A little boy of around seven whacked a stick against a tree with bravado. He twisted to whack it with a backhanded strike, but the stick snapped. He vigorously waved his broken stick around until the end fell off. He walked up the slope of a fallen log with his arms out like an airplane. He slipped, fell, and found his pristine clothes splattered with mud.

“Oops.”

He wiped his muddy hands on his shirt as he wandered off. He smeared it across his fair forehead as he brushed up his blond hair. He splashed in a babbling brook, washing his hands and drenching himself further. His mother was not going to be thrilled with any of this.

High-pitched chittering like an insect crossed with a mechanical-like whistle pierced his ears and drew his attention to a darting creature the size of a thumb. It zigged and zagged through the air, dipping to touch the water, and flew off with a faint glow trailing behind.

“Pixie!”

He gave chase, coming nowhere near the pixie and soon losing it among the forest. The discomfort from his damp clothes and soggy shoes was starting to bother him anyway. He started the trudge back, slowing even more once he returned to the brook.

There was an odd, little animal trying to drink at the edge. The back and hidelegs were like a lion cub’s, complete with a tail that whipped around wildly as it knelt on its dark, scaly front legs that went up into a dark gray, downy body. There were numbs branching out of its shoulders that were just beginning to sprout feathers.

“Are you a gryphon?”

The little gryphon splashed about in a clumsy attempt to spin around. It opened its steel-colored beak and let loose a chirpy hiss.

A smile spread over his face.

“Ira! Ira, where’ve you gone?”

“That’s my mum,” Ira whispered to the gryphon. “I’ll come back with something to eat.”

---

Dinner was quiet. Ira was allowed to wear his pajama pants from last night in lieu of his wet, muddy pants. The reasoning being it was far too late in the day to change into something nice when dinner was just the three of them. His father had joined him in the pajama bottoms attire while his mother feigned disapproval in her sweats and a t-shirt too stained to ever see the light of day.

Despite the lightheartedness of preparing for dinner, choosing relaxed wear, deciding to eat in the kitchen instead of the formal dining room, dinner was quiet. There was a tense air between his parents that Ira didn’t know what to do with. It wasn’t a situation that happened enough for him to recall the last time a meal with just the three felt so uncomfortable.

Ira inspected the bit of steak on the end of his fork, narrowing his blue eyes as if trying to see through it.

“Wot has that cow done to offend you,” Clayborne asked cheerily.

“What do gryphons eat,” Ira asked.

Clayborne and Elsie shot a look to each other, silently deciding which of them would take what role in this. Elsie sighed and set her fork down.

“What brought on this sudden interest in gryphons, sweetie.” Elsie asked.

Ira looked at his plate but could feel his mother’s light hazel eyes on him. “I found one in the wood….”

“I reckoned our pride moved on,” Clayborne said with a frown. “Was it only the one?”

“Yes, a little one,” Ira said eagerly, turning to his father. “It was all fuzzy with nubs.”

Clayborne and Elsie exchanged alarmed looks. Clayborne set his fork down and stood quickly. Elsie hastily rose too.

“No, m’dear, I’ll return shortly,” Clayborne said. “Finish supper.” He cast his gaze to Ira, smiling warmly. “Where did you see it?”

“N-near the stream…,” Ira said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” Elsie said soothingly. “Take my coat along too. I fear a towel won’t be strong enough.”

The rest of his dinner was unenjoyable. Ira kept stealing looks at the door, or straining his ears for sounds of his father. He was scolded a few times for not paying attention to his meal, or to whatever smalltalk his mother was trying to make to get his mind off things.

He was tucked into his bed and his father still had not returned. He watched his mother tuck a stray strand of her long, toffee colored hair behind her ear as she recited from a thick, leather book. He was in no mood for a fairy story.

Ira sat up suddenly as a door downstairs slammed shut, like it was kicked closed. Elsie gently pushed him back down, snapped the book shut, and kissed his forehead.

“But–,” Ira started.

“Bed now, sweetie,” Elsie said firmly. “We’ll talk in the morning.” She smiled softly. “You were right to tell us about the little gryphon, Ira. We shall have a lesson on them tomorrow.” She hesitated on her way to the door. “Ira?”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“Are you terribly lonely?”

He inched up in an attempt to see his mother’s face better, but with the only light now coming from his nightlight it was impossible. She was turned halfway out the door, teetering on leaving. 

He felt his insides squirm with embarrassment as her question lingered in the room. He shook his head but could not force the words out.

“Elsie,” Clayborne hissed. His steps were light in the hall. “Elsie!”

She vanished, the door clicked closed behind her. “Shush, I’m here. Did you find it?”

“Is he asleep?”

“Likely not, but he’s tucked in.”

“Downstairs then,” Clayborne said, dropping his voice.

Ira crept from his bed as the creaking in the hall receded away. He tensed as the door latch clicked. He eased open the door.

“--finally found her,” Clayborne’s voice drifted from downstairs. “Malnourished, but not dangerously so.”

“Such a relief,” Elsie’s voice came. “I feared getting his hopes up when he mentioned how young–she, was it?--how young she was. Tea?”

“Please; I’m starved.”

He tiptoed out to the landing as his parents moved towards the kitchen. He sank to his knees and squished his face in the bars of the bannister, straining his ears.

“My worry now is how long she’ll need to stay,” Clayborne said.

“That is a worry for when it comes,” Elsie said. “Ira will enjoy caring for her.”

“Ira?”

“Our son is lonely,” Elsie said with a bite in her voice. “Clayborne, look at me. He’s desperately lonely and has been, and we’ve ignored that too long. Remember your childhood?”

He couldn’t hear what his father said. He had a weird, mixed up feeling inside, like a cross between shame and relief. His mother clearly hadn't believed him when he tried saying he wasn’t lonely, but his father also appeared to have had a lonely childhood and he was loved and respected.

“Folant wrote,” Elsie said solemnly.

“You mentioned.”

