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Leona Kingscholar is unnecessary.
This might be the core of his being, hammered repeatedly into his head starting from before he could form his own thoughts.
He was such a resilient child. He tried anyway, he honed his magic, defense was boring but its principles came on oh-so easily! A feathered hand with filed down claws would brush through his “mane” and a voice just starting to get accustomed to it’s constant raspiness would praise his efforts and his mind.
It praised him for every subject he mastered, every concept he brought forth to his tutors and practiced on nearly his own which the standard curriculum wouldn’t have shoved in his face until half a decade later.
That was a bit of assurance he grew to despise. Then what are they teaching the common folk? He had asked. How can we be great if our people can’t grow to be? Kifaji would lower his head as the prince’s face smushed into his abdomen, smiling proudly but quietly as he had to treat the boy with reverence past what came to him naturally.
And when he spoke, naive as the cub he was, to his father about everything he could change, what he would change when he'd rule, the king too smiled indulgently. But only until he was maybe… eight.
After that point, he would gesture to his first son if he were present and tell him that the older boy would be king.
...
Leona Kingscholar is weak.
Farena had known such since his younger brother could walk. Ignorant as he was, he often batted at the other too harshly without meaning to and knocked the second prince over before the he was steady on his feet.
He hummed for the cub days after he’d been born, sad that he couldn’t purr like the maid. Still, the little prince was observed to be calmer around the sound and scent of the heir.
The crown prince learned gentleness. Or maybe just the limits on how often or hard he could play until it was too much for one of them.
He teased Leona about things he’d learned because I learned that five years ago while the smaller one hadn’t developed a sense of independent logic yet. He would lay completely still on his bed when their father was busy and after he grew sick, and let the cub “sneak up” on him and pounce, always startling so exaggeratedly he once threw the other off his bed.
The boy’s knee hit the floor too hard, bled a little bit. And he bawled way too hard about it for way too much time.
The then six year old prince fell asleep on the very same bed half an hour later, his big brother chuffing in sympathy and rubbing his cheek against the little shoulder.
...
Leona Kingscholar is dangerous.
It was frustration that brought forth the power.
At twelve, he'd grown tired of fighting and the effort of the many had extinguished the fire he'd kept alive with determination alone.
No matter what he'd show for his work, no matter how far beyond the average he operated, it was never enough. They never listened.
Farena tried to keep him engaged, but the other grew to despise the attempts. The advisors, the nobles whispered about how stubborn they both were. Their king, so good-natured running after his little brother when he had duties, so kind and such a benevolent ruler and beastman. The prince, with nasty manners and too-far reaching ideas, with such a great life with his big brother opening every path for him, filling his hands with gold and cards to do whatever he might like. How ungrateful when everyone else dreamed of a resemblance of everything the ruler near ran after him with like a merchant with a lukewarm deal.
King's Roar is helplessness and irritation and I will make you hear me.
He'd been sat in front of homework. So easy and simple he would've finished it in fifteen minutes maximum if he'd been motivated or even just neutral on it.
But his head was droning on the same sentiments in all the different voices and cadences of everyone except Farena he'd ever known and his pencil hadn't moved in over an hour.
The wood had started to creak when a wave of rage (?) washed over him anew.
Why does he try so hard to convince everyone so much, it's sinister.
He won't ever be king, I wouldn't want someone so unbalanced as a prince anyway, let alone as King.
How lazy he's become, he could never deserve the throne.
"Shut. Up." He'd told himself, but the tears and the whimper escaped anyway.
This time, there was no Farena one to console bother him.
Leona'd rubbed them away fervently, one bit of moisture clinging to the tip of the pencil. He'd wanted it and everyone who talked like that gone.
Heat flared under the armour of his ribcage and the room grew dry, the tears dissolved into the air.
The prince had sat still as everything slowly fell apart around him, sitting down on the floor when the chair grew unstable.
Even the King himself would never get his hands on the numbness befalling him now. This was something he couldn't have. The voices in the hallway didn't matter, the expensive, enchanted tapestries which held back the heat didn't matter as they unravelled.
He couldn't feel the hurt now.
Leona rocked back and forth, arms around his knees. This is the happiest he will ever get.
