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oldestenemy · 6 months

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“Graduation.” The wizard repeats the word blankly, staring at Headmaster Ambrose like he’s grown a second head. Honestly it would be less surprising if he had grown a second head.

“Yes, the faculty is all in agreement, you have more than surpassed the requi—”

“—Our graduation.” The wizard cuts over him, and now the effect is reversed, Merle Ambrose looks confused.

“I must ask that you hurry along to the cabinet of wonders,” He starts, as though they have not spoken at all. “Mr. Lincoln is waiting to prepare you for—”

“—No.” They cross their arms. They plant their feet. They stare their headmaster down with eyes that saw the fall of Azteca, the deaths of Malistaire and Morganthe. Warm brown flashing gold in a marriage of Myth and Astral magics. “It’s our graduation, right? Mine and all the other older students—all the others who have been here longer than I have.”

“Ah, I am afraid you misunderstand, their studies are—”

“—Are what, incomplete? What part of the requirements for graduation does not attending multiple years worth of classes fall under? Or is it that you only hand out diplomas to loyal war dogs?” The words tumble out before the wizard can stop them. And honestly? They cannot bring themself to regret it.

Silence.

Heavy and tense.

“I understand your nerves have been running high due to the ongoing disappearance of Mr. Grimwater,” Merle Ambrose sounds no different than he had before they spoke. He does not flinch. They wonder somewhere if he has trained the reactions out of himself. If he is concerned about pushing a student to anger, especially one like the wizard. Afraid of making another monster. He’s never reacted to their outbursts. Not the catatonia after Dragonspyre. Not the screaming after Azteca. Not the carefully constructed barbs they had flung at him after their final day on Khrysalis. “I shall consult with the rest of the faculty on the status of your classmates, and see what can be done.”

“I can do it.” They offer, perhaps too quickly. It’s habit. It’s safety. Send me on a quest. Get me out of this room. What can I do. How can I help. “I’m sorry.” The words are bitter and dark on their tongue. They don’t let it show.

“Very well. Consult with the other professors, and have them gather before Bartleby—I will meet them there.”

“Yes, sir.”

And they do.

One by one they make the rounds.

Dworgyn first as he’s furthest away.

Then working from Moolinda to the Elementals and eventually to Cyrus.

Everyone thus far has been in agreement.

Though they can still hear the curl of I would not expect you to advocate for Mr. Stormgate.

The wizard shakes their head, half a smile forming in spite of the barely contained fount of irritation still bubbling under the surface. The idea of graduating alone, of being even further removed from their peers-who-really-weren’t. No. No they wouldn’t go through with that.

When finally they make it back to Ambrose’s office, he is already gone.

But the office itself is packed.

“Wizard!” Penny, beaming and bright. “Have you heard the news? It seems it only just got passed around—”

“—Graduation.” They reply, happy for the fact that they do not have to be the one to break this. That nobody will have to know it was not supposed to be this way. “Through the wardrobe—cabinet—whatever.” They point to the Cabinet of Wonders in the corner, and watch as the Ravenwood upperclassmen—the Dragonspyre Academy Restoration Team—file their way through the doors.

“When you weren’t here, I was worried you’d been called away to some new problem.” Malorn says, watching with them as the others file through. “I wouldn’t put it past Headmaster Ambrose to think saving the world is more important than a silly little ceremony.”

“If that were the case, I might actually agree with him on something.”

“It’s weird,” It’s quiet, those words. “I’ve been teaching other students for—oh gods, how long has it even been now—years? I don’t know what my responsibilities are going to look like after—or—”

“—Malorn.” The wizard’s expression softens, “Breathe. I imagine you can discuss all that with Ambrose afterwards—or hey, don’t discuss it, go back to the Dragonspyre Academy and start planning a curriculum there.” It’s mostly a joke, maybe only half a joke with some of the talk the others have kept up lately. “If you really want to keep teaching.”

“Oh—Spiral no—I don’t think I could go straight into teaching anyone anything beyond—well—I dunno, Wraith I suppose now. I like teaching the younger kids, I like how excited they are to learn.” He pauses, looking back at the cabinet. “It’s not just that though, I don’t ever remember seeing a graduation happen here. I’ve lived in Wizard City my whole life—most of us have aside from Penny and Nolan—it’s just—weird.”

“First time for everything.” Is time the same in the Spiral? Has their body or their counterpart or whatever it is they can slip back into on the empty leeched out Earth graduated? Are they in college? Do they have a job?

Those thoughts make the wizard’s head ache, trying to think about Earth nowadays usually does.

“Yeah. Yeah…” Malorn says finally, giving them one last smile before stepping through.

And the wizard is alone in the Headmaster’s office.

Heart pounding for no good reason.

Who are you who are you who are you who are you.

It doesn’t matter.

Time is moving.

So are they.

~*~

The grounds of Ravenwood are bursting with guests and decoration. A small stage has been set up just before Bartleby, and one by one, by school, the students are called up.

Among the crowd of students there are hushed whispers.

Is that the Emperor of Mooshu?

What is the Headmistress from Pigswick doing here?

What’s with the bird?

The wizard genuinely tunes out a little, watches with ears ringing as their classmates walk across that little stage. Watches the Death students cross together, the void where Duncan should be heavy in the air. Like a poison. Like a fog.

They shake their head, look back into the crowd, faces from everywhere and nowhere. Zenzen catches their eye and if each of them looks away in the same moment? It is only because if they spend too long thinking about the other, the wall constructed against the grief of Azteca will crumble for them both.

They scan further, envoys from Celestia, Avalon, Zafaria—

—somewhere there is a little spark of hurt and worry for the absence of their comrades in arms on Khrysalis. But there is still so much to be done there in the name of keeping peace. Better Dyvim and Zaltanna stay where they are.

