Chapter Text
Death.
Death is the ultimate middle finger to existence, isn’t it? The big, bad shadow that creeps up on you, whispering, “Gotcha, bitch,” while you’re just trying to live your miserable little life. Everyone’s scared of it—humans, aliens, everything and everyone. It’s like mold on a perfectly good fruit, ruining the vibe, making everyone clutch their precious “Life” as tight as they can, thinking that it will stop the spread of the mold, all while refusing to talk about or even acknowledge it. They’re too busy praising that sweet fruit, pretending Death isn’t part of the package.
And Till? Oh, he was terrified of it.
His life had been a certified dumpster fire—pain, chains, aliens treating him like their personal punching bag.
But the thought of dying? That made his heart do a backflip and his throat clamp shut like a rusty trap.
Because If living was this bad, death had to be a whole new level of pain, right? Agonizing, soul-crushing, worse-than-Urak’s-breath kind of bad.
Except… it wasn’t.
When death finally came for him, it was quick. Too quick. One second he’s reaching for Mizi, his lips twitching into a hopeful smile despite the chaos, that the competition isn't over yet, despite the fact that Death is looming over him, and then—
BANG
A punch to the neck. He feels the air whooshing out of his lungs, a choked gasp leaving him as he collapses to the floor.
The stadium is a blur of colors, Mizi’s horrified face the only thing in focus for Till. Her chartreuse eyes are brimming with tears, big fat ones rolling down her cheeks, and Till’s trying to reach up, to wipe them away, but his arms are like lead. Useless. Why can't he move? He hates seeing her cry, who usually shines as bright as the sun itself, crying like this, sobbing. It hurts to see, and Till wishes he could just move his arms so he could wipe those tears away.
But he feels everything fading—sound, sight, everything. Black spots dance in his vision, and all he can hear is this annoying ringing in his ears. Truthfully, he can’t help but to wonder if this is what Ivan felt. If he felt this heavy, sinking calm.
Was Ivan’s death also this…this peaceful? This weirdly okay? Because, yeah, Till’s surprisingly not freaking out, he isn't scared. Well….not as scared as he thought he would be. He’s not clawing at the ground, not screaming. He’s just…drifting.
And of all the things to think about as his world goes dark, it’s Ivan of all people. That smug bastard with his pitch-black eyes and snaggle–toothed grin, eating up Till’s final thoughts like he’s got a VIP pass right to his brain. Why? Why him? Why not Mizi, his literal crush, who’s crying over him right now? Why’s it gotta be Ivan haunting him as everything fades to black?
---
In the void—inky, cold, and way too quiet—a voice cuts through. It’s close, like it’s whispering right in his ear, but also echoing like it’s coming from every direction. It envelops him.
"Ah, my dear esteemed benefactor…
my proud, beautiful flower of evil. You are truly the fairest one of all.
O magic mirror, thy wisdom I entreat..
Reveal unto me the visage I seek…”
What. The. Fuck.
The voice is all dramatic, like an announcer hyping up a new round of Alien Stage. Till’s half-expecting a spotlight to hit him and some creep to shove a mic in his face.
“You, whose image the Dark Mirror did beckon forth.. If your heart bids it, take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror.”
“I…van…?” Till croaks, his voice barely a whisper. Because, yeah, his brain’s still stuck on that idiot, even now. But then—
WHAM
His eyes snap open, only to find he's no longer in that void(though there isn't too big of a difference, he still can't see shit. Nothing but this God forsaken darkness..). He’s in a box. A tiny, suffocating box. Walls on all sides. Above, below, pressing in like the world’s worst hug. It’s like the Garden, but smaller, and way more claustrophobic and a lot less comfortable. Till bolts upright, ready to scream, fight, something—
CRACK
Till's forehead slams into the lid above him, pain immediately exploding across his skull like a goddamn firework. “MOTHERFUCKER—!” he hisses, clutching at his head, curling in on himself as his knees instinctively jerk up—and smack right into the lid too. Double the agony, double the fun!
His knees are screaming, his head throbbing, and Till’s about ready to punch through this stupid box just to fucking spite it.
What is this bullshit?!
He’s dead, he got shot, so why the fuck is he feeling pain like he’s still stuck in his shitty, living body?! His heart’s pounding, sweat’s dripping down his face, and he’s pissed. Oh, he's fucking pissed. Death was supposed to be his ticket out, not some new torture chamber! Till finds that the air’s getting hotter, thicker, and the box feels like it's shrinking in on him, crushing him. His breaths come faster, shallower—
fuck, he can’t breathe..