Of course it was Farena who saved the castle wing from further destruction when he waded through the sand, losing his crown on the way and leaving it in the little dune that'd been the desk and homework.
The prince had scrambled back in the farthest corner when his big brother came closer. He'd wanted to tell him to stay back when he opened his mouth. Instead, he thinks he squealed like a scared cub.
It was the King's voice who ordered the servants, the nobles to go. Once and calm for the former, louder and teeth bared for the latter who wanted to keep watching the second time.
The spell had halted when Farena was halfway across the room.
It's owner had pounced into his protector's arms. "You're okay..." Who checked his brother first before pulling him close entirely, chuffing in his relief and to comfort. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, so sorry..."
That was by no means the first time he'd broken down and fallen asleep in his brother's arms afterward. But it was the last time for the next eight years.
...
Leona Kingscholar is obsolete.
There was a buzz of anxiety permeating through the castle. Farena had been king for years by now, fallen in love with his wife and his first child would soon be greeted by the world.
And the title of crown prince or princess would be theirs by design.
Needless to say, Leona'd climbed up a tree, draped himself over a high branch and waited for apathy to ease his way into sleep.
But his ears kept turning toward the room where Malkia undoubtedly growled her way through another contraction. She was strong as the lions' reputation and her pride would forbid her to scream should the epidural fail. If she even accepted one.
As a proper mate is obligated to be by instinct, Farena is at her side. Quiet, for once. His boistorous nature supressed by the situation, feeling her pain like a fist around his heart.
This child would mean the end of the prince's hopes of reign.
But now they'd be here to stay. They had to.
They were strong enough, that was certain. Kicked their dad so hard he had a pale lilac bruise on his cheek a month ago. Did that mean the king stopped nuzzling his wife and child? No, not until Malkia hounded him out the room to sleep without cooing keeping her awake. Jokes on that, the kid was comparably calmer with their father than without him.
He should be used to it by now, it being the norm since birth... Leona Kingscholar felt abandoned.
A cry pierced the air when the stars faded behind the glare of the rising sun.
The overwhelming scent of relief told him child AND mother were alive and as well as they could be.
His tail stilled, his mind went silent. His fate is decided.
He is an uncle.
Sleep arrived with the proud roar of a rejoicing ruler.
"I present to you your future King, CHEKA KINGSCHOLAR!"
The crown prince has graced the world, his name etched into the spare's mind as melancholy and relief.
...
Leona Kingscholar is ungrateful.
Farena doesn’t have kind things to say to him anymore. It isn’t like his little brother did things in years now, it is lazy and stupid to expect but Leona is a hypocrite, so he keeps wanting it.
The king is a father now and he is more protective of his child than an angry goose. He always had thick skin no matter how the prince insulted him, no matter how he tried to push him away or hit his chest when he had to cry but didn’t want to lose his face.
Now, that’s over. He deserves it.
Damn it, he’d been ready to let life slip behind the haze of apathy he practiced so much. The mask was eating his face now, he didn’t have anymore to give. Drained without a sip of water in years.
But Cheka can walk, unsteady but he can, and has made it his mission to follow his uncle like an unrelenting chatterbox.
Farena introduced them to each other by name so often whenever the spare showed his face during school breaks his fourth word was an attempt at “Leo”. In other words, he just said “o”. But currently, the thing just calls him “ca” for some reason.
He holds the spare’s leg to keep his balance when he can find him. If the chosen support chooses to walk away, he will scream until he’s allowed to do it. Malkia, tired of not getting a full night’s sleep, just blankly carries him after the deserter until he gives up.
If the Queen so happens to leave him with Leona… He won’t change a nappy. But since the cub learned quickly on where he’s supposed to do it to be an acceptable nap pillow, sleep is okay with the thing. He doesn’t know if it’s because he sleeps in four hour intervals most of the time, but he’s had no issue with being woken until he’d do so on his own anyway.
The growl he so happens to present to a maid who wants to take him to sleep in the parents’ bed in the middle of their nap is just instinctive. It’s got nothing to do with him accepting his fate the cub.
..?..
Leona Kingscholar is cowardly.
When Cheka arrived, the letter to Night Raven had been lying in a cupboard for over half a year.
He ignored it then.