There is a set of eyes that amuses them in the fraught emotions of the rest.

Cuffed to not one but two—very disgruntled looking officers is Professor James Meowiarty.

Oh they would’ve loved to have been present for the conversation that happened at Scotland Yard to allow that.

Very suddenly they are the only one left.

It startles them, movements almost a stumble as they mount the steps up to the little stage.

Ambrose is talking, their ears are ringing again. Heroic spirit, shrewd mind, noble virtue—

They can barely hear him.

Even for you.

“My, my.” Professor Drake’s words break the sound of his brother’s reverberating in the Wizard’s skull. “Look at you, look how far you have come in all this time. You know well that I doubted the spark Headmaster Ambrose saw in you upon your arrival. That I did my best to dissuade you through hardship, impossibility, and playing to what I perceived as a lack of drive. I have never been more delighted to be proven wrong.”

Oh.

They are going to cry when this is done.

They’re not going to do it here. In front of so many people. But alone, somewhere safe, this is going to hang in their chest while they heave.

“What you have done for Ravenwood, for the Spiral, and beyond that—for my family, cannot be overstated.” Cyrus Drake is smiling, it is barely there, it could be mistaken for neutrality or perhaps a smirk if they did not know those expressions so well. “You are a remarkable wizard, and one I am tremendously proud of. Keep your mind open to all the wonders that Myth has to offer, and you will never lack new avenues of discovery.”

They want to hold onto those words forever. Not yet acknowledging the other meaning within just saying them, that from this moment there is no longer the thread of Professor and Student tying them to Cyrus Drake. And that almost aches in its own way. A loss of something familiar.

The wizard hasn’t looked away from him by the time Ambrose is talking again. It’s so hard to hear anything. Ears ringing, wind blowing cold and frigid—

Wind blowing?

Had it been windy?

They raise a hand to hold the graduation cap to their head—

And that is when things all come crashing down.

Of course.

Again.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizard101 fandom #wiz101 #wizard101 fanfiction #w101 #scion series is going great why do you ask #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #i have a writeblr for this but shh

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oldestenemy · 11 months

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if wizard101 let’s me save azteca i will actually fucking cry

#still tapping. less murder.#wizard101 #wizard101 spoilers #i guess???????#lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #also FUCK YEAH I FINALLY CAN TAKE MY BIRTHNAME OFF MY ORIGINAL YW #because lbr there is no way in HELL im ever deleting jenna nightshade #i’ve got way too many special spells and shit on them #and they’re the last wizard i’ve got who did the original wizard city quests #because i’ve had them since 2009

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oldestenemy · 7 months

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it’s coming out day!

the young wizard’s gender is so incredibly beyond comprehension.

#and so is mine #still tapping. less murder.#lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #the wizard’s gender is Savior Complex #it is Quest Marker #it is Spell Card #My Gender is Humongofrog #wizard101 #the wizard’s gender is whatever you design it to be #but for themself they are unknowable and un-nameable #the scion the paradox the savior the scourge

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oldestenemy · 5 months

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Just me and my besties, the children of the primordial deities of light and shadow.

#am I standing here because I am waiting for teamup? yes i am bad at this game you should know this by now #you think i can solo any of these dungeons? NO i am BAD AT THIS #wizard101 #w101 #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #still tapping. less murder.#nightshade adventures in empyrea #i just got done pummeling one of these idiots with shadow magic #and he THANKED ME FOR IT #anyways

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oldestenemy · 6 months

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fuck it, meowiarty at wizard graduation

#wizard101 #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fic #i am having an excellent time #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #scion series is going great why do you ask

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oldestenemy · 6 months

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@melveres

Really and truly though the end of Azteca is what spawned my descent into young wizard madness. You’re right. it’s ideal. it’s perfect. it HURTS. We LOST, we FAILED, we weren’t fast enough, we couldn’t save anyone. It is HEART WRENCHING. and then Ambrose just kicks you with They Will Live on in our Stories of them and I just.

Like sir, you expect the yw to be okay with that???

This kid who has fought primordial children and kings and dragons and you just EXPECT THEM TO TAKE THEIR FIRST INTENSE AND LASTING LOSS WITH A SMILE AND A NOD???

N O

#anyways this is what i went through last year and now we have the scion series because of it #thank you azteca #still tapping. less murder.#wizard101 #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood

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oldestenemy · 8 months

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i am once again kingsisle when will you give us more craftable castles. please. Give me some weird surreal Novus castle, give me a funky little wysteria craftable cottage, give me a WC craftable house which—honestly feels like it should exist. that should be a thing.

Just. More craftable houses.

I like the challenge.

I like the satisfaction.

#wizard101 #w101 #wizzy fandom #wizard101 fandom #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood

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oldestenemy · 5 months

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history unheeded is doomed to repeat - Part 1

Malorn finds the wizard while they are staring up at Bartleby’s deteriorating canopy. They had not been happy to find themself in Ambrose’s office again, running around at his beck and call—but the wizard is not going to refuse Bartleby a request. Certainly not one so important as this.

They tell as much to Malorn when he asks what they’re here for—and how long.

“I’ve got time before the next class—mind if I come along?”

The wizard hums a quiet affirmative, this shouldn’t take much time, and given the area it didn’t seem likely to be much of a danger. Malorn could come and see his old Professor’s home. And with that in mind—

“Do you know the way?” The wizard asks him, “Ambrose and Dworgyn didn’t actually tell me anything beyond the Dark Cave.”

Malorn confirms that he does in fact know where Malistaire’s house lies in the Dark Cave, and leads the way. They walk in easy silence for most of it, not as much time has passed now since their last visit. Nothing is as fraught as it had been before Darkmoor. They ask if he or the others have had any word on where Duncan had gone, but there has still been no sign.

“Was everything alright? In Polaris?”

