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Raverne felt a sense of dread, unease reverberating through his chest. Maleanor had just laid her egg, the princess slumbering peacefully in her dragon form. The entire experience had taken a toll on her, and he was glad he could finally do something substantial to ease her workload rather than delivering snacks. Hence, he quietly sits on the grass fields behind Wildrose Castle, swaying side to side with their egg resting in his lap. Maleanor's large maw was resting inches behind him, short puffs leaving her scaled lips. Sitting on the ground was mildly uncomfortable, but the princess would likely lash if she was too far removed from her child for such a short time after birth.
Gently, he rubs the hard shell of the egg, closing his eyes as he supplies the little dragon with the love and magic it- he needs to hatch (Maleanor seemed dead set on the child being a boy, and Raverne couldn't exactly deny her).
Their child—her child and his child—rested between his palms. The child seemed calm, likely asleep just like his mama.
And yet, Raverne couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that settled in his chest. His emotions were only confirmed days later when Lilia had pulled him aside—away from the peacefully slumbering princess—to inform him that humans had cut down a portion of their forests, sending direbeasts flooding into towns on the outskirts of Briarland. Despite being a relatively passive entity within the kingdom, Raverne was still the General of the Left, and had no choice but to attempt the end of the battle he felt was enroaching upon them.
Yet despite his efforts, with Maleanor's refusal to speak with the human's delegates, war errupted. The humans from different surrounding lands had banded together to slaughter the fae underneath the rule of whom Raverne knew as King Henrik Istvan. Clearly, the man harbored a hate for the fae, but Raverne was unaware of the extent.
Day after day, week after week—the fae suffered nothing but losses. Both their citizens and their delegates sent to broker peace—gone. It had gotten to the point where Raverne offered himself up to negotiate. Wildrose Castle was too far seperated from Blackscale Castle where the Queen was focusing on handling things there, hence, it was up to those present to handle the situation. Maleanor protested, of course. Malleus—what they named their supposed prince—was still in need of sustenance to hatch. Having two parents to hatch him rather than one would be ideal, but considering the way things were headed, Malleus wouldn't be able to grow with either—it was questionable whether he'd be alive regardless.
Raverne didn't want to leave them, Maleanor was still recovering, and leaving her to be the sole producer of magic for Malleus had him anxious. However, with their previous messengers failing, as the diplomatic lead, Raverne would have to attempt solving the situation at some point. To which he preferred now, before something were to happen to his wife and child.
"I promise, no matter what—I will protect you."
Whispers of love and promises left his lips. He leaned in, he and Maleanor's foreheads pressed together in a loving gesture, and he did the same to Malleus's egg. With a kiss to her forehead scales and to the tip of Malleus's egg, Raverne departed from the castle with a group of fae accompanying him.
Maybe, if never had the idea to leave, maybe, if Malleus's hatched, maybe, if Maleanor pleaded—he wouldn't have gone. Raverne wouldn't have left and he'd never have to face that devastating feeling.
Silver spilled from his back—jagged, torn edges with blood dropping from them took the place of his once beautiful, fluttering wings. There was a broken feather here and there, dipped in the same metallic color, now dried into a deep gray. His head hung low, metal of a similar color to his blood, burning through his flesh—iron. Raverne was aware that Henrick despised fae, that he likely made the Silver Owls to sport the color of their blood and the material of their weakness as a mocking gesture—though he failed to consider the extent of his hatred. From his wings, his dignity, being stripped from him, to the torture he and his brethren faced as iron seared through their flesh and left pink indents on their pale skin.
He had no clue what was happened outside the walls he was trapped in. Instead, he was forced to imagine the carnage while he weakly fought against his shackles. Of his fellow fae, few were left. After they had been ambused in their own forests and stripped of their magical features, they were transported to the humans' castle, where one by one, his companions were killed—each refusing to disobey their loyalty to their princess, no matter how many times they were "asked."
Tears fall from Raverne's lips, grief and distess overtaking him at the thought his family being hurt. Mal was likely haughty now, his desire to befriend and understand the humans had greatly backfired, yet he could not hate them wholey. Him, though. That poor excuse for a king that boasts about taking his son as a mere mount—he would face Raverne's wrath.