“I won’t drop this, Clayborne! Not with our son–.”

“Don’t bring Ira into this,” Clayborne said. Then added, dropping his voice, “Ssh, we’ll wake him… He was not even born when we came to this… arrangement with Folant.”

“And he would have never been born without her help,” Elsie stated. There was a long pause. “I wished I could have given him a sibling; you another son or a daughter.”

There was another long pause, but this one had an oddly stifled choking sound. Ira turned his head to listen harder. His stomach sank when it clicked that the noise must’ve been his mother crying. She, or his father, was trying to stop it.

Ira stood and staggered, bumping hard into the rail. He froze as the sounds downstairs abruptly stopped, and awkwardly stumbled back to his room on his sleep-prinkling legs, diving into bed and yanking the sheet over his head.

Footsteps creaked on the landing outside his door. He shut his eyes.

“Fair play, but you forgot to shut your door,” Clayborne’s voice whispered from the hall. “Goodnight, Ira.”

---

Gryphons were dangerous according to the thick, old book Ira was trying to read. His eyes kept glazing over, and with it written at least a hundred years ago, he often had to pester his mother for help.

Elsie sat in an armchair by the cold fireplace. Her toffee colored hair was loosely tied off to the side, and her ivory, silken dressing gown had fallen off her shoulders as she stared unseeingly into the opposite wall. Ira spotted the edges of a rash peeking from the stretched-out collar of her oversized shirt as it too slipped from her shoulder.

“Mummy,” Ira questioned. “What’s that?”

Elsie startled, looked at him, his pointing, and readjusted her dressing gown to cover her neck and shoulders. She gave him a papery smile.

“Are you stuck on something, sweetie?”

Clayborne strode into the study before Ira could answer, or re-ask his original question. He was dressed in heavy leather pants and his coat had a metallic sheen when the light caught it just right. He promptly kissed Elsie on top of the head with a faint “morn, m’dear” and beamed down at Ira.

“I chopped the livers up,” he announced. “You want to take a crack at feeding her?”

“Clayborne,” Elsie warned, “it’s too soon. Let him observe longer.”

“I’d say three days is long enough,” Clayborne said. He smiled at her softly. “You’re fretting too much. Ira can handle this.” He winked at his son. “Can’t you?”

Ira looked between his parents; his mother’s tired worry and his father’s joyous excitement. He jumped to his feet, allowing his father’s excitement to spark his own that he’d kept smouldering ever since finding the gryphon.

“I’ll get my boots!”

He raced to the foyer to don a set of calf-high, thick leather boots. He could hear his parents murmuring at each other, but he was too busy squatting down to tie the laces to care about his mother worrying and his father reassuring. He propped up on his toes, waving his hand about to snag his coat from its hook. It was just a denim jacket, not as protective as his father’s coat, but his mother would surely appreciate his efforts and realize he was serious about helping care for the little gryphon.

He proudly, and calmly, walked back towards the office, slowing at the tense tones in his parents’ voices.

“--exhauted as of late,” Clayborne said. “More reason not to have Folant come, if you ask me.”

“They’re coming, Clayborne,” Elsie said firmly. “I’ve already bought everything for supper.”

“Looks like I really am spending some quality time with your dear brother then.”

Elsie gave an exasperated sigh from the other side of the wall. Ira could picture her pinching at her eyes. He picked that moment to re-enter the office.

“Ready,” he announced.

It was gross and enjoyable dropping chopped livers into the baby gryphon’s mouth. She started out wary, but was soon making a wheezing purring sound and soft chirps between clumps of food. Ira’s ecstatic face was reflected back to himself in her enormous yellow eyes.

“Her coat is quite mottled,” Ira commented. “Do you think she’ll have rosettes? I read some gryphons have them on the cat part of them.”

“Fair thought,” Clayborne murmured. His head was resting on the shed window, his blue eyes staring up at the house.

“Dad? Are you okay?” He quickly looked to the gryphon to avoid eye contact. “You and Mummy… seem odd.”

He didn’t want Clayborne to know how much he’d been eavesdropping lately. It would make his parents too careful and he’d never be able to overhear another thing, trivial or otherwise. He wanted to ask about Folant; who she was, what arrangements they had with her.

Clayborne was staring into his hands. His face was tense with concentration as if trying to see through them.

“You understand that we aren’t a normal family, right?”

“We’re not?” Ira dropped another bit of liver down the gryphon’s throat. “How so? Is this because Uncle Lachlan is a duke?”

Clayborne smiled in bemusement. “You’re feeding a gryphon right now.”

“Oh. Right.” Ira blushed. “What of it?”

Ira did not know life without creatures and magic; them being as common as snow in the winter and his mother scolding him whenever she found snacks hidden in his room.

Clayborne toyed with a button on his coat. “Speaking of your uncle, I plan on staying the night. Perhaps tomorrow as well.”

“Just you? Without me or Mummy?” Ira eyed him. “Don’t you have any friends that’ll take you in when you and Mummy are disagreeing?”

“Alas, no,” Clayborne said in false pain. He smirked. “Part of my upbringing, I’m afraid.” A sudden, horrified look of realization overcame his face to the point that Ira drew back when his father reached out to clap his shoulder. “You have been lonely, haven’t you?”

Ira half-shrugged, squishing the bit of liver in his fingers. There didn’t seem to be a right answer to this question his parents kept throwing at him. He wasn’t sure exactly what it meant to be lonely; he had never had anyone to play with or talk to or simply laze about with that was anywhere near his age to compare it to. If he had to put a word to the most nagging feeling he had though, lonely would be it.

“Ira, watch your–.”

“Ow!”

The end of his finger dripped scarlet on top of the gryphon’s downy head. She tossed and snapped her beak at the travesty of it.

“Lemme see it,” Clayborne said, sighing. “All there. No stitches. Your mother won’t be happy, mind, but this is part of learning. Come on, I’ll get you patched up at the house. I’ll finish her feeding.”