“Finished a revolution, danced a ballet, overthrew a walrus, fought a Rat, stopped a synthetic Titan from blowing up the sky, saved the Spiral again. Met another eccentric acquaintance of Cyrus Drake’s.” They’ve decided it’s easier to trivialize things like this when explaining them to their friends. It will startle them a little less than the proper truth. “Made a new human friend, haven’t done that in a while.”

“Someday we’re gonna talk about this properly you know. Penny’s going to make you.”

The wizard smiles weakly, “I know. But not today, another crisis—right?”

Malorn looks like he wants to protest, but shakes his head and sighs. “Right. The friend—it’s the new life student right? Mellori?”

The wizard nods, “She spent her whole life sheltered in the woods in Polaris, I think she’s a little disappointed to be stuck doing classwork honestly.”

“Can’t relate,” Malorn says with a smile, “just the little bit of saving the world I got a taste of with you was plenty. Ah—right here.”

The house of Malistaire and Sylvia Drake is dimly lit and dusty. Cobwebs mark every corner, but so do keepsakes and portraits displaying lighter times. This isn’t just a house of death, but one reminding of an abundance of life as well. Harmony woven into the walls themselves. It’s clear standing anywhere within how much love there was here. Even long dead, even with the undercurrent of something wrong.

It’s powerful.

It’s comforting in a sad kind of way.

Still.

As the wizard and Malorn move deeper, it becomes evident that something is concealed. Malorn joins the fight when the Spectral Guardian appears—though only after the wizard nods him forward, silently saying it’s fine, you can. They appreciate that he waits. That he knows better than to throw himself at their enemies without a second thought.

And then they’re inside the sanctum. The desk is littered with papers and an open journal. The pair pour over it in the hopes of finding answers. For once, the reading is not accompanied by Raven’s voice. Rather, the wizard can almost hear it in Malistaire’s, as though he is sat before them, scribbling in a fevered manner all his attempts to bring Sylvia back.

A group of scholars split apart. Schismists. Answers for where he’d learned of the Krokonomicon, and how perhaps to awaken the Dragon Titan. More hidden information, more names that mean nothing. But at least a clue to where the Eye of History lay now. Something to give them a clear path forwards.

Their thoughts are broken by the approach of footsteps on tile outside.

“Someone is coming—hide—don’t argue!” the wizard hisses, shoving Malorn back towards the curtains with one hand. They don’t feel confident in him facing something that knows about what’s hidden here. The Guardian had been one thing, it had been set up by Malistaire himself. But even if they’re taking the brunt of the damage—they don’t want Malorn facing something like what they’ve seen in Khrysalis or even Polaris. They won’t put him in that kind of danger. Not again.

They look back down to the journal, eyes scanning over the last page.

Schismists.

Krokonomicon.

Mirage.

Had all of it been interconnected from the start?

“I knew it would be you,” The wizard’s heart sinks at the voice in the doorway, looking up from Malistaire’s journal to find Duncan Grimwater striding towards them—still wearing the armor they’d crafted him for Darkmoor. “You can’t help but keep being Ambrose’s pet can you.”

How long has it been now?

It had been five months at graduation. They’d spent only a few weeks in Polaris.

There had been no sign.

No word.

“I’m trying to help Bartleby.” They say softly, “He needs his eye back—”

“—Oh shut up, like you aren’t just jumping at the chance to make up for another mistake. Unfortunately for you, I’ve made powerful friends—and they won’t be letting that journal go to Ambrose or the Arcanum.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for months,” They start, still not moving from the desk. “getting dragged into running errands for some doomsday group?”

“I’m not running errands.” Duncan growls, “And after I bring them the journal and tell them about your defeat, I’ll be a full fledged member.”

“Duncan,” The wizard tucks Malistaire’s journal into their bag, eyes not leaving him. “I don’t know who you’ve gotten tied up with—I don’t know what they promised you or what you get out of it—but you’re standing between me and the exit again. Don’t make this mistake.”

Duncan just shakes his head, an angry painful sounding laugh bubbling out of him. “No, no—sorry wizard—” he spits it like the word tastes foul, and honestly, maybe it does. “—but it’s you making the mistake this time. Go ahead. Try and leave. You’re not the only one who can play with the shadows anymore.”

“Stop it.” It’s low and gentle as they can push their voice to be right now, head swimming with more questions than before. “Please, just come with me—we can sort all of this out—”

“—do you ever listen to anyone?” Duncan cuts back over them, “Can you just not help but get involved in everything? You need to feel useful and powerful and special? Your time is over wizard—the Spiral’s time is over with it.”

They grit their teeth and step down from the platform where the desk stands. There is a small amount of gratification that comes when Duncan steps away. A small flicker of their ever present rage that bubbles up in satisfaction. “Do you think I want to do this? To be this? Do you think I enjoy being ordered around by people supposedly older, wiser, stronger than I am who won’t bring themselves to lift a finger to help? Did you listen to anything I said in Castle Darkmoor? Do you think I have any compassion left for the council? Or Ambrose himself? My loyalty starts and ends with keeping the Spiral intact—everything and everyone else is secondary bordering on pointless.” The words aren’t entirely true. But true enough. It feels like that day in Nightside reversed. Following him step for step with their voice rising. “I have tried time and again to get it through your thick skull-emblazoned head that I’m not special, your jealousy over the things I’ve done because I had no choice is unfounded and beyond that horrifying.”

Gods and starlight.

They don’t want to do this.

There is a circle here under their feet.

Duncan’s grip tightens on his staff—the new one—the echo of Malistaire in his hands.

They don’t want to do this.

…But clearly he does.

Fine.

If he wants to play at being important. If he wants to be in their way.

Let him taste what that’s like.