"Raverne…" one of his companions mumbled, just as bloody of a mess as he was.
He didn't hear whatever the man said, whether that was due to his own shot hearing, or due to the incoherent mumbles, Raverne didn't know. Or perhaps, it was because of the sesaring pain that he suddenly felt. Panic, unsease, and soul-crushing dread crashed over him all ar once. Once hand clutched at his chest as he doubled over, tears swelling in his eyes. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and couldn't hear. Then all of sudden he was fine, except there was a lingering sense of dread and a heavy sense of grief when the sudden attack of emotions had dawned on him.
His princess, his wife, his light, his soulmate—is gone.
An angry, grief-stricken scream was ripped from his throat. Unending tears spilled from his eyes and reddened his cheeks. Her final moments, her pain and her panic, he felt them. He felt them, and a crushing sense of hate for himself, for he did nothing to save her.
From that moment forward, Raverne had remembered much. He vaguely remembered the calls and screams of his companions, the panic of the castle's soliders as the humans went to war with one another, and the sweet, alluring call from somewhere inside of the castle. He vaguely remembered touching the golden rim of a mirror and staring darkly at his black depths, imagining the stiff, pale corpse of his wife—but he couldn't recall much but anger.
Hot, inextinguishable, rage.
"But…I'm right! IM the one who's right! There's NO! POSSIBLE! ALTERNATIVE!"
"How could any of YOU possibly understand? MY disappointment?! MY pain?!"
"That's why I'm going to take everyone's powers. I will rise above your preconceptions."
"I'm through following others' orders! I'm going…TO BE FREE!"
"I'll become the most beautiful one in the world!"
"In other words, I'm like, super imped up on ATK right now. You have no chance of winning! My condolences!"
"Why are you afraid? A wonderful future awaits you."
Each of the 7 students shouted their woes, deep-seated pain rising to the surface like bile in the form of an unhuman amalgamation of their former selves, a violation of the highest degree a mage could experience—Overblot.
As the Headmaster of this prestigious school called Night Raven College, one would think he'd be clambering to figure out why exactly there had been 7 overblots in a matter of a couple of months. How had he managed to fail at overseeing his students so horribly? Him and his staff had to be several shades of useless, at least in the eyes of the parents. Though, Dire Crowley—the headmaster as appointed by the chairman—couldn't care less. His goal was not to please parents, but to mold their children—his students—in what they need to be.
Crowley peered upwards, staring at the large, quiet mirror floating above a small fountain. The Dark Mirror, his "friend" of hundreds of years.
Depsite the dark glass not rippling once, Crowley could imagine them—his housewardens—undergoing the changes he had so desperately pulled the strings to achieve. In all of his years of teaching, of observing students along with their cooperation and disharmony, this years collection of students were the closest to what he needed. While they didn't hold the power of the Seven, their startling resemblance to the deceased villains was enough—and it was especially easy to push their buttons when they were so similar.
Rage.
Pride.
Ambition.
Revenge.
Yearning.
Each trait made it all the more easy to pluck the strings of these poor students' hearts. From orchestrating a confrontation, to allowing the progression of blot accumulation—Crowley had to admit he was awful.
Still, he smiled as he peered out onto the inner courtyard of the school. The day was calm, skies clear and citizens in a state of tranquility despite the most recent overblot having put the whole island asleep. During that time, Crowley thought. Doubts filled his mind, images of that pretty lady he so longed to see once more plagued his mind. When Malleus had overblotted, surprisingly to know fault of his own (though he did allow everything to happen), he had fallen asleep with no resistance to the magic. And when he fell, slumped against his desk—he saw her.
"Ah, Raverne!" He heard the soft melody of her voice—his dark rose.
When he turned around, no longer focused on the papers in front of him, he saw a smile that he swore came from the heavens in the form of Briarland's princess—Maleanor Draconia. He smiled softly at her in turn, offering his wide, open arms as she nearly jogged towards him. The dragon princess slammed her weight into the bird fae, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He chuckled, yet held her firmly in his arms as he heard a second pitter patter of feet against the floor of his office.
Maleanor turned to invite the little one behind her into their arms, their little dragon prince—Malleus.
