Chapter Text
It was the very next day after Grian had fallen asleep at the table. He woke up with a cramp in his neck and he groaned tiredly. He sat up with a stretch, his wingspan easily encompassing half of the room with each wing being over seven feet long. His ear feathers pricked at the soft sound of something falling on the floor. Looking down, he discovered a soft, green blanket wrapped around the chair's legs like it had fallen there. He noticed how now that he had stretched, he did seem slightly colder.
Not that it was very cold to begin with. Grian reached down, wrapping his fingers around the blanket before picking it up and pulling it to his face with a soft chitter. It felt soft and warm against his face. His wings fluttered softly behind him, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. It smelled like berries and warmth and nature. Just tinged with the scent of magic.
It was Scar’s blanket. Somehow it felt even warmer against his face and Grian almost curled in on himself, his wings wrapping themselves around his sides. Scar had given something to him to provide warmth. The thought of that made his chest warm, and if it weren’t for that warmth he would have frowned. He had never felt that before. He went through a mental list of any emotions he had felt before and how they made him feel before going through a mental list of the emotions his friends had told him about, trying to glean anything to what it could be. Only his mind came up blank.
Grian pushed the chair back with a grunt and slowly stood, the blanket still held in his arms although it was no longer pressed against his face. ‘I should give this back, Scar will want it now that I’m not using it,’ he thought. For some reason, his wings and tuffs drooped at that thought. Why should it matter? It wasn’t like it was his to begin with. He ignored the feeling and promptly left the library to search for Scar. He didn’t have to look hard for he found Scar in the kitchen making eggs for them. The taller looked over at him with a smile on his face which widened into a grin once he saw what Grian was carrying.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. Grian blinked and flicked his wings up.
“I slept okay,” he responded, walking up to the man’s side. Scar stopped what he was doing to turn and face him with a curious look. Grian held out the blanket. Scar tilted his head to the side, like he was doing something confusing.
“Do you not want it?”
Grian did a double take. Was it not his? Did he not want the blanket himself? “It’s yours,” he replied.
“But do you not like it?” Scar asked back. Grian blinked up at him. Maybe it was a trick question? Of course, he liked the blanket. It was soft, and it was warm (and it was Scar’s,) but it wasn’t his to have, was it? It was Scar’s, which meant he had to give it back to him.
He tilted his head to the side trying to think of how the man would want him to answer. “I mean it’s soft, and it’s warm,” he chirped back matter-of-factly. Trying to keep his voice even.
“So, you like it?” Scar asked again, with a soft smile on his face. It really seemed like he was trying to spin him in circles on purpose, like he enjoyed watching his mind turn over itself.
“I mean--”
“So, you can keep it little songbird!” Scar interrupted with a grin, seeming to take that as enough of an answer. He could. . . keep it?
Grian held the blanket further out, despite his grip on it tightening. “But it’s yours.”
Scar waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, its fine! I wasn’t really using it anyway and you seem to like it more than I do. Besides: what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours!” His eyes opened wide as saucers as he stared Scar dumbfound. The warm feeling in his chest came back and he didn’t notice as his grip on the blanket tightened as he pulled it closer to himself. Nor did he notice the way his wings fluttered behind him or the way he let out a quiet chirping noise at the thought that Scar had given something of his to him. He only saw the way he smiled down at him, his smile only growing wider at the unnoticed way he responded to the man’s words.
Suddenly, Scar’s eyes widened as if he was struck with an idea. He grinned as he reached up, Grian unconsciously pulling the blanket closer to his chest with a barely restrained hiss. Scar had just given it to him, he couldn’t just take it away (of course he always could and Grian wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.)
“Here, give me that. I want to do something,” Scar said in a low voice. He hesitated as Scar reached forward to take it before slackening his grip on the blanket. Scar took it from his arms, leaving a noticeable cold spot against his chest. Of course, Scar would take it back. Why should he expect him to just give something like that to him? Grian had to work before he could earn anything like that (not like he hadn’t worked already.) He pulled his colorful wings closer to his sides, already putting a carefully crafted mask to cover any emotions which might bubble up. Even if he quite frankly didn’t understand them before something was wrapped around his shoulders, covering him in a blanket of warmth.
