. We are prepared for the final march to the Eastern Fortress.”
“… Yes, I understand. Let’s move out.”
He let the doll fall to the ground. His hands now freed, he pulled his hood up.
“General?” Baul called tentatively.
“The weather is chilly today, don’t you think?” The question, dismissive. Lilia slipped his mask back on—a beastly bat, glaring, teeth protruding.
His tears hidden from view.
Baul nodded. “… Yes, it is. I will remind the men to bundle up, sir.”
He looked away. “Good.”
Lilia firmly set his jaw. “War came knocking at their door, claiming many lives… and threatening to take the princess and her child too.”
There was something automatically off about the fortress when they slipped in. The infiltration too smooth, the corridors too quiet.
Combing the building yielded few results. There was no Raverne, no Dawn Knight. Only cowering staff and scattered humans in iron armor piloting sputtering metal monstrosities.
He cut them down the same as the rest. A mad boar, seeking a true challenge.
"Where are you?! Show yourself...!!" Lilia's demands were hollow in the empty hallways.
A demon snarling for sacrifice, the humans called him. A heartbroken dreamer, seeking the love that he had lost, his troops would whisper amongst themselves.
They found him at the end of a trail of carnage. Panting, sweating, hoarse. The lines between man and monster converged in Lilia Vanrouge.
Then the message was delivered, striking fear into the fearless fae.
"... What?"
The weapon in his hand faltered as realization ripped through him.
“Wild Rose Castle is under siege?!”
"She summoned her knight to her side.” Lilia’s voice quivered, growing small. You’re weak, he snarled at himself, so very, very weak.
Silver, too, seemed to sense the shift in him. He rubbed his cheek against the fae’s finger. Was he trying to comfort himself, or his newfound caretaker?
“The princess asked of him to take her child to safety somewhere far, far away. To forget her. It was her final selfish request for him.”
He had found her seated upon her throne, one arm curled around her precious egg, the other grasping her scepter. It was a sight so familiar, so safe, his chest lifted with relief. Lilia ran to her, calling her name.
"Meleanor-sama!!"
Her arm swept out in an arc, face twisted with fury. On command, a bolt of lightning crashed down in his path.
"Tch...!"
Tucking and rolling, Lilia darted off to the side, narrowly dodging the strike. Where he had once been was a massive scorch mark on the tiled floor.
“You’re LATE, Lilia!!” Meleanor roared. "What if something had happened to me or Malleus before you had arrived?!"
"Hah. As though you would allow that to happen," he scoffed. "You would kill the Silver Owls dead if I weren't here to stop you."
It was their usual game, a playful chase, the exchange of pokes and prods. Today, Meleanor had no such humor. Her expression turned from rage to one of eerie calm.
Lilia shivered.
"They've come for us," she whispered, hugging her egg tightly.
They had always known this day was a possibility. Now it was here, so palpable it was unreal.
From the bridge that ran to the castle came ugly chants twisted with hatred. Hot, oppressive, heavy. The sound like smoke snuffing out the daylight.
“Kill the witch!”
“Seize the castle!”
“Bring me the spoils!”
Horror raced through him.
“Let’s get you to safety, princess. Quickly, before they breach the drawbridge. My men can only hold them off for so long—”
She rose from her throne, descending from her dais. Her stride was not urgent, not eager to flee—the pace closer to the kind one might set for a garden stroll.
Meleanor faced her knight with a small smile. The same one she offered right before suggesting some sort of mischief.
“Lilia.”
“Princess…?”
“I refuse to run.” Her eyes flickered like green fire. “I will stand and fight.”
Panic pulsed in his ears.
“What?! Of all the foolish, hard-headed decisions you’ve made… This is absolutely the most foolish and the most hard-headed one!! I won’t let you go out there. I can’t. You’ll be…!”
A fist closed around his throat. The word died there, half-formed.
“What is it that you wish to say? That I will be hurt? Killed?” Meleanor challenged. So steadfast, so brazen. “You think so little of your princess.”