There’s a voice outside, muffled, but he can’t make it out over the ringing in his ears. What the fuck was going on—
BANG
Another loud noise, and the box suddenly tilts. Till’s world spins, his shoulder slamming into the side as he tumbles out, hitting the ground hard. “Ow, ow, OW!” he groans, sprawled out like a ragdoll. Seriously, hasn’t he been through enough already!? Were the beatings not enough? Was shooting him not enough?!!
Is….is this Urak’s doing? Was this some sick, new experiment to screw with him because he lost? Because Till really wouldn’t put it past that ugly bastard to pull this kind of stunt.
There’s yelling nearby—loud, grating, annoying yelling. Till smells smoke, feels heat, and feels someone nudging him, trying to get him to move.
But he’s quite honestly done. Exhausted. The bags under his eyes feel like they weigh a ton, and his shoulders? It feels like they’re carrying the whole damn universe.
What’s the point? It’s always something—pain, aliens, Ivan’s stupid face haunting him. He’s so tired of it all. Till doesn't fucking care anymore, he just wants it all to be over.
The heat gets closer, the nudging turns into frantic shaking, but Till just… doesn’t move. Maybe this is the agonizing death he was expecting. The shot to his neck didn’t do it, so now they’re gonna burn him? Turn him into snow like the others?
He lets out a bitter, mirthless laugh.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He’d see Ivan again, right? Even if it hurt, even if it was agonizing at first, it’d be over eventually, right? He’d be free.
“Free…”
Suddenly someone grabs hold of his hand.
"I said run, damn it!”
For a fraction of a second his heart skipped a beat and his throat grew tight. The grey haired boy snapped his head up to look at the person dragging him along, his eyes growing wide in disbelief. They ran through a maze of winding hallways, the little monster hot on their tails, shooting and shouting at them. But Till couldn't bring himself to focus on that, to feel fearful even as a stray ball of fire surges past him and singes his clothes.
All the young man can focus on is the painful ache in his heart as he stares at the back of the person running with him.
“Ivan…?” light and airy, barely even above a whisper, the name left his lips.
It wasn't him, not even close. It couldn't be him and Till knew that for a fact.
But that didn't stop his frayed mind from making the comparison, from seeing Ivan’s visage overlap with this person's own, especially when this situation was so much like back then..
Fireballs whizzing past like shooting stars as they ran away, as they escaped..
A little monster—some alien cat-thing—was chasing them, shooting flames and screeching like a banshee. But Till’s brain was barely registering it. All he could focus on was the ache in his chest, the way this guy’s calloused hand felt so wrong compared to Ivan’s much softer grip.
It’s not him. It’s not him–
Ivan was much taller and had hair as dark as the night, was much more lean than this person was. But the biggest difference…was that Ivan’s hands had been much softer, while this person's were callous and hard.
The guy curses, “Crap—!” as they hit a dead end, his grip tightening on Till’s hand. A fireball lands where they were about to turn, trapping them. Till glances at the stranger, guilt twisting in his gut. This guy could’ve escaped if he hadn’t stopped to drag Till’s sorry ass along.
He should’ve left him.
"You’re trembling, Till~” he hears ‘Ivan’s’ voice purr, right in his ear, close enough to make his skin crawl. Till bites his lip, refusing to look at the shadow lurking just out of sight. But it was so damn hard when ‘Ivan’ was only a hairs-breath away from his face, practically cheek-to-cheek with him. “Are you going to abandon him, Till? Just like you abandoned ME that day?”
“N…no, no I.. I didn't mean to….I…I–I wouldn't..–” Till mumbles, his voice shaking. His hand twitches, wanting to claw at his neck, at the spot where he was shot. He’s trembling now, he knows it, but he can’t stop. God, he can’t fucking stop shaking–!
“But you did.” Till presses his lips together at that and looks down at the ground, trembling even more. ‘Ivan’ pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Till, looking him dead in the eyes with a saccharine smile, a smile far too loving and affectionate for the words coming out of his mouth. “You left me, Till, you abandoned me. And then….you let me die. Will you let him die as well, Till~?”
“S….shut up,” he hisses, turning away from the phantom to glare at the alien cat-thing instead. It’s grinning, laughing, its voice like nails on a chalkboard. Utterly unbearable to listen to.
It's mocking them.
The grey haired boy feels his blood boil, annoyance and anger beginning to slowly overshadow the numbness he had felt before. With each step the creature took towards them Till’s rage grew, building up higher and higher until almost all he could think of was absolutely thrashing this piece of shit.
How dare this thing laugh at them, treat them like this? He clenches his fists, his nose scrunching up as he scowls. The creature steps closer again, still cackling. “HA! Did you really think you could escape the great Grim, you stupid huma—”
Till snaps.
