Canaries and Coal Mines

Temporary working title. About Snowshank, by Mezepheles. Do not take anything from this page without explicit permission.
==Chapter 1==
"Gladiolus."
The word seemed to echo and stretch, phasing in and out with a blur of too bright light. It was hard to focus, a dull ache fading into muted pain. Their eyes managed to open anyway, adjusting to the warm sunlight and dusty wooden interiors until finally their gaze settled upon the face of the dragon leaning over them.
"Gladiolus," he repeated, a slight smile slipping over his face. He seemed a shadow, scales dark in a way that grasped at gem-cut brilliance but fell instead into the shades of dust blanketed corners. "It's good to see you awake."
Their mouth cracked open, maybe to protest, to question, to express the confusion swimming through their addled mind, only to get cut short by both a sharp flash of pain and the sudden sensation of a talon pressed lightly against their snout.
"Shh, don't try to talk. The explosion messed up your throat pretty badly. Gloxinia said she wasn't sure if things will heal properly. Best not to use it too much, at least for now."
Their grip was loose on his words, meaning slipping away in a lazy ebb. They recognized the shape of a command in his breath. The name was not familiar. Their muscles flexed to tilt their head in a nod, but that too only heightened the pain. It was easier to fall still, clouded with empty thoughts and the dull, steady pulse in their ears.
 
They focused on him once again, a face that sparked no recognition. He studied them as well, watching them with dark, curious eyes. There was an intensity in them that seemed to burn. His jaw slipped open, words edged with sharp white teeth.
 
"Get some rest, Gladiolus."
 
It was easy enough to comply.
 
The hours passed in a meandering flow. Eyes fluttered open then shut again, always drifting towards the shadow in the room, the changing angle of the sunlight through the windows. No long stretches of darkness, just a languid haze of days slipping away.
 
Words wafted through on occasion, caught in the eddies before dissipating. It was early summer, each cycle of the sky dragging the sun a little further from the horizon. They weren't sure if they knew or learned of it.
 
Sometimes, without warning, irregular spikes of panic and fear and knotted instincts startled forth—spurred by a deep sense of wrongness, of horror uncomprehending and unrelenting and hate hate HATE—and talons grasped for a hold on fabric that gave too easily—and they were being held, clutched close and warm, whispers in their ear offering peace. Far too alive, it was an easy offering to accept. A return to a dreamless rest. Then it was all the same.
 
There was nothing in between, beyond the silence of time compressed and lost to nothing. Roused only by the tide washing them up to shore. Until that too was swallowed away. The muted silence always settled back in its rightful place.
 
Occasionally there was a river in their throat, water pressed insistent against their mouth. A mush, tasteless, lukewarm, followed. Burning eyes watched, ceaseless and patient.
 
They were illuminated in a waxing radiance.
 
"No just—look at them!"
 
They were awake again, this time to a bite of noise that jerked them from the drift of their slumber. The waters retreated too quickly, a flash of the ocean draining away. They swam aimless into consciousness, halfheartedly watching the motes of light drifting above the bed. There was motion in the corner of their vision—a gathering of dragons in the room today, huddled around a table in the corner, sharing secrets in voices that had immediately quieted down to barbed murmurs.
 
They raised an arm, floating up through woolen sheets to hover, flickering, before their eyes. The movement, sluggish as it was, seemed too sudden a lurch to their eyes.
 
In the distance, furniture screeched and bodies swarmed, a clamor of harsh sounds ushered away before their attention could refocus past the pallid shade of their own scales. The shadow stood sentry. Their eyes slipped back into the embrace of the light.
 
Their arm lowered without thought, pressing calloused talons against the gauze covering their throat. Their mind was clearer now, able to better analyze their injuries. Scattered bruises and minor scrapes, already healing, and distant bone deep aches and… the burns across their throat and their left cheek.
 
Burns that shouldn't have felt the way they did, knotted texture clear through the thick layers of bandages. Their throat still burned upon cracking it open, bitter and numb. Desperation flared up brief and fleeting, blunted even at its peak before quieting again.
 
Then, the next time they woke, the shadow was subdued and tucked away, eyes shielded behind heavy lids. The light through the window was too subtle, too sharp a change. It spiked again, sharp in their chest—a need to move, to leave—and they slipped from the pillows on distant instinct, coming to a rest on wooden floors that felt too rough and legs too unsteady to hold their weight, withered as they were.
 
They stumbled towards the door with a heartbeat that thumped through their skull, reaching, hoping, grasping. The desperation wove its way through in the dim gloom, clutching at shreds and screaming, purposeless, and weak limbs continued in a trembling pace.
 
