Beauty and the Beast (part 5)
A/n: Watched a foreign film about another take on BatB and thought about this fic the whole time so. Im back by unholy inspiration lets go
Word Count: 5,000+
MASTERLIST
The Exchange
The first thought that came to him, despite all the ones that should have, was disbelief. Awe even. Volcra didn't talk, and they weren't intelligent. They were beasts; mindless killing machines. They weren't even animals, they were living nightmares. All they wanted was to kill. Not to eat, not for enjoyment - just because that's what their purpose was. They were tools to divide one side of the country from the other. They were a warning: Don't play with the things you do not understand. They made the shadow summoner that made it a heretic. They made every person nearby twisted, destroyed by real magic. By darkness that expanded and ripped the land in half.
This volcra was nothing like that.
It was a shadow summoner. How was a volcra a shadow summoner?
How was one talking to him? Why wasn't it trying to kill him?
This was impossible.
A horrible feeling curled through Y/n's chest as something horrifying settled into him. Had his scrolls been as lie? A dramatization? Surely most volcra were one way, but were there an entire breed of the creatures that were more human than monster? There were so many possibilities. So many questions. All of it leading down a very dangerous path.
Silence stretched a little too long, and the volcra seemed to tilt its head. It seemed it had expected panic or screaming. Maybe for Y/n to take off running, or melt in place without a shred of hope. It did not expect this mere mortal, grisha or not, to stand in place and gawk - wonder coloring his eyes.
The volcra seemed to consider that. "Your curiosity is stronger than your fear." As its mouth moved, a shiver ran down Y/n's spine. It was so human, a movement set into a face so alien that it almost looked like art. A cartoon, but in jarringly realistic style.
"You're a volcra," Y/n whispered. Perhaps it was shock or denial that had his mind seeking answers instead of any other rational action of self preservation. He was exposed like this. He would have been easy to kill any other way... suppose it was that which kept him in place. Why run? Why scream? Why beg? That was pointless. Perhaps he could ask some things before it killed him. He wouldn't be able to share it with anyone outside of this place but... he would know. At the very least. And suddenly he very much had to know. "I've heard stories of volcra. Are all of you so-" He fought for a word to describe the creature in front of him.
"Intelligent?" The volcra offered, and Y/n dared to smile. It made the creature of darkness and nightmare glare, eyes narrowed and lips pulled back. The creature seemed halfway between a bat and a man, and the features weren't quite right for human expressions, but it had been a volcra for a long time, hadn't it? It had learned how to communicate just fine. He motioned to Y/n's father, who Y/n was ashamed to realize he had completely forgotten in this moment. "Do you want to free him?"
This seemed to be going wrong. Like when someone scripts an interaction in their head and banks on it, only for the actual thing to go completely differently. Or perhaps it was that after so many hundreds of years, this creature had come to expect a specific exchange. Y/n's reaction was not one he had expected, or had come used to seeing in the least. That filled Y/n with a little bit of pride.
He focused on the older man still on the ground, frozen in terror as his eyes locked on the volcra. There was nothing but horror in his eyes. Like he was already seeing the thing that came after death taking him away forever. This man couldn't last in conditions like this for much longer. How long had he been here already? Oh god. "Yes," Y/n replied, his voice breaking for his father. He looked back to the volcra, desperate. "Do you have mercy?"
That seemed to make the volcra even angrier. "Not for humans."
Y/n's eyes widened. "He's not a human! He's a durast."
The volcra scoffed. "He has not displayed any signs of being a grisha. This is not a place for humans, it is a place for-"
Y/n's feet spread apart as he took a sturdier stance, his hands moving through the air to call upon his small science. His fingers laced together and brushed past each other several times, shapes being made and then unmade just as quickly. His father, on the ground, seemed to immediately improve. Color came back into his face and all the little scrapes and wounds on him closed and healed, as if they'd never been there. There was some kind of mark on one of his hands - an infection - that faded and healed. There was a slight redness about his face, maybe a fever or from crying, that went away. His breathing evened, even his anxiety resting as his heart was healed and his body began to hurt less. The relief was, for a moment, even greater than the fear.
