Work Text:
Sebek is out in the backyard of Lilia's humble cottage, doing his best to lift his sword from the ground with only magic, while Silver is sitting to the side under the shade of a tree with some of the forest animals around him, occasionally almost nodding off "ARGH! WHY WON'T IT WORK?!" He groans with a frustrated tone as he does his best to concentrate on lifting the sword. His attention was ripped away from the sword as he hears Malleus talking with Lilia from the front of the cottage.
"Waka-sama! He's here!"
He whispers with a slightly excited tone as he rounds the corner to the front of the house where his mentor's sitting with the teen prince and Sebek's uncle, Volya.
Sebek froze in place for a moment before clearing his throat as he rushes over to them, not having expected for his adoptive uncle to be here at the same time as them for once.
He practically skids to a halt, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust as he reaches Volya. The stern, military posture he maintains for Malleus and Lilia softens instantly, though he remains upright and proud. His yellow-green eyes widen with a spark of genuine joy, his chest swelling with pride at the mere sound of that voice. Without a second of hesitation, he lunges forward to take the offered hand, gripping it with a strength that is perhaps a bit too much for a greeting, though his expression is one of pure devotion.
"Volya-sama! You have come for me!" he declares, his voice still booming, though the harsh edge he uses for his training is replaced by an eager, youthful energy. He looks up at the taller man, his fangs showing in a wide, beaming grin. For a moment, the frustration of his failed magic practice is completely forgotten, replaced by the intoxicating feeling of being the center of Volya's attention.
From the porch, Lilia watches the exchange with a small, unreadable smile, his chin resting in his hand. He lets out a soft, humming sound, his magenta eyes drifting from the boy to his son. The air between the two adults remains heavy, a thick curtain of silence that Sebek is too blinded by affection to notice. Beside him, Malleus tilts his head, observing the interaction with a quiet, scholarly curiosity, as if trying to decipher the specific bond between the boy and the auburn-haired man.
"You are early!" Sebek adds, his voice ringing out. He doesn't let go of Volya's hand, instead leaning in slightly, as if unconsciously trying to shield the man from the proximity of the others. He casts a quick, sharp glance back toward Lilia, though it is more of a habit of discipline than a challenge. He wants to impress Volya, to show him that he has been working tirelessly, even if the sword is still lying flat on the grass in the backyard.
"I was just in the middle of my magic training, but I shall be ready to depart immediately!" He turns his head slightly, shouting over his shoulder toward the trees. "SILVER! STOP SLUMBERING AND ASSIST ME WITH MY EQUIPMENT!" Silver, startled from his nap, blinks slowly and lets out a long, tired sigh, beginning to stand up with a lethargic stretch while a few birds flutter away from his shoulders.
Volya's expression cooled slightly as Sebek's head turned away, looking at the human boy- Lilia's new son- As he woke from the magical slumber.
Silver meanwhile locked eyes with Volya and let out a small gasp, eyes widening in wonder and shyly waving at the older fae, as if incapable of registering the hostility towards him, Silver's small cheeks flushed in childish giddiness.
Volya didn't let go of Sebek's hand, slightly pulling him towards him instead. He wasn't ever on board with the idea of Lilia training the boy, he begged Baur to let him do it instead, but no...
Sebek feels the slight tug on his hand and immediately mirrors the movement, stepping closer to Volya until his shoulders nearly brushes the older fae's hip. He is acutely sensitive to the shift in the man's mood, sensing the sudden coolness that descends over the auburn-haired fae. While the boy doesn't fully grasp the depths of the hatred Volya harbors for Lilia, he recognizes the possessive pull and welcomes it with everything he has. He leans into the proximity, his chest puffing out as if to declare that his loyalty in this moment belongs solely to the man holding his hand.
Silver, still half-lost in the fog of sleep, manages a clumsy, hopeful wave. His voice is soft, barely a whisper compared to Sebek's roar. "Hello, Volya-sama..." he murmurs, his eyes shining with a genuine, innocent admiration. He sees the beauty in the man's flowing red hair and the poise of his stature, completely oblivious to the fact that his very existence is a reminder of the abandonment that poisons Volya's heart. The young boy remains where he is, looking like a frightened deer, waiting for a sign of approval that will not come.
Lilia's gaze narrows slightly as he notices the way Volya pulls Sebek away. The mentor speaks, his voice light and playful, yet carrying the weight of a commander's authority. "Now, now, Volya. Do not be so hasty to pluck the boy from his lessons. He still has much to learn regarding his focus. His magic was... lacking this afternoon." Lilia gives a mischievous little chuckle, knowing exactly how to poke at the pride of both the pupil and the protector.
The mention of his failure sends a jolt through Sebek. His grip on Volya's hand tightens reflexively. He snaps his head toward Lilia, his expression a mixture of shame and fierce determination. He cannot bear the thought of Volya seeing him as weak or insufficient in his training.
"I WILL NOT BE LACKING!" Sebek bellows, his voice echoing across the yard. He looks back up at Volya, his yellow-green eyes searching the man's face for any sign of disappointment, his gaze pleading for validation. He doesn't want the praise of the Prince or the approval of the mentor in this second; he only wants Volya to believe that he is strong enough to be worthy of the affection he's been given. "I shall double my efforts tomorrow! I will lift that sword with a single thought! You will see, Volya-sama!"
A wave of anger seemed to wrap around Volya's head, shoulders squaring and chin up, he frowned at Lilia's choice of words towards the young child, words that he would've never used with Silver.
"It is never the student's fault if they fail to cast a spell, he is still learning" He answers, failing to keep the protective growl out his tone as he placed his free hand on Sebek's shoulder. "He is not to be rushed, you seem to forget we are not at war anymore, general."
Lilia's expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something more pensive. He lets out a slow sigh, his shoulders dropping an inch as he considers the point. The reminder of his former title as General seems to hang in the air, a ghostly echo of a time when discipline was the only currency that mattered. He looks at Sebek, really looks at the small, determined face of the boy, and for a fleeting moment, the hardness of the mentor softens into that of a guardian. He realizes that in his drive to make Sebek a paragon of strength, he may have forgotten the fragility of the age he is dealing with.
"Hmph. Perhaps you are correct, Volya," Lilia concedes, though his voice remains light, masking the internal shift. He waves a hand dismissively, though there is no real malice left in the gesture. "A soldier's heart is forged in fire, but the metal must not be melted entirely. Very well. Sebek, you are dismissed for the day. Go with your uncle before he decides to carry you away by force."
At the word 'dismissed,' Sebek practically vibrates with energy. He doesn't need to be told twice. He quickly turns to Silver, who is now standing a few feet away, holding Sebek's training gear with a sleepy, confused expression. Sebek snatches the bag from Silver's hand with a triumphant huff, though he manages a small, awkward nod of thanks toward the older boy. He is too swept up in the victory of the moment to be truly polite, his mind already racing toward the journey home with Volya.
"I shall return tomorrow with twice the vigor!" Sebek shouts back to Lilia, though he is already stepping backward, keeping his eyes locked on Volya as if afraid the man might vanish if he looks away. He clings to Volya's hand again, his voice dropping to a much softer, almost shy tone that he only ever uses in private. "Volya-sama... did you see? I was almost there! I could feel the sword moving just a little bit!"
"Yes, dear, do not worry, I will help you cast it better once we're back, I'm so proud of you." He squeezed Sebek's hand as he sweet talked the boy. Maybe if he did enough, Sebek won't want to go back to this dreadful cottage nor see Lilia ever again.
Volya turns to leave with the child, demeanor softening visibly and stepping right besides Malleus as he walked away from the cottage, passing by him in satisfaction at the fact that Sebek never acknowledged the prince once. Failing to notice that Malleus's gaze lingered on him with longing, as well as Silver's way back, and Lilia's darkened at the shameless display of possessiveness towards the child.