“This is NOT the time to argue the technicalities!! We need you safe and well, Meleanor-sama. Think of your people! Think of Raverne, your child...!"
Think of me.
She bared her teeth. “What is my power for, if not to protect those I love?”
Her gaze lowered to her egg, then to Lilia. “... You must flee to Black Scale Castle. They will not be able to follow you that deep into the mountain range.”
"I won’t abandon you. If you will stay, then let me fight alongside you as your sword and shield!"
"You have already done plenty for me. Do not mean to play the role of martyr too." Meleanor straightened, looking the part of a regal ruler. “You must go. I have guests to receive.”
"Argh, you stubborn princess!! How will you fight by yourself when you have your child to consider?"
"That," she laughed softly, "is a simple riddle."
His eyes sharpened with recognition of her next scheme. Meleanor wordlessly deposited the egg into Lilia’s arms. It was warm, humming from within the shell.
A life yet to be born, wishes yet to come true.
“I am entrusting you with Malleus,” she murmured sadly. “Please take care of him in his parents' absence."
“Don’t speak that way!!" Lilia snapped.
Don't speak as though we will never meet again, as though this is the final page of our story.
“In the first place, I could never… I can’t raise this child. I don’t know what it is like to love—not the way you and Raverne do. I’ve never had parents. I can’t be one, not when I don’t understand that kind of love!”
Meleanor’s face softened. “But you love me, don’t you? And you love Raverne too.”
He nodded. Slow, hesitant. “We were young. It was a long time ago,” Lilia mumbled.
“You love us,” she grinned, “so surely you are capable of loving our child, the product of our love—and Malleus will feel that. He will respond to you.”
“I’m not…”
“You are deserving of love, Lilia.” This, Meleanor spoke firmly. “Do not let yourself believe otherwise. I shall never forgive you if you do.”
The shouts were growing louder. The castle shuddered, stopped, and shuddered again. Doors being rammed at, forced open.
“Go,” Meleanor hisses. “This is an order from your princess. You cannot refuse.”
She had told that to him many times before. In dreams, in their games. Now, it hurt to hear more than any blow he had taken from battle.
Something in him gave, and instead of stepping away, he stepped forward. Inching closer to the woman out of his reach, but never touching her.
“I’m scared,” Lilia confessed, quiet as snowfall. “What if I lose you like we lost Raverne?”
Then I will be alone again.
“Be not afraid,” she reassured him. Meleanor did not meet him in the eyes.
“Do you promise we will meet again?” he pressed. The egg felt as molten as magma against his armor. “Do you swear?”
BAM!!
The grounds shook—the Silver Owls had successfully taken down a set of barricaded doors.
The cries had reached a fever pitch. Boots trampling upon the sacred grounds. Louder than ever.
Meleanor’s expression darkened, turning grave. It was the look of men at midnight, alone in the woods. Hollow, haunted, unsure of their fate.
No.
“No…!!”
He launched himself at his princess, a hand outstretched for hers. She made no effort to reach for his.
Did not have to.
Lilia fell short, his foot snagging on something. He instinctively twisted his body, shielding the egg in his arms from the floor. His gaze tore to his ankle, where bramble has sprouted up and tangled itself with him.
More thorns crept up around him, swallowing the ceiling, the walls. They latched onto his limbs, dragging him away, away from her. He grunted, struggling against them, against his fate.
Her doing, her magic.
"... Farewell, Lilia."
Tears prickled. His voice raised, pleading with her.
"Meleanor-sama, don't do this.”
She walked past him and ahead, forever out of his grasp.
"Farewell, Malleus."
He tried again, even knowing it was futile.
The bramble was weaving together, forming a tough wall between him and her.
"Meleanor-sama...!"
Through the last opening, a perfect circular window, she uttered her final words to him. That knowing, daring grin. Eyes beholding a gleam brighter than starlight.
"May the Night bless you."
And then she was lost to him forever.
"MELEANOR!!!"
Lilia laid a hand upon the ajar doors to the fallen castle. Fingers curled. At last, he had made it to the frame separating the inside from out.
