3,514Chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Brissygirl! See Author's End Note about updates and FFN.
Thanks for being so patient! I appreciate you all so much! All remaining mistakes are my own. See the first chapter for disclaimers/additional warnings/summaries.
RECAP: Harry and Co. are stunned when the Deveraines give them the first time slot in the Nevarean Court, allowing Harry's case to be heard first. The mysterious Shrouded One is summoned and proceedings begin with a great deal of magic and feelings involved by everyone present.
THE SHROUDED ONE - NEVARAH COURTROOM
Princess Dawne's warning to brace themselves could've come with a little more wiggle room. Harry, safely sandwiched between his Bonded, did not care for the way it made everyone react.
He was grateful all over again that he'd taken a dampening spell on his empathy, because if he was feeling all of that at full-strength, his reaction would've been extreme.
Well. Someone would probably get hurt.
Probably.
Not him though.
His magic twisted and churned beneath the surface, leaving him uncomfortably aware of just how much power he had at his fingertips and how much he absolutely could not afford to lose control of anything during the court proceedings.
Even though Princess Dawne had issued the warning, he could already sense the heightened energy changes in the air. It was almost as if the magic called to him on a base level of pure wildness.
Pushing up against his natural defences and drawing out the rawer, stronger threads of magic, pulling to the surface a side of himself that he had never known existed.
Harry sucked in a breath and held it, his mind quieting as his nerves settled a little bit. Unlike the first burst of wild magic—unlike the first time he'd felt that faint call from the Grey Magic before they'd left Hogwarts—there was something different about this.
A calmer magic. Gently calling out to him to notice and acknowledge their presence. Coaxing him to take what he needed and not rushing to overpower or overwhelm.
No wonder there'd been an announcement for emotional outbursts.
He'd have one right then and there, if he hadn't already been so meticulously well-cared for and surrounded by the steady support and of his Bonded and the Deveraines' showing.
I think one of them is here already, Quinn shifted uneasily in his seat. Feels a bit familiar, almost. Light, but not heavy.
"Possible Air element?" Ethan suggested, twisting around to look properly through the inner chamber without being too obvious about it. "I don't see any new faces, but if it's an Air-element-dominant, then it's likely they're already partially here and now fully manifesting. That's subtle magic alright."
"Feels familiar how?" Harry wanted to know. He reached out to wiggle one hand into the crook of Quinn's elbow, pleased when Quinn immediately shifted and laced their hands together, drawing his arm to rest in his lap.
Familiar like I should know it. But I don't. It's not the kind of magic that I would forget, but I can't put a face to it. Not—not like this. Doesn't it remind you of something? Someone? Quinn squeezed his hand.
Harry squeezed back. It honestly didn't make him think of anything or anyone, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd failed to pick up on some delicate nuance.
Another careful thought produced nothing different. He couldn't tell the signature apart from that of the noticeable energies of his Bonded and nothing unusual stood out in the vast muddle of elemental magic within the entire courtroom.
"Feels normal-ish to me. I don't think I know how to pick out the different energies like you do. Everything feels kind of heavy and light at the same time."
That's part of the feeling I'm talking about. It almost reminds me of something and I can't put my claw on it. Thoughts, Theo? Quinn leaned forward, a brow arched in silent query.
But Theo had gone unnaturally still, his golden eyes blown wide open in shock, as if he'd just had his world turned upside down, right-side up and spun around for good measure.
It was the flicker of genuine fear that was quickly masked by a forced calm, that had Harry reaching out for him with his other hand.
"Theo?" he called, softly. "It's alright. I'm here. What's wrong? Did something happen? Theo? Hey, we're all here. Nothing's changed—it's just the energy that Quinn was talking about…"
His words seemed to touch something, because Theo jolted back to the present as if he'd been stabbed through the heart with some invisible blade. The startled movement had him frozen for another moment.
It took several long minutes, before his body visibly relaxed into something deliberately less obviously alarmed, but nowhere near as calm as before.
Watching it happen was almost as fascinating as trying to determine the reason behind it. Harry tried not to stare, but if Theo noticed, he gave no indicator whatsoever.
Instead, gradually, his shoulders sloped down, chin adjusted a few degrees, face smoothed out, feet shifted a few more inches forward—the picture-perfect example of lazily paying attention.
Wow.
He'd never seen that so smoothly up front before, but it tickled a little part of him that sent a thrill of delight and want coursing through his body. It was always a pleasure to see his Bonded so competent and capable. Especially when it was Theo.
Ah. I can sense them coming. Close your mouth, Harry. Don't bite through your tongue, you won't realize you're doing it. Quinn warned. It's a reflex from the level of their power.
Quinn automatically clamped his own mouth shut, while Harry quickly clicked his fangs together, jaw relaxed.
The reason for Quinn's abrupt explanation made sense when the first change occurred. From the centre of the room in the projected summoning area, a great, heaving pillar of fluttering grey and white silks, rose from the floor.
Almost at once, the impressive power in the room went from tolerable to realm-shattering agony.
Harry yanked his hands free of Theo and Quinn to clap them over his ears instead, before he could properly understand the instinct. The warmth of his own palms pressed flat against his ears helped a little bit, but the pressure continued to grow as if the magic wanted to smear him against the reinforced walls, until there was nothing left but a trickle of blood and bone.
Breathe, Harry! Just a few more—seconds!
A few more seconds was almost more than he could bear-! Harry's jaw ached from clenching so tight.
He hadn't even noticed. It was as if his body was so tightly wound, he could crack his own bones without realizing it'd happened.
Oh.
No wonder Quinn had warned him. He squinted through blurry eyes to try and see what the fancy fluttering cloth was going to be now.
The dancing shimmering, satiny panels gave a vicious, violent twist and then reformed into a surprisingly imposing figure despite the voluminous robes that prevented any sort of proof as to whether the being could be identified one way or another.
Just as Princess Dawne had said, the Shrouded One had come.
And with them, they'd brought a wealth of raw magic, bristling, sparking and thrumming all at once. Sound that was everywhere and nowhere, while something darker and more twisted lurked underneath.
A tempting lure, almost. The promise of something more to come, but beckoning still, as if the lure hadn't worked.
But having taken a form, the oppressive energy vanished at once, rushing back to the one it belonged to, leaving everyone reeling in the sudden absence.
Silence stretched onward.
The Shrouded One moved, head lifted just enough for the veil to hang perfectly in front of their face, arms folded across their chest, shoulders back, and an aura so powerful, it radiated visible tremors of energy across the open space.
The awfulness slowly crumbled and melted away the longer Harry stared at them.
A wave of relief washed over him as pure and innocent as anything could be. It was so soothing and calming, he couldn't reconcile it to the churning energies that had raged at him only moments before.
Safe, his mind chanted. Safesafesafe...!
It was like being cradled in the softest, warmest embrace, where nothing hurt and everything was good, kind and bright in the best sort of way. A magic so light and gentle, it soothed every single raw edge inside of his body.
Washing over each of the raw connections where seals had once sat and gently skimming over where new claim marks were settling in.
Oh.
Harry took a shuddering breath.
Oh, be still my heart.
The gentle aura stretched out until it covered the entire room, touching everyone present, like a benevolent deity brushing the barest of touches against the forehead of their most beloved devotee.
Quinn tugged his hands down from his ears and Harry let him. He held still as Quinn inspected his palms to be sure that his newly clawed fingertips hadn't broken any skin.
It was no hardship, after all.
Quinn tapped the slightly shimmery bits of skin and drew Harry's attention to it.
Bit of a shock, wasn't it?
"A little. I'm glad that doesn't happen all the time. I don't think anyone could stand it."
You would be correct. That kind of power—well, you'll see in a minute. However, next time, I want you to be conscious of when you shift like this. An instinctive shift. Especially if you're not used to having claws on the ends of your fingers, you could slice your eyeball in half or carve off a piece of your cheek, bone and all. Silverwing dragons—your kind of dragon—are known for having very sharp claws and very pointed wings. It allows you to cut through just about anything. That is what makes you so rare and also, how you're so fast in the air.
"Really?"
Really. Silverwing—scales, claws, bones, even, when processed and filed appropriately—can make incredible weapons. Some Silverwing Clans have specific instructions upon death, where they have their bones made into ancestral weapons, bestowed upon Clan children when they come of age. It's very fascinating from a Healer's standpoint, but also a little sad.
"Sad isn't what I'd call that," Harry managed. "It'd be kind of—nice? To have a part of them with you, but on the other side—I don't know if I could handle that."
To each their own. Quinn's amusement came through. There are some traditions and rituals that might seem barbaric to other creature-kind, but then you have to remember that Blood Magic is one of the most powerful magics that dragel-kin have and use. Bone Magic is slightly different, but the intent behind it is usually the same. Now—are you sufficiently distracted or should I keep going?
Harry stared up at him, a little helplessly, as Quinn's deft fingers continued to rub and manipulate his aching hands. The pain was almost entirely faded now and Quinn's distraction was a good one.
He'd barely even realized what was happening as it'd happened. There was just so much magic, his senses had overloaded in a good way, but also with such a shock, that he was still processing it.
Never in his life had he come across magic that rich, deep and endless.
Certainly not when he'd entered Hogwarts, not when he'd met Dumbledore, not when he'd battled old Voldy. No, this was a new experience all on its own and he wasn't sure he trusted his initial reactions just yet.
It was so new.
Even with the dampeners, conflicting information flooded his mind, dozens of hundreds of impressions of people, places, faces, and things that he'd never seen or known before.
Warm hands settled on his shoulders, large and hot to the point of burning, the temperature increasing until he could only focus on the sizzling point of contact between his robe-clad shoulders and Charlie's touch.
Fondness surged through him.
The warmth was good. Chasing away all the aches and soothing his magic even more.
Sometimes, he wondered if he had a Fire affinity with how easy that warmth came to him. A tiny purr rumbled in his chest.
Just let him keep channelling for a moment, Quinn soothed. I asked him to give you some Fire Energy to balance out the new bonds. With me, Ethan and Theo, you're very Earth-heavy right now and that might make you feel a bit too much or not enough or just—well, very passive. We don't want that right now. It'll be good if you can see everything, but not feel as if it's passing over you.
"I don't think I want to feel much more," Harry said, truthfully. "It's a lot. It's like everything that I've ever felt, stuffed into a single—breath. It hurts, but it's also good at the same time. A good kind of hurt."
Feelings and emotions generally are. It takes time and effort to process them, Quinn released Harry's hands and tucked them back into his lap.
"Can you tell me more about Silverwings?" Harry asked.
Quinn blinked, eyebrow arched towards the centre of the room, The Shrouded One and then back at their little group. Now?
Harry offered a wry smile. "Later's fine, I guess. But the distraction was good. I wouldn't mind if it was a little longer -"
If you like. Beyond the sharp wings and claws, you'll have slightly lighter silver colouring in your full dragon form, so that you are virtually invisible in the sky. You are also small enough for sharp, swooping dives, the kind that could actually be turned into a killstrike if your wings are angled right.
Harry perked up. "Really?"
Really. You don't have to look so happy about that. Quinn's smile grew soft. Air Gheyos have that as a common skill set, learned from the Storm Gheyos. Depending on base training and personal ability, it's something they keep in their back pocket, so to speak. Do stop me, if you've calmed down again. We really should pay attention to the court right now. I'm happy to distract you later, if you're still feeling a little out of sorts, but I'd really rather not have cause to return to the courts in the near future for any kind of reason at all.
"That bad?"
That serious, Quinn corrected. Not bad. Just serious. Nevarean Courts are no joke, but there are absolute rulings here. Even Royals are not exempt, though to be fair, if I were being judged by the Realm as well, I wouldn't want to be on trial either.
"...but it's fair, right? They don't just listen to one-side of the story or one person and ignore everything else? They listen?" Harry frowned. "And they believe in justice? Wait, what do you mean being judged by the realm?"
Exactly what it sounds like. Of course, they listen, Harry. Those present on council and sworn to judge fairly, take an oath to do so. Witnesses are usually native Nevareans and half-celestials. It's considered part of a celestial duty, to be an open ear and honest witness to trials and the like. Sort of their way of giving back, considering the amount of power and influence that usually comes with the title.
"That's good then," Harry said, slowly. He curled and uncurled his hands, testing the way his fingers flexed and moved. "Very good. It's better if it's not just one person holding all of that power."
