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Two seats away, a Scarabia student is tapping their pencil repeatedly against the desk.
Malleus is imagining reaching over and snapping it.
His own pencil lays stationary next to his test paper. He finished the test within thirty minutes, with still another twenty left to spare. A few other students have finished as well, but most of them remain scribbling away. The classroom is silent. Silent except for the scratching of over a dozen pencils, the ticking of the clock on the wall, Trein's cat purring on top of his desk, muffled voices outside in the hallway, and this irritant who won’t stop his pencil’s damn tapping—
Malleus shows no signs of his building agitation on his face. To anyone brave enough to look his way, he looks elegantly bored.
Inwardly, he’s grinding his teeth and playing out the scenario in his head: how easy it would be to reach over and grab the Scarabia student’s pencil, wood snapping in his hand. No, he wouldn’t even need to break the pencil—a new scenario takes shape in his head, and he imagines sending the student a sharp glare. The student would stop his incessant tapping immediately, eyes wide and flooding with a familiar cold fear.
Malleus reminds himself that he doesn’t want that. They are scared enough of him already without him giving them an actual reason.
But that pencil—
This happens sometimes. The feeling always seems to take shape out of nowhere. One moment, he’s perfectly fine. The next moment, every little noise or smell or movement grates against his brain like harsh static. Every little thing irritates him, makes his magic sizzle in chest and choke in his throat—pulling and chafing on the ever-present leash he keeps it on. He wants to snarl at the entire room, just for daring to make sound when they breathe.
Be quiet. Knock it off. Go away.
His body itches with the effort it takes to stay still.
When the bell rings, signifying the end of the class period, it feels like a stab of cold iron straight through his brain. It vibrates through him, ricocheting off the walls of his skull. He presses his tongue against one of his upper incisors until he tastes copper, then rises from his seat to exit the classroom with the other students. They part for him as he walks to the door, keeping a reverent—fearful—distance.
He’s appreciative of the space.
He also hates them for it. Suddenly and viciously, with an intensity he usually doesn’t allow.
His magic scratches behind the cage of his ribs. He wants to be alone. He’s annoyed at them for leaving him alone. The hallway is flooded with noise as everyone comes rushing out of their classrooms—thundering footsteps, overlapping voices, slamming lockers. Loud, loud, loud. Malleus weathers it all and doesn’t flinch, even as the storm in his head threatens to shatter the castle windows.
It won’t, of course. He isn’t twenty-eight anymore.
There’s a flash of familiar pale green in his peripheral vision. Malleus gets a half-second warning, his heart dropping—
“MY LEIGE! OUT OF MY WAY, HUMANS!”
The loud voice pierces through the boisterous din of the hallway—and through Malleus’ brain.
Malleus’s teeth dig sharply into his inside cheek, the sting of pain suppressing his instinctive flinch. Sebek is striding through the crowd like he commands them, no concern for the people in his path in his single-minded focus on reaching him.
Malleus was hoping it would be Silver.
Instead, Sebek is the one arriving to escort him to his final class of the day. Only logical, since his fifth period is only a corridor down from Malleus’s—though Malleus still maintains his chagrin that they insist he needs an escort for such a small distance. Or at all, quite frankly, when the entire student body combined still wouldn’t pose a threat to him. Still wouldn’t hold a candle, wouldn’t hold a match, to the power he possesses.
This isn’t over-inflated ego (fuck you, Kingscholar). It’s just fact.
Malleus is deeply appreciative of his underclassman. Sebek is steadfast and loyal, and probably the most dependable person that Malleus knows. He wouldn’t wish for anyone else at his side, and he truly enjoys the younger boy’s company.
However. There are some times when he is simply too much.
This is one of those times.
Right now, when every little noise makes his magic want to lash out and break something—every little pause threatens to turn his tongue sharp and mean—he wishes it was Silver instead. Or even Lilia. Though the older fae chatters constantly, he also always seems to know when Malleus needs silence.
“Sebek,” Malleus says, calmly like his magic isn’t battering at its prison bars. “Shouting at the other students is unnecessary.”
Sebek’s eyes widen as he stops in front of him. “Of course! I apologize.”
He’s lowered his voice so he’s no longer shouting. It’s still several volumes louder than it needs to be.
Malleus has flight class for his sixth period. The two of them begin walking toward the castle's east doors, toward the pitch. His hopes that his companion won’t feel need to make conversation are quickly dashed, as Sebek almost immediately begins shooting off questions to him. How has his school day been? Did he eat enough at lunch? How was Trein’s test? Has anyone been bothering him?