Sebek's entire world narrows down to the feeling of Volya's hand squeezing his and the honeyed sweetness of those words. A visible flush creeps up the boy's cheeks, and he nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to keep pace. To any other observer, Sebek is a loud, abrasive child, but in the wake of this praise, he looks like a puppy that has just been told he is the best in the world. He beams upward, his chest swelling with a pride so intense it almost makes him breathless. The prospect of Volya teaching him, of having those steady hands guide his own, is infinitely more appealing than any drill Lilia could ever conceive.
"You truly think so?! I knew it! I felt it!" he exclaims, his voice slightly lower than his usual shout but still vibrating with excitement. He clings to Volya's side, practically leaning his entire weight against the man as they walk. He is so consumed by the glow of this approval that the rest of the world ceases to exist. He doesn't look back at the cottage, doesn't offer a final salute to his mentor, and completely forgets the etiquette of acknowledging the Prince of the Briar Valley. For the first time in his life, the rigid hierarchy of his world is eclipsed by the singular, towering importance of the man beside him.
As they pass Malleus, the Prince's green eyes track their movement, his expression distant yet focused. He watches the way Sebek clings to Volya, noting the boy's total oblivion to his surroundings. Malleus feels a strange, quiet tug in his chest, a longing for the kind of uninhibited, desperate affection Sebek is displaying, though he remains silent, his regal poise masking the flicker of envy. Beside him, Silver stands frozen, his hand still half-raised in a wave that was never returned, his gaze lingering on the auburn locks of the man who treats him as if he were invisible.
Behind them, the atmosphere at the cottage has curdled. Lilia stands perfectly still, his crimson eyes narrowing into thin slits as he watches the pair retreat. The smile he had worn earlier is gone, replaced by a cold, calculating hardness. He knows Volya's heart all too well, and he recognizes the subtle, poisonous way the man is weaving himself into the boy's psyche. Lilia's fingers twitch, a small spark of magic dancing between his knuckles, as he feels the possessive thread Volya is pulling, trying to sever the boy's ties to the very home and training that will one day protect him.
"Hmph. How very transparent," Lilia murmurs to himself, his voice a low, dangerous silk. He doesn't move to stop them, knowing that pushing now would only drive Sebek further into Volya's arms. Instead, he watches until the red hair and green hair disappear beyond the treeline, his gaze dark and watchful.
He knows a war of influence has begun, and while Volya may have won the afternoon, Lilia has played games for centuries.
The Zigvolt household was always a cacophony of noise and discipline, a far cry from the eerie, quiet stillness of Lilia's cottage. Between the boisterous energy of his siblings and the stern, booming presence of his father, Sebek usually found himself shouting just to be heard over the domestic chaos. Yet, tonight, he had spent the evening in a state of floating euphoria, barely tasting his dinner as he recounted every single detail of his day to anyone who would listen, though his eyes always drifted back to where Volya was. The moment he was dismissed to his room, however, the boy didn't settle in for sleep. Instead, he waited with barely contained anticipation for the one thing he had been craving since they left the forest.
Sebek didn't knock. He never felt the need to knock when it came to Volya, slipping into the room with a quietness that would have shocked his mentors. He stopped in the doorway, his breath hitching as he beheld the sight of the man in his white robes. To Sebek, Volya always looked like something from a painting, but seeing his hair unbound, falling like a river of fire down his back, made the boy feel a strange, tight pressure in his chest. He stood there for a moment, mesmerized, his yellow-green eyes wide and filled with a reverence that bordered on worship. He felt small in the presence of such effortless grace, and it only fueled his desire to grow stronger, to become a man who could stand beside Volya without looking like a clumsy child.
He noticed the black gauze being wound around the left hand, the methodical way the fabric tucked and tightened. Sebek’s expression shifted from awe to a focused, protective intensity. He stepped forward, his own pajamas a bit too large for his lean frame, and came to a halt beside the dresser. He didn't dare touch the hand, knowing the delicacy required for such things, but he leaned in close, his gaze fixed on the bandage with an expression of utmost seriousness. He hated that there was any need for the wrap, any hint of a wound or a weakness that necessitated such a covering.
"Allow me, Volya-sama!" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly with the effort of keeping it low. He reached out, his small, calloused fingers trembling slightly with eagerness as he offered to help hold the end of the gauze. He looked up at Volya, his pupils narrowed into slits of pure devotion. In this dim light, away from the prying eyes of the General and the Prince, Sebek felt as though they were the only two people in the world. He didn't want to think about tomorrow's training or the expectations placed upon his shoulders. He only wanted to be useful here, in this quiet room, serving the only person who made him feel as though he was already enough.
"You said you would help me with my magic," he reminded him, his voice brimming with an innocent, hungry sort of hope. He shifted his weight, his fangs peeking out as he gave a small, eager smile. He was practically vibrating with the need to begin, to prove that the praise Volya had given him earlier wasn't just a kindness, but a fact.
"That's right, dear, I'll help you," A smile formed in Volya's lips, he scooted the chair backwards to place the gauze in Sebek's smaller hands before taking a hold of him and lifting him to his lap, the child sitting across it as he extended his hand so he knew he was allowed to continue wrapping it.
Sebek lets out a tiny, muffled sound of surprise as he is hoisted into the air, but he quickly settles into Volya's lap, his movements clumsy but eager. Being held like this makes him feel incredibly small, but rather than feeling diminished, he feels chosen. He grips the gauze with a fierce focus, his small fingers working with an intensity that suggests he is performing a sacred ritual. He carefully winds the fabric around Volya's hand, trying to mimic the precision he had seen moments before, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he ensures the wrap is snug but not too tight.
"We are both half fae, so we probably have the same problems when casting our magic"
As Volya speaks, Sebek's hands freeze for a fraction of a second. The mention of their shared blood status hits him like a physical blow, but not in the way a criticism would. Usually, being half-fae is a source of relentless pressure for him, a constant reminder that he must work ten times harder than a pure-blood like Malleus to prove his worth. But hearing Volya frame it as a kinship, a secret shared only between the two of them, transforms that shame into a badge of exclusivity. A slow, proud heat spreads through Sebek's chest. The world outside this room is full of expectations and rigid standards, but here, in the scent of Volya's hair and the warmth of his lap, he is not a deficiency. He is part of a pair.
"The same problems..." Sebek repeats in a low, hushed voice, his gaze snapping up to meet Volya's. His eyes are wide, shimmering with a new, dangerous kind of loyalty. The idea that they are fundamentally different from the others, that they share a struggle that the Prince or the General could never truly understand, creates a wall around them. He feels a sudden, instinctive surge of distrust toward anyone outside this circle. If Volya says they are the same, then that is the only truth that matters. The training he does with Lilia suddenly feels like an imposition, a set of rules written for people who aren't like them.
Once the gauze is secured, Sebek doesn't move to get down. Instead, he lets out a small, determined huff and looks toward the bedside table where his practice focus lies. He is desperate to start, his mind racing with the possibilities of a magic that is tailored specifically for him, guided by the only person who truly understands his nature. He leans back against Volya, his head resting momentarily against the man's chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath the white linen.
"I do not care if it is difficult!" he declares, his voice regaining some of its usual volume, though it remains an intimate whisper. He looks up with a look of absolute conviction, his fangs flashing. "As long as you are the one teaching me, I will master it. I will become the strongest, so that I can protect you and this house, and no one will ever dare to look down on us again!"
It was a tricky thing.
Sebek was still very loyal to Lilia and Malleus, and was beginning to create a bond with Silver. So prying him off the would be difficult, specially when Baur wanted him to be with them as well.
Volya knew what he was doing was... Bad, but the only thing he cared about was the only person to ever chose him first didn't leave for Lilia of all people.