THUNK
A book flies from his hand, smacking Grim square in the forehead. The alien yowls, tumbling back on its ass. “Shut the fuck up, you bastard!” Till snarls, pointing a trembling finger at it, his teal eyes blazing. “I swear to Anakt, I’ll end you, you—”
The brown-haired guy grabs him, wrapping his arms under Till’s armpits to hold him back from charging. Which, honestly, is probably for the best. Till’s malnourished ass would probably get roasted before he landed a single punch. But he’s furious, thrashing against the hold, desperate to wipe that smug look off Grim’s face.
“You punk!” Grim hisses, stomping its paw and pointing back at Till. “How dare you throw that at me?! I’ll make you pay, you stupid human!” A blue fireball forms in its paw, matching the flames in its ears.
Till looked absolutely feral right now. His eyes had narrowed in anger and his lips curled into a snarl. If it weren't for the fact he was being held back right now, he'd have most certainly already tried to lunge at Grim in an attempt to beat his ass into oblivion. Which, considering how malnourished the young man is, probably wouldn't have turned out all that good.
Sure, Grim was tiny compared to Till, but he could easily burn the boy alive if he wanted to. Maybe he'd get a few punches in, but what good are punches if he ends up getting third or even fourth degree burns?
“Oh yeah? Try me, furball! I’ll beat the shit outta you!” Till’s practically feral now, lips curled into a snarl, his eyes wild. If he wasn’t being restrained, he’d be lunging at Grim, consequences be damned.
Grim takes an angry step forward, growling. “I’ve had it with you humans! Hand over that uniform, or I’ll roast y—Y-YEOW! What’s with this stick?! it hurts!!”
“It is not a stick. It is the whip of love!”
A booming, overdramatic voice cuts through the chaos, and Till whips his head around—ignoring the fresh throb in his skull—to see a tall, cloaked figure striding toward them. Black and purple cape, golden claws, and a bird mask that screams ‘I’m trying too hard!’. Honestly, this guy looks like he escaped from a bad costume party. Till’s already annoyed.
“A-ha, I finally found you two!” the masked man says, his tone so saccharine it makes Till’s skin crawl. “You’re this year’s new students, right? My, were you ever eager to make your debuts. And bringing a poorly trained familiar? That’s a clear violation of the school’s rules!”
Students? Familiar? Rules? Till’s brain short-circuits. What the hell is this guy yapping about? Did he mean pet? Grim’s not his anything, least of all his pet! If anything, wouldn't Till and this brunette be the pets? That's the norm, isn't it? And school? What kind of fever dream is this? Did Urak seriously send him to another musical school? Like the Garden? What, he survived, so now he has to go through this shit again? When will it all fucking end?!
Grim thrashes against the whip now coiling around him, yowling. “I’m NOT their familiar!”
“Yes, yes, rebellious familiars always say that,” the masked man huffs, all patronizing and smug. He flicks his wrist, tightening the whip around Grim’s muzzle, silencing him.
And oh, how Till’s stomach twists at the sight. The restraints, the muffled protests—it’s all too familiar. Too much like the collars, the muzzles, the aliens who tormented him all day and night. His hand twitches toward his neck, but he stops himself, clenching it into a fist instead. The masked man turns to them, his yellow eyes glowing under the mask. “Of all the students I’ve dealt with, you two are the first to open your own gates and step out like this! Does patience elude you?”
Till stares, blank-faced. He has no idea what this guy’s on about, and he’s not sure he wants to, either. The brown-haired guy—Yuu, he’ll learn later—speaks up, “Where are we? Who are you?”
The masked man pauses, looking almost surprised before slipping back into his condescending tone. “Hm? Not fully conscious? The timespace teleportation must’ve addled your memories. My generosity is boundless, so I’ll explain as we walk!”
Till’s eye twitches. He wants to punch this guy’s teeth in.
But Yuu’s hand, still gripping his, keeps him grounded. “You’re really going along with this, Till?” 'Ivan’s’ voice taunts, “how obedient of you for once!”
Till squeezes Yuu’s hand tighter, ignoring the smirking phantom following right behind them.
---
The “school”—Night Raven College, apparently—is massive. Tall spires that reach high into the sky, stars painting the inky black above, floating orbs lighting the many paths..
It’s nothing like the Garden, nothing like the stage. It’s… real. Too real. Till’s head spins as they follow the masked man, Crowley, who’s still yapping about magic and gates and some “Dark Mirror.” Till’s barely listening, too busy trying to ignore ‘Ivan’s’ shadow lurking just out of sight, smirking smugly at him. “You’re trembling again~” Ivan whispers, and Till grits his teeth.