The door was rotted wood and rusted hinges that creaked and open to a light breeze. The dragon turned before they saw him and in his first steps were too bright and too swallowed by the darkness to make sense of. Then he was before them, his wings supporting theirs, talons clasped a little too tight and a gaze soft as the down fleeing from torn pillows was staring straight into them.
There were words, a little too loud before he subdued them, stepping close as if approaching a cornered animal, feral in its helplessness. A voice thick with gravel, gentle, patient, slow, swirling past their ears. He asked something about the moons and the moons whispered yes.
A little too tight and a little too loud and just a little off, a balance that didn't settle. He felt like the bile in their throat and the spreading numbness and an acrid poison that wormed down far, far too familiar. An ally—a threat—friend—dangerous—known.
They clung tighter to him, to the sensation that left them alive and their soul keening even as it grew buried in the accumulating snow. They recognized this twisted little piece of him, but it was missing from his searching stare and his words evaporated before they could sense out more than the first stuttering syllables of sound.
And they were in the blankets again, swaddled with suffocating warmth. The shadow unfolded himself, stepped up with that piercing gaze and a tone cold as it was worried, but time finally seemed to calm around him, his motions taunt as if stealing the strain from them.
"You need to rest, Gladiolus, you can't—"
Sounds stumbled and cascaded over each other, meaningless, until there was water clutched in their talons and spilling down their throat with a flavor unidentifiable.
"There you go, Gladiolus, just drink that, you still need rest…"
The exhaustion permeated their muscles in a flood, leaving their mind to wander off in a dampened spiral before that too grew indiscernible.
Their memories offered little, vague recollections that disappeared as soon as they reached out for them. The aftershocks of the desperation and adrenaline that gripped their limbs loosened in sporadic jerks. The fluttering pace of their heart eased.
Their thoughts brushed against vestige left behind by deep, vicious anger, faded but still intense enough to make them recoil. Awfully out of place and wrong like so much else and yet so familiar, reaching out for a venomous embrace.
They closed their eyes and tried to forget it, like all the rest.
Time moved forward in patient waves. Clarity crept in unannounced and in turn information started to accumulate, tangible. No longer did it rush away through clenching talons. They could observe, properly, and think.
There was the shadow, scales rimmed with a glimmer of silver. His gaze never seemed to soften. They hadn't caught him sleeping, not since a night already fleeing from their memories.
He told them things often, spoke into the silence, left the room awash with news that they would need to pick one piece at a time. They wondered, often, when he started doing it.
"You're injured, Gladiolus, you need rest," he said, again and again and again.
"The nerves in your throat were damaged, Gladiolus. Some severed. Most of them have been regrowing, but there's a high likelihood you won't recover function in your vocal cords."
They had opened their mouth at that, listening to the air whistle past their teeth. It was unnerving, reaching on instinct for an ability they no longer had. They wondered how they used to sound.
He tried to gleam, the silver so bright in the sun that it seemed fabricated—was fabricated, though they weren't clear how that knowledge had manifested. The only real grandeur he produced was in those eyes. A shadow with burning eyes and a voice that formed the same word, ceaseless.
"Your name is Gladiolus," he stated suddenly one day, and the conversation was over as quickly as it began.
Its silent syllables tasted foreign on its tongue.
"Your scales used to be more vibrant. Teal and purple, Gladiolus, that's what you loved." That left them frowning at their scales for a while afterwards, watching them shift into the correct shades. Sometimes it grew so bright they felt cloaked in lies, the same falsehoods that lined the edges of his scales flooded through their own.
Teal and purple. Some blue, lighter and greener than the sky outside. He was methodical in shifting the shades around, letting them listen and respond to his commands with a shimmering change of hue. They were already forgetting what shade they had adapted before. Just as fractured as the rest of their memories.
Others started appearing as well. Scales a flood of blue that washed up against softened greens. She called herself Thalassia. Dressed their bandages, sat by their side, and watched. Her gaze wasn't as biting. Nevertheless, it left an unsettled trail behind under their scales.
"Amnesia," she said, voice shuttering and forcefully pressing on. It wasn't directed at them. Just a statement to get out, a fact to enunciate, spit out the thorns before they shredded her throat.
"The concussion's been healing," the shadow offered in an offhand response, a small comfort he already seemed to know would do nothing to console her. The two of them did not bother to hide their emotions, every nuance visible in the creases of their faces. 
Or, perhaps, the two excelled at puppeteering complex facades. Still resting amongst their pillows, they watched on in passive interest.
"… that's good."
"Those memories won't be coming back, though. Gloxinia's sure of it. Not the kind of brain damage you can undo."
She let out a long and burdened sigh. "I'm sure she did what she could. The amount of help she's given over the years… it's incredible. I don't know how to thank her."
"Repayment for favors, that's all it is. She owes me plenty, and she knows it."
Thalassia nodded, "Yet she's done so much for all of us…"
They weren't sure which dragon noticed their presence first, listening in on a conversation that was not for them. The two slipped away to a corner to continue conversing, letting them sift through the curious statements, pondering idle questions until the light grew dusky.
They had forgotten much.
The other visitor entered during a sun-bright morning; they were aware enough to peer out the window, watching the sun free itself, triumphant, from the horizon. The snow dazzled their eyes until it hurt.
He seemed softer in the daylight. The white hot brightness was a pale tan, the void-blighted depths a rich dark purple. He was not blinding or all-consuming, now that he was shielded from the moons, and the touch of his claws on theirs felt gentle. So too were his eyes, laced with an old pain carefully guarded.
They had forgotten plenty much, but they remembered the night in vague broad strokes, they remembered the knowing. They could still feel the poisonous thrum, so much quieter that it may not have existed at all. Perhaps it was a lie then, the sense of knowing nothing more than a meaningless blip in a tired mind. What was true twisted by exhaustion and delirium.
Perhaps they knew nothing. He was kind. They wondered if there were others.
Thalassia entered the room the next twilight, scales painted warm by dying light. She settled, fretting, by their side and produced a small stack of papers. Her talons lingered over the sheets, smoothing out slight creases. "So… hi, Gladiolus."
She was expecting a response, they realized, and they offered her a wave, shifting up in the pillows.
"I thought it would be best to… reintroduce you, to the rest of us. Might help jog your memory." A pause. "…Though this is usually a permanent condition, it's probably worth… Either way, I think reminding you would be helpful."
She placed the papers before them, adjusting the nest of pillows with hesitant talons until she seemed satisfied they were comfortably settled in. Their talons ran over the rough edges of the pages, picking up the first one. This one was familiar. Sharp features defined with jagged, violent lines, shaded dark with charcoal. It was of the dragon shaded like shadows, one that—a glance up confirmed he was still there, ever hovering.
He never seemed to leave.
"Oh, I would have asked them all to come see you themselves, but we've been… busy. There's a lot going on that we'll explain once you're feeling better." She said, and they couldn't tell if they had tuned her out. "Acanthus is a wonderful artist. This one's her, the one you're holding is Chrysos, but it's not quite like the real thing." The page she was holding contained a narrow face with sharply curved horns.