His cherubic cheeks were red and wide, red from running and wide from smiling. He crashes into the two royals, clambering up Raverne's thighs to hold both of his parents. "Be careful with your horns, darling," Maleanor lightly scolds, though she fondly rubs the child's head. His small tail swishes back and forth like that of a pup as he happily nods and leans into the embrace of his parents.
The prince then sat up with excitement, tiny fingers curled into Raverne's shirt as he recounted his day with the servants. Small arms waved around as he spoke of his adventures like grand tales, even if he was simply playing tag in the garden or learning of his ancestors.
"Wow! Sounds like you had a fun day!" Raverne explains, nodding along as Malleus parks him with an adorable 'Mhm!' which prompts him to gasp and explain something else. Raverne pulls Maleanor in his lap, having her sit on his left thigh and the arm of his chair, letting Malleus sit on his right. Maleanor leans into her husband, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, a gentle expression upon her face. It wasn't often that people got to see her like this, relaxed and soft, but Raverne couldn't count on one hand how much he saw this expression a day. And he'd never get bored with it, because it was his favorite.
Malleus starts to drift, his small fists rubbing his eyes, sentences getting slower and slurred. Raverne smiles, patting Malleus's back as he watches the boy slump against his chest.
Like her son, she seems to be doing the same, her head slowly slumping to rest on top of his Raverne's. The bird fae sighs, "I think all of us should go to bed before everyone's deep in sleep." Synonymously, the two grumble, causing Raverne to smile. He mumbles a bit before opting to teleport the two in front of the master bedroom, where he struggles to hold them both each in one arm before dropping them on the bed as delicately as he can. Raverne tucks the two in the bed, kissing their forehead scales and earning a purr from the dragons. Trapped in that false reality, his rings gleams against the soft fires illuminating the room, and he mutters, tone ungaurded and fond. "I wouldn't be able to live without this."
Crowley isn't sure how long he was dreaming, nor how much had happened—but he remembered feeling a pit in his chest when the magic had been dispelled. He had faltered, wondered if his motives for this destruction were correctly founded. After all, even without Maleanor, he could have lived that life with Malleus had he tried hard enough. Would the Senate intervene like they did with Lilia? Likely, but he could have fought it. Instead, he had found himself trapped and wandering around with a dead witch whispering in his ear. But no, his decisions had been made, and he had gone too far down the rabbit hole to climb back up. Right about now, he mused, would be about the time that direbeast would be exploding with blot. After consuming pieces of each blot—the most powerful of which Crowley has witnessed with his own eyes—that tiny body wouldn't last much longer. Or rather, Grim would no longer be able to maintain that adorable form of his and would return back into his true nature.
Malleus is weakened significantly without Lilia, those housewardens—the stongest mages at the school—can't cooroperate to save their lives, and Yuu is magicless—everything aligns for the perfect moment.
The school in disarray, students weak with magic as they shot spell after spell at the chimera-esque monster. Grim had grown from a small cat on hind legs to a four-legged beast with draconic hind legs and humanoid front legs. His maw was sharper and hairier, tentacles sprouting from his neck, pitch black wings behind his shoulders, and a snake for a tail. His jaw snaps at the students and crew alike, feasting on the upon their spells. Grim, a replacement name Crowley had implanted in the beasts mind, was a direbeast from the forests of Briar. After the fall of Wildrose—then Bladevale—castle, monsters and swarmed the ruins and took up rest. There laid monsters that consumed magic of many kinds. That was how they lived, breathed, and died upon—the consumption and absorbtion of magical energy.
(He distinctly recalls the royal family banning the things from going near the bordering towns, an insignificant point that proved to be beneficial to Crowley's plan).
Through the mirror he watches them struggle, and only until they're nearly depleted does he offer his aid. As an alibi, he helps a couple of students evacuate, giving the ghosts and lingering staff their orders before teleporting to the scene of the battle. Malleus was injured on the sidelines, mild, but still injured. There was a clear sign of uncontrolled magic, likely stemming from Malleus attempting to help, but forgetting his magical output is out of wack without a certain ex-general. Lilia and Silver were specifically sent away on a trip for this exact reason, to keep Malleus weakened. Crowley internally apologizes, confirming that the injured Malleus wasn't gravely hurt before tending to his weakened, exhausted students.