He’s not trembling, he’s fine.(His hands say otherwise.)
Yuu’s grip shifts, warm and steady, and Till clings to it like a lifeline. He doesn’t know this guy, but that hand is the only thing keeping him from spiraling completely.
Crowley leads them to a massive chamber, all chandeliers and carvings, with a giant, shimmering mirror at the center.
And…..and people—humans—everywhere. No collars, no aliens. Just…just kids. Till’s never seen this many humans without a Guardian looming over them.
It’s weird. Wrong.
Voices ring out—some strict, some bored, some chipper. A red-haired guy barking about rules, a guy with animal ears, a pretty boy, and a boy with glasses..
“You are the only ones who have yet to be assigned a dorm,” Crowley said, “Step up to the Dark Mirror, and be quick about it,” Then, gesturing toward Grim, who was still bound and muzzled, the little creature squirming indignantly against the restraints keeping him captive. “I'll watch your weasel.”
Till's companion hesitated, glancing at Till as if asking for permission. Though the grey haired boy said nothing, his expression carefully blank. After a moment, the brown haired boy let go of his hand and stepped forward.
The absence of that warmth was immediate and uncomfortable, but Till forced himself to stay quiet. His companion stepped forward, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent chamber.
“State your name,” the mirror droned, its voice deep and resonant, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Yuu Enma,” the boy said, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Yuu…..” The mirror repeated slowly, thoughtfully, deliberately pausing between syllables before continuing ominously, “The nature of your soul is.....unclear to me."
Murmurs erupted around the room immediately.
“What did you just say?” Crowley sputtered indignantly, his eyes wide in shock as he stepped forward.
“I sense no magical power from this one.” The mirror said.
“Soundless.”
“Colorless.”
"Shapeless."
“Utterly vacant.”
Each descriptor landed like a physical blow against the poor boy standing there, completely and utterly frozen. He looked as though he wished the floor would swallow him whole right then and there, and Till truthfully couldn't blame him.
“Therefore no dorm would be appropriate” The mirror concluded finally.
Crowley looked absolutely horrified. “Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic?” His voice climbed higher octaves with each word spoken aloud, disbelief evident in every syllable uttered “But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! How could this have happened?!”
Students began whispering amongst themselves murmuring speculation theories, explanations, none of which made sense given circumstances presented before them tonight—
And Till?
Till just stared.
The grey haired boy watched as Yuu stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked so...lost. Lost, hurt, and confused.
And for some reason that made Till's chest ache.
“Wait—wait! Perhaps there's been a mistake!” Crowley said, whirling around to face Till. His eyes were wide, almost desperate. “You! The other one! Step forward!”
Till blinked, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and sputtered, “W...what?”
“There must have been an error—yes, that must be it! You must be the one that was meant to be sorted!” Crowley grabbed Till by the arm and practically dragged him toward the mirror. “Quickly, now! State your name!”
Till stumbled forward, his heart pounding. He could feel everyone's eyes on him—dozens of people, all staring at him, judging him. He hated it. He hated this. He hated—
“Go on, Till,” that all too familiar voice purred in his ear. “Let them see into your soul. Let them see what a broken, pathetic thing you are..”
Till's breath hitched. ‘Ivan’ was standing right beside him now, close enough that Till could almost feel his breath against his neck, right over his brand. That smirk was still there, sharp and cruel and so painfully familiar. “Or maybe you'd rather run? Abandon him, just like you abandoned me?”
“Shut up,” Till hissed under his breath, so quiet that no one else could hear.
“Make me.”
His hands were shaking and his heart was racing. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he forced himself to take another step forward.
And another.
Then another..
Until he was standing right in front of the Dark Mirror, its surface rippling like black water, reflecting nothing.
“State your name,” the mirror commanded.
Till swallowed hard, his throat dry, and then spoke up in a raspy voice, “....Till..”
The Dark Mirror stared at the grey haired boy for what felt like an eternity. Sizing him up and picking apart every aspect of him. It felt like the thing was digging around inside him, peering into all the most ugly parts of himself and judging him. Till hated it. This time he can't resist the call, anxiously scratching at his neck in a poor attempt to soothe the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
And then it finally speaks up again after about a minute of pure silence,
“Till… the nature of your soul is…..”
……..
………
“...also unclear to me..”
Crowley looked about ready to faint upon hearing the Dark Mirror's words, the masked man stumbling dramatically, nearly tripping and falling over, hand held to his head. “How could this possibly be..?!” He exclaimed in distress.