Quinn's smile was a soft and careful thing. It is. Trust in that. The Realm is the one judging, when there is someone anchored to them. You're anchored, so the Realm will judge you. It's that simple. Because you are anchored, you are protected from malicious attempts at sabotaging your testimony, attempts to drown out what really happened and above all, your truth is what will be called to the forefront. Magic deals in absolutes, Harry. This is no exception. No matter what, if a price is requested, a price must be paid.
"Are you sure?" Harry had to ask. "What if—what if something happens anyway? Even against all odds?"
With the kind of magic you just felt here? Quinn's smile was both knowing and gentle. Are you scared of being right, Harry? Or are you scared of being wrong? There's no harm in being afraid, of worrying or anything that happens between those two ends. It's a spectrum. Everything happens in some degree or the other, but it's never quite the extremes we dream up in our heads. Sometimes we think ourselves into corners, because we're afraid of what could really happen.
"I'm afraid that I don't have enough of what I need to make it work out in my favour," Harry said, quietly. "I don't want anyone to have to sacrifice something for my sake, just because I couldn't get myself out of-"
There is nothing that says you have to solve all of your own problems on your own. There is no shame in asking for help. Why would it have to be a sacrifice? And why would you begrudge someone the opportunity to show their support? People care about you, Harry. They want to help, not just because they care, but because they care more than that. It is quite an experience to be so loved, is it not?
Harry clamped his mouth shut at the sudden rush of emotion. The shock of it was overwhelming and inspiring at once. He'd never heard it put that way before, but since he'd come to Nevarah, wasn't that what was happening to him all the time?
Even when he didn't understand, even when there was so little he'd known. From his Bonded to the odd little friends he'd made, to the way he'd used the precious knowledge he'd gained and hoarded, to make his way in the new mysterious world that was somehow still—after all this time—still, kinder than what he'd met at the hands of Dumbledore and the Wizarding World.
Kind, because they had seen him with what little he had and they had reached out to pull him in, regardless. They had asked, they had tried, they had not taken anything from him. Even when it was clearly inconvenient to lend a hand. Even when they were imperfect and flawed, they'd tried.
Ah.
Quinn was right, in a way, but it wasn't an experience to be endured. It was more like a warm, comforting weight that sat on his shoulders, reminding him that he was not alone and it would eventually, somehow, be alright.
Are you feeling better now? That's enough, Charlie. Thank you. It looks like everyone is about seated and sorted now. Quinn observed.
Harry bit back a whine when Charlie's wonderful hands withdrew. They really were nice, warm hands and he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't tempting to want to have them all over his body now and not to be sitting, cooped up, waiting for a trial to begin.
"Charlie-!" he mumbled, with feeling.
A slight flicker of amusement trickled down Charlie's bond, before one hand lingered, ruffling his hair carefully, before vanishing altogether.
The lingering warmth of his touch, seared through his skin, as if imprinting on his very bones. Harry managed a quiet whine, even as he shuddered in a delicious spiral of empathy with Charlie's gentle affection rushing over him.
Movement of filmy white robes drew his attention to Ithycar Deveraine, who stood and approached the empty tiled spot on the floor, opposite of The Shrouded One. Ithycar stood tall and bright, hair swept up into the most intricate of braids and beaded ornaments, with a distinctly Elven flair in the cut of his robes and the fine features of his sharp jaw and equally sharply pointed ears.
There were neat slits down the sleeves of his robes, from the cap of the shoulder, down to the wrist cuff, revealing so many obvious claim marks of dark black and navy-blue ink on his pale skin. Golden finery dripped off of his ears, neck, and wrists, showcasing wealth, status and power.
"My name is Ithycar Deveraine, I am speaking on behalf of my Circle, specifically, my Submissives and our ACE, in regards to a recent altercation involving my pregnant Submissive and a friend of the family, in addition to nine different incidents of harassment over perceived slights and false claims of a non-existent courtship between my children of eligible bonding age. We seek reparations and a genuine gesture of repentance for these harmful encounters."
Princess Dawne stood tall, gazing down at the floor below. "Do you seek these reparations as Ithycar Deveraine of Nevarah or do you claim your Elven heritage not of this realm?"
"...these incidents took place on Nevarean land," Ithycar said, smoothly. "I seek Nevarean justice. I will not invoke Elven rights unless this injustice goes unpunished. Is that acceptable?"
"It is acknowledged. Your request for Nevarean Justice is granted. Will you hear his case, Shrouded One?"
The Shrouded One faced Ithycar for several long, ominous minutes.
When they deigned to speak, it was a voice ancient like a thousand cries melted into one single sound. "You have a second request," they intoned. "Declare it."
Ithycar didn't seem the least bit worried. "Our ACE has a mentored student, newly Bonded, whose Submissive is struggling to acclimate to his dragel heritage after a lifetime on Earth. He has endured much. My ACE wishes to help in whatever way she can."
"Speak plainly," The Shrouded One intoned.
"I wish for him to be helped in the way of the realm. That he would be granted compensation for the wrongs against him and given appropriate information and tutelage for his future, stolen due to the sacrifice of his mentor."
"I see. In doing so, you would forfeit your right to hold a first audience for her sake, would you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She is my Bonded. We are one."
"A good answer."
"The Shrouded One is understanding and fair," Ithycar said, smoothly.
"You do not wish to dismiss, but to postpone, correct?"
"Correct."
"And what do you gain by doing this?" The Shrouded One asked.
"Enough time for a child's voice to be heard by those who were once deaf or unaware of their plight and position." Ithycar's polite smile was worn like a shield.
The Shrouded One sighed, as if all the air in the room was to be a single breath from their own lungs. "You ask much at this time."
"It is for their sake. I demand nothing. It is but a humble request, Shrouded One." Ithycar bowed deeply, his eyes respectfully averted. He held the bow until a gentle current of wind nudged him upright.
"Your request is granted. Will you switch now?"
"If it pleases you," Ithycar said, smoothly.
Harry clamped his mouth shut, unable to help the sudden flood of emotions that made his eyes prickle with unshed tears.
Oh, that wasn't fair. That wasn't fair at all! How dare they be nice to him!
Theo's head tilted to the side, ever so slightly, but a slash of naked relief on his face gave away his inner state. A hint of his old spark was back now.
Despite Ilsa's very slight warning from before, it was still a shock.
That the Deveraines would give up their own well-earned timeslot in the Realm's Court for the sake of bringing closure to Harry's chaotic mess of a life.
Breathe, Harry. Quinn squeezed his hand, firmly. It's alright. They made the choice and they are allowed to do so. It is alright for us to take a chance handed over.
"She—they didn't have to," Harry said, tightly. "Quinn, they didn't have to do that for me. For us-!"
I know, Harry, I know. It's a wonderfully humbling thing to be so loved, isn't it?
His heart ached. "...yes."
The Shrouded One hummed—a sound that reverberated through the entire room. "You are quite fortunate to have found a Circle of such good heart to petition in your favour. This is no small request, but it is granted. You may present their case."
Ilsa moved to stand beside Ithycar, her posture perfect and her respectful bow impeccable. "May we stand with them, Shrouded One?"
"For what purpose?" The Shrouded One asked, amused.
"Support," Ilsa said, easily. "Affection."
"...you may."
DEATH AND HER COURT
"There is another who should be here," The Shrouded One said, quietly. "For the sake of accuracy and to keep order within their ranks, will you permit this?"
It was a formality, Harry knew, because he was fairly certain no one was missing from the impressive line-up of dragels, celestials and Immortals, even. But this was still new and maybe the Nevarean Royals were supposed to say something about it.
Princess Dawne offered a deep curtsy. "This court is yours to command."
The Shrouded One gave a shallow nod in acknowledgement. As they turned, a darkness dripped into the room, as if it'd been waiting for that very cue to begin pouring into the sealed chamber of the open courtroom.
The air stilled.
Shadows poured out, rising from every being, clustering in the corners and frothing at the ceiling in a way that was almost liquid, despite the impossibility.
"It is not like you to be reticent," The Shrouded One said, mildly. "Be brave and show yourself. Or must I ply you with assurances that there is nothing to fear in my presence? You know I am not angry with you. We are here for the same reason, the same purpose, are we not?"
Death appeared in a massive swirling pillar of pitch-black shadow and crackling, sparking red energy. Wearing very much a tattered version of The Shrouded One's pristine grey robes, Death's black shroud was still something of beauty.
Ragged layers upon ragged layers, frayed edges and hems overlapping where tears and patches could no longer cover what the original robes would have.
And yet, despite the shifting layers and uneven edges, not a single speck of skin or bone was visible.
Nor a face.
Skeletal hands—more bone than semi-translucent skin—shone clearly in the dimness of the courtroom from where they were just barely peeking out from underneath the heavy sleeves of the shroud.
The floor shifted and instead of a large stone, a severe black throne emerged. Far from the simplicity of what the Shrouded One had chosen, Death's space was the opposite.
Gothic with the swirls and points lined the back and arms, even down to the intricate scrolls along the throne's base, looking as if it'd been newly forged with shadows still smoking off of it.
Death gathered themselves together and sat, perfectly, in the presented seat. Their ragged shroud seemed to collapse in around them, turning the darkness around them into an unfathomable void. Details of their shoulders and maybe, a foot, were still somewhat noticeable, but staring too long seemed to make it all lose shape
The energy in the room shifted sharply.
From the shadows in the room and the space around Death's throne, there emerged red-eyed beings of all kinds. Some sported sharp teeth and claws, others had various types of scale and fur on display. Dressed neatly in contrast to Death's rags, it was telling that not a single one of them was a hound or reaper.
Leaning back against their throne, Death waved one bony hand. "Proceed."
The Shrouded One regarded them with something akin to amusement. "Always so grumpy. You should be more relaxed in your old age, you know. Tell me, will you permit the participation of Mariana and Jascha Cunningham? Or any of the Cunningham Circle, as their Alpha is one of your own, reaper-kind?"
"Did they ask you to speak on their behalf? They are allowed to do as they please," Death said, coolly. "Is she not my little darkling? My precious darling? And is he not the sentinel I have appointed to her? None other has ever been worthy of such a title. Nor have any other pairs been so elegantly matched in my time. Admit them—and any others that you may have forgotten to mention before we spend far too much time debating such things."
The Shrouded One gave a low, wheezing laugh. "Always so grumpy," they clucked, indulgent. "Always so guarded. You may admit them. I trust they have arrived?"
Princess Dawne bowed respectfully once more. "I believe the Triad is here, perhaps, not all of their Suites?"
"Admit who is here. Have any latecomers wait in the holding rooms. I do not wish to disrupt the initial protections wrought on this space, if it is not necessary." The Shrouded One moved with slow deliberation, settling back once more as if they were the Royal.
Princess Dawne inclined her head and turned, whispering something to the guarding Gheyo beside her, who rushed off to do as they were bid.
Silence stretched out.
The sealed doors shuddered and then a circular portal of black and red energy swirled to life. From the shadowy depths, Jascha Cunningham emerged in an elegant suit of black and blue, with a layered neckline and long flared coattails behind him. The blue embroidery highlighted his family crest and social status as he extended one gloved hand to the shadowed portal.
Mariana stepped through the 'portal like a Royal in her own right. Her eyes were no longer their trademark black, but rather the same burning, bloody red as Jascha and the rest of Death's court.
Her simple outfit of a fitted Flexi-suit was enhanced by the rather delicate set of arm and leg bracers that fitted over them in gleaming silver, with the remainder made up of armour that covered her vital areas. It did nothing to hide the deep cuts and curves of the form-fitting Flexi-suit itself, that showcased endless swathes of skin—and very, very visible claim marks on each patch.
It was the picture-perfect reminder that this was a dragel with not one or two Gheyo Suites, but the impossible three.
An impossibility in itself.
No Circle sustained itself properly with multiple ACE or Gheyo ranks and continued to live healthily or sanely, without bearing a price that none would willingly pay.
Mariana's impossible existence had somehow worked in her favour. She moved elegantly, stepping forward from where Jascha guided her towards Death's throne.
The Flexi-suit moved with her. Each perfect round circle of black ink was a pristine claim mark that bore a delicate symbol in the centre. Some appeared almost identical, while others were as vastly different as could be. Circles, spirals, flowers, and even the silhouette of various weaponry overlapped.
"This unworthy child greets her mother," Mariana drawled, just shy of disrespectful. "How fares thee, mother?"
"Am I your mother?" Death inquired, lazily. "I seem to have forgotten birthing such an ungrateful child."
"Mother has taught me well. It is my own failing to prove my loyalty."
Death scoffed. "Still such a quick tongue on you. It is a wonder I let you keep it. But you use it so well, when you've a mind to. Step forward. Both of you." One bony hand waved them forward. "Sentinel—you look well. Time has been kind to you."