“Can I,” Ira asked timidly. He thrust his bleeding hand behind his back. “I’ll use my other hand. And be extra careful. Please, Dad?”

Clayborne’s eyes sparkled as he smirked and held in a laugh. “If your mother asks, I brought you up straight away.” He nodded to the half full bucket. “Go on, then.”

---

Clayborne had left for Uncle Lachlan’s as soon as lunch was finished. There were no words between him and Elsie on the subject, just tense pecks on the cheek and murmured goodbyes. Ira flattened his hair after his father ruffled it on his exit, watching him drive off before he was shooed upstairs for an early bath.

He wasn’t allowed outside for the afternoon. Elsie had set out his Sunday clothes and those were absolutely not allowed out on the grounds. He was sequestered to her study to continue his studies on gryphons. He suspected his bandaged finger played a part in that.

“I best get supper on,” Elsie said, glancing at the large, ticking clock against the wall.

“I’ll help.”

“Thank you, but no,” Elsie said, easing out of her chair. “I’d hate for you to stain your good clothes. Do what you wish, as long as you keep clean.”

There was not much for him to do in the study other than read, and his mother had been forcing that upon him lately. She forbade him–in so many words–to go out to see the gryphon again. He opted to follow her into the kitchen to watch her cook.

Elsie was seasoning a long tray of diced potatoes that sat out next to a large leg of lamb.

“Dad’s favorite,” Ira said, climbing onto one of the counter seats. Elsie gave him an impish smirk and started seasoning the lamb. “He could be having lamb tonight with Uncle Lachlan.”

“Your uncle couldn’t roast a lamb to save his life,” Elsie said.

“Are you two fighting,” Ira asked anxiously. “Is it… about me?”

His loneliness was at the center of all the arguments he’d overheard. His parents normally got on really well, and were the right mix of teasing and loving so that neither was strong enough to give him worry or make him gag. It was only recently, and always with mentions of his loneliness, that thing had grown tense.

“That makes it sound like you’re at fault, and you’re not,” Elsie said, sliding the lamb in the oven. “Your father and I disagree on how to help you, or if we even should.” She smiled affectionately. “You are not to blame, Ira. Arguments are normal. Don’t fret.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the countertop. “Do you feel a salad or some cooked sort of greenery?”

Elsie nearly dropped the tray of potatoes as the front bell clanged. She shot a wide-eyed look at the clock, and murmured something that suspiciously sounded like a string of curse words.

“They’re early,” Elsie said, setting down the potatoes and fumbling them about to re-even them out. “Come, sweetie, to the door.”

“Couldn’t I just answer it if you’re busy,” Ira asked.

Elsie hesitated. “No… I think it best we go together. Come along.”

He trailed his mother out to the foyer. She checked her face for smears of lamb blood and bared her teeth to guard against any greens stuck in them. There was a nervousness he wasn’t used to seeing coming from her. It reminded him almost of Christmas mornings.

“Smile,” Elsie whispered to him, wrenching open the heavy, wooden door.

A petite woman with long, black hair and gleaming silver eyes was revealed. She wore a coy smile, and her clothes looked expensive even to Ira’s young, inexperienced, boy eyes. There was something about how she stood, carried herself, that gave him a foreboding feeling. His skin prickled as his danger senses rose.

The woman’s eyes darted to him so quickly he could have imagined it before softening on Elsie. She made a quick curtsy with a bend of her knee.

“Elspeth.”

“Folant.” Elsie and Folant bumped cheeks. “It’s been ages! Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, my dear friend,” Folant said. Her eyes flashed beyond Elsie. “Clayborne…?”

“Not here,” Elsie said, her jaw set. Ira blinked, shocked, as she rolled her eyes.

“Just as well. We did have our arrangement.”

“Oh, do come in, Folant,” Elsie said, rushing aside. “My manners, I swear.” She yanked Ira out of the way and in front of her. “This is Ira.”

Folant looked at him with an odd fondness. His body was still yelling that he was in danger, so he shrunk against Elsie and fought the urge to bury his face.

Folant gave a deeper curtsy. “Your highness.” She looked up to Elsie. “He senses me.”

“Oh, of course; how stupid of me,” Elsie said, crouching down to look Ira in the face. She smiled reassuringly. “Folant is a witch, sweetie. She’ll feel a tad different than the mages you’ve encountered.” She brushed his blond hair with her long fingers. “She’s a friend.”

“Hello,” Ira said quietly. “Pleased to have met you.”

“Entirely mine, highness,” Folant said, her coy smirk softening to something more motherly. She flinched. “And this—blast, where did she get to?”

Elsie’s grip tightened on his shoulders as she tiptoed in place, peering out the door into the dark as Folant stepped out. He was starting to feel nauseous between his mother’s bizarre behavior and this Folant woman’s hair-raising pressure.

Ira stepped out from Elsie’s grip as she softly gasped in time with Folant re-entering the house with her hand firmly on a girl’s shoulder. She had the same long, black hair as Folant, but was a shade or two lighter in complexion, more like his own. Her eyes were a definitive amber. She couldn’t have been more than ten, and she had the same pressure as her mother. Perhaps even wilder.

“This is Enid.”

Elsie firmly pulled him into her side. She was trembling. “She is your sister.”

-----------------------------------

Originally, Ira was going to have an older brother (likely named Folant since it's considered masculin) but I kept liking the idea of an older sister more and more. This was partly to get down the names Folant and Enid so I don't lose them. I've always kept Enid in the back of my mind, so if I end up liking it too much it could be a middle name if I have another girl. But, for now, the name belongs to Ira's estranged, half-sister.

