#they just dip their claws in ink and write on a sheet of paper. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlitsummermoon · 5 years

Text

The Black Knight of Stein

Part 1: Nightmare in Black

Story Rating: ADULT 18+ Pairing: Byron Wagner X Kyshimi (MC) Word Count: 5498 Story Summary: Heading off to Stein for a much needed vacation with her future husband, Kyshimi finds it hard to relax while she’s being plagued with nightmares of a monstrous black wolf. When she arrives during Stein’s most celebrated festival of the year, all the pieces start falling into place, but the most important pieces are still missing. Digging through history, she hopes to find an answer before she’s hunted down. Part 1 is also on Ao3!

[A/N]: Kyshimi is pronounced (kee-shee-mee). This chapter contains no SMUT... but the next one certainly does. I plan on making these chapters long, but I promise I put a lot of work into them and they’re worth it, so bare with me! Part 2 is in the works!

Piercing through the canopy of the forest, rays of sunlight lit the grassy floor at its roots. Birds and deer darted in and out of sight as a woman wistfully skipped in between the trees. Time slowed, each leap and bound lasted forever before her bare foot felt the cooling comfort of the earth beneath her. Following the hidden path, guided by the setting sun, her lips yielded a grin each time she felt the fading heat of the sun on her face.

Farther and farther she skipped, the foliage smoothly transitioned from deep, cooling greens to bright, warm reds. The air grew frigid, her breath visible with each bound. Long grass no longer brushed against the hem of her pure white gown for it vanished with the greens, instead debris of crunchy leaves scattered around her feet.

Without warning, the sky grew angry and dark as the leaves were whisked away by a harsh breeze, leaving the ground bare and cold. The trees became unsettling, their sharp branches piercing the dark clouds above them as they swirled with mighty force. Her skin now ice, her smile left with the leaves as dread seeped into her body. A sharp pain at the back of her head, she dared to glance behind her, wisps of her hair catching in her eyes.

It was following her!

An enormous, pitch black mass sprinted through the trees behind her, swiftly closing the gap with powerful lunges, baring its fangs. Its large white eyes narrowed down to slits as its pointed ears pinned back into the thick, dark mane protecting its neck. Dagger-like claws dug into the earth, throwing twigs and stones behind as it neared its target. Closer and closer it got, the hot, wet breath nearly caressed the back of her neck.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to scream, but nothing came out. Only seconds of a glimpse was all it took to keep her legs going, but her body wouldn’t move any faster. With tears clouding her vision, she tripped over a large root of a tree. Slamming into the ground, her arms and elbows stung as her teeth bit down on her bottom lip in a weak attempt to subdue the pain.

Ice swept over her, turning back to witness wide open jaws swallow her.

Kyshimi shot up, a loud gasp escaping her lungs as adrenaline pulsed through her limbs. Her gaping eyes carefully examined her surroundings. The warmth of the morning sun bled through lace curtains, giving solidity to her furniture. The many bottles of perfume atop her vanity shone, dozens of pairs of earrings sparkled, and the many folds and wrinkles of her sheets formed mountains and valleys.

A deep sigh of relief blew from her lips, now convinced that she was in the safety of her chambers, protected by the warmth of her bed. Lowering her head, her mess of ebony hair flowed over her shoulders and nearly down into her lap where her hands rested, still shaking from the vivid imagery of razor sharp fangs sinking into her.

Throwing one corner of her sheets aside, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her toes reaching down to feel the cold marble of her floor. Gripping the edge of her mattress, she continued to stare down at her pure white nightgown, her arms shaking.

“That dream again,” she whispered hoarsely to herself, “why do I keep having that dream about that━” An image of nightmare mass flashed in her mind. She swallowed a hard lump in her throat before muttering, “...wolf.” A shiver trickled over her skin, her hands instinctively wrapping around herself, rubbing the back of her arms to warm back up, but it was hard to shake the fear that had been haunting her for several weeks now.

With a hefty sigh, she pulled herself up on her feet and made her way to her vanity. Sitting in front of her enormous mirror, she clearly saw the dark circles underneath her eyes. Tugging at her cheeks and leaning in for a closer look, she groaned. She was to leave to Stein in a day’s time and she hardly looked presentable enough to leave her chambers.

“I’m such a mess,” she vexed, snatching her hair brush. “I can’t let Giles see me like this or he’ll never let me go.” Fixing her hair and applying a bit of makeup helped hide the dark circles, but her eyes gave everything away, and no amount of jewelry or perfume could distract from them. Another attempt was made with the choice of dress, a long frilly skirt and a blouse to match.

Twirling around in the mirror, the dark color brought a smile to her face. It was autumn afterall, her favorite season, and not only that, but she had been invited to Stein’s All Hallows Eve Festival as King Byron’s honored guest. She was a bit sad that for the first time in her life, she would be missing out on Halloween in Wysteria, but according to Nico and Albert, the All Hallows Eve Festival was a significant holiday in Stein and celebrated a bit differently than most countries.

The mere thought of it was exciting to her as she tried to imagine what it could be like and how different it could be compared to how she was used to celebrating Halloween. Besides being a couple of days long, she couldn’t imagine Halloween being spent any other way; spooky decorations and children running through the streets collecting candy.

Now ready for the day to begin, she took one last glance in the mirror. The distracting thoughts of Halloween and being with Byron cheered her up, nearly forgetting all about dark circles and the nightmarish black mass. She knew, however, that she couldn’t ignore it forever. Thoughts bubbled inside her stomach, ready to burst.

‘I wish Byron was here… he would know what to do, or at least, know what to say.’

Placing herself at her small desk in the corner of her room, she pulled out her ink and quill along with a thick piece of paper. Taking in a deep breath, her quill hovered over the paper as she questioned herself.

‘Should I really be writing to him about this? Is this something he should really be bothered with?’

She felt like a pest whenever she bothered Byron with her personal problems knowing how busy he was as King, but he always seemed to get upset with her if she bottled everything up without even talking to him about it. He always knew what to say to comfort her, what to do to make the situation better, but she wanted to try handling this on her own.

“It’s...fine,” she said with an unconvincing smile, “I’ll just write it and not send it.” Re-dipping her quill, she scratched against the paper with its tip.

‘My Dearest Byron,

I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night when I arrive. I’ve missed you terribly. Unfortunately, I haven’t been sleeping very well as of late. My dreams have been plagued with nightmares leaving me with restless nights for the last several weeks. What’s odd is that it’s the same dream, over and over.

They’re becoming more vivid each time, convincing me that it may be real. Because of this, it’s getting difficult for me to feel safe unless I’m locked away in my chambers. I know that’s not healthy, but I don’t know what to do about this anymore. I feel so lost…

I’m hoping to find solace in your embrace and comfort in your sheets. I await to feel your lips again.

With all my love,

Kyshimi’

Folding it up nicely, she even placed her silver waxed seal over the golden thread that held the parchment together. Ready to be sent with haste, she instead placed it back in the drawer, never to be seen by the receiver's eyes.

Her day was ending early, heading towards her chambers with haste as Giles followed closely behind, summarizing the days events with verbal footnotes. Mesmerized by the patterns of the marble tile and the sounds of her clacking heels, her advisor’s words fell on deaf ears for her thoughts were elsewhere. It was hard to focus with such little sleep for so long.

“Princess Kyshimi?” Giles’s voice echoed down the corridor, loud enough to catch her attention. She stopped, turning her gaze up at him with drooping eyelids. The sight of her worn out expression caught him off guard as it was the first time he had gotten a good look at her face today. “My word! Princess, are you━”

“I’m fine, Giles,” Kyshimi harshly cut him off, facing down the hall to continue her way towards the safety of her chambers. “I just… haven’t been getting very good sleep as of late. Now, as you were saying, when am I scheduled to leave for Stein tomorrow?”

The corner of Giles’ mouth curled unpleasantly in the tuck of his cheek, hesitantly waiting for the Princess to get a few steps ahead of him. He hadn’t been talking about tomorrow’s schedule at all. Clearing his throat, he decided to match her pace and walk at her side again, trying to get a better assessment of her condition, “Ahem, you’re scheduled to leave just after breakfast with Sir Alyn as your escort, but Your Highness…”

“Yes, Giles?”

“...I believe a change in plans are necessary. I shall escort you to Stein in Sir Alyn’s stead.”

“Nonsense, you need to run the country in my stead while I’m away.”

“We’ll return in just a few days, that shouldn’t be bothersome to Leo or Duke Howard if we simply━” Giles’ words faded into silence as Kyshimi grew cold. All of a sudden, he was changing the plans for everything. She was scheduled to be gone for several weeks in order to “learn, understand, and get well-acquainted with King Byron and the people of Stein before she becomes Queen,” or as she liked to think of it, a nice long vacation with King Byron. During this time, Giles was supposed “run” Wysteria in her place to the best of his ability while Alyn accompanied her during her travel’s leaving and returning to the castle. Nico, and occasionally, Albert, were set to be her personal attendants and guards during her stay at Stein castle.

Carefully gathering her thoughts, she took a deep breath and faced Giles with a large, concern-free grin and asked, “Why are you so worried? We’re not changing the plan. You’re staying here while I’m staying Stein for a much-needed vacation, remember?”

“Of course, Princess,” Giles sighed, matching her quickened pace perfectly, “it’s just… I’m worried. I didn’t realize the state you were in… are you sure you don’t want to shorten your stay? Or have me accompany you?”

“I’m 110% sure, Giles. Besides, this will be good for me. I’ll be on a much needed vacation while learning about Stein at the same time. According to Nico, this one of their biggest festivals of the year. It would be foolish to miss out on this opportunity.”

“Excellent point, Your Highness, but━”

“AAND, I wouldn’t want to disappoint any of the monarchs and bureaucrats who are expecting to meet me during my stay, now would I?”

Giles was left speechless. Expressionless, he gazed down at the Princess as they finally arrived at her chamber doors, her smile almost sincere enough to hide her exhaustion. Realizing he wasn’t going to win this battle, he chuckled to himself, ‘Of all times for my tutoring to take effect…’

“Princess, you’re absolutely correct,” he boasted confidently followed by a deep bow, “Please, forgive my doubt in our future Queen. Now, as you requested, your maids packed little for you, as per your request.”

“Yes,” she nodded in agreement, “King Byron informed me that my wardrobe will be taken care of entirely, including anything that I wish to purchase while I’m there.”

“An excellent method in getting acquainted with their fashion, Princess. Just be sure to take a few minutes and pack any personal items you wish to bring along with you. I’ll take my leave now, so please get to bed early and get some much needed rest. We want our precious Princess looking presentable for the King of Stein tomorrow. Goodnight, Princess.”

With a small curtsey in response, Kyshimi watched Giles until he turned down the corridor, finally leaving her to be alone once more, a rare occurrence since Nico decided to remain in Stein after she had announced her engagement to King Bryon. She enjoyed it, though, not having an attendant or an advisor glued to her side for several hours a day, despite the fact that she missed Nico’s companionship.