They reached out to touch it, tracing the shape of the dragon's jaw, following lines that were rougher, less certain of where they should be placed. They glanced up at Thalassia. Her eyes were fixed on their face before she quickly glanced away.
"You know Chrysos," She started, gesturing to the other dragon in the room. They felt a small spark of pride for making the connection already."He's the one who got you out of that prison—"
Prison?
"— and he hates leaving this room, always wanting to keep an eye on you. He doesn't act like he cares all that much, most of the time."
The shadow, named now, had a name of odd sounds, Chrysos, scoffed from across the room, but she continued, voice softening. "Chrysos Evening-Frost. I didn't trust him back then, but he's been… you owe him a lot. We all do."
His gaze, fixed with all its intensity on the back of Thalassia's head, flickered with something they couldn't interpret before it was gone. In a rush, panic broiled up, that wrongness seized their heart again and—
Claws crinkled on paper, and they came back to themself before they could tear the sheets to shreds. Thalassia seemed to refocus as well, holding out the page in her talons again.
"Then there's Acanthus. Acanthus Blight-Blade. She hasn't had the chance to visit you yet. She…" She trailed off, her face shifting as if contemplating her next words. "It's been hard for her. I'm sure she'll come by when she's ready."
The last names were already slipping from their mind. They moved towards the next sheet of paper.
Velleity Moth-Brush. That one they recognized. His portrait held none of the ichor they remembered either, the poison that marched down their spine in a night hazy in their memory. Soft eyes were carefully delineated, a gaze tired and tempered with a gentle kind of concern. The pain was here, too. The kind of eyes that were easy to trust.
Then a younger face, afterwards, snout slender and tapered. "Parhelion Wolven-Ash,' Thalassia explained, head settled against her forearms as she watched them sort through the pages, patient. "They've visited, though… I'm not sure if you remember—"
"Little salamander came in here and started shaking them," The shadow—Chrysos—snarled, "Freaked Gladiolus out pretty badly, I swear all the episodes since have only been because they thought it'd be a good idea to disturb—" his voice shorted out, frustrated emanating in simmering waves.
"He banned them from the room," Thalassia said by way of explanation.
They searched their memory for that event, finding faded scraps of nothing at all. They moved towards the last page—Thalassia, they could already tell, which concerned them, because there was another name mentioned that was missing—when a smaller sheet fell out between the pages.
It was of someone else they hadn't seen before, stuck at the bottom of the stack. A rounder face framed by flower-like ruffs, eyes squinted in a wide smile, a smile that none of the other images had. The others were simple portraits from the neck up, but this one was looser, showing part of an arm and a talon, cradling a butterfly and surrounded by wildflowers. Color, faint and faded, flaked between the lines. The paper was different too—smaller than the others, partly torn, a yellower tone. It didn't belong.
"That's… you. Gladiolus Soaring-Branch," Thalassia murmured. "You, before. We don't really have mirrors here, so I thought it would help."
There was too much hesitation in her voice. The kind that they wouldn't have pressed on, if they still had the voice to ask. They stared at the image a while longer, wondering if they should try pulling their face into the same expression. Wondered if their scales matched the missing colors. Instead, they looked up at Thalassia, still watching their face warily, and learned forward to pull her into a hug.
After a moment, she returned the embrace, wings warm against theirs. I'm sorry, Gladiolus wanted to say, though they weren't sure what they were apologizing for.
==Chapter 2==
Gladiolus got better. Velleity watched them grow a little more stable, a little more confident, in the glances he sent through the windows and the visits he kept brief. It was a relief to see.
Thalassia led them in circles around the room, until they worked out the stumbling in their gait and spreading their wings looked more natural than strained. Velleity tried to focus on that, on them being better, but his gaze kept on shifting back to the scar.
He only caught glimpses of the thing, but it seemed to emanate a malignant aura, shaded in bruised browns and reds, knotted with charred black. It split down Gladiolus's neck, jagged. Scars weren't meant to look like that, Thalassia had explained.
He believed it.
The landscape outside was reaching towards the peak of summer, awash with vegetation thriving in what few months they had. The village seemed almost picturesque spread out before him, despite the rotting wood and empty, long abandoned streets. Velleity turned away to bask in the short-lived warmth before Chrysos could look up with another one of his inane smiles.
That hybrid was always there. Even though he'd been outside the room plenty, he was always there when Velleity checked. Whenever Velleity checked. Like the world's worst magic trick. Something that Chrysos absolutely knew was making Velleity's teeth grit with growing frustration. Since his incessantly annoying presence made it impossible to talk to Gladiolus.
Impossible to even start explaining the situation without Chrysos interrupting with some rant about harassing sick dragons and how Gladiolus needed to be eased back into knowing what was going on and—
Velleity slammed his face into his talons with a growl, breaths carefully even until the anger dissipated. He remembered the first and last conversation with the rest of the group on the subject, the group gathered into the dingy dining hall like it was a conference room.
It was stifling, the space too small and claustrophobic and tasting like rot. Gladiolus had only been back for a couple days. The two week anniversary of their initial disappearance.
He was working a deep scratch into the table between the group when he finally hissed, "We are absolutely not doing this." He raised talon to slam it on the table only to awkwardly lower them again, lest the rotten wood finally give out under his weight. Not that he'd been kind to it thus far. "I—I mean—this is the most unstable this isle's ever been. Everyone's going to be fighting for the throne, it's—it is idiotic to get involved in that mess."
"Well, there's no better time to get me on that throne than when it's empty." Parhelion commented. They were sprawled over multiple chairs, the smile on their face all too content. Of course they'd be happy with this proposal, the little—
Velleity snarled. "One of the generals already declared himself regent! It's not empty!"
"But it's… not a terrible idea." Thalassia started, already earning herself a glare. "We're all tired of running, aren't we? This is a chance— maybe our only chance— to get back to a normal life again. And like Parhelion said, there won't be a better time to make this happen."
A normal life, like she ever had that, like he hadn't tossed his own out for her sake, and really how dare—by Lumen's grace he needed to calm down.
"Right, let's just start a coup, you know, all six of us, with one of us being extremely incapacitated and maybe never going to recover. Let's just go up against the entire military and like everyone else in this kingdom to put some random minor noble on the throne who deserves it because… why? All to get a pardon that will definitely mean a lot to the people who know what kinds of crimes we've committed."
"You never did anything wrong," Thalassia murmured in a small voice. He pointedly ignored her, eyes instead flickering over to Chrysos, who had way too large of a smile on his face.
"Not the most favorable way of putting it, but yes that is the plan as I described it. It's our one chance. Let's make it count." The confidence dripping from his voice made Velleity briefly fantasize inappropriately violent imagery. Thalassia wouldn't be happy with him, but she couldn't read minds, so that didn't matter.
Let him indulge.
Acanthus, let Lumen bless his heart, finally said something. "This doesn't seem like a wise idea. Especially with… Gala injured, it's too big of a risk for us to do anything right now. We can't give Parhelion the support they'd need to claim the throne, nor can we maintain that when everyone else is clamoring for that same position. And even if we do, what happens when dragons realize that we're backing them? We can't hold out against a revolt." His voice was stilted, like a dragonet reciting a written speech, but it was something. Thalassia extended a comforting wing, retracting it quickly when Acanthus twitched.