They take the last step towards him and slide into position within the dueling circle. Their deck sits before them, they know it wouldn’t be hard to end this. But he wants to see? Wants to feel powerful? Let him.

“First one is free.” The wizard tells him, a smile splitting their face that is mirthless and cold. Glad for now that their hood is down, that their expressions are clear. That the scars they have from saving him and the other necromancers in Nidavellir are on full display. “I’ll even make it easy—I’m sure you know what to do—” As expected, he swaps both feints they cast. Leaving him with enough of a boost that it should knock them down if he’s not stupid. “—Good.”

Everything else is a pass. Cards dismissed. Just waiting.

“Why aren’t you fighting!” It’s thrown him off, they’re pleased to see. Everything he does is with hesitation. He was ready for someone who was going to bite back—not stand there and take it. He came in expecting the ruthlessness he’d seen in Nidavellir, or even the apprehensive but driven state they’d been in for Darkmoor. Not passive play. It’s the Fiend that crawls up behind him, the wizard figures it ought to be plenty. They don’t know where he would have learnt it, unless he’d managed to copy what he’d seen them do once.

The smile drops, “Like I said,” another pass, just one more turn “first one is free.”

And free it is. The dark fiend slithers across the dueling circle and impacts against them hard, definitely enough, though only just—

They get to see the moment of shock on his face—but then they are heaving on hands and knees in the commons, the brightness of daylight overwhelming after Malistaire’s candlelit sanctum. It had hit them square where the scar on their sternum is, and there is a phantom ache mixing with the real one. But they push to their feet, downing a potion and drawing the recall sigil that lands them right in the open doorway—at Duncan’s back.

“—Ready for the real one?”

Duncan curses and jumps a mile, whipping around to see them leaning on the door frame. “How—how did—”

“—oh come on—you didn’t think one little shadow spell could finish me did you?” The wizard grumbles, “After everything I’ve been through? After the little bit you’ve seen? You want to be me? You’ve been playing at it, doing all sorts of running around trying to please powers you know nothing about. You want to know what it’s really like—?” they step fully into the room, reactivating the duel circle. “—then hit harder. I know you can. Don’t strike to knock me down. You want to see what I deal with? Aim to kill.”

This time they aren’t waiting.

This time blades go up, traps go down, aura light spins around them, Sun enchantments wait on the trigger for Mystic Colossus. It’s perhaps not the thing that makes the most sense against a solo opponent, but they don’t particularly care, it will be enough, and that’s all it needs to be. A gift from Darkmoor to remind Duncan who he’s dealing with.

And this time he is quiet and glaring—they can see the fear tick up with every buff they conjure. They don’t give him time to summon the Fiend, they don’t balk at the damage they take, they just wait on that single dose of Shadow and then—

The Colossus horn blares through the small room, ceilings barely tall enough to accommodate the spell.

And it’s over.

He’s on the ground clutching his staff to stay upright.

The wizard blinks.

Sees Lorcan in Penny’s projection. Waiting to be ripped apart.

It passes.

The spark of rage along with it.

Leaving guilt and regret sour on their tongue.

“I bet you think this means you won don’t you.” He spits it between heaved breath. Some of his bravado returned now that it’s obvious they’re properly finished. “You have no idea what the people on my side have planned. The Arcanum and their scholars chose the wrong side of the schism—and you’re all going to pay for it.”

The celestial calendar echoes through their head. A foretold moment passed. You’re going to regret this.

And they do.

Gods they do.

“Come with me.” They say again, quiet and dangerously close to a plea.

Duncan just glares back.

“Fine.” They spit, turning back to Malistaire’s desk. “Get out of here, go into hiding before anyone but me figures out what you’re tangled up in.” They don’t have any more energy to talk. But this time he listens. They hear it as he scrambles to his feet and the slam of the door follows behind him.

Silence.

Peace.

“Wizard?”

Dammit. Malorn.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #w101 #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fandom #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #i have a writeblr for this but shh #scion series is going great why do you ask #i have been sitting on this for SO FUCKING LONG YOU HAVE NO IDEA #there is so much more #there is so much more to come #i have become so ridiculously abnormal about duncan fucking grimwater

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oldestenemy · 8 months

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the babygirlification of duncan grimwater

#wizard101 #duncan grimwater #wizzy fandom #im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry i don't make the rules i don't make the thoughts #schmendrick the magician voice: i am a servant i am a dwelling i am a MESSENGER #still tapping. less murder.#lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #he's sad he's wet he's done bad things #he's mostly pathetic but he wants you to think he's cool so badly #anyways duncan is coming with us to fight gretta now #anyways the scion series is going very well very good super great

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oldestenemy · 1 year

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There is a long quiet stretch after Azteca where nobody asks the wizard to do anything.

And they don’t seek anything out.

They spend a lot of time lying in front of the memorial to the Drake’s in their castle. Watching the sky, and watching some of their pets circle the giant cyclops statue upon which this castle is built. The billowing echo of the stone breathing.

Perhaps today, things would feel better. They might seek out movement. Progress.

“Shut up.” They are alone and do not bother curbing the instinct to verbally kick back at Raven’s voice as it lilts through their consciousness. Pulling at their limbs as she tries to move them to action.

They aren’t ready to go back.

They had even tried jumping to Earth about a month back. Broken down sobbing on their parents who seemed at a loss for where those tears were coming from. It was that confusion and the oh so obvious empty place where the song of creation could normally be heard that drives them back to the spiral.

They don’t belong on Earth anymore.

They should stop fooling themself into thinking the next time will be any different…

“This is their castle isn’t it?”

“One of ‘em.”

Voices are floating to their ears from the little hill where their spiral door sits and the wizard bolts upright just as two figures round the corner.

“There they are!”