Locking her door behind her, a wave of relief washed over her as she released a huge sigh from her chest, her back sinking against the door as she did so. The large room was tranquil and quiet, no maids, no attendants, and no responsibilities. Walking to the center of her room, she looked around at her belongings which were starting to become glazed with the light of dusk. Nothing popped. Everything she would need is already waiting for her in her chambers at Stein castle, there wasn’t any personal item that needed to come with her.

Her eyes slowly drifted to the small desk in the corner of her room where a letter to her beloved hid in the confines of the drawer. Fiddling with her fingers, she crept up to the desk, slowly pulling the drawer open until she saw the glint of the silvery wax seal. Placing the letter atop the desk, she stared at it, remembering the words she wrote.

Keeping her eyes on the letter, she backed away until she felt the edge of her bed hit the back of her legs. Sinking into the edge, her feet hovered above the floor as she flopped back onto her fluffy comforter.

“Even if I were to send it now,” she whispered, her eyelids growing heavier as she stared at the blank ceiling, “Byron wouldn’t get it in time.” She shook her head lightly. “No, I don’t want him to worry. Everything will be better when I see him tomorrow.”

A shadow swept across her room. Her eyes shot back open. Bolting back up, her head pounded from the rush, struggling to listen for any foreign sounds as she analyzed her room once again. The windows were all shut, the balcony door was closed, and none of her curtains were moving. No breeze, no draft. She turned back to look at her door, ensuring it was still closed. It was, and she clearly remembered locking it.

The shadow returned, swiftly traveling across her room before it vanished. It was from outside. Her head snapped towards her balcony door, the lacey curtains burning from the light of dusk, the shadows from the tops of surrounding trees were starting to bleed up from the bottom. She didn’t blink, afraid she was going to miss it again. With a swoosh, the shadow passed the balcony door once again, its wings fluttering as it neared the glass before flying away, trying to enter her room before seeing there was no way in.

“Spinner!” Kyshimi gasped, hopping off her bed and to the balcony doors. Swinging them open, she dashed outside, the chilled breeze of autumn kissing her face as she looked up to the tree tops. The heavy contrast of Spinner’s snow-white feathers against the orange and red leaves of the canopy made him easy to spot. Reaching her hands up into the air, the Princess couldn’t hold back a small amount of tears and a large smile as she called out to him, “Spinner!”

Gracefully descending from the sky, Spinner silently swooped passed the Princess and entered her chambers, landing on the wooden post of her sofa; his favorite perch. Carefully following him inside, Kyshimi sat on the sofa, soothing stroking his feathers as he rested.

“It’s so nice to see you, Spinner,” she said softly, scratching a spot right under the owl’s beak, “Did Byron send you to check in on me?” Byron often sent Spinner to check in on her during their extended periods apart, sometimes including a letter or a small note. This time there was none.

With yet another sigh, which she made a mental note to cut back on in Stein, she happily held out her arm for the bird, who gently grasped it as she stood up and paced around her room, placing featherlight kisses on his beak as she did so. This was routine each time Spinner came to visit.

The sweet comfort of the large bird’s appearance allowed her to finally relax for the first time in days and the reality of her leaving to be in Stein with Byron hit her hard.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” the Princess whispered, “but I can’t help but feel anxious, Spinner.” The owl’s head spun around, getting a good glimpse of the room. “I’m excited to see Byron again, there’s so much I need to talk about with him, but I don’t want to burden him with my problems… is that fair of me? To assume he doesn’t want to hear about my problems, or to assume that he even has time to hear them, being a busy King…?”

The large bird started preening some of his feathers, forcing a small laugh from the Princess’ lips as she gently shook her head. She knew full well that he couldn’t understand what she was saying, and if he could, it’s not like he could repeat her words to Byron. He wasn’t a parrot afterall. Glancing back at the balcony, she was ready to send him off.

“Sorry, Spinner,” she shrugged, keeping the smile on her face, “there’s no letter I wish to send this time, so I’ll see you━ AAH!” Spinner flapped his large wings, releasing his grasp on her arm without harm and flew across her room. He landed on the desk in the corner, his feet pinning the letter. Reaching down, he picked at the golden thread until he firmly had it in his beak. Kyshimi gaped in panic.

“No, Spinner!” she blurted, afraid to move in case it frightened him and he flew off, but it was too late. With a hefty thrust of his wings, the owl flew out the open balcony door with the letter in hand. Darting after him, she could do nothing but watch from the door as he flew away, most likely back to Stein. There was no sense in calling for him, he was too far gone now.

“Damn that smart bird,” she muttered, leaning against the frame of the door.

The carriage left for Stein on schedule the following morning and was now entering the forest dividing the two countries. Sir Alyn Crawford pushed the group of knights surrounding the carriage into the forest without hesitation, constantly on his guard for anyone or anything that had intentions of harming Princess Kyshimi during her journey to Stein Castle. Riding directly next to the carriage as his trusted knights led the entourage and trailed behind, he still kept his eyes and ears open for anything suspicious.

Meanwhile, inside the carriage itself, Princess Kyshimi leaned her head against the window, watching the passing scenery change from villages to open hills to thick forests. A normally soothing way to pass the time on her way to Stein, but she couldn’t relax.

Spinner had taken the letter to Byron. She blamed herself because Spinner was accustomed to delivering letters to Byron from her even if he hadn’t sent one to start each time he flew in for a check up. She concluded the bird knew what her letters looked like and assumed she would want it delivered. A foolish mistake on her behalf.

‘I never should have even written the letter to begin with. I should’ve just waited until I saw him. Why did I write the letter?!’

Her eyelids fluttered, the scenery outside began to blur as she yawned. The rocking of the carriage and the numbing sound of over a dozen horses trodding the already beaten path enticed her body and mind enough to let her guard down just enough to leave her consciousness in a sleep-driven daze.

Just as she was about to surrender to sleep, a sharp pain crept up on the back of her head, threatening to become a full-blown migraine. Straightening up her posture from the sudden discomfort, she started to feel an icy chill consume her fingers and toes. Looking down at her hands, she spread out her fingers and clenched them into fists, over and over to prove to herself she wasn’t going crazy.

“So odd…” she commented to herself, turning her hands over and spreading her fingers out once more, “this… this almost reminds me of━” A quick flash of nightmare-black with white fangs and blood-thirsty eyes entered her mind for the briefest moment. Her entire body froze, terrified to glance out the window to confirm her suspicions.

“I-it’s only a dream,” she shivered, muttering under her breath as she turned to look out the window, trees and shrubbery blurring in and out of view, “it’s only a dream. It’s only a d-dream. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s. NOT. REAL!”

The carriage abruptly came to a halt, Kyshimi flying forward out of her seat and landing in the cushions of the bench across from her. Several horses outside starting braying, their riders, noble Knights of Wysteria, starting shrieking in panic. Before she had a moment to collect herself, Alyn flung open the door of the carriage.

“Princess!” he shouted in alarm as he found her nearly on the floor. With one, heavy step, he entered to assist her back onto her seat, her hair all over her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she flipped her hair back and did her best to fix it, pulling strands that had caught in her mouth out, “but what happened? Why did we stop?”

“I’m about to find out,” Alyn stepped back out, “I just needed to make sure you were all right after that rough stop.” Without leaving her side, Alyn waited for one of his knights to bring him a report as he still stood in front of the entrance to the carriage. He refused to leave the Princess’s side knowing something dangerous could happen any second.

“Captain!” a knight shouted as he and his horse cantored towards Alyn and the Princess.

“What happened?!” Alyn demanded, “Are we being ambushed?”

“No, Sir!” the knight’s horse nearly skidded to a halt, the creature still spooked, “the horses at the front just got spooked bad. Same with the knights riding them.”

“Spooked? By what?!”

“I.. I don’t know.”

Alyn’s brow furrowed in frustration as he glanced back at Kyshimi and mumbled, “Wait here.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” the Princess stood up from her seat and smoothed out any wrinkles in her skirt, “I’d rather come with you. I want, no, I need to know what your knights have to say about this.” Her stern expression commanded no quarrel as she stepped out of the carriage, ready to follow whoever was willing to lead her to the spooked knights.

Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Alyn simply nodded. He could understand why the Princess would be upset with a possibly foolish delay, but he was wrong. The chills and the pain in the back of her head, she had to know what happened. She needed proof from these knights that what she felt wasn’t real and was just apart of her imagination and sleep depravity.

The knight on the horse turned around and led the way towards the front of the formation, where a group of knights were sitting on a log on the edge of the road, their horses on the other side of the road being soothed by other knights. As they got closer, Alyn could see more horses and knights than they had brought with them on their mission, except these horses were all black along with their respective riders. Worried, the Captain protectively placed himself in front of the Princess, ready to draw his sword, but the closer they got, the better he could see familiar faces.

“Looks like Stein came to meet us half-way,” Alyn confirmed, turning his head towards the Princess in hopes of reassuring her. Excited, Kyshimi ran ahead to see who had arrived with the Stein knights. Standing before the Wysterian knights that were resting on the log aside the road was Albert and Nico.

“Princess Kyshimi!” Nico was the first take notice of her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, Nico, I’m fine!” she smiled, holding back the happy tears threatening to stream down her face. She was so happy to see Nico, it took everything else she had to hold back a hug, even though most of the people around them knew about their friendship.

“Are you certain?” Albert stoically interjected, nearly pushing Nico out of the way.

“Very certain, Al,” she smiled, her body relaxing in the presence of Byron’s most trusted knights. With a quick glance around, Byron was nowhere to be seen. A twinge of disappointment was felt in her chest, but it was easily ignored. These two were more than enough comfort to last her until she saw him in Stein.

“We heard the commotion just before we caught up to you,” Nico reported, his expression more serious than it ever had been before, turning his attention to the Wysterian Captain. “We arrived as soon as we could.”

“We appreciate that,” Alyn nodded his head in gratitude, “I was just about to find out what the cause of the commotion was.” Only a few feet away from him sat the knights, still shaking with fear.

“S-sorry, Captain,” one of the knights shamefully looked up to Alyn, meeting his questioning gaze, “but I've never s-seen anything like it before!”

“What exactly did you see?” Alyn’s eyes narrowed, getting down on his knee to meet the gazes of his frightened men.

“A b-beast!” the knight shuddered.

“No! A monster!” the knight next to him shrieked. “I thought I was seeing things, Captain, but it’s there!”

“What did it look like?” Alyn asked, his tone a bit more comforting than before. “Can you give us any details?”

“Black,” a knight said flatly, his eyes cold, “black, and larger than any bear. I could barely see his eyes, but his… his teeth! His teeth could probably tear our armor apart. It almost looked like… a wolf. A giant, monsterous wolf.”

