Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mary had thrown a massive Halloween party (well, the day after Halloween—to «mark the year») at her place, where practically the entire high school showed up—because, in her words, «everyone’s welcome».
(Secretly, she’d hoped some college students would crash the party... which, of course, didn’t happen.)

They’d formed a small but diverse circle of classmates, though Jim only had eyes for one person : Claire Nuñez. 
Even if he wasn’t sitting right next to her, they were part of the same circle, which was already something. 
Steve — because of course he was there — snatched a yellowed, ancient-looking parchment from the hands of a blonde girl. 
To Jim’s great shame, he couldn’t even remember her name, despite sharing classes with her since last year. But, well... it wasn’t that different with Claire, was it? She probably didn’t even know his name. 
That thought dampened his mood a little. 
Toby, his best friend, gave him a light nudge, either to keep him focused or to remind him that they were actually in the presence of girls and about to interact with them for real.

But Steve, as usual, snapped him back to reality with his professional bully antics.

"Why do you have this old thing? Toilet paper replacement?"

He sneered, crumpling the parchment slightly, which had the exact brittle, aged texture of damp toilet paper. His buddies burst out laughing.

The blonde girl flushed bright red with embarrassment, stammering as she tried to grab it back. 

"I... I thought... I mean, it’s Halloween, so I figured it’d be fun to bring it. It’s an ancient Fae Ritual... I thought it’d be fitting...”

Darci, ever pragmatic, raised a skeptical eyebrow, her tone clearly annoyed

"You seriously believe in that stuff?"

There’d been some weird story last year — Jim vaguely remembered it, though he hadn’t paid much attention. Mary, the gossip queen, had posted all about this girl’s obsession with the occult and «weird stuff» on social media.

Jean, in his signature tight jeans, chimed in enthusiastically

"Hey, it’d be fun if someone read it, just for the vibe!"

Oddly, no one volunteered, despite the earlier mocking laughter. Even Steve hesitated, holding the parchment at arm’s length, which allowed its owner to nervously snatch it back as she muttered, worried

"Maybe it’s not such a good idea..."

But Steve ignored her, smacking Eli — his current victim, sitting right next to him — on the back of the head. 

"Pepperjerk’s perfect for this. With his wild imagination, aliens or fairies, same thing, right?"

Eli pushed his glasses up, ready to protest (he didn’t believe in fairy tales, come on), but Mary cut him off, taking charge of the group with her theatrical enthusiasm

"We’ve got something better! Truth or Dare!"

She announced it like a decree, already thrilled at the prospect of crispy secrets and humiliating situations. 
Jim swallowed hard — and he wasn’t the only one.

The game began, with an empty bottle placed in the center of the circle. 
Dares and confessions flew : at one point, Shannon had to kiss the blonde girl, with Steve loudly mocking that she’d probably never kissed anyone before — which was likely true. But all the while, Jim couldn’t help but be captivated by the soft sound of Claire’s laughter.

That’s why he nearly jumped out of his skin when his name was called : the bottle had stopped on him. 
Panicking completely, Jim blurted out

"Uh... Dare!"

No way was he risking someone asking who he liked. Not in front of her. He’d never survive the embarrassment if he made a fool of himself in front of the girl he loved. 
But he didn’t immediately realize that the dare could be a thousand times worse.

Luckily — or not — the dare was simple enough. 

"Read the Fae Ritual if you’re brave enough, Lake." 

The blonde girl protested weakly, clearly uneasy

"We shouldn’t... you don’t mess with the Fae like that."

But Steve snatched the parchment from her again, laughing at her ridiculous fear. He handed it to Jim, curious to see if he’d chicken out or show off. 
Suddenly, Jim was the center of everyone’s attention. 
Even Claire. 
Her curious brown eyes were fixed on him. 
It was enough to melt him like chocolate in the sun.

He couldn’t back down in front of her.

With a surge of courage, Jim took the parchment, his hands trembling. 
He took a deep breath. 
Then he read. 
Out loud. 
And the more he read, the steadier his voice became.

"Invocation of an Unbound Being, by the True Name Spoken, Under the Moon That Sees and the Shadow That Binds.

By the Closed Court and the Forgotten Names, 
By the ink of my breath and the seal of my blood, 
I open the Way between World and Rift.

Let He-Who-Has-No-King appear. 
Let him hear, let him bend, let him offer himself.

STRICKLANDER , by your TRUE NAME, 
I call you through the Fabric of the Veil, 
I claim your Oath by the Ancient Pact sealed.

By the Roots and the Moons, by the Stone Bones and the Dead Leaves, 
You shall be BOUND.

Your oath is to SERVE. 
Your fate is to OBEY.

For HALF A FULL CYCLE OF THE LIVING MOON, 
You shall stand by my side, neither hidden nor free, 
And you shall do as a Fae servant is expected.

If you refuse, may your tongue turn to ash. 
If you flee, may your steps burn forever. 
If you lie, may the truth consume you.

This ritual may only be spoken by a being without a name in the magical spheres — a mortal. 
He who speaks it, binds it. 
He who hears it, obeys."

For a moment, a deep unease gripped Jim. 
As he read, it felt like the parchment was growing hot in his hands, as if it might suddenly burst into flames. But it didn’t.

Silence greeted his final words.

And then... nothing.

The world seemed to pause for a second. 
Then everything went back to normal.

Relief hit Jim so hard he let out a nervous chuckle. 
It wasn’t that bad, after all.

Jim wondered if he’d maybe overdone the reading—especially with all those capital letters, seriously. 
It had almost felt sacred for a moment. 
Yeah, Claire was probably going to think he was an idiot.

Hastily, he set the parchment down and returned to his spot. 
The party continued without further incident.

---

Later that night.

Jim finally got home after saying goodbye to his neighbor — and best friend. 
But as soon as he was alone, the silence of the night felt... strange. Almost oppressive. 
The moon shone almost too brightly in the starry sky. 
The shadows stretched a little too far.
Jim shrugged it off, blaming it on exhaustion.
Still, he was relieved to step into the familiar safety of his house, closing the door behind him with a sigh.

He briefly replayed the evening in his mind : the most striking moment was still that stupid ritual. Jim groaned — he’d probably made a complete fool of himself in front of Claire.

"It was dumb. Just a stupid dare."

He muttered, as if he wanted to bury himself six feet under for his idiocy. He could’ve refused, should’ve refused, so she wouldn’t remember him as the weird guy who read some creepy piece of paper. 
Then, for no clear reason, Jim fell silent. 
The silence thickened. 
It wasn’t just calm anymore. 
It felt... dense. As if the air itself had stopped breathing.

Suddenly, the front door began to tremble. The lights flickered. And... 
A crack. 
Like fabric being torn vertically. 
But it wasn’t fabric. 
It was the world.

A deep golden glow split open across the entrance, a pulsing line of radiant light, like a glowing scar in the void. 
And through that torn Veil, something slipped through. 
Jim shielded his eyes from the blinding light, stumbling back into the hallway.

A wind blew from the magical portal. Streaks of vivid green lightning flashed across the space. It was a whirlwind of brilliant, supernatural elements — a mix of golden and emerald sparks, ancient and otherworldly.

And then...

He appeared.

A tall, slender silhouette draped in a long, dark brown cape, its collar shimmering with a thousand reflections, like a multitude of mirrors bouncing back the surreal glow. An ancient rune-covered clasp held it together. 
His proud, broad chest was covered in green, striated stone-like skin, carved with intricate patterns. 
His ivory, ringed horns curved majestically back from his skull, dominating the scene. 
His clawed, delicate hands were clenched into fists. 
His steps made no sound, but each movement seemed to make the air around him tremble. His cape floated gently, as if carried by a breeze from another world.

And then the storm calmed. The magical Veil closed. The flashes of light faded. 
Everything plunged back into darkness.

The Fae creature finally raised his head and opened his eyes. Two blazing golden orbs, slitted like those of a bloodthirsty predator.

Jim was frozen. As if it were all a dream. Or a nightmare.

But the creature spoke. Its voice was low, rumbling, icy, echoing through every wall in the house.

"Who.Dared?"

A cold shiver ran down Jim’s spine.
This thing had fangs. Or tusks. Or both. He let out a ridiculous yelp, because no — this wasn’t a hallucination. 
He’d heard him. 
The blood-red pupils locked onto him dangerously. The voice fell, heavy, deep, cutting, like a barely veiled reproach.

"You. Summoned. Me."

He took a step forward. The wooden floor didn’t even creak. The rumbling voice carried a trace of deep bitterness as he stated the facts

"You spoke the Name. You sealed the Pact. You bound me. Here I am."

He seemed to judge the frail mortal before him with a look of disdain. This had to be a demon. Jim was convinced he was going to die right here, right now.

"Congratulations, moss-brain."

Was that... sarcasm?

Chapter Text

And then, it clicked in the teenager’s brain. The Pact. Bound. Jim ventured, his voice trembling as he recalled

"Are you... Stricklander?"

"DO NOT SPEAK MY NAME ALOUD!"

The creature roared with barely contained fury, baring his tusks. Jim stumbled back in panic, knocking his backpack down the stairs. He clutched his hair and whimpered in despair

"But I... it was just a joke."

Stricklander shot a judgmental sneer at the pathetic human before him, correcting sharply

"Binding me with an ancient Fae Ritual of Servitude is not a joke."

He took a step into the house without permission, heading toward the living room. A subtle golden shimmer of magic coiled around his wrist before vanishing as if it had never been there. He grimaced, then turned his attention back to the only other living being in the room, his tone laced with annoyance

"Very well, Mortal. What exactly did the Pact say?"

"Huh?"

That was all the boy could manage, his mind still grappling with his torn-apart reality. The monster lost patience, a knife — appearing out of nowhere — snapping between his claws. 

"The ritual parchment? The Pact? You must have read something?"

Jim scratched the back of his head, admitting

"Uh, well... I don’t really remember."

As if he was going to memorize the gibberish he’d read? Stricklander tapped his clawed foot on the floor, the sound sharp and clicking, as he deduced with obvious exasperation

"Then get it out again!"

Jim shrank under the reprimand, mumbling an apology

"It’s just... I don’t have it. It wasn’t mine."

A growl rumbled from the creature’s throat as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Marvelous. I had to get stuck with the village idiot."

A spark of memory flashed through Jim, and he shared with some enthusiasm

"Oh, it mentioned something about ink and blood, I think... and, uh, roots? Or leaves?"

Stricklander nearly let out a groan, dragging a clawed hand over his face. Then he growled, sarcastic

"Bravo, those are Fae Ritual incantations. Now, what were the terms of the Contract?"

The teenager deflated, his attempt to seem helpful failing miserably... the Demon was probably going to eat him or something. Wait, don’t Demons steal souls? Jim racked his brain to recall what he’d recited, desperate to give this monster what it demanded. 

"Uh, it said «bound«, «serve», and «obey»!"

Jim remembered, hopeful. The creature turned to him, spreading his arms, his gravelly voice almost grateful 

"See? You can do it. That wasn’t so hard!"

But condescension quickly replaced it, biting 

"That’s kind of the point of a Servitude Ritual."

The information was useless, and the Demon had just mocked him. His piercing gaze seemed to burn Jim on the spot. The boy let out a small squeak, asking

"Are you going to... steal my soul?"

"Pardon?"

Stricklander replied, incredulous, his tone suddenly less terrifying, replaced by confusion. Jim fidgeted with his hands, justifying

"Yeah, that’s what Demons do, right?"

Stricklander choked on his own spit, puffing up with majestic offense

"I am not a Demon! You insolent, vulgar Mortal! I am a Fae!"

Jim flinched, glancing at the horns, claws, fangs, terrifying eyes, and strange skin—yeah, as if he could’ve guessed. 

"Aren’t fairies, like, tiny with butterfly wings or something?"

Stricklander snorted in disgust at the degrading stereotype.

"Oh, of course. I glow in the dark and sleep in a daisy. Shall I grant you three wishes while we’re at it?"

Without giving him time to respond, Stricklander complained loudly 

"Your ideas are so humiliating, reductive, and racist. Humans have the memory of a goldfish—no wonder the Fair Folk have never held them in even the slightest esteem. But we’re getting sidetracked. Let’s return to what matters : the Pact."

Jim felt a bit ashamed and mumbled, uncertain but with a hint of pettiness, piecing together the meaning of what he’d recited earlier

"Well, it said you can’t refuse, escape, or lie."

Stricklander sighed dramatically.

"Oh, cursed am I, the full package. A complete Servitude Pact."

His tone dripped with palpable disdain. Jim bristled — it wasn’t really his fault, he couldn’t have known! The Fae added with mocking condescension

"Fae can’t lie anyway."

Jim was a bit skeptical about that. Stricklander raised an unimpressed stone eyebrow, rolled his eyes, and continued

"Fine, and nothing about the duration? There’s always a limit."