Velleity nodded, "Exactly, it's just not safe! There's no way we'd manage to make this work—not worth the risk."
Chrysos sighed. He was twiddling a stick between his claws, a nonchalance that almost made Velleity's blood boil. "Acanthus. You're smart, I'm sure we can smooth out the specifics of a proper plan, as needed. Gladiolus is already improving markedly. I'm sure they'll be able to fill out their role again very soon."
"Gala," Acanthus growled, "Does not remember who we are."
The silence that settled was far too loud. Chrysos even stopped his stupid fiddling, leaning forward in his chair to stare directly at Acanthus for a few beats too long. "That will not be a concern."
She stared back coldly, gaze about as murderous as Velleity felt.
Thalassia raised a talon in a halfhearted attempt to pacify the room. "I know that we're all tired of running. Tired of constantly having to look over our shoulders and avoid a kingdom that wants us dead. This is an opportunity to end that. To give us all, every one of us, a second chance at life. We can't afford to miss it just because we're afraid." She paused, "Let's just move forward with planning, okay? If we can't find a good way to make things happen, then we won't continue with it, but we have to try. Okay?"
Parhelion grinned. Chrysos kicked his legs up onto the table, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. The stick was yet again in his talons. Acanthus's eyes snapped away from Chrysos, fixing on Thalassia instead.
His head tilted in the slightest nod.
Velleity sighed, turning away in defeat, he forced out his words through gritted teeth. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Drawn out of the memory by the sound of talonsteps, Velleity found him curled up against the wall just under the window. He looked up to see his least favorite dragon in all of Snowshank. In all of Pyrrhia, probably.
"Gladiolus wants to spar," Chrysos said, in lieu of a greeting.
"What?"
Chrysos shrugged casually, but Velleity wasn't a fool. The smugness in the air was practically choking him. "That's all they've been asking for, the past few days. They want to stretch their limbs out a little more, and Thalassia thinks they've healed enough to handle it."
"They can't speak, don't see how they'd be asking that," Velleity said. He could tell how stupid the words were before they exited his mouth.
Chrysos's tail tapped against the ground exactly once. There was a smile on his face again. "My apologies, I forgot you were illiterate. They're still perfectly capable of writing."
When Velleity didn't reply, he continued. "They're doing well. The concussion has resolved itself. There doesn't seem to be any permanent damage beyond the amnesia. Gladiolus still has a full command of language, fine motor control, might need to keep an eye out for seizures but it seems like that won't be an issue. They're lucky."
"Convenient that only the memories went, then," Velleity said drily.
Chrysos shrugged, and that stupid smile—"I'm hoping their personality will be a little more palatable this time around."
Velleity chose to ignore that last comment, after taking a moment to imagine what Chrysos might look like with a more 'palatable' personality. Sounded like a dream. He grumbled and dragged himself up, "If they want a spar, I suppose I could give them that."
"Glad to know I can count on you," Chrysos replied, punching his shoulder. "They're over by the well."
Velleity shoved past him with as much force as possible, stalking off. It wasn't too hard to track Gladiolus down. They were accompanied by Thalassia, and it seemed Parhelion decided to show up as well.
Their stance was different, as if their body was unwieldy. Unfamiliar. They looked a bit taller than he remembered, too, but perhaps that came down to the fact that he hadn't gotten a proper look at them—not without awkwardly averting his eyes—since their disappearance.
The last time he'd properly looked at them was when they had stumbled out of that cottage at night, eyes filled with wild panic and fury… Velleity glanced down at his talons. The marks were scabbed over, and would heal without leaving a scar. He decided that instance didn't count.
After all that, Gladiolus's scales were still the same calming, cool shades. The same as they had been before anything happened at all. It suddenly struck him as odd, after those first few days of them wavering in deathly pale shades. It indicated pain, Thalassia had said. There was none of that now. Just teal and purple. 
Velleity was a little unsettled despite himself, sucking in a deep breath before he spoke, "You ready? Just to see how much you've recovered. And how much you remember—in terms of muscle memory—"
They nodded, a motion sharp enough to interrupt his words and his thoughts. He swallowed. A spar, that's all it was.
Velleity couldn't quite recall when the match had started, only that Gladiolus was suddenly lunging at him, a movement that he barely managed to sidestep—and they were already on him again. He grappled with them, twisting out of their grip as their gaze locked onto his face.
They looked different—tired maybe, eyes a little too focused in a way that went right past him. As if they were seeing someone else entirely.
Gladiolus moved forward again, movements rough and sloppy, forcing Velleity back onto the defensive. They were being aggressive, in a way they rarely were, each attack intending to strike. He could barely get his own hits in, with them looming in his face, too close for him to maneuver—
So it continued, until Gladiolus found their opening.
Sloppy, it turned out, may not have been the right word. They weren't sloppy in the way of being careless or clumsy, prioritizing force over intent. No, every move turned out to be purposeful, moved by a will that knew exactly what it wanted and how to get it. Despite the shake in their talons, they were precise.
The impact with the ground jarred him, hearing the shout before he realized it was his own. Their talons were on his throat, tightening as he gasped for breath, his own talons reaching up to tear against theirs—mouth parting to reveal bare fangs—moons, he could feel the venom gathering in their hollow cores—deep pools of black, their eyes seemed far too dark—and instinct made him reach out past them. He could feel the moment they tensed, but already the black luminescence was surging forth, burrowing ethereal claws into the earth, and he pulled.
Velleity ended up slamming into the ground a second time, with far more force than he intended. He climbed back up onto unsteady talons, the scent of grass smeared across his scales. After letting out a breath—maybe a swear—he was slow to take stock of all the new scrapes and aches he had gained. Gladiolus was still standing where he'd left them, talons clenched in white-knuckled fists. Slowly, ever so slowly, they stood as well, their grip relaxing. They straightened, looking towards him with that dark, blank stare. There was a fuzz of confusion buried in there, maybe. It was hard to tell.
They were strong. Stronger than he remembered, even as their muscle memory struggled to fall into place. Strong despite the weeks of bedrest, of deteriorating health. It felt… wrong.
Nevermind that it seemed like they were actually trying to kill him.
They were still watching him, examining him as though he was an insect, dead and pinned up for them to view. He cracked a weak smile. "You don't fight like you used to."
He wasn't sure if he meant it as a compliment. They didn't react either way, staring at him for a few beats longer before their eyes traced back to where he had been lying moments ago.
Ah. They don't remember that.
"Animus magic," Chrysos called, unhelpfully, since of course he stayed to watch. "He knows it. You wanted to learn it. He refused to teach you. It would have been better for all of us if he did."
"Shut up," Velleity snarled, without any real anger behind his words. He felt a little too drained for that.
Thalassia was by his side a moment later, carefully looking over him for injuries. It wasn't lost on him that she didn't spare nearly as much attention for Gladiolus. It made sense. The worst injury this little spat could have given that RainWing was perhaps a stubbed talon. Or a papercut. "Didn't realize they'd be so… competent."
Thalassia shrugged, offering a light laugh. "You're very out of practice yourself. A few weeks aren't going to mess them up when their head start's lasted years."
"You could beat them," he muttered.
Thalassia shrugged again, fussing over his talons.