“Okay, anything else━”

The group’s words had faded as Kyshimi’s body became numb. It was everything she feared. They saw it. They saw the creature from her nightmare, it was real, and it was following her!

Just like it had in her dreams.

The world around her grew dark. Her knees started to shake, begging her legs to start running, but where? The beast could be anywhere in the forest. She was afraid to look up, afraid she would see its eyes staring right into her soul before it━

“Kyshimi?”

Nico placed a comforting arm over the Princess’s shoulder, taking notice of her suddenly solemn expression. Snapping back to reality, she felt the warmth from his touch and smiled at him, but her smile quickly disappeared and she gently pushed his arm off of her.

“What are you and Albert doing here, anyway?” her question was spoken louder than she had intended, catching the attention of both Captains. “It’s not normal for you to meet us half-way, I mean, you never have before.”

“His Majesty, King Byron, deemed it necessary that myself, along with a carefully selected group of knights, assist in escorting our future queen to Stein’s castle steps,” Albert expertly answered, adjusting his glasses as he glanced over at Nico, “not all participants were my choice, but we all happily obliged.”

Kyshimi lowered her gaze, thinking that Byron must’ve received her letter in time, sending his own entourage to escort her to him. Swallowing back her tears, she lifted her head back up and met Albert with a grateful grin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Alyn’s disapproval written all over his face.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Albert responded to Alyn’s silent protest, “King Byron does not doubt your abilities to safely deliver the Princess to him. Instead, his concern lies with the fact that this is her first time traveling to Stein as his future Queen, therefore he deemed it wise to send extra escorts.”

“If you say so,” Alyn shrugged, his disapproval disappearing, “I won’t question my future King.” The two captains began to discuss formation changes peacefully, leaving Nico the opportunity to lead Kyshimi back to her carriage, holding out his arm for her.

‘That’s a good cover story,’ she thought to herself, certain that it was because he had received her letter the night before. Gripping Nico’s arm firmly, the knights around them began taking their places in the new formation. The rush of black and white horses around them seemed a bit overwhelming as she held Nico a bit closer.

“I wonder what the knights really saw,” Nico pondered, weaving himself and the princess in between the busy knights and horses.

“What do you mean?” Kyshimi snapped her gaze at him, an eyebrow raised in question as her heart sank into her stomach. The knights saw exactly what she had been seeing in her dreams, she had no doubt it was real now. “You heard what they said, it was a giant, b-black wolf.”

“You really believe that?” there was a hint of a chuckle in Nico’s response. “C’mon, Kyshimi, I was there with you when you did your studies with Leo. There aren’t any wolves in Stein or Wysteria, or even the surrounding countries. There hasn’t been for centuries.”

“Okay…” she knew he was right as she recalled the lessons she had with Leo. Wolves were located in the western-most part of the continent, nowhere near Stein or Wysteria, but her dreams and what the knights described stuck with her. “Then how do you explain what they saw?”

“It easily could have been a bear. Bears can get pretty big, maybe your knights haven’t seen one in a while. They usually stay away from large, loud groups of people like this. Maybe they scared him, eh?”

Nico’s reasoning comforted her to a point, but the feeling in her gut wouldn’t leave. The situation was too convenient. Remembering her vivid dreams, she mentally looked over the creature she had seen over and over again, questioning if she had really been dreaming about a bear instead.

‘No… it’s a wolf, I have no doubt about that…. But what the men saw….’

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nico leaned in, his lips almost touching her earrings. She heard him very clearly, but her eyes were too busy scanning the trees surrounding her, careful not to seem frazzled to the knights around her, especially the captains. Feeling a cold chill on the other side of her body, she looked towards the forest on that side, and for a moment, she thought she saw a large, black mass flee from sight in the distance.

It was still here.

“Nico,” her grip on his arm tensed, “will you please accompany me in the carriage?”

“Of course,” Nico smiled with relief, “but are you sure you don’t… want…” His words trailed off, his eyes meeting hers. Her cheeks trembled and her teeth bit down on her lip, wordlessly pleading with him. An odd sense of knightly duty came over him as he sternly answered her, “As you wish, Princess.”

With every knight in his place, Albert and Alyn on either side of the carriage and Nico sitting directly across from Princess Kyshimi, the journey to Stein Castle continued. This time, with the carriage curtains pulled over each window.

During the ride, Nico excitedly caught up with Kyshimi with all that has happened since they last saw one another. He barely let her get a word in, afraid she was going to look at him with those pleading eyes again. The conversations they had easily distracted her for most of the ride, filling the small space with laughter and excitement. Each time any thought of the black beast tried to enter her mind, she immediately thought of Byron and the safety of his arms which she longed for. Her worries, she hoped, would subside during her time in Stein.

As the entourage exited the forest into Stein, the large, black-furred creature watched from afar until it could no longer see the knights trailing behind the Princess’s carriage, daring not to leave the shadowy cover of the forest… yet.

#midnight cinderella #MidCin #byron wagner #giles christophe #Alyn Crawford #albert burckhardt #nico meier #starlit's smutty spooky tales

33 notes · View notes

dazzlingphoenix · 5 years

Text

Dragons of Lockra: Shards of Dawn Light

Chapter 4: Egg Hunt

The princess flew back with the two dragons, one coiled on her back and the other cautiously flapping his wings. They landed back at Gamehna’s den, fluttering to a stop on the small platform. Fergjin looked at the boys with confusion, glancing at the Veneasha as if saying “you sure?”.

“Fergjin, this is Vroih and Jiernaq,” She introduced them. “They’re going to help us find your egg.” Veneasha looked at the two. “Head inside, see if you can find anything off.”

“Yes ma'am!” Vroih hummed, trotting inside. Jiernaq slid off of the princess’s back and slinked inside after the blue dragon. Veneasha trotted over to Fergjin with a confident smile.

“Don’t worry,” She said optimistically. “These guys will find whatever trace the thief left.”

“But aren’t they thieves?” The father asked quietly, concern edging into his voice.

“Well, yes, but I trust them.” The princess reassured him. “The worst thing they’ll do is snag a piece of food. Jiernaq especially, he’s malnourished if you couldn’t tell.” Fergjin nodded but kept his gaze on the inside of his den. Veneasha looked back as well, her feathered tail swaying absentmindedly.

They watched for a few minutes, Gamehna eventually joining the two on the deck. Veneasha poked her head inside to see what was going on. Vroih was sitting still in the center of the den, scanning the walls and floors slowly. Jiernaq was scurrying around the floor, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed around for anything other than the dragons who lived there.

As if on cue, Jiernaq started to yip, staring at something on the ground. Vroih and Veneasha trotted over. The green dragon had found a scale, around the color of Gamehna’s scales.

“Isn’t that Gamehna’s?” The princess asked. The little dragon shook his head fervorously. He tapped his talons on the palm of one of his hands, a signal that he wants to write. Veneasha nodded and twisted her head back to face the couple outside.

“Do you have paper and ink or a pencil Jiernaq could use?” She asked them.

“Oh yes!” Gamehna nodded, heading inside. She shuffled around the den and opened a cabinet. There was a stack of paper and some pencils in a jar, ranging in size and even color. Paints and inks in glass bottles were pushed near the back but still available to reach.

“Thank you Gamehna.” Veneasha reached back and grabbed a bottle of black ink and a sheet of paper. She carefully placed them by Jiernaq and opened the bottle. The young dragon dipped a brittle talon into the ink and scrawled out a name in dragon scratch. The three dragons in the room tilted their heads to try and read it.

“Cherry?” Vroih asked with the tilt of his head. Veneasha couldn’t remember that name, and Jiernaq would’ve led them to the dragon if he knew them. The mother was the one who reacted.

“That’s my mother,” Gamehna explained. “Maybe she wanted to eggsit?”

“Well, let’s go see her then!” Veneasha said, swaying her tail.

“Wait,” Vroih turned to Gamehna. “Your mother is Cherry? As in, the Cherry?” The mother shyly nodded, her tail wrapping around her talons.

“Who’s Cherry?” The princess asked.

“Cherry was regarded as the most beautiful dragon in the Dawn Tribe,” Vroih explained. “But she lost her fame when she married an anxious and poorer dragon.“

"That’s my dad you’re talking about young dragon,” Gamehna snapped at him. “And he’s the sweetest dragon I know!”

“I wasn’t bashin’ ‘im!” Vroih claimed, backing up.

“Let’s just go find Cherry and see what’s going on.” Veneasha interjected sternly, walking to the exit. The other dragons halted their quarrel for the time being and followed the princess outside where Fergjin was waiting.

“We’re going to go find Cherry,” The princess explained to him. “Do you mind leading the way Gamehna?”

“Oh, ok.” The mother nodded and walked past her. She spread her wings clumsily and took flight, gliding slowly around the rocky mountain exterior. Veneasha gestured for Vroih to go, then let Jiernaq coil onto her back again and followed the other dragons.

Luckily for the princess’s sore wings, the fly to Cherry’s den wasn’t that long. It was more up on the mountain, signifying her higher status in the tribe. Light pink curtains swayed calmly in the entrance, greeting the small group. A mat on the ground by the opening read “Wipe Your Talons!” in wavy and pristine lettering.

“Who’s decided to stop by today?” An aged yet strong voice called from inside. Veneasha peered inside to see the back of red and pink scales similar to Gamehna. Her wings were a peachy yellow, much richer than her daughter’s.

“It’s me, mother,” The she-dragon called inside. “And the princess with her friends.”

“Which princess?” She asked, turning her head to glance at her den entrance.

“Veneasha.” Gamehna answered as the princess trotted inside. Cherry looked at her with curious plum eyes. She was indeed a beautiful dragon, though age pulled down at the scales on her face and neck.

“Hello princess,” Cherry greeted her, turning her whole body to face her. “What brings you to my little den?”

“We were wondering if you know anything about Gamehna’s egg.” Veneasha explained, sitting down and curling her tail tightly. Jiernaq slid off her back and sat by her, shying away from the eldest dragon.

“Why’s that,” Cherry asked in a huff. “Thought it was safe with Nokin.”

“Nokin? Why would the egg be with them?” Veneasha asked, not even knowing who that dragon is.

“Nokin told me to pick up her sister’s egg and bring it to her den for caretakin.” The old dragon explained, reaching for a piece of parchment. “Said that Gamehna was goin on a trip with Fergjin and that she’d be lookin after the egg.” Cherry handed the parchment to the princess with careful talons. Veneasha read the paper, the scrawled writing barely legible and hastily written.

“Dear mother,” Veneasha read it aloud. “Gamehna has tasked me with watching her egg for three days as she and her mate spend time at Neonripple Lake. Please pick the egg up and drop it off at my den. With love, Nokin.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Vroih mumbled from behind the princess. “If Gamehna told Nokin she’d need her ta watch tha egg, why’d she panic when it’s gone?”