This is also a reminder that Elsie and Clayborne were Keepers, specifically stalkers. They live in a large-ish house in the country where a lot of critters reside or migrate through. Other than a pair of maids that come three times a week, they don't have servants unless it's for some type of event and they have fewer and fewer of those as they get older. I don't know if I'll get into what's up with Keepers (and the Order of Ferblanc) while writing Nellie's stuff or not. Maybe the Order. The gist of it is that Keepers have to undergo a sort of transformation thing in order to be protected against a lot of the creatures, and that transformation comes with some nasty side effects, the big one being reproducing. Folant being a witch (like Ava but x1000) was able to help out so Clayborne and Elsie could concieve Ira, but it took a trememndous toll on Elsie so they could only attempt it the one time. So, Elsie had a whole other thing going on separate from her dragoning.

The whole arrangement with Clayborne, Folant, and Elsie will definitely come in during Ira's story(s). I wasn't sure if I'd get to introduce Enid in Nellie's, orignally that was supposed to be the first time I introduced her to readers, but that's really far away if it happens at all. I want Ira and Penny only to pop up enough to get Nellie on her feet, not the run the show for her, so who knows how often they show up.

Mioko could scarcely keep his head upright. His labored breathing was growing faint; his skin paling beneath the freckles that peppered his skin. He was supported almost fully by the steel bars he leaned against with only one hand grasping a section above his tawny hair.

He raised his head painfully. His brown eyes were dull as the glimmer of life was eked from them with every breath.

He found a familiar Daethen knight sitting at the other end of the hall, idly picking under his fingernails with one of his throwing knives. His feet were propped up on a chair beside him, and in a box on the desk behind him lay the various trinkets and baubles that had been removed from the sorcerers apprehended the day before.

The once glimmering yellow crystal worn around Mioko’s neck was among the pile.

Mioko winced and used his arm to pull himself further upright. His other hand slipped, shakily, through the space between the bars. His fingers stretched as far as they could go, as if trying to close in any gap between them and the crystal across the room.

He was much too far away.

“Ed,” his voice came weakly.

The knight’s movements slowed, but his attention was not moved.

“I need my crystal.”

Ed still did not move.

“Ed, please,” Mioko pleaded. “You know I need it; it’s not just a totem–it’s my life!” He breathed, “I swear, I won’t use its power…”

“Yeah–he swears!” The man in the cell beside him scooted closer to his own bars. “And give me mine, too! We won’t do anything!”

“Just give them all back to us!” A woman called from down the hall. “Please, I’ll die without my opal stone!” 

“Come on, Ed,” the man spoke again, stressing the man’s nickname. “You can trust us!"

“Shut it.” The knight’s reply was simple.

Mioko bit his lip as his hand slid down the bar toward his hair. His eyes scanned the cells as the others chuckled and mumbled amongst themselves. He winced, knowing well that not a single one was bound like he was.

He stretched out his hand again. “You don’t have to give it to me, just... could you place it closer?”

“Place it closer, Ed!” The voices returned with no effort to the sneer of sarcasm. 

“Place mine right here!!” A hand slapped against the stoney ground outside a neighboring cell.

Mioko drew a sharp breath as another wave of weakness rippled through his body. It stung and numbed him all at once, causing him to shiver. His hand dropped to his side while the other slipped from the bar. He tried to stifle his rasping breaths, saving what he could to keep conscious.

The woman across from him peeked through her cell as the voices around them grew ever-louder. “You’re... you’re not making that up, are you?” She inched closer, peering through squinted eyes. Realization spread across her own freckled face. “Were you the child who escaped the Fae of U’dien?”

“Will you all be quiet?!” Ed growled loud enough to be heard over the noise.

The woman climbed to her knees as she glanced at Ed. "He’s not lying–he’s the boy from my village who escaped the Fae!"

“Escaped the Fae??” The man beside Mioko shot her an incredulous look.

“But all children die when they leave U’dien!” Another called.

“And he will too without that U’dien crystal!” The woman barked back. “He truly does need it!”

“Shut up–all of you!!” Ed snapped, stomping to his feet as he turned toward the hall of cells.

The voices were reduced to silence. Even Mioko had looked up warily as his forehead pressed against the bars.

The knight’s eyes narrowed on him for a moment before he turned away. “You are in holding until the King says otherwise–nobody’s getting anything back until then!!”

“Sir Edwards,” Mioko tried one last time with all the firmness he could muster.

His eyes darted toward him. "Save your breath."

The Weivan was unable to determine if Ed’s words were meant in dismissal. The tone was more somber; more empathetic. Could it be that the man knew his detainment wouldn’t last much longer?

Ed returned to his chair, but he did not sit down. The yellow crystal was barely visible from the corner of his eye. His frown deepened. With a simple turn, he walked up to the iron door and left the room.

Mioko hissed through his teeth and slid further down the bars. He could only hope the crystal would be returned before it was too late.

–

The Phoenix’s Duty Short
Ed brings Vance to King Rei, offering his services to hold back the curse of Ignarathos. In return, Ed bis declared the Duke, and he is able to order all sorcerers to be freed.

–

Almost everyone in the hallway looked up through their bars when the heavy iron door opened back up. They remained silent as a different knight entered and took a set of keys from the desk beside the box of totems. They watched with anticipation as he took them to the first locked cell and swifty unlocked it.

“Wait–are we free?” The woman inside stood.

“That’s what they say,” the knight replied. “By order of the Duke, or something. Take your things and go.”

“They’re releasing us!” Another shouted down the hall. “Hey–they’re releasing us!!” 

Among other cries of gladness, the woman joyfully stepped from the cell as the knight moved to the next lock. She ran to the desk and overturned the box of totems. Spreading them across the desk, she found her own opal necklace.

“At last!” She cried, holding it in her hand.

As each door was unlocked, the man or woman within rushed to the table to pick up their totem. Hands and fingers grasped at chains and baubles, but each sorcerer only took what was theirs. After all: someone attempting to take more than their own would have had a hard time escaping with the amount of magic users present around them.

When the freckled woman retrieved her silver hair pin, her hand hesitated over the yellow U’dien crystal. Her eyes drifted over her shoulder in an attempt to look for Mioko, but the amount of bodies rushing past–and his cell appearing to be open–coaxed her to leave.