It’s Malorn, and Penny—who appears to be too busy staring up at the massive cyclops statue—who come down across the lawn. “Is that—real?” Right. Her allergy. Actually, the wizard wasn’t sure if that cyclops would set it off. Sure it was technically stone, but it still breathed, still shifted from time to time as though it was settling the weight of the castle. Huh.

Something for later.

“How did you get in here?” the wizard asks, watching the pair of them with empty eyes. “Nobody can get in here without my permission.”

“I convinced Myrella to let us in through one of her temporary doors.” Malorn says, looking a little sheepish. “Nobody has seen you in weeks—we were—”

“—Everyone has been so worried about you!” Penny cuts in “The professors won’t tell any of us what’s been going on, or why you’re never around anymore, or—”

She stops as the wizard groans and falls back against the grass. “I’m fine.” they say “I just wanted to be alone.” It’s a lie. They want so desperately to be seen. Nobody here ever sees them as anything more than their accomplishments. Nobody here even really knows their name.

“Why did you need the Dragonspyre key?”

“I wanted to go back in time.” Does it really matter, keeping any of it secret? Would it really hurt if they hadn’t experienced the horror of it all? Nobody else went running off like the wizard did at the slightest tick of disaster. Sure they all had their duties and troubles around here—but Wizard City was never truly threatening even to normal students. How could it be? “They key is over there—” the wizard points vaguely to the memorial for Malistaire “—I don’t need it now.”

They wonder if their voice really sounds as hollow as it does inside their head.

When it becomes evident that their death student housebreakers are not going to be leaving, they resign to deflecting some more.

“How are you both doing? Is Dworgyn teaching well? Do the new—” the wizard pauses, realizing they never did go back to berate Ambrose for not sending new students straight to Nightside. “—Did you ever talk to the Headmaster, Malorn?”

Malorn had not in fact, spoken to Ambrose. He was still struggling to find time to advance his own work while running classes for younger students. Penny had heard from her parents about the Wizard’s escapade saving the Queen of Marleybone, and was still going full force on her idea of an undead reagent-based cookbook. The wizard listens near silent, offering quiet hums and barely visible nods as their classmates talk.

“We meant it when we said everyone is worried.” Malorn brings up again during a lull. He’s sitting with his back to the wizard, staring at the memorial they had made and fidgeting with the Dragonspyre key. “Even Stormgate was asking about you—Professor Drake said you were working on an independant project, and that it was very delicate, and you were not to be unnecessarily disturbed.” Malorn does his best to imitate Cyrus’ voice, slamming one fist into the opposite palm like Cyrus often did with his wand.

The wizard actually smiles a little at that. “Of course that’s what he’s been telling people.”

“Was this what you were working on?” Penny asks, gesturing to the grave.

“No—I made that years ago, after defea—after killing Malistaire.” They don’t like to say defeating in this case. It feels wrong. It feels like softening a blow that should’t be softened. Like disrespecting the whole ordeal. “Torald Wayfinder helped me with it, he’s the Master Artisan of Grizzleheim.”

“So what have you been doing?”

“Nothing.” And the truth sounds less believeable than any lie they could have told. “I failed. I lost. Nothing is straightforward anymore. I run errands for knights and kings, I negotiate peace between Zebras and Lions and Aztecosaurs and Birds, and I kill dragons, and I make sandwiches for stupid researchers, and I strike down evil until my fingers bleed and my ears are ringing and I still failed.”

A cloud passes briefly over whatever stands in for a sun in this little pocket dimension where their castle floats. The wizard tells themself it’s a coincidence, and closes their eyes to the way the shadows shift and flicker with their words. And so they miss it when Malorn and Penny share a startled but silent look of what the hell was that?

“I’m supposed to tell their story.” The wizard whispers, eyes still shut. They draw the Myth insignia in the air above them, and golden magic alights in the form of the three mystics. They open their eyes to watch as hundres of tiny meteorites obscure the display. As this happens their eyes shift from warm brown into flat and empty gold, dull and lifeless as the bright glow of the Myth magic flashes deep purple—and then blinks out. “All I can do is wait—and pretend I didn’t destroy them—until Ambrose sends me running towards the next crisis.”

The silence stretches on after those words. They’ve never really mentioned in detail, the things they see and do and endure. They don’t blame Malorn or Penny for not knowing what to say.

“I think you should come back to Dragonspyre.” Malorn says finally.

“What?” The wizard hears their voice drop low and dangerous, the same tones that followed them since Celestia. The audible echo of astral magic putting more power behind them.

“The reason I wanted to collect dirt from the Death and Fire trees there—I wanted to know if we could re-grow the rest of the trees, but I had to make sure the magic in the soil was compatible—the Academy was hit pretty hard by the Dragon Titan after all—and it is! So—” He trails off as the wizard finally sits back up.

“To what end, Malorn?” Hollow and cold and crueller than it needs to be. This is just another stupid fetch quest, another pointless bookending to a world they don’t want to touch ever again. Another reminder of everything lost. “Dragonspyre is a ruin, a torched wasteland full of ghosts and spiders and remnants of the titan army, you have to go through ridiculous trials to even get access to the academy grounds in the first place and—”

“We want to fix up the Academy.” Penny cuts in, not flinching as the wizard turns that flat golden gaze onto her. “We being Malorn, myself, and the other upperclassmen.”

“We have permission from Professor Drake—I might even say we have encouragement from him, given he didn’t immediately shoot the idea down. I’ve even done some inquiring with the ghosts there, some of the old instructors seem like they would welcome having a purpose again—”

Perhaps this is the Spiral’s way of telling you to get a move on? That destruction is not the end.

The wizard groans again and rubs at their eyes. “No, no. Be quiet.”

“If you don’t like the idea we—”

“Not you!” the wizard snaps at Malorn, and then immediately regrets it for how he flinches back. “Not— no, I’m sorry— not you.” They curl in on themself, squeezing eyes shut and digging nails into their arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

For a long moment they just sit there, hiding behind the dark of their closed eyes.