Behind them, Parhelion had shoved Gladiolus over to Chrysos, seating them both down. Chrysos spoke in a low, melodramatic tone. "Centuries ago, there were rumors of magic in the land. Animus magic, it was so proclaimed, and it could do anything you wished. There were families gifted with the power, passed down over generations… until it vanished."
Parhelion gasped. Chrysos cleared his throat, gesturing extravagantly with extended wings. "It had stopped working. The commands issued forth from those so gifted by it no longer bent the world to their will… no more wonders like the SeaWings' Summer Palace, destroyed by war, or the IceWing tribe's Gift of Order, crushed to mere ice shards in the grasp of the traitor queen. Rumor says the magic was banished… but only a fool would think it gone forever."
Velleity rolled his eyes. He extracted himself from Thalassia's scrutiny, raising his voice. "Do you need to tell the same story every time?"
"Parhelion loves it."
"Parhelion's heard it a million times."
The dragon in question rolled their eyes in response, "I do love it. And Gala hasn't heard it proper since getting blown up, so they have to go through the experience at least once. No spoiling it!"
Gladiolus glanced at them, and Parhelion seemed to catch onto the confusion quickly. "Gala, Gladiolus. Nickname. Acanthus claims she gave it to you." They twisted their neck, looking around, and Parhelion answered an unspoken question. Velleity wasn't sure if it had even been asked. "Nope, he's still not around. Probably won't be until he gets over himself—oh yeah you did get blown up. Chrysos won't tell us what happened but—"
"Gladiolus," Chrysos said, before the one-sided conversation could continue. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the magic returned, in a twisted mockery of itself, on the day of Moonchasm."
The magic came back weirder, came back weaker, went by different rules entirely. Spilled into the soil instead of the blood of individuals. Anyone could learn it, anyone could stumble their way into knowing it, and the crown would have your head if it knew what you could do.
A much better, and briefer, explanation than the embellished tale Chrysos loved extolling. Velleity frowned at his talons. The dark luminescence flared up again for his viewing pleasure, before he shoved it away again. Couldn't forget what he knew, now that he was aware of the secrets. He was surprised how easily he found it again, in a moment where he wasn't thinking at all. He filed it away so carefully only for a split second instinct—
Of course he didn't teach Gladiolus. Why let the poison seep even further?
"—couldn't bring back the dead. That was the only limitation. A limitation now lifted. The veil parted by—"
Thalassia was by his side again, Chrysos was still droning away, Parhelion and Gladiolus rapt at attention, and Velleity found that he needed to get out of there. Get away from everyone, before the resentment in his throat grew prickly.
Thalassia opened her mouth before he could make his escape, her thoughts clearly not on his current wellbeing anymore. He waited, deciding that he could handle one question from her.
"Do you think they're ready?"
"Ready to…?"
Thalassia sighed, rubbing her temple, "I don't know… ready. To handle everything."
It was Velleity's turn to shrug. He rubbed his neck, testing for bruises, before answering. "Should make sure they know who they are, and who their friends are, before sending them out, I think. And that they're a wanted criminal with a bounty on their head."
Gladiolus didn't seem to react to his words, but Parhelion clearly did, leaning back with a toothy, lopsided grin they had clearly learned from the worst dragon on the globe.
"Aren't we all?"
==Chapter 3==
The halls were long corridors, stone paneled with dark oak wood and accented by pale yellow tapestries. Lumen's Gifts hovered at regular intervals, casting fluorescent light across chilly hallways.
Merlin Frost-Stern was a guard, but his movements through the halls were swift, a careful balance between dignity and speed that left little time to screen for threats. His posture did not matter past the ingrained instinct for it; the halls were empty, as they had been for weeks.
A marble carving of the queen hovered over the entrance to the library, wings emerging from smooth stone and sapphire eyes tilted to stare down upon the threshold. The doors opened up easily before him. It was a maze of smooth carved shelves and books, each filed away with care under the watchful eyes of the archivists. He had grown intimately familiar with the space in those same few weeks, scanning the shelves with practiced ease. 
Perched high up on a shelf, the scroll case slid heavily and easily into his talons. He had barely wrangled it into the bag under his wing before he was off again, sorting through the list of requests in his mind as he went. He would need to take multiple trips. With that realization, he deposited the first assortment of scrolls on a small table, planning to retrieve them on the second trip.
The dragon seated at the table had been there during his past few visits, but this time she finally seemed pleased with her preoccupations. She shifted her papers to one side and leaned over, tapping at a particularly antique case with one claw.
"Merlin."
"Aethon."
"They're bringing out The Wondrous Legacy of the Sovereign Lumen Fractal-Rime?" She asked, claw continuing to hover over the case.
"The origin of the island is a key point of contention."
"Wasn't that scroll written for dragonets?"
"Every variation of the story must be studied for the truth to be gleaned."
Aethon let her talons flop back onto the table, leaning back with a sign and a roll of her eyes. She looked directly at Merlin, lasting a few seconds before shifting her focus towards the Lumen's Gift hovering over her shoulder. "They ever figure out their last argument about lumens?"
"Lumen's Gifts."
"Everyone calls them lumens, Merlin. Get over yourself."
He turned his attention back to the scrolls, organizing the pile into stacks. "The discussion has stalled for the time being. Someone brought up the term 'moonglobe' again."
Aethon sucked in a sharp breath. "Yep, that would do it." She drummed her claws against the table, before tilting her head to look at him again. "Did they find out what happens when you crack one open?"
"No."
"I bet they're juicy," she provided. "Like a cherry tomato. What do you think?"
"Hm?"
"About what the inner flesh of a lumen's like. Or the conspiracy theories, if you want to go there?" She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, plucking a piece of paper out to study it again. He started to shrug, and her eyes flickered straight back to him. "Nevermind, forget I asked."
He watched her for a moment, before tipping his head in acknowledgement.
She was no longer looking at him. Instead, she had taken to swinging the paper between two claws, squinting at the picture the strokes formed. "You're astoundingly boring, you know that?"
"You said I was great for gossip a month ago."
"You're great for knowing gossip. When it comes to gossiping, you're the worst partner known to dragonkind. The queen could be assassinated and all you'd do is shrug and get on with your day."
He hummed. "We don't know the cause of death yet."
"Okay, the queen could die mysteriously and all you'd do is shrug and get on with your day."
Merlin shrugged.
Aethon's face twitched. She placed down the piece of paper, drumming her talons against the surface. "In any case, the regent seems pretty sure it was assassination. Unsure why he'd be passing out wanted posters otherwise. Of a masked face? As if that would help."
A list of topics to address ran through Merlin's mind."The Regent?"
"What?"
"You don't use proper titles for anyone."
She stared at him, "What am I supposed to call the guy instead?"
"You don't remember his name."
"No."
"You know The Protector's face."
"That I do."
"You could inform The Regent of this."
"If he paid a modicum of attention to anything outside the court's inane babbling, I'm sure he could have figured it out by now." Aethon grumbled. She picked up a different sheet of paper, waving it in his direction. "Look, a beautiful depiction of the one and only."
Merlin could see it now, the lines rearranged into a semblance of a shape with the new context. The eyes were lopsided. He tilted his head to meet the paper's gaze. "I didn't know that you drew."
"I don't," she sighed, dropping the sheet again. "We've all done such a poor job at guarding that I thought I might as well start practicing for my career change."
"Do you think they were responsible?"