"Honoured one," Jascha said, flawless and impeccable. "I return your darling to the safety and benevolence of your court. I thank you for the honour of guarding them." He held Mariana's hand, leading her forward and placing it in Death's outstretched one.
Magic flared in the courtroom as Mariana drew near to the throne. She knelt easily, holding that bony hand to her forehead in quiet supplication.
"You are the only one I would call mother," she said, quietly. "Is that not sufficient devotion enough?"
Death hummed. "Indeed. You are exactly what I have made you and so you are seen and acknowledged. Welcome back."
"I am honoured," she said, simply. She did not release the bony hand pressed tight to her forehead, but her face was now hidden from view.
"Something troubles you, my darkling?" Death asked, the barest hint of concern seeming to show through.
"Yes. I have but one request," Mariana said, rising so that she stared earnestly into the empty, blackened hood hiding Death from view. "And I know not whether it is within my place to inquire on their behalf, but I feel compelled to do so. Blackened as my heart is."
"I see. And this troubles you?"
"Yes, mother, it does."
"Very well then. You may ask," Death rasped. "Speak clearly and precisely. Do not waste your words on idle excuses."
Mariana hummed softly in her throat, a sound that seemed to echo. "With your court as my witness, my sworn oath is to protect those who have none to protect them and guide to your court, those who do not wish to exist at all. I have found one with such a heavy burden that it pains me to shoulder it alone, knowing all that has come to light."
"Is that not why we are here?"
"...it is."
"What would you ask of me?"
"Will you help?"
"If that is your desire."
"Even if it is not one you favour?"
"I did not favour you at first," Death said, simply. "But you earned that right. You have asked it and so I will grant it. You ask for so little anyway. All is within my power or have you forgotten such things?"
Mariana gave a tiny little bow, unflinching when Death's free, skeletal hand came to rest gently on the crown of her head. "Mother is kind."
"Mother is not. But I do not take issue with your requests, my darkling. You have always been obedient, unlike others. Rise. You may take your place beside your Sentinel. You are both of my court. Act accordingly."
Mariana grasped the skeletal hand once more, touching it to her lips, before rising with slow ceremony. She immediately accepted Jascha's hand that was extended at her left, and allowed him to guide her to the guarding position that was directly to Death's right.
With that bit of formality over and done with, Death's Court assembled in full view of the rather anxious audience watching the proceedings unfold.
From a powerful swirl of shadow, a familiar, red-eyed, scowling face appeared, white fangs gleaming as he shifted from man to massive, shadow-wreathed, snarling Hellhound.
Death merely extended a hand and waited, until Aiden curled up beside them on the left, massive head resting in their bony lap. His red eyes burned bright and hot, a piercing gaze that swept the room in an almost methodical pattern. A thick, heavy collar encircled his neck, a visible rose carved into the collar itself.
Another yowl of sound announced a bristling, hungry-mawed shadow taking on felinesque shape, until a prideful Hellcat prowled from the twisting, writhing shapes, into clear view. Skinny and with a feral-edge to it, the Hellcat padded around to Death's other side, studiously ignoring the Hellhound with a dainty twitch of tail and whiskers.
The quiet slurping overhead, announced the Hellfin that dropped down from the ceiling, a thick puddle of black sludge that draped itself across the back of Death's throne. They reformed into a strange sort of water creature with long, threatening tentacles taking up nearly their entire lower-half, while the upper body held a slightly stocky build and no properly decipherable features as to what exactly they were. White eyes blinked wide and guileless, though the mouth that opened seemed less like a mouth and more like a tiny window—a glance into something dark and dangerous.
Death paused in mid-scratch of Aiden's pointed ears and gentle ruffle to the Hellcat, to reach up to offer a chin-scratch to the Hellfin, who dutifully leaned forward for the gesture of affection.
A stunned sort of silence settled over the entire audience.
Death's Hell-kin creature trio seemed slightly unbalanced. As if there was one more that ought to have been present.
The Hellfin shifted, more of the thick, blackened goo dripping down the side of the throne. A long, finned tail smacked the side, as if it were impatiently waiting for something else to happen.
"I will not wait," Death said, lightly. "Show yourself. I know the others cannot be helped, but you can."
A loud caw announced the fourth Hell-bent creature, a four-winged blackbird with three, beady red eyes and grasping tentacled feet that clutched at the tiny bit of throne left for it between the twisting tentacles of the Hellfin.
"Hellwing," Death greeted. "You bring news?"
The blackbird cawed loudly, all four wings fluttering with noisy flaps.
"I am aware. That is of no matter. I do not expect him to succeed," Death said, mildly. "It was not a task meant to be fulfilled, but rather a lesson that must be learned."
The blackbird cawed again, unhappily.
"That is up to them. I do not demand loyalty that is not freely given. If one wishes to fight Fate, they are free to do so." Death's hooded face turned in the direction of The Shrouded One. "Proceed."
"...your Reaper will not come?" The Shrouded One asked, amused. "You should not play with them so. A Court is meant to show unity. A united front with all minds in accordance for what is to come, is important, is it not? "
"He knows very well what today is for," Death said, matter-of-factly. "And he knows exactly what will happen if he does not complete his duty. He also knows why the challenge was set to him in such a way and what he has done to deserve it. I do not tell you how to run your affairs, Shrouded One, do not presume to do otherwise for me. We all have our sins to bear."
"That is unnecessarily harsh, is it not?" The speaker, this time, was a beautifully dark-skinned man with an overwhelming presence, clad in red, orange and gold. His eyes, a striking purple, crackled with unsung power. "I must side with the Shrouded One, Death. Surely there are less—traumatizing ways to make a point? Whatever has the poor boy done now?"
"He is a man, not a child. I do not make the rules for the challenges you set," Death said, holding out a bony arm to accept the Hellwing's fluttering hop from the top of the throne to their arm. "I asked them what they thought would be a suitable consequence, if they failed. They answered. It is a punishment of their own making. Do you really think me that cruel? What do I gain by appearing so?"
"Oh, that is quite wretched, really!" A woman, dressed in pretty, floating pastels of blue, pink and yellow, floated down from nowhere, a shimmering cloud half wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl, while another perched atop her head like a hat. The third cloud swarmed at her feet, as if she had no need to even lift them to move at all.
"Speak for yourself, Immortal," Death said, amused. "I was not the one who took my entire following to the very ends of the realm for the sake of proving-"
The pastel lady—an Immortal, obviously—blushed a bright rosy hue that bathed the entire courtroom in a warm, fuzzy sort of energy that turned into slow simmered contentment.
"Must you really?" The man beside her asked, exasperated. "The goal is to help. Not to alter unaltered futures or life trajectories?"
The pastel lady winced. "Of course. My apologies, Fate. I did not mean to frighten you with my—exuberance."
Fate sighed. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
The pretty Immortal laughed. "That will do for now. Shall we begin? I am sure there are plenty of other things that everyone would like to do while the Hunt is underway. Let us not take up any more of their time than absolutely necessary."
"Indeed," The Shrouded One murmured.
"All rise!" Princess Dawne called out. "We shall begin."
HARRY AND SHROUDED ONE
Theo was the second one to find his feet, Quinn being the first. As soon as The Shrouded One had given permission, the court's aides immediately set to beckoning them forward and ushering them towards a protected space at one end of the large arena in the centre.
"Come this way," said a pristine-robed Pareya, their gaze polite, but their tone firm. "Please walk in double-file. Submissive and Alpha at the front. All other ranks according to traditional listing and not hierarchy."
That was how Harry found himself squeezing all circulation out of Theo's hand as they followed dutifully behind the Pareya leading them in front.
He didn't dare try to do anything but follow the gliding footsteps of the one in front of them, focused solely on moving without tripping over his own feet and with only the warmth from his bonds to provide a decent grounding.
Whisked away from the front row seating and directly into the arena, Harry and his Bonded trooped out in double-file. A new, rectangular area was crafted at one end, with comfortable seating and reinforced wards shimmering from waist height, stretching all the way to the ceiling.
The Deveraines met them halfway, melding easily around Harry and his Bonded, a few hands patting lightly at his head and shoulders, reassuring and comforting in the same breath.
Harry swallowed hard, unable to think of any possible way to thank them for something that was clearly a big deal. It was such a far cry from the last time he'd had to stand in front of a magical court and the sheer relief at knowing that the Deveraines were there for them—and directly behind them, even!—was almost too much.
Theo squeezed his hand again. "Alright, my treasure?"
"...overwhelmed," Harry said, truthfully. The nickname helped. It was a good reminder and he knew Theo would never say it unless he meant it. Even with the dampening spell, he could feel that in his bones. "It's—a lot."
"Anything I can do?" Theo asked, his voice still low.
"Stay close," Harry said, simply. "The last time that I was—there was a court—it didn't go well. Dumbledore had to show up. Things got ugly."
"Oretta will not let that happen," Theo said, firmly. "I swear it."
Harry managed a nod of understanding for that. He couldn't make the words form into the right shapes and in the right order, but he could trust that. Ilsa had hugged him like he belonged.
As if he was one of hers.
One of the ones she'd chosen to protect.
Even now, he was sure it was her hand that had patted his head twice and then gone over to squeeze Theo's shoulder.
"Breathe, loveling," Ilsa murmured, a hint of fondness seeping into her tone. "It's no hardship to let your case be heard first. If anything, you will be doing us a favour, because it will make it appear as if we are unconcerned with the actual way in which our own appeal is being postponed."
"It's in our favour," Greta said, smoothly. "Don't think that hard about it. Now, you and probably Theo, may have to stand out there on your own. We'll be here the entire time and no matter what it seems like, this room is warded enough that the realm could split in two and nothing would touch you."
"You're also anchored to it, love," Bu said, gently nudging Greta to the side and taking the spot cleared beside Harry. "That means you may have some very different results to what might have otherwise been a straightforward appeal, alright? Ilsa-"
"I know," Ilsa said, rubbing lightly at Harry's shoulders. "He's fine. Theo?"
"As good as I can be, Oretta."
"That is all that I will ever ask of any of you," Ilsa said. "Come. You will need to take the stage and they will need to change the magical preparations."
Harry fidgeted again. "What does that mean?" he asked, stiffly.
Ilsa studied him for a moment. "Do you want to know what is happening or why it is happening? Which would be of more help to you?"
"...both? I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to expect and I don't know what can go wrong or right or-"
"You're anchored to the realm," Ithycar said, beckoning him forward. "Let me walk him in, Ilsa. You stand with Theo."
Harry was dutifully shuffled forward until Ithycar's hands pressed down on his shoulders, firm and grounding a way that he hadn't expected from him.
"Breathe with deliberation and care," Ithycar said, mildly. "You are in control of your body, your future and your present moment. No one can take that from you unless you give it to them. You are not required to give it to them."
"He is right," Theo said, reaching out to give Harry's hand a quick squeeze, before allowing both of their hands to drop back to their sides. "This is nothing like the wizarding world or even muggle-court. It is entirely dragel-specific."
A sharp ripple of magic zipped through the courtroom.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Harry could not miss the inevitable shift of attention from the Deveraines straight to him. He straightened, almost imperceptibly.
"That is the magic realigning to ensure that all who are needed as witness, blood-oath sworn and so on, are here and on hand for when they are called," Nara said, sending him a reassuring glance. "You can also ask for extra privacy, if you don't want to see anyone being called up or if you don't want to hear what they're saying. That's an option that is always available for whoever wants it. You are here to tell your side of things and to hear what is granted to you. There is nothing that requires you to hear anything that could be significantly distressful at this time. That doesn't mean you can't read a transcript or ask your Bonded later, if you would prefer, but it is an option."
Harry stared at her. "What?"
Nara's face made a complicated expression. "This case is for the sake of your wellbeing," she said, slowly and carefully, as if she were trying not to spook him. "Harry, you don't have to listen to any of this, if you don't want to. I mean it. Absolutely nothing here should be geared against you. That is not how Nevarah works."
"Then how would anyone-" Harry faltered, his attention shifting to the gathered Pareya at the edge of the meeting spot where they were all gathered.
One of the Official Pareya at the edge of the designated area, looked up, tablet tucked into the crook of their elbow, face set in a neutral sort of expression. "Please admit the Circle in question to the floor. Greet the Immortals present and pay your respects per the common protocols."
Theo straightened up even further and behind him, Harry knew Charlie and the others were doing the same. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, trying to offer a hopeful expression when Nara gave his shoulder a comforting pat.
"It will be alright," she said, firmly. "We are here with you."