When did they get so angry?

This isn’t who they should be snapping at, no there were two special reservations for that place, split between an old man and an older deity.

The wizard takes a slow breath, in, hold, out…

“Okay.” They say, finally opening their eyes again, faded back from gold to brown. “Okay, I’m sorry, what can I do to help?”

Maybe a fetch quest is what they need right now.

Maybe a distraction is better than nothing at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Another little piece of my ongoing wizard101 series.

You can read the rest here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #malorn ashthorn #penny dreadful #wizard101 fandom #wiz101 #wizzy fandom #arc 2 #azteca #still tapping. less murder.#i have a writeblr for this but shh #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood

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oldestenemy · 1 year

Text

Time isn’t solid in the Spiral.

That is what they learn.

When they land choking and sobbing in the heart of Bartleby, as the Spiral Key for Azteca turns to ash in their grip. As they drag themselves in a dead sprint to the center of the Myth classroom, stuttering and coughing and coated in glittering glass dust from Xiabalba. Cyrus Drake ushers them to Ambrose’s office before the students he’d been lecturing can look too close.

He does not ask if they are okay.

Ambrose says there was nothing they could do.

Nothing they could have done.

The wizard wants to scream that there is—there was—there could be—

Perhaps the Headmaster can see the way their whole body begins to coil like an overwound spring.

“Do not linger too deeply on this,” He says, voice still altogether too soft, too gentle. “For some places, Azteca will live on many centuries or even millennia yet—”

“—But not here, not for them, not for me.” The wizard spits, looking down at their hands still smudged with the remains of the key. And then they remember. They left a mark there. At the base of the statue that would vault them to Xiabalba. Just in case things went… badly.

They think Cyrus figures it out just as they finish the sigil of transport.

But the wizard is already gone.

Opening their eyes to smoke and the whistle-crash of meteorites as they hit the ground.

Somewhere distant, they hear screaming.

No, no no no it was supposed to be better—Maybe, maybe if—

Panicked, they draw the same marking sigil at the base of the statue and then teleport home.

The sounds of Grizzleheim’s familiar woods envelope them as their watchtower hall comes into view. But they don’t pay it any mind. They grab for the spiral door and after fumbling through their keys, pull out the one for Mooshu, if Emperor Yoshihito had taken the throne just before the fall of Celestia then maybe—maybe it was soon enough—

They do not linger in the brightly lit market of Mooshu’s imperial city.

The flash of their own spellwork surrounds them as they return to the mark in Azteca.

And there is still screaming.

There are still head and fist sized chunks of glass raining from the sky—

There is a workaround.

There must be a workaround.

Zafaria is no better, they are a handful of decades after Mooshu in time.

Dragonspyre—

…Would that work?

Would going back in time within a place itself work? Would it hold between worlds?

This time they run through the Zocalo to the spiral door, not bothering to go home, just marking the same sigil in the damp ground of the Quetzal Grove before—

Damnit.

Before returning to Bartleby’s core. Before running dead sprint out once more, this time towards the edge of the void left by the death school. Looking desperately for—

“Malorn!”

Malorn Ashthorn jumps a mile at the ragged shout of his name, and the smaller students around him scatter like startled fish. “Hey— I was—oh, oh gods what happened to you?”

“No time—” The wizard is breathless and their throat is still burning from the smoke, “—The Dragonspyre key, now.”

He seems to know better than to protest. The wizard can’t blame him. They don’t know what they look like right now, but they know by the time they were headed for Xiabalba everyone on Azteca was watching them as if they might explode at the softest touch.

Malorn pulls a chain with the key on it from around his neck, and barely has time to offer it up before the wizard snatches it away and takes back off. “Hey- hey wait!” He starts to follow but they do not have time or thought to look back. “What happened?”

The soft tones of their ever present companion invade as they reach the spiral door again.

As you turn the spiral key of Dragonspyre into the door, deep down, you know it will not work.

Shut up. Shut up.

If Raven wants to weave her impressive lies about fate—let her.

The wizard has called off fate before.

They will do it again.

The heat of the Basilica overwhelms them as they stumble out into the dim light of ruined Dragonspyre.

“Stop this madness.” Cyrus Drake is standing before them with the same words he offered to his own brother, moments before the wizard was forced to strike him down. And their barely-viable plan shatters before it can even begin. “You know better.”

“I don’t want to know better.” The wizard shoots back, and for a moment they can feel their spell deck burn in the pocket of their robes. Like their own body is ready for a fight they have not yet decided to initiate. “Get out of my way.”

Is this what it’s like?

Is this how he felt?

“Or what,” Cyrus questions, eyebrows raised. “Tell me—did you think like this when you first saw Dragonspyre of old? Did you grieve the trees at the academy who were felled? The hundreds of lives lost under the titan?”

“Stop it!” The wizard shouts “Stop trying to rationalize it— I can fix this, I can save them, I am supposed to—

“You are supposed to be my student, my responsibility, and a child.”

This is where the laughter starts.

It shakes the wizard to their knees where it turns into sobbing.

When was the last time they truly felt a child?

So what if they’re barely still a teenager.

No longer ten and facing off ghosts.

No longer fourteen and facing Malistaire.

Nineteen and facing Malistaire as a shade had felt even worse.

“I have to see it.” They choke out, looking back up to find their Professor still there. “If I don’t— I have to try.”

Cyrus seems to consider this for a moment, before nodding once and offering them a hand. As he pulls the wizard to their feet, he speaks at last. “Then I shall accompany you, if this is truly something you must do.” The formality reminds them of the moments after Malistaire’s death. When they had both stood shellshocked in Ambrose’s office.

If this is how it has to be.

It’s better than not knowing at all.