One by one, individual cells were unlocked as word was spread through the halls of the dungeon. By the time the knight reached the hall Athena was in, a flood of recently-freed sorcerers was already moving swiftly through the stone corridors before her–all funneling to the great iron door at the far end of the dungeon.

She caught the knight’s arm as he dragged the door open. “Excuse me, but I need to find the cell of a Weivan with short red hair–”

“Lady, there’s a hundred Weivans with short red hair in this dungeon,” his lips skewed beneath his helmet. 

“His name is Mioko–”

“I can’t help you.”

She frowned as he moved on to the next cell, and she took a deep breath before blending into the crowd. She weaved in and out of the steady flow of people, frequently catching a glimpse of someone with red-hair, but they were never the man she sought. She continued through the ever-emptying cells until she reached the last, long hallway. An iron door was open at the far end.

The newly appointed Duke stood at the desk near the doorway. His elbow was bent at his waist, and his hand was closed.

“Ed,” Athena called, starting toward him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Athena? Since when did you practice magic?”

“I don’t,” she stepped aside when another sorcerer rushed past her, “but, they took Mioko away from his daughter, and when I tried to stop them, they–” 

Her sentence was broken with a horrified gasp. Her eyes had fallen upon the unmoving form of a Weivan with short red hair, curled on his side within an open cell. “Mioko!!” She cried, dropping to her knees. “No–Mioko!!” She grasped his shoulders, rolled him to his back, and shook him, but he remained limp and lifeless in her hands.

Ed swallowed. He opened his hand to reveal the yellow crystal of U’dien–the last of the totems left on the desk after every other sorcerer had fled their cell.

Athena’s tear-filled eyes darted toward him, focusing in on the trinket in his hand. “You know–you know he needs that!!” She spat, flying to her feet and rushing toward him. “You know he will die without it–you know and you took it from him!!”

The Duke flinched as Athena practically leapt at him; fists pounding his chest as her shrill words stung his ears. He shrunk back as she forcibly snatched the crystal from his hand.

“If this won’t revive him now, you are the reason Mioko is dead!!” She screamed through her tears; every ounce of her thin frame bristling with anger and disappointment.

Ed’s lips were skewed with his teeth clenched behind them. His expression was pained and pale–but he did not speak. He only watched as the woman turned on her heels and ran back to Mioko’s cell with his crystal in hand.

Athena dropped to her knees, shuddering as she slid to Mioko’s side.

“Please–wake up!” She pressed the crystal to his unmoving chest.

The dull crystal at once flared with golden light. It pulsed once before swirling around her hand and filling the cell in brilliant light.

The light reflected in her eyes.

Athena gasped as the air was sucked from her lungs, faltered as her strength was seeped, and shut her eyes as her vision clouded over.

Ed took a step forward, his face painted in concern.

The golden light faded, and Athena collapsed.

Mioko gasped for air.

Golden light flashed in his eyes as they opened wide, only to fall closed as he continued breathing in air as quickly as he could. When he could finally find the renewed strength to move, he tried to roll to his side to sit up.

His necklace slipped from his chest and landed on the ground, but his knees bumped against something.

He blinked as he focused on the figure lying in the dimly lit cell.

His breathing caught in his throat.

“Athena?!” He scrambled to his hands and knees and dove toward her. “Athena!!”

Ed shut his eyes and turned away as a new set of cries rose into the air.

“No–Athena, you–why did you–” Mioko gnashed his teeth and grabbed the golden gem in his fingers. “Put it back!!” He shouted at the crystal before pressing it against Athena’s unmoving form. “This life isn’t mine–put it back!!”

But his crystal retained its subtle glow without even a spark to offer.

His lips quivered as tears fell from his eyes. “Don’t make her die for me!!” He cried pitifully as his fingers clenched the crystal so tightly his hand shook.

Duke Edwards slipped away, pained sorrow twisting his expression before he disappeared in shadow.

–

In the waning light of a cloudy afternoon, Ace and Elliot stopped their horses at the foot of the hill on which the great castle of Daethos stood. Hundreds of men and women were pouring from the door of the castle, forming a steady stream of figures running down the hill and practically leaping toward the gate at which they stood. Their cacophonous cries filled the air and grew louder as they approached.

“Well,” Elliot eyed the first few sorcerers as they rushed past them, “it looks like we got here at just the right time.”

Ace chewed his lip as his eyes scanned the billowing crowd. “Do you see her?”

“In that? No.”

The tan-haired man frowned. “Wait here.”

“Are you sure about that?” Elliot took Lady’s reins as Ace dismounted quickly, pushing his way through the gate and into the fray. 

“Athena!” He shouted as he shoved his way upstream.

“Oof!” Someone quipped.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“Out of my way!” A bulky man shoved him as he tried to push past.

“Out of my way, you jerk!” Ace shouted after him, his arms balled at his chest. He turned his head back to the door everyone was filing from. “Athena!!” He called again, scanning the field for her face. With so many running and blocking his vision as they passed, he was worried he would miss her. As the crowd quickly thinned, he chewed his lip and glanced behind him. “Surely she’d see Elliot if she passed me,” he muttered, only to be struck in the other by a freckled woman in a thick cloak. “Hey!” He staggered back, setting a hand on his shoulder as if in protest.

The woman didn’t even look twice as she hurried away.

Ace huffed a breath and turned his attention back to the castle door.

His scrunched expression immediately unclenched.

A man with red hair had stepped into the field.

Ace straightened his posture as he locked eyes with Mioko. His chest filled with anxious panic when he saw someone draped within his arms. His heart dropped when the figure in his arms became recognizable.

The other sorcerers rushing from the castle had run away. The cries and shouts and cheers had dulled. Time itself seemed to slow as Mioko trudged toward him at a painfully slow pace.

Ace had grown deathly still; hoping–praying–that she had only been injured. But with every step that closed the gap between them, trembling dread further overtook him. 