Harry nodded. Right. He'd have to ask questions later, when he remembered.
The greeting was fairly straightforward, with Theo taking the lead and offering an easy bow that Harry and Charlie could mimic with ease. Quinn and Ethan followed suit, looking quite elegant in their synchronized movements.
Relief flooded him and Harry was grateful that the formal entrance was over and done with.
A slight pulse of that gentle aura from earlier dissolved any lingering tension in the air, until there was merely a hushed sort of expectant silence in the room.
"Come, child," The Shrouded One held out their hands, waiting.
Automatically, Harry found his feet moving closer, taking him straight to the large chunk of rock that served as their fanciful seat. He put his hands in theirs, before it ever occurred to him that maybe, he shouldn't.
Or that perhaps, the words were meant for someone else.
He couldn't reason out why he'd moved, only that it had felt right and he couldn't possibly imagine himself being anywhere else.
The touch of such strong, cool hands curling around his, made his soul shiver. As if he'd touched some great and ancient magical artefact and now, there was nothing else to do but stand there and accept what had called him directly to their side.
He blinked under the shadow of one hand reaching up to smooth hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering with the barest hint of healing magic passing between them.
Oh.
That felt—so gentle.
A shiver ran through him. The pulse of strong emotion made his eyes water, even as he stubbornly blinked back the sudden sting of tears. There was no reason for tears! He was—fine!
Completely fine.
"All is well. Calm yourself. You are a child of this realm, brought to me by ceremony," they intoned. "It is your right to see my audience. It is within my capacity to help and heal. With your permission, I will do so. Will you grant me this?"
Harry forgot to breathe.
It'd never occurred to him in all of the fanciful proceedings that someone—anyone—would actually ask for that. Ask for his permission in full view of the entire court and its audience—to genuinely ask, as if his answer carried enough weight.
The realization rocked him to the core with the secondary thought following it that if he refused—if!—that it would also be fine. His wishes would be respected, he wouldn't be thrown out and ignored, but that instead—oh, instead—he'd be seen.
"...Arielle," he whispered, frozen.
The Shrouded One laughed. "Is that your answer?"
He froze.
A distinct flare of humour nudged at him, playful energy merging with the edges of his own aura as the hand that had so indulgently ruffled his hair, now came to a halt in front of that stone-like veil, a finger held up where a mouth would be, almost as if they were shushing him.
"Was that your answer, young one? Or did you mean to say something else?"
"Yes," he managed. "I meant yes. Thank you."
"Excellent!" The Shrouded One gave the impression of a wide-toothed grin from underneath the many layers draped over them. "Then let us proceed. Come this way."
Harry was seated at a wide, circular chunk of stone set up behind a curved podium of sorts, slightly lower than the space where The Shrouded One and Death were situated. It was set up in a way that Theo could sit by his right—head slightly higher than his—and Charlie could be at his left, while Quinn and Ethan were seated on a lower tier of the odd little rock by his feet.
It was only because the official Pareya bustling around them directed him where to sit, that he knew where to go at all.
Relax, Harry. This is normal. Quinn told him, gesturing at the way the Pareya was meticulously inscribing several long strings of runic phrases along the outer section of their stone seat. That's to make it easier to activate protections and barriers, in case any spellwork breaks or summonings go awry.
"...does that happen often?" Harry had to ask.
Charlie poked his arm, leaning as subtly to the side as he could, his fiery hair spilling over one shoulder and onto Harry's, adding a gentle brush of warmth. "I'm pretty sure it's more for protocol than necessity."
Correct. Ounce of prevention versus a pound of cure and all of that. Quinn squinted at the marks being slowly activated in front of him. From what I can see, those look to be pretty standard.
Harry frowned. "Really?"
Really. Look in front now. I think we're starting. Quinn's posture relaxed, his gaze zeroing in on the Royals. Remember, if you need to stop or you need anything at all—tell me. Tell any of us, but speak up. We will not know, unless you tell us, alright?
"Alright," Harry agreed, his voice low. "Thanks, Quinn."
"Before you state your claim," Prince Raspen said, his voice calm. "Please be as specific as you can. Know that whatever is said here today, so as long as it is the truth, will not be held against you should conflict arise in the parties named. Your genuine, honest testimony is the truth we seek. You may speak."
Rising from Death's side, Mariana strode forward with Jascha a half-step behind her. She stopped at the carved line directly in front of where the Royals and others were gathered. The perfunctory bow was slightly careless, but more carefree in the way that her expression was masked, as if for politeness sake.
"My Bonded and I responded to a request on behalf of Prince Raspen to investigate the circumstances of Harry Potter-Nott," Mariana intoned. "During the course of our investigation, we visited his childhood home on Earth in a non-magical, human residence. This was verified by the presence of a Death Seal over the entire residence, in which the physical remains of his assigned mentor, Maurice Elswood was found."
Harry did not flinch, but it was a rather close thing. Almost instantly, he felt calmness radiating toward him from all of his Bonded, some a little sharper than others. Charlie's warmth on his left side grew stronger.
Princess Dawne gave a slow nod in the pause. She held up a hand and turned to say something to one of the Pareya hovering beside her. The result was a headshake from Prince Raspen, before he spoke once more.
"Maurice Elswood was an Oath-bonded acquaintance of yours?" He inquired.
Behind Mariana, Jascha shifted his weight, shadows gathering lightly underfoot, almost as if purely by instinct. While he said nothing, it was clear that his protective nature was very obviously on display.
"...he was, the same as Lord Orseno," Mariana said, evenly. "The three of us have made no secret of our connection, save for those who are too young to remember the chaos that we indulged in, during our younger years. I specifically agreed to the investigative journey off-realm for the sake of finding out what happened to him in his final moments. Imagine my surprise when I discovered he was locked into a Death Seal on Earth."
Jascha shifted again.
"I see," Prince Raspen said, carefully. "Would you state the importance of this? Beyond the connection of Maurice Elswood as Harry's assigned mentor."
Mariana eyed him for a moment, her pretty lips twisting into a grimace. "Our first sighting of Maurice was when we found him in a Death Seal. There was no proper way of following a trace of his travel log or energy signature, it was simply arriving at the residence and discovering that a seal of such magnitude was in place and it was meant to freeze everything exactly as it was when it happened and with strong protections over the house and with intent to provide a safe haven for the youngling inside."
"He was already in the Death Seal?" The Shrouded One inquired, calm as ever. "So, there was never any hope of proper revival?"
"He was already dead," Mariana said, calmly. "I am not a necromancer, as you are all aware. Even so, there was nothing to revive. His soul was spoken for and he'd cast the seal for the sake of his assigned mentored student, Harry."
"Do you have proof of this?" Princess Dawne asked, her voice sharp. "What about other possible reasons for sparking a seal? Why a Death Seal if it wasn't to revive him?"
Mariana's smile was vaguely unsettling. "As a matter of fact, we determined that the Seal was created and activated in response to a beacon placed on the residence. Specifically, a hunting beacon of Torvak origins, designed to lure in their own kind to ensure that a specific target is hunted and killed without deviation."
Collectively, the entire room bristled.
"…a hunting beacon?" Princess Dawne repeated, her silver-eyed gaze reflected the horror that was not present in her voice. "On his home?"
"The Death Seal, I believe was meant to protect Harry. Either by trapping the ones sent to kill him and leeching them to keep him shielded for an undeterminable amount of time or to heal him if he was compromised to the point of near-death. Hard to say which would've taken effect if we didn't have the bodies to work with."
Princess Dawne closed her eyes, head bowed for one awful moment. She gave a slight wave of her hand as if urging someone else in the Royal Council to speak in her stead.
Harry found himself holding Ethan's hand in one and Theo's in the other, squeezing tight to keep himself from moving and drawing any attention to himself.
"It wouldn't have ended unless I died?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "Why would anyone wish that on—me?"
Quinn's expression grew pained. A Torvak hunting beacon is meant to be used sparingly. It is only invoked for the worst of criminals and those who have committed heinous offenses to those unable to defend themselves, such as children and healers with sworn oaths or those with sacred oaths, who cannot retaliate. Torvak justice is about as bloody as dragel justice, before things were as bad as they are now, there was some exchange between hunting parties and a beacon like that would've simply been another tool.
"You have proof of the hunting beacon?" Prince Raspen asked, easily taking over from where Princess Dawne now looked rather disturbed.
"I have the word of one of their Lords and I also have them in—custody of sorts," Mariana said, waving a hand towards Jascha. "They were taken to the Crossroads Inn to prevent any sort of—mishaps in transportation. They are under Wolfram's protection, for the sake of passing on custody. I imagine he can produce them at will, should they be needed, but you would have to bargain with him. They are no longer my responsibility. The beacon was placed with the knowledge and approval of their Elders. They were aware that there was a dragel child within."
ROYAL DELIBERATION QUARTERS – JUN, BRIAR AND RIAN.
Jun clutched Briar to her chest as the portal unspiraled, depositing them in one of the connected waiting rooms within the Royal deliberation quarters. She could sense the increased magic and protections woven throughout the space and realized the reason for it a half-second later.
Reinforced wards and protections always meant an Immortal walking somewhere among them. In such close proximity to the court, it was likely that there were multiple high-magic individuals in attendance as well and if an Immortal had joined their ranks, then the reality must be bleak indeed.
Briar remained pressed close, the grumpy expression on his face not the least bit soothed by the steady surroundings of what had to be the Earth Royals personal waiting rooms. She combed her fingers through his thick, dark hair, scratching lightly with the tips of her claws in the way that always soothed him.
It earned her a soft rumble of acceptance, but nothing more. He was upset and she knew he had a right to be.
They were all still processing the shock of the message. The discovery of Petunia, the sadness of Lily and the reality of having grandchildren who were either in significant forms of distress—the trial—or otherwise incapacitated.
Jun breathed deeply, a forced habit on reflex.
She had a grandson. A young man, fully inherited, through Lily, the redheaded darling she'd passed through the portal.
Of course, Nevarah's extensive records were guarded like the secrets of the realm that they could be and certain information would only be released after confirmation of identities and with full consent of all parties.
Jun couldn't blame them.
Or her grandson, even if she'd only known about him for scarcely enough time to put her thoughts in order, her instincts were already happily clamouring and celebrating. One of her children had survived.
One of them!
But the implications and the reality of how badly things had gone, left a sour taste in the back of her mouth. A bitterness she was loathe to reconcile, for the truth meant that her own child—Petunia—her own daughter, had treated her son like a king and dared to treat her nephew as little more than a nuisance.
As if he wasn't her own flesh-and-blood, connected from the Evanson line handed on down through the years. As if he wouldn't have helped to keep her stable and present and-!
Jun's eyes burned as she forcefully willed her emotions down and back into the tightly formed space in her mind where they couldn't force her magic to wreak havoc anywhere.
An emotional Empath could be dangerous, after all. That was true enough with the way Briar's unhappiness trickled through their bond. Automatically, her fingers resumed the careful stroking through his half-furred hair, hellhound traits too close to the surface to be properly stowed away.
They were definitely under the care of the Earth Royals. Thankfully, their waiting rooms were grounding enough, if she was careful.
A quick look around the tasteful, but beautiful wall-hangings and decorations proved her right as she caught sight of a circle of portraits depicting past Earth Royals and golden plaques bearing the engraved honours bestowed upon them for their service to the realm and its inhabitants.
She supposed that was fine.
It wasn't like the Fire Royals would expect or accept her. Irritation bled into caution and she wished the rest of her Circle was able to accompany her. The official summons had specifically requested her triad and no others.
Odd, but she could manage.
She would manage. There weren't other options available and the thought of not seeing—not meeting!—her grandson, well, that would certainly cause some kind of feedback and not the good kind.
So.
Staying calm. Meeting him. Not having an empathy-fuelled breakdown. Right. Nothing like a little challenge or two.
"I guess we're here," Rian said, unhappily. "Briar, you alright over there?"
An unhappy rumble came from Briar, half-muffled in Jun's chest. He squeezed her tighter, seeking comfort.
She clucked at him, slowing the soothing strokes in his hair until there was more hair and less hellhound fur. He was deeply on edge and she knew the reason for it had to be Death was close by or at least, close enough that Briar could sense them.
That, or Death's Hound himself, Lord Aiden.
Neither option was particularly appealing, but it did help to know that the immortal in question was no one strange and only one of the two she was already moderately tolerant of.
"You're stressing," Rian said, taking a seat on the long-padded lounge along the far wall. He patted the soft brown cushions. "Come. Sit. Both of you. Pacing around and growling at each other isn't going to do anything good."