~*~

It’s not better, in fact, the momentary silence of teleporting to the Quetzel Grove is almost worse for the bare trace of false hope.

The wizard steps far enough out to make eye contact with Pacal.

Until a metiorite comes down between them.

And they are forced to bend, this once, to the will of Raven, and her fate.

#wizard101 #wizard101 fandom #wiz101 #azteca #morganthe #arc 2 #still tapping. less murder.#lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #i have a writeblr for this but shh

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oldestenemy · 10 months

Text

also writing the wizard and dyvim like: is it just intense friendship? is it the mutual rescue? is it the shared trauma? is it just weird hearing the wizard laugh openly?

#wizard101 #still tapping. less murder.#lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #anyways the scion series is going very well very good super great

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oldestenemy · 3 months

Text

Digging through tombs never stops feeling completely wrong.

It felt wrong on Krokotopia and Avalon, felt horrible in Dragonspyre and Azteca.

It still feels just as bad in Mirage.

They are used to undead and ghosts and old bones.

But not usually ones this…

Enthusiastic?

“Yes! You! With the skin and robes and whatnot. Do you have a minute?”

They suppose, in the grand scheme of things, they should not be surprised. One oddity after another. But a talking skull—a talking skull with no body and no will to move and no…no monster? attached? Is a tiny bit out of the wizard’s realm of ordinary. So they agree to acquire the crystal for him, even if they doubt he’s really the key to defeating Xerxes.

They even oblige him and shove the damn thing with a horrid crack! into his empty eye socket.

And Ozzy the skull shoots out of his sarcophagus so fast that it makes them bolt backwards, one hand on their spell cards and the other reaching for a sword.

“Woah! You are jumpy aren’t you—have you done this before? Am I not the first magic flying skull you’ve ever helped break out of a tomb? Because honestly, that would be impressive.” When they show no sign of backing down he sort of drops a foot or so, hovering around eye level with them. “Do you really think I’m going to attack you? After you just did me a humongous favor? No! Lets go kick Overlord Xerxes back into the sand!”

Unsurprisingly, the bodyless brainless bonehead is a bit of a coward.

The wizard doesn’t mind, he’s an entertaining coward at least.

His narration of everything he knows—or used to know—about Mirage is a welcome distraction, even if it’s clear he’s not telling the whole story most of the time. That’s alright. Let Ozzy have his secrets. He’s very clearly harmless.

Not as much can be said for most of Mirage’s inhabitants, where everything from the flora to the very sand they walk upon seems to want them dead.

~*~

“Are you going to tell me what happened yet?” Suzie asks as she stares down the vision that is becoming somewhat commonplace—Duncan, looking more and more haggard as time passes, refusing to sleep, barely eating, sending papers scattering across the house that is technically Suzie and Artur’s but may as well just be his at this point.

“No.”

“I’ll tell them you’re here.”

Duncan groans, dropping his head to the table. “Suzie—I am trusting you not to get me killed—”

“—and I am asking for you to give me the bare minimum amount of information to trust you right back, used to be you wouldn’t shut up about what you were doing but—”

“—so I grew up and learned to shut my damn mouth—shouldn’t you be happy about that.”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep saying this is a matter of life or death!” she snaps back “For all everyone else knows you’ve been missing the better part of a year, not just all of us in Dragonspyre but the wizard has had the whole of Ravenwood and the city guard looking for you since you vanished—”

“—right, which is why I’m hiding out in your house like a fugitive, because everyone and their firecat is on the lookout for me.”

Duncan had shown up two weeks ago, angry and withdrawn and demanding—well, more like begging—Suzie let him hide out in her family home on Triton Avenue. There wasn’t any danger of discovery there, she and Artur had been the only Gryphonbanes left in Wizard City since childhood, and Artur was currently (and possibly eternally) too enamored with caring for the battledrakes to cause any potential problems. Which was a relief, as Artur might be more quick to tell people—he and Duncan has always been on…more delicate terms.

Which Suzie couldn’t blame him for.

Duncan was abrasive at best, downright condescending and mean at worst.

Suzie was just better at meeting him on the same level.

Speaking of which.

“If you don’t start talking I’m going to at least go get Marla.” Suzie tells him, though it's an empty threat. “All the Necromancers have been especially worried about you—I’m guessing because of what happened while you were all in Darkmoor—” Duncan lifts his head enough to glare at her. “—yeah yeah, pretend you hate me, I’m still the only one you trusted enough to keep you hidden.”

She finally sits down across from him at the table, mirroring his crossed arms and resting her chin on them. “Is this what Penny and Malorn feel like when they try to get the Wizard to talk to them?”

The look that gets her is so intense she thinks there ought to be some sort of energy discharge accompanying it. It’s not even fully angry. There’s a bitterness in it, a jealousy she wouldn’t recognize if she didn’t know him so well.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” She continues, “You got wrapped up in something like they do—”

“—I’m nothing like the wizard.”

“I didn’t say you were.” He is though, Suzie thinks. Whether he wants to believe it or not.

Silence falls again, longer now. Just the pair staring at one another.

Eventually she has to leave. She’s been fully leaning into the whole duelmaster thing at the academy and they’ve started hosting little tournaments among the Ravenwood graduates—there’s supposed to be one this afternoon. Part of her wants to call it off, or hand the reigns to Regina for today, she wants to sit here and pry until Duncan finally admits to whatever he’s done.

But there isn’t any point.

Not yet.

He isn’t ready.

She’ll come back tomorrow.

It’s as she’s just started to draw the recall sigil that he speaks again.

“You can tell them I’m safe,” It’s hesitant, and frustrated, like he’s trying not to say exactly what he’s saying. “just not where I am.”

It’s a little progress.

It’s enough.