The teenager threw his hands up, letting out his frustration 

"I don’t know, it mentioned something about half a full lunar cycle?"

Stricklander doubled down on his groan, translating into terms this pitiful human could understand

"Charming. I’m stuck. With you. For half a month. What joy."

Jim, now uneasy at the idea of having bound someone into servitude against their will, asked

"Can we cancel it?"

Stricklander stared at the boy for a long, silent moment before finally sighing. 

"No. You can’t just terminate it like some cheap sales contract. You have to wait until the deadline."

He then tilted his head slightly, a wicked smile creeping onto his face. 

"Or until your end. Or mine. Which, let’s be honest, is unlikely to be me."

Catching the implication, Jim rushed

"Whoa, hold on, I’ll find a solution that doesn’t involve anything... permanent."

A bit lost, the teenager hurried to his room. He had research to do. First, he needed to figure out exactly what he’d gotten himself into. What a mess.

As he opened his computer and started searching the internet, Jim looked up anything he could find on «Fae». Naturally, he started with the obvious : Wikipedia — teachers were against it, supposedly to develop critical thinking and research skills, but most of the time, everything was already there. A comment made him jump, the creature having shamelessly followed him and now critiquing his room’s decor. 

"So this is where you store your personal chaos. Wonderful. These posters of... I don’t even know what those things are—"

He vaguely gestured with disdain at the loud and polluting human contraptions — Vespa scooter — posters on Jim’s walls. 

"—they don’t exactly scream «I’m emotionally stable». Are you planning to have me stay here?"

Jim didn’t even acknowledge the jab, focusing on the last part, sputtering

"What? No, of course not! This is my room! I told you I’m going to find a solution, now let me search!"

Stricklander raised a skeptical eyebrow and leaned toward Jim’s «research» device, openly judging

"You really think you’ll find anything with that... human machine? Humans are ignorant, it’s pointless."

Jim groaned heavily but countered

"It’s worth a shot."

He began scrolling and reading through the information on the website. The horned creature leaned in a bit too close over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, making Jim jump back in fear. But Stricklander made no other aggressive moves, merely sniffing

"What a load of nonsense. Not surprising."

Jim lamented aloud again, casting a nervous glance at the monster in his room, who had resumed exploring his personal space, and continued his internet search. He stumbled upon a ridiculous page but figured at this point, nothing could surprise him anymore. It was a «humorous» blog on an obscure forum called «Faepunk.net». Yeah, what a joke. Still, he read it entirely — why not?

~~~

You want the unwritten code of conduct for the most aesthetically magnificent and emotionally unstable creatures in all of folklore? 
Perfect. Here’s your little survival guide for a Fae world, or : 

‘How Not to Die (or Worse: Be Invited to Tea) with a Fae.’ 

🧚‍♂️ I) FAE IN FOLKLORE (Celtic, Anglo-Saxon, Scandinavian, and a bit French)

Fae, or ‘fair folk,’ aren’t fairies in the Disney sense. 
They are often: 
- Gorgeous, 
- Dangerous, 
- Twisted as a cursed branch, 
- And incapable of doing anything straightforwardly. 

✨ II) TYPICAL FAE BEHAVIORS & CODES 

1. Fae don’t lie.
But they love letting you believe what you want to hear. 
(Ex: “I never said you wouldn’t die.” (Translation: you’re probably dying in the next hour, but stylishly.)) 

2. They love rules, but only when it suits them. 
They follow strict, often incomprehensible codes: 
- Don’t say their name aloud. 
- Don’t refuse a duel. 
- Don’t enter without being invited (but they’ll do it anyway if you say “come check this out” out loud). 
- Don’t break an oath (or pay a steep price). 

3. They have a warped relationship with time. 
One minute in the human world could be a hundred years in theirs. 
And vice versa. 
You go pick berries with a Fae, come back, and your kid’s a grandparent . 

4. Their humor is... peculiar. 
They love: 
- Riddles, 
- Double-edged wordplay, 
- Poisoned gifts, 
- Tragic pranks (like: lucky you, you can fly! Oh, wait, you don’t have wings). 

5. Iron weakens them.
Iron is their kryptonite. 
It burns them, blocks their magic. 
Carry it for protection. 
(A good old screwdriver can become an anti-Fae weapon. McGyver, is that you?) 
Salt works too, when they’re not already a bit too salty themselves. 

6. They’re obsessed with names.
Knowing your true name gives them power over you. 
Conversely, knowing their true name lets you summon, bind, or break a curse. 

7. They make deals.
And this is where they shine in lawful malice: 
“Give me a memory, and I’ll help you.”  
You think they mean an object. In reality? They rip out the memory of your first love, and you never understand why you’ve got a black hole every Valentine’s Day. 

8. They steal children.
And sometimes replace them with Changelings (Fae babies or disguised creatures). 
They do it: 
- On a whim, 
- To “raise them better,” 
- Or just because they passed a stroller and thought the kid was cute. 

9. They’re beautiful but inhuman.
Fae don’t really age. They often have subtle inhuman traits: 
- Glowing eyes, 
- No shadow, 
- A voice too melodic or resonant, 
- A smile that makes you want to cry. 

🧬 III) CLASSIC FAE ABILITIES

- Illusion / Glamour → Shape-shifting, altering an object’s appearance. 
- Subtle mental manipulation (charm, confusion, supernatural persuasion). 
- Magical bonds (summoning, oaths, curses). 
- Teleportation (jumping between “circles” or Fae places). 
- Nature mastery (plants, animals, seasons). 
- Time manipulation (very unstable, often unintentional). 
- Magical contracts: If written or spoken, they’re bound by the universe. Literally."

~~~

Jim jumped again at the Fae’s presence reading beside him, unnoticed until now. Stricklander huffed, displeased with what he’d found

"What fool dared write this? It’s—"

He grimaced, bitter at having to admit 

"—surprisingly accurate. Well, for some things. Oh, just wait until the Court gets their hands on this author."

He chuckled at the cruel thought. Jim, meanwhile, latched onto something else. If what was written there held even a sliver of truth, then... He tried to confirm his understanding of the situation, a bit nervously 

"So you’re saying you’re my... magical servant or something. That you’re forced to obey me for half a month or until one of us dies."

Stricklander, now casually leaning against the window with his arms crossed, confirmed with disdain 

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me. Again. I live for Repetition."

Jim swallowed hard as he deduced aloud, terrified by his own train of thought

"But if... to free yourself... you could betray me? By... trying to... kill me..."

There was a pause. Then, Stricklander smiled. Slowly. Too slowly. His tone was a bit too saccharine

"What finesse. It’s almost like you’ve got a functioning neuron."

Jim paled suddenly, exclaiming, shocked

"You were actually thinking about killing me... to be free?!"

Stricklander feigned indignation, but his eyes twinkled with unhidden sarcasm

"No. Of course not. As if I’d stoop to killing an innocent, loud, clumsy, and objectively poorly groomed human child."

Not entirely convinced, Jim demanded, invoking his authority as master per the contract’s terms

"Promise it."

Stricklander growled, then sighed and recited theatrically, obeying

"Very well. I, Stricklander, swear on my Fae blood, on my Mark of Dishonor, and on the ashes of my True Name... that I will not kill you, James Lake Jr."

He bowed slightly, solemnly, then added mischievously

"...Personally."

Jim gulped and frowned

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

The Fae creature, a smug smile on his lips, patted Jim’s head — almost affectionately — making the boy jump at the unexpected contact. 

"You’ll see. If you keep crossing the street without looking, I won’t even need to act."

Unsettled by the Fae’s implications, Jim latched onto another detail, full of accusation

"By the way, how do you know my name? I didn’t tell you!"

Stricklander lightly dragged a claw across the desk, where one of Jim’s school notebooks lay, his tone mysterious

"I know many things..."

Then he tapped the notebook sharply with the same claw, startling the boy again. He clarified, exasperated

"More seriously, it’s written all over your things. You humans make no effort to hide your True Name."

It was said like a reproach, as if they were utterly careless. Jim suddenly felt a bit foolish. Yeah, he wasn’t wrong. To shake off his embarrassment, the boy dove back into his research. But it was getting seriously complicated with all this talk of Seelie, Unseelie, Queens and Kings, Marks of Dishonor, Wild Hunts, or No-King, not to mention the sheer diversity of the Fae folk. Jim yawned openly and faceplanted onto his desk, right next to his computer. He let out a defeated little noise, then covered his head with both hands, complaining loudly

"Dude, this is complicateeeed."

"You’re telling me."

His unwanted guest shot back instantly. Jim hadn’t found what he was looking for. Nothing to undo this mistake. And his tired brain couldn’t process anything more right now. He turned his weary gaze to the Fae creature... then an idea hit him, and he sat up in his chair. 

"Hey, you must know a ton about this stuff — it’s your world. Maybe you can help me?"

Stricklander turned to him with dignity, arms crossed, refusing outright

"I am not your supernatural guide. You should’ve thought of that before sparking this high school idiocy version of a declaration of war."

Jim raised his hands in a peace gesture, completely panicked.

"Whoa, I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—"

Jim really didn’t want to get on this Fae’s bad side — it didn’t seem like he was off to a great start. Then he caught something that didn’t add up

"—Wait, how do you even know what a high school is?"

A magical creature who didn’t know what a Vespa or a computer was knew that? It didn’t make sense. Stricklander’s eyes widened in surprise, as if caught off guard. He bared his fangs and hissed, more defensive than truly aggressive, justifying himself

"Just because humans are ignorant doesn’t mean I am!"

Jim tried again to ease the tension with a new approach

"Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s start over. Introductions are already done. But what are you?"

Jim was genuinely curious about the creature’s nature. He’d first thought Demon. The Fae looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, then muttered, exasperated

"What did I say? Human memory — barely three seconds, and he’s already forgotten I’m a Fae. I didn’t even need to use magic."

Jim held back from reacting to the condescension and clarified the misunderstanding

"Yeah, but what kind of Fae are you? There’s apparently a ton of them!"

Stricklander gave him a superior look and hissed sharply

"As if I’d tell you."

Jim sighed loudly, almost pleading.

"Come on, I mean, I already know your Name. And you know I’m human."

Faced with his obvious argument, the sarcasm returned

"Remarkable. I hadn’t noticed."

Jim crossed his arms in turn and protested

"That’s not fair."

"Life’s not fair."

The creature conceded, entirely unsympathetic. The boy pressed

"Come on, what’s the harm in me knowing?"

Stricklander grumbled under his breath, then gestured grandly at himself, as if addressing an idiot. 

"Isn’t it obvious?"

Apparently, it was. Jim couldn’t see anything other than a Demon... or maybe a goblin, given the green color... but he didn’t dare say it, lest he offend the creature further. Faced with the teenager’s eloquent silence, Stricklander let out a disparaging grunt and muttered, arms crossed, almost sulky

"Troll."

Jim wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He repeated, skeptical at first

"Troll? Aren’t they... I don’t know... bigger? And—"

Panic spiked suddenly, horrified

"—wait, don’t they eat people?"

First outraged by the mortal’s comment on his size, Stricklander then grinned, showing as many fangs as possible, running his tongue over them and confirming in a saccharine tone

"Trolls are indeed known for that..."

Jim yelped before mustering his courage, determined 

"We said no murder attempts! That includes not eating me!"

Stricklander wrinkled his nose in disgust at the remark and conceded, disdainful

"Anyway, I doubt any Troll would want to eat you. You’re all skin and bones."

Jim stood up, exhausted, and ended the conversation

"Okay, cool. I’ve got school tomorrow, so I’m going to bed."

Stricklander was not pleased. His tone left no room for doubt

"I demand personal space."

Jim made a defeated face, then raised an eyebrow with an awkward smile.

"Uh, well, go back to where you came from, I guess?"

"Do I need to remind you that you bound me, moss-brain? I can’t."

The troll hissed. Jim looked a bit sheepish, then ventured

"Um, I authorize you to go home?"

He figured he could give his servant permission or something. Stricklander sighed loudly, dealing with this hopeless human. 

"Unless your order requires me to leave for a specific task, I’m obligated to stay nearby."

Stricklander emphasized his point by conjuring a faint green glow of magic around himself — like a portal — but it vanished instantly as golden chains of light encircled his wrists, holding him back. Jim felt awful for having quite literally chained someone against their will. He curled up on his bed, his expression pained. Stricklander noticed the boy’s look and his tone turned fiercely exasperated

"Don’t give me that look. I’m the one who should be complaining here."

Jim shot him a sympathetic glance and apologized again

"Yeah, I’m really sorry."

The creature seemed thrown off by the boy’s response. Instead, Stricklander spat, almost venomously

"Trust me, you’ll have plenty to be sorry for."

Jim buried his head in his knees... then slowly lifted it, grimacing.

"Does that mean you’ll, like, be here all the time? Wow, that’s creepy."

Stricklander confirmed, very sincerely

"Oh, yes. An absolutely terrifying prospect."