Looking up at the volcra, Y/n's shoulders squared. "I am a healer. I am a grisha. This is my father, and he is a durast. My mother was a tailor."
For a second, the volcra paused, eyeing Y/n. It was impossible to tell exactly what he was thinking, but it didn’t seem to matter. His voice had not changed when he spoke again. “You being a grisha is not proof that he is," The volcra simplified. "And you saying he is isn’t proof either. Why won't he do it himself?"
It was immediately obvious this volcra hated humans more than he loved grisha, which he seemed to. Which made no sense, as a grisha had created him. Right? Hm. "My mother got caught in a machine he made and it killed her. He swore off his abilities ever since, and has been on the run from those who would persecute him."
The volcra nodded, satisfied with this answer. "He won't be persecuted here."
Y/n pursed his lips, looking down at his father. The man's eyes were wide at the conversation happening in front of him. Stunned by Y/n's willing showing of power. No. He didn't hate Y/n, but he did fear the grisha power. He would never open himself up to his abilities again. Like Alina, his father was lost in fear and self rejection. He could have never even accessed it if he tried. This power was not possible if you did not accept it as part of yourself. "I cannot prove that he's a grisha," Y/n sighed. He looked back toward the volcra. "But I will vouch for him. Let him free, and I will take his place."
"No!" His father screamed.
For a moment, the volcra seemed stunned. "You would stay here in his place?"
Y/n nodded without hesitation. "I am younger, more flexible. I can handle these intense conditions, both mentally and physically. I can heal myself. You can keep me as a healer. Even if he was a durast, he's useless to you. There's no industry here, just ruins. But a healer? That's useful no matter who you are or why."
"No," this time his father begged. He reached through the bar, taking Y/n's hand. Y/n turned to the older man who looked at him with the most unhinged desperation. "Please don't do that Y/n. Not for me. Not ever. Please don't make me leave my child in this place. I beg of you."
This would take a different approach.
As if crumbling finally under the pressure of the moment, Y/n fell to his knees. It was easy to summon the heartbreak. The fear of losing his father. The hopelessness of never seeing him again. "You expect me to do it instead? To leave you?"
"I'm an old man, I've lived a long life. And I won't live much longer. You have your whole life ahead of you. You still have so much to experience. A father should never live past his own children." He squeezed his son's hands. "Please understand."
Y/n nodded, internally mourning his poor father. Not because he would lose him, but because god forbid this man ever understand how truly lost his son was. It would break him. Y/n would never marry, and that freed him more than it terrified him. If he left this palace now he would go back to the village, bound by duty, and he would stay there forever. Maybe it wouldn't have been too late to marry Makya... No. That life was not for him. He had felt more alive in the moments with the volcra now behind him than he had in his entire life combined. Even if this was the last time he saw another living face. Even if the volcra left him in the cell to rot after Y/n's father was gone. Even then, this actual cage would be better than the one he was currently in.
Turning to the volcra, Y/n looked for that mercy he had searched for before, but for him this time. Not his father. "May I say goodbye to him? Hug him, one last time?"
Something unreadable played in the volcra's gaze, but he nodded. "Once it is closed again, it will not open a second time." As if by magic the door popped open and Y/n pulled it out of the way, moving into the cell before his father could get out, and held him desperately. The hug was tight and full and both of them shook with the weight of the knowledge they'd never see each other again after this. His father kept thanking him, kept telling him he was loved and that every one of his last days he would hold onto his most beloved son.
Y/n smiled. "I know." And then he pushed his father outside of the cell, the older man stumbling - too slow to stop as Y/n slammed the cell shut. He closed his eyes, hanging his head. "I came with another man, Philip. He'll be upstairs, hiding from you or perhaps looking for me if I lost him. Make sure he gets home with my father. He'll need help with the farm."