Malleus obliges him and answers each one. His day has been well. Yes, he had a good lunch. The test was rather easy. No one has bothered him. If his replies are a bit shorter than usual, Sebek doesn’t seem to find it odd. He keeps talking as they walk, and Malleus finds himself curling and uncurling his fingers. A locker slams to his left. A group of freshmen are staring at him. The air is becoming thin, and by the Seven won’t Sebek be quiet?
Someone laughs loudly. Malleus winces.
Just the slightest crack in his countenance, but Sebek zeroes in on it instantly. “Malleus-sama! What is wrong?! Are you in pain?!”
Malleus clenches his teeth. He tastes blood in his mouth from his front incisors. “I am fine,” he tells him, but strain has disrupted his level tone. Agitation roars in his ears. Be quiet, be quiet, leave me alone.
His fingers slip just a millimeter on the reins of his magic.
Feet away, another locker slams.
Malleus flinches, and thunder cracks outside the castle window.
He thinks he sees the students around him react in surprise. Turning around at the sudden clash, a storm gathering out of nowhere in the afternoon's clear skies. Sebek, too—but Malleus is no longer paying his surroundings much attention. He can’t, his slipping control igniting a choking panic in his chest. Cold fear and hot frustration, coalescing and thinning the air.
“Malleus-sama,” Sebek says, his eyes wide and worried. They move between Malleus’s face and the flash of lightning outside the window. “This storm is… What…”
There’s a roaring in his ears, drowning out Sebek’s voice. Drowning out the rest of the corridor. Anger bursts behind his ribcage. Be quiet, he thinks again with a snarl, his hands curling into fists and nails digging into his palms. I can’t stand you, all you do is talk, you’re insufferable—
Thunder crashes again, louder this time and rattling the windows. Malleus flinches, but it’s like a feedback loop—the noise only worsens his distress, but his worsening distress only worsens the thunder. He wants to cover his ears and curl up in a ball. He wants to tug at his hair. He wants to scream. But he can’t do that, can’t ever do that—
He is Malleus Draconia—
The air is cold. His breath ghosts white in front of him.
Ice.
No, no, no, no—
A hand touches his shoulder.
Malleus jerks back. The contact is like harsh static, even over the fabric of his school uniform. Another sense to assault him, to light up his nerves with a rush of feedback he can’t process. Too loud, too bright, too warm, too much.
It isn’t the first time this has happened. A sudden sharp and random anger at every light, every noise, every pause in the air. But it’s never been like this. Bursting from its cage before he can rein it back in, force it down and box it back up in a small space behind his ribs.
He doesn’t want Sebek to notice.
He wants Sebek to notice.
He needs to leave. He needs to get away. He’s going to hurt someone. He always hurts someone, and then they will hate him. They will look at him in fear, the way the palace staff did as they thawed from the ice, soaked and shivering with lips tinged blue; the way his nanny did as she cradled her burnt hands. The way Grandmother does sometimes when she thinks Malleus isn’t looking.
The way they all already do, but this time there will be a reason, when he has fought himself with every breath to not give them one—
Thunder crashes again outside. Lightning strikes the window.
Glass blows inward, shards flying through the air. Several people scream, a sharp and awful sound, throwing their hands up to shield themselves. Lightning strikes again in response, as Malleus flinches and lets out a hiss.
“Malleus-sama! You must calm down!”
Shut up!
Malleus tears himself around and runs from the room.
Sebek shouts after him.
He wants to teleport away. To let his body go up in emerald flames and be carried somewhere quiet and dark and safe. But fire magic is delicate—volatile, easily reactive—and he fears what might result if he calls on it in his current state. A spark could become a blaze. A flame could become an inferno.
(Who cares? Let them burn. What does it matter so long as they finally shut up?)
He moves without any clear direction besides away from people. Rushes through the hallways, a dizzying knife-sharp flood of sensory input. Ice beneath his feet. Heat at his fingers. Storm raging outside, crashing loudly and violently against the castle walls.
Someone knocks into him. A cry of pain.
Malleus ducks into a classroom. He doesn’t know what classroom—doesn’t know which wing of the school he’s even in anymore—just spots the whiteboard and empty desks. No one else inside.
Alone. Finally.
Malleus gives into the storm in his head.
Not completely. He’ll never be able to completely. The curse of being Malleus Draconia. If he were to ever let go completely, to surrender to the silent storm raging almost twenty-four seven inside his chest—then his magic would devastate this entire castle, this entire island. Lightning and ice and flame, brought upon everyone around him like a calamity.