But now he digs it out anew, heart pounding like he’s on a hunt again. But he’s the prey.
He cannot, will not stay in the palace. Everyone is happy. The Queen is recovering well, the crown prince is healthy and Farena’s joy is infectious to all who lay eyes upon him.
Leona watches another resort being built in the newest addition’s honour, copious amounts of water taken from places it was already needed desperately.
One of his worse days, he looked at his nephew thriving and, in his mind’s eye, saw only dozens die in reaction.
When he brings the news he will leave to there, his brother nods in agreement. He looks to the side before he rises from his throne, descends the steps to stand on the same level and hugs the unresponsive form. “I suppose it makes sense, with your potential.” His eyes are furrowed, he doesn’t believe the spare suddenly sees importance in the arguments he made to try get Leona motivated last year. “Good luck. I know you can outdo all of them.” That brought on a hitch of breath when he rubbed his cheek on the shoulder the same way he used to for comfort.
Malkia follows her husband not soon after. “They play spelldrive over there.” She says, and the prince can pretend he doesn’t feel Farena shake once when he meets her eyes. “You could be their champion. Maybe bring down Royal Sword Academy for the first time in 95 years.” With Cheka on her arm, she’s quiet as to not wake the child. “Ruin their streak in your honour.”
With the tiny nod of agreement and the long blink he gives her, it’s a promise.
Finally, the King lets go, and the couple tells him goodbye in unison before he steps into the carriage, feeling a blockage in his throat go free as the coffin lid is closed over him.
“Goodbye, brother, sister.” He hesitates, but there’ll be something else to define him now. “…Goodbye, Cheka.”
?...
Leona Kingscholar is cursed.
It took no more than five minutes for their victory to become mist under the midday sun.
Diasomnia… no, Malleus Draconia, massacred their spirits like a ferret let free in a chicken coop.
He walked off that track with a dejected pride group of players, dirty hair from being thrown off his broom and a familiar sense of helplessness settling back into place.
Two for two, someone received everything by virtue of being born. It was rubbing it in that both of them had been guaranteed the crown by just that.
Born lucky or lucky to be born, was it?
Well, Leona knows what category he belongs in.
As he moved away, head actually lowered for once in his life, his entire pride dorm quietly left the stands.
Someone with a deep voice giggles from in the middle of the pitch. It’s that dainty-looking senior with pink streaks in his hair. The others are all too good for showing emotion for the commoners, he doesn’t have to turn around to know.
And despite this being Cheka’s third year of existence and some nobles and advisors pushed seventy by now, this was the very first time King’s roar itched to sand someone.
HE DIDN’T DO A THING FOR THAT VICTORY AND DARES LAUGH AT ME?
His eyes burned, but he walked up to his room and locked the door, back always to the rest of his pack the students until he was out of sight.
Then he finally turned around and leant his forehead against the door.
Never will he win in spelldrive ever again. Because the fucking lizard came here after he did and he’d always be better because he had centuries and his birth as a dragon fae at his call.
I wish…
…you’d gone bad in your egg.
Instead of apathy, anger took the forefront in his mind. Nothing was ever his own, was it?
No, everything he wanted went to someone else because they were born lucky.
Not because of effort or thought or ANYTHING they could claim came from themselves. It was handed to them, shoved down their throats while others begged for fractions of fractions of relief.
Kifaji said to breathe.
Okay, okay… he was caught unaware. He’d gotten too comfortable having the largest magic pool of the school last year.
Maybe… just maybe... he’s fine?
???
Leona Kingscholar is damned.
Three minutes.
He throws his broom away and stalks off the pitch, the growls of his pack mates teammates echoing in the caverns of his skull. He failed them, he promised them better and he failed.
An only slightly higher chuckle joins the same giggle from last year. That lizard…
YOU EARNED NONE OF WHAT YOU HAVE.
He’s not fine.
No, he wants to sand them all. Watch Draconia choke on his own blood and muscle and sand, all his supposed glory and be just as powerful as he’s earned.
What grows in his chest isn’t so short lived anymore. The roots push through the dirt upward, grow thorns and tangle around his chest like briars.
Hatred, boiling at the front and freezing at the back, goading him to be worse.
He hasn’t used his brain in a while, maybe it’s been time.