Jim gave him a sideways glance. He just had to get stuck with a sarcastic, dramatic, grumpy green Fae troll — couldn’t he have gotten a better Fae servant? Then Jim sighed again and suggested

"There’s the basement if you want..."

"The basement?!"

The troll cut him off, utterly outraged. He pointed at himself frantically. 

"Do I look like a rat to you?"

Jim was mortified and tried to backtrack

"I... I don’t know what trolls like! It’s dark and damp down there, so I thought—and it’s pretty big—but otherwise, there’s the couch—except my mom’s coming back from her night shift—and, well, a stranger in the house—a troll—"

Jim babbled, rambling at full speed without stopping, until he was abruptly cut off.

"Fine." 

Stricklander declared sharply. Without another word or giving the boy a chance to say more, the creature turned, his cape snapping in the air, ending the conversation definitively. He left the room without further judgment. Jim stood there dumbly, mouth still open, staring at the bedroom door through which the horned creature had exited. The teenager decided to get ready for bed, uneasy. Exhausted, both from the long evening and emotionally from this whole insane situation, it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered through the checkered curtains of the Lake family kitchen, casting timid shadows on the worn tiles. Jim, with tousled hair and eyes still heavy with sleep, stood at the stove. A pan sizzled softly, filling the air with the scent of crispy bacon and scrambled eggs. On the counter, carefully prepared sandwiches — whole-grain bread, turkey, avocado, a touch of mustard — sat beside lunchboxes. Jim, a skilled cook, adjusted the flame with precision, soothed by this familiar ritual.

He shook his head, an awkward smile on his lips. What a ridiculous nightmare. That whole Fae Ritual thing, the horned creature with golden eyes... It was just a dream, right? Too many horror movies with Toby. He glanced toward the hallway. All was quiet. His mom was fast asleep in her room after her night shift at the hospital. Everything was fine. Normal. As usual.

He returned to his eggs, adding a pinch of salt with near-professional satisfaction.

A deep, smug, and far-too-close voice shattered the silence like thunder in a clear sky.

"Tell me, Mortal, is this fragrant slop for your humble servant?"

Jim jumped violently, the spatula flying from his hand and landing in the sink with a metallic *clang*. He spun around, heart pounding. There, in the kitchen doorway, stood the creature. Stricklander. Dark cape, green stone-like skin in the shadow, curved ivory horns gleaming faintly. His golden, slitted eyes, like those of a predator, sparkled with mocking amusement. This was not a dream. Jim’s voice trembled with panic

"You’re... you’re still here?!"

Stricklander crossed his arms and raised a stony eyebrow, bored and exasperated

"Brilliant observation, moss-brain. The Pact, remember? A half full lunar cycle. Fourteen days, eleven hours, and some specks of misery."

Jim blinked, his brain struggling to process reality. He shot a nervous glance toward the hallway, terrified his mom might wake up. Then he lowered his voice, almost accusatory

"So you’re really going to follow me everywhere? Like, all the time? Even in broad daylight?"

The troll sighed theatrically, running a claw along the counter as if inspecting its cleanliness, superbly ignoring the idiotic question they’d already discussed the night before.

Jim flushed, both annoyed at being ignored and mortified by the reality. He retrieved his spatula from the sink, trying to regain composure. The smell of bacon seemed to catch Stricklander’s attention, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. He looked away, as if refusing to admit the human’s food intrigued him. Trying for a friendlier tone, albeit a bit awkward, Jim offered

"Look, if we’re stuck together for literally half a month, maybe we could... I don’t know, get to know each other? Could be nice?"

The creature snapped back, almost offended

"Get to know each other? What a grotesque idea. The bond forces me to stay by your side, not to like you. Shall I carry your bag too, O great summoner from idiotic esoteric forums?"

Jim frowned, stung by the remark. He set the pan down a bit too hard on the stove, making a stack of omelet slices jump.

"Okay, but have you seen yourself? You’re, like... a green monster with horns! If you’re supposed to follow me to school, people will freak out! Claire will freak out! My mom will freak out!"

Stricklander rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips, revealing a hint of fang. With a deeply condescending tone, he enlightened the teenager

"Your pathetic human brains couldn’t handle my magnificence at every moment, whelp. Fortunately, I master the art of glamour. Selective invisibility, to be precise. Only those bound by the Pact — you, unfortunately— can see me as I am. The others? They’ll see nothing. Or rather, they’ll see what I want them to see."

Jim blinked, perplexed, as Stricklander approached the front door, where a ray of morning sunlight illuminated the floor. The creature paused, grimacing slightly — a barely perceptible shudder passing through his stone-like features. Then, in a radiant storm of green lightning, his form changed. The horns vanished, his green skin became pale human flesh, the cape transformed into an impeccably tailored brown suit with a blue cashmere sweater underneath. His golden eyes softened into a human green that oddly echoed his original skin tone. He now looked like a charismatic history teacher or perhaps an eccentric uncle. Jim’s jaw dropped. Then he stammered

"Wow. I... didn’t know you could do that. You’re... less scary like this."

The Fae, disguised as human, sniffed, offended, with a surprisingly British accent

"Less scary? We’ll see about that. This form is a compromise for your fragile mind. Consider it a favor."

In truth, he omitted that sunlight would burn his true troll form, a weakness he’d keep jealously guarded. Jim hesitated, packing his mom’s lunch into the fridge.

"Okay, but... if I need to talk to you, what do I call you? «Fae» or «Troll» is kind of lame. And you said not to use your... True Name."

Stricklander froze, his eyes narrowing as if he were considering turning Jim to ash with a single glance. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost sharp growl

"Don’t call me. Don’t talk to me at all. That would be a vacation."

Then he clicked a fountain pen that appeared out of nowhere between his fingers, his tone bored

"But if you insist on polluting the air with your voice, call me Strickler. It’s... human enough for your limited palate."

Jim nodded, a bit intimidated but determined not to be walked over. He stored his mom’s lunch in the fridge, mentally noting he’d have to survive half a month with this guy — or rather, this troll. This was definitely not a dream. And now, he’d have to go to school with an invisible, sarcastic Fae on his tail. Great.

-----

When Jim met up with his best friend outside his house, he started spilling everything — he obviously couldn’t keep this to himself, and Toby was his best friend

"Tobes, you won’t believe what happened to me! It’s, like, insane—"

He started, brimming with excitement, but was abruptly cut off by the insane thing in question

"STOP!"

The shout halted him mid-sentence, his eyes wide on Strickler, who was right beside the redhead. Toby, however, seemed completely oblivious to both the shout and the presence. The other teen raised an eyebrow at his best friend’s odd behavior this early in the day and asked

"You okay, Jimbo? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. So what’s this insane thing?"

Toby asked, genuinely curious, as he inspected his sandwich for the day. Jim stammered, pointing at the «human» clicking his pen smugly beside them.

"You... you really don’t see?"

Toby thought for a moment, then declared thoughtfully, sniffing the air

"I’d say you went with mustard this time, not mayo — you took my advice. But I’m not sure it’s a great combo with avocado. Is that your big crazy thing?"

Strickler fixed the smaller human with a studied look of disgust, his lips pursed in an almost academic sneer. He quipped

"After the master chef, here’s the gourmet sidekick. A whole episode of Top Chef."

Then he leaned slightly toward Jim, his voice low, cold, and hissed like a snake whispering your time is up.

"No one. else. must. know. Do you hear me, Mortal? Your picnic buddy over there... one word too many, and I’ll find a way to silence that greedy mouth. Permanently."

Jim paled. It was a threatening tone, yes, but oddly... formal. And as if that weren’t clear enough, the man’s irises briefly flashed red, an undeniable reminder of his nature. And Toby, poor Toby, kept analyzing his sandwich, completely oblivious. Jim turned to his friend in panic, opening his mouth to... say what, exactly? «By the way, I just summoned a Fae from an ancient pact, and he’s threatening your life»? Yeah, no. He swallowed his words, blinked, and replied with a slightly shaky sigh

"Yeah. No. You’re right. Bad combo. Avocado-mustard... too weird."

Toby gave a thumbs-up, delighted with his own culinary expertise, unaware that his life had just been saved by a condiment comment. Strickler, meanwhile, clicked his pen between his fingers with an irritating *tac-tac*, then whispered to Jim, loud enough to make the hairs on his neck stand up

"You learn fast, moss-brain. Maybe one of your neurons grasped what irreversible consequences means. It’s endearing."

Jim gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream. To tell him to get lost. To threaten him back. Except yelling «DON’T KILL MY BEST FRIEND» in the middle of the street would definitely freak out Toby — and the rest of the neighborhood.

-----

Once at school, Jim lingered for a moment where they parked their bikes. He glanced furtively left, then right. No one, except the last students heading into the school. While they’d been biking, Jim forcing himself to ignore the monster trailing him and chatting with his best friend, he’d apparently lost Stricklander. Well, Jim had pushed Toby to pedal as fast as possible to put as much distance as he could between himself and the creature. With any luck, the Fae had actually vanished, and that whole «can’t stray far» thing was a lie. Jim let out a sigh of relief, adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, and headed toward the entrance to meet Toby, who was waiting with a suspicious look. Then Jim thought about the school day ahead, and a second, far less joyful sigh made his shoulders slump.

"You enter this place like you’re walking into hell. Except demons have more class."

Jim jumped so high he could’ve reached the moon, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest. There, barely two steps away, stood Strickler, in an impeccable suit, arms crossed, as if he’d never left. Jim tightly gripped his backpack strap and growled through clenched teeth, still furious at this despicable being

"Don’t start."

A far too smug tone replied

"Too late. Your bag’s not properly zipped. Your laces are untied. And that smell? That... «teenage sweat»?"

Strickler wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odor wafting from the boy who’d given his all on the bike, to little avail. Out of reflex, Jim checked his zipper and shoes. The bag was barely two centimeters shy of closed, and his laces weren’t perfectly symmetrical — utterly trivial details. Stricklander wasn’t kidding about making him regret this... Jim resumed walking, his face set in a scowl. Toby piped up

"You okay, dude? You jumped almost as high as Nana’s cat when I showed it a cucumber."

Jim nervously reassured him that everything was fine.

-----

8:15 AM - INFERNAL MATHS

Because, of course, the day had to start with a math test. And Jim, naturally, hadn’t studied. Many might’ve blamed Mary for her impromptu party, but Jim was more likely to pin the blame on someone else. He was currently slumped over his test paper. It seemed to involve derivatives. Or geometry. Maybe. His sweaty fingers stuck to the paper like a curse. The life was slowly draining from Jim’s eyes.

And then, Strickler’s whispered voice crept into his ear, clearly amused

"Your angle is wrong. Keep going like this, and the only thing you’ll derive is your self-esteem."

Jim jumped, panicking that someone might’ve heard, his half-asleep brain not registering that he would be the one heard if he exclaimed, especially in the dead silence of the room

"Shut up!"

The entire class turned to stare at him. Great. Ms. Janeth adjusted her glasses and scolded him sternly

"Mr. Lake... I won’t tolerate this behavior in my classroom. Talk to your equation, not your hallucinations."

Jim wanted to die on the spot. But Strickler didn’t let up, passing a hand over Jim’s test paper.

"Hmm, this lacks rigor... and dignity. You should’ve summoned me during the test."

Jim, exasperated, muttered as quietly as possible to avoid adding to his budding reputation as the school weirdo

"You were already here. YOU’RE ALWAYS HERE."

"Ah, the romance of mystical servitude. Touching."

Strickler remarked dramatically, utterly unsympathetic.

-----

9:10 AM – ENGLISH CLASS

Of course, they didn’t get a moment to breathe. The second they turned in their math tests, their literature teacher — also Ms. Janeth — launched right into the next task, no break. The students had to copy a text from the board. Jim was trying hard to stay focused. His pen trembled. Strickler, literally sitting on the teacher’s desk with his legs crossed, didn’t care one bit about blocking his view. With deliberate nonchalance, he shamelessly distracted his sole audience

"Poe. The literary definition of «I need a hug and an exorcism». Very on-theme."

Jim glared at the man only he could see, as if he could make him disappear by sheer willpower, muttering nervously

"Shut up, shut up, shut up..."

His left eye twitched dangerously every time Strickler spoke again. Once more, Ms. Janeth noticed her student’s odd behavior, followed his gaze to the board, and called him out, frowning

"Lake. The text isn’t a personal threat. Calm down."

-----

10:30 AM – BREAK?

"Jimbo, you know you’re my best friend, right? And... you know you can tell me anything?"

Jim swallowed nervously under Toby’s scrutiny, shooting a dark glare at the pointed look Strickler gave him. He fidgeted with his hands, laughing with a tone meant to be lighter than it was

"Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I?"

The answer was a terrifying, invisible-to-everyone Fae standing right behind Toby, naturally. But Toby wasn’t fooled.

"You’ve been acting weird all morning..."