Once the sun started to go up in the sky once again, Sebek was preparing to go back to the cottage for the next training session (and playdate with Silver, although he wouldn't call it that), and just before he could go out the door, he saw Volya stepping down the stairs. Sebek is already halfway out the door, his gear strapped tight and his posture as rigid as a board. He is in full 'soldier mode,' his mind already calculating the number of repetitions he needs to perform to finally lift that sword. But the moment Volya's voice drifts down the stairs, the boy's entire body jolts as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. He freezes in place, one foot still poised to step onto the porch, and slowly turns around. When he sees Volya's lowered gaze and hears that hollow, sorrowful tone, a wave of sheer panic washes over him.
"Sebek... Not going to say goodbye before leaving?" The older half fae said, putting his best neutral expression, eyes lowered and voice slow in fake sorrow.
The idea that he might have accidentally slighted Volya, or worse, that Volya feels neglected because of Sebek's commitment to his duties, is an intolerable thought. He feels a sharp pang of guilt that far outweighs his excitement for the day's training. In an instant, the image of the stoic warrior vanishes, replaced by a boy who is terrified of losing the only person who makes him feel truly seen.
"VOLYA-SAMA!" he shouts, though he quickly catches himself and lowers his volume, his voice sounding strained and desperate. He practically lunges back into the house, sliding across the floor to reach the foot of the stairs. He doesn't just stop in front of the man; he practically throws himself into Volya's space, his eyes wide and pleading, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He looks up at the older fae with an expression of absolute horror that he could have possibly caused such a feeling.
"I would never! I was simply... I was merely ensuring I was on time! I would never dream of leaving without your blessing!" He reaches out, gripping the fabric of Volya's clothing with a white-knuckled intensity, as if anchoring himself. The loyalty he feels for Malleus and Lilia is a duty, a mountain he is compelled to climb, but the bond he shares with Volya is a craving, a hunger for a kinship that feels more real than any title. He forgets for a moment that Baur is likely watching from another room or that the clock is ticking toward his appointment.
He lingers there, his face skewed in a mixture of apology and devotion, waiting for any sign that the fake sorrow has vanished. He wants a hug, a pat on the head, or even a stern word, as long as it means the distance between them has closed. He doesn't care if he's late; the thought of Lilia scolding him for tardiness is a small price to pay compared to the thought of Volya feeling abandoned. He searches Volya's face, his yellow-green eyes searching for that spark of approval, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythmic plea for forgiveness.
It was wrong, Sevens he knew it was wrong, but Volya was blinded by jealousy to reflect on the fact he was emotionally manipulating a seven year old boy- his nephew, and guilt tripping him to stay with him.
He sighed dramatically, patting Sebek's hair lazily while his free hand went up to scratch the back of his own neck, Volya's gaze drifted off. "Say Sebek... You like going to... Lilia's, right?" He asked the seemingly innocent question. Sebek probably won't notice the depth of it, answering truthfully. Because Sebek did like going to the cottage, he liked sparring and playing with Silver, and although Lilia's food wasn't safe for consumption, he respected the man a whole lot as a mentor and as his grandparent's brother in arms.
Sebek practically melts under the lazy pat on his head, his eyes closing for a brief second as he leans into the touch. The dramatic sigh and the distant gaze of the man above him only make the boy more anxious to please, as if he is trying to solve a puzzle where the prize is Volya's happiness. He is completely oblivious to the predatory nature of the question, seeing it only as an invitation to share his thoughts with someone he trusts implicitly. To Sebek, honesty is a virtue of a soldier, and he believes that sharing his passion for his training is a way of showing Volya how hard he is working to become a man worthy of the Zigvolt name.
"Of course I do!" Sebek exclaims, his voice ringing out with earnest enthusiasm. He doesn't see the trap; he only sees the image of the training grounds and the challenge of the day ahead. He beams, his fangs flashing as he looks up with a face full of genuine excitement. "The training is rigorous! Challenging! Every hour spent there is a step closer to perfection! And Silver... though he is far too lazy and sleeps at the most inconvenient times, he is a formidable sparring partner! He pushes me to be faster, to be sharper!"
He begins to recount the thrill of the battle, his hands gesturing wildly in the air to describe a parry he had been practicing. He speaks of Lilia with a reverence that is purely professional, his voice echoing with the respect a student has for a master. To him, the cottage is a place of growth and discipline, a forge where he is being shaped into a weapon for the protection of the valley. He doesn't notice how his words might land in the ears of someone who views that same cottage as a symbol of betrayal and abandonment. He is simply a child talking about his favorite things, unaware that his truth is a weapon being turned against him.
"And the General's knowledge is unmatched!" he adds, his chest puffing out again. He is so caught up in his own momentum that he is practically vibrating, his loyalty to Lilia and Malleus flowing out of him in a torrent of adolescent pride. He believes that by telling Volya how much he loves his training, he is proving his strength. He assumes Volya is proud of his ambition, never imagining that every word of praise for Lilia is like a drop of acid on the man's heart.
He suddenly stops, his eyes widening as he realizes he has been talking for several minutes without letting Volya speak. He quickly settles back into a more attentive posture, his gaze searching Volya's face with that same eager, desperate need for validation. He is waiting for Volya to tell him how impressive his dedication is, how proud he is of Sebek's drive, completely unaware that he has just handed the man the very ammunition needed to dismantle his relationship with the cottage. But behind the tangle of long red curls that covered most of Volya's face like a curtain, Sebek could make out a pair of cold eyes, not directed at him but looking at a space far in the right, it was a gaze he didn't see many times, still isn't used to it. Volya's green eyes were lidded and somber, he looked ill, paler than what a fae was supposed to be.
"Oh well..." He muttered without clear emotion for Sebek to decipher, suddenly ripping his sleeves from the boy's tiny grasp, taking s slow couple of steps forward, brushing past him. "I guess if you like them so much... I'm not needed here anymore,"
He crossed his eyes, one hand touching his own face softly to make the appearance of a fragile, weeping flower. "What could I do more than accept that you love them more than me... The person who took care of you all these years..." A clear disregard of Sebek's mother he didn't mean to say, Volya will have to do something for her later to have peace of mind.
Sebek stands frozen, his hands still curled in the air where Volya's sleeves had been a second before. The suddenness of the withdrawal leaves him feeling physically cold, as if the warmth of the room had been sucked out in a single breath. He stares at the back of Volya's head, his yellow-green eyes widening in absolute, sheer terror. The words hit him with more force than any blow he had ever taken during training. 'Not needed.' 'Love them more.' The concepts collide in his mind, twisting his enthusiasm into a jagged, suffocating knot of guilt. To Sebek, this isn't just a disagreement; it is a catastrophe. He has somehow committed the ultimate sin: he has made the person he admires most feel secondary.
"NO! THAT IS NOT TRUE!" he bellows, his voice cracking and echoing through the hallway. He doesn't just step forward; he lunges, throwing himself at Volya's back and wrapping his arms around the man's waist in a desperate, clinging embrace. He presses his face into the white linen of the robe, his grip so tight it is almost painful. He doesn't care about the dignity of a soldier or the posture of a knight in this moment. He is just a terrified seven-year-old who feels his world tilting on its axis. He can feel the fragility in Volya's voice, and it makes him feel like he has broken something precious and irreplaceable.
"I DO NOT love them more! I only... I only go there to learn!" he cries, his voice muffled by the fabric. He is breathing heavily, his small frame shaking with the intensity of his panic. The thought that Volya would believe he is not needed is an insult to everything Sebek believes about their bond. He begins to speak rapidly, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, his desperation reaching a fever pitch. "You are the most important! You are the only one who truly knows me! I only want to be strong so I can be worthy of you! Please! Volya-sama, please do not say such things! I would give up every single lesson! I would never go back to that cottage if it meant you were happy!"