"Not growling," Briar rumbled, half splayed across his lap and dragging Jun even closer for maximum comfort. "Not stressing either. Feels awful in here. Heavy in every corner. So heavy."
Rian rolled his eyes. "You're both stressing and it's going to start stressing me out in a few minutes. Jun—block and moderate, please. I can still sense you, which is fine, but you've doubled your normal overflow and it's about to swamp everyone who isn't here right now. Briar—reign it in. You know she feeds off of you."
Jun winced.
They went.
It took a few tries to arrange themselves comfortably on the padded lounge, complete with a few irritated growls on all sides.
Several torturous minutes ticked by, before Rian's shoulders finally slumped in relief. The shift in energy was so welcome, Briar nearly dozed off right there, curling further into Rian's arms, face plastered to his neck to self-soothe.
"Don't bite," Jun murmured, one hand resting on his thigh, patting gently. "There's too much blood in this damn place already."
Rian's head snapped up to look at her. "What?"
Jun made a soft, strangled sound in her throat. "Don't look at me like that. I think I'm blocking too much," she muttered. "You know the taste of magic? It's dark here. Bloody. Bloodier than it should be for somewhere close to where the Royals gather. For a court hearing. I don't like it."
Another growl came from Briar.
Rian hushed him, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Briar's head, keeping his face pressed to Rian's warm neck. He gave a soft pinch to Briar's middle, more of a need to ground him, than as reprimand of any sort.
A deliberate pulse of calm filtered through all of their shared bonds, continuing further on, even as it made Briar melt more.
"Is it for something today or an old grievance?" Rian asked, carefully. "I don't sense anything amiss, but I don't know what you're reading right now."
Jun's eyes fluttered half-closed, before a brilliant blaze of white magic shone bright. "Here. Today. It's present. Souls are gathering now. Someone must have—done something. Or many things. If you reach for it, it reaches back."
"Death," Briar said, his voice muffled. "It's Death. Possibly her entire court as well. That's what it feels like when you're up close. Especially if you're up close."
"You can tell?" Rian asked, surprised.
"Aiden's there," Briar said, grumpily. "And if Aiden's there, then you know Hadrian Maruke is present and if he's present, he's been going around with that darkling—the lady Cunningham. Hard to miss. Makes everything heavy. Head hurts."
Jun and Rian winced in tandem.
"That is not a pretty arrangement," Rian allowed. He stroked a soothing hand down Briar's spine and poured in a bit of healing magic after it to chase the physical sensation. "Do you want to shift? Would that make it more bearable?"
Briar whined.
"Can you hold an indoor size?" Jun asked, eyeing him critically. "I need a second set of dampeners. My Empathy is starting to gnaw on my ears and it won't take long until it reaches you two."
Concern flickered briefly across Rian's face. "I thought you said you were blocking too much."
"Changed my mind," she said, jaw clenched. "Damn it."
"Floor," Rian said, brusquely. "And for Ergen's sake, do not release your control, do you hear me?" He gently scooted Briar forward. "Shift and I'll hold your transformation, alright? Jun, what do you need from me?"
"Whatever you can manage. Light lock on the door," she said already working at the fastenings on the front of her robe. "Can't have anyone crashing into this. It'll hurt and I won't care. Cast anything that you think is necessary."
"You so brilliant and ridiculous," Rian murmured. "Anything I think necessary? And you expect me to behave myself with such a declaration?"
The amusement was a great deflection, however, particularly in the way that it deliberately shifted Jun's sparking empathy into something vaguely softer and more manageable.
"Help first. Rewards later," Jun said, mouth twitching. "This is important."
"Everything you do is important," Rian said, smoothly. "Briar, love?"
"Close," Briar gritted out. His dark eyes fluxed to a reddish-brown and then to a pure hellhound red altogether. A low groan slipped past his lips as his fangs grew larger and wider, canine features beginning to show their edges.
He eased onto the floor, settling on all fours as his body twisted into the proper shape that left him as a hellhound instead of a man. Ears pricked, he stood and shook himself off, pitch black fur ruffled, tail hanging low.
Rian's magic was quick and sharp. He threw up another set of privacy wards, layered two sets of locking charms over it, then added a second set of wards to maintain the mask over Briar's hellhound transformation. It was the kind of layered, sturdy magic he'd learned from years of supporting and observing his Bonded's unique needs.
Even now, wisps of shadow drifted over to him, mindful in some ways, but present in others, a Shadow affinity proving itself.
"Clear," he said, quietly. "Juniper? Talk to me, love."
"Blood," she said, tugging the robes down to bare her neck and shoulders, showing off claim marks and a slight smattering of scales. "Yours or Briar's. I don't think it matters. You want these runes-" she held out a hand, waiting on him to accept the knowledge transfer.
His fingers brushed hers—briefly—accepting the projected imagery and then he was kneeling behind her, ceremonial knife in hand.
She did not feel the blade cutting through skin and scale, blood welling up on the neat, precise lines of the runes carved into place. Rian was good like that. He'd always been good.
The magic took only seconds later, building in volume as he completed each rune and moved to the next.
Perhaps it was a good thing they were in Royal-built rooms, for Jun had no idea how else she would've managed to contain such a maelstrom of magic inside of her.
It was also a good thing George was with her Bonded, set to arrive later. Her own magic would've caused some sort of magical feedback through their mentor-student bond and she didn't want to overwhelm him.
Hopefully, they would be allowed to wait for her in an antechamber, carefully warded and protected for everyone's safety.
That was good.
She could handle that. Briar could handle that. Rian could handle both of them.
Perfect.
The secondary activation of the carved runes did the trick when Briar curled up in front of her. His heavy head dropped in her lap, muzzle pressed against her stomach, mournful red eyes fixed on her strained face.
"I'm good, love," she managed, digging her hands into the thick fur of his ruff, squeezing and tugging on the shaggy fur until the buzzing feedback in her head shrank down to nothing.
Behind her, Rian sagged forward, his cheek pressed against her warm skin, dry lips kissing across newly healed skin. The knife shook in his hand, before it was banished back to Jun's personal workshop.
"Hate having to do that," he murmured into her neck. "Feel better now? I can tell you're better already. By the Void, I wish-!"
Briar snuffled in agreement.
"I'm alright. You were here for me. Both of you. That was more than I could ask. Don't think of it." Her fine tremors eased until she no longer felt stretched tight in her skin, but rather, carefully put together and allowed to remain that way.
"Good thing I didn't bring George with me," she said, wearily. Leaning forward, she buried her face in Briar's soft fur. Her voice was muffled. "Three more minutes and then we're all presentable again, hm?"
Briar whined.
"Alright, five minutes, but that's it. I am not having some Royal walk in here while I am half-dress and unable to get either of you two out of your clothes."
Rian's laugh was muffled in her shoulder. He stretched over and kissed her neck, spell-warmed hands roaming around her bare torso. "Fair enough. You haven't been this relaxed since you came back. It's good. I like it better when you can breathe without wincing."
"It's half real and half the magic. You know I have to be relaxed right now," she reminded him. "It won't do anyone any good to lose control now. It doesn't matter what I wished for or what I wanted back then—I just have here and now. We have here and now."
"And that's enough," Rian said, firmly. "That's all we ask for. Now hush so I can enjoy this."
Jun eyed his hand creeping upward from where it'd been idly stroking around her middle and towards her bared shoulder. "Sure," she said, tipping her head back. "Whatever helps you stay focused."
Briar's whuffling snort might as well have been a laugh.
CUNNINGHAM GHEYOS & FRED - NEVARAH COURT, OUTER HALLWAY
Fred shuffled along through the too-tall hallways and ridiculously ornamental architecture. Everything about the new space made his skin crawl. His flames sputtered and died out, courtesy of Robere's sharp gaze and equally attentive hand helping to regulate them.
It was both a relief and an annoyance to have his element snuffed out yet again by Robere's exquisite control and it took some effort not to growl at the older dragel.
Learning about his element, his Pareya rank and all the other irritating little details in the background of his new-to-him existence had been both a rude awakening and a desperate hope.
There was a very slim chance that he might be able to find his way to George's side at some point in the future, but with Robere's strict training methods and no-nonsense manner, Fred was barely managing.
Oh, he was learning alright, but he was also suffering.
It was the worst kind of payback for all the pranks he'd played on his poor mother throughout his entire childhood. Now, he could almost sympathize with her—though, honestly, experimentation was a rite of passage for any serious inventor.
Melancholy slithered in, settling around his shoulders like a noose around his neck. In everything that he'd experienced and endured, what he missed the most wasn't the old situation or even being back at Hogwarts, it was his family and George.
Just George, really, if he was being honest.
Nothing had been the same since their separation and the urge to tear away from the Cunningham Gheyos and search for him was almost unbearable.
Sparks crackled and popped at his fists, the flames dying out before he could form a proper flame.
"Robere!" He snapped, unable to keep the irritation from flaring.
"Calm down, kid," the Gheyo drawled, unbothered as usual. He'd never so much as blinked at Fred's attitude or wild flames. "You're fine. We haven't killed you yet and the day's barely begun. When you make it through here, I'm sure one of us could be bothered to walk you around the main city for a little bit. A field trip, if you're good. Have a little faith."
His lip curled, but the snarl died out when Robere slung a comforting arm around his shoulders, towing him close enough for it to be an almost-hug.
It felt so nice.
The snarl died in his throat and he listed a little too close to the side, wishing he could find the energy for the anger that was now swiftly shifting to a deep well of sadness that threatened to overwhelm.
Had he ever stopped to process it properly? Any of it?
"If we wanted you dead, you would've died a long time ago," Ignean said, calmly. "Keep talking like that and I'll make you take him to tour the main city with company. The rest of you lot, straighten up. I know you have better manners than that." He leaned back, snapping out a few quick, sharp orders.
"I'm not the one on edge," Robere said, lightly, but his arm did not move from the deliberate press against Fred's shoulders—both keeping him grounded and also reminding him that he was in a strange place, with strange people and that while his new—whatever they were—had brought him along for the fun, there was no telling how it would end.
How any of it would end.
A new growl built in his throat. Robere was right—he was on edge and it made him want to throw off Robere's arm and tear into something with his newfound fangs and claws.
He wanted it to hurt and maybe he wanted to hurt too.
Just a little bit.
Alright, maybe more than a little.
Enough to make that stupid ache in his chest stop and give him a break from all the pain and agony that had yet to stop since everything had gone sideways—ow!
He jerked away from Robere, a hiss in his throat. It was on the tip of his tongue to snarl something when the Robere's expression sharpened before it turned thoughtful.
Slowly, he removed his arm from Fred's shoulder, his gaze inquiring.
Fred bristled.
"Ignean," Robere said, lightly. "What was it you said again this morning? Something about a request for an audience? They didn't say who we were meeting, did they?"
"They never do," Ignean growled, moving for a few steps ahead, before he realized they weren't following. He sighed, pausing to turn his exasperated glower on both of them. "Robere, please. We're going to be late. Milady won't like it and the little one doesn't need to know what she looks like in a full temper."
"He'll have to learn at some point. But she won't be happy and neither will Milord, but I think they'd both be interested to know this," Robere said, his amusement growing as he took in Fred's growing defensiveness. "He's having a reaction. It's getting worse as we approach. Look at him."
Ignean stifled a groan. "I am looking. What am I supposed to see?"
"Something," Robere said, mildly. "Wasn't there a Twinbond going on with him? A missing brother? Would that cause a reaction like this?"
"You said it wasn't a problem," Fred said, stiffly. "You said it wouldn't cause any kind of-"
"It won't," Robere said, seriously. "But that doesn't mean it won't affect you in some way. The degree of that will depend on how close you were with your sibling. I would think that you cared somewhat for them at the bare minimum, otherwise you wouldn't feel anything at all."
Fred stared at him, stricken.
Ignean sighed. "You can't say it like that. I've told you before, you're too blunt!"
"And you're not?" Robere countered, dodging the incoming headslap with the ease born of years of familiarity. "It's the truth. Would you rather I just pretended I didn't know or just gave you a lot of little pretty words with no meaning or information at all? Twinbonds aren't rare, but they are unique. Just like the Twins who have them."
Fred stared at him. "I don't know what to say to that," he said, at last. "I'd rather the truth, I guess."
"Most Fire and Earth elementals do," Robere said, flashing a grin. "Don't think that hard about it. If you don't learn to take things as they come, your flames are going to be in a constant state of flux. Flaring up at the smallest things or the most minute emotional shifts and it'll be exhausting. Literally."