The old man panicked. "NO!" As the word tore through him as he reached for his son. But it was too late. Darkness wrapped around him and he was torn from the room. The volcra didn't even move as Y/n's father was swallowed and dragged down the hall and away from the cells. Y/n turned sharply as he heard his father's screams fade and then return, this time from a window that opened above him to the outside of the castle. Y/n watched in silence as his father and Phillip, now both bound together in darkness, were sent even further from the castle and out toward the opening of the Fold itself.
Y/n prayed they would quiet before they got out. That they'd realized if they came in they'd be killed immediately and it wouldn't save Y/n anyway. He prayed that they weren't found coming from the Fold, and that they'd get away before anyone had the chance to recognize his father. He hoped Alina forgave him for never returning. He hoped...
And then suddenly he stopped hoping. He had hoped for all the things that were possible, and now all he had were the things that would never happen. He'd never be free again, he'd never see the sun again. He'd never see his father or his friends again. he would never travel again. He would never even see the rest of the castle - he was stuck here forever. In this cell, where he would die.
This time when he fell to his knees he stayed there, head low and arms limp at his sides even as he yearned to hold himself. "I should have told him the truth." And he knew that was a lie but it tore through him anyway. "I didn't get a proper goodbye." A sob tore through him as the shock wore off and the wonder faded and all he was left with was a dull, throbbing hopelessness that shattered him completely. From his periphery he saw the volcra fade into darkness and disappear.
Now he was truly alone. He had never been so alone before. It was horrible, he decided. He lay on his side in the dirty cell and closed his eyes, the tears falling silently as his body shook. This was all he had now... he didn't realize how much he'd been blessed with until it was gone. But I suppose that's how it always goes, doesn't it?
-
Time passed. He wasn't sure how long. Then he noticed movement from the corner of his eyes and looked up, surprised. He was still a bit numb. The single blue fire was not as powerful as it might have been in this room where the only feeling he was allowed was despair. He had leaned against the wall, knees curled up to his chest, arms on top and chin resting on arms as he stared at the fire move back and forth. Perhaps that was why he spotted the deeper darkness.
The volcra had returned.
"You..." It stopped, and Y/n looked up with knitted eyebrows, confused. It seemed to be trying to be... cordial? "I assume you do not like it in here."
What a stupid question. "Why would I like it in here?"
The volcra bristled. Y/n probably shouldn't be trying to piss the thing off but he was too lost of hope to care what happened to him now. "Well - that's why I'm here. To offer you a proper room. If you want."
Y/n narrowed his eyes. "Am I not a prisoner? And therefore belong in the dungeon?"
The volcra nodded. "This has always been a place that is safe for grisha. I... have not had guests in a very long time." He paused. "Do you want the room or not? Choose your own place here, and if you choose this room I will not return."
For a second, he almost said something snarky. However, whatever the reason why, he was being offered a boon. So he stood carefully, his body aching and sore. "I don't want to be in here anymore."
"Right. Follow me then." It turned and raised a hand before it began moving down the hall. The cell door swung again, and Y/n hesitated before following. It was so normal. So human. So weirdly nonviolent.
"I probably shouldn't push my luck," Y/n began without meaning to start at all. "But... you seem not quite as monstrous as the stories would suggest."
A hum from the creature leading ahead of him. It was hard to decipher without facial expression or body language, but Y/n thought it might have been something bitter. "They've always seen grisha as monsters." When he stopped there Y/n thought he was done, but then he spoke again after a minute. "The magic rebounded when it was cast. Volcra were born of people. Non-grisha, nearby. But there are things here that were grisha. Because of what happened, grisha got punished more harshly."
Y/n started, eyes widening. "More harshly than being a mindless killer?"
All The volcra did was nod. "When you're told you're a monster your whole life and then you actually become one that is a different story. Especially when the people who called you monsters actually are one now, and you're indiscriminately associated with them. I look like them, so I am one of them, and their acts are mine. It's not even human versus grisha anymore. It's everyone versus volcra." He swallowed. "And grisha are still the most hated. Not only can we not help them, they are being rid of one by one. If not eradicated completely, too scared to be who they are. Like your father."
