#with great power comes great responsibility
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Reborn - Reader x Azriel. AN - thank you anon for this great prompt!
Requested - I don't know if your requests are open but I wanted to throw something in just in case.
An Azriel x reader, where AZ and reader have never met before, reader has been tortured and experimented on by the court of nightmares ( Keir ) she could be a shadowsinger, and they're mates, when the reader is in the verge of death for refusing to work with Keir, AZ feels it and begins to grow hectic without knowing the reason, everyone in the inner court is confused until elain comes out of nowhere and tells everyone that his mate is in danger. ( Vision )
I have this on the back of my mind since reading some of your amazing work and couldn't stop thinking about it.
No amount of masturbation, drinking, or sparring helps the agitation under Azriel’s skin. It’s a constant, burning, itching thing that’s like a fucking disease upon his being.
Sleep is his only relief, but even then he’s plagued with pain and darkness. It reminds him too much of the dank basement he’d been forced into when he was young, so he stays up. He’s exhausted and brooding and quick to snap at anyone who questions him. He knows he’s being a dick but according to the five healers he’d seen, there was nothing wrong.
Nothing wrong, just like how his shadows weren’t some kind of magic, according to them.
He’d refused to believe in healers all that much since the explanation Madja had given him about his diseased pets. The writhing, tentacles of night were a ‘bodily mutation of the highest level, tainted with fae magic’. Tainted. The word felt right for what they were, but that didn’t mean it stung any less.
“We’ll invade here, and be able to plant our…” There was a beat of silence in Amren’s quick words, then her voice cut through his busybodied task like a knife “Azriel, are you even listening?”
Truthfully, he hadn’t been. He’d been consumed by the ache again, the broiling sickness beneath his skin that had every muscle flexed in tension. His mind had other battles to fight.
“What does it matter? You’ll carry out your plan with or without me. Keep talking, make yourself feel important, Amren.” His ill-tempered response came quick and laced with venom. One glance towards the small not-quite-fae female and his mind gave a twinge of regret.
A lick of her power radiated, filling the room with something vibrant and undeniable. Cassian sucked in a breath, and a word from Rhys had her firey gaze snapping to him instead. “Take your dog from the important business then, High Lord.” Her words were precise, hissed.
Azriel straightened. The insult didn’t land as well as Amren had wanted, in part because he couldn’t care less, another because the fire under his skin was reaching a peak that he had no idea how he survived every time it came around. He glanced to Rhys, who gave him a nod. Good. Let him free of this cage.
He flung open the balcony doors with his cursed gift and sprinted off the ledge, launching himself into the summer air.
+
Rats nibbled at your toes when you slept, scurrying away before you could catch them. Your senses weren’t even close to what they had been months ago. Before, you’d been able to catch at least two a week for extra sustenance.
You told yourself that they’d learned, that they’d gotten quicker at their biting and fleeing. Truthfully, you could feel your strength waning every day.
Living was no longer hope, and more of an inconvenience.
But it was an inconvenience to Kier as well. And that meant you’d keep on living out of spite.
The next female would appreciate it.
“Arms up, legs together.” The order came with unnatural casualness that you’d grown used to. If you didn’t follow the orders, you were beaten until you either complied or were unconscious, so complying was really the only option. Especially when you were attempting to stay alive for as long as you could.
It’s for the next girl. You chanted to yourself when the keeper made the injection. It stung like hundreds of bees attacking the same place, but the pain was familiar. A friend you welcomed before everything went sideways and the nausea rolled in.
The drug Kier’s men gave was like none you’d experienced outside this cell. An incredible high, with a disastrous low.
You convulsed on the floor moments later, your body still barely able to take the amount they dosed you with. You’d seen the liquid inside the damn thing grow each week, they were marking your progress with every one of them. So, with each dosing you made sure to put on some dramatics for them.
The clawing at the throat was false, the sound of your screams only half-forced. The real, unforced reaction though, was always the shade of pallor your skin turned after every injection. The darkness that radiated from you like a bubble, the pain made physical.
It hovered over your skin like an aura, tendrils of it washing over your forehead when the sweating started. It always started like this, for the first few hours - or possibly minutes, you weren’t sure once you were lost to the pain - they’d observe, and sometimes Kier himself would join, looking like a disappointed mother. Then, once the shaking subsided, and you were able to breathe normally, they’d release a rabbit into your cell.
The same rabbit almost every damn time. After the first two weeks, you’d grabbed the first one and snapped it’s neck, hoping that Kier would be happy with the accomplishment and you’d earn something. You’d felt awful as it died in your hands, but the pain… if it stopped the pain, you’d kill anything.
But time after time, they’d send in another rabbit, and though you begged for some kind of explanation of what they wished with the damn thing, they’d only observe. After a few hours of investigating, it’d eventually be removed and you’d wake up alone again.
Kier did not make an appearance today, and after your shaking stopped, neither did a rabbit.
“Where’s dinner?” You croaked, the tears stinging small cuts on your cheeks. Your friend never laughed or spoke, hardly even moved when he was in the vicinity of your cell. It was odd, even for a freak who enjoyed drugging and torturing others.
The male only stared, writing in his little notebook. He could at least humor you and tell you what he was so keenly logging. Some friend.
He opened the door, but instead of the rabbit jumping inside, he stepped forward, past the barrier and wards keeping you from breaking through. Your breathing halted.
“Your reluctance to learn your gifts has given us no other option.”
+
“Did you lose a fight?”
Nesta’s words normally bounced and slid right off Azriel, but with how volatile he was feeling, it took all his restraint not to snarl at her.
“Come on Az, where’s that quick wit?” She chided, crossing her legs at the knee beside her sister.
His eyes drifted to Elain, the warm blush of her cheeks. Her lavender nightshirt made her seem so much more vulnerable than she was. He knew just how lethal the female could be, and admired her for it. His eyes drifted to the soft hair and round features that he’d once dreamt of. How foolish he’d been, how full of hope and bitterness. Now here he was, merely a ghost. A shell for pain to be housed in and nothing more.
And here he stared at a garden of hope and light. The female who’d haunted his dreams for years. The opposite of the steel bitch that sat beside her.
A pang of guilt pinched at him. “You’re ridiculous.” Was all he could muster at her. Nesta was trying to help, in her own way, he supposed. She was testing his limits and temper, even while balancing comforting words and attempting to heal her little sister’s mental wounds. Not to mention navigating the strange, untrained gift of Elain’s.
It wasn’t often that Azriel came to the house of wind proper. When he did, he usually confined himself to the dining area and the war room, where the formal dinners and meetings were held. He hadn’t walked the halls into the large internal library in a long, long while. No wonder they both had turned their chairs to face him when he’d cracked the door to find them both here.
The large windows seemed crowded with the amount of books that surrounded them. The only source of light, aside from the twinkling magic fueled ones above. The room had always made Azriel feel claustrophobic, and now it set him on edge in a way different than it had before.
Especially when Elain’s eyes bored into his own. His skin felt like it was shifting, pulling and pushing from just beneath. He was beginning to wonder if the healers had somehow missed a parasite of some kind. Something new perhaps, something they’d never seen before.
Elain’s eyes widened, her cheeks going from the pink blush to sickly pale in an instant. Her expression was unfocused, hazy - as if she were drunk. Azriel suddenly felt like he was intruding, like seeing her so vulnerable was something reserved for only those close to her.
Nesta placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed her sister’s back comfortingly. It was about as tender as Azriel had ever seen her, even with Cassian. He watched the hands that rubbed the Seer, recalling the intense desire he’d once felt for her. Embarrassment coated his cheeks, distracting him from the physical pain for a moment.
He’d wanted to be that support for her, once. Nesta’s hand seemed to grow in his vision, the embroidered collar of Elain’s nightshirt with it. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. The blackness around his eyes did not recede though. His bones ached, and his headache stabbed at him like a branding iron. He rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut.
“She needs help.” Elain gasped, coughing on a breath. Azriel wavered on his heels, something hard hitting his back, crushing his wings.
He could barely hear the high strung sound of Elain’s voice. “She needs help, Azriel!”
+
He tore though the court, dragging Kier kicking and frothing with him. He’d received a few severe wounds from the cruel male, but nothing that a few patches of his siphons couldn’t hold together.
The gushing stab wounds could wait. He had something far more important to tend to.
“You’re a bastard, a low-born inconsequential bastard, Shadowsinger.” Kier coughed as Azriel dragged his broken body with him. The crowd pushed and writhed around them, but his outstretched dagger kept any of the patrons from advancing. Several dark looks, hisses of death closed in around him, but he plowed through them all, working his way to the catacombs behind the stone chair that served as Rhys’s dark throne.
“I may be a bastard-” Azriel grunted through his pain, now more fevored and intense than before. It was a wonder he’d even been able to make it here, but it did explain his sloppy handling of Kier once he’d found the male.