“Not my problem.” Cherry grumbled, slowly curling into her bed. She seemed to fall asleep quickly as Veneasha sighed and turned to walk back outside.

“What did she say,” Gamehna asked. “Is my baby ok?”

“She said a dragon named Nokin has your egg,” Veneasha explained to her. “Though I don’t-”

“That’s my sister!” Gamehna blurted, frantically trying to fly. “I have to go see her!”

“Gamehna, wait!” Veneasha scrambled after her, trying to catch her. The mother was already taking flight, aimed towards the far out flats. The princess leaped after her, flying after the frantic dragon. Gamehna however was fueled by adrenaline, pumping her wings faster and faster while her tail swayed in the wind.

“Gamehna!” Veneasha yelled, sacrificing her breath. She didn’t stop though. In fact, the mother probably gained speed. Soon the flats were below them. They were small dens crammed closely together, entire communities of poor dragons. Though one den was set out from the rest, and that was the one Gamehna was going for.

The princess dove for the den, managing to pass the mother dragon and land at the entrance. Not at all gracefully, but at least she was there. Gamehna slowly lowered herself and tried running to the entrance of the den. Veneasha flared her wings out and blocked the door, giving the mother a quiet hiss.

“Gamehna,” Veneasha said sternly. “Use your head and not your claws. You should know better than this!” The mother froze, then whimpered, glancing down at her feet. The princess sighed and lowered her wings.

“Look,” She said more softly. “I don’t want you two to fight if it��s not necessary. Bloodshed leads to more bloodshed. Do you understand?”

“Yes princess..”

“No,” Veneasha said to her. “This is not the princess talking to you. This is Veneasha, your friend. An ordinary dragon like everyone else.”

“Alright Veneasha.” Gamehna said, perking back up a bit. “But can we go in yet? I still want to know if my egg is okay.”

“Yes, we can do that.” She nodded and stepped to the side. The two dragons walked inside side by side, looking around the den. Like most other dens on the flats, it was made of hardened mud and stones. Except this one wasn’t with any other dens, and looked to be made by Nokin herself.

There was a small hole in a wall with a gleam shining from it. Curious, Veneasha slipped two talons inside and pulled out a long purple crystal.

“What in the Blackmoon..?” She asked herself softly, looking over the crystal. It was sharpened to a point, almost like a weapon. The midnight purple color didn’t make it any more comforting. Gamehna walked over and looked at the hole as well.

“There’s more crystals.” She said in shock, pulling out five more identical crystals. While Gamehna gazed at the crystals, the princess looked back in the hole.

“There’s something else in there too.” She realized, slipping her talons inside. It was far back in the hole, but reachable. She felt her claws touch the object barely. She wrapped a talon around it and started to pull it out. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. When it was pulled out, it created more questions than answers.

“Well this isn’t comforting..” Veneasha mumbled blatantly, pulling out the dark colored scroll case. It looked to be made of pure black obsidian with golden clasps holding it closed.

“What’s inside?” Gamehna asked quietly, looking cautiously at the container. The princess shrugged and pried off a clasp, then the other. She unfurled the scroll and looked at with curiosity. The scroll was written in a deep red ink, nearly the color of blood.

“..What language is that?” The mother asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“What do you mean,” Veneasha asked. “It’s dragon scratch.”

“No, that’s definitely not dragon scratch,” Gamehna told her, curling a talon in the air to trace the letters. “It looks like the writer used all four talons to write every letter.”

“Well, I can read it, so it can’t be that old or strange.” Veneasha huffed, unfurling the rest of the scroll. She squinted at the words and started to read them out loud.

“Kin of Diamond, your task is not that simple. You shall acquire an egg and start the ritual. Others will arrive tonight to examine it and take it back to the colony. Flee your home with this scroll afterwards to ensure no one can trace you back to the colony.

"We’re counting on you, Kin of Diamond.” She finished the scroll, her stomach churning.

“Ritual?” Gamehna asked with an airy breath. She sat and held her talons near her chest. The princess could hear her send a quiet prayer to Disyun.

“Only one question though,” Veneasha sighed, rolling the scroll back into its container. “Where is your egg?”

The two started to look all around the den for anything similar to the hole they found the crystals in. Soon, Vroih and Jiernaq had found the den and were watching from outside, silent.

Veneasha noticed a rug on the dusty floor that was pulled back slightly. Curious, she lifted it with her talons to reveal a slate of mud placed on the ground to look like the rest of the floor. She tapped Gamehna and gestured to it. The two dug their talons into the crevasses and lifted the plate away.

And there was the egg, as black as night.

#dragon #dragons #dragons of lockra #dragons of lockra: shards of dawn light #veneasha #princess veneasha

2 notes · View notes

nebula-starlight · 6 years

Text

Virus (Part 11 - Full Circle)

Geer woke with a pounding headache, seeing first the imprint of his head into the wall before realizing his claws were covered in blood. Panic beginning to churn in his gut, he started to move when he heard a soft snore come from somewhere around him and he froze, eyes going wide as it felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest. Had Nether actually...? No, surely he wasn’t that cruel! He knew the trauma Narssia had endured and would never take advantage of her in such a weakened state... would he?

Rising as he dry swallowed to keep the nausea at bay, he glanced at the bed, shaking slightly in dread at what he’d find but was surprised by the sight of Narssia asleep, the sheets slightly bloodstained in spots. Judging from the lack of sunlight he guessed it was still early in the morning, deciding he had to do something that would hurt them both. As much as he hated it, what had happened during the night could not occur again. Truthfully it was surprising that the authorities hadn’t tracked both of them down at this point. Sure Naris was part of the local clinic staff but to have no one check up on her was odd.

Stepping out of her bedroom, he winced, stumbling against a wall as his breath hissed out from between his jaws. His chest... it felt like a sledgehammer was being pounded against his ribcage. Nether was awake, silent towards him, but desiring control once more. He couldn’t give the soul that satisfaction yet. There was something he desperately needed to do first... after he made one other stop.

Luckily there was a bathroom just on the other side of the kitchen and he quickly darted inside, vision doubling upon itself as his earlier attempts to quell the nauseous feeling failed him. Perhaps it was that the smell of blood had penetrated so deeply into his nostrils that it almost made him gag once, twice even before he even crawled over to the smaller washbasin in acceptance of what was to come. Why he hadn’t gotten sick last night or even the night before he wasn’t sure, not exactly relishing the thought of spilling his guts out. It truly was no secret that blood made him squeamish, despite his prior profession.

Still, the minute he rested his chin on the edge of the carved, colored porcelain he knew his fight was over. Any energy he had left seemed to flee as his jaw opened and the nausea turned into retching, his head dropping into the bowl to spare the rest of the space from being tainted.

What seemed like hours later, Geer slowly left the bathroom and made his way finally into the kitchen, each step shaky as he fought back against the monster stirring inside. Not again! He was spent, exhausted from his earlier retching, but wasn’t about to have a repeat of the night before. Shoulders slumped, he crossed onto the tiled floor with a heavy sigh, eyes lifting wearily as he searched for a scrape of paper and ink. It was for the best. He couldn’t afford to stay any longer, no matter how his heart might long to remain by her side.

Finding what he needed, he leaned against the counter, dipping a single clawtip into the inkwell before beginning to write.

My dearest Naris,

As much as it pains me to have to write this, unfortunately I feel I must. After the events of last night I cannot, in good conscious, stay here any longer. Seeing what that monster did, being unable to prevent any of it... I feel like I failed you so terribly. I had thought maybe that seeing you would help somehow control him - it did not and, instead, only made things worse. Now I see that the two souls can never be allowed to interact. If they are... only death and destruction will follow, that I guarantee. So now I must run. I must find a place away from here, away from... you. I suggest you do the same. Flee what you’ve known as your home. No doubt someone has seen or at least heard of what has happened over the course of these last few days. I fear that the authorities will be coming and I do not wish to have to endure whatever torture they may have planned. Even now I can feel him stirring... He’s angry, furious at me. All because I somehow managed to claw my way back out for just a brief second. Time enough to spare you from whatever dark fantasies roamed through his head. That is not the soul I first met - that, as time passes, I see now why he was considered- called rather, the illusionist. He tricks everyone around him, deceives them with manipulation and false words. All while it benefits him. I truly wish I could stay. If I was able- Had the circumstances been different I- I would have likely asked to court you. I see something in you that reminds me of myself. A determination even in the face of unimaginable tragedy. Never lose that, my dear. Now I must leave-

He flinched, hearing mocking laughter echo around him, his claw frozen over the page for a second before resuming.

I have no idea where I will go but I must find someplace that is isolated, someplace where he cannot reek havoc. As I said before, I suggest that you to do the same. Take nothing- Take one thing with you. The music box. Hopefully it should at least keep her at bay... although I do not know how effective it should be long-term. I love you Narssia. Never forget that.

I treasure you with all my heart,

Geer

He was suddenly jerked back, a panicked scream dying in his throat as the world around him went black...

Nether rolled his shoulders with a painful crack, picking himself up off the floor from where his sudden possession of Geer had caused the drake to fall onto his back. Why the nerve of him to write that whole thing... knowing exactly all the while who hid in waiting. He should have just taken him over sooner and spared himself the headache of having to read that nauseating love-fest. Then again...

He snarled, eyes glowing a deep red as he started for her bedroom, pausing only briefly outside of it to grab the music box in his aura before he returned to the den and hurled the musical trinket at the wall. The wooden case cracked but he wasn’t finished, flicking it at the fireplace before igniting the wood inside with a slight nudge of his magic. Let her see if she could keep that menace controlled without the lull of music! They both deserved to get captured and experimented on while he lived out in the wild away from anyone and everyone.

He hated it! Hated feeling the emotions of each member of the pathetic scaled race who got close to him. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? All he wanted to do was scream until his lungs gave out but that would no do good, that he knew from experience. Leaving seemed ideal but if the act woke Geer... No, there was no way his host would rouse so soon after being violently pulled under.

Still, he needed something to take the edge off. Something to dull his senses so he wasn’t feeling like he was bouncing all around the room. An excess of emotionally-charged energy never did him any good. Often it always brought out the guilt and he... couldn’t have that. She made her choice. He had done the right thing. No matter what he would stand by that thought. It was the only thing to get him through, besides a strong drink every now and then.

Actually that seemed like the perfect idea...

The tavern was mostly empty when he pushed open the swinging doors, noticing a few patrons lingering about with their drinks as they chatted to others. He could care less, crossing the stained wooden floor as quickly as possible and stepping up to the counter. The low hanging lights pulsed, his concentration flickering for a moment before he came back to alertness and snapped at the dragoness behind the warped wooden bar for a pint of mead. How long had it been since he last drank?