Aethon glared up at him, "I'm not going to contribute to your gossip stockpile." She lasted less than a minute before supplying her answer. "Use your brain. The queen and her best guard friend walk out of the palace on the night of a lunar eclipse, one of them ends up dead and the other disappears. Either our little birdie murdered her and ran off, or all the superstitions about the moons are true and Perception personally ordered a hit on the queen and disappeared her guard in the process."
"Hm."
"Yes, obviously they murdered her, Merlin. We all know they were always about one mild inconvenience away from stabbing everything that moves."
Neither made an attempt to continue the conversation. The scrolls were organized. He still had another batch to collect, and around another twenty minutes before the court would grow impatient with the delay. Merlin stepped away from the table, off to traverse the rest of the library in search of the material he needed to gather. Aethon watched him leave before she returned to sketching, the piece of charcoal in her claws dusting her scales with black.
The walk back to the courtroom was slower, weighed down by his cargo. A soft murmuring started up as he drew closer to a large set of oak doors. The noise escalated in regular intervals with each step forward, until he stood before the court's entrance, surrounded by muffled shouting. He stacked the scroll cases against the wall.
The doors burst open, an IceWing emerging from the courtroom. Merlin flattened his ears on instinct in preparation for the spike in volume, and a shrill voice yelled out, "I don't care what the literature says, Lumen's Gifts are not—"
The heavy wooden slammed shut on the sentence. It melded back into indistinguishable noise. Merlin glanced up at the IceWing, and her posture tensed as she spotted him. "Sir."
"Baroness Cirrostratus, ma'am."
She didn't know his name. She didn't need to. Her icicle spines clinked together and her earrings tinkled against scales as she leaned back, rubbing her talons over her temple. "Thank you for the scrolls. I will bring them in."
Merlin nodded. "The other scrolls the court requested are still in the library. It was not possible to bring them all in one trip."
"Mmm," she mused in acknowledgement. "You may go fetch the rest. While I have you hear, if I may ask, has my daughter told you where they've gone this time?"
"Apologies ma'am, I have not heard from them. I will ask around."
She shook her head, producing another jingling noise. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure they will return in a few days time. I was merely curious if she was once again spending time with your…" She waved a talon around in a vague gesture.
"Gloxinia."
"Gloxinia, that is her name, yes." She paused again. The volume behind the door swelled. "She is related to you, yes? What were her surnames again?"
"Frost-Burst. She's my illegitimate half-sibling." Merlin had informed Baroness Cirrostratus of this before.
"Mmm, yes, I recall now."
"Your daughter. Their name is Parhelion, yes?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"If I am able to contact Gloxinia, I will inquire about them."
She paused. "Mmm, all right. Thank you."
"It's my pleasure, ma'am."
The walk back to the library was much of the same monotony. There was still no one else in the halls, up until Merlin reached the library. There was a SkyWing perched on a stepladder, examining the sculpture of the queen. A couple others gathered under him, discussing in hushed tones. A large box of tools lay open at their feet, next to a few bags that smelled strongly of raw meat. Walrus.
Merlin recognized the sigils on their necklaces as he passed. They were a contracted architect guild, always present to carry out renovations on the palace. He didn't slow, but the one on the ladder was on the ground in an instant, intercepting his path into the library.
"Hello, sir!"
"Sir."
"We've started the process of uninstalling the queen's relief, here, on the Regent's orders." He fiddled with his necklace, wings held loose at his side even as he kept his posture straight and oddly tense. "However, leaving the material underneath exposed for too long could lead to complications installing the work for the next ruler. Our sculptors need to get started now, if we want the timeline to work out…"
"Is there something I need to do here?"
The SkyWing sputtered out a few words before his speech settled down. "Sorry, sir, I just—we're unsure exactly whose visage we should be installing. The Regent has been… ah, unclear if what we currently have is a temporary arrangement, and with how often the court is convening we haven't had time to ask." He stopped talking.
Merlin glanced back towards the library. "I don't have much more information than you, sir, apologies."
The SkyWing's eyes flickered towards the other dragons in his guild, the talons worrying over his necklace picking up their pace. "Do you have a suggestion then, perhaps? Sir."
Merlin stilled. "I would leave the queen's visage alone for now." He could tell that the words came out harsher than he intended, more like a barked order than a suggestion.
It was obvious in the way the SkyWing twitched, but he nodded, movements suddenly somber as he retreated up the ladder. He stopped at the top, and turned to give Merlin a small wave. Instead of returning the gesture, Merlin pushed through the doors into the library. He didn't look back.
The stack of scrolls he had left behind were untouched, but Aethon had organized her pile of papers and set them aside. Her talons were drumming on the table, loud in the stillness of the room.
"Merlin."
"Aethon."
"Took you five minutes longer than usual to get back. She paused, interrupting the quiet before he would have had a chance to respond. "What? I was just keeping track of time. Have to make sure my fellow guards are punctual. What held you up? Come on now."
"You want more gossip."
"I sure do! Now spill it."
"The architects are here. They're uninstalling the sculpture of the queen outside the library. We had a conversation."
"Well. She is dead. Suppose some of us failed our jobs, didn't we?"
He focused on collecting the scrolls. "I wasn't the only one stationed outside her room that night."
"I said we, didn't I?"
He didn't respond. He caught her eyes rolling in the corner of his vision. "Guess who caught all the consequences, though!"
"You weren't let go."
"Unpaid leave is nearly as bad, Merlin. Can't even leave, go visit my hometown, maybe a girl back home, due to the 'political climate'. I'm bored out of my mind."
"Sorry for your loss."
She shrugged. "Boredom's an easy thing to fix, though. You happen to be free for a spar?"
He looked at her, then returned his focus to the scrolls. He set his bag on the table and unbuckled the straps to pull it open.
"Do you have time after you're done playing errand boy?"
"I am not playing errand boy."
"Answer the question."
"I will be continuing my shift. After that, I have a visit planned with Gloxinia."
Silence stretched for nearly a full minute before Aethon spoke again. "Remind me, who is that?"
"She lives in the forests about an hour's flight from here."
"So not a planned visit, then."
"No."
"Don't you hate her, why are you—didn't her girlfriend—oh, did the lady's kid run off again?"
"Baroness."
She scoffed at that, "My job is to make sure the nobles don't die—the queen was Canary's job, end of the day, don't you get started about that now—so I don't need to know their proper title or their favorite way to prepare a halibut."
"She likes hers with lemon butter sauce." In the pause that followed, he finished organizing the scrolls in his bag and strapped it back to his side.
"I know you're a freak already, Merlin, you don't have to go around proving it to me. In any case, we can fit in a spar before you go hunting for a dragonet."
"They're not that young."
"Then they can take care of themself. You don't need to run around wasting your time visiting a relative you don't even like."
He glanced over at her. "Did you forget her name already?"
"I don't remember anyone's name, Merlin. This is not a revelation."
"You remember my name."
"Because you're annoying."
"Was the The Protector annoying as well?"
Aethon inhaled sharply, before cutting herself short. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Their name is the only other one you've bothered to remember. You said it earlier."
"No."
"Canary."
Aethon sighed, a sound that lasted an impressive number of seconds. "What's their surname then, if you're so clever?"
"That's not my responsibility to know."
"Sure, yeah. They don't have a publicly known surname, and the same is true of their actual name too. It's not Canary, Merlin. I came up with that name for them, thank you very much. No, they showed up with no further identification than Royal Guard number thirty-seven and that was the end of it. You know as well as I do that the record keeping here is atrocious when it comes to us."