“But at least I didn’t sell a daughter off as stock.” He tossed the would-be-king to the locked door of the catacombs, a part of him enjoyed the thunk his head made against the stone floor, even through the intense agony that ripped through him.
This was not the place to show weakness. If he let his shadows drop, let the air of anything but a cold hearted killer go for even a moment he’d be trampled by the crowd.
Kier rose slowly, muttering curses while he pulled out a key and slid the door to the side. He sketched a bow, waving Azriel in. Spit landed at Azriels feet as he crossed the threshold, and he hesitated in his step. A hiss rang out behind him, shuffling feet a song as the crowd quickly scooted back. He held his stance there for a moment, collecting the wrath that built in him. It writhed and twisted in his mind, his guts, his teeth throbbing with the urge to tare out Kier’s throat.
The blistering heat flared again, this time in his jaw and he moved down the hall, towards the cells that an unfortunate assistant to Kier had described.
He’d made their death quick, painless.
+
You couldn’t scream, could hardly breathe with the weight that seemed to be growing in your chest.
Not weight exactly, more like pressure. Internal pressure, like there was lava built up inside you with nowhere to go. And every rattling breath seemed to give it more life. You wheezed, weak with the exhaustion of fighting it.
Your friend had given you three more of the injections, and promptly left when you began struggling against the binds at your hands and feet. One of them had ripped, you only knew because that was the hand that you’d used to claw at your chest with.
The blood made going any further too slippery and exhausting.
There were far away sounds, but it all seemed too strange, so disjointed to be real. Screams and sharp clangs of metal, breaking glass and thudding.
Your eyes slipped closed, and relief washed over you. The pressure eased, and the squeaky hinges of the door opened. Had death finally come? Was this the end of your cycle, and now they were bringing in a new victim to Kier’s experiments?
There wasn’t much of a goodbye to the world, though. As sad as it was to not be able to see your family again, you were just grateful that the pain was receding. That finally there’d be no injections, no innocent rabbit and certainly no Kier around.
The sounds were strange, a choking, strangled sound like the first time you’d killed the rabbit. Your eyes cracked open almost involuntarily to see what had happened.
Outside your cell in a glow of blue light was a winged male, his hand wrist deep inside your friend’s chest.
+
Blood is hotter than most people think it is. Azriel takes joy in it though, when it’s the blood of the truly vile ones. The male with the syringes and log book reeked of something spiced and foreign, something Azriel’d never encountered before. He would have asked, would have talked to the male if he’d not pulled a knife and threatened to ‘kill her’ as he backed away.
There were no thoughts after that. And as he fell to the floor, Azriel reveled in the male’s labored breathing. Relief and heat flooded him, prickling him with a soaring joy he’d thought abandoned him long ago. He could laugh, if it weren’t for the absurdity of how it sounded to laugh at this moment.
He plucked the book from his hands and shoved it into his belt behind him, his chest thrumming with joy.
He’d never been so filled with glee before, so overwhelmed with it after killing… Had he become broken in a sick way? Was he no better than the male he’d just killed? He looked to his hand, twisting it in the low light of his siphons.
A wet, weak cough echoed off the walls and he spun, knife ready.
Then the blade was on the floor as he rushed to the bars of the cell door, ripping it free of the rusted hinges.
The female was gaunt, and frail. Yet his chest sang and though she looked moments from death, he couldn’t imagine more beauty.
She clutched her chest, the blood there crusted and dry. “Thanks.” She croaked, voice barely a whisper. Shadows mounted around him, enclosing them in complete black. He would have thought he was winnowing if it weren't for the sorry excuse for a bed that stayed beneath her.
Azriel’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying, even to his own ears. His mind, his body was a rushing river of every emotion at once, all cascading through his mind, to his chest and thrumming in his blood. Her eyes went wide and wild, searching his for a moment. His heart thundered in his ears.
What had his life been until now? Why was this moment such a climax to him so suddenly? All of it, the pain the agony, the stark moments of joy against it all - the brief moments of shared happiness that made it all worth it tore through his body like a flash floor.
Tears pricked his eyes, and it was a curious thing to see them fall onto her neck and wash away the blood there.
Then, a wet sigh from her lips, and her eyes stopped searching his. The rush of joy and sense of sanctuary ceased. His blood went quiet in his ears, and the room felt suddenly cold. The room silent around him, not even his shadows dared whisper.
His fingers hesitated over her cheek. When her next breath did not come, he shook her gently. Her eyes remained, staring blankly at the ceiling.
This was truly a tomb now.
“No…” He heard his own words that time. The word clattered through the cell like a bell tolling, echoing.
“Take her back.” A shadow hissed over his ear, caressing.
He shook her again, the tears boiling over now, panic gripping him.
“We know how.” another said. This voice was different, the same whispered tone and suggestion, but this was not one of his pets. He sent his own shadows skittering away, and a group of them stayed, unbound to him and unmoving from the cell. His heart skipped, fear upon fear pulling him into the icy abyss of despair.
His own shadows returned, a broken syringe floating to him on their behest. They mingled with the others, reveling and dancing together though Azriel felt that he was slowly sinking.
“What am I supposed to do with this?!” He shouted at them, at nothing. He had truly lost his mind, hadn’t he?
“Save her.” The strange shadows told him. Just like Elain had said, overtaken by her visions.
A tendril of the foreign shadow wrapped around his hand, locking the glass pieces there and slicing into his palm. The needle aimed directly to her chest, between the ribs, only a few inches from the heart.
And what did he have to lose? The silence that surrounded him now was almost worse than the pain had been. Wouldn't pain at least be better than complete nothingness? To feel completely blank and unwritten as a being?
With a breath, and a part of his siphon’s power to support the broken syringe, he pushed into her skin. His own blood dribbled down the sides, mixing with hers. Through and through - until he knew that he’d met the same depth of a killing blow to an opponent’s heart.
+
“Side, block, strike.” Cassian’s orders came out in demanding, practiced tones. Each step, each swipe of your blade met with one of Azriel’s shadows as a shield.
His were still much, much stronger than yours, even after months of practice with them. Even with him showing you very intimately just how much they were capable of. Your cheeks blushed at the reminder of that.
“No distractions, keep that shadow talk in the bedroom, Az.” Cassian scolded.
A smirk played at your mate’s face, and he hit you with a surprise swipe at your feet, left unprotected by your own shadows.
You fell on your ass, cursing.
Azriel offered a hand, panting at the exertion the sparring had taken. You were proud of that, at least.
The first six months of training had been dedicated to building stamina, gaining back weight and muscle while balancing training your shadows to obey you. Six months ago, being able to spar with your mate had seemed like a far off dream that you’d never be capable of doing.
But with his training, and Cassian’s encouragement, you were almost able to take him on stride for stride. Almost.
So, you took his hand and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Then knocked his knees out from behind with a wave of your own shadows.
You smirked, and offered him a hand while Cassian boomed with laughter.
He allowed you to help him up, but cleaned in close, pecking a kiss on your cheek.
“You’ll pay for that later.” He said in an intimate tone. A lick of his shadow wrapped around your thigh, snaking upwards.
“Promise?” Your eyes sparkled at him, and the pain all those months ago had been worth it for this.
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Supercharged | JJK
Chapter 2: Reign of Mercy
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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life.
When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours.
Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?
🗲this chapter: There’s a whole world here, where your curse can start to bloom…
🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader
🗲word count: 6.1k
🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family
🗲rating: pg15
🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, past attempted murder
a/n: if anyone is wondering, 190811 jungkook is exactly who I have in my head for this fic. so, go google that and thank me later😍😂
also if you saw me change the summary, don't mind me😙
one more thing, I just wanted to clarify that while I say female reader, in this fic it's just the use of she/her pronouns. reader is shorter than Jungkook, but I don't think there's any actual anatomy description going on, in case that's a worry for you!
supercharged playlist
“You’re kidding, right?”
Namjoon made no reply to Jungkook at first, simply sighing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he moved past the younger man and sank into the sofa. Anyone would have thought he hadn’t heard the irate question.
Eventually he deigned to give a weary reply.
“Jungkook, we can’t pick and choose what happens. And nor could she. So drop it.”
Silent, wide eyes flickered between the two from the kitchen. Jimin’s breath stilled at his lips watching his two brothers while he clutched V’s hand tightly.
Chewing over Namjoon’s response, Jungkook was like a ticking bomb. His gaze never faltered, blazing eyes fixed on his leader.
“Jungkook.”
Only now did his tense form turn, finding Yoongi sat on the sofa behind him, relaxed with one leg slung over the other. No one had seen him come in, but that was normal. He still had his hood up; probably just got back.
Aiming a level look at the youngest, Yoongi said no more.
Exhaling, Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed a little. Simultaneously, a hint of poison leaked away from the air in the room.
Jungkook turned around.
“It was Bolt, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Namjoon didn’t try to deny it.
Swallowing, Jungkook stepped back to take a seat by Yoongi. He did not relax into the sofa's comfort, however, staying perched on the edge, alert.