He pulls back just enough to look up at Volya, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of frustration and fear. His fangs are visible, not in a grin, but in a grimace of emotional agony. He looks utterly devastated, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He is completely blind to the manipulation, seeing only a wounded, fragile man whom he has accidentally hurt. In his mind, he has failed a test of loyalty far more important than any magical spell. He doesn't even think about the fact that he just offered to abandon his training and his Prince; in this moment, the only authority that exists is the man standing before him.
"I love you most!" he shouts, the admission raw and unfiltered, his voice ringing with a purity that is almost painful. He clings tighter, refusing to let go, as if he could physically hold Volya's affection in place. He stays there, trembling, waiting for the coldness to vanish, waiting for the man to turn around and tell him that he is still loved, still needed, and still the center of Volya's world.
The sight of Sebek's tears would've moved a more lucid Volya, as he tilted his head back to see the half fae child starting to tear up freely. He needed to put the final nail in the coffin before ending his little act.
"You do..? Then, you would prefer to stay with me today, right?" At seeing a small hint of hesitation in his eyes, Volya's eyes glistened just enough to show. "I just miss you very much, dear, maybe that makes me selfish.."
The hesitation in Sebek's eyes is a reflex, a flicker of the disciplined soldier who knows he has an appointment and a duty to fulfill. But the moment those glistening eyes meet his, the internal conflict is annihilated. The word 'selfish' coming from Volya sounds to Sebek like a confession of vulnerability, a crack in the armor of the man he idolizes. It makes him feel powerful in a way that no sword ever could: the idea that he is so deeply desired by Volya that the man would admit to such a feeling is the ultimate validation. The guilt of his earlier eagerness for the cottage now feels like a crime, and the only way to atone is through total submission to Volya's wish.
"YES! I will stay! I will stay with you!" Sebek shouts, the words tumbling out with a frantic, desperate relief. He practically vibrates with the sudden shift in dynamic, his small hands gripping Volya's robes as if he is afraid the man might change his mind and leave him. The thought of the cottage, of the sparring, and even of the Prince becomes distant and unimportant, like a dream he's already forgetting. The urgency of his duty is completely overwritten by the urgency of Volya's sadness. He doesn't care about the lost hours of training or the scolding he will undoubtedly receive from Lilia. In his mind, saving Volya from sorrow is the highest form of honor he could possibly achieve.
He pulls back just enough to look up with a fierce, protective expression, his eyes clearing as the tears dry, replaced by a burning determination. He looks as though he has just been given a sacred mission. He imagines himself as a guardian, a shield against whatever loneliness plagues Volya.
The idea that he can be the remedy for the man's sadness makes him feel older, stronger, and more significant than he ever does when he is just another student in the forest.
"You are not selfish! It is my duty to be by your side!" he declares, his voice booming with a newfound sense of purpose. He quickly lets go of the robe only to grab Volya's hand, pulling him away from the door and back toward the interior of the house. He is effectively walking the man back into the sanctuary of their private bond, shutting the rest of the world out. As he leads the way, he casts one last look toward the door, a flash of defiance crossing his face. If Lilia or Malleus wonder where he is, so be it; they can wait. Volya cannot.
"We shall spend the entire day together!" Sebek proclaims, his fangs showing in a triumphant, beaming grin. He starts brainstorming everything they can do, his mind racing through lists of things he can do to please the man. He wants to show him every drawing he's made, tell him every story he's heard, and spend every second proving that no one else could ever take Volya's place in his heart. He doesn't notice the tactical success of the manipulation; he only knows that he has successfully 'saved' his favorite person, and that feeling is more intoxicating than any victory on the training field.
Yes, that was enough.
Volya finally turned around, hip lenght curls wiping in the air as he went down to one knee and hugged Sebek tightly, lifting him in the air for him to sit on his hip and swiftly taking off his back the training equipment, placing it on the floor without looking
"Oh, Sebek, you're too nice to me,". He muttered, placing a kiss on the top of his head, rewarding Sebek's blind trust with affection as he began to walk upstairs again.
Sebek lets out a small, strangled sound of pure happiness as he is hoisted up, his legs instinctively wrapping around Volya's hip. The sudden loss of his training gear is a non-event, a mere shedding of a skin he no longer needs for the day. When the kiss lands on the crown of his head, the boy goes completely still, his eyes fluttering shut as a wave of heat rushes to his cheeks. He has never been one for softness, but with Volya, every touch feels like a reward for a victory he didn't even know he was fighting for. He clings to the man's shoulder, burying his face into the crook of Volya's neck, feeling the scent of the other fae wrap around him like a cocoon.
As they ascend the stairs, Sebek begins to chatter with a renewed, breathless energy, his small hands drumming excitedly against Volya's chest. He tells him about a particular bird he saw in the garden that morning, and how he intends to show Volya exactly how he plans to improve his stance, even without the sword. He is desperate to fill every second of the silence with his own voice, terrified that any gap in conversation might allow the 'sorrow' to return. He wants to be the noise that drowns out whatever ghosts haunt the hallways of Volya's mind, acting as a living, breathing shield against the void.
Sebek was his nephew, the only person who's ever chosen him first, yes, it may be because he's know Volya for the whole spawn of his short life, but still. Volya had been alone far too long, not even Baur, the man who raised him or Sebek's mother, who he regarded as a sister, had wanted him enough to satiate the void Lilia Vanrouge left him.
Miles away, the silence of the forest is heavy. Lilia stands on the porch of the cottage, his magenta eyes fixed on the empty path where a loud, boisterous boy should have appeared minutes ago. The General's expression is one of rare, genuine uncertainty.
He knows Sebek's habits, knows the boy's obsession with punctuality and duty, and the fact that he is missing is a flashing alarm in Lilia's mind. He looks toward the direction of the capital, his gaze piercing through the foliage, sensing the invisible threads of a bond being tightened. He feels a sharp, sudden prick of guilt, wondering if his own rigidity as a mentor had provided the opening Volya needed to pull the child away.
Beside him, Malleus emerges from the house, his brow furrowed as he notes the empty yard. "He has not arrived, Lilia," the Prince observes, his voice low and thoughtful. Lilia doesn't answer immediately, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. He knows that the boy isn't lost in the woods or delayed by a stray animal. He knows exactly where Sebek is, and the realization that the boy has chosen a bedroom in the city over the training of a prince sends a cold shiver of apprehension through the older fae. The battle for the boy's heart has moved from the training field to the home, and Lilia fears he is losing ground.
Deep in his heart, Lilia couldn't help but feel a gnawing guilt in his chest, blaming himself for the centuries of abandonment that had caused Volya to turn out this way. The game his son was playing was dangerous, not for any of them but for Sebek's safety, the seven year old didn't have to deal with a burden as old as theirs, and being directly in the middle of this conflict would definitely affect him.
Lilia remains rooted to the spot, his eyes narrow as he stares into the emerald depths of the Briar Valley. The silence of the woods, usually so comforting, now feels oppressive, echoing with the ghosts of the choices he made three centuries ago. He thinks of the infant he had handed over to Baur, the sacrifice he believed was necessary for the sake of the crown and the legacy of his people. He had assumed that the passage of time would dull the edges of that abandonment, that the familial bonds of the Zigvolts would be enough to fill the gap. But seeing the way Volya had looked at him yesterday, and sensing the boy's sudden absence today, Lilia realizes he had merely left a wound open to fester.
He closes his eyes, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his features. He is a general who has seen a thousand wars, yet he feels utterly outmatched by the quiet, desperate war Volya is waging for the boy's affection. It is a cruel irony that his own failure as a father has become a weapon used to isolate his most promising pupil. Lilia knows that Sebek's heart is as large as his voice, and that the boy's innate desire to protect those he loves is exactly what Volya is exploiting. To be the only person who 'understands' a half-fae's struggle is a potent lure, one that creates a bond of dependency far stronger than the bond of discipline.