Quite literally. Grian reached around as his fingers were met with the soft material of the blanket. With a soft chitter, he pulled it closer around himself. He looked up at Scar who smiled warmly at him before patting his shoulders. Scar looked back over to the stove and his eyes widened as he seemingly realized that he was in fact still in the middle of making breakfast for the duo.
He waved his hand at Grian, as if shooing him away. “Hurry and get ready, breakfast is almost ready,” he told him. Right, he should probably take the blanket to his room, shouldn’t he? And he probably should change his clothes too. Scar had magicked some of his older clothes into fitting the smaller avian which he hadn't worn in many years before cutting holes along the shoulder blades to fit his wings. And so, Grian left the kitchen and walked to his room with the blanket pulled tight around himself. Most likely pushing some of his feathers out of place, yet he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
He arrived at his room and closed the door behind him before falling on his bed with a grunt. It dipped beneath him, although not much given his light weight as an avian. Weighing only two-thirds that of any human his height. With another grunt he sat back up and reluctantly removed the blanket from around his shoulders, setting it by the head of his bed in a ball. He got up with a stretch, his back letting out a satisfying pop. He went over to his dresser and changed into a green hoodie and tan pants and was about to get a matching green beanie for the bitterly cold mountain air. (He planned on working in the garden some, and even with the warming spell he couldn’t stop the cold which seeped in and seemed to settle deep within his bones.) Only he was interrupted by the vibration of his communication crystal as it began to let out a bright glow.
Only the glow quickly faded, instead of persisting if it was a call in a way which told him that he had received a message. And then it vibrated and glowed again. And again. And again. Apparently, someone had left him recorded messages. Lots of recorded messages.
It ‘pulsed’ five times in total. Grian had left it on his table in front of the window, but he walked over to it and picked it up before walking out of the room, the crystal still held in his hand. He stared at the crystal in question as he walked down the hall, tilting his head to the side and his ear feathers trembling as he scrutinized over the now dark crystal. As if he stared at it long enough the answers for why it had pulsed so many times would jump out at him. He only looked up when he noticed the floor beneath his talons change from a dark, pale green almost olive in color carpet to the dark color of the wooden floor. Grian looked up to find himself in the dining room, Scar having paused in setting up the table and now looking at him.
His emerald eyes glimmered in curiosity. “Why do you have that little birdie?” he asked, his voice pitched up in curiosity. Although Grian could sense an underlying tone of suspicion.
He cleared his throat and stated, “I got messages. Five of them. Thought you might want to hear them.” He shifted his weight, his talons clicking on the wooden floor in the process. He inwardly flinched at the sound and pulled his wings close to his sides, straightening his back instead.
Scar stared at him for a moment longer before he grinned and pulled out Grian’s stool-chair. “Well? Are you going to sit down and play them?” He started at the suggestion and hurried to sit in his seat. He noticed how it had been moved so it was next to Scar’s; however, he made no mention of it. Scar sat beside him, propping himself up on his arms and watched Grian, waiting for him to play the messages.
He let out a shaky breath focused his mind on the image of a recorder, playing back audio for him to listen to. The communication crystal came to life with a pale blue glow and began to replay the latest message.
“Grian you better get back here right now, I swear if you don’t get back here--”
“Jimmy! Here give that to me.”
The golden avian was interrupted by the voice of Impulse and Grian tried to refrain from snorting. It was rather ineffective.
“Grian if you are going to move out, we’re okay with that,” Impulse started, his voice low before he—in turn—was interrupted by Jimmy.
“Hey! He can’t just leave us! What if someone uses him!” (Grian was mildly offended that he thought he would allow someone to take advantage of him, but he made no sign of it.)
“Anyway, you can move out with the wizard. I understand how you never liked the guild much to begin with. Besides—a baby bird needs to learn to spread his wings,”
At that Grian huffed indignantly. He always knew that Impulse had kind of takin him in as his own, always being protective of him, but that did not make him his baby bird. This time Scar snickered and Grian rolled his eyes so hard that they just about fell out of his head.