“It’ll be fine,” Namjoon spoke firmly, “I understand you’re not feeling great about it, but you’ll get used to it. A good night’s sleep, and you’ll forget you were ever this mad.”
Jungkook scoffed derisively. Like that was ever going to happen.
“It’s not fair on the kid,” Yoongi weighed in, “she was pretty beat up.”
“See?” Namjoon agreed, as if that was a positive thing. “Never mind how she might look, she was a victim of Bolt too.”
Eyes slipping to the floor, Jungkook stuck his tongue in his cheek.
“You know how we work.”
Namjoon’s words were final. And Jungkook could easily read within them the challenge, daring him to question their methods. Their trust. And he could never do that. Angry as he was, he knew Namjoon was right.
“How you’re feeling is valid,” a softer voice tentatively entered.
As Jimin slid into the spot beside him, shuffling as close as possible with comforting arms enfolding his form, Jungkook gave in. Slouching at last, he leaned into his brother as V found a spot opposite.
“But try to be fair,” Jimin’s gentle reminder sounded in his ear.
Jungkook stayed silent.
Cracking open, the door left a gap just big enough for Jin to talk through. The sound proofing on your safe room made it necessary.
“Good morning! Are you decent?”
He had to resist the panicked urge to enter when nothing answered him for a moment. But he needn’t have worried; you were still asleep. His greeting brought the first ray of light with it to illuminate your room, and soon had you stirring.
Eyelids inching open, you managed a groggy humming sound.
“Can I come in?”
“Huh? Yeah,” you croaked, coming to your senses.
Sitting up among a crumpled pile of blankets, you were in time to receive a glass of water from Jin as he entered. On moving, your head announced its displeasure with a nauseating wave of pain, so you were grateful for the pills he then pushed into your hand.
“How are you feeling?”
Swallowing them down with the cold water, you finally became alert enough to feel embarrassed. In front of you, Jin was professionally dressed in a shirt, smart as he had been the night before. You however, probably looked like the worst hangover in history.
“Not bad…” you muttered.
Examining your hands, there was mercifully no sign of that cursed blue so far. The burn you had sustained was also remarkably faded.
“Up to some breakfast? It would certainly help.”
Not sure how hungry you were, you agreed anyway. He probably knew best.
Stepping outside, he waited while you slipped on some clothes he had brought. They were fairly shapeless, large black things, but you couldn’t exactly complain.
Just as the sweater fell over your head, a prickling sensation burst into your wrists.
Gasping, you dropped the jumper over your eyes to look. To your surprise the blue shocks of light jumped from your fingertips and up the fibres of the garment like static. You braced for the burning feeling like last time, but it never came.
Still not free from the knot of fear which tightened every time the powers leapt out, you stared, dumbstruck at your palms.
“Y/N? Are you nearly ready?”
Blinking rapidly, you looked, startled to the door.
“Sorry! One moment!” you called.
There you stood, fully dressed, yet frozen to the spot. As much as this room felt like a cell, you were safe in the knowledge that your powers would do no damage in here. If you left its walls, you had no way of controlling it.
Fists clenching of their own accord, you didn't notice the gasping sniffles that took over you as you watched the door fearfully.
Clearly, Jin did.
“Y/N?” his voice was markedly more concerned, “I’m coming in.”
A moment’s pause, and he was coming towards you.
A firm grip on your wrists pulled you back to reality. Horrified, you stared wide-eyed at Jin’s hands, expecting at any moment for them to be fried when your powers made themselves known. But he was unafraid, keeping them there without hesitation.
“Y/N.” His steady tone had you raising your eyes to him. “I know this is strange for you. But you won’t hurt any of us, it’s perfectly fine. And besides, food makes everything better.”
Holding his smiling gaze with scepticism, you let your hands fall weakly to your sides as he released them. Wiggling your fingers, you tried to detect any sign of the electricity that now resided there.
With a sigh, you only lagged a few steps when you followed Jin's lead out of the room.
A little way down the corridor, a glorious smell of cooking wafted past. Perhaps Jin had a point.
Emerging into the kitchen, you eagerly headed towards the mouth watering scent. But on rounding the corner, your steps slowed a little. Although the space was mostly empty, providing some relief from the overwhelm of last night, the figures that occupied the place were not ones that built your confidence.
By the stove, flipping bacon in a pan, was a man you hadn’t seen before. But you only caught a glimpse of his profile under white hair, before your eyes fell on the other, seated at the island.
Slowing, you instantly recognised the face of Jungkook, who had looked so angry last time he had seen you. Tentative to get too close, you stopped entirely some steps away from the seats.
Nearer to you, the tv was on, volume low as it displayed the news to two empty sofas. But, eager for the distraction, you let your eyes linger on it to delay approaching the intimidating man in the kitchen.
Shame it didn’t provide the respite you were bargaining for. A shot of a city tower cut directly to a startling blue image, the beaming face of a man otherwise hidden by his mask. Bolt.
Your eyes widened, breath freezing in your body as the blue eyes on screen seemed to pierce through to meet your own. The same blue which had confronted you in the mirror last night.
Gulping, you forced your eyes down to the rolling red text below the images.
BOLT SPARES ATTACKER, REIGN OF MERCY PREVAILS
Something churned, low and dangerous in your gut. The letters leered, imprinting themselves on your retinas as you struggled to believe them.
“…you know, my job is to keep people safe, not to sentence them…” Bolt’s voice carried faintly from the screen, twisting harshly in your ears, “…the authorities are the real heroes, I just lend a hand where I can…”
So Bolt had done the noble thing, and left Kuyang unharmed? Except he had sentenced you. Judge, jury and executioner, all in the blink of an eye. In one throwaway flicker of light.
Taeyeon hadn’t even been so lucky.
You hadn’t even noticed the tension in your frame until the image in front of you suddenly shrunk, dropping to black.
“That’s enough of that.”
Jin threw the remote onto the sofa, giving you a meaningful glance. You avoided it, spinning back onto your original path, having totally forgotten your reason for abandoning it in the first place.
Jungkook had been shovelling food into his mouth, but looked up as Jin rounded the island.
And then he saw you.
Straightening instantly in his chair, his chopsticks hovered in mid-air as his every action halted.
Your brain failed you, leaving you staring right back. It was only after a second that you jerkily prompted yourself to smile. Might as well try to make a good impression.
His brow quirked a little, the only acknowledgment you got. Because not a second later, you were gasping as a shock ran down your arms.
Hurriedly fisting your hands in your jumper, you gritted your teeth. Already subsiding, the familiar feeling was seeping away as a chair screeched against the floor and Jungkook’s tall figure brushed roughly past you.
Turning after him with shock, you could only watch the rigid line of his shoulders as he marched away down the hall.
“Breakfast is served!”
Jin’s chipper call pulled you reluctantly back to the table. Seating yourself, you caught him looking regretfully after Jungkook.
Though the food on your plate was steaming hot and looked delicious, you frowned around at the kitchen. Hadn’t someone else just been here? And what had just happened with Jungkook?
As you began to eat, you eyed Jin’s back. Could you have done something to upset Jungkook? The way Jin had looked ready to run after him reminded you again of the fact you had suddenly intruded, albeit not of your own accord, on what seemed to be an established group.
Fixing your eyes on your plate, you focussed on getting through breakfast. It was admittedly very tasty, and you felt energy return to your body once more.
“Any better?”
Jin’s stubbornly upbeat mood was back, and now you were finally able to offer him a smile and a nod. Feeling full and a little more alive, you turned your attention to Jin who leant towards you from across the table.
“You’re still recovering from yesterday, but we need to do a little bit of work” – you frowned slightly – “it’s not like we want to put you in full training, but Joon reckons you would appreciate being able to control your powers a little.”
Though you nodded, your frown deepened.
“Training?”
“Ah.”
That was all Jin said before standing, leaving you no option but to follow him. Abandoning the kitchen, you hurried to his heels and walked, confused as ever, back down the corridor away from the main space.
However, this time, you passed by the door to your small room. There was little variation in scenery as you went further down the corridor. You found yourself near enough tripping over Jin’s heels when he stopped in front of the final door that ended the hallway. Plain and dark like the others, it was like a black hole, pulling you towards it.
Looking up at Jin, you tore your eyes away from his hand where it rested, hovering on the handle. His mouth had drawn itself into a flatter line, smile erased in favour of a serious stare.
“The others are probably in there already, so… just stay near.”
And then he flashed a smile, as if he had been inviting you in for tea.
With no more time to worry about what on earth he meant by that, you were greeted with the door opening and an instant cacophony of sound from beyond it.
Eyes widening, you forced newly tense muscles forwards. Jin’s reminder to ‘stay near’ pressed close on your mind as he disappeared into the dim space beyond.
A thin staircase curved and led you downwards. When the door shut, it cut off no light. In here, flashes bounced off dark walls, air cracking as it was tossed around.