“... That was the last time the princess was ever heard of. The end to her tragedy.”
He summoned his strength and broke free, entering the waiting night.
The moon, a spotlight for the two.
Silver bristled as he felt his first cool breeze. Still, he did not fully burrow into his blanket—for his glimpse of the stars stilled that instinct. That's right, Lilia thought, of course he would be enchanted. It's his first sky.
Many firsts.
"If you like that, you'll be excited to know that it's always changing. There are a number of new skies to see. It follows us wherever we go."
So we will never be alone.
The sky, so sprawling, so grand. So accustomed to everything and anything.
His small, lonely, insignificant existence was nothing compared to it.
Ah.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, landing on Silver's nose. The infant stilled, feeling the wetness upon his skin.
Lilia furiously wiped it away, then rubbed at his traitorous eyes. The sadness failed to recede, the memories welling. Promises, hopes, dreams dredged up. Yesterdays calling out to him.
"... You lied, Meleanor,” Lilia rasped into the night. “You told me I would be stuck with you for a long time. So why… Why did you have to leave us so soon?”
A thousand swords stabbed into his chest. The pain radiated outward, a bloody bloom.
"It’s not fair," he sobbed, hanging his head. "It’s not fair at all. Meleanor, Raverne… You’ve gone off together to a place I cannot reach, a place I cannot run to. You’ve left me behind. How am I meant to go on like this?”
I'm scared. I’m scared of the dawn and the tomorrows it will bring. Tomorrows without her and him in them. Tomorrows I must face alone.
More tears, plip, plip. A light drizzle upon Silver's face.
The infant stared up through aurora eyes. Not understanding, not knowing anything.
"How could I...”
Lilia’s voice caught on something sharp. He took a trembling gulp.
How could I learn to love you? When your kind, your very father, has taken nearly everything from me?
"... Hey, Silver."
The child cooed, as if in recognition of his own name. More likely, just responding to the sound of Lilia's voice.
Silver, the color of his hair. Silver, the shine of cloud linings. Silver, the start of something new.
"Tell me. What should I do?" Lilia's forehead and his touched.
Silver kicked his bendy little legs at the contact. Flailed his arms.
“Please guide me. I’m lost." He choked up. "I’m… so lost.”
Be the moonlight that guides me in the darkness. When all hope is lost and the stars have gone out, there will always be a silver light illuminating the path out of the black forest.
Show me the way, Silver.
“Show me if I can truly love you from the bottom of my heart.”
Lilia hugged the child to him. Felt his heartbeat, the same throbbing warmth that had radiated from Malleus’s egg.
After all that time alone amid the bramble… He was here. He was alive.
Up until her final moments, she had been thinking of them. Of this. The people she cared for, a baby not yet born.
The love he had let go, the love he had lost, the love he was he had to learn… It slipped away from him so easily, like grains of sand sifting between his fingers.
Lilia sighed with his entire body. The wind, drying his tears. He looked again at the child he had taken.
Silver giggled when he saw Lilia’s face. The boy’s eyes were clear. An unclouded, colorful aurora.
A weight in his chest lifted.
“… Did you enjoy that sad story?”
No answer, but a bop on his nose. Unintentional, he was sure.
Lilia rubbed at the place where he had been struck. There was no wound, no mark. Just a rapidly fading warmth where Silver's small fist had connected.
“… Silly thing,” he groused. In spite of himself, a stuttering chuckle rose from his throat. “If it will keep you from making needless noise, then I will tell you as many stories as you like. You need only promise to not laugh if I shed another tear.”
Silver squealed—close enough of a confirmation for him.
Lilia tried smiling. The corners of his mouth quiver before giving up.
Meleanor’s parting words floated to him. “May the Night bless you.” With that, it was the end of her tale.
The very same words uttered anew, a blessing for the boy once blonde. A fresh chance, the beginning of a new story.
Lilia looked to the horizon.
The first rays of sun were peering through the darkness. Gold streaking black in small slivers. Dawn had arrived.
A new chapter to their fairy tale.
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