But he lets himself give into the urge to sink down, to pull his knees into his chest and curl his body around them. His back against the classroom wall, he squeezes his eyes shut tight and presses his face against the top of his knees. Rocking slightly, as he tries to calm his too-quick breaths.
His fingers itch. He digs them into his hair and pulls at it to soothe the feeling.
Seven, what is wrong with him? Why is he like this?
Ice covers the floor beneath him. He can feel it seeping through his clothes. His magic automatically regulates his body temperature, preventing him from feeling the cold; but he can tell the room is freezing by the visible mist of his breath in front of him. Lightning flashes through the sky outside with a harsh crack.
Malleus flinches. A quiet whine escapes from between his clenched teeth, as he tries to focus on the breathing techniques Lilia taught him as a child.
Where is Lilia? Malleus wants him.
(He wants Lilia. Why isn’t Lilia here? Grandmother said he isn’t allowed to hang around Lilia so much, but she won’t explain why and he doesn’t care! He wants Lilia, he wants Lilia, he wants Lilia—)
“—leus! Malleus!”
A whistle pierces the air right in front of him, cutting sharply through the hysterical spiral of his thoughts.
Malleus jerks back with a snarl, eyes wide. His horns smack against the wall behind him. Teeth bared, as magic sparks from the pen clipped inside his jacket pocket—a burst of cold through the classroom, followed by a shrill yelp.
“Ahhh, shit! Ow, ow, critical hit, fuck—!”
Malleus flinches at the voice. Too close. Too loud.
“Dude, I’m s-so under-leveled for this. Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Hey, Malleus? C-Can you maybe ch-chillax and stop using shockwave hack for a sec? I don-don’t have the HP for this, man!”
Malleus blinks. The rush of words make no sense to his brain.
He tries to focus on the face in front of him. Not the one he wants. Not Lilia. (Where is Lilia? He wants Lilia.) Not Sebek either. The face in front of him is pale, with wild hair like blue flames. Amber eyes, with eyelashes that are crusted with frost. Lips that are turning blue—
“…Shroud? What are you doing here?”
“Currently? F-Freezing! C-Could you kn-knock it off with the ice, man? Ser-Seriously!”
Ice?
Oh, right. He’s freezing the room.
Thunder crashes outside the classroom window, causing Malleus to flinch again and snap his hands back over his ears. That’s right—he’s making it violently storm, too. Seven, he hates this, he wants Lilia—
“Whoa, whoa!” Shroud shifts closer to him, the way one might inch closer to a cornered animal or a live grenade. Malleus tries to scoot back, but just smacks his horns against the wall again. He wants to snarl at Shroud for his stupidity. To grab him by the shoulders and press until his bones break and crush into powder. Why is he trying to get closer? Why isn’t he going away? Malleus could kill him.
Leave me alone.
Please don’t go.
He squeezes his eyes shut as another crack of lightning spits the air.
“Jeez, okay. Telling you to chill out is probs mega useless right now. And irritating, yeah?” Shroud makes a scoffing sound. “Like it’s that simple. Damn neurotypicals.”
“Too loud,” Malleus grits out. His mouth tastes like copper.
“I bet.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Hang on.”
There’s the sound of a zipper. Some quiet ruffling. Then something brushes against his cheek. Malleus flinches back at the touch.
“Fuckin—ow, ow! Just. Here. Take these.”
Something circles his head—gets caught briefly by his horns, and Shroud mutters an irritated swear—then settles over both of his ears. All of the noise, the thunder crashing just outside the classroom windows, becomes instantly muffled. It’s replaced by the calming sound of waves, the gentle brush of a tide against shore.
Malleus frowns. Expression smoothing out slightly, he touches the object now covering his ears. The feel of the cool plastic is soothing against his palms.
Headphones.
He opens his eyes. Idia has backed up slightly, so he’s no longer crowding into Malleus’s space—and no longer in such direct range of his magic's misfire. Ice still coats the entire room, and the Ignihyde housewarden is trembling with frost-bitten skin ten feet away. But his eyes don’t flinch away when Malleus looks at him, uncharacteristically sure and unwavering.
“Better?” he asks. Malleus can barely pick up his voice, muffled and far away even with his superior hearing.
Malleus nods. He curls his fingers around the headphones, sinking into the ambient sound of the waves.