“But we need to know if we can trust this wizard. We understand why he didn’t want you to reach out--” (It was an unspoken truth at the guild for hybrids that once you were in, there was no getting back out,) “--but we need to meet him. If we don’t meet him, regardless of any message you send we will assume that he has manipulated you in some way, and we will come to get you.”
Grian flinched at the demon’s words and glanced over in Scar’s direction. His usual grin had fallen from his face as he listened in complete seriousness. However, that was the end of the recording and Grian let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slouching in his seat slightly. He watched Scar frown, like he was contemplating something.
“How many more are there?” Scar asked in a low voice.
“Uhh--four, four more,” he responded.
“Are you going to play them?” Scar asked, meeting Grian’s gaze.
His eyes widened and he quickly looked away, down to the crystal in his hands. His wings ruffled in response, and he had to force his feathers down. “Right, yes, right.” Grian reactivated the crystal to play the other four messages. The next three were other variations of the first one, with Martyn and Mumbo talking as well (although it was still mostly Impulse and Jimmy, them having slipped into their instincts since theirs were the most prominent.) The fifth and final one was different.
Only Mumbo spoke in that one.
“Grian. . .” (His voice sounded tired, like he hadn’t been getting enough sleep; like he had been keeping himself up with worry. Something guilty uncurled in Grian’s gut.) “It’s been a week and a half now. I don’t know if maybe you aren’t getting these, or. . . I don’t know. But we can’t wait any longer. Scott’s been coming over almost every day to comfort Jimmy, and Impulse has been struggling with keeping his traits from coming out. And Martyn has been going out for hours to just. . . Listen, and we both know how well that goes. And quite frankly I haven’t been doing too well either.”
Guilt twisted further in his gut, like someone had stabbed him and twisted the knife in his gut. He couldn’t stand the thought that he had inflicted so much pain on his friends, without even knowing.
“But. . . we can’t wait any longer. We just can’t so, if you get this, you have until the end of the week to get here. So we know that you’re okay. We don’t even have to meet the wizard anymore; we just need to know that you’re okay and that he’s being good to you. And then you can go, okay? Just—oh this is absolutely pants--” Grian heard Mumbo pause as he let out a sigh, and he could imagine the vampire dragging his hands down his face, “--get here soon, okay?” And with that, the final message ended.
Mumbo was his best friend. Technically, he had known Jimmy and Martyn for longer, even if he did not remember so, but Mumbo was the one who had brought him into the Southlands. Introduced and reintroduced him to the other members. They had taught him so much, helped him when there was no one else there to help him, taking him in and accepting him as one of their own. And now, he had hurt them with one choice, one message. He had hurt Impulse, hurt Jimmy and Martyn. He had hurt Mumbo.
And somehow, that prospect hurt even worse than the prospect of leaving the Southerners behind had been. It made his chest hurt worse than almost anything else had made it hurt before. Grian looked down at the crystal in his hand, watched the way the light from the window shone in it. It was pretty, almost dazzling even. He would have liked it if it weren’t for how it had brought such terrible news. He tore his gaze away from the gem up to Scar who watched him carefully.
Like he was studying his reaction. Grian automatically lowered his head in submission, pulling his wings close to his sides. Scar tilted his head to the side.
“Do you want to go see your friends?” Scar asked in a quiet voice. Grian’s ear tuffs flicked up and his wings fluttered slightly.
“I can?”
“Well, it looks like either we’re going to see them or they’re coming to see us. And I’d rather meet them when they’re not invading my home so. . .” Scar trailed off, still watching Grian for his reaction. He. . . was allowed to go see his friends? Why would Scar allow that? Was it a trick? He had barely allowed him to send them a recorded message, so why would he allow him to see them? In person. It had to be a trick, or at least a joke. Maybe a test: to see if Grian chose Scar over his friends.
“Grian?”
“I thought you didn’t want me to see them,” he blurted. Scar’s eyes widened—in what emotion, he couldn’t tell.
“When did I ever say that?” Scar asked slowly, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. Like he was trying to remember when he had said such a thing.