She’ll sit on it for a bit, try to work out how to tell the others without inviting a flood of questions she cannot answer. The necromancers first, they deserve it most of all. She’s seen all three of them dipping in and out of the Myth classroom when their returns to Wizard City overlap, asking if Cyrus Drake has any news—normally she would think he’d hate that kind of interruption, but Duncan isn’t the only one who came back from Darkmoor different.

~*~

When Suzie comes back the following day, she finally finds Duncan asleep.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #wizard101 fanfiction #w101 #wizard101 fandom #wiz101 #duncan grimwater #suzie gryphonbane #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #wizard101 fanfic

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oldestenemy · 5 months

Text

The wizard is glad they are sent to Cyrus when things have settled. That again, he is the one who knows anything of the world they are seeking, out of everyone.

“I want you to seek out an old…friend of mine.” He explains the bones of their quest—find Ivan the Great, have him aid in finding Baba Yaga, convince her to help with Bartleby’s ailment—and it feels painfully simple. But they know better. It will not remain so.

“Polaris lies at the very edge of the Spiral—on the horizon as it were—Where land meets sky, where the worlds fall off into the endless expanse of the in-between. Why it would cause Bartleby to fall ill, I cannot begin to fathom. But if there are answers to be found in Polaris, you would be the one to find them.”

The spiral key for Polaris looks like a little three pronged lamp-post. Silvery and shining faintly.

They are going to need to invest in a bigger keyring soon…

Before going, a note of importance.

“I know the others have it handled, but—”

“—Rest assured I will keep eyes and ears out for Mr. Grimwater.” Cyrus finishes before they get the words out. It offers a relief the wizard can barely explain. They cannot shake the feeling that there is a wrongness to his disappearance, a danger around it.

“Thank you. Really.” They force themself not to add for everything.

They have been trying harder to make their interactions with other people feel less final.

It’s hard.

But they’re trying.

Penny and Malorn are standing by Bartleby waiting for them.

It’s not going to be like the last time.

There is urgency here, yes, but they are not sprinting forward after their own demise.

“Be careful,” Penny urges as soon as they are in earshot.

“I will be,” the wizard responds, “this—this won’t be as bad as the other worlds I’ve been to in the last year. In and out.” Maybe if they speak that into existence it will become true. Probably not.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Malorn says, “if you need us, or need a break—if you can get one—I’ll be here or in Dragonspyre.”

“I’m going back to Marleybone for a while to visit my parents,” Penny adds, “but promise if something happens—”

“—You’ll be the first to know.” The wizard assures her.

It’s a lie.

They are going to keep these things as far from the others as they can manage.

This is the first time they’ve walked through Bartleby in…a very long time. It looks different. Leaves falling and wilting in every corner, autumn colors invade upon the green, not vibrant but sickly and muted. They try not to think that it’s helping. The fact that it has changed within the chamber means it is not throwing them so distinctly back into the moments after Azteca.

The door opens onto a chill, onto the distinct smell of snow.

“Ahem!”

A…penguin?

A…French penguin.

The inhabitants of the spiral never cease to be interesting at least.

Sometimes their memories from Earth have use here. But why anyone would decide for penguins to be French—especially in a locale that seems more like tsarist Russia—they don’t particularly have time to dwell on. The only reason it’s familiar at all is because they had been fixated on that animated movie about a missing Russian princess for several years of their young childhood. They can almost hear the music as they walk through the streets.

Routine falls into place.

Maybe it’s the fact that prior to this they were involved in an outright war, but the fighting here seems almost trivial. Before they know it, they are wrapped up in a revolution, throwing fish into the harbor, following Red Rosa to whatever she needs.

And then they are assisting a polar bear in dancing a ballet—and gods that movie just keeps coming back to pester them doesn’t it—but it feels good to be doing something that isn’t…dueling. Somewhere along the line one of the Patriôtes had handed the wizard a saber that was now functioning as their wand—something they haven’t really done since Avalon, and before that Dragonspyre—it makes the battles a bit visceral for their tastes, especially when they are not yet sure of their purpose here.

Find Ivan.

This does prove to be fairly straightforward, and following him through his aid to the Patriôtes and their rebellion is both easy and—a little entertaining. There is an element of joy that underlies every act of resistance, and Ivan’s intensity in battle has them missing Dyvim. But like everyone, they leave him when the time comes. Walking into the cold expansive woods alone in search of Baba Yaga.

An eerie silence permeates this part of the forest. It is as though all the wildlife were holding its breath.

Raven is loud here, near as loud as she is in Grizzleheim.

The wizard ignores her. They have been doing so for months now, still angry for Nidavellir, for her dragging Malorn and the other necromancers into problems that did not need to be theirs. But they never went back to see her, they meant to at least try and get answers about Lorcan—

But then Duncan went missing, and now this.

It doesn’t matter.

Grandmother Raven is not going anywhere.

They can go and shout themself hoarse at her perch whenever the mood strikes.

What the wizard does find in this silent clearing of the wood, is a girl.

A human girl.

Which—under many circumstances shouldn’t be considered strange, but the only other human they’ve seen in Polaris thus far is Rasputin. It’s not often they run into people who aren’t also some kind of creature. Though on closer inspection, perhaps this girl is some kind of creature. There are inky black feathers shifting in her hair that look as though they sprout straight from her scalp along with it.

Later they learn the girl—Mellori—is Baba Yaga’s daughter. Given that the witch herself lives inside a house with chicken legs, Mellori’s feathered hair no longer strikes them as surprising. Nor does her immediate act of following them to the Auroracle. Mellori reminds them of their younger self. Hungry for adventure and mystery.

The wizard isn’t sure yet if that is a welcome comfort, or a bad omen for their new friend’s future.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #wiz101 #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #polaris #arc 3 #mellori #w101 #i have a writeblr for this but shh #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood

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