It doesn’t deafen him completely to the storm beyond the castle’s walls—the storm that he is causing. But it’s like a heavy, muffling blanket is dropped over his body. He can filter out the crack of the thunder, the violence of the rain; and focus on the sound being fed directly into his ears.
Malleus sits there with his eyes closed, face resting against the top of his knees, and breathes.
He doesn’t know for how long. It could be for five minutes. It could be for an hour.
Eventually, once his magic is no longer batting at the cage of his ribs, once he can’t feel it like lightning in his veins and his nerves, once he can stop the rocking and the pulling and the digging of his fingernails into his pant leg without wanting to scream, he raises his head and opens his eyes. He becomes aware of his mouth stinging.
Blood on his chin. He’s bitten through his bottom lip and his inside cheek. He reaches up to wipe it on his sleeve, concealing a grimace.
He must look a mess.
Mortification begins to seep in with his awareness.
Shroud is still sitting in the classroom with him. He’s sitting in one of the empty desks now, on the other side of the room. Legs scrunched up with him on the seat, his cell phone balanced on top of his knees. He’s no longer watching Malleus, and is instead tapping the screen with a frenetic energy. Occasionally, his mouth moves as he says something to his phone screen—or yells at it, rather.
The ice around them has begun to thaw. Malleus lifts his hands to his ears, cautiously lifting the headphones. His chest loosens when the crash of thunder doesn’t immediately assault his ears again, and he lets the headphones settle around his neck.
He swallows, tasting the copper on his tongue. He gives himself a moment to gather what pieces of his mask he can find, to reconstruct them into the closest imitation of his usual calm he can manage.
“…What are you playing.”
He means it to be a question, but he doesn’t think his voice lands right. Too quiet and flat.
Shroud startles in his desk chair, yelping. His phone unbalances, and he fumbles to catch it before it hits the icy floor. “No, no, no, you overgrown lizard!”
Malleus blinks. The familiar insult, spoken in a voice so different from the smug and lazy drawl that usually delivers it, briefly disorients him.
It's followed immediately by a burst of offense. How dare—
From the phone clutched tightly in Shroud’s hands, a depressing musical tone plays. The word DEFEAT! appears across the screen in large capital letters.
“Nooo!” Shroud says, shaking the device. “No! I just reached Diamond Rank, dammit! This stupid lizard, I hate him so much—why does he have so many buffs?! Why?! I’m super leveled, and still, this stupid reptile bitch won’t—”
Oh. He’s not talking about Malleus.
Malleus grimaces at the loudness of his voice.
Amber eyes flick up from the phone screen. Some sort of emotion passing over his face, Shroud cuts off his ranting mid-sentence. “Ah, sorry.” He presses a button and the screen goes dark. “W-What’d you say?”
His voice is quieter now. He directs his gaze somewhere just slightly to the right of Malleus’s face.
Malleus does the opposite, meeting the other boy’s eyes directly with his own. “What are you playing?” he repeats, aiming for slightly more inflection this time. “It’s a game, isn’t it?”
Shroud blinks. “Uh. Uh, y-yeah. It’s an open-world ARPG. F2P in the app store, but there are lots of totally cool add-ons you can purchase to get extra EXP and max your stats for boss fights.”
Malleus stares at him blankly, because was that English?
“Ugh, just—look, let me show you!”
Next thing Malleus knows, Shroud has moved from the desk feet away and is suddenly right next to him, sitting himself down on the floor beside him. Malleus balks at the sudden intrusion of his space—as the Ignihyde housewarden pushes into his personal bubble, no hesitation or consideration, in a way only Lilia has ever dared. As if he wasn’t acting utterly petrified of Malleus just a few minutes ago.
As if Malleus didn’t almost turn him into an ice sculpture.
(You have great power, Lilia warns him in his memory. As the palace staff sit around them at the table, still wet and shivering, hesitantly sampling the ice cream in front of them.)
Shroud bumps Malleus’s shoulder, holding his cell phone in front of his face. “Look, I’ll go to New Game Plus and show you. This way I keep my stats. You have to design your avatar first—”
“What’s an avatar?”
“Oh jeez.”
Shroud begins explaining the game to him, walking him through everything he’s doing as he plays. Malleus has to stop him several times when he uses words and phrases he doesn’t understand. Shroud always huffs and rolls his eyes, but he answers each question with a surprising amount of patience.
Lilia plays similar games on his phone sometimes. Malleus has never understood them. But against his will, Shroud’s enthusiastic rambling has ignited his curiosity—and he finds himself drawn in by the colorful animations on the screen.