Taking the beverage she hesitantly offered with an already shaking forepaw, he snarled to be left alone as he spotted an empty booth and sat down in it. Staring down into the amber liquid as he swirled it around lazily, Nether tried to tune out the vibes that crawled along his back. Damn his empathy! Even the few around him could sway him... rile up his already heightened senses. Better to just drown himself in alcohol then. Maybe it would also take away the faint whisper in the back of his head that he’d screwed up yet again. Just another failure to add to his long list.

He really wasn’t sure how many he ended up having. The table was littered with overturned mugs and he could barely keep his head up. His vision swam, colors bleeding together as he felt the formerly jovial energy of the place turn dark. Not again... All he wanted was to be forgotten about. Surely no one would deprive him of such a simple request. Just let him drink away the grief in silence...

Apparently his wish wasn’t to be upheld, seeing what he thought was movement from the corner of his eye. Nether sloppily turned towards it, his foreclaws dragging against the worn wood as he brought his remaining beverage with him. Maybe it was just that pretty ‘ness coming with a refill?

Or not.

His head slammed down against the tabletop amidst the sound of breaking glass and something sharp and jagged pressed up on his throat as a raspy, heavily accented voice pulled him from his drunken stupor slightly.

“We don’t tolerate weird strangers here. Either get lost or ya leave with yer tail tucked between yer legs. Hear that punk!”

He wheezed from lack of oxygen, only to then stumble back coughing as a hard punch to his chest landed. They meant business then. That was fine... He could show them how he responded to such violence. Only he had a feeling as his eyes begun to glow softly that they wouldn’t be quite as lively afterwards.

The formerly pristine establishment looked as though a war had erupted inside, blood smeared along the walls and floor alike as Nether sat in the dead center, cleaning bits of organs off his claws. He was always ready for a bloodbath but this one in particular had been rather fine. A true testament to the magic flowing through him. Still, he was a lost soul and what better way to replenish his energy than to cause a little chaos, spill a little blood. Of course he could have been more discreet given there was a pile of bodies against the once welcoming entrance but he did plan on torching it soon enough. He just wanted to have a little fun first...

Fun... When was the last time he could properly say he had fun? Flying with Versi alone had been fun but those days were long passed. Taking another look at the carnage around him, he sighed and staggered to his feet, still gripping one final beverage as he took a sip before walking out.

Memories hurt too much. He never thought he’d admit it but that was the truth. It had been so long ago and yet he kept running, kept trying to put distance between him and those vicious scars. He didn’t even know where he was walking... too distracted by the echos of his bloody past. Why was it always his fault? He killed her... killed so many under the guise of protecting their land. What use was protection if everyone kept dying?!

Screaming out his rage, he broke out into a run, the dirt path under his feet changing gradually into grass and dead leaves. Everything was his fault! If he had never woke in the first place then... Nether blinked, skidding to a stop as his foreclaws dipped into water. A lake? How far out had he gone? Nothing looked familiar around him. Trees devoid of leaves... moist earth under his paws... Where even was he?

Backing up, he glanced around, pulling Geer’s cloak tighter around his body to shield himself from the cold wind that rattled through the empty branches. He’d gotten lost, hadn’t he? Oh well, no one around to see his pitiful state then. Lifting the mug he’d stolen from the tavern, he drank heavily from it, each drop of alcohol burning away his guilt and making his senses even further scrambled. Smashing the now empty mug into the ground beside him, he stared out into the small lake he’d discovered and started to laugh, wobbling unsteadily. He was free! No more was he drowning in that vile poison which leaked from his soul. Even the nuances of the common tongue had returned to him fully as though he’d never lost it in the first place.

His amusement faded, replaced by coughing before he retched into the water. Either he wasn’t used to getting drunk after such a long time or the body he inhabited was a weakling who couldn’t hold down alcohol well. Head spinning, he fell to his haunches, content for once to stay where he was until he could actually focus on what was in front of him.

His fault. His error. His mistake.

Forgotten... Betrayed... Replaced...

“Geer?”

Nether’s head snapped up, irises glowing faintly as he glanced back out of the corner of his eye to see the crouched form of the one being he honestly never expected he’d see again after the letter the cripple had written. He kept still, feeling the cold wind gust against his chest and flutter the edges of his cloak. What could he say? Would words even matter now after how he treated her? It hadn’t been right, he knew that, but the stress had been building up too much and...

“I know I’m not who you expected.” She admitted as she crept closer, her voice strangely husky as though she’d been under a great deal of emotional stress. “Believe me, I wish this wasn’t what I was doing either. I-“ Narssia cut her own words off with a sharp cough, the sound jarring to hear as he continued to remain still as stone. “I wanted to stay away but after this morning... It’s better if you see what I’m talking about.”

“There’s no need,” he whispered, voice cracking on the bitter wind despite her advancing muffled clawclicks. “You’ve made your decision as I did mine. Leaking black ooze is not why you sought me out.”

He heard her stop, expecting she’d leave, but was surprised when she spoke again, the sharp rasp of anger bringing to the surface the faintest sense of his deep guilt. “You forced yourself on me, sir. I remember last night, despite the panic, and want to pass along a message of my own...”

She darted forward, smoke rolling over her body before she rammed into him, the blow sending him spinning. Before he could recover, she had caught up from above and slammed him into the ground with a kick from her hind legs. Grunting as the air was knocked from his lungs, Narssia landed overtop of him and snapped at his exposed throat, spittle flying from her maw as her wings rose protectively from her back.

“I gave you a chance because of him! You ruined everything, illusionist.” She slammed her paw into his throat repeatedly before digging her foreclaws into his breastbone near the mark that had been branded into Geer’s skin. “While I’m not as violent as the glitch... My magic is still a force to be reckoned with. A shadow-breather is one of the more unpredictable elemental-wielders. Of course you wouldn’t be aware of such. A high and mighty fallen Shadowling would care little about how magic has evolved.”

Narssia studied him as Nether coughed, keeping him firmly pinned down on his back. “Test my patience again, I dare you. Better yet...” Her eye color shifted, green shining through briefly before her golden-specked yellow returned. “Why don’t we get away from all this?”

She pressed on his throat again, earning a low, pained growl from the suffering spirit. If she kept it up... His pupils shrank, fear crawling up along his spine. Surely she wasn’t trying to force his magic out. But if what she said was true and shadow-wielders were unpredictable then was he sinking lower into a trap where there was only one answer he could give. Already breathing was becoming difficult, each exhale seeming to set his throat on fire. More than just mere surface wounds apparently.

“Let’s go wherever we want. Any place we can be free of judgement.” The sheer change from anger to excitement in her was startling, despite how relieved Nether was that she stepped back and he was able to tend somewhat to his aching throat.

“Where?” He croaked out, unwilling to move but noticing how her eyes glowed green briefly. She couldn’t be...

“Anywhere! So long as it’s away from those who would try to experiment of us.”

The low rasp he heard shifting through her voice confirmed his suspicions, recognizing she was either tapping into Void’s magic or the broken spirit was manipulating her. No matter which was true, he had to act on her delusions.

“Of course,” he muttered, struggling to roll over onto his belly as she stood practically twitching in place. “Freedom...”

Narssia’s eyes were too wide, too dissociated to indicate she was acting on her own mindset. Suggestive control then. A powerful tool he had also used in the past. Now, how would he make it seem like an accident... He struggled to his feet, wings flickering into existence beside him to make him appear larger.

“All magic comes at a cost, Naris. Now surely you-“ He yelped, stumbling back as she raised her tail threateningly to his neck, eyes glowing green.

There was no friendliness in her gaze, stone cold and deadly as he forced himself to swallow. “Take us, now.”

“As you wish.”

Combining magic had never been majorly successful as a spirit but Nether found Narssia’s inherent shadow magic worked well with his own, pulling them both into a space between worlds. Truthfully it wasn’t far from what he imagined Versi had endured as Void had come into being. Still, even after only mere seconds, the process of seeking her magic back out was difficult with so much nothingness pressing down on him.

It took some time but he eventually found it - a spark of green just barely enough to catch his notice. She’d gone farther out than he expected. No matter, now that he knew where she was catching up wouldn’t be hard. Pushing his own soul out towards it, he felt reality warp, unsure at first why it seemed as though he was passing into another world. That shouldn’t be right... unless he misjudged and another being had a similar energy signature to hers.

“And I will see all you dudes- What the fuck?!”

The mini explosion crossing universes had caused left his ears ringing but, then again, it could also have come from the loud screaming that bombarded his senses. Everything was too bright, too noisy, too green... Wait!

The bipedal creature approaching him was doing so cautiously, thrusting out a baggy scrape of cloth he snatched up and held tight over his exposed lower body despite his crouched position. Where the hell was he? What freaky universe had he been drawn into? And why did he feel like his appearance was the catalyst something far darker needed?

“One, two, Anti’s coming for you...”

The second Nether had thrown them into the space between worlds, her head felt as though it was on fire. All that blissful static turned to angry, seething noise that made it hard to think or do anything. Even the ordinarily simple act of moving was difficult but she managed, scanning the unstable expanse as she went for something she could latch onto to ground herself. Finding a magic signature not unlike Nether, however, wasn’t what she wanted but, rather, what Void responded to as positively as expected.

By the time she crossed the barrier between realms, the corrupted spirit had calmed some, content once more to watch in relative silence...

“And I will see you in the next-“

She groaned, head spinning and feeling warmth under her as she kicked out instinctively, earning a whimper from what only could be considered a lesser animal before her eyes started to adjust. The lights where still too bright but having a bipedal humanoid being standing over her wasn’t what she expected.

Oh Sol, she was definitely not in a world comparable to what she’d known. What horror would the monster inside be able to unleash on this unaware race? Furthermore, why was she drawn here? There was nothing special about the male... If one ignored the odd creaking sound coming from under the floor.

#virus #virus/corrupt #we've come full circle #the end of virus is the beginning of corrupt #except there's one more thing to come #an epilogue of sorts will be posted towards the end of the week

23 notes · View notes

mothman-dontpullout · 7 years

Text

WOF has some of the most interesting worldbuilding that I’ve seen in awhile. Tui does a wonderful job balancing vagueness and exposition, explaining enough about the world while leaving just enough unclear to keep the reader interested or, in some cases, flat out come to their own conclusions. An example of the latter category can be seen with the pyrrian writing system (or lack thereof). It is made very obvious that dragons have a written language and that it is different to the one we use, but very few specific details are given as to how it works or what it looks like. And while for me, while it is a wonderful writing strategy and one i wish was utilized more in stories like WOF, it's not something I can really live with. So I decided to, using what little specific information I have, to construct and interpretation of the pyrrian language. So using the factors I will describe in a moment, this is what I’ve come up with:

However, please keep in mind that I am only on book 3 at the time of writing this, so if there are any details that I’ve missed, please inform me so I can make the right corrections. Als, please forgive the poor quality of the graphic example in the post. The only digital mediums I have access to at the moment are a touchpad and a copy of Gimp That I don’t know how to use. I am also in the process to expanding this script into a spoken tongue as well, which is why not all the letter in the latin alphabet are represented.