"…I can't help it," Fred said, scowling. "It's new to me."
"I didn't say you had to help it," Robere said, quieter now. "I meant, you need to focus on it for a little bit, until you're able to pick out some of your tells a little better. You've been twitching and flinching since we 'ported over here—you don't trust that we'll keep you safe and you don't know if you like it here. Both are fair assessments, but one is different than the other."
"He means that you don't have to trust us, but being so blatantly on edge is going to make you distrustful of everything," Ignean said, exasperated. "Could you make it any more confusing? He's a kid!"
"Not a kid," Fred said, rubbing his face. "I just—I don't like the building. It feels tight. Enclosed. Like there's no air running through it."
"There isn't a lot of air running through it," Ignean said, carefully. "Because this isn't a place where elements are allowed to run freely," Robere said, tiredly. "Remember when I said there was a court case? Well, it wouldn't be fair and impartial and whatever else, if there were certain advantages for certain elements, so things have to be evened out. That's why the Royals are in attendance and where the Royals are, you will also find their guardians."
Fred suppressed a shiver, unable to keep the irritation from slipping out in the form of a growl. "Is that why the magic feels so heavy?"
"Wow, look at you learning and everything already," Robere said, cheerfully. "Yes, actually, it is. They tend to carry a very heavy presence. It's one reason why Royals and their guardians never bond. It's considered a sacred responsibility."
"What, they can't protect someone and love them at the same time?" Fred scoffed. "That's ridiculous."
Robere and Ignean exchanged a glance.
"Not exactly," Ignean said, slowly. "It's more, you take a very specific sort of vow and that includes protecting them with your life. Now, if your life is forfeit and you're a young royal, probably already a bit unstable from the amount of magic, your loyalty to the realm and all of that other—stuff—do you think you'd handle losing someone so dear to you? Someone who clearly gave up their very life for you? There are some spells you don't come back from."
"I don't think you're supposed to come back from spells," Fred said, flatly. "There's a reason some of them are—ah!" he stopped, jerking backward, hugging his arms to himself. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Pryos, who'd held his tongue for most of the way, now perked up. He shuffled closer, his hair flaming softly around him as he moved. "Ro?"
"He crossed over into the inner section," Robere said, softly. He tipped his head downward and they all looked, obligingly.
"Oh," Ignean murmured.
Pryos sighed. "Kid. Breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."
"Neither of you are helping!" Fred chattered, unable to shake the surge of the sudden chill that enveloped him from crown to claw. "I don't like how this feels. Can't I wait somewhere else?"
The three Gheyos exchanged a three-way glance above his head, the silent conversation resulting in a collective sigh.
"This is not your best behaviour," Robere said, chidingly. "I can take you out to the main city and we can wander around there until the end of session, but we have to report in before we do that."
"And that includes me?" Fred twitched. "I'm not one of—ow!"
The flick to his ear had hurt—briefly—and now Pryos had fixed him with a look that made his face warm.
"I mean-"
"I know what you meant," Pyros said, shaking his head. "Come on, kid. The sooner we're through this, the better it'll be, alright? Breathe through your mouth, not your nose—and stop dragging your feet."
Ignean and Robere watched as Pryos quite easily manhandled him through the next two hallways before, Fred balked again.
He shuddered, violently. "I can't—I-I can't!" he chattered, shivering. "Please—I'm serious, I can't just—" He froze, eyes squinting at something in the distance.
"Fred?" Robere prompted. "Ignean, we can't force him. He's just a kid and who knows what he's reacting to? There could be all sorts of wards and shields in place for-"
Ignean's fingers twitched and a personal privacy ward popped up, hiding the rest of their conversation.
The warm air chilled significantly.
Fred coughed as it grew difficult to breathe. The dull ache in his chest, sharpened a bit more. He made himself shrug, fighting not to reach up and rub at the strange pain.
It hadn't stopped since he'd gotten up that morning and he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know how to tell any of them. If he was going to die, it wasn't their responsibility to help him.
Distantly, he could swear that a soft, floral scent had reached out and enveloped him, dulling the sharpness of the ache and coaxing some of the warmth back into his tired body.
"Ro-bere-" he tried to call, but his limbs went slack. The jolt of his flames sputtered out to nothing as the magical presence drew nearer.
"Hello?" A new voice called out, cautiously. "I'm Leif Evanson, but one of our Circle's mentored students is having a very bad magical reaction to—oh. Hello, there."
Fred stared in the general direction of the speaker. He could barely make out anything. His vision had begun to blur and everything seemed to be turning to a mess of fog and fiery blobs.
He couldn't understand it at all.
"Help-!"
"Leif, I think that's him. Oh, sorry—I'm Flora Evanson, a Pareya. We are Bonded in the same Circle. I think you're looking for our George. In fact, not to alarm you, but he's having a bit of a reaction right now. I think the closer you get—the more chaotic it is for him."
"You said, Flora?" Ignean rumbled. "Is your entire Circle there?"
"Oh no, our triad was called in for the current trial and we are—a little late," Flora said, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this, but if you wouldn't mind bringing your—is his name, Fred? George is looking for a Fred and-"
"George?" Fred managed. "He's here."
"Hello love," Flora said, softly. "You can't see me, can you? Can you hear my voice though? Good, good—alright. Listen, we're going to take you to where George is, if that's alright with your guardians here-"
"It's fine," Robere interrupted. "I don't know if he can move on his own though. He's been having a reaction since we crossed over into the inner section of the—Fred? Fred!"
"Move him!"
GEORGE & EVANSONS - NEVARAH COURTS, OUTSIDE HALLWAY
George fidgeted restlessly as the Evansons rallied around him, shuffling him along in the centre of their carefully organized group. They passed through the tastefully elegant halls and arches of the inner section of the court halls.
To a receiving room, Orchid had explained. There were different rooms for special 'portals, certain witnesses, silent witnesses and so much more happening behind the scenes that he didn't even know what to do about all that new knowledge.
It was nothing like what he knew of the Wizarding World and even less so, for what he knew of Earth.
He wished he wasn't there. He would rather be anywhere else, but near a courtroom and especially so close, yet so far away from Jun. Something about her presence was calming, despite all the obvious upheaval in her life and Circle. It was a quiet sort of strength he'd learned to draw from, as needed.
"Focus, kid," Jasmine said, squeezing his shoulder. "I can see you drifting there. Keep your chin up and your head clear. Do you need a second set of regulatory spellwork? Your flames look alright enough from the outside, but I'm not the best judge of it."
Hastily, George shook his head. "It's fine. I'm fine," he said, slapping his cheeks with both hands. The tiny flare of pain barely registered. "It's just a lot. A whole lot."
"It is, isn't it?" Jasmine murmured. "Fair enough."
"I wish I wasn't here," George said, softly. "I'd rather be anywhere else right now."
Jasmine frowned. "Really?"
He shrugged. The heavily filtered air stuck in his lungs as he focused on deep breaths that seemed to chill him down to his very core. Something was off, but not in a way that he could reliably put a finger on. It was almost as if he was watching himself through a strangely sort of blurry lens where everything was shifted a few degrees to one side—and not properly set where it ought to be.
"George?" Regulus murmured, his voice a low trill. "Hey—come here." He automatically shifted to let one of his long, feathered arms stretch towards him, shiny black feathers brushing against his shoulder.
Grateful, George slipped in close, unable to fight the urge to stick close enough for physical comfort. Something about the closeness of it settled the restless worry churning through his gut and before he could double-think it, he shifted closer.
Just close enough that they seemed to be ever so slightly nudging each other with every couple of steps forward. Regulus gave a soothing click and trill in response.
Oh. George could focus on that.
On how Regulus and his feathers felt safe and calming. On how the Evansons had clearly decided that he was more than worthy of his protection and had calmly slotted him into the centre of their little group as they moved like a trained unit, prowling through the halls.
He had to admit that having Zephyr somewhere behind him was quite satisfying and that being able to feel that calm protectiveness radiating outward was more than he could've expected.
It reminded him of days where the entire family had gone out and it was just him and Fred pranking and joking, keeping an eye on Ron and Ginny, while trying to figure out just what they wanted to do with their lives now.
So much had changed since and it seemed like so long ago. He could still see the memory clearly in his mind's eye.
A dull throb in his chest made him rub at the ache again.
Gardenia, who had hung back to ask something of Flora, paused in mid-sentence. Her pale brows furrowed together into a neat line, her gaze zeroing in on him with unerring accuracy. "Twinbond or something else?" She asked, briskly. "And don't think of telling me one when it's the other."
His face warmed. He did not scowl, but it was a close thing.
If there was anything he'd learned since acclimating to Jun's Circle, it was that lying to anyone in a Empath's bonded Circle was basically the height of stupidity.
But saying that much to Gardenia took more nerve than he had to spare. She wasn't as obvious with her Gheyo rank as Jasmine, but it was enough to make him want to mind.
So, he rubbed at the ache again, stopping when Chris appeared beside hm, gently halting the entire group. He hadn't even seen Gardenia summon him, but it was kind of nice to have Chris instead of Orchid or Heather.
"I'm alright, it's just a—I'm not fine," he mumbled when Chris raised an eyebrow in silent query. "It just hurts all of a sudden, that's all."
"Hurts or aches?" Jasmine asked, nudging Gardenia out of the way and going down on one knee, while holding out a hand with what he'd come to learn was a standard diagnostic spell. "A hurt actively burns, it's a growing discomfort, you can't ignore it. An ache hurts if you press it, kind of irritating, but you could ignore it for a little while, if you were dead set on it."
"Ache," George said, gritting his teeth as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his chest. It felt as if he'd stabbed himself with that, instead of just pressing down on a day-old bruise. "Ow. Ow, ow, ow—alright, not an ache. That's definitely not a-"
"Look at me," Chris said, sharply. He caught George by the chin and tipped his face up to stare directly in his eyes.
George had no warning at all when Chris flared so bright and light, that he saw spots before his eyes. The cry in his throat came out as a strangled hiccup, before hands were gently patting and guiding him to sit down on the floor.
He couldn't even make out whose hands it was. Instead, he pressed his left hand to the ground, palm flat, soaking up the coolness of the smooth tile before a spark of his element, flared in his belly.
"Flames," he choked out. "Help! Don't think I can control my-"
"Bite," Gardenia snapped at him, pressing something thick and hard into his mouth. "Don't lock your jaw like that. You'll bite through your damn tongue and it'll hurt. Azalea, are they close? They were supposed to be right around here! We can't let him stay here like this."
"I thought he wasn't magic sensitive!" Azalea protested. "And no, they're not nearby. I can't sense anything at all—Orchid, please! Would you—yes. That. Thank you. Someone get a shield up! If his flames are going to flare, he needs to keep them contained."
"Whazzit?" George mumbled around the savoury mouthful. It was almost like a very, very tough piece of jerky, but the slightly sour-sweet taste underneath, caught him by surprise. He made a sound in his throat that earned him two different hands petting at his hair—still hair and not flames—and managed to discern that it was Ivy and Orchid.
Oh.
That was nice.
It also explained why Azalea was shouting for Orchid instead of someone else. He barely even registered that Regulus had let go of him to Chris and Jasmine's tender mercies.
That was fine. He was fine. Really.
It was just—he didn't know what was wrong and something was very wrong. Everything was fine right up until it wasn't and—ow. That hurt. That hurt so much worse than—!
"Bite!" Gardenia said, sharper than before. "You're going throw yourself into something you're not ready for, if you don't focus. Bite that. It's half sugar anyway and if you break a fang, it grows back. Focus on the taste. Focus on Ivy and Orchid, they're right next to you. Chris is in front of you. We've got a ward going up—what's taking so long?"
"My bad. Jun's nearby after all," Azalea said, unhappily. "But I think she's blocking, which means she must be in the middle of something, because both Rian and Briar are blocked too. I don't think it's a good idea to bring them together if they're like that. If Jun starts reacting, he's going to explode."
"Re-syncing," said Leif from somewhere off to the corner. "We need to move into a side room or something. I don't like all of this energy out of nowhere, it's wearing on my damn nerves."
"Everything wears on your damn nerves, Leif," Jasmine muttered, half-scolding. "Don't be such a—oh ugh. I felt that. Alright. Yeah. You're right. Good point. Let's not loiter out in the hallway, yeah? Zeph?"
The great bit hulk of a man gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement from where he'd been silently bringing up the rear of their little Circle.
"Think you can find one of the empty waiting rooms that we can actively use? There's usually a couple dozen or so open ones on this floor. Ask around if you need to. Hurry!"