“This one also possesses no magical power. It is as though there is a void where his soul should be. A dark, bottomless void.” Those words, for a reason Till couldn't quite fathom, was like a death sentence. Perhaps it was because the young man had already seen the scrutiny the brown haired boy—Yuu—had gone through after the mirror declared him ‘magicless’, but….Till felt as though he was being executed by all these prying eyes, those gazes feeling so sharp he swore his head was going to be sliced clean off.
“Thus, no dorm would be appropriate.”
There were words being said, judgmental murmurs that filled the air like poisonous gas, that surrounded him, caged him.
But all he could hear was the wild thumping of his own heart and the shakiness of his breathing. Everyone was looking at him, their gazes like bugs crawling all along his skin, making him itch and feel ill.
He hated it. Till fucking hated it..!
Grim thrashed around wildly in Crowley's hold as Till stood there motionlessly, wiggling and squirming until he managed to get himself free. “ME!” The little creature yelled out excitedly once he un-muzzled himself, that loud, grating voice snapping Till back to reality. Wide, teal eyes drifted toward Grim almost instantly, “Let ME take their places as a student!”
…..
Hah..–?
“Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!” The masked man hissed through what sounded like gritted-teeth as he tried to grab hold of Grim again. But the tiny menace managed to give him the slip, avoiding the bird-man’s grasping hands by only a hair. Honestly, if Till didn't dislike Grim so much, if Grim wasn't an alien, then he probably would have rooted for him, internally cheer him on as he gave the smug bird bastard a run for his money. But too bad Grim was also a smug prick like the masked man on top of being an alien.
“Unlike these guy's I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here!!” The grey ball of fur had its paws on its hips as it spoke, its chest puffed out proudly and a wide, toothy grin stretched across its face.
Yup, smug prick..
Till has to resist the urge to dead-pan at Grim’s antics, the grey haired male tilting his head to the side with a wry sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He felt as though he was going to end up getting whiplash from how fast this situation had his emotions switching.
Ever since Till had woken up it'd been one thing after another, one crazy situation right onto the next.
It was like he was being sent on a rollercoaster of conflicting emotions each time something new happened, and he did NOT fucking like it. Anger, annoyance, melancholy, hopelessness, hopefulness, and every other damn emotion in the book.
It was like a wild ride he never once asked to be a part of.
“Everyone get down NOW!” The short redhead boy suddenly yelled out. Till didn't even get the chance to look over in the boy's direction, finding himself tackled to the floor almost immediately by Yuu. “The hell–” Till gasped.
He looked up at the brunette with furrowed brows, about to ask just what the fuck THAT was for, only to stop once he actually gets a good—at least as good as he can get with Yuu's body practically covering his own completely—at his surroundings. And hoo–boy, it's an absolute shit-show. Everyone is running around in a panic trying to avoid Grim’s fire, some even tripping over themselves just to avoid those scorching hot flames. People were yelling, screaming over each other, scrambling over those who had fallen over while running without a single care, not even stopping to help or get them out of the line of fire. It was every man for themselves it seemed, and only Yuu appeared to care enough to actually take someone else's safety into consideration.
That someone being Till.
Till watched the chaos unfold with a strange sense of detachment, like he was an outside observer rather than an active participant.
'Is this really happening'? he thought distantly.
Yuu's weight pressing against him was the only thing that felt real in this situation. Solid. Grounding. The brunette was shielding him, protecting him from Grim's wild flames without a second thought, and Till... Till didn't know what to really think about that, not really. Was it annoying having someone treat him like glass? Yeah, it was. But at the same time, Yuu's actions made the grey haired boy's chest tighten uncomfortably. "Stay down," Yuu muttered, his voice tight with tension. Till could feel the slight tremor in the other boy's arms, the way his breathing had gone shallow and quick. Fear. This guy was scared shitless but still threw himself on top of Till like some kind of hero.
"Get off," Till hissed, trying to shove at Yuu's shoulder. His pride stung worse than the heat singeing the air around them. He didn't need protecting, didn't need some stranger treating him like he was fragile, like he was—
The white-haired kid's scream cut through his thoughts. "HELP! I'm on fire, my butt's on fire!"
He should move. He knew he should move. But what was the point? It was always like this—chaos, pain, someone getting hurt. Why should he care if some random kid's ass was on fire? It wasn't his problem.
'But it could be,' a traitorous part of his mind whispered. 'You could help, you're more than able to..'
Till's jaw clenched. No. No, he was not playing the hero. He had no relation to any of these people, there was no reason for him to risk himself just to save someone he didn't even know! He should just stay down, let this all blow over, keep himself and only himself safe—
"Hey, um, my butt's still on fire..." The white-haired kid's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. "Could someone maybe put this out?!"