I’ll start off with a brief rundown of why this script looks the way it does. First off, it is written from to to bottom. I decided this based on the implication that the scrolls that dragon use are made of one continuous piece of paper/parchment, instead of many sheets sewn together such as in a Sefer Torah. This makes most sense because if they wrote from left to right like we do, the would have to keep writing on the same line until the reached the end of the scroll, which is very impractical. This also affects the shape of the characters because have them be wide and flat allows one to fit more information into one column. They same principle and be found in our writing system, as we tend to use letters that are tall and thin.

Another principle, which is also one of the most important factors in the function of all writing systems, is the tool and medium being used. The reason that this is so important, is because the most efficient way of writing will change drastically with different mediums or tools. Take cuneiform for example.

Cuneiform is the script used by the ancient mesopotamians/sumerians, how used a triangular stylus to make impressions in wet clay. Notice the fact that there are no curves anywhere in the writing. Anyone who has taken a highschool art class can tell you that making a neat curve, or drawing any kind of line for that matter, in the surface of clay is nearly impossible, so the sumerians drew their letter by simply pressing the end of their stylus into the clay, not by drawing lines.

The writing system that dragons are implied to use however is interesting, as while they use the relatively normal medium of ink on paper/parchment, the tool they use is their talons themselves, not an exterior tool (this is seen in book 2, where Queen Coral is described at have ink-stained talons from writing so much, and how she dips her claws in ink and writes on an open scroll shortly after the dragonets arrive.). This affects the appearance of the characters due to the shape of dragon talons. In the illustrations of the dragon species, they are all shown to have claws shaped something like this:

The reason that is shape is so interesting, is because of the fact that l ines shape will change based on its orientation with the page. If the claw were dipped in ink, the claw in its current orientation would act similar to a quill or fountain pen, drawing a line of uniform thickness. However, if the claw were leaned forward, like this:

The the line drawn would be thin going up and down, and thick when going from side to side.

I fully intend of revising the script to better suit these factors, so don’t treat the key above as gospel if you use it for anything. In the meantime however, I encourage all of you to use it in any way you see fit (provided that I am credited it you do)

Have fun!

#wings of fire #wof #long post #worldbuilding #writing systems

27 notes · View notes

2dsheep · 7 years

Text

Realisation

It doesn’t quite hit him until he steps through those office doors. They shut behind him with a click far too loud for a room which suddenly feels so small. Erwin’s desk is exactly as he left it; papers strewn across the dark oak top, the lid of his ink pot sitting not where it should be but on his note papers, the ink now an unsightly crust around the rim.

If this had been any normal expedition, Levi would tut right about now and start clearing up. In no time the papers would be organised, the ink splotches wiped away and the dust that had settled would be swept up.

There’s hardly any point now. He could clean, but Erwin isn’t going to walk through those doors and give Levi that tender smile of his as he thanks him for clearing up, all while assuring that there wasn’t really any need. Sometimes, after the more disastrous missions, he would even rest his hand on Levi’s shoulder and linger, just for a little while. It had always made his heart stutter

But there will be none of that this time.

Levi circles the desk with small, cautious steps, unaware of what frightens him so, but he reaches the chair and as his fingers brush along the armrest he feels dread set heavy in his stomach. How often had he brought the man coffee to help him power through those long evenings? And despite that, how many times had he stepped into this office later that night to find Erwin asleep in this chair, forehead pressed firmly to the desk?

There had been far too many occasions where Levi had come so close to brushing Erwin’s hair from his eyes, apt as it was to come loose when working endless hours. It had never ceased to trouble Levi, the undying need to know how Erwin’s skin would feel beneath his fingertips.

It was nothing short of cruel that his body was already turning cold on that bed when Levi could finally hold his palm against Erwin’s cheek.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulls out the chair from under the desk. It’s never felt so heavy. He then does something he’s never done, no matter the amount of time spent in this office; Levi sits himself down, and he has never felt this insignificant. Just to sit at a desk so large, so many documents piled on either end; with this desk comes responsibility he knows he could never cope with. Fortunately, Erwin had the oversight to not do something as stupid as appoint Levi as the next commander.

No time at all passes before he starts to feel restless, fingers drumming a slow beat against his thighs.

An unwelcome curiosity burns in the pit of his stomach, it flares as his eyes fall on the drawers to his right. What sort of things did Erwin keep in there? It can’t be anything of importance, Erwin was far too cautious for that. But Levi can’t help but think of how the rules and boundaries of a commander and his subordinate are meaningless now. Anything sitting in those drawers is of no worth to anyone, but they were once, just like the papers atop the desk. Regardless of how little they concern Levi, they were everything to Erwin.

Were his drawers as messy as his desk? Filled with random notes, scrawled thoughts and theories and reminders. Or perhaps the complete opposite. Levi had only once entered Erwin’s bedroom, and he wondered if his desk was just as bare, completely lacking of personal items, nothing of sentimental value.

Levi remembers how it dawned on him that day, that for Erwin Smith there was only his dream, and room for nothing else.

He pulls on the handle of the top drawer, surprised to discover it unlocked. Inside lies a neat pile of parchment paper, and several pens yet to be dipped in ink. The middle drawer boasts not much more, packs of envelopes, wax for his personal seal, everything for his role as commander. Whatever had been fuelling his curiosity seems to dim, but never one to leave a job half-finished, Levi pulls on the final drawer and finds it locked.

Throwing his eyes about the room he tries to think where the key could be, it certainly wasn’t one of the possessions Erwin was carrying with him when he died. He had gone out with nothing more than his stubbornness and that damned bolo tie.

With a low sigh, Levi pushes himself up from the chair, kneels in front of the drawer and removes his knife from his boot. Apprehension about damaging Erwin’s property and violating his privacy stalls him only for a moment.

With a splintering crack the drawer opens, and the disappointment that washes over him comes as a surprise. It looks just like another pile of documents.

He pulls out the papers, feeling himself deflate as and more and more bureaucratic nonsense spews onto his lap, lines detailing finances and beneficiaries and stores stare up at him with each sheet. He slides to the floor, feet beneath him, the papers becoming sand in his fingertips.

He didn’t realise how much he wanted to discover something more about the man, anything to humanise him outside of that dream of his. Erwin had been allowed to die as a human, and Levi didn’t realise until now he needed something to prove he in fact lived like one too.

An ache in his knees and shoulders is what moves Levi to scoop up the papers off the ground. When he lifts them up, however, something slips out.

He drops what he holds into the drawer and reaches to grab the small slip of paper from the floor.

It’s a newspaper clipping, and when Levi sees what has been saved, he can’t stop the air rushing out from his lungs.

A year after joining the Corps, Levi’s adeptness in the field had become well known and the newspapers were desperate to interview this unknown man who had been bestowed the title of Humanity’s Strongest. Initially, Levi had refused, of course, but Erwin persuaded him to go through with it for the sake of improving the Survey Corps’ image.

Without having a name for it at that point, Levi had loved Erwin even then.

Those writing the article had wanted a picture, to put a face to the man with the strength of a thousand.

And it is that picture that Levi holds in his hands now, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Levi frowns; even the artist couldn’t make his face look less miserable. It was the only portrait Levi had done of himself, and he doesn’t doubt that this is one of few copies left.

It’s clear that it has been handled often, but with care. The edges are slightly worn, threatening to fray, but there isn’t a single tear. Levi inspects it more closely and notices the ink detailing his left cheek was beginning to fade.

Of course. The weight of realisation hits his stomach like rocks. Erwin had felt the same way, and only now can Levi see what a fool he was to not have recognised this years before.

His fingers flitter, an internal struggle within him, tempted as he is to rip the damn thing to shreds. In a stuttered breath, every word and touch between them loses all meaning, they twist and tangle, becoming something new. And Levi can only taste the bitterness of it all, like ash on his tongue.

But this is how it was, and had Erwin survived, had Levi made a different choice, then this is how it would always be. Stupidity and stubbornness would have reigned over them both, each denying themselves what they desire. It is only now that Levi only sees it was for all the wrong reasons. Death has always come accompanied with a touch of cold clarity. Levi’s anguish is hollow. Rather than a soul-splitting pain he only feels a numbness crawl over his entire body, a blankness that washes over his mind and thoughts.

The clipping in his hand is far too heavy. He wants to put it back where he found it, as if he could undo ever discovering it, but the thought of someone else sitting at this desk, clearing it out, and coming across this makes his stomach lurch. It is a fragment of Erwin that Levi is unwilling to share. He slips it into his pocket, refusing to think of why he is unable to rip it and throw it into the fireplace, to have it burnt come the first day of winter.

Despite his unwavering trust and belief in him, Levi has never understood Erwin’s desperate pursuit for knowledge and truth. Too many times he had to watch the man teeter on the edge of euphoria following a new discovery, only to watch it fade, swept away in a tide of ugly obsession.

There are only so many doors you can open, before the monsters starts following through afterwards, and before long you forget where you started.

Unpleasantness claws at his chest as he wonders whether Erwin had always known. Levi doesn’t doubt that he was keenly aware of how they both felt, but refused to acknowledge that which he deemed unnecessary, a distraction from his purpose.

Levi casts one last look at the office; it is the last time he will stand in it as something of Erwin’s.

His feet drag along the floor as he makes his way out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Dust kicks up in the air, swirling this way and that, before settling once more in the rays of the setting sun.

The man was such a fool, but to Levi, there is nothing more human than that.

#Erwin Smith #Levi Ackerman #eruri #fanfic

181 notes · View notes

kalencook · 7 years

Text

Lost Letters

Sometime as @framboisezakuro is about her business, she'd be approached by a Moogle Mail carrier. The small Moogle squinted up at her, and tilted his head, his pom pendulously drooping to the side, before pulling a small stack of pieces of parchment from his bag. He shuffled through them a moment, before landing on one and began looking between it and her. Several times he went back and forth, between the paper and between her. Catching a glimpse of the parchment, she could see that, upon it, was a sketch of herself.

“Oh! You are Miss Zakuro, are you not? Framboise Zakuro? I am Mogglai, kupo, of the Lost Letters Division! We search high and low to find those that haven’t been picking up their mail. We’ve been looking for you off and on for some time now. We have letters for you, kupo!”

He rummaged through his sack, and held out a few letters bound together with twine, the top letter containing her name in a familiar, flowing script. Mogglai did a small spinning dance in the air, dipping slightly.

“We split them up amongst all of us until one of us found you. I'll gather up the rest and bring them to you soon!”

And with that she was left holding the yellowed envelopes, as Mogglai began to flitter off towards the horizon.