“Well, you didn’t like it when I sent that message so--”
“Grian,” the avian paused in his spiraling thoughts turned into ramblings, his attention completely focused on Scar. “I didn’t want you to message the guild because I didn’t want to give away that I was here, or that you were here. It wasn’t because I wanted to take you away from your friends. Your allowed to have friends,” the man reassured in a quiet rumbling voice. Somehow, that concept sounded like a revelation to him. He knew that Scar had never strictly said he couldn’t have friends, but he had made no sign that he was allowed to interact with them either. Especially since he had banned him from reaching out to the guild at all.
“So. . . we can go see them?” Grian chirped wearily.
“Of course! We can leave whenever!” Scar exclaimed, his face beaming down at the avian. Grian stared up at him, his eyes wide as saucers.
“But. . . how will we get there in time? It took me two weeks to get here, and sure I was travelling by foot the whole time, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry you all that way and--”
“Grian,” Scar once again stopped his spiraling thoughts. Only this time, he took his numb hands in his own, wrapping the dead fingers around the crystal before wrapping his hands around his own. Grian let out a quiet gasp as the sensation sparked at the back of his mind, and even if it was a far cry from the warmth of the hands he should feel, he was still aware of every part of his hands which were in contact with Scar’s own. His eyes met Scar’s own, such a deep shade of emerald which twinkled, like they were reflecting the magic hidden within the depths of his soul.
Scar grinned down at him and removed one of his hands with a flare. “Well, we can teleport of course! How do you think I got back from my quests? By walking! No! And of course, I might need to dust it off a little bit, but the seal is still active!” Teleportation, say? It’d been a hot minute since Grian had done that. The closest he had come to teleporting was going into the nether for quests. He once used a teleportation glyph a couple years back, but that was the only exception.
Grian’s eyes flicked around the room, a small smile played on his lips. “Could. . . could we head out, after we eat and pack of course.”
Scar grinned down at him. “Why of course, little birdie!”
~ ¤ ~
Scott had just left a meeting with his superiors. The next day after he had learned where Grian was located, he had informed them of what he had gathered. Part of him felt guilty, going behind Jimmy’s back; however, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that if he didn’t say anything and they found out. . . well let’s just say that it wouldn’t end well for him. And now, they had told him that it was time to go make a deal to either get the avian back or get the gem. Both him and his superiors knew what the wizard was like, and they knew that there would be no way they would be getting both. It would be one or the other.
Scott’s shoulders slouched under his blue tailcoat and even though he kept his arms at his sides and head high, his eyes remained unfocused. It was his job to get Grian back or to make a deal for the gem, yet he could not shake the guilt for going behind Jimmy’s back. He was distracted from his thoughts as someone tackled him, jumping up onto his back before sliding down and wrapping her arm around his neck.
“Scott! How’s it going for my favorite major in Saigo?” he heard the voice of his roommate—Pearl—exclaim. She was a Lunarian, a species blessed by the powers of the moon and often gifted with ice magic along with having traits of nocturnal animals. Her specifically being the green wings and yellow antenna of a Luna Moth. Both concealed by glamor.
“Pearl I’m the only major in Saigo,” Scott replied with a sarcastic drawl and a roll to his eyes. She only chuckled (the sound of the laughter bordering insanity and Scott was once again reminded about how his friend had the capacity to be fully unhinged.)
“But Scott that doesn’t answer my question,” Pearl whined. He sighed and stopped, turning to face her. He was not too much taller than her, her being one of the tallest women he knew. The other being his other best friend, Cleo the zombie hybrid. And so, he straightened his back, so he was looking down at her. Peal had a silver pin clipped onto her navy suit shirt, signaling that she was a first lieutenant, with a white undershirt, red tie and black pants. Half of her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail. He stared at her for a moment longer, into her eyes made blue with glamor, which twinkled mischievously.
“I’m fine,” Scott told her in a tone that said, ‘I’d rather not talk right now.’ This was something he could deal with once he got home, since they lived together in a cottage just outside the city.
“Scott,” a new voice said in a disapproving tone, like they were scolding a child. He turned around to find his other roommate staring down at him disapprovingly. He smiled and waved nervously, mentally preparing himself for Cleo’s ‘tough love.’ She was only one rank below him, being a captain. Scott had discovered that Cleo seemed to take the role of the mom of the trio, always making sure that they took care of themselves. Despite Scott easily being two centuries older than her. While she only looked to be in her thirties or forties, Scott guessed for her to be closer to eighty, since she had been a zombie for the entire time he had known her (a grand total of two decades), and for a while before that too.