The kid was younger than him—sixteen, maybe seventeen at most—with wide red eyes that were brimming with panicked tears. He was running in circles, hands flailing uselessly at the flames eating away at his ceremonial robes, and no one was helping him. They were all too busy running from Grim, shouting orders at each other, or treating this like some kind of game, like the kid's pain was just background noise.
Till's stomach twisted.
The white-haired boy stumbled, nearly falling, and that's when Till saw it—the way his legs were shaking, the way his breath was coming in short, hyperventilating gasps. The kid was going into shock. If those flames spread any higher, if they reached his skin—
'He'll burn,' Till thought, and suddenly he wasn't seeing the white-haired boy anymore.
He was seeing Sua crumpling to the stage floor.
He was seeing Mizi's horrified face.
He was seeing Ivan reaching for him even as—
"Fuck," Till hissed under his breath.
This wasn't right.
All of this was wrong.
"What?" Yuu's voice cut through the haze, close to his ear. The brunette shifted slightly, glancing down at him with concern. "Till, are you—"
"Get off," Till said flatly, already pushing at Yuu's shoulders.
"Wait, what are you—"
Till shoved harder, wriggling out from under Yuu's protective hold and stumbling to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, but he forced them to move anyway. One step, then two more. His ceremonial robe was too big, hanging off his bony frame like a shroud, and it tangled around his ankles as he ran towards the young boy.
Till didn't think.
He just moved.
"Hey!" Till shouted, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Oi, red-eyes! Stop moving!"
The white-haired boy didn't listen—probably couldn't even hear him over his own screaming. Till cursed again and broke into a sprint, his boots slapping against the polished floor. His lungs burned, his vision swam, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. He reached the boy just as the flames started creeping up toward his lower back. Till grabbed the edge of his own ceremonial robe and ripped it off in one swift motion. The fabric was thick, heavy, and most importantly: not on fire yet.
"Hold still, damn it!" Till barked, tackling the white-haired boy to the ground. The kid yelped, more from surprise than pain, and Till quickly wrapped the robe around his waist, smothering the flames he could. The fire hissed and sputtered, fighting against the fabric, but Till pressed down harder, ignoring the heat searing through the cloth and biting at his palms.
'It's fine,' he told himself even as his hands started to sting. 'It's fine. Just a little longer.'
The flames finally died out, leaving behind charred fabric and the acrid stench of burnt cotton. Till pulled back, his hands trembling as he inspected the damage. The white-haired boy's robes were ruined, blackened and smoking, but his skin looked mostly intact. A few red marks, maybe some minor burns, but nothing life-threatening.
Till let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
The white-haired boy froze. His red eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears as he stared at Till like he'd just witnessed a miracle. "You... you saved me!"
Till grimaced, tossing the singed robe aside. "Don't make it weird."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The kid launched himself at Till, wrapping his arms around the silver-haired male, squeezing him so tight he could hardly even breathe. "You're amazing! You're like a hero! What's your name? I'm Kalim! Kalim Al-Asim! We should be friends! Do you like parties? I love parties! I'll throw you the biggest party ever to thank you—"
“Jesus—” Till tried to wriggle away, wheezing, but Kalim's grip was surprisingly strong for someone so small. The onslaught of words hit him like a freight train, each sentence louder and faster than the last. This guy was sure....energetic. But despite how overwhelmed it was, he couldn't bring himself to really hate it. His bright and cheery demeanor reminded him a lot of Mizi. Both of them seemed to be as bright as the sun itself, and he could honestly see the two being the best of friends should they had gotten the chance to meet..
Without realizing it, Till goes slack in Kalim's arms, his hands twitching, unconsciously going to wrap around the white-haired boy.
But then—
"Kalim!" Another voice cut through, sharp and commanding, snapping Till out of his sentimental thoughts and causing him to stiffen up. A boy with dark hair dark skin, and calculating eyes appeared beside them, gently but firmly prying Kalim off of Till. "You're overwhelming him."
"Oh! Right, sorry!" Kalim released him instantly, beaming like the sun itself. "I just got so excited! He saved me, Jamil!"
Jamil—because apparently everyone here came with a name tag—gave Till a measured look, his expression unreadable. "...Thank you," he said carefully, like the words cost him something. Then he turned back to Kalim, his tone shifting into something more exasperated. "And you need to be more careful."
"I know, I know!" Kalim laughed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"Furry miscreant!"
A new voice rang out, cold and imperious. Till's attention snapped toward a short boy with bright red hair, his expression twisted into something between rage and self-righteousness. He pointed a pen—’why a pen?’—at Grim, his eyes blazing.
"I will abide no rule-breaking. You will be judged by my hand!"