------

The first envelope was slightly wavy and wrinkled, and the writing on the front showed signs of running, as though it had become wet, and was left to dry. The paper, further, had begun to yellow slightly, suggesting that it had been held for years, at least. Regardless, the green wax seal on the back held firm, sealing the envelope. Within the envelope, lay a single folded sheet of paper, showing similar signs of age. It’s front showed Kalen’s familiar, hand-written script, just as she had remembered it, save for the slight running and splotching of ink.

-~-~

‘Dearest Framboise,

Though it has been only a few short months since you’ve left, I find myself worried for you. I’ve been trying to become more acquainted with the various influencing bodies within the Shroud. Despite this, I’ve not heard word of your activities, nor have I heard anything concerning your family. While this could be considered good, I still find myself questioning. I know that you are very capable, and I try to remind myself of this. Just the same, please, should this letter reach you, and it is safe for you to do so, let me know that you are well. If you are unable to, so be it, just be careful, and know that my hopes go with you.

Yours,

Kalen’

-~-~

The second envelope looked much like the first, its yellowed paper decorated with her name, and the same green wax seal. The paper itself, however, was much more smooth than the first. The writing was much more crisp and neat, denoting its writing was done more carefully and more patiently.

-~-~

‘Dear Framboise,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. How long has it even been since last I wrote? I suppose it must’ve been a few moons, at the least. Still a better track record than my poor, neglected journal, I suppose. I continue to hope your silence means that you are safe amongst those you trust. As always, your safety is of the utmost importance.

So much has happened, it’s hard to know where to even begin. I have cast my lot in with Talin and Saachi’s Free Company, Area of Effect. Though smaller than Driftwood Coast, I feel that it is closer for it. I am writing from my room in said Company. Being practically bed-ridden, I’ve had alot of time to do some thinking. And reading. Lots of reading.

I suppose, however, I should clarify why it is that I’m bed-bound, before continuing, lest I leave you unnecessarily worried. Let me begin by saying that my first major foray into Sympathetic Healing was a huge success! You see, an old friend had taken part in a tournament of sorts in which she, and a few others, ended up fighting a Chimera. While victorious, she had taken a serious rake of claws to the midsection. The healing provided onsite was apparently lackluster, at best, and the wound festered, rather than beginning to heal. When it showed no signs of improvement within a week or two, she came to me. By that point, unfortunately, the injury had already begun to heal incorrectly, and conventional magickal healing would’ve been largely ineffective. Hence why I turned to sympathetic healing to begin with.

As I’m sure you’re already aware, sympathetic healing is more effective than most, by drawing on the caster’s own life Pattern to fuel the spell. As should probably have been expected, the others did not appreciate the success of the spell, so much as they were not terribly pleased with the outcome, so far as my own condition became for it. A close friend had some rather choice words for me about it, in fact.

As I lay in this room, alone, to rest, my mind wandered, and I thought about you, and the choice words you likely would’ve had for me, yourself. Even so, I wonder what form those words might’ve taken. Would I have been foolish? Impulsive? Masochistic, perhaps, or a martyr? Perhaps one day you’ll have the chance to tell me. I hope that is the case.

I still have faith that you are safe, out there, somewhere, and I continue to hope for your happiness. Take care, Fram, and I hope our paths cross once more.

Well wishes,

Kalen.’

-~-~

The third letter looked a bit more recent, the paper of the envelope only barely beginning to yellow, to the color of cream. Once more, the letter bore her name, and was sealed with a green wax seal. An odd lump could be felt in the envelope, and upon opening, she’d find it to be an old piece of taffy.

-~-~

‘Dear Framboise,

As the moons continue to pass without word from you, I have begun to accept that, either you must continue to remain hidden for your safety, or that you simply do not wish to be found. In case these letters have not been reaching you, I have begun to use an alchemically treated paper, that should weather aging and, well, the weather, much better than standard paper.

I was going through some of my old belongings as I clear out my room, when I came across something that I had forgotten that I had kept. Enclosed with this letter is one of about a half dozen pieces of taffy that Kyndle had made, that I held on to for study. It seems so long ago since then. I suppose that, in a sense, I have that taffy to thank for meeting you in the first place. I still remember bull-headedly eating a piece, just to prove the point that it was what was causing trouble for everyone. And it was then, in the Quicksand, unable to be understood by anyone else, that I found the courage to tell you that I thought you were beautiful, not that even you could understand me at the time.

As the days march inexorably forward, more people come. More people go. I rarely see anyone from Driftwood Coast anymore. Do you ever wonder about them all? Where are they now? Are they happy? Healthy? I sit on the beach, sometimes, and wonder about things such as that. I suppose, in a sense, I feel that, if I remember them, at the least, that they will live on in some form or another. Kyndle and J’enn. Arry. Kayle. You. I look out over the ocean, and wonder if, somewhere out there, there are wondering about me. I wonder if you do.

Then I look around, and see those familiar faces that are still around. Loetzoeng. Xifang. Dovan. Desmond. I see them all living their lives, and moving forward. So must I, of course, even as I look back and wonder. As always, I hope the life you’ve found moving forward is one of happiness for you. You deserve nothing less.

Wishing for the best,

Kalen.’

#LostLetters

1 note · View note

dontyoudarestiles · 7 years

Text

Fic: A Voice of Naught and Night

(Original) Percival Graves/Credence Barebone | E (Explicit Sexual Content In The Future) | ~11,700 | Chapter 3 of ?

Summary: Percival Graves is a detective in the small Irish village of Perth, living in the shack along the sea his father had lived in and his father before him. Raised on myths of merrowmaids and selkies, when he finds a mute, beautiful boy washed up on the shoreline, he can’t help but provide shelter. And eventually, love.

| ao3 |

Part 1 Part 2

Graves

That night, the boy slips into his bed.

It’s quiet and calm, but Graves is sleepless. He lies in bed, breath heavy, eyes unable to shut, staring at the sliver of moonlight spilling in between the pewter curtains. He can hear the crash and rush of the waves outside if he listens carefully, but strangely he doesn’t hear the boy’s footsteps until his door creaks open.

“Credence?” he murmurs, head still full of visions of shark-eyes and fang-teeth. And maybe the knot lessens, seeing the vague shape of the little one standing in the doorway, safe from beastly men and their calloused hands. But that doesn’t excuse the pleasure he feels, seeing the light spill onto Credence’s face, light up those dark liquid eyes.

Because even in the dark night, the boy is beautiful, a little ghost on the moor, limpid eyes and soft wide mouth. The dark curls drip like ink swirls onto the pale forehead, the lashes kissing black shadows against ice-cliff cheekbones, pearly teeth digging into a swollen berry lip nervously. He wears his little sleep shirt, the one that gapes over his hollow collars and the honey-dip of his throat. Graves can see the glint of his pretty bare thighs, the slim white feet curling uneasily on the wood-board floor, and it steals his breath like an icy wind.

“Are you alright?” Graves finds his voice.

The boy moves across the room, thin arms clutching his shoulders in a self-hug, head cast low.

“Cold?” Graves asks, voice soft, and the boy glances up shyly and nods.

“Come ‘ere,” Graves murmurs after a moment of conflict, but the image of the boy shivering alone on the cot Graves had set out for him makes his decision for him. Graves reaches out a hand, and he watches as the boy approaches the bed and gently moves the covers so he can fold his long, shapely legs underneath. The boy slips in, mattress barely dipping under his negligible weight, the slim, warm body pressing deliciously against him and Graves shifts onto his back to draw his little one close. He feels the slim arms splay across his chest, the little chilled toes bumping up against his shin.

“Jaysus, Credence, what’re those, your toes or icicles?” he grumbles. Credence giggles softly and they shuffle around. Graves leaves the bed to find Credence soft, fluffy socks, despite the boy’s nonverbal protests and grabby arms. He returns to the bed quickly, chuckling. “Yer a spoiled little thing, aren’t yeh?” he asks, undeniably pleased, watches the boy squirm beautifully on his dark sheets. He’s tempted to light his lamp, if only to get a glimpse of the boy fully. Instead, he sits on top of the cover and draws one little foot into his lap.

There’s a surprised breath, but Graves ignores it in favor of cupping the cold limb with warm hands and fingers, digging into the sole in a gentle massage. He hears the boy relax with a happy sigh as he rolls his thumbs into the arch, the room quiet but for the rustle of movement against sheets and the soft sounds of their breathing.

He leans down, finds the other foot, rubs warmth into that one as well. “Feels good?”

Credence nods, flushing gently, and the eyes slip closed. “Spoiled little thing,” Graves murmurs again, but he doesn’t pretend to be very bothered by it, especially when he sees the happy smile on the boy’s mouth. “Yes, yeh are. My spoiled boy, though,” he murmurs, and pulls the warm socks onto each little foot.

They resettle, Graves on his back, Credence cuddled up on his front, their legs tangled nicely together. He presses his mouth to Credence’s temple, feels the curls slip velvet-soft against his neck, loops his arm around the tiny waist.

“What are we doing, Credence?” he murmurs, and the boy, bereft of his writing pad, says nothing. “What am I doing?”

Credence tilts his chin to look up, and Graves’ lips and stubble scratch against the smooth skin, and he imagines the reddened beard burn the boy will inevitably wake up with on his forehead and cheeks the next morning.

“This is so inappropriate,” Graves mutters, guilt seeping thick in his stomach, and he feels the boy shift and thinks he’s going to retreat to his own bed for whatever reason.

Instead, the boy pulls back and arches a brow, and yes, Graves gets the message. They’ve kissed, they’ve held each other close, Graves has bathed the boy for Christ’s sake, has sat by his side almost every day since they’d first met. A bit of snuggling would not be crossing any of the many lines already skipped over in the sand. But this whole deal with Grindelwald is casting Credence more and more in the light of a victim. All Graves can see now is the boy, pale and slim and broken, underneath a towering, powerful figure with sharp teeth and claws, and all he can taste is guilt.

And so he pulls back, tries to be objective, slides his hands down the boy’s spine one last time and tries to create space.

But then Credence gives a little noise of protest—and it was only a soft puff of air, a tightening of the jaw, but the wetness of his dark eyes and the grasping, pleading fingers pull Graves back in, make him shush and soothe, rake his fingers through the glossy curls. “Okay,” he murmurs, “Okay, I’m here. I’m here.”

But while he feels the boy’s breath deepen, watches the lovely lashes flutter shut, Graves can’t sleep. Because he knows on Monday, he’ll have to go into work. And the very idea of leaving Credence behind, alone in a town harboring someone who means him ill harm, makes Graves’ skin crawl, makes his fists ball up and clench, makes him want to find something and kill it.

So he presses in close, and he whispers, “I have someone for you to meet tomorrow.” And he thinks, she’ll like you.

…

Queenie does like Credence, very much so.