"Lilia?" Malleus's voice breaks the silence, the young prince's expression filled with a quiet, intuitive concern. He can feel the shift in his mentor's mood, the way the air around Lilia has grown heavy with a regret that transcends the immediate disappearance of a student. "Do you believe something has happened to him? Should we go search the path?"
Lilia slowly shakes his head, his crimson eyes snapping open to look at the prince. He cannot bring himself to tell Malleus the truth: that Sebek is perfectly safe, but is being taught that the world outside his uncle's embrace is a place of coldness and lack of understanding. He knows that if he rushes to the Zigvolt house now, he will only play into Volya's narrative, appearing as the demanding taskmaster who tears the boy away from the only person who truly cares for him. He is caught in a stalemate of his own making, forced to watch from a distance as a child is groomed into a shield for a broken man's heart.
"No, Malleus," Lilia says, his voice regaining its characteristic light, melodic tone, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He forced a small, knowing smile, though his heart sinks. He knows that every hour Sebek spends in those white linen rooms is an hour where the bridge back to the cottage grows narrower. He turns back toward the house, his steps heavier than usual. "The boy is simply learning a lesson that I cannot teach him. We shall wait. But I fear the price of this lesson may be higher than any of us are prepared to pay."
Since Lilia couldn't reach Sebek directly, he would have to go to the next best thing, a resource he didn't want to reach out to due fearing Volya's hatred towards him would further to impossible domains.
Baur Zigvolt.
His fellow brother in arms and soldier, Sebek's grandfather, and the man who he trusted to raise Volya. From what he knew, the fae had forbidden Volya from calling him and his wife in a parental manner, always hammering the fact that Lilia was his actual father. He had hesitated to call his son out to the only parental figure he had in his life, Baur did tend to be overly protective of his youngest grandkid, so he abstained in the past and let his behavior continue, but this situation involved his grandson directly.
Days later, Baur Zigvolt was scheduled to be back in the capital, and he was worried out of his mind for his grandson.
Sebek loved his grandfather, he was the ultimate figure to look up to in his family and his opinion was always listened to. Baur was strict, but he softened with the years and would never admit it, but he does spoil Sebek.
For several days, the world had shrunk to the size of a single bedroom and the soft touch of one person. Sebek had barely stepped foot outside, his training gear gathering dust by the door, an abandoned relic of a life that felt suddenly loud and demanding. He didn't miss the sparring or the lessons. Instead, he felt a strange, intoxicating peace in his role as Volya's constant companion. He had spent the hours reading aloud to the man, bringing him tea with a solemnity usually reserved for royalty, and listening with rapt attention to any word that slipped from those soft lips. He felt like a secret treasure, locked away where only the one who truly appreciated him could find him.
The bubble of their isolation burst with the heavy, echoing thud of a boot hitting the floorboards downstairs. The house, which had been quiet and dimmed for the past few days, suddenly roared back to life. Sebek, who had been curled up at Volya's side while listening to him hum a low melody, bolted upright. His yellow-green eyes widened, and a surge of adrenaline sparked through his veins. He knew that particular cadence of footsteps, the authoritative weight and the rhythmic strike that commanded attention. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of genuine love and instinctive nervousness washing over him.
"Grandfather!" he whispered, his voice a tiny rasp compared to its usual volume. He looked at Volya, his expression turning anxious. For the first time in days, the wall around them felt permeable. Baur Zigvolt was a force of nature, a man whose approval was the gold standard of Sebek's life. While Volya provided a softness that fed his heart, Baur provided the strength that fed his ambition. The conflict of two opposing loves flickered in Sebek's chest, creating a sudden, uneasy tension. He didn't want to leave Volya, but the urge to throw himself at his grandfather's feet was nearly irresistible.
Downstairs, the entrance hall echoed with Baur's voice, a thunderous boom that made the glassware in the kitchen rattle. "WHERE IS THE BOY?! I HAVE BEEN HOME FOR FIVE MINUTES AND MY GRANDSON IS NOT HERE TO GREET ME!" Baur's voice carried an edge of parental fury, but beneath it lay the frantic vibration of a man who had been worrying for half a week. He didn't just want a greeting; he wanted to ensure the child was safe and sound, and he wanted to understand why Lilia had contacted him with such vague, concerned messages about the boy's 'absence'.
Sebek started to slide off the bed, his instincts as a dutiful grandson overriding his current role as a protector. He began to stand, his chest expanding as he prepared to shout a greeting that could be heard from the street, but he paused, half-turning to look at Volya. He seemed torn, his small hand lingering on the mattress. He wanted to be the perfect grandson for Baur, but he also feared that leaving the room might bring back that cold, somber gaze that had once made him feel like a betrayal. He looked at Volya with pleading eyes, as if asking for permission to leave, while the booming demands of his grandfather continued to shake the house.
At the sound of Baur's loud voice, Volya tensed for a moment before forcing himself to relax, closing the book on his lap and standing from the lounge chair. He took Sebek's hand and gave him a smile of reassurance, guiding him out the bedroom.
Baur Zigvolt had raised him, creating a hard wall between him and the family. Volya was never allowed to call him and his wife as his parents, always felt like a stranger in the house, a foreigner they were housing and waiting for him to leave. Even when Baur's daughter was born- Sebek's mother- and she saw him as a brother, it never satiated his hunger of belonging.
He knew that Baur had good intentions, that he had grown to love Voyla as his own, but his resentment towards Lilia blinded all reason.
He guided Sebek downstairs until they stood in front of the fae patriarch, and Volya nudged Sebek to go to his mother, the tall, bulky woman standing near the entrance. Sebek didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, a blur of green hair and pajama fabric, colliding with his mother's legs with a force that would have knocked over a smaller person. He hugged her tightly, his voice returning to its usual thundering register, filling the house with a joy that seemed to push back the lingering tension of the previous days. "MOTHER! YOU ARE HERE! GRANDFATHER HAS RETURNED!" he shouted, his face beaming as he looked up at her, his fangs flashing. He was a whirlwind of energy, momentarily forgetting the fragile silence of the bedroom upstairs.
"Greetings, Baur, we've missed you, how was your trip?" He asked, polite as always.
Baur, however, didn't immediately soften. He ignored the pleasantries and the politeness of the greeting, his heavy gaze shifting from his granddaughter to the small boy, and finally landing on Volya. The patriarch's eyes were sharp, scanning Sebek for any signs of distress and then narrowing as they settled on the auburn-haired man. He had known Volya since he was an infant, and while there was an undeniable bond of affection there, Baur's intuition told him that the atmosphere in the house had shifted into something skewed. He noticed the way Sebek looked back at Volya with a desperate, clingy devotion, and he remembered the concerned messages from Lilia.
"The trip was efficient," Baur answered Volya, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards. He didn't move a muscle, his posture remaining as rigid as iron. He reached down, his large hand coming to rest on Sebek's head, not with the lazy pat Volya had given, but with a firm, grounding weight. The grandfather's eyes remained locked on Volya, his voice becoming a stern probe. "But I find it curious that upon my arrival, my grandson is in his pajamas and not at his training grounds. Lilia tells me he has been... absent from the cottage for several days. Care to explain why the boy has forgotten his duties, Volya?"
Sebek stiffened under Baur's hand, the question hitting him like a bucket of ice water. He looked quickly from his grandfather back to Volya, the panic returning in a sudden surge. He felt the two most powerful influences in his life colliding, and for the first time, he realized that the secret sanctuary he had built with Volya might not be invisible to the eyes of a soldier. He gripped his mother's robe, his eyes darting nervously, terrified that the truth of his abandonment of his training would make him look weak in the eyes of the one man he truly respected.