"I think so," Zephyr grunted. "Be right back." His heavy footsteps shuffled off into the distance.
George clutched at the edge of Chris' robes, soaking up the brightness of his magic that he could still somehow see despite his eyes being shut tight and his magic sputtering weakly under his control.
He couldn't lose himself in the siren call of fire singing under his skin. It was just—for a second he thought that he'd sensed something—no, someone that shouldn't have been possible!
A dull roaring sound rushed through his ears. His flames strained to be free again. He crunched through the thing in his mouth, tasting blood, sugar and something else mixed in with it.
The sweet floral scent from Orchid and Ivy seemed to drown all of his other senses out, leaving him stranded in a grey sort of fog where nothing had any shape or form at all.
"No—wait!" George flailed, trying to sit up and move and speak and function all at once, only for his body to refuse to cooperate in the worst of ways. He banged his head against the wall—hard—and someone, maybe Chris again?—tried to keep him from falling to pieces as his body jerked without his permission, twisting and shuddering violently.
"George—George, listen to me!" Ivy's voice was stern, like he'd never heard before. "You're alright, do you hear me? You're alright. You're just having a reaction to some—soul magic. It's alright. You're in good hands and it might feel like a lot right now, but I promise, the feeling will pass. You are safe. You are in good hands. Orchid—wings. Get your wings out. You'll have to give him the fairy dust. I don't think I can stop channelling right now."
George shuddered again. Logically, he could hear the words and some of them even made sense, but the rest of it refused to stick. All he could feel was the fire rushing through his body in a continuous circuit as if it was building up inside of him to a point where he would be the only thing left to burn.
Cool hands smoothed across his forehead and cheeks, a slight tremor in one of them, softer than the other.
Ivy, maybe, or Orchid. He wasn't sure which one of them had cooler hands than the other. The chill helped a little bit though. It almost felt like his brains would melt right out through his ears.
"Fred-!" He choked out, scrabbling weakly against the careful arms holding him up just enough so he could breathe easy. "I swear—he's right there—I can feel him. Ivy—Reggie, why can I feel him?"
"Shhh," Ivy soothed. "It's alright. It's alright, love. I swear. You said you can feel him? Where?"
"Here!" George said, twisting again, and biting his lips bloody. The coppery taste flooded his tongue, lingering bits of sugar mixing in with it. He barely noticed the telltale tingle of another diagnostic spell rippling over him. "Feels like my heart will tear itself right out of my chest."
"It won't. You're just—feeling a lot of things right now," Ivy said. "Orchid!"
"I'm trying, Ivy. You don't want me to knock him out, do you? My dust doesn't work the same as yours," Orchid said, briskly. "If I use too much of mine, he'll be out for a century!"
George shuddered. He was pretty sure he didn't want to sleep for a century, but if sleeping got rid of the pain, then maybe it was alright. There wasn't much more of the fire that he could handle.
His eyes flew open and nothing made sense. It was all a hazy blur of flaming spots dancing in front of his eyes and everything being almost in greyscale.
"…George? George!" Fred's voice was distant and warped, but the panic was there. The sound was so real. Surely, he wasn't imagining things? Surely his mind wouldn't be so cruel as to force him to relive such a horrific reality of their separation all over again.
Gardenia swore, loudly. "The shield's not holding—drop it before there's a snapback. Just keep your spells at the ready. Where's Zephyr? He should be back by now!"
"What's that sound?" Leif asked, tense. "I swear, I heard a howl of—is there a Hound here?"
"Besides Briar?" Regulus asked, flatly. "What howl? I didn't hear—oh there is—yes. I feel that. Circle approaching. High ranks. High presence." "Who?" Gardenia demanded, bristling. "Oh, I don't like that. Jasmine!"
"Please don't ask me to argue with them, ACE," Jasmine said, carefully. "That's a good aura. They're projecting pretty far. I'd bet they're at least two hallways over. Want me to go and check it out?"
"Absolutely not!" Gardenia snapped. "You'll pick a fight you can't win. Leif!"
"ACE!" he protested, but was already turning towards the hallway in question, interest showing plain on his face. "Flora?"
"Don't take Flora with you!" Gardenia said, exasperated. "Oh nevermind. Go! Just go! Jasmine—stay!"
"But ACE!" Jasmine's complaint trailed off in a low growl. She watched as Flora floated after Leif, her pink ponytails flowing gracefully behind her, the careful reach of her wingspan just right to shadow him.
They rounded the corner, vanishing from view.
A handful of seconds passed.
George stifled a pained whine. "It hurts," he pleaded. "Please—please just make it stop-!"
Ivy gave a little growl, pulling him entirely into her lap and hugging him hard from behind, uncaring of his fire element. "You're alright," she whispered, fiercely. "Breathe with me. Match my breaths."
He trembled at the harsh chill that blanketed him from behind, courtesy of Ivy's Fae magic that pressed forcefully against the burning heat of his Fire element—without shying away from the destructive edge of it. "Don't wanna hurt you!" he mumbled, head lolling to the side.
"You won't hurt me," she said, confidently. "You can't. Heather's right here and she's got a good healing affinity that will keep both of us, perfectly safe, alright? Right now, your flames are reaching a kind of—boiling point. I'm guessing it's proximity based, I can't be sure."
"Don't really care which it is," George said, his tongue starting to feel heavy and wrong inside his mouth.
Was it possible for his insides to just melt out of him anyway? He whimpered.
Almost at once, a series of clicks and whistles and soothing rumbles came from everywhere around him, the Evansons' drawing near and offering their support in the best way they could.
It was enough to ease some of the tightness locking his joints into place. He sagged gracelessly into Ivy's hold, hot tears burning down his cheeks. The sizzling liquid carving little pinkened tracks down his face and neck.
"You're alright," Heather said, calmly. Her voice was sweeter and more mellow than Orchid or Ivy, but her hands were impossibly warm, despite his own internal flames clamouring for attention. "We've got you. It's alright. Ivy-love, I'd say it is proximity based. He's getting warmer."
"Can you keep him warded?" Orchid asked, worriedly. Her fairy wings fluttered, a cloud of pink and purple dust shimmering in a slight cloud around her. "Or do you want me to put up a ring barrier of some sort?"
"Do you have enough fairy dust for that?" Jasmine asked. "We can shield decently, even on short notice, but if you start something in the hallway here, they'll have to tear the building down when you're through."
"…you're a sweetheart," Orchid said, dryly. "I'm not that bad. I just won't anchor it, that's all. Unless you have a better idea?"
A fury-filled howl rattled through the hallway, even louder than before, this time, impossible to ignore.
"Oh, I don't like that," Heather muttered. "Ivy-love?"
"N-no. It's Fred!" George said, stubbornly. His eyes fluxed to bright, searing orange, flickers of red showing at the corner. The slight tremor in his shoulders was the only warning they had.
"Ivy!" Gardenia yanked her backwards.
George doubled over and clutched at his ears. His wings burst out, burning and cramped, much too large for the hallway even as his robes tore to allow them out.
The faint brush of the air filtering through the hallway was almost impossibly harsh to them. He had yet to have spent any time actually flying with them or acclimating to movement around them, but now, it wasn't something he could ignore.
His pained cry drew another round of soothing clicks, whistles and worried chirps. It helped, just a little.
The initial burn of his wings emerging melted right into the agonizing ache in his chest, until he felt like one live fleeting flame just waiting to burn out into a husk of himself.
Too much and not enough, all at once.
Regulus shifted somewhere off to his right. Soft feathers brushed over his hyper-sensitive wings, somehow managing to soothe instead of making it worse.
"You're doing fine," Regulus said, his voice measured. "Can you see anything right now?"
George blinked rapidly, but now the hazy fog had faded and now everything was too bright and blurry all over. Shapes made sounds and his mind turned to mush.
There was only one sound that made sense and it was so far away, he couldn't hold it in his hands and crush it to his soul like he wanted to. Couldn't bring it in close and hold it near his heart where it would be safe and protected as long as there was breath in his body.
An irritated snarl rattled out from behind his teeth, fangs bared. "He's close!" George hissed, frustrated. "Why can't he just get here—ah!" The rest of his words trailed off in a guttural mutter, before he reared back, a full-bodied roar pulled out of his chest.
It echoed loudly down the hallway, drawing a hiss of discomfort from Regulus.
"A little warning next time?" Regulus murmured, exasperated.
"Back up and give him some space," Jasmine said, briskly. "George—we're on the other side of your wings. Close enough to reach, if you need."
George twisted around, his face turned towards her voice. "I can hear him," he said, tearily. A handful of tears hissed and crackled as they carved down his cheeks, too hot to slide down his face without leaving proof of their existence.
Orchid clicked sharply. "Don't touch them—it's burning down your face. Let it burn all the way down. It'll cool. Your healing rate's alright, so it'll catch up to it. Gardenia?"
"Isn't that Leif?" Jasmine asked, sounding odd. "That's Leif. Hey, ACE—look. Doesn't that kid look just like him?"
Gardenia swore. "Get him on his feet, hurry—anyone not holding him, get ready to cast an area ward. Oi—Leif!"
"They're friendlies!" Leif called out, stopping a respectable distance away. "They're not going to attack us, at any rate. Wanna guess?"
"Leif!" Orchid said, sharply. "Wings!"
A ripple of nervous energy surged through the hallway, George's flames crackling and popping from where his body struggled to contain his element, half-hidden behind his wings.
"Let's get you up," Regulus said, gently. "I'm going to use my feathers, alright? Chris?"
"You won't feel my light, but I'm on your left," Chris said, calmly. "On three—one, two, three!"
George was hauled upright and kept on his feet by Regulus and his feathers on the right, while Chris and his glowing energy helped his left side, leaving him half-supported between them. He tried desperately to make sense of the approaching-coloured blobs, but his vision refused to clear and the burning sensation in his chest was quite nearly an inferno now.
"Flames!" He tried to warn them, as his flames strained against his control.
"George? George!"
And oh, that sounded so much like Fred.
So damn much.
"Stay back! Don't get too close!" an unfamiliar voice barked. "Not you—idiot, the other idiot! He won't hurt him, but I don't think he'll stop from torching you, if you're within range."
"Fred?" he croaked out, desperately. "Please—Fred?"
Hot hands grasped his wrists, yanking him forward, sturdy arms locked around his shoulders, a trembling body pressed tight against him, familiar magic—oh, he'd know that magic anywhere—wrapping around him tight as forever.
Fred! His heart cracked in two and his soul sang a song no longer forgotten. Oh blessed flame of my soul…
He could feel the answering flames from Fred, an element perfectly matched to them in every way.
"George? George, it's me, it's Fred. It's me—it's—George? Hey—hey, stay with me! Stay right here with me—George, I'm right here. I'm right here!"
The hands holding him tight, as if he were precious, as if he were irreplaceable, as if he belonged right there, by his side, forever—moved to hold his face. Cupping it gently between his palms, the searing heat building up to impossible.
He choked.
"…George, can you see?"
Seeing didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Just—as long as he didn't let go, as long as he didn't vanish again. George leaned hard into the hands holding him close, even as the brightness grew around them. He just wanted to be able to see his face again!
To be able to—oh.
A spark flared in his core.
George tried for a smile. He might've missed it. But that was alright, Fred had always understood him no matter how he felt.
Flames roared at his feet and George let himself fall headfirst into the chaos it promised.
CUNNINGHAMS, EVANSONS, FRED & GEORGE - NEVARAH COURT, OUTER HALLWAY
"Oh dear," a light, whispery voice feathered through the air as if it were the air around them. The soft lilt was deceptively disarming, because the speaker was a very tall woman towering over him with twin, wooden antlers sprouting from the frothy mass of platinum blonde hair wreathed upon her head.
Vivid flowers of all kinds were twisted and woven into the artistic mess that had to be some sort of fancy hairstyle, but managed to look as if it were simply the way that she was—a tall, forest creature that had probably walked right through several flower hedges to emerge on the other side, immaculately decorated.
The quiet clip-clop of her feet gave away the obvious nod that she was more Fae than Dragel with the sound of her steps. A slight flare of her skirts showed the barest hint of a hoof, before it was hidden away again. Her long, flowing robes were several shades of rich cream and silver, giving her the refined air of someone of great importance. She certainly looked the part. High collar, fitted cuffs and cinched waist, everything about her was precise and measured.
A thick golden medallion hung in the centre of her chest, a smaller version dangling from her belt on a long cord.
Just like a family crest.
"What a tortured soul," the feathery voice continued. It didn't seem to match the ethereal woman at all, despite the growing sense of power that began to accumulate in the hallway.