He lowered his voice slightly, conspiratorial but with a hint of worry

"Are you... taking drugs?"

"WHAT?!"

Jim burst out, completely incredulous that Toby would even suggest it. And, of course, his outburst drew the attention of every other student in the courtyard... Yeah, Jim was definitely becoming the school oddball — as if Eli wasn’t enough. The dark-haired teen groaned heavily and corrected his best friend

"No, of course not! And my mom’s a doctor, seriously!"

Seizing on Toby’s assumption, Strickler adjusted his collar slightly, chin high with smugness, and declared

"I knew I was irresistibly addictive."

Toby wasn’t convinced by Jim’s response, especially with his barely suppressed groan of disgust.

-----

11:45 AM – SCIENCE INFUSED

As if Jim weren’t already nervous enough sitting practically next to Claire — well, her binomial was at the bench beside his — he was currently holding a beaker of reagent for practical work in the chemistry lab.

It was actually pretty hard to focus... Indeed, Strickler was standing behind him, right over his shoulder, his shadow — visible only to Jim — blocking his light. He warned in an overly dramatic tone

"One wrong measurement, and you’ll explode. That would be... liberating."

He was exaggerating. Experiments didn’t really explode in chemistry class. But they were handling some pretty dangerous chemicals. Jim’s fingers tightened on the beaker, lips pursed. He muttered indignantly under his breath

"You really want me to die from citric acid?"

Strickler tilted his head, his thin smile faintly reflected in the liquid’s surface.

"The acid’s the only thing worthy of you in this room."

His voice flowed like a silken whisper. Mary, Claire’s lab partner — who never held her tongue — noticed the boy.

"Got another migraine, or are you talking to your beaker this time?"

She threw out, half-curious, half-annoyed. Under the odd looks from both girls, Jim wondered if melting in acid might actually be preferable. Toby, meanwhile, remained a silent observer of his partner’s antics.

-----

12:30 PM – LUNCH

Jim couldn’t even eat in peace. Thankfully, the cafeteria was noisy enough that he didn’t draw attention. He just wanted to enjoy his dessert. Strickler, comfortably seated across from him, elbows on the table, didn’t grant him that moment of respite.

"What is this brown, vaguely damp thing you call «food»?"

Jim stifled an existential scream and replied in a tone he hoped was neutral

"It’s a muffin. Can’t you focus on something other than my digestion today?"

He added with a hint of pleading. Strickler seemed to consider the proposal... then clearly rejected it, examining the industrial muffin with sovereign disdain and a grimace.

"It looks like a failed baking spell. It probably needs an exorcism. As do your intestines if you eat that."

Toby arrived with his lunch bag and sat beside his best friend, squinting

"Dude... who were you talking to? Your muffin?"

Strickler — his face etched with serious disdain — leaned so close that Jim recoiled, clutching his half-eaten dessert like a besieged treasure.

"Don’t answer. If he thinks you’re crazy, he’ll send you to a psych ward... and we’ll be stuck together forever."

-----

2:10 PM – GYM

Jim was attempting a basketball shot. Emphasis on attempting. The gym was an enclosed space, and Stricklander had apparently decided to revert to his troll form, perching atop a beam like a judgmental gargoyle. Sitting calmly from his ceiling vantage point, legs dangling, his voice echoed through the gym

"You move like a baby deer struck by shame."

Jim missed his shot.

"CAN’T YOU JUST BE A POSITIVE SUPPORTIVE SPIRIT?!"

He unleashed his frustration in a pure moment, forgetting that no one else heard the condescending voice that reverberated through his bones. To the world, Jim Lake Jr. had officially lost it in gym class. The troll raised a stony eyebrow and snorted

"I encouraged you internally not to fall. See? Progress."

Jim wanted to tear his hair out. Toby, down on the court, advised his best friend, more than concerned

"Jimbo, if you’re talking to your imaginary evil twin, maybe skip the shouting."

Strickler even followed him into the locker room.

"You call that organization? You live like a troll."

And it seemed it wasn’t a compliment, despite the speaker’s origins. Jim had to make a superhuman effort to ignore the remarks and avoid further humiliating himself in reality.

-----

3:50 PM – LIBRARY (THE SILENT END OF THE WORLD)

By some miracle, Jim hadn’t been summoned to the principal’s office for his behavior today. Or maybe he’d fled before they could. It didn’t matter anymore. He’d taken refuge between the shelves, far from everyone, just to disappear for a bit. He couldn’t handle another sideways glance from anyone. Even Toby. He figured reading might actually be a good idea. To clear his mind. Or the library was just discreet enough to vanish in. However, Strickler, back in his human glamour, was in the aisle across from him, rearranging books by «perceived literary quality». And, of course, commenting on each one

"This vampire novel? Shameful. This poetry collection? A crime. Ah. Here’s Machiavelli. I liked him. Shame he ended up eaten."

Jim, exhausted, head against the table, whispered in despair

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

Strickler finally turned to him, a predatory smile on his lips.

"As I’ve said: until your death. Or mine. Statistically, it’ll be you. And honestly, I’m curious to see how."

Jim didn’t even have the energy to take offense or respond.

-----

4:00 PM and a few neurons short – END OF A PERFECT DAY

As Jim finally left the school, slouched as if carrying the weight of the world, he only half-heard his Fae tormentor’s elegant complaint

"These mortals are insufferable. Their building is ugly. Their food, a divine punishment. And this boy... He’s starting to amuse me. Maybe I’ll let him live. Today."

The boy in question, busy retrieving his bike with the sluggish precision of an automaton, didn’t catch the final conclusion — too physically, mentally, and probably spiritually exhausted.

Chapter Text

The nearly full moon cast a faint glow over the sleeping houses of Arcadia. Streetlights hummed softly, throwing yellowish halos onto the sidewalks. Jim, dressed in a black hoodie to «blend in», moved cautiously down an alley, his heart pounding like a war drum. Beside him, Stricklander, in his true form—green stone-like skin, gleaming horns, yellow bloody slitted eyes — scanned their surroundings with a precision that made the hairs on Jim’s neck stand on end.

Three days with this sarcastic Fae had turned Jim’s life into a living hell : relentless jabs, snide remarks, thinly veiled threats, not to mention the sideways glances from everyone at school — Claire and Toby included — questioning his sanity, or the exhausting nights where he dreamed of horns and floating capes. But tonight, the troll had insisted on this «mission», as if he had any right to demand anything after the torment he’d put Jim through.

"I’ve located the Pact, whelp."

He’d said, his tone as sharp as a blade, arguing it was in both their interests to retrieve it and find a way to break it. Something Jim couldn’t argue against — he wanted to be rid of this cursed Fae. Exhausted and on the verge of breaking, Jim hadn’t had the strength to refuse. Well, he’d tried to protest this nighttime outing and attempted break-in — he had a Spanish assignment due, and adding «delinquent» to his resume wasn’t going to help — but Strickler had dismissed his excuses with a curt

"Your trivial Mortal concerns don’t interest me."

Now, they were heading toward the house of the blonde girl from school who owned the infamous parchment, in the dead of night. The alley was too quiet, save for odd rustling sounds — raccoons in the bushes? Yeah, probably. Jim redirected his growing fear into an annoyed whisper

"Remind me why I’m risking my life for a stupid parchment? Why are you dragging me into this?"

Stricklander narrowed his eyes and repeated sharply

"Because, moss-brain, I need to know exactly what the Pact says. Its terms. Its loopholes. And I can’t stray far from you."

Jim frowned, wary. He sincerely hoped this wasn’t a trap to get him killed. He stopped near a dumpster, his breath forming small clouds in the cool air.

A sharp sound, like a pebble rolling, made Jim jump. He spun around but saw nothing. Just shadows that seemed to... move. Stricklander froze, his pupils suddenly dilating. He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring as if he’d caught something. Suddenly serious, he said darkly, in a low voice

"Goblins."

Jim, panicking and glancing left and right, asked

"What?"

Stricklander shoved him behind a foul-smelling dumpster.

"Unseelie creatures. Small, vicious, with razor-sharp teeth and a taste for reckless Mortals. Hide, whelp, unless you want to end up as an appetizer."

Jim pressed himself against the dumpster, heart racing, as scuttling forms — squat green silhouettes with glowing eyes — emerged from the shadows. Their cackling echoed through the alley like miniature hyenas. Jim whispered, terrified

"Why are they here? I knew it, you did this on purpose!"

Jim accused, feeling strangely betrayed. Stricklander growled briefly, then corrected

"Quiet, unless you want to get killed. And stop being scared — it attracts them."

Well, that was certainly reassuring, as if he could just switch off his fear. Jim focused instead on what was wrong, muttering discontentedly

"Isn’t that what you wanted? My death so you’d be free?"

Stricklander seemed to genuinely consider the possibility for a moment, his face the picture of annoyance. Then he huffed

"I’d prefer to avoid dying in the process."

Still frowning, fighting the urge to peek at the creepy creatures just steps away — and to bolt at full speed — Jim asked

"Why would they come after you? You’re a Fae, aren’t you?"

Stricklander, crouched beside him, watched the goblins with cold intensity. His clawed fingers gripped one of the blades on his collar, as if preparing to use it. He didn’t answer directly, but his silence was heavy, almost guilty. He seemed inwardly agitated but merely growled

"Pointless questions, Mortal. Just focus on surviving."

With a swift gesture, he conjured a green mist illusion that enveloped the alley, masking their presence. The goblins sniffed, confused, then shuffled off toward a nearby dumpster, which they toppled with a metallic crash. Jim held his breath, back pressed against his dumpster, the stench of old tacos burning his nostrils.

In an authoritative whisper, unlike anything Jim had heard from him before, Stricklander ordered

"The house. Now. Follow me. Silently. For once in your life, do as you’re told."

And Jim was rattled enough not to argue.

A few minutes later, they were in the girl’s attic. Stricklander had apparently cloaked their footsteps. No one had heard them. The attic was a chaotic mess of dusty boxes, old furniture, and forgotten Christmas decorations. A skylight let in a sliver of moonlight, illuminating a yellowed parchment resting in an old chest. Stricklander kept his distance, his face tense — as if being near it made him nervous.

Jim, suspicious, pointed out the inconsistency in Stricklander’s request not to touch it.

"You sure we shouldn’t just take it? If it can free you, why not?"

The troll growled, his urge to kill Jim on the spot at its peak, but he eventually shared his suspicions with the boy

"Touch that parchment, and you’ll likely trigger a magical alarm. They’ve surely placed a tracking spell on it — hence the goblins. Trust me, neither of us wants that. Take a picture. It’s all we can do without risking our lives."

Jim felt uneasy—this was getting far more complicated and dangerous than expected. But he obeyed, zooming in with his phone to capture the entire parchment, slightly folded. The flash went off accidentally with a sound a bit too loud, Jim having forgotten to mute it. Stricklander stifled a curse in a language Jim didn’t recognize — probably a Fae dialect. Then he hissed sharply

"Fool! You want us to get caught? Move, now!"

Scratching sounds echoed from the stairs below. The goblins. Jim, heart in his throat, followed Stricklander, who had yanked open the skylight with a brusque motion. They slipped onto the roof, sliding on the damp tiles. Jim was briefly dazzled by the electric green light that enveloped Stricklander — his cape replaced by long, brown bat-like wings. Jim didn’t even have time to gape before the winged troll grabbed him and lifted him into the air to escape. The goblins’ cackling faded quickly behind them, but Jim, still reeling, the cold night wind whipping his face — was he seriously flying?! — felt like their invisible eyes were still boring into his back.

The two fugitives landed in a dark alley a few streets away, panting. Stricklander, leaning against a wall, caught his breath, a green glow replacing the wings with his usual cape. Jim tugged at his hair and accused

"Okay, what was that? You fly?! And why are you so scared of those... goblins?"

Cold and avoiding his gaze, Stricklander hissed

"Don’t ask questions whose answers are beyond you, Mortal. Let’s just say I have some... enemies."

Jim narrowed his eyes, sensing there was more. Enemies?! Who could they be? And, for crying out loud, this guy had wings! He could fly! And Jim had just flown! Yeah, this was completely insane. Just to be sure, the teenager checked he was still in one piece after this wild night. Stricklander diverted attention with a biting tone

"Well done, for once. Change of plan — we’ll need to be discreet from now on. Your death would draw too much attention."

Jim nodded at first, still shaken, then fully registered what he’d said. He crossed his arms and scoffed, slightly offended

"Seriously, I thought that was already established."

Stricklander didn’t even bother to respond. His gaze was darker, and Jim almost preferred the insufferably sarcastic Fae of the past few days over the quiet worry behind those features. The night felt heavier, as if the stars themselves were watching.