As if he were an ally, he uses his "whip of love" to restrain the beast.
"Yuu, Grim trusts you, right?" Crowley asks, knowing he's correct.
"Uh, yes sir! But I'm not sure how that'll help!"
"I appointed you beast tamer, didn't I? You're the only one not weakened!" Crowley exclaims, nodding towards the house wardens. Riddle is shaking, trying to muster the magic to attach another collar to Grim, which only works for a very temporary time. Leona is crouched to the ground, careful not to activate his UM while touching the ground, lest they lose their already messed up footing. Azul can't do much with his UM, but his magic control had come in handy. While he wasn't as tired, control of your magic and its output could only do so much against a powerful appointment. Two (attempted) castings of Jamil's ultimate magic had trained him as well. Vil's magic had come in handy, keeping Grim and his fire balls in the proximity of the area, rather than around the school, but even he was delirious. And Idia was…trying with Styx.
Yuu had to admit, Crowley is correct in his statement that they're the only one's not nearing death's door, but what were they supposed to do in the face of this thing with no magic?! Yuu frantically looks around, trying to peace together a plan.
Their eyes sparkle when something pops up. "Headmaster! Could you possibly teleport Grim somewhere?! Like away from people?!"
Crowley's brows beneath his mask, but that fits with his goal. "Yes!"
Yuu nods and runs towards the other housewardens. Crowley doesn't hear what the prefect is whispering, but he supposed whatever it is shall be good enough. Though, he hopes the plan will come quickly, as wrangling a giant beast is not ideal. As if reading his mind, Yuu calls out to Grim, somehow drawing the monster's attention to their voice. Crowley smirks a bit, perfect, Grim was still in there. "Grim! HEY, OVER HERE!" Yuu shouts before glancing at the other housewardens.
With a strange sense of harmony, Riddle and Jamil cast their ultimate magic—Jamil giving Grim the command to listen to Yuu's commands, their spells briefly stunning Grim. Vil releases his magic, per the condition placed with the curse he cast, and then Yuu shouts towards Crowley. The headmaster quickly utters a teleportation spell and suddenly, Crowley, Yuu, and Grim were gone.
All of the mages present, slump into the ground, hoping whatever Yuu has planned will work, all except Malleus. The fae prince curses, wincing as he sits up with his wound. Something felt off, he felt a sense of urgency and anxiety towards Yuu, prompting him to quickly stand. For some reason, the magical signature of the headmaster was still in the school campus. Curses, if he had magic he could just…get there.
"Woah! Where are you going?" Vil frowns, giving Malleus an incredulous stare.
"To…Yuu," Malleus mumbles.
"With an injury like that?" Riddle frowns, based on the information he had picked up from his mother, Malleus would be fine, but he wouldn't recommend standing, much less walking.
"Yes," Malleus growls. "Something is wrong."
Leona growls as well, clicking his tongue. He too, gets up from his slumped position. "Dammit," he curses, "I know what you mean, come on." Leona walks over to Malleus, supporting him with an arm secure around his back.
"Kingscholar?"
"Tch, just come on, you stupid lizard. Lead me there."
Malleus blinks for a moment, staring at the beastman in confusion, but he only huffs a laugh and speaks. "Mirror. They're by the Dark Mirror." Leona's tail flicks, a sense of unease resting in his chest as well. He frowns and helps Malleus walk over to the room.
Meanwhile, Crowley, Yuu, and Grim teleport a couple of meters from the Dark Mirror. "Okay, so—! Huh?" Yuu frowns, looking at their surroundings, their eyes widening with alarm. "Headmaster, why are we here? We're not supposed to be on campus! What if someone—"
"As much as I understand your concerns, prefect. Shush," Crowley whispers. His voice his deeper, Yuu notes. His yellow eyes that gleam through his mask, seems strangely cold. His entire demeanor had changed. Yuu cannot dwell on this, however, as Crowley casts a sleeping spell on them. Then, he turns to Grim, a calm smile on his face despite the beasts thrashing. "Shh," he coaxes, taking slow steps towards him, "Your anger will be rewarded eventually. However, as of this moment, I need your power." In the same breath, he puts Grim to sleep as well.