Coming to the base of the stairs, you looked over a long room. It resembled a gym, a couple of benches and punching bags pushed against the outside walls and large square mats on the floor. Sure enough, as Jin had said, some of the boys you had met the previous day were dotted along it.
As you stopped beside Jin, who waited by the steps, another spark, like lightning, burst across the far end of the space. Gold sliced through the air in a thick, powerful beam, veins darting into the air.
Just as quickly, it was gone.
“Jungkook has the most similar powers to you,” Jin’s voice, low in your ear, “which is why we would have him teach you, but… I don’t think that’s best, right now.”
He moved into the space without elaborating. Though your feet carried you with him, you were occupied by squinting across at Jungkook. He hadn’t noticed you yet. He was facing away, and now he rolled his shoulders out, shaking hair from his face, and raised his arms again.
In the blink of an eye, vibrant gold shot from his palms, towards a sort of metal disk on the wall opposite him.
“Look out!”
Your gaze at Jungkook was severed as a tug came on your arm.
In your distraction, your feet had stilled, and now you stumbled towards Jin and out of the path of a medicine ball which slammed into the wall with a dull thud. Gulping, you watched it fall heavily to the ground, not even bouncing.
“Sorry!”
Snapping your jaw shut, you found the source of the apology.
Chest heaving and pink hair plastered to his forehead, was the man that had smiled at you last night. He shot another dazzling grin now, as if he hadn’t just sent a weighted ball shooting at where your head had been.
But as your eyebrows raised, he lifted a hand and suddenly the ball floated up from its resting place on the ground. The next moment it was flying back towards him.
Flattening his hand, the ball stopped and stayed hovering a few inches above his palm.
You must have failed to hide the shock on your face. The moment he looked over to you, he burst out laughing, eyes creasing. And you couldn’t be sure – his eyes were obscured after all – but they might have glowed pink for a moment as you watched. The ball never moved, seemingly fixed in place in mid-air.
“That’s Jimin,” Jin muttered, then raised his voice, “get back to it!”
Laughter subsiding into a bold grin, Jimin snatched the medicine ball from the air and turned away.
Close behind Jin, you made more effort to stay with him this time, eager not to find yourself in the path of any more flying things.
Further along, the wall gave way to an opening. A similar room lay beyond, square this time. Peering around the corner, a familiar blond zoomed across your vision. But watching the person, you could barely believe it was the same cheery Hope who had welcomed you yesterday.
This room had more equipment, ropes descending from the middle of the ceiling, as well as bars and hoops filling the floor. And currently Hobi was way above your heads, making easy work of a rope. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head when he leapt from it with zero hesitation.
A second later, he landed securely on the wall, grasping small climbing holds you hadn’t noticed. They were black just like the walls, only noticeable because he was now clutching onto them.
Pulling himself up, he launched once again into the air, kicking off the neighbouring wall into a somersault. You had barely scooped your jaw off the floor when he landed on a lower platform and dropped out of sight behind it.
“You know Hob-ah already,” Jin said conversationally. His light tone sounded more like he was showing you around an art gallery, not that you had just seen his friend performing death-defying stunts.
Rushing once more to keep up with your guide, your eyes never settled. They darted from him to the surroundings, not having time to look more at the flash of purple from across the room or the white-haired man slumping onto a bench near Jungkook.
“So this-“ you panted, “this is training?”
“Yep!”
“You… you all train with your powers?”
A nod.
You had reached the end of the gym now. A couple more doors led on; where, you could not guess. This place seemed like a maze. You didn’t even know whether you were underground or not at this point.
Sticking close to Jin, you couldn’t help but shrink back as you passed Jungkook. He was a few strides away, but as you expected, that venomous glare fixed itself back on his face the moment he saw you.
Sparks crackled by his fingertips, drawing your eyes. Was he trying to intimidate you?
Brow sinking and nostrils flaring, you fixed a stare right back at him. You hadn’t spoken to him once! What could his problem be? As you glared, a flicker of gold darted across his irises.
But then you had apparently reached your destination, as Jin opened one of the doors and you were led away, gaze warring with Jungkook until the last moment.
Once you turned back to Jin, you found him a way down the new hallway. Quickening to catch up, you frowned at the back of Jin’s head.
“What… what power do you have?” you asked tentatively.
In front of the next door, Jin stopped, making you do the same. A soft chuckle left him, his face good-humoured as he turned to you as if you had just told a joke. Shaking his head, his eyes turned back to the door you waited at.
“Me? No, I don’t have any powers.”
And then he was rapping at the door.
“One moment!” came a call from inside.
“Except maybe keeping Namjoon-ssi organised,” Jin winked at you then.
Too startled to form any kind of response, you hadn’t so much as laughed before the door was pulled open. Jin swiftly left as Namjoon smiled in greeting and stood back to let you into the room.
Swallowing, you stepped into the space. It was fairly unremarkable, grey walls with a plain desk and a couple of chairs in the middle.
You paused a few steps in, but now Namjoon strode to the desk. Following, you sat opposite him. A tension had seeped into your frame and now you eyed him warily as he made himself comfortable, a welcoming smile on his face.
“I’m sure Jin told you,” he began, “we don’t expect you to do anything with your powers just yet. But it will make things easier for you if you can control them a little. Is that okay?”
You nodded.
Taking you in for a moment, Namjoon was silent. Then he sat back and spread his arms.
“I want you to summon them.”
“What?”
Your protest was instant, but you got no further.
“If you can summon them, that level of control will help you to suppress them as well,” Namjoon explained calmly, finger raised to quell your complaints, “not to mention that by using your powers, it prevents the need for them to burst out uncontrolled as well.”
“But… I don’t know how to summon them,” you spoke quieter, hanging your head.
The scrape of his chair brought your eyes up again. An encouraging nod your way had you standing as well.
“Hold your hands out.”
Still hesitant, you did it anyway. He seemed to have no issue with the fact he would be directly in your line of fire if you actually succeeded.
“Okay. I would have liked to ask Jungkook to do this with you, since his powers are most like yours. I don’t know exactly what your powers feel like, so you’ll have to think about that yourself. Can you imagine how it felt when you used them?”
You chewed your lip as you tried to recall. It hadn’t been pleasant, you knew that. A sort of itching, tingling sensation – though at first it had been worse, like a burning.
You didn’t want to feel that again.
“Got it?” he asked.
Nodding weakly, you listened to the next instructions.
“As a starting point, try to picture the feeling. Hopefully they should respond. Really focus, and when they do, try to sustain it for a couple of seconds. You should be able to feel the core, where the power is flowing from.”
You blinked. You hadn’t really understood any of that, but you took a deep breath anyway.
Letting your eyes slide closed, you tried to remember precisely the feeling of your powers. Not that you wanted to feel the electricity claw its way down your veins, or burst from your fingertips.
Nonetheless, you willed the fire to unleash itself.
It must have sensed your reluctance, though. Nothing came.
Dropping your arms after a few more moments, you sent an apologetic glance to Namjoon. But he didn’t look disappointed in the least like you had imagined he would.
“It almost never works the first time,” he said. “Keep trying.”
Biting down on your lip, you resigned yourself and raised your hands again.
“If it helps, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he kept talking, “you won’t hurt me, or damage anything. In fact, you can actively try to hit me if you want. Imagine I’m someone you hate!”
His dimpled grin made it hard to imagine him as an enemy you would enjoy frying with lightning. Focussing again on the non-existent feeling in your arms and hands, you tried to come up with some sort of motivation.
Your first thought was Bolt.
You had only seen him for a few minutes, but it had been enough for him to rule your life out as insignificant. The single thoughtless shock of blue could well have ended your life – nearly did.
A sharp flicker of heat made your eyes fly open. At the same moment, an exclamation from Namjoon.
For a split second, blue had bloomed in your palms, but it had slipped away before you could grasp it.
“That was good,” he encouraged, “a bit longer next time.”
Breathing heavily, you shut your eyes again, the sensation more present in your mind now. Your anger at Bolt had helped, but the memory was so fleeting it couldn’t sustain the feeling.
Taking a steadying breath, you straightened your arms in front of you. You wanted to do this. Strangely, the next face that cropped up was that of Jungkook. Glaring whenever he saw you, he seemed to resent your presence.
Maybe he didn’t want you there? Didn’t think you belonged?
You would show him. You wanted to do this. If you could control your powers, he would have no reason to look down on you.
Gritting your teeth, you looked the inevitable pain right in the face, challenging it to come out.
Like a floodgate opening, you felt a heat expand in your chest, energy flowing down your arms. When your eyes opened, they were met with a beam of light as it exploded out from your hands.
Without noticing it, your jaw had dropped. The bright blue light you had so quickly come to despise spilled confidently from open palms. Very quickly, the discomfort of electricity in your veins faded, nothing a but a slight warmth to indicate your power.
Around you, you vaguely noticed a deep red glow hanging in the air. Made of light, the cage-like structure stretched from the floor and was containing the lightning you were creating.