-----

The Day of Judgments

Unfortunately for Jim, his behavior over the past few days hadn’t gone unnoticed, as he’d hoped. The principal had summoned both him and his mother to the school. He’d had to drag his mom into this... And it was raining, because of course it was. Barbara sat on an uncomfortable little chair, utterly confused about why she was there. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was her day off. Jim had always been a good boy. Jim himself was right beside her. Tense. Rigid. Sweating. And, of course, Strickler, impeccably dressed as always, stood behind her, invisible, arms crossed, looking like he could devour an entire school board for a snack.

Principal Levit shared the concerns of his teaching colleagues

"Jim is a... sensitive boy. He has a vivid imagination. It’s been reported that recently, he’s been talking to himself in class, which can be disruptive to other students."

Strickler, a bit too amused by the absurdity of the situation, whispered in Jim’s ear

"It’s not talking to yourself. It’s conversing with your magical guest. Subtle difference."

Jim muttered through gritted teeth

"Not the time..."

Barbara, absolutely mortified by what she was hearing, adjusted her glasses and shot a look at her son.

"What? Did you say something?"

The Fae chuckled, shaking his head.

"Go on. Tell her. Tell her you summoned a millennia-old being who judges even the color of your gym bag."

Regaining attention without wanting to upset her too much, the principal pressed on

"His grades are decent, but he seems... distracted. As if he’s listening to someone else during class."

Strickler declared proudly

"I’m more interesting than the curriculum. It’s not his fault."

Jim sighed, defeated, admitting

"Technically, that’s true."

Barbara frowned

"What’s true?"

Jim swallowed, realizing he’d spoken aloud and tried pathetically

"...That school is... boring. That’s all."

As if that could justify his lack of focus in class and his strange behavior... Strickler, with an amused smile, sarcastically complimented him

"Nice try. You’re missing your calling as a politician. Lie better."

His mother was shocked to hear her son dare say such a thing aloud. He’d never been a school rebel before. Getting to the heart of the issue, Levit revealed

"He got into an altercation with another student yesterday. He reportedly shoved him against a locker, then justified it with «It’s not me, it’s him» while pointing... at nothing."

Strickler, standing tall, was outraged.

"It was an intolerable invasion of his personal space!"

As if Strickler himself hadn’t been doing exactly the same thing since he arrived. Jim rolled his eyes. But Strickler crossed his arms, still arguing to himself

"I repelled the murderous intent in his gaze. You should be thanking me."

Jim, slightly furious, hissed under his breath

"It was just Steve being a show-off."

And now, Jim was about to become Steve’s new favorite target thanks to his wonderful «Fae guardian’s» intervention. Not that seeing Steve crash to the ground, eyes wide from being shoved by air, wasn’t satisfying — but Jim would’ve preferred not to become his next punching bag. Strickler’s yellow eyes gleamed as he lifted his chin, as if he alone had the right to directly torment Jim.

"Just? What’s next? Your blood? Your throne? That human spawn deserved to be put in his place."

Barbara looked at her son as if she no longer recognized him, then asked sincerely

"Jim... Is that true? You got into a fight with another student?"

Jim wanted to deny it completely, but with the principal literally just saying it in front of her... well, that probably wouldn’t fly. He tried to justify awkwardly

"He started it..."

His mother shook her head, incredulous. She almost seemed disappointed by what she was learning about her son. And Jim hated seeing that look. If only he could tell her everything so she’d understand the truth...

To pile it on, Levit continued in a softer, almost compassionate tone

"We just wanted to ensure Jim is okay. Has anything unusual happened at home recently? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Strickler burst out laughing

"I’m flattered. I’ve become your mental condition. Almost romantic."

Then he had the decency to stay silent, seeing the gravity of the situation and the half-furious, half-desperate — maybe a little pained — look on the boy’s face. Barbara herself held back from getting angry at the principal’s almost accusatory — despite his deliberately soothing tone — implication about her son’s possibly precarious home life causing his behavior. She replied through gritted teeth

"Nothing I’m aware of, no."

Then, abruptly, she grabbed her bag, pushed her glasses up with a sharp gesture, and declared

"Thank you for your concern, Sir. I’ll have a long talk with my son, and we’ll sort this out. Have a good day."

The principal barely had time to return her farewell, barely hiding a grimace, one that Jim shared internally. Strickler, however, had a faint glint of admiration for how this woman handled the situation. Far from the image of a struggling single mother overwhelmed by her job.

Barbara strode out, then moved ahead of her son, taking a moment to breathe before starting a new conversation. Jim dragged his feet in the hallway, alone. Well, not really — Strickler was there too. As always. Now holding a coffee mug. Where it came from? No one knows. Fae. He broke the silence, thoughtfully

"I find your mother charming. Intelligent. Direct. I see where you get your ability to cry internally without flinching."

Jim wasn’t in the mood. Taking the falsely admiring remark as another way to needle him, he pointed out another issue

"She’s going to figure out you’re here, you know."

Strickler took a sip of his invisible coffee, humming softly

"Maybe. When you make too obvious a mistake. Or when I accidentally break a mirror. Which will happen. I hate mirrors."

He trailed off slightly at the end, brows furrowed, as if he had a bitter taste in his mouth — beyond the coffee. Jim didn’t even try to understand him anymore. He was already too upset. For a moment, he envied the Fae’s ability to turn invisible to escape his problems... especially his mother’s stern gaze.

When they reached the rain-soaked parking lot, the sky seemed to match their mood. Barbara, walking to the car, clutching her bag’s strap, finally broke the silence

"Jim... You can tell me the truth. Are you talking to someone? Someone influencing you?"

There it was. She was already imagining some illegal business or worse. Why did everyone think he was hanging out with a drug dealer? Jim hesitated, then grumbled

"No, yes... I mean, it’s... complicated."

Barbara’s frown deepened, her steps stiffer. She sighed, then said more firmly

"Whatever you’re going through, you can tell me. Even if it’s weird. Even if it’s... dangerous."

He didn’t respond. And the longer his silence stretched, the harder her gaze became. She finally snapped, curtly

"If you don’t tell me anything, I can’t help you. And I can’t let this behavior go unpunished—"

A perfectly timed throat-clearing interrupted her.

"Ah, Ms. Lake, I presume?"

Strickler wore a friendly smile, breathing slightly heavily as if he’d just run, though he hadn’t moved an inch. Jim choked

"What are you doing?!"

The man’s gaze settled on him with a raised eyebrow, as if to say that wasn’t appropriate behavior toward an adult. Barbara shot her son a disapproving look, correcting the man who’d addressed her, coldly

"It’s Dr. Lake."

Strickler seemed momentarily surprised by the woman’s slightly aggressive retort, so Jim stammered

"I mean... uh, Mr. Strickler?"

He threw a panicked, pointed look, as if asking what the heck was going through his head. But Strickler superbly ignored Jim and introduced himself properly, a pleasant smile back on his lips

"Delighted, Dr. Lake. Allow me to introduce myself — I’m the new school guidance counselor, Walter Strickler."

He gently took the redheaded woman’s hand and placed a kiss on it as a greeting. It was so unusual that Barbara’s anger melted into confusion. Jim, meanwhile, was convinced he was witnessing a magical hallucination.

"I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding."

Strickler continued, his tone contrite.

"These past few days, Jim and I have been discussing his future. It must have stirred some buried emotions... unsettling him more than he’s willing to admit. He carries a lot... more than a boy his age should, frankly."

Every word was a polished blade. A twisted truth. Jim felt his stomach churn. Strickler spoke with the tenderness of a caring adult concerned for a struggling student. His tone grew slightly regretful

"You know, the absence of a father can weigh heavily on a teenager, especially during such a growing phase... and that’s normal. He’s trying to figure out who he is."

Barbara was speechless. Jim gasped loudly in horror at those words. But Strickler concluded lightly

"I haven’t informed the rest of the faculty, for confidentiality reasons, as you surely understand."

He let out a small laugh to defuse the tension. Medical confidentiality. Barbara, a bit thrown, nodded.

"I... yes, alright."

She politely thanked Mr. Strickler and headed to the car. Once seated, she said softly

"Jim, why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you were feeling—"

"It’s nothing! That’s nonsense!"

He spat, shutting down the conversation, his face closed off, staring out the window all the way home. It hurt his mother.

Barbara tried several times to talk to her son, without much success. Faced with her evident distress and genuine maternal concern, Strickler finally reproached

"You have a good mother. Don’t ruin that with stubborn stupidity."

Jim superbly ignored the now-invisible Fae, finally sighing more than three words to his mother

"I’ve... just got a lot on my mind. But I’ll handle it."

And with that, he climbed the stairs to his room. Barbara pursed her lips and murmured

"You don’t have to carry it all alone."

Strickler, deadly serious this time, added calmly

"Listen to her."

But the stubborn teenager refused to hear it. He slammed the door in the face of the Fae who’d thrown his life into chaos. It didn’t do much good — Strickler was waiting for him, sitting on his desk, face annoyed and arms crossed.

"Done with your tantrum?"

He quipped. It was the final straw, and Jim screamed, lungs straining, his voice breaking at the end

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"

Strickler suppressed a flinch at the outburst, then held his gaze, unyielding, his usual bad faith returning, venomous

"I kept you from looking like a lunatic or a druggie in front of your mother. You should thank me."

Jim wanted to punch something, preferably the Fae in front of him, but he growled instead

"Why’d you have to bring him up?"

There was so much repressed hatred in that sentence that Strickler bristled. A brief silence, then

"It was logical. Single mother: absent or dead father. I hit the mark."

He congratulated himself with a smug little smile. Jim punched his pillow, then turned a gaze darker than night toward the troll disguised as a human.

"Not everything revolves around you, you know. My dad abandoned us. He left when I was five. And I hate him! But you know what? I HATE YOU EVEN MORE!"

The words struck like a whip. Strickler froze, just for a second. It felt like he’d been slapped. Jim furiously wiped traitor tears from his face and ordered

"Now get out. Leave me alone."

He turned his back. And for the first time, Strickler obeyed without a retort.

Chapter Text

Jim trudged into the kitchen, the memories of the previous night still stuck in his throat. His mother was already there, dressed for work, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

"Jim... about last night—"

She began softly.

"We’ll sort it out, okay? But not this weekend. I’ve got two shifts back-to-back."

Barbara gave a small, apologetic smile, as if it could lighten the weight of her words.

"If you want to talk... I’m here, kiddo. Well... you know."

She didn’t look as okay as her smile tried to suggest. For a moment, Jim wondered if she’d heard his outburst from the night before — if she thought he hated her. His heart clenched at the thought. He nodded, forcing a smile.

"Don’t worry. I get it. It’s work."

And he did. Really. He was used to it. Except this time, she was leaving him alone... with him.

"I love you, Mom."

He added just before she left for work.

It seemed to brighten her day, as a genuine smile spread across her lips, her tone more at ease as she replied

"I love you too."

When the door slammed shut, the silence that followed felt heavier than usual. Strickler, already lounging on the living room couch, was idly flipping through a book, as if he’d always lived there.

The first few hours passed in icy coexistence. Jim tried to catch up on overdue homework amidst all this chaos. Finally, unable to take it anymore, the boy spoke up.

"So how do we break the Pact, then? That’s why we went out the other night, right?"

Strickler barely looked up.

"We start by knowing what we’re dealing with. Show me that parchment."

Jim pulled out his phone — a bit too sharply — opened the photo, and they reread the worn lines together. Jim tapped the screen impatiently.

"So?"

A sigh, almost annoyed. Then a reluctant admission.

"I don’t know."

"Great! Just great!"

Jim groaned, exasperated.

They’d nearly died for nothing. Strickler had put him through hell only to not even know how to stop this? Was he never going to get rid of this damn Fae?!

"I don’t know how to break this specific Pact."

Strickler clarified, just as frustrated, his jaw tight, as if trying to justify himself.

Jim frowned and pointed to a passage.

"What about «he-who-has-no-king»? What does that mean?"

A condescending smirk returned.

"It means exactly what it says. Moss-brain."

Ignoring the jab, Jim mused aloud

"The goblins... could they be sent by this King?"

There was a surprised silence at his guess, then Strickler conceded

"Surprisingly perceptive. But yes, the No-King aren’t exactly... well-liked. Not by the Seelie Court, nor the Unseelie. All the more reason to stay discreet."

Jim raised his eyebrows, ironic.

"Discreet? Like when you fling your magic around every chance you get?"

Strickler’s eyes narrowed, his tone a mix of irritation and pride.

"I’m a master of concealment. Illusions, diversions... I’ve operated under the radar for centuries. Never caught."

A faint mocking smile appeared.

"Until a certain teenager showed up."

Jim stared at him for a moment, then looked away, not even bothering to respond to the veiled jab. His tone was flat and cutting.

"Conversation over."

And he left the room, leaving Strickler alone with his book, whose smile faded slightly.

-----

The next evening, the house was steeped in silence, broken only by the distant hum of the fridge. Jim, sprawled on the couch, looked up at Stricklander’s silhouette, his horns casting jagged shadows on the wall.