Fred made an aborted move to stand in front of her and wobbled right back down to the half-slump on the floor, where someone hastily yanked him out of the way.
He bit his tongue hard enough to bleed. There were too many cobwebs in his brain and focusing was hard, but at least the strange fog had cleared up and he could mostly see properly again.
In all the encounters he'd had since leaving Earth and Hogwarts, it seemed that each otherworldly being he met was destined to be either overwhelmingly powerful or mind-bendingly authoritative with little care for how it made the rest of them feel.
No sooner had he thought that, when the heavy pressure of such deep, powerful magic, eased considerably. As if the mystery woman drew her power back to herself, like a thick, winter cloak to ward off the chill.
Fred wheezed.
That was almost as bad as Mariana's aura when she wasn't trying to keep her temper in check and he'd learned very quickly to stick close to Robere and Ignean when that happened.
"Robere-!" he choked out, now, scrabbling frantically to find the man who was practically his saving grace.
A flicker of movement showed Robere standing just to the side of the strange woman, his brows drawn in concern, but his gaze steady and reassuring. He made a gesture that seemed to be a suggestion to calm down, which really did nothing to calm Fred down at all.
"Is he alright?" she asked, bending down to nearly half her height, white eyes staring straight into George's panicked face. "Ah, youngling, calm yourself. I am not that terrifying. There are far worse things in the realms than me."
Oh.
That was right.
He'd found George.
Found him.
George.
Oh.
Fred twisted, scrabbling for purchase on the cool tiles and relaxing only when he found himself grasping a familiar wrist—a tingle of magic he knew as well as his own.
"George," he choked out, hoarsely. "You're—here."
"Slight memory loss is normal," a woman said, briskly. "Don't rush or push anything. Just let it happen as it comes. Fred? My name's Heather, I have a healing affinity and a Fae designation. I've been monitoring the two of you since you blacked out after reconnecting. Things might be hazy for a little bit, but you're both together and you're safe."
He blinked, slowly, up at her. The slight blurriness in his vision now was due to the tears gathering in his eyes and not the odd haze that he'd already begun to dread.
"Fred," George mumbled, clinging to him with surprising strength. "I didn't think—you were so far away." He squeezed hard. "Too far away. Don't do that again."
"Won't," Fred said, pressing his face into George's shoulder. He was vaguely aware of shifting shapes and elements around them, but his world had narrowed down to a very specific point. "You don't either. Next time—next time we won't-"
"There's no next time," George growled. "If anyone's stupid enough to split us up again, I swear I'll kill them."
Fred froze. The words settled something uncertain inside of him and he gave a short bark of laughter, hugging his Twin back equally as hard. "Yeah. Yeah, we will."
Ignean cleared his throat, delicately. "...begging your ladyship's pardon, but we were not expecting-"
"You don't have to," she said, carelessly. Her long spindly fingers swooped down her sides, tucking her skirts as she flowed into a perfect kneeling posture beside the Twins. "Beg, I mean. You don't have to. I couldn't, in good conscience, just leave you all here like this. Especially not him. Your souls are crying. Both of you. Poor things. Have you been searching all this time?"
Her sharp gaze zeroed in on Fred.
And suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
Her piercing stare held until she tilted her head ever so slightly to the side and turned away. "You should be alright, now that you've found each other. Sometimes, what looks like a terrible misfortune, is a grand gesture underneath. You were separated to grow, but now that you are reunited, I suggest you continue that journey together, but also allow space and time for that individual growth."
Fred wanted to scream. There was nothing good he could say to that, because he'd always been better with George. Never without him. Together, they were better.
Always better.
"We weren't-!" he stopped at the strong hand that squeezed his shoulder, once. "What?" he demanded of Robere's silent support. "Our separation was not a choice that either of us could have predicted nor agreed upon, if we had the-"
"You misunderstand," the woman said, gently. "If you were not separated when you were—I do not think you would both exist. You are half of a soul as you are here, but it has grown to reform itself into a whole being. I would wager that your Twin has done the same. You will be able to coexist now, with your own individual traits, affinities and magic, despite the shared element."
Fred stared at her. "I don't want to understand a reason why I couldn't be there to support him." He hauled George closer to his side.
It was hard to ignore the way his robes were torn to shreds with bloody streaks along his arms, as if his—oh—his wings must've come out at some point. Fred barely remembered half of it.
"I am not insisting that you accept it. Some Twins are born with a shared soul," she said, patiently. "Yours was one of them. If you do not separate—briefly—to allow your magic to develop the same individuality you have apart from each other, then your souls will merge and one of you will die. A physical body is not meant to be forcibly merged into another and a single soul would remain unbalanced until one of you died or a suitable sacrifice was made to offset it. I do not presume to be an expert on soul magic, but there are some things that are best left to run their natural course."
Fred's stare turned horrified. "And that's normal? With all of your fancy magic and these—things—and—no one could come up with a better solution? Someone could've explained ages ago and-"
"Perhaps. But every Twinbond is different. Unique to the individuals. I only know this is a possibility because I can see your soul. It's crying. May I seal that fire until you are both able to handle it better?"
A ripple of unease and muted chatter filled the hall.
"With all due respect," one of the Gheyos who'd stuck close to George, stepped forward, her mouth set in a thin line.
Fred didn't even know her name, but there was a sharper aura around her, compared to Ignean and the others. She wasn't a Fire type, that was for sure. He wondered how George had gotten mixed up with them in the first place. Was it all Juniper?
The Lady Gheyo continued to speak, unbothered. "We don't know you and we're not inclined to make that kind of introduction in the current situation. The soul and business of the mentored student under our care, is none of yours."
The antlered woman radiated pure amusement. "That was rather rude of me, wasn't it? Well, allow me to offer a formal introduction. I am Tauria Peverell, the current Clan head of the Peverells and an active ambassador between the Fae Realm and Nevarah. May I have your name and titles?"
"...Gardenia Evanson of the Circle housing Briar Evanson, son of his lordship among the hounds, Lord Thorne of Lord Aiden's House of Arythmoor," she said, evenly. Her posture straightened, heels clicked together, body held ramrod straight for the formal bow that followed.
The amusement shifted into serious acknowledgement on Tauria's fair, freckled face, her delicate eyebrows arched upwards in surprise. "That is quite a title. It is an honour and pleasure to meet the esteemed Bonded of one of Lord Aiden's court. I mean you no harm and have only interrupted to see if I could offer assistance. There is some affinity for soul magic within my Clan, if you are agreeable to a diagnostic?"
Gardenia eyed her warily. "You said something about sealing Fire. Why a seal? These two have been through a lot already and from what I understand, seals were part of the problem." Her gaze flicked to Fred, skimming briefly over Robere and the others, before refocusing on Tauria.
"To make it easier on both of them," Tauria said, simply. "Seals have purposes. They aren't good or bad, they are simply what you make of them. As for those two, they have open soulbonds and it's practically bleeding out between them. Sealing would allow them some time to reconnect. I take it they've been separated for a while?"
Beside Gardenia, one of her Gheyos winced.
"Something like that," Gardenia said, tiredly. "I wouldn't even begin to know how to tally the time between when they were separated and when they landed in our care."
"I do not need to know, so you needn't trouble yourselves. However, sealing your flames right now will allow both of them about three weeks to spend getting to know their element and how it reacts in such close quarters," Tauria continued. "Am I correct in guessing that neither of you had your elements properly tested against each other before?"
Silence reigned.
Her words echoed loudly in Fred's head.
Soulbonds. Open soulbonds. Multiple. As if there was no doubt about it whatsoever. As if it was a good thing and-!
Fred wobbled in place. George leaned into him hard enough to keep them both upright. The name sat heavy on his tongue, like the new bond pressing up against his very soul.
"I don't know—George?" he faltered. "Say something."
"It may be too much for him," Tauria said, fondness creeping into her tone. "I do always forget how dramatic, you younglings can be though. Trust me, it is not all that bad. It only seems that way because you are young and this is the first time it has happened. Many things, when they are the first or the second occurrence, seem impossible or insurmountable. That is rarely ever the case."
"...his mentor is Juniper Evanson," a purple-haired Pareya said, quietly. She moved to stand in front of the agitated Gheyos that were clearly her bonded Suite. "She is an Empath. I believe, he sometimes picks up on bits and pieces of that through their mentored bond."
"Ah," Tauria said, knowingly. "Those Evansons. I was almost sure. I had heard some whispers that she was back on Nevarean soil. Thank you for confirming that. An Empath's presence would certainly alter things. Instead of doing this out in the open here, why don't you step into my receiving room? Well, it's not mine, but it is the one that I was assigned to and I stepped out a minute, because of a slight disturbance in the wards."
"We would be much obliged," Robere said, smoothly. "I am Robere Cunningham, this is Ignean, Pyros and our unofficially adopted flame, Fred."
"I'm not your adopted anything!" Fred said, flushing pink all over. His flames sparked feebly around him. "Stop saying that!"
"What else do you want me to say?" Robere inquired, mildly. "We don't pick up every stray we find, you know. Besides, you're doing better with your flames now. Better to the point of being able to control them and not kill yourself in the process. We'll keep you a little while longer."
Fred groaned. He ignored George's questioning look. "Don't ask."
It earned him a poke in the side.
"I'll explain later," he said, wearily. "And you too—I want to know what happened to you as well."
A/N: Hello lovely readers!
I almost didn't post this chapter over here. As some of you may know, TBDH has grown a lot in the past year or so and with that, has come a lot of rude comments/unauthorized reposting/unauthorized videos, etc. Honestly? It's a lot to deal with. I locked TBDH on AO3 during the AI scraping issue a little while back, requiring you to have an account to read. I do not know if I will unlock it again in the future, but that is a possibility. At present, AO3 allows me better comment moderation and an easier time dealing with trolls and haters. I do have authorized translations on there (I think I authorized one or two on here a very long time ago as well), but having my 1 million+ words stolen and reposted is extremely disheartening.
A lot of work goes into these chapters, this one, in particular, was rewritten from scratch four times. That means I opened a new word document and retyped roughly 18k to 20k words from scratch four times in a row until I was able to create something I was comfortable sharing. Until I got this version of the chapter you've just read. It's very different from the first iteration. It took much longer to write than any other chapter of this fic so far. It stressed me out quite a bit too.
I love TBDH. It is a story that holds a lot of good memories and emotions for me and for a lot of you as well, who have been following me throughout the past decade and longer. I want to keep writing it and I'd like to keep posting it over here on FFN.
Specifically, I'd like to ask you to please remember there is a human on the other side of this screen. Remember to be kind. Remember to be respectful.
I appreciate each and every one of you and I know it's exciting to want to share TBDH with your fellow readers, but I do not want my work on sites like Wattpad and Scribd. Spending time having to deal with this is less time I get to spend writing, outlining or planning the next chapter or oneshot. (You will find more an entire collection of stories on AO3 now. We have our own fandom tag, as Chera Carmichael/Neilson Hewitt!).
Anyway, I wanted to explain the challenge I've had since posting the last chapter and why there's been a delay updating over here.
If you've read this far-thank you! I hope your week is wonderful. What was your favorite part in the chapter? Is there a scene you're excited for in the upcoming Trial Arc?
As always, enjoy the read and I'll see you next chapter! -Scion aka Chera Carmichael.
I was asked to include a short ranking summary in a recent comment, so here we go for quick reference!
DRAGEL CIRCLE -RANKS
• ALPHA — the dominant authority figure, equal to the Submissive, within a bonded dragel Circle. One corner of the operating triad.
• BETA — Mediator between the Alpha and Submissive. Usually acts on the Alpha's behalf, when needed. One corner of the operating triad.
• SUBMISSIVE — the heart of a dragel Circle and generally the shortest. One corner of the operating triad.
• PAREYA — the protector within a Circle, usually attuned to the Submissive and proficient in defensive magic
• GHEYO — the fighter within a Circle, usually attuned to the Pareyas and proficient in offensive magic. Gheyos have multiple titles within their ranks, denoting special fighting skills and establishing a clear authority figure. A Circle with all Gheyo ranks filled is referenced as having a full Suite. They are ACE, King, Queen, Prince, Princess, Knight, Page, Trainee
• MAGE - A magic-oriented fighter within a Circle that does not follow Gheyo ranking or authority. They are known for having tremendous magical ability and control.
Additional ranks include, HEALER, ADVISOR, RHEYO, ROYAL, COMPANION, GHEYIC PAREYA, and CARRIER.
Find me online as Chera Carmichael/Scioneeris for updates on chapter progress, dragel stuff and the discord.