On the other side of it, Namjoon stood unharmed, your power dissipating, melting in mid-air before it could harm him.
“Stop,” he now told you, voice slightly raised.
Blinking as spots bleached themselves into your vision, you tore your eyes from the light that had hypnotised you. How did you make it stop?
“Make the feeling go away,” Namjoon said, “the opposite of what you just did. You control these powers.”
You didn’t exactly feel that was true. Arms beginning to tremble, you desperately scrambled to shut it off. It felt warm, so you tried to think of cold, creeping up your arms…
The beams of light sputtered.
Breathing in, you clenched your fists around the power. You could tell it was stemming from your chest, and tried to focus on shutting it off. It felt much like swimming upstream, counter-intuitive as you had to forcefully reign in the feeling that suddenly felt natural.
Holding your breath, you screwed your eyes shut.
Your powers pushed back, wanting to be free. But you dug your heels in, getting the odd sensation that you were backed up against a door that didn’t want to shut.
But the warmth was receding, the stream of energy down your arms thinning.
Namjoon was repeating your name. You had to stop.
All at once, like a candle blown out, the light was gone. All the heat snuffed out, the barrier in your chest blockaded.
Gasping, you fell forwards, stumbling until your arms braced against the desk. Before now you hadn’t noticed the sweat breaking out on your forehead, nor the exertion making you heave for breath.
The red cage dissolved around you, a flash of crimson dying in Namjoon’s eyes.
“Good, well done,” he was saying, a chair being thrust under you. Sinking gladly into it, you still leaned heavily on the table.
“That was good,” he repeated, a glass of water making its way into your hand, “I won’t make you do more now. But it was a start.”
Panting, you raised your eyes as you lifted the glass to your lips. The water was welcome since you felt like you had just run the length of the city. Wrangling your powers to your will was difficult, but you didn’t know what you had expected.
A sharp chime rang out.
Starting, you saw Namjoon’s gaze snap to the tabletop, where a screen had lit up. A small circle and a name popped up, but he swiped it quickly away, the screen’s light dying the next second.
But you frowned. You could have sworn that said-
“Apologies,” he spoke, standing up, “business calls. Is it alright if you rest outside? You can find your way back when you’re ready. We have no more demands to make of you for a while.”
And so you followed him to the door, being left alone soon after.
You looked each way down the plain corridor outside. Letting a breath out, you resolved to at least find a seat before collapsing with exhaustion, so you set off, feeling a little lost. So far you hadn’t really been left alone here, always being shown the way.
But it was simple enough, only a straight path to the large training room you had already seen.
It was emptier now. Someone was evidently still training as you could hear noise, but it came from out of sight in one of the adjoining spaces. Otherwise, the place was now deserted, leaving you free to sink onto the nearest bench.
Limbs feeling a little shaky, you gladly took the weight off them and slumped back against the wall.
You were unsure how long you spent staring into space, catching your breath. That had been tiring, so much effort expended for relatively little result. You supposed you should be proud that you had achieved some level of control over the powers, but you still felt no safer. If they were to surge again, you were no closer to being able to hold them off with any ease, nor to summon them.
The only thing you were sure of was that the energy from breakfast had quickly been chased away, and the prospect of ever getting up again was distinctly unappealing.
“Hey!”
The cheery call pulled you from your thoughts. At some point the sounds from the next room had ceased, outside your notice, and now Hope was walking from the training room.
Having seen you, he changed course and was heading your way. The sight of his sweat-soaked hair and reddened face reassured you for a moment – you weren’t the only one tired. But this only comforted you for a split second before you remembered the sorts of stunts he had been doing, while you had only half succeeded in your beginner attempt.
“First training session?” he asked, thousand-watt grin never fading.
“If you could call it training,” you half-heartedly chuckled.
“Ah, you’ll be great in no time!” As he drew up to you, you finally mustered the strength to stand up, joining him to a clap on the shoulder. Taking in your dejected state, he offered a sympathetic smile. “Tiring tho, hmm?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I know what you need! Some good food will pick you right up.”
You couldn’t say you disagreed, and put all your remaining energy into getting up the stairs and to the kitchen while Hobi talked on happily.
“I’ll get us something,” he told you once you were there.
Infinitely grateful for his offer, you slid into the closest seat and resisted the urge to face-plant the table. Instead you leaned on your elbows, watching idly as he grabbed plates from the cupboards.
“Ah! Y/N! How was it?”
A new addition rushed to the kitchen, familiar pink hair approaching as Jimin took a seat beside you. You looked back into a bright smile as he sat expectant.
Laughing drily, you looked at the countertop.
“I don’t think I’m a natural.”
Tilting his head, he pouted a little at your response and lifted a hand to rub your shoulder comfortingly.
“It’s always tough to start with,” he nodded, “but the beginning is the hardest. Don’t push yourself.”
“Yeah, we can’t all be Jungkook,” Hobi laughed. He returned to the table with two plates of sandwiches, pushing one under your nose. Jimin quickly turned his attention to pout at Hope, who rolled his eyes and shoved the other plate towards the pink-haired boy before returning to prepare another for himself.
As desperate as you had been a moment ago for some food, your curiosity was piqued.
““Be Jungkook”? What do you mean?”
“Our golden youngest,” Jimin explained, taking a large bite of his meal before adding, “for more than one reason.”
“It’s seriously unfair,” Hobi spoke over his shoulder, “the kid can do anything he sets his mind to. Best pupil Joon’s ever had.”
Shutting your mouth, you sank a little in your chair. Jimin was buried in his sandwich, and Hobi in the kitchen, leaving you to pick at your own plate. But you only bit your lip. So Jungkook was some kind of prodigy?
You sighed, neglecting your food entirely. It made you feel even worse about your terrible performance and lack of skill. And here you were, thinking that you would be able to prove yourself to the man who seemed to hate you.
Only when a flickering light distracted you did you look up from your hopelessness.
The kitchen light blinked off entirely for a brief moment, returning to reveal Hobi whirling around with a shout.
“That’s my lunch! Make your own, this is already my second try!”
Frowning, you looked around trying to spot who Hope was berating. Nothing.
While you sat perplexed, the blond suddenly leapt across your vision, jumping high enough to hop from the kitchen table and towards the sofa. As he landed, another figure became abruptly visible, falling as if emerging from a patch of shadow.
Beside you, Jimin guffawed loudly as you gaped. Hobi had knocked the mysterious figure from seemingly thin air, and now deftly swept a plate of sandwiches from their hands, the whole while straddling them to keep them pinned on the sofa cushions.
“Nice try!”
A muffled ‘get off’ accompanied flailing arms, vague attempts at whacking their attacker.
Heaving himself from the couch, Hobi walked victorious to the counter and began, at last, to eat. Behind him, a white-haired young man sat up, ruffling his dishevelled hair as a hood fell from his head.
He turned around with a sheepish smile, shuffling back to the kitchen.
“Be gentle, Hob-ah,” he grumbled on his way past, though there was no malice behind it.
Hobi only laughed loudly in return, turning as the white-haired man came past and playfully hit at his shoulder.
“You’re all brats!” Hope claimed loudly, waving half a sandwich in the air. He was laughing so hard you were concerned for a moment he would fall clean off the chair.
As yet, the new man hadn’t noticed your blatant staring. Luckily, your attention was diverted before he could see your saucer-like eyes. Unluckily, it was diverted by the entrance of a certain Jungkook.
Jimin had been the first to stop laughing. Looking around, you became aware of the tall figure hanging back in the shadows on the other side of the living room.
The raucous joy that had filled the kitchen froze over very quickly as the other occupants noticed him. Cold, piercing eyes scanned over the space, but undeniably landed on you. Struck dumb, you merely stared back as his calculating gaze bored into you.
Setting his jaw, his gaze snapped away, fleeting over the rest of the room for a moment before he turned and left.
Sliding from his chair, Jimin dropped his remaining lunch back onto his plate.
“Jungkook-” he called, shoulders drooping when there was no response. With a sigh he followed after the younger man.
You watched him go, and then watched the empty doorway he had left through. When at last you turned slowly back to the kitchen, Hoseok sent you a grimace.
“Sorry it’s taking him a while to warm up,” he said, as if that was consolation. It didn’t seem as if Jungkook was trying to ‘warm up’ to you at all.
You produced no reply, but were saved the trouble as the white-haired man joined you. For the first time, he looked at you, eyes roaming over your face, still surely littered with scrapes from the previous night.
“You look better than yesterday,” he commented.
You blinked.
“I’m sorry… have we met?”
“Yoongi,” he nodded, sinking onto a chair. Then, “you should eat that.”
That had hardly explained anything, but you complied anyway, picking up your food. Once you had finally finished your sandwich, the quiet was disrupted by Namjoon entering. Nodding once at you, he headed across to the kitchen.