Mioko bowed as he came to a stop a few feet away, his face pale and tear-stained.

Ace’s knees buckled and he sank into the grass. He sucked in a breath through open lips as Mioko gently knelt down and presented Athena’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered almost imperceptibly, his eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry.”

Ace’s brows arched on his forehead, tears stinging his eyes as they remained wholly focused on his wife. Her eyes were closed; her dull lips slightly parted. Her chest did not swell with breath; her fingers remained stiff and unmoving.

Wildly trying to process the scene, he gave the smallest shake of his head. “Wh…” he tried to speak, though he could not muster his voice. He could not attempt to speak about the reality lying before him.

“They… they took my crystal… I was dying. She gave it back to me, and it… It took her life to give to me,” Mioko gnashed his teeth in anguish. 

Ace’s brows furrowed further, his hand hesitating before it could reach for her.

“If I could–just–give it back,” Mioko hissed, “she wouldn’t–wouldn’t have died!”

The word sent a jolt through Ace’s entire body. He had not wanted to hear the word. He had not wanted to accept the word.

But the word was true.

Athena had died.

In utter defeat, the tan-haired man dropped his hand, squashed his eyes shut, and lurched forward until his forehead fell upon hers.

Mioko’s gem sparked and Ace at once felt faint.

“Wait,” Mioko grasped Ace by the shoulder and swiftly pushed him back. “Let me let go of her. The crystal is still trying to heal me–it’s taking anything it can.”

Ace’s teeth remained clenched as he watched the sorcerer lay his wife upon the ground. His hand touched the spot on his forehead at his hairline, still tingling like a freshly formed scar.

Weakly, Mioko crawled away, remaining hunched over his knees. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again.

Ace drew his gloved hands to her unmoving face. Her skin was cold against his fingertips. 

He bleated a short sob as the reality further sunk in.

The last time he had seen her, he had argued with her. They had left their disagreement unresolved as he hurried away to the theater with scarcely a kiss on her cheek. He had left her alone, like had done many other days before that.

But he had expected to come home and find her waiting for him. He had expected to make things right.

Instead, their disagreement–and their life together–would be left unresolved.

“Teena,” Ace moaned her name, as if to summon a different ending.

The stillness of the air around him was the only reply.

Tears poured from his eyes as he doubled over and clutched her body with all his might, crying desperately into the fading light.

--

Oof this is a sad one.

I usually try my best to avoid drawing or writing about a dead body; I'll try to hide the face or simply pass over to a scene after the death has been dealt with, but this one, unfortuantley for Ace, has to be front and center.

It's very much a turning point in Ace's life, and not just because he must process the death of his own wife. Basically, he was so focused on supporting Athena by doing ALL things, he ends up barely being present for her. Losing her really makes him sit back and really think about what he's trying to do with his life, and while his healing process is long and painful (and most of it will happen 'off-screen'), it brings him to a better place of growth and resilience on the other side.

And of course this affects Mioko greatly too; that crystal is both a source of life and the bane of his existence... He grieves almost as much as Ace simply because he had a very firm friendship with Athena, and he's devastated that his power was the cause of her death (even though he had no control over it). And also unfortunately, this inadvertently makes things awkward between him and Ace - just briefly though. After they heal and process, they are able to lean on each other due to their mutual care for Athena - and how they've both had to struggle through losing their spouses.

It gets better I promise!!

(Also, the tingling "magic scar" is how Ace gets his white streak in this 'universe.')

They were whisked away to the Knight Barracks down near a right angle of road called Devil’s Corner. All of them had injuries from the run in with the monster. Brody got off with a ripped shirt and some shallow scratches from the wing. Calix dislocated his shoulder breaking Ira’s door down to get his sword. Itzel had several deep scratches from when the cryptid landed on her, but only one needed stitches. Nellie’s torn shoulder needed stitches too.

Ira did not go with them to the Knight Barracks. He went north to the Conservatory with Cecily. She was limping when Nellie last saw her.

“Bear it a tad longer,” Knight Wilde said patiently. His thick fingers were somehow holding the stitching needle deftly, and Nellie hadn’t felt more than small tugs thanks to his skill–and some numbing cream.

Itzel stood a few feet away, anxiously tiptoeing and wringing her hands as she watched. That made Nellie want to see how bad her arm looked, but she fought the urge.

“And… done.” Knight Wilde creaked back in his rocking chair. “Whew, you kids sure saw one heck of a night, didn’t you?”

“We really appreciate the help,” Brody said, approaching with a steaming cup. He handed it to Nellie. “Is there… any word on his highness?”

“Or the gryphon,” Calix added from across the room. He was holding a large Ziploc of ice to his wrapped, relocated shoulder.

“No, but he said to bring you to Nahma once you were all patched up,” Knight Wilde said. “I have great optimism that the prince is well.”

Nellie sipped at her tea, finding it was a strong, black variety that was familiarly unpleasant. She held it in her mouth, forcing it down with a gulp that nearly choked her.

“Don’t share your father’s tea preference, I take it,” Knight Wilde said with amusement. “Here, I’ll take it. No need to be polite.”

It almost surprised her that Knight Wilde knew of Rhys, but he was about fifty. Nellie wasn’t sure how long training in Rome was but he and Rhys were near enough that they probably had some overlap. 

It also seemed that a lot of people knew who Rhys was without meeting him. Fin knew who he was despite his father not ever meeting Rhys.

“We crossed paths while he was in America,” Knight Wilde explained.

Nellie was glad she did not still have bitter tea in her mouth. She would’ve spat it. “Rhys was in America? When?”

“Years ago,” Knight Wilde said. His deeply lined brow furrowed. “Yikes, it would’ve been more than a decade since he’s left.”

That made sense after the shock of hearing it wore off. Silas was American, and he said Penny's mother was a friend of his and Rhys's.

“You wouldn't know where he went… would you,” Nellie asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Knight Wilde smiled sympathetically, shaking his head.