"Truce?"

The boy offered in a small, tired voice.

The troll arched an eyebrow, a resentful smirk tugging at his lips.

"A truce? Interesting... I thought you hated me, Mortal."

"I don’t like you."

Jim confirmed bluntly.

"But we’re stuck together for a while. Until the Pact ends. Might as well avoid tearing each other’s throats out every day."

Stricklander crossed his arms, finally addressing what had been nagging him from the start, a bit aggressive.

"In that case, why not use your status as master to silence me? Why haven’t you given me any orders?"

Jim stared at him, stunned that this bothered the Fae so much. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about it. He stayed silent for a moment, then frowned, suddenly serious.

"Because it’s wrong. I’m not going to force someone to do something they don’t want to. Not even magically. Not even if I don’t like them."

A flicker of surprise passed through the troll’s golden eyes, quickly masked by a sardonic smile.

"Then you’re a fool. A fool who doesn’t know how to wield his power."

Jim ignored the jab once again.

"Peace movie?"

He suggested, holding up the remote.

"What?"

Stricklander asked, a bit dumbly, caught off guard.

Jim fidgeted with the remote in his hand, then shrugged.

"You know, like watching a movie to ease tensions."

Stricklander let out a low, rumbling laugh.

"That’s ridiculous."

Jim conceded, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah. I’m just a ridiculous human. And you’re the Fae servant of this ridiculous human..."

A silence, a sidelong glance, a faint smile.

And so, they ended up on the couch — well, as far apart as they could manage. The movie started : a historical epic about humanity. Jim had picked it hoping to study for a test... and, incidentally, to show his condescending roommate that humans could do more than «breathe and die».

Stricklander quickly began commenting.

"Wrong. Armor from that era didn’t look like that. —That battle was lost much faster. —Ridiculous."

At one point, Jim raised an eyebrow.

"You know a lot about human history for someone who finds it «pathetic»."

A brief flash of fangs. Then Stricklander lapsed into deliberate, sulky silence. Before finally giving in, annoyed.

"Where do you think I’ve been hiding from my kind for centuries?"

He actually seemed rather proud, a smug smile on his lips. Jim couldn’t hold back a smile either. It explained a lot.

The movie dragged on forever — as historical epics do. By the end, Jim had fallen asleep... his head slumping against Stricklander’s rough shoulder. The troll stiffened instantly, seriously considering standing up to let him fall onto the rug. That would be hilarious.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he sighed softly, exasperated with himself, and relaxed, letting the little human rest there. Foolish Mortal with a moss-brain and overly right morals. Silently, a dark wing unfurled. Its span curled around the sleeping boy like a quiet cape.

He simply stayed there, still, until the credits rolled.

-----

The conversation with his mother had been short. Too short. But Barbara had ultimately accepted his «everything’s fine» like one accepts a bandage on a broken bone — it would hold for as long as it could. Slightly relieved, Barbara had still insisted that she meet with the guidance counselor again «to talk». Jim had shrugged. Internally, he absolutely didn’t want them to meet again. Besides, she wasn’t likely to find him — he was standing right in front of her, invisible. Jim shot a warning glance at the troll disguised as a human, who had taken on a far too pensive expression at his mother’s request.

In class, the school routine slowly resumed its course. And it was honestly much more pleasant with a truce, seriously. During history class, Toby even teased him, half-mocking and oddly relieved at the return of his usual behavior

"Seriously, dude... you’re still drooling over Claire. You know there are people who can look at someone without seeming like they’re about to write them a weird poem?"

Jim rolled his eyes, tearing his gaze away from that gorgeous hair adorned with colorful barrettes — who probably thought he was crazy since last week.

"I’m not drooling."

He defended himself. A sarcastic throat-clearing came from behind him.

"Pardon—"

Strickler interjected

"But at your current output, I don’t even need to prepare an acid remark. You’re managing just fine on your own."

Annoyed at the jab about his «drooling output», Jim muttered, knowing the troll’s sharp hearing would catch it — information that would’ve been useful from the start.

"Do you have to?"

"No. But it’s entertaining."

The Fae conceded. He strolled over to Claire’s row, leaning slightly toward her desk, making Jim tense. Then his tone turned ironic.

"And since you’re clearly only capable of staring at the lady like an ill-mannered statue, I suggest... I don’t know... talking? She doesn’t have a Fae in her ear whispering what you feel."

To illustrate his point, he made a show of leaning toward the girl’s ear. Jim didn’t respond. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right... but it was too late — his face was already turning slightly red.

Yet, later, during gym class, the idea had started to take root.

Claire was there, on the bleachers across the basketball court, with Shannon and Darci.

Jim inhaled. Exhaled. Recalled Strickler’s advice — which he hated admitting... made sense.

He reached the bleachers, took a deep breath, and said, among other things

"Buenas noches."

Strickler ran a hand over his face but had the restraint to hold back any comment. Jim gave a crooked smile. The three girls were now staring at him.

"You... you speak Spanish?"

Claire asked, uncertain.

Jim stammered a few impromptu «uh».

"Come on, Claire, let’s go."

Darci proposed, standing up with Shannon to end the awkwardness. Claire got up to follow them but paused, turned back, and asked

"Do you like Shakespeare?"

Jim stood there dumbly, trying to process the question — a true moss-brain. Taking his silence as perhaps a yes, Claire pulled a flyer from her notebook and handed it to him. It featured the iconic image of Romeo and Juliet’s balcony.

"We’re putting on one of his plays."

Claire explained, then added, slightly disappointed

"The boys aren’t exactly lining up for auditions."

Jim took the flyer, his heart pounding, and nodded with a smile that was a bit too wide, wanting to erase that dejected look from the pretty girl’s face and see it light up with a smile again. She smiled back, tucked a dyed blue strand of hair behind her ear, and asked a bit awkwardly

"And... uh, are you doing better with your... migraines?"

"Migraines?"

Jim repeated, a bit lost. Then he caught the hint and rushed, stammering

"Oh —yeah —yeah —I’m fine —it’s nothing. No more migraines —it’s cool."

She seemed genuinely happy for him, and as she turned to join her friends, Jim couldn’t help himself. He just had to say

"Hasta huevo."

A few meters away, Strickler, invisible to human eyes, shook his head. He’d waited until the entire interaction was over to comment — a true feat and a superhuman effort.

"Charming attempt at flirting. You just lost three charisma points."

Jim was about to retort, but Strickler added, in a falsely pensive tone

"And your best friend is hanging upside down on his rope. No need for me to kill him — he’s doing a fine job himself."

Jim turned, spotting Toby dangling awkwardly from the gym rope, flailing like a fish out of water. He let out a curse and ran to help.

Strickler, meanwhile, simply crossed his arms and enjoyed the show.

-----

Night draped a blue veil over Arcadia, pierced here and there by the orange glow of streetlights. On the roof, the tiles, still warm from the day, retained a bit of heat. Stricklander, in his troll form, surveyed the town with that blend of arrogance and detachment that suited him so well. Jim had followed him without really knowing why. Maybe to make sure he wasn’t plotting something shady. Maybe just because the silence of the house was weighing on him.

"Your home... do you miss it?"

Jim asked, hands in his pockets, thinking about the other consequences of this Pact.

The Fae let out a low, rumbling chuckle, like a pebble rolling in a deep throat. His tone was a bit too sharp.

"Why would I miss it? I’m free, not trapped within four walls like a... human. I go where I want. When I want."

Jim looked up, studying him in the dim light.

"I’m not just talking about a place... I mean a home. Somewhere that really matters. Where there are people who care about you. A family."

Stricklander looked away. No sarcastic smile, no jab. Just the sound of the wind passing between the shingles.

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t have a home.

Jim didn’t comment, but he felt his heart tighten, just a little.

-----

Jim shuffled along the lockers, head down, shoulders slumped after a long day of classes, and, thankfully, less due to a sarcastic Fae. He glanced at the theater audition poster.

« ROMEO AND JULIET – AUDITIONS TONIGHT»

Strickler jumped back into their latest point of contention.

"You could at least try. It’d save you from moping like a troubadour with the flu every time she walks by."

Jim repeated under his breath, exasperated

"I told you, it’s nothing."

Strickler rolled his eyes, reminding him

"This «nothing» makes you lose your words, your dignity, and apparently your ability to walk in a straight line when she smiles. And I’m the unfortunate spectator of this tragedy, so you could make the effort to perform in an official one."

Jim ran a hand over his face and groaned

"I’m NOT going to act out a love scene in front of the whole school just to talk to her!"

Faced with this lost cause, Strickler paused, then a sly smirk crept onto his lips as he whispered with delight

"Very well. I’ll force you. Magically."

Jim frowned, crossing his arms.

"You can’t."

Strickler clicked his pen smugly, adopting a slightly superior, detached tone.

"We’ll see about that."

-----

5:05 PM – AUDITIONS

The auditions were in full swing. Claire was already there, script in hand, perfect, focused, an obvious Juliet. Jim arrived backstage. He was sweating buckets. He had no script. That damned Fae had literally dragged him here without his consent — he must’ve looked like he was moonwalking through the school hallways to the theater. And now — the floor glowed faintly under his feet.

Strickler handed his victim a reflective silver sword, conjured from nowhere. An illusion of enchanted knight’s armor, gleaming and embroidered with a subtle insult in ancient Latin — «The valiant fool», a personal touch from the Fae — slowly enveloped him.

Strickler gave a cruel but dignified smile, almost ceremonial in his announcement.

"Go, brave knight. Conquer your Juliet, or perish in embarrassment."

Jim gripped the all-too-real sword tightly, his teeth just as clenched.

"I’m going to kill you."

Strickler wiped a mock tear of pride.

"And you’ll look ridiculously dashing doing it."

"Thank you, Ms. Nuñez"

Ms. Janeth dismissed the last candidate with praise — none other than Claire — who was now heading backstage. Jim desperately wished he could vanish. The girl noticed him and looked surprised.

"Jim? I thought you didn’t like Shakespeare."

"Oh, no, he’s my favorite author."

Jim lied awkwardly, trying to sound confident.

"That... costume is... incredible!"

Claire marveled, eyeing the sparkling armor. Jim, embarrassed and blushing, corrected in a voice too loud

"YEAH! UH, IT’S JUST... THE MAGIC OF THE... SOUL COSTUME."

Strickler, doubled over with laughter, repeated

"Soul costume. My god. Put that on your tombstone."

"Next!"

Ms. Janeth’s shrill voice called from the audience, sounding the death knell for James Lake Jr. — and, mercifully, ending this painfully awkward exchange.

"Break a leg"

Claire wished him encouragingly.

"I’d rather..."

Jim lamented as he stepped onto the stage. Yeah, he definitely couldn’t run away in front of her. Having no clue about the play, Jim auditioned for Romeo — it was the only other male role on the poster...

"To be or not to be..."

Was about all he knew of theater, a truly promising start. Strickler, dismayed, considered letting him flounder longer, then reluctantly fed him a few lines to keep him from completely humiliating himself — no one would hear the cheating anyway. Jim trembled at first, then dove into the role, carried despite himself by the illusion — and the oddly supportive presence of his personal Fae. The armor even felt lighter.
His voice steadied.
He performed.
And he was good.
Even Strickler raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. By the end, there was applause, and Jim felt like he was floating, replaying Claire’s admiring smile on him — directed at him. It was a dream come true.

"If you keep this up, you’ll end up with cramps."

Strickler’s voice warned, snapping him back to reality. The troll disguised as a human looked far too pleased with himself, to the point where Jim had to accuse him, just on principle

"You were supposed to HELP me. Not humiliate me in medieval armor!"

Strickler didn’t fall for it, knowing full well the boy was happy, and indulged himself a bit more.

"It was elegance. Dramatic flair. And you shone. Literally."

Jim grumbled a bit more.

"It was cheating."

But after a brief pause, he couldn’t help but admit, still a bit dreamy — because it was totally worth it

"She looked at me. Differently. I think."

The adult smirked.

"You’re no Romeo. But you’re a brave fool. That’s almost the same thing."

-----

That same evening, they were greeted by an unpleasant surprise. Lounging nonchalantly on the couch was a creature that could only be a Fae : slender and graceful, with polished, vivid pink stone-like skin and glowing green cat-like eyes. She smiled, but it was a smile that carried more menace than courtesy.

"Stricklander."

She greeted in a singsong voice. The name seemed to carry a tangible weight in the air.

"Nomura."

The green troll replied in the same smooth tone, with a similar almost magical ripple in the air, but his claws were at the ready.

Jim, a bit stunned, opened his mouth — as if to ask what she was doing here — but the two Fae were already talking as if he weren’t there.

"It’s always amusing how the rules don’t apply to us..."

She snickered.

"Entering a human’s home without an invitation, for example. A little Changeling privilege, isn’t that right, Stricklander?"