Cleo was probably the most casual out of the three of them, wearing a navy dress shirt which gathered around her shoulders, a black miniskirt, white-and-black striped socks which went up to her knees, and brown dress shoes. However, no one ever questioned her attire, all knowing that she would most likely make them disappear for the slander. Normally, she had pale green skin with stitches snaking across her skin, keeping it together, but now that was all covered with glamor, so she looked completely normal. The only thing which stood out being her height and her long, blazing orange hair which went all the way down to her waist.
“Cleo! How are you?” he asked cheerily. The zombie only rolled her eyes and promptly grabbed the back of his tailcoat like she was grabbing the scruff of a cat and dragged him off into an empty room. Pearl following behind and giggling like a madwoman. Cleo slammed the door behind her, tossing him into the room like a ragdoll, making him have to struggle not to fall over right there and then. Scott huffed once he got his balance back, smoothing out his coat before looking up at Cleo in annoyance.
“Well? Are you going to tell us what’s wrong?” she asked in a tired tone. Right. Of course, she couldn’t just let it slide. All things considered, Scott would much rather not have to have this conversation right now; however, it seemed the gods did not take pity upon him. And so, Scott let out a sigh, rubbed any exhaustion from his eyes, and explained his predicament to his two friends. They listened in silence as he explained everything to them. By the time he was done he felt like a weariness had settled in his bones, and yet it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Cleo and Pearl nodded in understanding (Pearl’s being much more dramatic) when the latter abruptly stood (the two having sat against the deserted desk) and began to putter around the room. Scott watched her with a look a mix between curiosity and mild annoyance, as he waited for her to have some sort of reaction when she finally turned to face him, a grin on her face.
“Well. . . you could just not,” she said as if doing that wouldn’t fire him on the spot or worse.
“Pearl!” both him and Cleo exclaimed in unison.
“What?! It was just an idea,” she replied sulkily, flicking a potted plant on a shelf. Scott shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, directing his attention to Cleo who had yet to have any sort of response to this.
“Well?” he asked, prompting her to say something. The zombie stared back at him; eyes just as sharp as always.
“Would you like me to go instead? I don’t care if the guild gets mad at me, and I don’t have anything to lose if I do get found out somehow,” Cleo asked, trying to be helpful. Scott felt one of his crystals brush against his ear as they swirled around his head in thought as he considered what she said. Eventually, though, he shook his head.
“No, this is my task. You don’t have to do this,” he responded. Cleo’s eyes softened and she got up too, walking over to his side with Pearl following behind from her inspection of the room. Scott was about seventy-five-percent sure that there would now be something missing from the room; however, he made no comment on it. Cleo placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.
“Okay. Good luck and be careful.”
Scott grinned back at her. “Don’t worry—we aren’t the Three G’s for no reason.” The other two grinned back at him at the mention of their little adventurer's group they had formed. The trio’s secret identities from the guild as a zombie, elf, and Lunarian. And at that, the three left the room and separated. The two women going back to their job and Scott leaving to find the wizard’s home.
~ ¤ ~
Scott had returned to his home after the meeting and changed into something more fitting. A black cloak with a large hood, a dark green shirt and pants, and silver colored boots which went up to his knees. Absolutely riddled with an assortment of protection and evasion charms. Plus, it was enchanted with just about every form of protection and mending, his belt fitted several knives and his cloak had hidden pockets containing potions and ender pearls. On top of all of that, he also brought his trusted rapier and bow-and-arrow(s) with him. Scott did not want to be caught off guard if the wizard was truly who he thought he was.
While the man was not too proficient at melee fighting, he was one of the best snipers he had ever meet with a bow, and coupled with his magic the attacks the wizard could do could truly be devastating. However, Scott could think quicker on his feet, so he was going to use that to his advantage, along with his own light magic. And so, he headed out and began to make his way out of the bustling city of Saigo when something caught his eye. He was in the town center of the lower district, not too far from the slums or the eastern entrance into the city.