Seeing him again, you were reminded of the ‘business’ call that had taken him from you earlier on. Eyes lingering on his back as he busied himself grabbing a mug and plate from the cupboards, your curiosity swelled within you. You were sure you had seen who was calling him. Though your life before Bolt – and all that happened since – seemed so distant, you couldn’t help your keen interest.
On the edge of your seat, you chewed on your lip until you couldn’t hold it any more.
“How’s Kuyang?” you blurted.
The others’ eyes snapped to you. Namjoon froze.
Slowly, he turned around, faint frown lining his face. You never dropped his questioning stare.
“He’s… fine,” he spoke.
“Sorry,” Hope looked lost, “you know Kuyang?”
Before you could do more than nod, Yoongi spoke up too.
“He’s fine? How did he get away from Bolt?”
“That’s not important.” Namjoon strode across the kitchen, “but how do you know Kuyang?”
“I was his secretary.”
You had hoped your honesty might prompt Namjoon to reciprocate, but no such luck. His reason for involvement with Kuyang was promptly forgotten. Hobi gasped at your news; Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly as if something was dawning on him.
But Namjoon beat him to it.
“That explains why you were hit by Bolt,” he said.
“We thought you were just a bystander that got unlucky,” Hobi chipped in.
Just as you opened your mouth to return to your original question, Namjoon turned away from the table. Swiping his food from the counter, he marched away.
Halfway across the room, he paused with a look over his shoulder. Maybe he would give in and tell you at last?
“I suggest you rest,” he told you instead, “Jungkook is going to help you practise some more tomorrow.”
Thank you for reading!! I'm so looking forward to hearing what you thought🥰
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Gift Giving & Primal vs First Elves :: Or Going Off Into the Deep Lore Deep End
Remember that meta I compiled about Greek mythology, deceptive gift giving, and TDP? Yeah it's time to talk about the gift motif properly as well as some other deep lore things because these excellent thoughts ( @spicyviren, @kradogsrats, and @its-leethee) got the wheels in my brain spinning.
AKA an unknown amount of sectioned word vomit into the nature of magic, where it comes from, how deep magic operates, some gifts and motifs, and Leola, just a little.
Let's go.
Gift Motif
The gift motif is one that's a bit of a slowburn in TDP. While characters will often pass and hand over objects — tools, artefacts, metaphorical responsibilities or trust (handing over the egg, for example) — to one another, there's not a big emphasis on gifts in the first three seasons.
There are some, such as Callum's letter from Harrow (that he's given by Claudia once again initially as a goodbye), Ezran giving Bait to Barius in S3, and Rayla's family pendant, but most of these, as you've might already noticed, are contextualized within Goodbyes. Whether the gift motif will amount in arc 2 to escaping this "final gift" context remains to be seen, but that's how it tends to work in interpersonal relationships.
There is an element of peace offering in hoping that returning Zym — a gift and/or gesture of good will — will help usher in peace, but I think (as of now at least) that ties further into the series' theme of Reciprocal Exchange (the assassin mission being an eye for an eye vs olive branch for olive branch) than outright gift giving. (Although we will probably talk about Exchange and gift giving at some point because there is also a thematic tether there.)
However, there is one other thing that is more and more often referred to as a gift in Arc 1, and that's Magic. Specifically, dark magic.
Now, this actually isn't that dissimilar from what the Goodbye gifts amount to, either. In Harrow's letter, he gifts Callum the Key of Aaravos believing it to be a powerful magical relic of some kind; Rayla's pendant makes its way from Ethari to her to Callum, who then uses it for magical purposes; and Bait, as a glow toad, is connected to an arcanum himself.
I do think it's noteworthy though that in Arc 1, (dark) magic being a gift is emphasized upon, specifically because of these lines for Khessa:
Upon first watching it back in 2019, it made sense that dark magic would be referred to this way, even when I just thought maybe it was that humans had been given 'nothing,' as Claudia says. Dark magic is closely tied to ideas of theft and thievery — stealing magic from others to harness its power for yourself — and the series is deeply interested in concepts of ownership or who has 'true' ownership over something, in magic, a throne/crown, a price to pay, etc. This follows neatly into Arc 2 (for ex: why Karim seeking to steal the Sun Seed is a metaphorical dark path even if it didn't outright involve dark magic through Kim'Dael), which we'll build on later.
That said, given the depth of the knowledge at the Great Bookery that is open to Sunfire elves more than any other type of elf, and the information that Tales of Xadia and Ripples gives us...
While elves warned that if humans were meant to wield magic they would have been born with it, [Leola] gifted the wisest humans with secrets: the language of the dragons and the runes that shaped spells. With the unicorn’s gift, the most determined minds among the humans could finally harness primal magic.
It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters [...] Humanity had been given something it was never meant to have. And so there came a calamity.
It makes it more than likely than, unlike other elves such as Lujanne or Ibis, Khessa had reason to believe/know that there used to be primal human mages in the past... and that it wasn't 'enough' for them ultimately, because they still hungered and developed (and were given?) dark magic. "Your kind could not be satisfied with what you were given" was about the rejection of primal magic from Leola (the unicorns) in favour of a darker kind that involves theft and "dirtying yourself" (5x08) with dark magic.
But at the same time, this complicates the Gift Giving motif of including not just dark magic, but being also for primal magic — for humans, at least.
And also for elves. (Ignoring how "great orb" is very similar to "great one" for now.)
Janai: It was a gift. But there's more to it than that. The great orb began as this.
Karim: This is... a sun seed?
Now, the Great Orb being grown from a Sun 'literal' seed makes sense. We've known for a long time that in Xadia, "magic is everywhere. It's just part of the vibrance or spirit of things" (1x05). Primal magic naturally occurring in plants, animals, and elves likewise makes sense on that note. Just as not "many could bear the gruelling path of a rune mage," Karim cannot bear to have patience and faith in something that will only come to fruition centuries later.
That said, I raise the question: how functionally different is the Great Orb from say, a sun primal stone would hypothetically be? If primal stones and primal magic were gifts to humanity from unicorns — from creatures connected to the Star arcanum, for lack of a better understanding — then why not magic from Startouch (?) elves to other elves.
How do we know that all magic isn't simply a gift that was given once upon a time?
From the First Elves to the Primal Elves.
Primal vs First Elves
So what's the difference between First Elves and Primal elves?
Well we have a few pieces of lore:
1) Zubeia's status as a "heavenly majesty" (which we'll come back to in the next section) gives her authority to speak in the name of the first elves, who are effectively gods to humankind and/or Xadians ("Have our Gods died? / Where do the fabled Great Ones hide?" —the Epic of the Void
2) It seems that the First Elves are, as of now and for a while, exclusively in reference to what would otherwise be called Startouch elves, although the latter is seemingly a name that came later given Rayla's affirmation of "ancient legends". This is reaffirmed in Tales of Xadia's two lone mention of First Elves:
No group of elves presents a greater mystery than the Startouch elves. Sometimes called the First Elves, those bound to the Star primal are rumored to have made great marks on Xadia’s ancient history—but beyond story and legend, little real evidence is left to us today [...] Among the few extant records of Startouch elves are the Scrolls of the First Elves, now kept in the Great Bookery of Lux Aurea.
3) At a post-S2 con in 2019 (how's that for a far reach?) we got a timeline of the events of Xadia laid out for us. The description of the very first piece of history and era we know of goes as follows, with the Rise of Elarion happening 2000 years ago re: the Dragon Prince era ("The Return of Aaravos"):
The Era of the First elves is the first recorded era 5,000 years prior to the current era. Dragons and elves were not allied during this period. There were no distinct primal elves. This is an era before all that. Humans suffered during this period.
—2019 con timeline
4) Justin and Aaron reaffirm this at the 2:30 ish minute mark of this video (a couple of months before even S3 was released) by reaffirming distinctly to Primal elves. Later (7:40-ish mark) we see this distinction reaffirmed again through the statement of, "The patterns have been that these primal based elves have grown cultures and civilizations that have become separate and differentiated from kind of whatever the early days were with the First elves were."
Okay, so there was 100% a time where there were only First Elves, and humans, and Primal elves as we knew them (maybe still with the hands and horns, but no arcanum? Or no singular, distinct arcanum) didn't exist. Why does this matter?
This is where the deep lore timeline gets tricky, as we don't know precisely when 1) humans received magic and 2) at what stage the First Elves / Great Ones / Startouch elves 'left' Xadia, only that they did, apparently, when Elarion (the human city) needed help: "Elarion, unworthy whelp / Wept as the stars turned black the sky / They donned their masks / They turned their backs / And left Elarion to die". Why abandon the city (beyond indifference/cruelty as Aaravos would likely claim), who knows.