Volya's jaw tightened, feeling the start of losing his temper. Somehow, everytime he argued with either Baur or Lilia, he needed up feeling like an unruly teenager with how fast he could break.
"Sir, I had decided that Sebek needed a break from war-like training at his young age, it is on temporary and I have been teaching him ways to channel magic in his own way due to our shared... Half human nature."
It was the best explanation he could come up with that wouldn't give Baur an opening to openly accuse him of something. He had begged the fae since Sebek was born to be the one to train him, he was still salty about being denied and they both knew it.
He gave Sebek a look to stay put, he would be the one talking to Baur about this.
Sebek froze at Volya's look, his body locking into a stiff, unnatural stillness. He remained pressed against his mother's side, his breath held as he watched the exchange. The mention of their shared nature sent a ripple of pride through him, but the tension in the air was suffocating.
Baur's eyes didn't waver. He remained as immobile as a statue, his hand still resting heavily on Sebek's head. To Baur, the phrase 'channel magic in his own way' sounded far too vague, almost suspiciously indulgent. He knew the value of a rigid foundation and the danger of shortcuts. While he understood the desire to protect a child from the harshness of a soldier's life, he also knew that in the Briar Valley, weakness was a liability that could cost a life. He looked at Sebek, seeing the boy's wide, anxious eyes and the way he looked toward Volya for guidance instead of looking to him with the usual fire of ambition.
"A break," Baur repeated, his voice a low, dangerous thrum. He finally removed his hand from Sebek's head and crossed his massive arms over his chest, the movement creating a sharp, authoritative snap. He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Volya, his towering presence intended to overshadow. His voice didn't rise, but the pressure it exerted grew. "The boy is seven, not a porcelain doll. He has a destiny and a duty to the Prince. To encourage him to ignore his commitments because of a whim of 'nature' is not teaching, Volya. It is coddling."
Sebek flinched at the word 'coddling,' the term hitting him like a slap to the face. He hated the idea of being seen as fragile or pampered. He wanted to shout that he wasn't being pampered, that his time with Volya was a different kind of strength, but he remembered the look he had been given to stay put. He looked up at Baur, his yellow-green eyes shimmering with a mixture of shame and defiance. He didn't want to be a porcelain doll, but he couldn't bear the thought of Baur dismissing the bond he shared with Volya as a mere mistake.
The silence that followed was brittle, stretching thin as Sebek's mother shifted uneasily beside him, her gaze darting between the two men. She could feel the deep-seated resentments of the past bubbling to the surface, masked by a conversation about a child's education. Sebek gripped his mother's robe tighter, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the precariousness of his position, knowing that one wrong word from either man could shatter the sanctuary he had spent the last few days building. He wanted the conflict to end, yet a part of him wanted Baur to see that Volya was the only one who truly appreciated the boy he was, rather than the soldier he was meant to be.
The half fae's throat tightened, feeling the frustration of a losing fight arise, tightening his hands into fists, Volya's voice lowered in a failed attempt to keep himself calm, trying to ignore his heart racing in anxiety. "He's just a kid, Sebek doesn't need that kind of training before turning ten winters, training that level is used for older kids and you know it." He was putting up excuses at this point, but he didn't care, Baur knew why he didn't want Sebek going to Lilia and still ignored his plea, no wonder why Volya firmly believed he wasn't considered part of the family.
"If you could just let me try to teach and ready him for training- He could go back stronger to... To him."
Baur's expression didn't soften, but a flash of something resembling pity crossed his eyes as he looked at Volya. He recognized the desperation in the man's voice, the same desperation he had seen in Volya's eyes for decades. Baur knew that Volya wasn't fighting for Sebek's childhood, but for the boy's soul, trying to cultivate a loyalty that mirrored the one he had never felt from those he loved most. The patriarch's arms remained crossed, his presence looming, but he let out a slow, heavy breath that sounded like a mountain settling. He looked down at Sebek, who was still clinging to his mother, trembling with the effort of remaining silent.
"Stronger, perhaps," Baur answered, his voice a low rumble that felt like it was vibrating in Sebek's very teeth. He didn't concede, but he stopped pushing forward. He shifted his weight, his boots creaking on the wood floor. "But strength without discipline is merely a wild fire, and we both know that the valley does not tolerate wild fires. You wish to 'ready' him, Volya. Very well. You have had your days of indulgence. But he will return to the cottage by the end of the week. If he shows no progress in his focus, I will personally ensure his training is doubled to compensate for the time wasted."
The ultimatum sounded like a thunderclap to Sebek. The 'end of the week' felt like a looming deadline, a countdown to the moment he would have to choose between the rigorous duty of the Prince and the suffocating, beautiful love of his uncle. He didn't like the idea of being 'ready' if it meant leaving Volya's side again, but the prospect of his grandfather potentially taking over his training if he failed was far more terrifying. He looked up at Volya, his yellow-green eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief that the argument had ceased and a new, sharpening fear. He wanted to believe that he could satisfy both of them, that he could be the perfect soldier and the perfect companion, but as he looked at the distance between Baur and Volya, he began to suspect that such a thing was impossible.
He took a bold step forward, letting go of his mother, but before he could advance, the older fae woman held him tighter to keep him with her, not allowing him to get in between the argument.
"Double?!"
Volya didn't look like a teacher guarding his student, he looked like a desperate kid who just got told his favorite toy would get taken away. The concept of doubling his training would mean Sebek spending even less time home, and when he did he would be too tired to do anything other than sleep, eat and wash himself.
"Sir- why?! Why would you prefer sending him to- to him instead of me?!" The dam finally broke, years of frustration and being pushed aside causing his face to redden and eyes to glisten with hurt, not bothering to contain himself anymore, even if Sebek was here to see it, even if he probably didn't even understand what he was saying nor the reason of his decay. "Lilia Vanrouge doesn't know how to be a proper teacher- he can't even be a proper father to his own blood!" He pressed a hand against his chest. "That- that human pet he keeps in that cottage is surviving off mere scraps from the toxic waste he calls food!"
Why Lilia instead of him?! Did Baur hate him that much?! Did he really thought of Volya as this inconvenience living in his house?!
The air in the hallway suddenly felt thick and electric, vibrating with a level of raw, unfiltered emotion that Sebek had never witnessed in the sanctuary of his own home. The boy stood paralyzed, his small hands still gripping the fabric of his mother's robe, but his mind was racing to keep up with the words crashing over him. He had seen Volya sad and he had seen him distant, but he had never seen him break like this. The sight of Volya's reddened face and those shimmering, wounded eyes sent a shock of visceral fear through Sebek's chest, as if the very foundation of his world were cracking open to reveal something dark and jagged.
Then came the mention of Lilia. The name, always spoken with such reverence and military respect in Sebek's heart, was now being spat out like a curse. He blinked, his pupils narrowing to thin slits as he stared at the man he loved. Volya was accusing his mentor, the General of the Briar Valley, of failure. It felt as if he were being told that the very ground he stood on was a lie, and the confusion left him feeling adrift, his loyalty momentarily suspended in a vacuum of shock. When Volya mentioned Silver, calling him a 'human pet' and describing his life as 'surviving on scraps,' Sebek's breath hitched. He thought of Silver's sleepy eyes, the way the older boy had waved at Volya with such innocent hope, and the way they sparred in the quiet of the afternoon. To hear Silver spoken of as something less than a person, something discarded, sparked a flicker of instinctive protectiveness. For a moment, the bond between the two children felt more real than the ancient feud unfolding before them. He wanted to speak, to defend the cottage, to defend Silver, but the sheer intensity of Volya's agony kept the words locked in his throat.
Baur's reaction was a sudden, heavy silence that felt more threatening than any shout. The patriarch's face hardened, his eyes turning into cold chips of flint as he looked at Volya. He didn't flinch at the outburst, nor did he apologize. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, his presence expanding until he seemed to swallow the light in the hall. The mention of Lilia's failings as a father was a line that had been crossed, a wound touched that Baur had spent years trying to help Volya heal through structure and discipline. The tension reached a breaking point, and the silence was so loud that Sebek could hear the frantic drumming of his own heart.