She pointed out, clearly savoring the undeniable proof of her unwelcome presence in this place. Jim raised an eyebrow. Changeling? What? But neither of them deigned to enlighten him. Stricklander remained tense, on edge, as if the slightest sudden move from either could turn things far more... chaotic. Their body language said exactly the same thing on that point. Nomura’s voice, however, was a touch saccharine, contrasting with her posture

"It’s almost funny—"

She continued

"—that you, the master of concealment, let yourself get trapped so easily. I can’t even sense your Mark of Dishonor."

She added with a hint of suppressed admiration. Then she cast a disdainful glance at the frozen little human beside her.

"Surprising that you haven’t dealt with the problem yet."

Jim swallowed loudly at the implication. A cold smile crossed Stricklander’s face, masking the increased tension in his stance.

"And I find it surprising that you still obediently follow Gunmar and are still in one piece."

At this mocking jab, Nomura’s slitted pupils narrowed. She hissed

"At least I don’t have to hide among humans and pretend to be one of them."

She slowly rose from the couch, her voice dropping lower

"I could free you from your servitude... permanently."

Jim instantly understood the insinuation — aimed at him — and his hands clenched.

"But—"

She added with a venomous smile

"—it would be so much more delightful to keep watching you serve a little fleshbag. Shame Gunmar has other plans for you."

With a swift motion, she leaped onto her hooves and blew a fine, shimmering dust toward Jim. He barely had time to cough before Stricklander grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back roughly.

"Not the whelp!"

He growled, fangs bared. Nomura chuckled, unfurling two long, curved blades that glowed with magical light.

"Oh... have you grown attached, Stricklander? Living among them has made you soft."

The green magic at Stricklander’s fingertips fizzled out as she brandished her kopesh blades. He’d have to resort to good old-fashioned physical combat. Nomura struck. Stricklander’s feather-shaped knifes blocked the blow. Jim, meanwhile, felt his legs slowly give way. The world tilted. His lungs burned, his ears buzzed.

Stricklander shouted something he couldn’t hear. The last image before everything went black was the two trolls lunging at each other, claws and weapons raised.

Chapter Text

When Jim regained consciousness, the air smelled of stone and ozone. His vision flickered, revealing a living room that now resembled a battlefield : overturned furniture, splintered wood scattered everywhere, and a few traces of an unidentifiable purple fluid.

In the center, Stricklander and Nomura clashed with the ferocity of a storm. His knives met her magical blades in a shower of sparks, each clash resonating like a thunderclap.

Jim struggled to his feet. His head was still buzzing, but he spotted a cast-iron skillet within reach in the kitchen. And he suddenly remembered : iron.

Without thinking, he grabbed it, staggered, then hurled it with all his strength in an awkward but determined swing. The skillet whistled through the air and struck Nomura square in the face.

The scream that followed chilled Jim’s blood. Nomura instinctively shielded herself with her arms, dropping her weapons instantly, her hands burned by the contact. Her pink skin bore large dark marks where the iron had touched her.

Stricklander, stunned, turned to Jim. For a fraction of a second, a genuine smile stretched across his monstrous features.

"Well done, chef."

Then, turning back to his target, he mocked

"Say hi to the Eldritch Queen for me."

He raised a hand. The markings on his arm glowed, and a green magical circle appeared beneath Nomura. Deprived of her anti-magic blades, now extinguished at her feet, she couldn’t break it. In an instant, she was sucked through the portal, which closed in an emerald flash.

Silence fell, broken only by Jim’s panting breaths.

"Put your weapon away."

Stricklander murmured, gesturing to the skillet, suppressing a slight shudder at the sight of pure iron.

They began restoring some semblance of order to the room, but Jim wavered. Stricklander cast him a look that was both mocking and... almost concerned.

"You’ll be sick tomorrow"

He warned.

"Fairy dust. A kind of magical flu. Rest, hydration.. and care."

He added with a half-smile

"If you survive this, you’ll survive a lot more."

-----

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft but unrelenting. Jim shivered despite the blanket tucked up to his chin. The warmth of the previous day had turned into a dull fever pounding in his head.

Barbara — who had already called the school to excuse Jim’s absence — was leaning over him, insisting on staying home. But Jim swore his medication would be enough, that he could handle it, and that she didn’t need to take time off. His mother hesitated, her jaw tight... then softened, agreeing oddly quickly. If she’d noticed the faint shimmer in the corner of the room, she might have guessed someone else had persuaded her.

"You’re a little manipulator too."

Jim grumbled, sinking back into his sheets once his mother left.

"Your mother’s almost as stubborn as you. I see where you get it from."

Strickler retorted with a smirk. He settled into the chair by Jim’s desk, placing a steaming, herbaceous-smelling mug on the bedside table.

"Drink. It’ll keep you from coughing up your lungs."

It was a concoction Barbara had prepared, but Strickler had added a little extra ingredient — the kind he kept stashed in a magical pocket accessible anytime, anywhere. Fae stuff. They sat in silence for a while until Jim, eyes half-closed, broke the truce, accusatory

"What she said... Nomura... Is it true? You’re a Changeling?"

Strickler fixed him with a stare, his voice heavier, almost guilty.

"Yes. I’m a Changeling. And thanks to the bond with the human Familiar we replaced, we’re not as... bound by rules as pure Fae. We navigate between their laws."

"So... you’ve been lying to me this whole time."

Jim concluded, a bitter taste in his mouth — and not from the tea.

"Not the whole time."

The Changeling defended with a half-smile.

"I just didn’t tell you everything. Which, technically, isn’t a lie."

Jim let out an annoyed sigh, then demanded with authority

"I want the whole truth. And that’s an order."

Strickler’s gaze hardened, but he inclined his head slightly, as if honoring an ancient formality.

"Very well, master."

He said, a bit too sharply.

"You know the legend of the Seelie and Unseelie? No? Then listen..."

His voice grew lower, almost hypnotic, as he unraveled a millennia-old tale : the two Fae Courts, the broken alliances...

"It’s said that in ancient times, when the seasons still obeyed the steps of the Fae, the Seelie Kingdom was ruled by a royal pair whose power shifted with the ages.

One day, the Crown fell to a brother and sister : the noble King Arthur, bearer of the rising sun, and the powerful Pale Lady, his inseparable shadow. But while the throne bore two faces, officially only one wore the crown : Arthur... unofficially, his sister harbored resentment. And behind them stood the mighty Fae lord Merlin — the kingdom’s loyal watchdog.

Beyond the blessed borders stretched the lands of the banished : the Unseelie. That name was given to those who rejected the Seelie Crown’s authority. Among them, a troll, Orlagk, proclaimed himself King of the Unseelie. His reign was short-lived, overthrown by an even more detestable troll : Gunmar.

The Pale Lady, the most powerful of the Fae, coveted the throne for herself alone. After Arthur’s mysterious death, Merlin accused her of regicide and banished her beyond the veil. But exile fueled her resentment : she forged an alliance with Gunmar .

From their alliance came a twisted plan : the Pale Lady sought to weaken the Seelie Court by building an army of trolls. Through Unseelie raids, Seelie troll infants were stolen and swapped in the human world. These stolen children would grow up far from Fae laws, bound to human Familiars, molded to become spies and servants, able to slip through the rigid constraints of Fae laws : the Changelings.

All bore the Mark of Dishonor, branded by Merlin, an indelible symbol of treachery. When the Pale Lady triumphed, eliminating Merlin and becoming the Eldritch Queen, she — predictably — betrayed Gunmar. Since then, Changelings have scattered : some served the Seelie Queen, others remained loyal to the Unseelie King... or, like me, some refused to serve anyone. They call us No-King. It’s a poetic way of saying we’re cursed by both Crowns, hunted relentlessly."

When he finished, Jim’s gaze was distant.

"And Nomura...?"

"I sent her to the Seelie realm. She’s an opportunist — she’ll likely trade her life for information about my location. The Eldritch Queen will send someone... maybe her troll champion... to find me."

Jim, already half-swallowed by sleep, mumbled in a groggy voice

"Then we’ll be ready... to deal with him... together..."

Stricklander watched him drift off, a faint smile on his lips.

"Together..."

He repeated softly, as if tasting the word’s meaning. Then he tucked the blanket around the boy slightly, chiding the kid who no longer knew what he was saying.

"You don’t need to carry the weight of everyone on your shoulders, Young Atlas."

-----

Barbara came home from her night shift. Exhausted. Dark circles down to her collarbones. She set her keys down. Kicked off her shoes. But she heard noises from the basement. Not chaos. No. Something worse.

The rustling of clothes. With faint background music. Bach. On the cello. She descended cautiously. She flinched at the sight of the old mirror she’d forgotten down there — it was broken.

And then she saw him.

Someone was in her basement. Too tall to be Jim. Were those horns on his head?

He was sorting Jim’s socks with demonic efficiency. His movements were serious. Focused. Barbara stood frozen. She didn’t know if she should say anything in the face of this figure straight out of a dream — or a nightmare. Stricklander had taken it upon himself to fold the laundry because Jim was sick and «someone has to maintain a semblance of order in this human hovel». He’d simply forgotten that Jim wasn’t the only occupant and hadn’t thought to make himself invisible... and now he must look like some sort of demon or household fairy. With a bit of luck — and some magical persuasion — she’d take it for a dream. All he had to do was act like everything was fine and nothing was out of the ordinary — typical of a strange dream. Without looking up, he addressed the newcomer

"You should tell your son his socks are at war. They’re all from different factions. No respect for uniformity."

Barbara remained stubbornly rooted in place, silent.

Perhaps a bit curious — she still hadn’t screamed, was that a good sign? — he finally looked up at her.

"Good evening, Dr. Lake. I suppose Jim «forgot» to mention that I live here now. Well, for a few more days."

Barbara, tired, confused, almost calm, took off her glasses.

"Are you... real?"

Stricklander smiled softly, though unfortunately, his fangs gleamed ominously in the boiler’s light.

"Let’s say I’m a byproduct of his catastrophic choices and his tendency to read musty old parchments."

Barbara rubbed her temples, as if this conversation were almost normal.

"Are you a demon?"

Stricklander thought for a moment, perfectly folded a T-shirt, then replied

"No. I have far better manners. And I only drool if asked politely."

Finally, Barbara seemed convinced and nodded to herself.

"...I’m going to bed."

She looked so exhausted that the Changeling vaguely offered

"There’s some tea left on the counter. With honey. It’ll do you good."

When Barbara went upstairs, there was indeed still-warm tea, as if it had been freshly made. The doctor assumed Jim had followed her advice and taken proper care of himself — if this wasn’t proof. There was an unusual hint in the tea, not unpleasant, that did indeed make her feel much better. It was quiet. The music had stopped, as if it had never been there.

What a strange dream, truly.

-----

Jim decided to spend an afternoon with Toby once he was finally feeling better. In fact, Toby had insisted, thinking Jim might have overdosed and wanting to keep an eye on him. Plus, it had been a while since Jim had hung out with his best friend.

So, Jim and Toby were sprawled on Toby’s bed in his room. Jim looked a bit nervous. Earlier, he’d told Toby he had something to say, in a pretty serious tone, so Toby was more than ready for the bombshell. The redhead was peeling a pineapple slice off a pizza — because he’s that kind of person — while waiting.

Noticing his friend’s hesitant glances, Toby finally broke the tension, his voice full of suspicion

"Just tell me why you’re staring at the dark corners of my room like there’s a ninja clown hiding in them."

Jim took a deep breath and blurted it all out in one go

"It’s not a clown. —It’s a Changeling!"

Jim squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if bracing for a harsh scolding. Then he crossed his arms, disgruntled, and waited for Toby’s reaction. Toby paused, thinking it was a joke, took a bite of pizza, and argued

"Like the baby-swapping monsters from books? With diapers?"

Jim shook his head vigorously and clarified, determined

"No. Like a real one. Fae. Bound to me. Magically. Because of a Ritual Pact."

Toby raised a triumphant finger, exclaiming a bit too loudly

"I knew it! You’re on drugs, aren’t you? We can talk about it. I’m your best friend, dude."

A chilling voice came from the back of the room.

"Unfortunately, he’s telling the truth. And if you could avoid slathering honey on my honor, I’d appreciate it."

Toby screamed. Dropped his pizza. Spun around. Stricklander was literally standing in the shadows, arms crossed, expression exasperated, cape flowing.

Toby kept screaming, diving behind the bed and pointing at the monster in his room.

"WHAT?! IT’S A VAMPIRE! AN ENTITY! A COSPLAYER!"

Stricklander maintained a terrifyingly calm tone.

"I’m bound by a Fae contract to your idiot friend. And now, thanks to his tongue being too big for his mouth, you know. Perfect."

Jim paled but stood his ground.

"You’re the one who lied to me! And Toby’s my best friend, and I... I couldn’t handle all this alone... there!"

Stricklander exploded, theatrical, almost twirling with his cape.