However, we can assume the timeline looks something like this:
Era of the First Elves
Primal elves (and presumably archdragons *) are crafted / develop into being, whatever that means
Humans are magic-less and are having a bad time
Unicorns / Leola extend sympathy despite the fact that the First Elves tell her not to (Book One: Novelization / Tales of Xadia)
Humans have primal magic (Ripples / Tales of Xadia)
This attracts negative attention, consolidated in Elarion ("the stars she asked their light to cast / and stop the dragons’ fiery might" / "as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted")
Elarion asks for help and the Stars leave
Aaravos, the last star — presumably already Fallen from the First Elves — gives them dark magic under the guise of protection even though it will inevitably help him (i.e. give him the ability to possess people)
Dark magic replaces primal magic as the primary form for humans
Tension and violence escalates (unicorns are hunted to near extinction). Sol Regem is removed as King of the Dragons
Under Dragon Queen Luna Tenebris, the daughter of an elven leader suggests the Judgement of the Half-Moon, causing for humans to be banished rather than eradicated, and the continent split in two
Again, nothing too crazy / not too much we haven't already known or guessed at for a while.
But like I said, I'm gonna propose two theories, so bear with me:
Theory #1: What is Deep Magic?
The First Elves engaged with what we're gonna call Deep or Old Magic, for lack of a better term. There can be an assumption at times that this magic would be more 'pure' or less 'diluted' than dark magic or even the primal magic we've seen on screen. However, I think that's less than likely. Dark magic is often times a bad path for good outcomes, and primal magic can be a 'good' magic for bad outcomes (the blood freezing spell, for example).
While dark magic is a more textually malevolent magic system and primal magic is more true neutral — able to be used as a tool and a source of connection for the user — I don't think this necessarily means that Deep Magic is inherently enlightening (we see with the Ocean arcanum and S5 that knowledge can be an immense burden) or that it's on the opposite end of the spectrum and is outright benevolent.
What, then, am I suggesting Deep Magic to be? Well, we have some clues likewise from the same old interview post-s2 that we haven't had much basis to (potentially) understand until now, in which it's stated:
Deeper magic and deeper gifts that the original beings received [...] practical, usable, powerful magic is drawn from the six primal sources, right? But there is this idea that there's this earlier, less differentiated power kind of magic that's deeper and more - I don't kind of want to say what all of them are. It's not that important now, it has more to do with the history of beings and their interactions with each other. But Aaravos cares about some of this stuff. The best I can say is that one of them's Power — but well, what does that mean?
The six primal sources — potentially just five (hence why only 5 gemstones seem to occur naturally in nature, and Star seemingly doesn't) — are all based around physical, somewhat tangible principles. Earth, Ocean, Sun (fire/light), Sky (wind/weather) are perhaps the most tangible, with only Moon dipping into something into something more metaphysical: illusions and questioning the nature of reality, the nature of death, etc. However, I'd argue that the Moon arcanum's emphasis on death still makes it something that is particularly important to creatures who are mortal (but more on that later).
What I am arguing for is then, therefore, that Deep Magic is magic drawn from Concepts and Ideas > tangible things found in nature or parts of other magical creatures.
Three concepts, to be exact: (translated dark magic screenshot from Cartoon Universe spells reversed).
Zubeia: He chose as his instruments those who had strong hearts and strong minds, but who had an insatiable thirst and fascination with magic (power).
Three quasar diamonds, three deep magic concepts. Heart, Mind, Power.
("To know something truly and deeply, you must know it with your head, hand, and heart. Mind, body, and spirit." / "She laid before me her scales, her blindfold, and her sword, and told me to choose.")
Now, I don't know if it's these three concepts exactly — I could Truth, or Justice, or something like that — or even if it's three. But given what little we know about Deep magic thus far and how much the series' likes its threes, I think that's the likeliest number and combination.
We've known for a while that there's something weird with the connection between dark magic, spells that use blood, and 'star' magic. We know it's unlikely that Aaravos being able to possess people who have used dark magic was just a happy accident discovered after humans started using it. We know that when Callum is offered the dark magic version of the cube in his dreams, the symbol is blood red: "You can have unlimited power." And that dark magic "became the key that unlocked a place of power for humans in Xadia" (Tales of Xadia).
So what if dark magic stems from the vein of Deep magic that's taken from the concept of Power? What if when Aaravos offered his pawns "unlimited" Power, or when Kpp'Ar accused Viren of (potentially using star magic) "making the same choice you always made: the one that gives you Power," they meant it?
Alternatively, this could mean that most other Startouch elves — their longevity, their indifference — comes from the vein of Mind and subsequent intellectual detachment? Enough intelligence and reason not to hunger for more (Power), but not enough compassion and empathy to sympathize with others (Heart).
And it would also tie into Leola being unique among her own kind for her heart taking pity on the humans, and giving them primal magic — perhaps in the vein of Heart, if we're keeping things consistent — and why love ("To know something truly and deeply [...] I love you with all of myself, and I always will" / "To love is simply to know this: the tides are true as the ocean is deep") has been consistently tied to Callum unlocking arcanums. The "Narrative of Strength (power)" vs "Narrative of Love" being even more literal than we thought.
This wouldn't be too out of line since Moon arcanum philosophy already borrows heavily from Plato's idea of the forms/reality (Plato's allegory of the cave, anyone?) and the forms basically mean "your imagined ideal of the object in your mind is going to be more perfect than any tangible, 'real' version of the object could ever be." That being applied to living beings who are literally in the sky would track a certain amount, in addition to the idea that however primal magic is set up in Xadia right is "the whole world is like a giant primal stone; sky magic is all around us, and it's also in me, with every breath we take." But I digress.
With the distinction of Deep Magic as 1) separate and a sea that flows into the primal as well as 2) older and earlier than primal magic, now onto the next theory:
Theory #2: First elves and the Archdragons?
Now admittedly this one is more speculative since beyond knowing 1) the First elves = what we'd call Startouch elves, 2) the rest of them except Aaravos 'left' Xadia a while ago, and 3) the aforementioned possible 'Mind' deep magic thing, we very quickly run out of set knowledge into full blown speculation. Beyond
With that in mind, I wanna talk about the... weirdness, I suppose, between the Archdragons / draconic royal family and the First Elves.
There's a few notes to this: we know that Ancient Draconic is the language of primal magic, indicating that dragons existed and presumably had primal magic before elves did, and that elves had to be given that linguistic knowledge at least to a certain degree.
Then we also have the way Zubeia is referred to being mirrored with the way she describes Aaravos later:
Likewise, the one person/creature we've seen referred to as a god outside the Epic of the Void poem is Avizandum by Harrow (bonus points for the game motif of "entire armies have fallen like toys" because of him):
Bloodmoon Huntress also asserts that from an elven point of view (or at least Lain and Tiadrin, and presumably Runaan, too) that "Dragons are the lifeblood, the very core of Xadia" and generally assumed that dragons have the most powerful connection to their individual primal sources.
So I'd be willing to wager (esp since Sol Regem is at least 1,2000+ years old) that Archdragons at least once upon a time had been contemporaries of the First Elves if not peers. What and why that connection exists and how relevant it is for today, I don't know, but I do think there's something there, especially since the one example we have of a First Elf-Dragon relationship in Aaravos, Avizandum, and Zubeia, was perceived to be positive somewhat on all sides — a matter of trust on his end (in order to be "betrayed") and a matter of reverence and importance on theirs; "admired and loved by all" / "you meant something to him".
There is also something to be said for the Archdragons being the most powerful embodiment of the primal sources (alongside maybe some rare and noteworthy elves, like Queen Aditi) still being "unable to risk a direct confrontation" with only one singular and Fallen Startouch elf. What would a whole slew of them at the height of their power look like? (And yet it is implied that the Nova Blade is "ivory draconic" so... maybe you just have to get a First Elf close enough to the mouth to be consumed / bitten? Or perhaps the Nova Blade is made from the tooth/claw of a 'Star' arcanum dragon.)
TLDR; it's looking more and more like Startouch elves as we understand them and First Elves in generally are — while emotive and feeling the way humans and elves are — something very different from anything else we've seen thus far in terms of knowledge and power skill, and that distinction is only going to be made more and more apparent as the story goes on.
Theory #3: Where do we go from here?
So if Deep Magic is distinct from Primal, and is distinct from 2/3 kinds of Deep Magic in dark magic (derived from 5-primal and Power deep magic thoughts)... where do we go from here, magically speaking?
Well, the important thing to note is that the story has given us some thematic clues. Aaravos is concerned with exile and power, both things we see thematically most represented by human characters (with some elven exceptions like Karim and Kim'Dael). The other Star touch elves are very on brand for "Xadian exile" as their favourite punishment as well as extreme isolationism ("I knew I had to be strong alone" etc). Therefore, whatever answer we give Magically also has to reconcile these issues from a thematic and character based standpoint.
It seems like a switch of where people are concentrating energy — for Startouch elves and humans — needs to have a drastic shift to one of the other veins/concepts of deep magic that will hopefully heal the rifts. If Aaravos is Power (humans) and the others are 'Mind' (Xadian indifference/isolation and banishment) for lack of a better idea, then subverting that binary and shifting more to a third 'Love' path seems to be very on brand for TDP. Holding both at the same time but being guided by a higher principle of peace and harm reduction is what Ezran's 4x03 speech is all about, after all.