Leona steps through the mirror and keeps walking into open ground until no more sound joins the slow herd of people. They sound like a stampede to his hearing already. Not quite as loud as what the King of Beasts set off, but-
It takes shape rapidly now.
He turns around and opens his arms quite like Farena to his kingdom, fangs barred in a smirk.
“I think we’re all sick of the lizard’s unearned victories. Let’s make an end to them, then…” The way they all perk up pushes his delight higher. Not a traitor among his pack. “Now just listen to me and victory is ours…”
!
Leona Kingscholar is traitorous.
Ruggie's arm is in his grip, the hyena squirms as his arm dries out and cracks. He sees tears and for perhaps the first time in his life, he feels powerful, the master of anyone’s fate for once.
"The world doesn't give a flying fuck about any of us." He can't help but laugh at the renewned attempt to escape him as the sophomore twists in his tightening grip. "Nothing will ever change because people get born into their lot. A dirty hyena following a worse disgrace. The story wrote itself."
Suddenly, a heavy weight hits him in the back and the whimper grows quieter with distance, stumbling after a freshman with light green hair.
A collar locks around his neck. With his magic cut off, his emotions swirl and stew on the inside instead.
To think a cub already reaching for powers of destruction would be accepted as king!
Too audacious, trying to reach too far!
No match for...
Until a deep voice pulls them out into the open to massacre before Heartslabyul, too. Nothing quite stands out until... "...thought of you contending with a REAL KING..."
Nobody but those nobles in his youth dared speak to his face that way. He finds the fire under his heart has more to give, magic surging as he falls forward.
His scream is choked by blot forcing it's way up his throat, spilling over his uniform.
The first roar comes from behind him, the only warning before a wave of black splashes over his hair and face, overtaking his eyes.
There is pressure increasing around his body, coarse fur and vibrating bodies and a dozen growls too close to his ears. His last clear memory are to be the characteristic spots of the people he'd meant to help the most as they choke the light away from his world.
!!!
Leona Kigscholar is murderous.
He rises to his feet and roars with his full chest.
If they won't revere him, then they shall fear him and absolutely nobody will be born above him ever again.
He's got the power, now he only needs their terror.
Rosehearts, Vanrouge... none of them are anything to him now, all of them flee the Phantom's jaws.
A sandstorm has kicked off in the dorm, howling it's rage as it's Housewarden laughs his glee into the winds.
The bat is fast, his reflexes sharp, but his power leaves much to be desired from something that should've been thrilling prey by it's taunts. He should have been more than this.
Lions are pack hunters, the bat forgot to watch behind him. One roar behind his back and the fae was blown into Leona's claws.
As the Phantom retook it's place behind it's originator, he pressed the taunter into the sand. "What a King yours is, hm? Leaving you to die, knowing you're here with me." The thrill of knowing he can hold the fae now is near immeasurable. "He who gets all his victories shoved down his throat by virtue of his birth. He just ruins everybody's day because he CAN."
The shudder he feels under his hands is intoxicating. The others' yelling and spells never reaching past the curtains upon curtains of sand as his magic eats it's way through stone and dirt. "Never caring how much agony he will cause just by existing. How many people's future he will steal just by being him!" Ruggie... "Taking everything we need just because it feels good to steal what should be owed to those who EARNED IT!"
The air above him grows dense before it manifests.
Something heavy slams onto his head, his muscles go lax all at once and his prey escapes.
The sky is so, so unbearably blue...
His connection to it snaps seconds later.
There is an unbearable itch along his body, which suddenly turns into a burn of pain as his power all melts off. He can't hear, only feel as his mouth moves.
"...ena..."
...
Leona Kingscholar is beyond useless.
He can't move. That's the first thing he realises when his eyes won't open. It smells of clean sheets, there is steady breathing close to him and a firm hold on his hand.
He's about to panic, unable to move and even his magic is utterly unresponsive, which means his defensive spells are nil, that stupid loud beeping won't leave him alone-
The cold presence of a ghost and the resulting growl next to him return him to Twisted Wonderland again, the noise over his head steadies.