"Never thought to ask?"
Aethon started towards him, before stilling and grinding her teeth together. She gazed past his shoulder, out one of the many tall windows in the library. The pause was longer this time, before she answered. "Never came up."
He let the silence linger for the appropriate length of time. "You miss them."
She shifted and focused on him with a glare. "Maybe I don't miss them. Maybe I just miss having a sparring partner that's willing to jump straight to violence. Now get over here, I need a trial run before I commit to killing you in your sleep."
He adjusted the strap on his bag. "You need training to take down an unconscious opponent?"
"Oh, I'm just flattering you, Merlin. If I wanted you dead you'd already be choking on your own blood."
"This was never a flirtation between us, Aethon."
"Of course not. I have a girl back home, remember? I wouldn't lie about that."
"Of course."
"Same way you wouldn't lie about the lime sauce."
"Lemon butter sauce."
She shrugged. "Sure. Lemon butter sauce."
He tilted his head, "You think I was lying about it?"
"No no no, you're mistaken, I just said that you wouldn't lie."
"Hm."
The mutual understanding that the conversation was over passed between them for the second time that day. Aethon slipped away, back to the table, and Merlin once again walked out of the library.
The stepladder stood abandoned underneath the sculpture. It was positioned just under one of the queen's wings, the top step threatening to brush against marble. A servant had replaced the architects, carefully filing their tools away back into their proper placements. The lunches were gone, but the smell lingered behind, wafting through the air. It had a tendency to cling to the fibers of the tapestries.
The journey back to the court continued without incident. He briefly settled at the great oak doors to listen in, the raised voices within heavily muffled but all too distinct.
"Frankly impressive how many times the author used their title in that one."
"That's fifty-two scrolls without reference to the Sovereign Fractal-Rime's gender now, we do not need to continue this circus."
"Not a circus, sir. This has yet to change the precedent of a queen in power ever since. In any case, Lumen Fractal-Rime's rise to power was in extremely extenuating circumstances—"
"That is still precedent. These are extenuating circumstances currently—"
"Oh no sir, do not pretend this is the same—"
A different voice attempted to interject, then another, followed by someone's poorly timed attempt to mediate the conversation. It only devolved further from there. It seemed that the conversation had progressed very little since his last visit. 
Merlin shouldered his bag tighter against his chest. He closed his eyes, flattened his ears, and focused on his body. Ever so slowly, he unclenched his jaw, measured out his breaths, and let the tension drain from his shoulders.
He opened his eyes and entered the fray.
==Chapter 4==
Parhelion cornered Gladiolus soon after Chrysos concluded his tale, their scales gleaming under a bright sky. They were smiling, their teeth sharp, white, and perfectly symmetrical. "Good to have you back, Gala! Don't be a stranger."
Gladiolus barely registered the punch to their shoulder, and took a moment longer to realize that Parhelion had vanished off into the village.
It was a tiny place, seemingly abandoned not long after it was first constructed; one large structure and four smaller homes nestled in the foothills. There were a few forgotten dug out foundations, and the well a distance away, where Gladiolus now stood. It looked… quaint.
Velleity hurried away a moment later, leaving Gladiolus with the two faces most familiar to them. Thalassia's talons drifted up to their shoulders, and they forced their muscles still before she could feel them tensing. Her voice tended towards gentle, a soothing stream of calm that they found themself leaning into often.
It was still mild this time, but with an edge that spoke of hidden malice. "Please be careful, Gladiolus. I know you probably don't remember your own strength, but you… all of us… we all have the capability to be dangerous. We need to be careful not to hurt each other."
Gladiolus glanced at her. Her eyes were downcast, features drawn. Perhaps not malice, then, simply a different facet of concern. They could relax. They were safe. They nodded towards her, placing a talon of their own lightly on her.
Her gaze flickered upward as she offered a small smile.
Velleity's voice echoed in their head, words tumbling over each other before Gladiolus pushed them aside, one more thing to ponder later, "...a wanted criminal with a bounty on their head."
Chrysos cleared his throat behind them, "Well, I'd say you're ready for the outside world, Gladiolus. Let's fill you in on what's happening in Snowshank."
Thalassia's talon fell from their shoulder as they shrugged. They hesitated for a moment, missing the warmth, before turning to walk alongside Chrysos.
He waved a talon towards the village. "There's something we've been needing you for. Do you trust me?"
Chrysos had been there from their first waking moments. He was always there, listening, watching, helping. If they could not rely on them, they would have no one at all. Of course they trusted him.
He grinned with a face full of teeth, much like the way Parhelion had done only a few minutes prior. "Let's go then, Gladiolus. Time to find out who you are."
In a dusty room, a map spread on one wall and papers scattered over tables and floors, they listened. Their name was Gladiolus Soaring-Branch. They were an assassin sent from the mainland when they were six, though issues arose with their target. Stuck in Snowshank, they fell into allyship with the rest of the group. Their posture had shifted at that, ears twitching, and they were met with nothing more than a shrug.
"Acanthus knows the story better," Chrysos shrugged, stripping a twig he found into slivers as he lazed across the chairs. "I'm sure he'll get over himself soon."
It wasn't quite what Gladiolus was wondering, but it was enough. Chrysos continued to talk, suddenly leaning over to tap on the scales meeting at their shoulders. "The purple here should be a little brighter."
He was already talking by the time they focused and adjusted the color, barely pausing to nod when they hit the right hue. Brighter, always brighter, as if the coma had drained the color from their scales. Always too muted.
The cadence Chrysos spoke in didn't wait for their thoughts to catch up.
They used to journal, even though it seemed silly to do that as a wanted dragon. ("If the crown didn't already want our heads, it would give them more than enough incriminating evidence to execute you ten times over.") Acanthus used to fawn over them, an obvious crush, even though Chrysos doubted that they reciprocated. ("Following you around like a lovesick puppy…") Their job was to threaten and blackmail, to keep the others safe by taking care of their enemies. ("You were, frankly, very good at assassinating. Keep up the good work.")
They could never quite zone out despite the steady drone of his voice. He always stilled just enough to make sure they were listening before he continued, waiting ever patient for a gesture of acknowledgement. 
Still, the hardening of his voice almost caught them off guard. They leaned forward to listen before they registered the action. "The queen died recently, without an heir. Parhelion Wolven-Ash is nobility. Our goal is to place that crown on their head. I won't bore you with the details, but we have been sorting out some issues behind the scenes while you were recovering. You will be headed to Shrillcreek with Velleity tomorrow."
He didn't bother with the pretense of it being a request. Gladiolus nodded immediately, almost instinctively, as they listened. An order was an order.
The sky was dimmer by the time they left the room, everything they needed to know safely stowed away in the back of their mind. Their talons itched at the thought of murder, emotions they struggled to decipher flitting through their mind. Fear? Chrysos said that they had killed before; they could do it again. There was nothing to be afraid of.
They didn't have the name for the incessant buzz under their scales, but they knew fear was the wrong descriptor. Another thought for another time, and it was quick to silence like all the rest when they heard the patter of talonsteps behind them.
They whirled around only to see Chrysos, again, following them out. He didn't seem at all perturbed, raising one wing to gesture them along. "One more thing before you retire for the night, if you'd be so kind." He didn't wait for the nod before turning.