Something something both Xadia and magic and the First Elves being reunited with Xadia / humanity and elvenkind as TDP's endgame, something something.
Other Gift Giving Thoughts
The other thing I wanna talk about now that everything else is laid out is how gifts are Given, in TDP. We see time and time again relationships and magic systems being framed on the idea of whether they are giving, taking, both in a bad way or in a good way. There seems to be two main indicators for gift giving, therefore, either that in the receiver is worthy, or that the exchange is going to be reciprocal.
At its best, a gift works as intended.
Humans (and elves?) are given primal magic and generally use it for exploration and to care for themselves / one another The sun seed is given to the Sunfire elves, but they must nurture it. Callum gives Rayla her father's bow and she uses it to protect them. Callum achieves enlightenment and understanding of him and is rewarded with primal magic twice, even if the Ocean in particular is a bit murkier than he'd probably like. Gifts and belongings are relinquished or restored for freedom, for hope, for peace.
Here we have to wonder if Leola's Last Wish reconciles both the Goodbye gift motif and the gift of Magic motif, possibly resulting in the gift of the sun seed or more likely something to do with primal magic / alleviate the fallout of dark magic's consequences.
For example, to get an answer from Rex Igneous — a seeming wealth of knowledge — you have to give him a worthy gift that is also a sacrifice of some kind, according to Nath'an.
However, Ezran points out the major flaw in this line of thinking, as "We offered gifts that meant a lot to us, but the truth is, they don't mean anything to you." Not everyone is going to value the same thing or think the same thing is worth the price that was paid.
We see this interpersonally most with the mage fam ("Maybe the world would be better off without magic" from Soren, whose life was saved with it) and with Rayla and Callum (as Rayla's gift of sacrifice by leaving is something Callum did not want and rightfully did not receive well, alongside her moonstone pendant). Again: what is defined as worthy, or worthiness, is in the eye of the beholder.
Just like one of the initial thoughts that inspired this meta, Khessa asserts that dark magic is a magic that "takes" > being reciprocal for both parties, nevermind a gift. The irony, however, runs a bit deeper, as Aaravos thinks the same of his fellow stars:
But the stars kept from them one secret still: that their first lesson—patience—was not a gift of the stars at all. You see, patience is a lesson the humans taught themselves. No, the stars do not know patience, for they have no need for it. The stars want for nothing, and take all to their liking.
And we see this idea of a 'false gift' show up time and time again in the series. Nyx pretends to offer passage but actually wants to steal Zym; Rayla's act of love in leaving is a curse upon Callum's heart and wellbeing; dark magic itself is a false trade of sorts, given how unevenly it tips scales in Aaravos' favour and how much it ruins both the environment and body of its caster.
[The elven thief Lasair] never saw the precious blossoms fade and turn to cold ashes when exposed to the dawn. They never learned their gift was perceived as a curse, not a trade.
—Tales of Xadia
Kim'Dael goes to Queen Aditi under false pretences ("The Queen's Mercy") but the gift that Aditi gives her is nothing good at all:
What pretty bauble, she wondered, had she tricked the queen into forging as a token of protection? What could be powerful enough to ward away the wrath of dragons?
Just as humans sought the stars' help to protect them from the ire of the dragons, Kim'Dael sought Aditi's. And just as Aaravos offered them a false magic that would protect and ultimately trap/destroy then, so does Aditi, with magic that doesn't seem to be entirely dark or primal:
“But know this: the binding around your neck—it is made with magic not unlike your own. It is a magic that demands, that takes."
A form of magic even maybe that demands sacrifice for that kind of Power.
You could almost say it's something Deeper.
Conclusion
Hope you enjoyed going completely off the rails with me, and that this long (winded) post got you thinking! I'll probably do a followup discussing the implications of what we have here for potential Laurelion-Aaravos later. In the meantime, take the fruits of my labour, and spin your own hamster wheels if you'd like.
#the dragon prince#tdp#tdp meta#gift motif#dark magic#primal magic#worldbuilding#deep lore dive#i'm also pretty sure aaravos or someone got cast out bc of the primal magic thing too#stars wanted a punishment of some kind. yeah#but more on that later#something something 'but this isn't true strength. it's only power'
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IV. The Emperor
If the Empress is the divine feminine or the Mother, the Emperor is the father figure of the major arcana. It represents stability, control, authority, protection. But when reversed, this card can indicate rigidity or tyranny. To me, this encapsulates the potential of the Firelord: when someone takes the throne with a mind for peace and prosperity, like Zuko, he becomes the patriarch of his people with a loving hand. But his forefathers had no such designs, and the role of Firelord became that of a dictator, the father everyone fears. Here we see Zuko having taken the crown, looking toward a peaceful future, but the legacy of his ancestors is still behind him, a reminder of how it could go wrong.
When you draw this card, remember that with great power comes great responsibility.
--
I'm drawing an Avatar themed tarot deck (Major Arcana only)! Every day I'll reveal a new design. :) Follow along and let me know which one is your favorite!
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Non-Stop Spider-Man #2 Variant
illustrated by Takashi Okazaki
#Spider-Man#Spidey#Peter Parker#Marvel#Marvel Universe#comics#art#illustration#comic book art#comic book covers#variant covers#marvel universe#Marvel Comics#Peter Benjamin Parker#webhead#webheadedhero#Amazing Spider-Man#non-stop Spider-Man#wallcrawler#with great power comes great responsibility#marvel heroes#Marvel Superheroes#the Spectacular Spider-Man#artists on tumblr#Takashi Okazaki
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you made a mistake by publishing those font's
#with great power comes great responsibility#i for one consider it my responsibility to make as many memes as possible for the joy of others#ama#ask me anything#anon ama#anon ask me anything#lore olympus critical#lo critical#anti lore olympus
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Just thinking about Samba going about his life while knowing he has the power to turn a chunk of the internet completely feral.
#with great power comes great responsibility#just think about what he has stored in his back pocket#forever grateful for him#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd bts#samba schutte
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Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man celebrating his 30th anniversary among family, friends and foes. Art by Erik Larsen (soon before the start of his Savage Dragon run at Image Comics).
#spider-man#spidey#30th anniversary#friendly neighborhood spider man#erik larsen#1992#peter parker#mary jane watson#MJ#aunt may#flash thompson#j jonah jameson#green goblin#doctor octopus#venom#punisher#rooftop#jj jameson#webhead#90's#90s#1990s#savage dragon#image comics#marvel comics#with great power comes great responsibility#mantra#stan lee#steve ditko#anniversary
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Did some color studies of Into the Spiderverse because I’ve been feeling a bit stuck, which turned into designing a spidersona at last <3
Thinking of calling her Dream Weaver ✨
#spidersona#my art#OC#sona#Spider-Man#spiderverse#with great power comes great responsibility#illustration#design#character design#into the spiderverse#across the spiderverse
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My humour is now completely limited to high-quality memes of low quality spider-man
#spider man#spiderman#spidey#webs#peter parker#peter#with great power comes great responsibility#across the spiderverse#90s spiderman
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I’m not for the weak , will literally suck your soul out with my ass on accident
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y’know that feeling, when you're watching history in the making happen in real time?
vanilla extract is just the beginning
#tumblr#polls#they gave us polls and we immediately put them to good use#i expected nothing less#with great power comes great responsibility#can't wait to see what happens next
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oki im going to bed now
,,,uhhh
@tinker-the-dragon as prince ur in charge of the Pronoun Court while im gone
#dont let the power go to ur head#with great power comes great responsibility#have fun lol#tinker-the-dragon#i love my mutuals
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i added construction and spiderman stickers to my laptop
i already had dinosaur ones of course!
how very 4 year old boy of me
#I LOVE SPIDERMAN#and construction is fun#i added one that says danger zone lmao#and one says 'hard at work'#im never hard at work#AND#THE SPIDERMAN ONE#IT SAYS#WITH GREAT POWER COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY#FUCK YEAH#spider man#4 year old boy interests#austism
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Chen is going to realise very quickly he can just kiss River stupid and then ask him to do pretty much anything and he’s going to be too disoriented and love drunk to say anything but yes.
The scourge of Los Diablos, defeated because his boyfriend kissed him and asked him to chill out.
#with great power comes great responsibility#and River would do the thing asked even when his brain catches up because he doesn’t have it in him to dissapoint Chen#fallen hero#fhr#steelstep#sidestep#wei chen#♡: grandmaster draw#oc tag#River Becker#somewhat related. It’s probably not going to happen and might ooc but i want a hero kissing the villain scene with steelstep so bad.#the comedy….#and the irony of Marshal Steel being put on the breakroom fridge
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why would i want to read a book about the experiences of being diaspora latine in the US, every day i wake up in latin america and i have to experience that ajsdfkek
#its a joke bc i love this continent so much#but sometimes being latin american is not only sexy but also very exhausting#with great power comes great responsibility
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