He doesn’t know for how long they sit like that for, sequestered away in an empty classroom as Idia teaches him all about attack combos and elemental buffs. The storm outside has quieted, calmed to a steady rain that pings rhythmically against the windows. Almost soothing.
The classroom door slams open with a loud bang. “MALLEUS-SAMA!”
Idia yelps loudly, fumbling his phone again. Malleus just blinks, looking up.
Sebek stands there in front of them, the door open behind him and light pouring in from the hallway. His hair and clothes look ruffled, and he seems slightly out of breath, as if he’s been running. His eyes are wide and frantic.
“There you are! Malleus-sama, please don’t run off like that again!”
“Sebek,” Malleus says. “I apologize. I was merely trying to mitigate the damage of my magic by getting away from everyone. I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”
“Malleus is fine, dude,” Idia says looking exasperated. “Seriously, I’m the one who nearly got game over'd.”
The fae prince frowns guiltily. Most of it is thawed by now, but he can still see the vestiges of frost clinging to Idia’s uniform. The melting ice beneath the soles of his shoes.
Sebek puffs up indignantly. “Wha—WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK FOR MALLEUS-SAMA?! AND TO ADDRESS HIM SO INFORMALLY!”
“Jeez. Yell a bit louder, would you? I don’t think the entire island heard you.”
“Sebek,” Malleus repeats, when he sees the younger boy open his mouth to continue yelling. “Take a breath. Calm down.”
Sebek snaps his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth. He does as he’s been told.
“Are you really okay?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes,” says Malleus.
“But—what was that? What happened?”
Malleus says nothing. His previous mortification, creeping back in, as well as a lack of understanding of his own humiliating and childish behavior, freezes his vocal chords and traps his own voice.
Idia glances at him, then looks to Sebek. “He had a small meltdown,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “No big deal. It happens.”
Does it? Malleus thinks.
He’s certain that’s wrong. He’s wrong, somehow—defective and faulty, and not just in the fae-among-humans sense that Lilia often experiences too. And this time, he let everybody around him see it. Threw a tantrum and blew up, over nothing, over a pencil.
(Over a birthday dinner. Because Grandmother promised to be there, but she wasn’t, she lied—)
“Was anyone hurt?” Malleus asks. His fingers curl around the headphones around his neck without realizing, pressing against cool plastic.
Sebek shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. But you froze the entire East Wing.”
Idia releases an impressed whistle.
He feels a flood of relief, at the same time that he feels a heavy sinking in his stomach. No one was hurt. But still, such incredible damage—the castle left with jagged, raw wounds, and the students screaming and fleeing in terror. It doesn’t matter that single spark of his magic will be able to make it all good as new—better than new.
They will fear him even more now.
Malleus stands up, ignoring whatever feeling is pressing on his ribcage. It’s unimportant. It’s an annoyance. It’s childish. “I should go fix it. Sebek, you should go to your class. You’re already late.”
Sebek protests, “But my liege!”
“I don’t need an escort. And you don’t need another detention.”
Malleus doesn’t mean it as a reprimand—just a fact. Sebek just finished a week of detention with Crewel, he doesn’t need to be given more. Still, Sebek seems to take it as one.
“I was just doing my job as your retainer!”
“I know,” Malleus placates. “It’s appreciated.”
“If ANY of the professors take issue with that—!”
“Sebek.”
The two of them are leaving the classroom when Malleus recalls the headphones still around his neck, his hands still gripping them. He pulls them off and turns back.
“Shroud. I believe these belong to you.”
Idia is still sitting in the same spot on the floor. He’s resumed the game on his phone, but blinks and looks back up when Malleus speaks. He looks at the headphones the Diasomnia housewarden is holding out to him.
“Keep them,” Idia says after a moment. “For if things get loud again.”
Malleus stares for a couple seconds, a curious feeling of warmth in his chest. He thinks of how the boy in front of him approached him and tried to calm him down—despite the clear fear Malleus could hear in his voice, as Malleus’s magic fought to defend like he was an invader. How he stepped into the eye of the storm with him, something only Lilia has ever dared do for him.
“Are you sure?” Malleus asks.
Idia shrugs. “Yeah. I’ve got like five other pair, so.” He looks back down at his phone screen and resumes his game.
Malleus lowers his arm. “Thank you,” he tells him.
“Whatev. Just don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“What reputation?”
“Exactly.”
Malleus smiles. He turns his back on Idia again, who has now completely disregarded him in favor of his game. As he exits the classroom, the headphones are a smooth and solid weight in his hand.
He places them back around his neck.