"Off With Your Head!"
A flash of light, and suddenly there was a collar around Grim's neck. Heart-shaped. Locked tight.
Grim pawed at it frantically, his earlier bravado crumbling into panic. "MYAH?! What are you doing?!" The redhead—Riddle, his brain supplied from earlier—looked down at Grim with icy disdain. "The Queen of Hearts' Rule 23: 'One must never bring a cat to a formal affair.' Your very presence here is a violation of order. You will vacate these premises immediately."
"But I ain't a cat either!" Grim's voice pitched higher, desperation seeping in. "Don't try to collar me! I'll burn it right off! Huh...?"
Grim tried.
Oh he tried.
But nothing happened.
No flames. No sparks. Nothing.
"Wh-what gives?!" Grim's voice cracked, his paws scrabbling uselessly at the collar. "My fire ain't workin'!"
Riddle's smile was thin and cruel, mocking. "Until I deign to remove that collar, you won't be using any magic. You're naught but a pet cat now."
"M-meoWHAT?!" Grim's shriek was ear-piercing. "I ain't nobody's pet-NOTHING!"
The collar, the way Grim thrashed and clawed and screamed because something had been taken from him, stripped away without consent, leaving him powerless and small and—
Till's hand flew to his own neck, fingers digging into the skin above his collarbone where his brand sat like a scar that would never fade. His breaths came faster, shallower, his vision tunneling as the room spun around him.
It's the same..
It's the same it's the same it's the same—
“Till?”
Yuu's voice cut through the static in his head, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater—muffled, distant, wrong. Till's fingers dug harder into his neck, nails scraping against the sensitive skin where his brand sat. The phantom ache of a collar burned there, tight and suffocating, even though there was nothing around his throat anymore.
But Grim's collar was right there, locked around the little creature's neck, and the way he thrashed and clawed at it, the way his voice cracked with desperation—
“Ha-HA! Good show as always, Riddle!” A smooth, calculating voice broke through Till's spiraling thoughts. The silver-haired boy's head snapped up, his teal eyes wide and unfocused as they landed on a new figure—a boy(Azul, if he remembers correctly..) with hair similar to his own and a pair of glasses. His smile was too wide, too pleased, almost predatory. “Your signature spell locks down any magic. It's really quite handy! I've just GOT to have it—ah, I mean, I've just got to have respect for it!”
Oh. Oh this guy was a manipulative asshole, huh–
Crowley rounded on them before Till’s thoughts could continue– because of COURSE this asshole had to, why the fuck not, right?! His cape billowed dramatically behind him as he stomped his way over, pointing an accusing finger at both him and Yuu. Oh, how Till wanted to break that damn finger– “You two! Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar? Now discipline your—”
“I've told you repeatedly that it isn't mine! BOTH of us have!” Yuu's voice was sharp, frustrated, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Till had never heard the brunette sound so angry before.
Though to be fair, Till hadn't really known the boy all that long, so he definitely wasn't the best person to judge the guy's character with how little he knew him. But….Yuu had been rather kind and patient throughout the little amount of time the two had with each other. He saved Till multiple times, provided him with comfort, stayed right by his side despite how fucked he is..
But this isn't Till complaining.
Oh, no, not at all! Actually, the sight of Yuu yelling at Crowley like this was beyond satisfying to see.
Till couldn't help but grin like a little devil, chuckling lowly under his breath in delight.
Crowley paused, tilting his head like a confused bird, before sputtering in embarrassment. If it weren't for the mask, the silver-haired male is more than sure the man's face would be red. “Oh...i-is that so..?” He straightened up, brushing invisible dust off his cape with exaggerated nonchalance and clearing his throat. “Then I shall have it expelled from campus! I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but I AM kind!” Then he waved a dismissive hand, not even bothering to look at Grim even once. “Someone take this thing away, please!”
Two students moved forward, grabbing Grim his tiny arms and dragging him out. The creature thrashed, yowling and spitting curses, quite literally going kicking and screaming. “Nooooo, let me gooooo! You fools better remember my name, cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!!!”
And then he was gone, dragged through the doors and out of sight.
The chamber fell into an uncomfortable silence.
Till's hand finally dropped from his neck, trembling. His palm was sweaty, and he could feel the indent of his nails in his skin. He stared at the doors where Grim had disappeared, his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts that just wouldn't stop.
“I feel kind of sorry for him…” Yuu murmured beside him, his voice soft and uncertain.
Till's jaw clenched. He wanted to snap at Yuu, tell him not to waste his sympathy on that annoying furball. But the words wouldn't come. Because he felt it too—that uncomfortable twist in his gut, that sick sense of wrongness.