It was an elf with bright blond hair and electric blue eyes who wore a green hood, green beanie, and tan pants. And a grey tabby cat resting across his shoulders. Now Scott normally would have taken no notice of the elf: there were plenty of people who travelled with familiars. And sure, elves were not the most common of species to see given that most of them preferred to stay away from any sort of society but that did not mean it was impossible to see them (since he was an elf himself, just under disguise.) It was just rather improbable. No, it was the pattern the tabby had, along with the shape of their face.
And their emerald, green eyes. Scott recognized that cat. It had belonged to a wizard many years ago, when he was still a part of the guild and when him and Scott were still friends. Only the cat had died of old age, and there were only so many people who were still alive who knew the cat. And who could shape shift into said cat. Scott felt a smile creep up onto his face.
The wizard wasn’t home. That meant he could just waltz in and make himself at home without having to worry about any repercussions—at least until the wizard got home. He watched for a moment longer, as the ‘elf’ (he had a sneaking suspicion that the elf was not an elf at all, as he distinctly remembered a certain avian having a knack for glamor. In fact, it was the strongest glamor he had ever seen and that was saying something) seemed to talk to no one in particular before turning off to the slums in the southern part of the city. Scott pulled off to the side, down one of the alleyways where he could have a conversation without being listened in upon. Or interrupted.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a communication crystal before closing his eyes. His mind forming the image of a white-haired man, with his banged kept from his eyes by a headband with a metal plaque engraved with the symbol of a maple leaf. His left eye with a scar going perpendicular to it and red in color, a near-black mask covering the lower half of his face. The crystal buzzed to life and Scott smiled as it crackled with the distorted voice of the man the crystal belonged to.
“Smajor. It's been a while,” the man greeted. His normally even tone of voice pitched up slightly.
“Etho! It has been a while, how are you?” he greeted kindly in turn, ignoring the impatience which burned at the back of his mind. He silently prayed that his voice hadn’t come out too sharp from it.
“Fine. Listen Scott, you haven’t talked to me since the mission so I’m going to guess that there is a reason that you’ve reached out to me?” Etho said in his normal neutral tone.
“Aw, I can’t say ‘hi’ to an old friend?” Scott said in a teasing manner. “There were many star filled nights we spent together during that mission you know.” Now while that technically was true, nothing had happened during his quest he had accepted to help Etho and three of his friends reclaim a village from a group of neighboring pillagers. He just couldn’t resist the ability to say something more. . . suggestive. Unfortunately, the man didn’t go along or even get flustered like some of Scott’s other friends. Besides, last he had known while Etho had claimed he wasn’t officially together with anyone, two of his friends had informed him he was with their Glare hybrid friend, Bdubs.
“Scott what do you want?” Etho said dryly.
Scott grinned wider, reaching up to twirl a finger in his hair. “Well, don’t you owe a favor to me for helping you with your village a couple years back?”
There was a moment of silence before a reluctant, “Yes?”
“Well, I was wondering if you could make a teleportation glyph for me,” he replied with a smooth voice.
He heard a sigh over the crystal before Etho asked, “Where do you want it?”
“Oh just around your village is fine. I can make it the rest of the way,” Scott told him, his voice still perfectly smooth.
There was another pause (he really was starting to get tired of the pauses), and Etho answered, “Fine. It’ll be ready by the end of the hour.”
“Thank you~!” Scott cooed, earning him another tired sigh for the white-haired man.
“Yep. Just be ready, I’ll call you back when it's done,” Etho said, and before he could even say ‘goodbye,’ the call was ended. Scott let out a sigh, slouching into the wall and temporarily removed his glamor which he had still kept up all that time. His bangs which fell over his eyes returned to their natural blue and the light crystals which close swirled around his head came back into existence. A pale yellow in color for weariness and a creeping dread about the oncoming encounter.
It was fine; he would be fine. He would go to wherever the wizard now lived and make a deal with him—either for the crystal or for Grian. And then he would return to the city and this chapter of his life would be over and he could go back to going through his usual reports as a major. Having lunches, going out on dates and spending nights with Jimmy, and once a month (if they all could,) going out on a quest with his Gaslight and Girl boss.