A sign that says “closed” in wedding-cake swirling handwriting hangs on the front door of the shop, and yes, it’s Sunday in Perth, Ireland; it’s not uncommon for shops to be closed for church, but Queenie had always been the lone rebel to keep her shop running through morning mass. Now though, her store front’s abandoned and she’s dithering on the front-step like she’d been expecting them, grinning and giggling as Graves introduces her to Credence.

“Cocoa or coffee, honey?” she chirrups happily, fixing a little breakfast for Credence. A fluffy chocolate chip muffin, some freshly fried eggs, honey-buttered toast. She smiles at him over the countertop, and a little worried corner of Graves’ mind calms. How could I think anyone wouldn’t like Credence?

“He loves cocoa,” Graves says, smiling in relief. “Top it with a bit of whipped cream as well,” he adds, knowing his boy’s sweet-tooth. Credence gives a little excited hop at his side, clutching at Graves’ arm in his anticipation, and Graves apparently can’t quite hide the look of absolute adoration he gives him because Queenie raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

“Ah, here you go, Credence,” she says when she finishes. “Our famous hot cocoa, on the house.”

Credence sips it eagerly, cheeks pink and glowing from happiness, a bit of cream glistening on his upper lip.

“I need to speak with Miss Queenie for a bit, Credence. Would you like to sit at one of the tables and eat?” Graves asks carefully, watches as the boy nods eagerly and bounces towards the back of the shop, veering away sharply from the windows with distrust.

Ever since Graves had told him about Grindelwald, Credence had been incredibly nervy about going outside, even even hesitating about being near windows in general. The early morning skulks by the waterside have stopped. He avoids the bedroom window-alcove. This morning, he trembled getting into the car, had begged Graves on paper to leave him home. But Graves needs to know that Credence is safe, needs to have someone with him and so. Queenie.

“That was the boy in the photo,” Queenie whispers frantically once Credence has settled down to munch on his muffin. “The one the man was looking for!”

“I know,” Graves said grimly. “I’ve—I’ve been housing him for about two weeks now.”

Queenie’s brow creases with surprise.

“I didn’t know someone was looking for him until our talk,” he admits, agitated. He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocks on his heels. “I asked Credence about it, and he—he was terrified, Queenie. I don’t know why, I don’t know what happened, but I’m near positive that man looking for him isn’t his father.”

Queenie has a hand cupped over her mouth, looks around like she’s expecting Grindelwald to pop out from behind a curtain any moment now. “That’s—oh, the poor boy,” she says sadly.

“Yeah, I know.” Graves rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t mean teh trouble you, or nothing, but I can’t leave him alone, you know?” He swallows. “I—I wanted to ask yeh for a favor. Just—just look after him for me, okay? I’m going to go to the Chief with this information, I promise. But something just doesn’t feel right and I’m not willing to take chances.”

Queenie nods. “Of course, Mr. Graves, you can—”

The kitchen door smacks the wall, it opens so quickly, and they’re interrupted by Tina Goldstein, frowning confusedly, saying as she comes in, “Queenie, why are you closed? It’s Monday, fer God’s sake, people need their tea—” She stops, blinking at the scene: Graves looming and dark in front of the counter, Queenie shuffling guiltily behind.

“Tina!” shrills Queenie, wringing her apron nervously as she maneuvers around the countertop. “You didn’t tell me you were stopping by!” She smiles tremulously, and Graves sighs. Queenie’s a brilliant girl, makes the best bread pudding this side of Cork, but she’s a dreadful liar.

“Is there something happening here that I should know about?” Tina asks, suspicious.

“Nothing, honestly, Goldstein, I was just getting some breakfast,” Graves says tersely. She hasn’t spotted Credence yet, frozen like a doe on the meadow in the corner.

“Come off it, Graves, you never go out to eat,” Tina says, too observant for her own good. Atta girl, Graves would think in any other situation, but it’s something else, being on the other side of the glass. “What’s going on?”

“I felt like a change, Jesus, Tina, I’m not a robot,” he snaps, but then Tina, in the usual fashion, jumps from Point A into the Atlantic Ocean.

“Is—is this a rendezvous?” Tina asks, brow tense and confused. “Are—Queenie!” she suddenly splutters, slack-jawed. “Are yeh—are yeh having an affair?!”

“No!” Queenie nearly shrieks in indignation, but then Tina scours the room with her eyes and finds the boy in the corner, shrunken and trembling in the corner, and Graves pinches the bridge of his nose as she asks, slowly, “Isn’t… that the boy that Nordic fellow was asking after the other day?”

…

Tina, Graves finds, isn’t nearly as understanding as her sister.

“Yeh should’ve taken him straight to Protective Services!” she hisses, even after he’s explained in full. “What were you even thinkin’, Graves? Keeping a teenager at your home? Getting so involved? Confronting the suspect? Your judgment’s compromised!”

“You don’t know the situation,” Graves spits back. “I was only trying to keep him safe, that’s more than I can say for you. This man, whoever he is, he’s bad news. I don’t trust Credence in the system, Tina. I don’t trust that he’ll be safe.”

“I don’t know the situation?” Tina bristles, cheeks flushing. “You don’t know the situation! You’re going off your instincts, Graves, not evidence! Face it, you’re too emotionally involved. You should’ve alerted the station immediately when you first found him.” And then she stills, looking between Credence, sitting hunched in a chair, and Graves, standing tall and silent above him, his hand on Credence’s shoulder. “You haven’t—how old is this kid, Graves?”

“Old enough to know he doesn’t want to go back to his ‘father’,” Graves says lowly.

“Graves,” she whispers. “What are you doing?”

Graves knows he’s asked himself that just last night, questioned his own actions, agonized over the seemingly easy domesticity cloaking himself and Credence, but hearing another person, someone who Graves respects deeply, question him is another thing entirely.

“I don’t know, Tina,” Graves finally admits harshly. “I don’t know, okay! I just—Mary and Joseph, girl, I found him naked on the beachside. He was cold, he was hungry, I took him in, I took care of him. I couldn’t just abandon him to a hospital bed.”

“He’s a person, not a stray cat, dear Lord,” Tina says, near ripping her hair out. “We’re police. Helping people’s what we do. We’re not villains. What were you gonna do anyway? Keep him locked up like a dog on a chain, stay with him forever? Live happily ever after like a bloody fairy tale? And what about Mr. Grindelwald, hm?”

Graves looks away, jaw tight. Credence reaches up, links their fingers together for comfort, and that’s the last straw for Tina.

“He shouldn’t be staying with you,” she says succinctly. “Let me or Queenie have him for a few nights. Clear your head. We need to take him—” And then she breaks off, face going white. “G-Graves?”

Graves frowns, looks down, and his breath leaves him.

Credence lifts his head, tilts his chin to the side, eyes entirely eaten up by black, liquid and animal. There’s no sclera, only a dark looming void that sharpens the air, and the room is suddenly freezing. Graves can see ice forming in dagger-spikes on the tables, the floor suddenly frosted and slippery slick, and Tina and Queenie start shivering. For some reason, Graves can’t feel the chill, only the soft warmth of the boy’s shoulder under his arm.

“Credence,” Graves whispers, stunned. And then he recalibrates, because the Goldstein girls’ lips are going blue, their teeth chattering. If Credence doesn’t stop… whatever this is, then they’ll surely freeze. Even now, their movements are sluggish as they stumble back in shock, ice cracking on Tina’s slacks, Queenie’s dress dripping with icicles. “Don’t do this. Please.”

Credence head tilts again, and his empty eyes meet Graves’. Graves kneels down on the freezing ground next to Credence, so he can look directly into his boy’s black gaze. The bite of the air nips at him now, just a bit, and Graves takes a shuddery breath.

“Whatever they said before, you know it’s not going to happen, my boy,” Graves rumbles, deep and comforting and he sees a twitch of the soft lips. He says, insistently, “Come on, yer a good boy, Credence. My boy. And these are my friends, see?”

Credence swallows, eyes still blacked out, but the ice recedes just the slightest bit.

“They’re my friends, but I’d never let them take you away from me,” Graves murmurs, sliding soothing fingers over the boy’s shoulder, fingers so long they brush the fragile collar. “Come back to me.” He leans down, presses his lips to the wild curls, cups the soft cheek, and whispers, “Credence.”

And warmth floods back into the room so quickly even Graves can feel it, like a bonfire-heat flaring up brightly on a winter morning.

The ice melts almost instantly, dripping off of tables and chairs, and Queenie and Tina gasp loudly, clutching each other in shock, suddenly drenched in hot water, the flush returning to their cheeks and fingers in a rush of balmy blood.

“What—” stammers Tina, but Graves’ glare quiets her, and they watch as Credence’s shoulders slump and then begin to shake with tears.

“Oh, Credence,” whispers Mr. Graves, before his hands are full of a sobbing little faerie, arms looped around his neck, a wet face burying itself in his chest. “Baby, shh.” Credence sobs harder at this, fat tears spilling down his cheeks, and Graves draws him even closer, mouths gently at the sweet-smelling temple, feels the curls brush against his under-jaw.

“My sweet, poor baby,” he murmurs, and he draws them both up, standing, running his warm hands up and down the curve of the boy’s spine, feels the bump of each vertebrae. “You’re gonna be okay, it’s alright. There we go.”

“I think Credence should stay with Mr. Graves,” says Queenie quite firmly, wringing out her soaked skirt, a new flood splattering at her heels, her curls a wet, dark mop plastered against her forehead.

“Quite agree,” splutters Tina, wiping drenched bangs away from her flushed face. “That—what are we dealing with here?”

Graves carries the boy into the breakroom Queenie has for her few employees, complete with a table and little coffee table, but Graves makes a beeline for the couch, sits down first and sets Credence on his thighs, lets the boy fold up like a paperbird, and he murmurs, “It’s fine, just let it out.”

Credence shakes like a leaf on his lap, and Graves hums a little lullaby in the deep of his throat, hand gently rubbing circles into the shaking back.

“Shh, love,” he soothes. “It’ll be okay.”

The boy gives a soft sob, coughs a little bit. His shaking hands come away from his mouth and he reaches for his notepad.

I couldn’t control it, I’m sorry Mr. Graves I’m sorry

“It’s not your fault, Credence, it’s not,” Graves says patiently, drawing the boy close, lowering the paper with a swift touch. “You were just scared. Who could blame you? Tina means well, but she comes off a bit strong, doesn’t she?”

There’s a wet, sniffly laugh, and Credence pulls back, looking sheepish as he mops away his tears with his sweater-sleeve. It’s a bit of a crime, how lovely and pretty the boy looks with a flushed red nose and puffy eyes, but he does, and Graves swipes his thumb over a wet cheekbone.

“What are you?” Graves murmurs, and Credence just looks at him with wet, puppyish eyes. “What am I dealing with?”

#gradence #percival graves/credence barebone #gradence fanfic #credence barebone #a voice of naught and night

7 notes · View notes