"Enough," Baur commanded, his voice not a roar but a low, vibrating snap that demanded immediate submission. He didn't move toward Volya, but his gaze was like a physical weight, pressing down on the man's spiraling emotion. He glanced briefly at Sebek, seeing the boy's distress, and his jaw set firmly. To Baur, this was the definitive proof that Volya was too emotionally unstable to lead the child's training. He turned his attention back to his relative, his voice turning as cold as a mountain winter. "You speak of things you do not understand, and you do so in front of the boy you claim to protect. You are not protecting him, Volya. You are poisoning him with your ghosts."
Volya's arms had gone up, hands harshly going through his hair, tangling and pulling the curls from scalp, truly looking as if he was losing it, a wet and crude laugh escaped his throat while looking at Baur with a mixture of rage, hurt and indignation, feeling a painful burn coiling in his chest and stomach.
"It's as if you think of him more as family than me- me! Who you raised for TWO HUNDRED YEARS." The scream rumbled around the house as Volya's psyche stumbled, shoulders hunched up and back bent. "He dumped me in your porch when I was a newborn, did you forget that?!"
He lifted a hand and pointed at Baur's chest. "You forbade me from calling you a father, making it so clear that we weren't family while he was out there without even thinking of reaching out! And now what?! I should accept him with open arms without even an apology like you did?!"
Sebek had never known fear like this. It wasn't the fear of a difficult sparring match or the fear of failing a spell; it was a visceral, crushing terror. He watched Volya's hands tear through those beautiful red curls, the sight of it making the boy's own scalp prickle in sympathy. The raw, guttural scream that ripped through the hallway felt like it was tearing Sebek apart too, shattering the fragile, golden peace of the last few days. He had seen Volya as a beacon of elegance and softness, but now, he was seeing the jagged edges of a broken soul, a side of his uncle that felt like a storm he couldn't escape.
Baur did not flinch. He stood his ground, his face as stoic as a cliffside against a raging sea. However, his eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a glimpse of the profound sadness he felt for the man before him. He had forbidden the word 'father' not to distance Volya, but because he believed that claiming a title that wasn't earned was a lie that would only hinder the boy's growth. To Baur, truth was the only path to healing, but seeing Volya now, he realized that his rigid adherence to that truth had only reinforced the loneliness Volya felt. The patriarch's chest heaved a slow, deep sigh, the sound heavy with the weight of several lifetimes of misunderstood intentions.
"I did what I believed was honorable, Volya," Baur's voice was surprisingly quiet, though it still filled the room. He didn't step back, nor did he reach out. "I gave you a home and a name. If that was not enough to make you feel like family, then perhaps the fault lies not in the name, but in the heart that refuses to see the love that was provided in silence." He looked over at Sebek, seeing the child trembling in his mother's grip. The tension shifted as Baur realized that the adults were no longer just fighting for a memory, but were actively scarring a child in the process. His gaze hardened again, returning to Volya with a look of stern finality. "Look at the boy. Look at what you are doing to him in your quest for an apology that may never come. Is this the 'nature' you wish to teach him? To let resentment lead the way?"
Sebek let out a small, broken sob, the sound finally breaking through his paralysis. He lunged forward, escaping his mother's embrace to cling to Volya's leg, burying his face against the fabric of the white robe. He didn't care about the arguments, the fathers, or the generals. He just wanted the shaking to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice a trembling, muffled cry. "Please stop! Please stop fighting! I don't care about the training! Just stop!"
For a moment, the silence that returned to the house was more suffocating than the screams, as Volya realized that in trying to mold Sebek into the object of his affections, he was inadvertently fueling the fire that was consuming the only remnants of the family he had left.
He stood perfectly still as Sebek cried in his legs, holding onto him like he was the only tangible thing in the world, his gaze never left Baur, even as he started to be lucid again, his lips trembled as he uttered the next words.
"Choose." He told Baur with a heaving chest and wide open eyes, Volya started the ultimatum he knew was going to end up losing. "It's Lilia... Or me... I cannot live with that man waltzing into my life every weekend as if he never left."
Sebek felt the tremor in Volya's legs, a fragile vibration that terrified him more than Baur's booming voice. He didn't fully grasp the weight of an ultimatum, but he understood the stakes: it was a dividing line. A wall was being built, and Sebek was the prize being fought over. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers clutching the white fabric so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The thought of a world where he had to pick one over the other was an impossible nightmare. He loved Baur's strength, he revered the General's power, but he breathed for Volya's affection.
Baur remained motionless, his presence as heavy and oppressive as a thunderstorm about to break. His eyes drifted down to the small, sobbing child anchored to Volya's leg. To Baur, this was the pinnacle of tragedy: a man so consumed by his own void that he was willing to sever the connections of the only person who loved him unconditionally. A flicker of genuine grief crossed the patriarch's face, not for the insult, but for the depth of Volya's misery. He knew that an ultimatum like this was a cry for help disguised as a demand. If he chose Volya, he would be enabling a cycle of isolation that would eventually leave both the man and the child adrift. If he chose Lilia, he risked losing Volya entirely.
"You ask me to choose between your stability and my grandson's future," Baur finally spoke, his voice low and devoid of its earlier thunder. It was a tone of profound disappointment that felt heavier than any shout. He didn't step closer, but his gaze remained locked on Volya's trembling form. "Lilia may have been a failure in the ways you require, but the valley requires a soldier. Sebek cannot be the anchor for your broken heart, Volya. It is an unfair burden for a child to carry. I will not choose for you, but I will not allow this house to become a prison of resentment."
Sebek let out a loud, choking wail, his head snapping up as he looked at Baur. He didn't want an anchor or a soldier's duty; he wanted the fighting to cease. He shifted his grip, trying to wrap both his arms around Volya's leg as if he could physically pull the man away from the suffocating pressure of Baur's logic. He looked up at Volya, his yellow-green eyes streaming with tears, his face a mask of pure, raw desperation. He didn't care about the 'proper' way to live or the 'proper' way to train. He only knew that the man above him was shaking, and the thought of that shaking turning into a permanent absence was more than the seven-year-old could bear.
"I'll stay!" Sebek shrieked, his voice cracking with an agonizing intensity. He didn't know who he was talking to, or what he was promising, but he felt the need to fill the void with his own loyalty with one final attempt at making things right. "I'll do whatever you want! I'll be good! I'll be the best! Just don't go! Please, Volya-sama, don't leave me!" He buried his face back into the robe, his small body racking with sobs. In his mind, he was pledging his entire existence to the man, offering his own childhood as a sacrifice if it meant that the coldness in Volya's eyes would finally disappear.
The only sound in the house now was Sebek's sobs and Volya's raggedy breath. He looked down at the boy, tears having dried on his cheeks.
He knew Sebek did want to become a knight, he wanted to train with Silver, to fulfill his grandfather's and Lilia's expectations, and most of all, he wanted to be Malleus's knight.
To rob him of that because of his selfishness was plain wrong, even Volya, in the middle of his emotional turmoil, knew that. That didn't mean he would take Baur's rejection with maturity.
Volya's shoulders dropped, breathing in and out, passing a hand through his face, then making eye contact with his sister in all but blood, and they silently communicated in a bond only they understood, she knew with resignation to get closer and pry Sebek off him.
"Alright,"
It was all he could say to Baur as he tried with all his might not to look at the crying child helplessly clinging to him.
"Alright..." Volya started to shakily walk upstairs again, he knew when he wasn't welcomed anymore, hopefully his sister could hold onto Sebek enough until he got his things.