Lifting up the fluff of the monstrous form, Crowley tugs the gem that hung from Grim's neck. Typically, the gem prevents the blot from accumulating inside of the user, until it is dispelled, it only took a little tweaking to allow overaccumulation and storage of the dark substance.
Crowley turns to the mirror, taking tentative, nervous steps towards the hovering mirror.
"Ah…my beloved noble and beautiful flower of evil. You are the fairest in the world."
First, he shoves off the coat that previously emulated the weight and shape of his now removed wings. Despite it taking far too long to restore his strength once his wings were stripped from him, not feeling the weight of them bothered him far too much. Next were his gloves, the talons clang on the ground as he tossed them, revealing the faint burn marks on his wrist and hands, along with a ring on his left hand. Finally, was his bird mask. He tugs it off, throwing it somewhere near Yuu.
"Mirror, Mirror, tell me…who is the greatest in this world?"
The fae stops just before the fountain, looking up at the floating mirror with a mix of grief and reverence. The feeling of loss stuck to him like a second skin, yet so did determination and devotion.
"For me, for them, for you. The time left is short."
Maleanor would be disappointed, very much so—she'd probably kill him if he didn't die from this—but he could deal with it. Those hundreds of years researching forbidden spells for this very moment would not be lost. Crowley—Raverne, gives a mournful smile to the dark mirror.
"Ah, you'll hate me for this. But, please…allow me to disappoint you, just this once."
He whispers to no one but the soft snores of the two behind him. Raverne chuckles, closing his eyes and beginning the spell with a chant in the old fae language (he truly found it a shame that modern fae had forgotten it, relief flooded him when he could speak his own language once more). He drops the gem into the fountain's water, raising his arms as the water transforms from its clear color to the color of blot. The water bubbles, spilling over the edge of the concrete with sickening pops and squelching.
From the water, it grows up, up, up until it reaches the frame of the mirror. The sticky substance latches onto the metal and slides into the grooves of the designed framing, spelling its own spell with it. Only until the frame is entirely mapped out with the twisted vines of blot does Raverne finish his chant, his yellow eyes opening and focusing with hope onto the rippling surface of the mirror.
He holds his breath, watching closely as the dark mirror shines before something starts to slip from its confines.
First, were the curve of horns, then was the familiar cluster of scales below the hairline, then the curve of those pretty eyelashes, followed by plump, pink lips, then long, silky black hair. Covering her was a plain, black robe that extended all the way to he ankles. Raverne lets out his anxious breath, stepping up onto the walls of the fountain with his arms out. Maleanor falls forward and straight into his arms. Quickly, he sweeps up her legs so they don't touch the contaminated fountain before stepping down onto the regular school floorings. Tears flood his vision as he presses his forehead to hers—she isn't cold. He can feel the rise and call of her chest, and he had never been filled with more relief.
Held in his arms, the princess' eyes flutter open. That familiar, bright green stares up at him.
"Raverne?" She whispers, voice unprepared after years of nonuse. It had been plenty of years, long enough for anyone to forget an insignificant figure such as him. Yet, like no time had passed, she recognized him instantly. "You look different. Tired?"
Raverne smiles, chuckling at how unaware she is. Still, he responds in a soft tone. "Yes, perhaps I am just…tired."
Maleanor raises a hand to Raverne's cheek, holding him as softly as the last time they had seen each other. Raverne's lips wobble, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles her palm. He couldn't speak, explain, or defend in the moment. All he wanted was to melt into her. No matter what or who he sacrificed, he did not regret one minute. Not with her staring up at him with eyes full of concern and love. His beautiful rose, his love, his soulmate—back in his arms once again.
Deep into his relief, he ignores the sounds of steps nearing closer. He couldn't care less, his goal had been achieved. A smile is present on his uncovered face, and he turns towards the doorway where the two sets of footsteps have stopped. Those footsteps are recognizable, Kingscholar and his son—Malleus. His smile never leaves, even as they two stare in confusion and alarm. Though, Malleus seemed to err on the side of confusion.
"Headmaster?" Malleus calls with hesitance, looking down at the woman in his arms.
Leona snorts, "Hah! You mean dad?"