"Oh, MARVELOUS. The most sacred secret of the eternal realm is now shared with a human incapable of distinguishing a pizza from a demonic invocation!"

Toby, still behind the bed, took offense.

"Hey! I heard you! And I’m great at invocations! I’ve seen Hocus Pocus THREE TIMES."

Stricklander put on a full dramatic display, royal troll-level menace.

"Centuries of perfect discretion. And now I’ve been summoned... by a kid... bound by a carnival parchment... and now HIS PINEAPPLE-EATING FRIEND KNOWS—"

Jim cut off his dramatic monologue

"I told ONE person. ONE. And he’s not going to say anything! And I forbid you from killing him! Right, Toby?!"

Toby’s head popped up from behind the bed, then he thought for a moment.

"I won’t say anything. Promise."

Stricklander let out a silent scream.

"I’M GOING TO DIE."

Then he vanished in a flurry of dead leaves conjured from nowhere for his dramatic exit. The light flickered. Jim slammed his head against the wall with a groan. Toby chewed his pizza slice slowly. That explained sooo much. Then, half-terrified, half-fascinated, he ventured

"Jimbo... YOU LIVE WITH A FAE. It’s like... having a cursed roommate. Think he’d want to come to game night Friday?"

Then Toby leaned toward Jim conspiratorially and mused

"You think he’s kinda like our «Fairy Godfather»?"

Stricklander reappeared abruptly to lay down his first absurd rule, with the authority of a stern professor.

"You are forbidden from calling me «Fairy Godfather»!"

Toby jumped, dropping his pizza slice, the pineapple sliding pitifully to the floor under the Changeling’s satisfied gaze. Then the redhead muttered, hand on his chest

"Wasn’t he gone?"

Jim sympathized with his friend, sighing

"He never really leaves."

-----

Ever since Toby had learned the truth, it had become a kind of... reverse hell. 
Toby couldn’t stop glancing back at Strickler in class, where the Fae sat at the back, pen in hand but clearly focused on anything but the lesson. He didn’t care much about Strickler’s appearance, whether it was more troll-like or, as it was now, more human.

"And... can you make tacos appear?"

Toby whispered eagerly.

Without even looking up, Strickler sighed, annoyed

"No."

"And could you turn Steve into a frog?"

Toby pressed, undeterred, excited.

"Certainly"

Strickler confirmed with a hint of amusement, before his smile widened, his eyes glinting with an intimidating red.

"But I could also turn you into a frog if you keep this up."

Toby froze, looking like he was trying to figure out how much of that was a joke.

Meanwhile, Coach Lawrence, in a tracksuit with a whistle around his neck, stood in front of the blackboard, as comfortable as an elephant in a tutu.

"Alright... the history teacher won’t be back for the rest of the year. I’m filling in indefinitely. Today’s test is canceled. We’re watching a slideshow."

He pressed a button, launching a series of poorly framed slides. Strickler, horrified, muttered as if checking if it was a prank

"This is a crime. Entrusting history to a gym teacher... it’s like asking a troll to show finesse."

Toby tapped the desk and shared his conspiracy theory.

"Cursed position, dude. History teachers here don’t last."

Jim sat thoughtfully for a moment, then suggested

"You’d make a good history teacher. You know everything and... you’re pretty good at storytelling."

He was referring to the captivating Fae tale from last time. Strickler shot him an exasperated look, shaking his head.

"Stupid idea."

When they finally escaped that mockery of a history class, Strickler paused by the lockers, crossing his arms in the hallway. He adopted a falsely casual tone.

"Oh... I believe I saw free cupcakes being handed out at the entrance."

Toby’s attention was instantly hooked.

"Seriously? Free?!"

And he bolted without a second thought, running faster than the Changeling would’ve expected. Jim watched him go, then fixed Strickler with a suspicious look.

"There aren’t any cupcakes, are there?"

A smug smile spread across the Fae’s face.

"Of course not."

"You’re mean."

"I know."

A comfortable, not awkward, silence followed. Then Jim fidgeted with his hands, almost shyly, before diving in

"By the way, about the other day... when I was sick—"

"Please, it was nothing—"

The Changeling cut him off.

"You looked more like a slug than a human kid. And it would’ve been a waste to let you die of the flu after all the effort to keep you alive."

He kept to himself that this human kid had also saved his life — but he’d never admit it. Jim gave a lopsided smile at the almost affectionately condescending reply.

"But you could’ve just let me fend for myself... You know you, like... did a good thing there?"

Strickler let out a tiny, almost imperceptible smile before loudly clearing his throat to regain his composure.

"Don’t tempt me, whelp. I have a reputation to ruin."

"Yeah. But you stayed."

Silence. A disdainful mumble full of bad faith.

"It’s not like I had a choice..."

But the boy kept looking at him with those overly bright eyes and that genuinely disarming smile. Then Strickler looked away.

"You have a knack for making this curse... absurd."

Chapter Text

The night air was cold outside in the garden. Jim, armed with his cast-iron skillet, and Stricklander, on edge, scanned the shadows.

"Maybe he won’t show up."

Jim said hopefully, as had been the case every night before.

"Never let your guard down, boy."

Stricklander warned, like a stern coach. Jim rubbed his arm and continued

"Feels like all this prep was for nothing..."

Stricklander sighed, more relieved than frustrated that their trap might’ve been unnecessary.

"Good. If we can make it to the end of the Pact without incident, that’d be... unexpected."

Jim nodded, completely in agreement. It was already the night before... he could hardly believe it.

And then, of course, a chill ran down their spines.

A heavy sound, like a tree being uprooted, echoed in the dark. A towering silhouette burst through the hedge, emerging from a portal of purple shadows. Two yellow eyes glowed with an otherworldly gleam. Jim groaned ironically

"...Speak of the devil."

Stricklander clenched his jaw, recognizing

"Angor Rot."

As if saying his name made him more real, the fearsome troll’s form — curved horns and creeping vines covering him like an ancient statue — sharpened into focus. He gave a cruel smile, his voice resonating as if from beyond the grave.

"So, here’s the little master and his runaway dog..."

He lunged, his twisted wooden staff morphing into a dagger. Jim dove aside, and Stricklander parried the magical blade with a swift motion, his feather-shaped knives glinting under the impact. The Changeling rolled to break free and panted to his partner

"To the garage!"

Jim backed up, luring Angor Rot toward the prepared area. But the troll was fast : he swept Stricklander aside with a backhand, pinning him to the ground. Jim shouted

"Hey, old mummy! Over here!"

The boy hurled his iron skillet at the troll’s face. Angor growled, his stone skin sizzling, and gave chase, seeking vengeance. Jim yelped as the furious death targeted him, sprinting into the open garage. The troll, too focused on grazing the teen’s sweatshirt with his claws, didn’t notice the salt lines on the floor. Crossing the threshold, Stricklander sealed the containment circle behind him.

Angor Rot was trapped.

Jim shared a knowing look with the Changeling and flipped a switch connected to a multitude of UV lamps. Just before, Strickler had shifted to his human form, safe from the deadly rays — he’d finally revealed that troll weakness to Jim for the sake of their collaboration. The lamps blazed on in a searing purple halo. Angor Rot roared, trapped. Then he fell silent, deliberately, and growled, his features contorted, his stone skin hissing.

"Impressive. But futile."

Strickler clicked his pen casually.

"I bet it burns, though."

Angor narrowed his eyes, then changed his tone.

"Enough! Listen. The Queen might want this traitor alive... for what he knows about Gunmar. She could forgive him. Free me, and I can arrange it."

Jim studied his face, then turned off the UV lamps, to Strickler’s shock — that wasn’t the plan. The troll sighed in relief. But Jim justified his act of mercy with a hard tone

"Leave him alone. Or we destroy you, here and now."

Strickler snapped his pen a bit too sharply and urged

"Kill him. Now."

Without looking at him, Jim addressed the troll firmly

"Promise he won’t be harmed."

Angor hesitated. He shot a sharp glance at the boy and the UV lamps that could flare back on at any moment, then at the Fae containment circle. He threw a final disgusted look at the Changeling hiding behind a little human. But he inclined his head slightly.

"As long as he doesn’t set foot in the Fae realm, I won’t touch him. I’ll tell the Queen I dealt with the traitor."

Jim repeated, firmly, not entirely fooled

"Is that a promise?"

Crossing his arms, the troll finally declared solemnly, as Stricklander once had

"I, Angor Rot, swear on my Fae blood, on my loyalty to the Eldritch Queen, and on the ashes of my True Name... that I will not kill or harm you or Stricklander outside the Fae realm."

Satisfied, Jim erased a segment of the salt circle. Stricklander suddenly shifted form in a green flash, ready to fight if needed. Damn it, nothing stopped him from attacking the boy — he hadn’t used his True Name in the vow. Angor Rot stepped out slowly, standing tall like a soldier, his burns still smoldering. He met Jim’s gaze.

"You’re reckless... but honorable... for a fleshbag."

Then he raised his staff, and Stricklander threw two knives just as fast. A shadow portal swallowed the troll — and the blades grazing past Jim’s face, embedding in the wall behind him.

"Dude!"

The teen exclaimed, terrified.

Stricklander froze, almost perplexed. Then he put words to his disbelief

"I don’t know if you’re incredibly naïve... or just completely stupid."

Jim swallowed a sharp retort and shrugged, giving him a pointed look. Stricklander coughed slightly, then diverted attention from his mistake by scolding the boy

"One day, your morals will get you killed."

Jim didn’t point out that he had nearly killed him just now, choosing to smile instead.

"Maybe... but not today."

-----

After that eventful night, they decided to meet once more on the rooftop of the house. Maybe Stricklander liked heights. He was a winged creature, after all. The sky was clear, the night sparkling with an ocean of stars. Jim sat cross-legged, his jacket draped over his shoulders. Beside him, Stricklander, arms crossed, his flowing cape trailing behind, had his eyes fixed on the night sky. The silence between them was no longer awkward. It was... heavy. Thoughtful. Jim, in a low voice, finally said aloud what they both knew

"Tomorrow, you’re free."

Stricklander confirmed in a neutral, distant tone

"That’s right. At dawn, the bond dissolves. I’ll reclaim my rights, my autonomy... my freedom."

The teen tried to make conversation, with a bit of humor, though his throat felt oddly tight

"You planning to leave right away? Like... vanish into the mist with an evil laugh or an explosion of cursed leaves?"

The Changeling elegantly shrugged one shoulder.

"I was thinking a quiet departure. Maybe a biting remark. A dramatic bow. No leaves. Too messy."

Jim was determined to at least settle this before he left, so he confessed

"I don’t hate you. I just wanted you to know."

Stricklander glanced sidelong at the boy. He hadn’t expected to want that much to hear... that. He stayed silent. There was a long pause. Then Jim scratched at the roof’s surface with his foot. He didn’t look at him. He murmured

"I don’t want you to leave."

Another silence. Stricklander wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Well, he had, of course, but maybe not properly. Yet he replied, quieter, but still controlled

"Attachment is a weakness, Jim. Especially when it’s one-sided."

Jim groaned slightly, pretending to be offended

"You’re saying I’m attached?"

Stricklander slowly turned his eyes to him, a faint smile forming.

"I’m bound by a contract, not emotion. You’re the one who left your door open."

Another pause. Jim was looking at him now. A real look. No joking.

"Tell me the truth. Are you happy to leave?"

Stricklander hesitated, almost imperceptibly, then nearly choked, unsettled.

"It’s... my freedom."

He turned his head, as if avoiding his own face, arguing

"It’d be absurd not to embrace it with joy."

Jim gave him a moment. Then, very softly, he added

"You didn’t say yes."

Stricklander gave a bitter smile, his tone low, almost pained

"I didn’t lie."

Jim was getting fed up with this game of half-truths and declared in a trembling voice, caught between anger and sorrow

"You could stay. If you want. Not because of some magical bond. Just... stay."

Stricklander didn’t answer. He looked at the stars. For a long time. The Changeling scolded him softly, his words catching in his throat

"You don’t know what you’re asking."

Jim wiped away a discreet tear but pressed on

"Maybe. But I know I’ve never had someone like you. Someone who follows me everywhere, judges me, protects me... sees me. Even when I didn’t ask for it."

Silence greeted his words again. The wind rose gently, slipping between them. Then Stricklander sighed heavily, a bit defeated.

"You’ve seen what my life is like. My mere presence here puts you and your mother in danger."

Stubbornly, Jim refuted, with that determination Stricklander had come to recognize as uniquely Lake

"Then we’ll deal with it again. Together. That’s what family does."

Stricklander shivered — and it wasn’t from the wind. Then he grew suddenly calmer.

"Then I’ll stay... a little longer. Let’s say... for a cup of tea. Or impending chaos. Whatever life throws our way."

Jim smiled faintly, full of hope

"Is that a promise?"

Stricklander finally looked at him. Truly.

"Not a magical vow. Just... a promise."