Grim was obnoxious, sure. Arrogant and loud and annoying. But he didn't deserve...that.
Nobody did.
He and the others hadn't, so…
Crowley clapped his hands together, the sharp sound making Till flinch. “Well! That was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded! Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms.” He paused, scanning the room with a thoughtful hum. “Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia anywhere, though…”
The boy with lion ears let out an indignant scoff, his arms crossed over his chest and head lolled to the side lazily. "And that surprises you? Dude's a total recluse."
Kalim's voice rang out soon after, a frown replacing his previous smile. "Wait a sec...did anyone even invite him?"
The beautiful boy sighed, his tone dripping with exasperation, rolling his violet eyes. "If you're that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself.."
"Maybe, but I don't know him too well either..." Kalim admitted sheepishly.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd again, students whispering to each other in hushed, nervous tones.
“Draconia... Like, Malleus Draconia? THAT Draconia?!”
“So it's true? He really does go to school here?”
“Yikes..!”
“Ah, just as I'd expected.”
A new voice rang out, deep and carrying an odd weight to it, like whoever it belonged to had seen more than any person ever should. Till's gaze snapped toward the source—a short boy with black hair streaked with magenta, hovering a few inches off the ground. Hovering. Like gravity was optional for him, nothing more than a suggestion he had no intention of following.
Till just….wasn’t going to question it anymore, he didn’t have the energy to at this point...
“I figured I'd come down and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance,” the boy continued, his tone casual despite the unsettling way he floated. “But once again, he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony.”
Azul stepped forward, his smile strained. “You have my sincerest apologies. I assure you, this oversight was in no way intended as a snub.”
Riddle nodded stiffly. “I mean, you must admit, he's not exactly the easiest person to strike up a conversation with.”
The floating boy just smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. It was more than clear he didn't care much for the excuses being thrown his way. “No matter. All who were assigned to House Diasomnia, follow me! I just hope he doesn't sulk about this..”
Students began filing out, their voices fading into the distance as they followed their respective housewardens. Till watched them go, his body tense and unmoving, teal eyes following them until they were no longer within sight.
“Well, you two.” Crowley's voice snapped him back to the present. The masked man was looking at them now—at him and Yuu—with something that might have been pity. Or annoyance. It was hard to tell with that stupid mask. “This is a most unfortunate turn of events. I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven College after all.”
Till's stomach dropped.
Not that he wanted to stay here, but—
But where else could he really go..? Where was he supposed to go…?
“Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit students with no magical ability to my academy,” Crowley continued, his tone almost apologetic. Almost. It was mock sympathy, not at all genuine or real. “But worry not! The Dark Mirror will see you safely home.” He gestured grandly toward the mirror. “Now, step up to the mirror, and visualize the place whence you came.”
Home..
What a joke.
Till didn't have a home. He had the Garden, and that was more like a prison than a home. With Mizi, Ivan, and the others maybe, but…but that ‘home’ was long gone, now..
Yuu stepped forward first, and Till followed suit, his legs moving on autopilot.
"O Dark Mirror! Return these souls to where they belong!"
The mirror's surface rippled.
And then...nothing.
Not a damn thing.
Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly. "L-let us, er...try this again! O Dark Mirror! Return these soul—"
“There is no such place,” the mirror interrupted, its voice echoing through the chamber.
Crowley froze, absolutely stupefied. “Eh—?”
“There is no place in this world where these souls belong." The mirror's tone was final, absolute. “None.”
Till had expected this. He was technically dead, a being that should not be, so of course he didn't belong.
No place.
Nowhere.
Of course. Of course there wasn't.
“What did you say?” Crowley sputtered, his composure cracking. “That is unbelievable! Hmm, well...the unbelievable has been on parade today..” He turned to Yuu, then to Till, his yellow eyes narrowing behind his mask. “This has never happened throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am at something of a loss.”
He stepped closer, looming over them. “Tell me: From what land do you two hail?”
Yuu answered first, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. “I'm from Japan..”
Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “I'm afraid I am not familiar with such a place..”
Then his gaze shifted to Till, golden eyes looking at him expectantly.
“I…” His voice cracked. What was he even supposed to say? He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak. “I don't know..” It wasn't a lie. Not really. He didn't know where he was from originally—just where he'd been kept.
Crowley sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose(the nose of his mask? My brother in christ, what are you doing, what are you pinching?!) and shaking his head. “I am intimately acquainted with the origins of every student who has ever come here, and yet…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I hate to say, but your situation eludes me..”
He turned toward the doors, his cape swishing behind him(dramatic motherfucker–). “Let us go to the library and look it up, shall we?”