Sebek felt the shift in Volya's energy the moment it happened. The desperate, electric tension that had filled the hallway suddenly collapsed into a hollow, crushing weight. He felt Volya's body go slack, the strength that had held him up vanishing as the man surrendered. When the 'Alright' finally came, it sounded like something breaking, a low and jagged sound that made Sebek's stomach churn. He didn't understand the nuances of the sacrifice Volya was making, but he felt the sudden, terrifying distance growing between them. It was as if an invisible door was closing, and he was being left on the outside.
As his mother stepped forward, her hands gentle but firm as she began to pry his small fingers from Volya's robe, Sebek fought back with everything he had. He kicked his heels into the floor, twisting and writhing in a desperate attempt to remain anchored. Every inch of distance felt like a betrayal. He let out a shrill, wounded cry, his voice raw from sobbing, as he reached out one last time, his hand grasping at the empty air where Volya had just been.
"NO! DON'T GO! VOLYA-SAMA!" he shrieked, his voice echoing through the house. He didn't care that Baur was standing right there, a towering monument of authority. He didn't care that he was making a scene in front of his mother. He watched with wide, shimmering eyes as the auburn hair receded up the stairs, the white linen robes trailing like a ghost's shroud. He felt a vacuum opening up in his chest, a cold void that no amount of training or praise from the General could ever fill. He stopped fighting his mother's grip and simply slumped against her, his body trembling with a sudden, profound exhaustion.
Baur stood silent, his gaze following Volya's retreat. His face remained stern, but there was a flicker of something mirroring Volya's own pain in the patriarch's eyes. He looked down at the shattered child clinging to his daughter, then back at the stairs. The silence that followed was heavier than the fighting had been, a thick, oppressive layer of grief and regret that settled over the household. He knew that while the 'duty' of the boy was secure, something fundamental had been damaged in the process.
Sebek buried his face in his mother's hip, his breaths coming in jagged, uneven hitches. He lay there on the floor, staring at the empty space where Volya had stood, his mind looping the image of those glistening, hurt eyes. He didn't want to be a knight right now. He didn't want to be the strongest or the best. He just wanted to go back to the bedroom, back to the soft humming and the scent of freshly washed curls and the feeling of being the center of someone's entire world. He kneeled there in the sudden quiet of the hall, feeling small and abandoned, and for the first time in his life, the idea of the cottage felt like a punishment rather than a privilege.
In the blind rage of a teenager, Volya packed a suit full of travel clothes, none of the fancy and comfortable robes he was gifted all these years. Boots, jackets, tank shirts, underwear and full length pants, along with a dagger, his sword and washcloths in just the span of five minutes, not having the time to process what he was doing and how he was doing it.
The sound of the suitcase snapping shut upstairs had echoed through the house like a gunshot, sending a fresh jolt of panic through Sebek. He had been standing frozen in his mother's hold, but the moment Volya reappeared at the top of the stairs, he surged forward again. He didn't care about the rules or the tension; he only saw the travel clothes, the boots, and the sword. He saw the signs of a permanent departure. The sight of Volya's hair tied back—a practical, traveling style—hit him with a wave of certainty that was almost physical. Volya wasn't just going for a walk; he was leaving.
He left behind almost everything he owned, he didn't care if Baur wanted to keep it or throw it out. Tying his hair up, Volya went downstairs again, standing in front or Baur with a grim expression. This was a goodbye, and they both knew it. "Thank you," He started. "For bothering to spend so many resources and time on a son that wasn't yours." Volya then bent down to bow at the fae as a sign of respect. "Goodbye, Mister Zigvolt."
Baur didn't move as Volya bowed. He looked down at the man he had raised, his expression unreadable, though his jaw tightened. He wanted to reach out, to command the boy to stay, to tell him that the 'resources' spent were not a burden but a choice of love. But Baur was a man of iron and silence, and he knew that any attempt to stop Volya now would only be seen as another chain. He remained still, the silence between them stretching out, thick with the ghosts of the three centuries they had spent trying to understand one another. The patriarch's eyes shifted briefly to Sebek, seeing the absolute devastation on the child's face, and a look of profound regret crossed his features.
"Volya," Baur finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that lacked its usual command, sounding instead like a tired man who had run out of answers. He didn't call him 'son' or 'nephew,' but the weight of the name alone carried a heavy, grieving resonance. He didn't move to stop him, acknowledging the boundary Volya had drawn with a heartbreaking finality. He simply stood as a witness to the departure, the guardian of a home that had suddenly become too small for the resentment it housed.
Sebek couldn't take the silence anymore. He broke away from his mother and sprinted forward, throwing himself at Volya's feet, gripping the edges of his travel coat. He didn't scream this time; instead, he let out a series of small, hitching gasps, his face buried against the rough fabric of the jackets. He didn't ask him to stay, because for the first time, he realized that he didn't have the power to make Volya want to. He just clung to him, trying to memorize the feel of the man's presence, his small fingers digging into the coat as if he could anchor Volya to the floor by sheer force of will. He looked up, his yellow-green eyes swimming in tears, a silent, desperate plea for one last sign that he wouldn't be forgotten.
Volya knew he was being heartless, abandoning Sebek like this after years of weaving a thread of affection and dependence into the child's mind. He almost dropped the suitcase to kneel and hug the kid.
Almost.
Instead, he kneeled and placed a hand on his shoulders, prying him off his coat harshly with trembling hands and blurry eyes.
"Listen to me Sebek, this is not your fault, you hear me? Someday you'll understand, maybe not today nor tomorrow, but you will." He spoke with groundbreaking certainty, slowly separating Sebek's tiny fingers from him. "Alright? Don't weep for me, I don't deserve it," He rose up again after caressing the boy's cheek again. "Don't dwell on the past like me, keep training, doing what makes you happy, and someday we'll meet again."
And with that, and one last look at Baur, his sister, and Sebek, the front door closed shut.
Sebek knelt frozen as the warmth of Volya's hand lingered on his cheek, a ghostly sensation that felt like the only thing keeping him grounded. He listened to the words, the promise that this wasn't his fault, and the hope of a future meeting, but the certainty in Volya's voice only made the departure feel more inevitable. He didn't understand the complex grief of the man, but he understood the feeling of a hand letting go. As those tiny fingers were pried away, Sebek felt a void open up beneath his feet, a sudden, terrifying lightness that left him feeling as though he might simply float away into the silence of the house.
The sound of the front door closing was a definitive, heavy thud that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the building. For Sebek, it was the sound of a chapter ending with a violent rip. He didn't move. He remained exactly where he had been, staring at the closed wooden door with wide, vacant eyes. The house, which had always felt like a fortress of safety and strength, suddenly felt like a tomb. The silence that rushed back in was deafening, amplified by the lingering scent of Volya's hair and the coldness of the air where he had just stood.
Beside him, his mother let out a soft, shuddering sob, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Baur remained a silent sentinel, his gaze fixed on the door, his broad shoulders slumped in a way that made him look human and fragile for the first time in Sebek's memory. The patriarch didn't speak; there were no commands left to give, no lessons to impart. The loss was a shared weight, a heavy blanket of regret that draped over the family, leaving them as strangers in their own hallway.
Slowly, Sebek turned his head to look at the floor. There, lying forgotten in the rush of the departure, was a small, stray ribbon from the poorly closed suitcase, a single white fiber clinging to the wood. He knelt down with a slow, mechanical movement and picked it up, clutching the tiny piece of fabric in his palm as if it were the most valuable treasure in the Briar Valley. He didn't cry anymore; the tears had run dry, leaving behind a hollow, aching numbness.
He looked up at Baur, his expression no longer that of a terrified child, but of someone who had just learned the most painful lesson of his life. His voice was small, devoid of its usual thunder, and sounded far older than seven years.
"Does this mean I have to go back to the cottage tomorrow?"