With them all patched up, Knight Wilde and Knight Doyle—a tall man with pepped hair and a large gash scar on his arm—escorted them up to Namha. It was a short drive made shorter with the hour being so late that the roads were empty and speeding was possible.

Nahma came and went in a blink. They turned north. The properties thinned out until the only one visible was a tiny white building with a steepled roof. They went through the parking lot, and took an unpaved road out into the trees and mountains, soon coming upon a stone wall that strongly reminded Nellie of pictures she’d seen of the Great Wall.

Nellie didn’t see how they made it through the wall, but they were parking in a large clearing with the wall behind them before she knew it.

Keeper Orwell took it upon himself to lead them through the twists and turns of the Conservatory. He was spouting facts like the building being crescent shaped and the wall having smaller, thinner walls to make large enclosures for the different cryptids in residence.

Nellie was having trouble listening. It must have been near midnight, and now that she was safe and warm, she was beginning to nod off on her feet. Calix’s head was also lolling as they walked; Brody was yawning so wide his eyes watered.

She and Itzel were shown to a small, stone room cramped with two twin beds. There was barely room to move between the beds, but somehow Nellie was able to get into one. She was out before the door shut.

---

Itzel was gone when Nellie finally woke sometime midday judging by the strong sunlight streaming from the little window. She sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, not sure what to do and feeling slightly grungy in her ripped and bloodstained pajamas. She gave into a combination of boredom and curiosity, and wandered out.

The thin, curved halls looked different with them sunfilled. She walked with her head turned to stare out the massive walls of windows, feeling her heart swoop as a huge, dark bird with lightning crackling on its wings soared by.

“Thunderbird.”

Nellie jumped at the voice, turning to see a stern woman standing there. She was a tall woman, easily six feet, with gray streaked hair that was twisted up in a knot. Her mouth was thin, dark eyes narrow, and her cheekbones sharp. Her brassy skin was worn and deeply lined on her brow and around her mouth, as if she scowled often.

“My apologies, Miss Herle,” she said with a slight nod. “I’m Keeper Yardley, the resident stalker for this Conservatory. If we stalkers can even claim residency.”

Stalkers were specialized Keepers, from what Ira once told her. They sought out dangerous cryptids versus the regular Keepers that kept more to one location and watched over all the creatures. His parents had been stalkers prior to Clayborne York ascending to Protector of the Realm.

“Prince Ira sent me to see if you had woken,” Keeper Yardley said.

“Ira’s okay,” Nellie said, relieved. “What about Cecily?”

“I was just sent to fetch you,” Keeper Yardley said. “Follow, if you please.”

She followed Keeper Yardley with her head turned to stare out the windowed wall. They came to a spacious room where Keeper Orwell and Ira were calmly sipping hot drinks. Keeper Orwell immediately set his cup down and stood.

“We’ll leave you to it, your highness,” Keeper Orwell said.

Ira was wearing his pajamas, complete with the worn AC/DC shirt Nellie remembered from his Tennessee visit. His pajamas were clean, opposite of hers, and she assumed his clothes from last night had been ruined much like her shirt and Itzel’s nightgown.

“The Keepers call that cryptid a Piasa Bird,” Ira said. He smiled wryly. “Not much of a bird, really. More of one of those dragon adjacent creatures your cousin was musing on.”

“Is Cecily okay,” Nellie asked, looking Ira up and down for signs of injuries.

“Cecily will be all right,” Ira said. “She’ll recover here and fly home. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two.” He knit his fingers, staring at them unseeingly. “She protected me. Took the brunt of the attacks. I’m perfectly fine.”

Nellie went and sat next to him on the small, plush couch. She, too, stared at her hands as the silence between them lengthened. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just quiet.

“That cryptid… it having a human face… that makes it more real that our moms got turned into dragons,” Nellie murmured. She swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Do you think… it was someone’s mom?”

“With that face? Hardly.” Ira drained his tea. “Penny and I theorized all dragons were female, but this challenges that. Or, perhaps, because this is not a true dragon it doesn’t follow that pattern.” His clear eyes darted to his phone resting on the coffee table before them. “I messaged her after I arrived last night, but still nothing.”

It was dark when Nellie saw the Piasa Bird, but there was nothing about its features that pointed to it being a male, minus the beard, but since that was stringy and green, she suspected that was part of the transformation. It was also hanging from the chin and jaws, more like a tiger’s beard than a human beard.

A knock sounded, distracted them both from their separate thoughts. Nellie felt compelled to stand as Knight Doyle, Keeper Orwell, Keeper Yardley, and a square-jawed man in a suit filed in. Ira stayed seated at her side, but she noticed his back straighten.

“Knight Captain Thrasher, I thank you for coming,” Ira said, his tone cool and detached like when he arrived at Silas’s compound.

“Highness,” Thrasher said, giving Ira a curt nod. His eyes narrowed at Nellie. “And…?”

“This is Perenelle Herle,” Ira said. “We were just catching up.” He gave Nellie a small smile. “I’m sure you’re starved. There should still be breakfast.”

Nellie kept Thrasher in the corners of her eye as she inched around to exit the room. His stare had hardened after Ira introduced her, making her insides writhe in discomfort. She shut the door after her and teetered on leaving.

“Herle,” came Thrasher’s rough voice. “As in Rhys Herle?”

“Her father.” Ira said. “Shall we–?”

“You consort with a traitor’s child,” Thrasher growled.

“You forget yourself, sir,” Ira said coldly. There was an inaudible muttering. “Now, to business, shall we? His majesty asks your thoughts on—”

She backed away from the door, not caring about Ira’s politicking. Her insides felt hollow at the charge Thrasher had spat about Rhys. It was the first she had ever heard someone speak negatively of him, and it was with a very serious crime.

She wondered what it meant to be a traitor in this sense. It made little sense the longer she tried to sort it out. Rhys had left the Order of Ferblanc to become Commander of the Auctorita. That was the same as leaving one company for a better promotion as far as she could tell.