They trailed behind him through the paths, circling around to the largest of the constructions in the village. The door opened with a long and low creak. The first step up the stairs made much the same sound, and Chrysos paused, flashing Gladiolus a quick smile. Any attempt they could make to decipher it was interrupted by a loud slam.
"Chrysos, you know not to bother me—" Velleity's appearance at the top of the stairs led his voice to an abrupt stop, eyes locking onto Gladiolus immediately.
Chrysos looked up, his expression morphing into a wide grin. "Velleity! Since you two will be spending so much time bonding tomorrow, Thalassia thought it best to ensure that you will get on well with each other. I'd like to propose a brief chat between you two."
The glower Velleity's face had settled into didn't shift. "We already know each other."
Chrysos didn't move, either. Gladiolus found themself glancing between the two, watching a silent conversation play out in their stares. Velleity's grew increasingly agitated until he thumped his tail against the ground. "Fine, we can do that. However, you are going to leave."
"No can do."
"Leave, or you can shove it to Shrillcreek yourself tomorrow."
Chrysos raised a shoulder in a half shrug. "Thalassia suggested that I mediate the conversation. We wouldn't want an accident to happen, would we?"
Gladiolus realized several things at once, but lost their thought process moments later when Velleity gritted his teeth and stormed down the stairs. "Don't think I don't know why you're actually here. I am not going to teach them—"
"Of course not," Chrysos said, raising his wings in a way that was all but placating. "Thalassia and I both understand your reservations on this subject. However, we believe it would be beneficial for you to explain to Gladiolus exactly what animus magic entails. Surely it's the least you could do."
"Darkstalker's Teeth Chrysos, this isn't my fault!"
"Never said it was."
Velleity took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. His wings scraped against each other with a shrill chirp, frustration digging deep in his eyes. "Oh sure, you never said it. I know you're all thinking it. Oh no Gladiolus got caught. Do you know how many times I warned them about their recklessness? Every single time, the same damn thing—"
"No one is perfect, Velleity. They made a mistake, it happens."
"Oh, shut up about mistakes. They didn't even have a reason to be out there. Magic can't fix hubris, Chrysos." He was pacing now, tail skittering across stone as he whipped around to cover the space before the stairs in three even strides. "We finally had some sense of stability, somewhere where we weren't under immediate threat, and they had to go and ruin it."
"Sure." Chrysos leaned against the wall almost lazily, eyes flicking back and forth in time with Velleity's steps.
"That's what I do every time. Warn you all against idiotic nonsense, and you just keep going anyway! And when the consequences finally come back to bite, what are we doing? Staging a coup." Velleity's wings dropped abrupting, the edges brushing against the ground. "Yet somehow, it's all my fault, huh?"
Chrysos paused before responding, eyes fixed on Gladiolus. "You think teleportation powers wouldn't help in a prison break scenario? You think it wouldn't be useful escaping from an army? What about being able to sense the presence of other dragons, of an ambush, perhaps? Or harnessing the will of the dead to fight off said ambush?"
"This wouldn't have happened at all if they listened and didn't take unnecessary risks! We all mourn what happened to them but they knew what they were getting into. They didn't care, and they never did."
"The point is that they were in that situation, Velleity. Certain skills could have helped."
"Hah, keep pretending animus magic isn't exactly what it is."
"Magic is a skill."
Velleity slumped against the wall, turned away. "It's not that simple and you know it."
"Gladiolus risks their life again and again for our sake. They've dedicated everything to keeping the collective safe. Yet here you are, with knowledge and skill that could help them further that goal, a goal that we all should be happy to see maintained. Without us, they could have left this island years ago. They regularly make that much clear, no?" 
Oh, how his eyes burned.
"They wouldn't have left Acanthus," Velleity said. "It was never about the rest of us."
His words seemed untrue, contradictory, something or the other in that vein. Gladiolus didn't have time to parse the instinctual wrongness they felt. Chrysos was already opening his mouth. "You're doing everything you do for Thalassia, Velleity. Unfortunately for you, she cares about the rest of us, so you have to as well. We do everything for each other's sake."
Velleity's jaw worked around unspoken words for a long moment before he finally raised his voice. "Would have done us all better if you had that talk with Gladiolus before it was too late." 
"Not too late at all, is it? They're in the room with us, after all."
Velleity finally lifted his head in their direction, gaze unfocused as if he wasn't quite seeing them. "And what do you think that would achieve? They don't remember. It doesn't matter anymore. "
Chrysos… smiled. "Surely you don't believe that. I can easily think of one way to fix your mistakes."
"…No."
Chrysos let out a melodramatic sigh. "So unwavering on this one subject, even now. Well then. Let's get going, Gladiolus, shouldn't let this guy drag the mood down. Do you think you'll be able to handle yourself alone tomorrow?"
Gladiolus nodded, glad to be free of this conversation that they shouldn't be privy to, but Velleity got there first, stumbling far too quickly back into a semblance of standing. "What? No. I'm going tomorrow."
"Hm, eager, aren't you?" Chrysos said. "I was under the impression that your own life was the last thing you'd want to risk. Since you're so unwilling to compromise on everything else, I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."
"I don't plan on losing Gladiolus again after we just got them back. Not that I need to explain myself to you. Get out of my sight."
Chrysos did the same placating gesture that was anything but. "Is that the reason? It's incredibly out of character for you, Velleity."
"Shut up."
Velleity all but shoved Chrysos out, closing the door behind him only to glance back at Gladiolus. He hesitated, then sheepishly opened the door again, ushering them out in turn.
Chrysos scoffed as soon as the door closed firmly behind them. "What a specimen, isn't he? It's hard to get anything though to him without his brain filtering it out like a sieve. I have to mention what Thalassia would want, every time, if I want there to be even a chance of him listening."
Gladiolus shrugged.
"I've tried to get him to teach you, Gladiolus," he continued, not glancing back. "Sure, it manifests in different ways in everyone, but it is undoubtedly useful, especially for someone in your position. It's a shame he still doesn't feel the same way." A measured pause. "Although you didn't have any luck before, if you figure out how to work it yourself… I wouldn't stop you. I'd like to know about any progress you might make, however, if you'd be so kind."
He led them back to the place they were starting to consider home, a house with only one room. They slipped inside, glancing back at Chrysos before settling into their blankets. They closed their eyes and listened to Chrysos taking up his post in the corner. Sleep always crept in easily. They welcomed the dreamless silence, preferred it over thoughts that tended to scramble their mind even after the headaches resolved.
The peace didn't last long this time.
There was a new dragon in their room. They blinked awake through a drowsy fog to the creak of the door. They lifted their head. Moonlight glinted off the silver of Chrysos's scales in the corner, coiled into his slumbering form. The figure in the door was new, and stood rigid as Gladiolus watched. It had pink eyes, bled through with red that seemed to glow.
"I didn't intend to wake you," it spoke, in a voice Gladiolus could only think of as tremulous, quivering and melodic. It felt oddly soothing, even in its unfamiliarity. Across the room, Chrysos did not stir.
In the blur of darkness, ambient moonlight traced the edges of arched horns and a narrow face. They recognized the shapes. She did well in her depictions.
Acanthus.
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)
Category:Fanfictions (Fanon)
Category:Genre (Adventure)
Category:Content (Mezepheles)