This voice is one he'll always know, in any volume or emotional cadence it may take. The low growl of anger when Leona didn't suceed once for whatever reason and people started gossiping. The chuff of comfort afterwards. The pitch of anxiety when his little brother started to go unresponsive instead of cry or get mad. The roaring cheer when Leona won his first year at NRC or when he could first hold off his tutors' practice attacks with his magic.
His big brother's here, he'll be alright.
There is a warm spot growing on his shoulder as Farena rubs his cheek there. Maybe a few tears are there too. "You have no idea how scared I was... my baby brother overblotted and is stuck in the infirmary without certainty he'd-" That desperate, raw noise escaping his throat is new.
"Why couldn't you just let me protect you? Why does it have to be King you want to be?" There are arms around the spare's waist, a forehead on his stomach like when he was just a little kid napping with a teenager. "You have money, you've got power. Make your own fate."
The prince feels his little finger twitch. "It felt terrible thinking you're just waiting for me to expire like food left in the sun." A teary laugh, and palms kneading the bedding next to Leona's side. "I wish that you could love us the way we love you. You're my brother, Malkia admires your wit and Cheka... sometimes I think that cub would rather be your son with how he keeps chasing after you."
Feeling creeps back into his extremities, like blot fading as he naps. "Don't leave me." That statement shouldn't be spoken by Farena, whom has everyone eating—or not—from the palm of his hand. "Go wherever you want to. Play spelldrive professionally. Be whoever you want to be. I just... I miss the little cub whom clung to my side fifteen years ago..."
His arms respond, finally, reaching for his brother. "You mewl like a domesticated kitten." He says as Farena looks up.
And then he starts bawling like the cub he used to be, might still be, considering how he feels like someone broke a rib out his chest and ran away with it.
The adressed doesn't care a bit, deaf to his insults by now. Foregoing any decorum he should have as a member of royalty, he near pounces on his brother, crushing him against him and rubbing his scent on him with new fervor. "You're alive... you're alive..." He mumbles and Leona for once returns the embrace wholeheartedly, unable to form the words he needs to get out with how he's shaking.
Farena doesn't care, chuffing continously and leaning into Leona's hold. "My perfect little brother." He says, and just doesn't stop. "Strong, clever, needed, wanted, empathetic..."
He sobs for what feels like hours. Even when he smells different magic signatures through the snot running down his face. Ozone and pine, wolf and cold air, roses and new books...
What does he care? He's got his family back.
Yes, that also includes the cub who just jumped on his chest. "UNCA! Papa was so worried and no one's telling me what's-" His father actually tries to pull him away, familiar with the spare's inability to calmly coexist with his hyperactive son.
Leona actually growls and holds his nephew where he landed. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually offers his wrist to Cheka, who eagerly pushes the side of his face into it and sits still when the gland is brushed over his forehead, something Malkia has to fight to get him to do. "You're better now?' He might actually be a hint tentative right now.
And for once, it hurts to even think of denying him. "Uh-huh. Unca's all good."
How has he never noticed how truly bright that cub is? "Oh-oh, does that mean we can play?!" There it is. Cheka bounces on the bed and, consequently considering his current position, his uncle's chest. "Chatterbox."
Predictably as always, "I'm not a box!" And he's got a pouting little one now. Someome assure him this isn't what Farena saw every time Leona came to play or be comforted.
He only notices because the scent of old leather and dandelions clued him in, ears already pricked, that laugh that's become annoyingly familiar instead of familiar and annoying. "...shihihihi..."
Right. The one person he would perhaps get low enough to apologise to without being told to do so right now. He probably should be doing so on his knees considering just what he's done, but that's too much again.
Currently, he just wants to hold onto his brother.
Really, the King might have two sons, by how he now watches both of them with such unbearably gentle eyes. Leona finds the words. "You would've listened all along."
He nods. "Yes, I would have."
Two people. "I'm sorry."
Cheka is confused, the brothers are laughing and crying at once and when Malkia finally makes her way from greeting some other highborn visitors of the college, she joins to hold the two princes as well.
He'll talk to Ruggie soon.
Maybe the hyena will conclude the blackmail he got out of watching this (until a certain stern-eyed Queen came by) a nice enough sidedish that he won't demand the spare's entire wallet and six monthly allowances worth of thaumarks.
Two-hundred. His entire pack deserves his apology.