Thrasher must be a drama queen despite his appearance.

Itzel had tracked down their clothes, and was dressed for the day when Nellie returned to the room. She looked chipper, as if she was visiting home after a long time.

“Ira’s having his meeting right now,” Nellie said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I don’t know how long it’ll be, but we’ll probably head out to the airport right after.” She looked from the shirt in her hand to Itzel. “Um… can you turn around, please?”

Itzel eyed her as if not sure Nellie was trying to hide something, but did turn to allow her to change in somewhat private. They headed out after, eventually running into Brody and Calix as they stared through the windowed wall, pointing creatures out to one another.

“Hey, girls,” Brody greeted. “How’s the stitches?”

“Honestly, I thought they’d hurt more,” Nellie said. “How’re you guys? Calix?”

“Sore,” Calix said, gingerly touching his shoulder. His arm was still in a sling. “It moves now; that’s what I want.”

They wandered the curved building, trying to see how many different creatures they could spot, while they waited for Ira. Keeper Yardley found them first, informed them that Ira was too busy to escort them, and took them to the airport herself.

Nellie was disappointed she didn’t have time to talk to Ira. She wanted to theorize more about that Piasa Bird. It wouldn’t have hurt to prod him about Thrasher too, just to confirm her suspicions about his temperament.

They were each given a phone and told to call their guardians about their trials as soon as they arrived back at the compound. Nellie double checked the time when Nathalie failed to answer, frowning. It was a Tuesday. She would’ve left for Murfreesboro to be sure she was in the area for the evening class she taught.

She sent a quick message rather than leave a voice one:

Hoped to talk to Ash. Forgot you taught today. I’ll write you.

Nathalie didn’t need to know about the Piasa Bird right that second. Nathalie would learn about the stitches after her time at the compound ended.

Her bedroom door was flung open with a bang. “Nellie!” Morgan strode in, oblivious that she was half-off the edge of her bed due to his startle. “You’ve got to–.”

“You’ve got to knock, Morgan, I’ve told you,” Nellie interrupted.

“Nevermind all that,” Morgan dismissed. “This creature–this Piasa Bird–the face was human?” He began pacing. “Of course, this goes to my theory of dragon adjacent being connected. That much is certain.”

“Is it,” Nellie asked.

“His highness was rather short sighted to not look at these adjacent creatures,” Morgan said with superiority. “Ah, well, I suppose he’ll be more willing to listen to my ideas in the future.”

“He… did listen,” Nellie said, unsurely.

“You must tell me everything,” Morgan said, jumping up on the edge of her bed.

She rushed through the encounter with the Piasa Bird, only lingering to describe it. Morgan nodded slightly as she talked, his eyes staring as his mind turned things over.

“It isn’t your mother…,” Morgan mused. “I wonder if we could use facial recognition to determine who it was prior to this curse.”

“If it is a curse,” Nellie said. “There are cryptids that are humanoid. Like mermaids. …Mermaids are real, right?”

“They are,” Morgan said through clenched teeth. “That still doesn’t mean my theory is wrong.”

“I didn’t say it was! I was just saying we don’t have enough info,” Nellie said.

There was a long lapse of silence between them. Nellie had no idea why Morgan was quiet. He hadn’t just spent half a night fighting for his life and being wounded in the process. He hadn’t just overheard his father called a traitor. He wasn’t desperately trying to ignore the nagging that invaded when things got too quiet.

“How,” Nellie started quietly, clearing her throat, “am I supposed to know my mother?” She picked her nails, keeping her eyes down. “I don’t remember Brue. How am I supposed to know it’s her?”

“How could you not remember her,” Morgan asked incredulously. “Weren’t you two? You should have firm, core memories of her.”

Shame and guilt seared her insides. She must have had memories of Brue and Rhys, and living with them as a family when she went to live with Nathalie. She forgot about them both though.

“Well… perhaps asking you to have any detailed memories at that age is a big ask,” Morgan said uncomfortably, pointedly not looking at her. “And, you had so much happen once you started your new life, that it makes sense you held onto all those memories.”

“I liked that life too,” Nellie murmured.

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “Better than now?”

Nellie laughed, nudging him. “No. I like having a little cousin.” She laughed again at his scowl, but could see a smile threatening to escape. She sighed. “I still have no idea how to know if the dragon we eventually find is really my mother though. Maybe I should ask Rhys? Your dad said he knew where he was. I bet we could really solve all this if we teamed up.”

“Or are you looking for an excuse to meet your father,” Morgan asked suspiciously.

Nellie’s freckled cheeks tinted red. She tossed her auburn waves off her shoulder, wincing as she hand brushed her stitches and ruining the airs she was trying to put on.

“I dread suggesting it, but you could ask his highness or that Penny woman if they have any strategy for recognizing their mothers other than multiple years with her.” He gave a lamenting type of sigh. “And, I suppose I could ask my father about yours on your behalf. Speed it up a bit.”

“I don’t know… Going to the Regere seems like a slippery slope somehow… But….”

“Excellent,” Morgan said, slipping off the bed onto his feet. “I’ll drop it casually. Maybe to my mother. I’ll leave you to dress for dinner.”

“Dress,” Nellie asked. “Is it formal?”

“No, of course not,” Morgan said with a laugh. “You just look a mess. I thought you’d want to remedy that.”

She looked for something to throw at him as he left, failing. She was sure to lock the door after him. She fought the grin trying to disrupt her annoyance.

--------------------------------------

This just took forever. I need that kid to sleep more. I was trying to name people and then realised Orwell was also a literary name, so changed those Knights to Doyle and Wilde to also be literary. But, I liked Yardley so kept it and was too tired to think of another writer to replase Thrasher, lol. I've been looking for a spot to put a thunderbird since I started typing this thing. I spent many hours of my childhood staring into the sky wondering if the bird I was looking at was big enough to be a thunderbird.

I'm thinking chapters will be more sporadic with the fatigue/insomnia thing going on.