A horrible feeling settled into Y/n's gut. "Small science is so connected to one's being. If you were truly afraid of your power, or hated it-"
"You could not use it." The volcra turned to look at Y/n, a darkness there even deeper than just the color. Something haunted was in his gaze. "There is no difference between non-grisha and those who could be grisha but choose not to be. They all hurt grisha kind equally."
Y/n's gaze went a little blurry. "That's why you didn't kill my father, but still had no mercy for him."
"Yes." He turned back, but did not keep walking, instead motioning to a door in front of him. "This is your room." He opened it, turning the knob with clawed hands that were so large and so sharp that it made Y/n's breath catch in his throat. "You will stay here. Do not leave the castle itself - there are volcra out there and they will not spare even a proud grisha."
Y/n almost went into the room in silence. But then he turned in the doorway, looking up at the volcra. "You're from when the Fold was formed, then." The volcra only nodded. "But you're a shadow summoner."
There was a long pause. "Yes, I knew the Black Heretic."
Immediately Y/n's eyes widened. "What was he like?"
The volcra looked down at Y/n with narrowed eyes. "As mad as they say he is."
Ah. That made sense at least. Of course grisha hated him, and of course non-grisha hated him too. Of course the very first victims of the Fold would hate him above all. "Right." He turned, going further into the room, and the door snapped shut. Not slammed, not aggressive, but that was even worse. There was a finality to that door being closed. Like it would never open again.
Y/n took in the room in front of him. It was simple in decoration, but the architecture was beautiful. There was a window that stretched into eternal darkness that Y/n thought had once shown a gorgeous view. Now there was only the glass between Y/n and the things out there that would kill him in a heartbeat.
The room was light by the blue light, more than anywhere else in the palace had been thus far. There was a four poster bed, and a desk to write upon, a nightstand by the bed. There was also a chest to hold clothes that Y/n opened, surprised to see clothes in it. They weren't covered in dust. That didn't surprise Y/n much. What dust would have entered the Fold where not even light went? Where only air was brave enough to exist.
There was also a small bookshelf that reached Y/n's hip. He reached to them, his broken heart forgotten for a moment at the prospect of new books. Ancient books that may hold secrets of the past. That most certainly would hold secrets of the past, actually. Y/n opened one and realized it was in old Ravkan. He wasn't fluent, but... It seemed to be a storybook. A tale of real magic - not just small science. As he looked through the shelf, most of the books seemed to be on those subjects. The second shelf underneath was full of notebooks. Designs, which were easier to navigate than words. There were some notes. It seemed to be notes from a durast. The bottom shelf was full of stories of grisha. Some of them were familiar - stories of darkness and ruin. Of madness and danger and warning. The grisha had gone insane with power and consumed a village in fire or stolen a young girl or something along those lines.
Most of the stories though were regular tales of different kinds of grisha, though. Y/n soon realized that every single book was dedicated to a different kind of grisha. A sailing story about tidemakers. A story of people with mechanical wings who were squallers. A survival story in the cold with inferni. A race to the finish with daring escapades done by a healer. A battle to protect the innocent starring heartrenders. A world of royalty and drama featuring a poor boy who was helped by a tailor to escape his abusive family. A world of the future, powered by industry, with a bunch of durasts fighting for the heart of power that drove the city. One story of an alkemi who created life one fateful night. A sun summoner who brings the dawn every morning, and lets the moon have the sky every night. A shadow summoner who protects those who run and hide from dangerous things and seek to find refuge and safety.
Y/n was entranced. he had never seen stories where people like him got to be the good guys - even if they weren't the main characters. It was stunning.
"Those used to be from a man I liked."
Nearly jumping out of his skin, Y/n swiveled around and looked for a source of the voice. No one else was in the room. He sunk into the wall a little bit, eyes wide with worry. "Oh no. I'm already going insane."
A chuckle caught him off guard. It seemed to be coming from the wardrobe he hadn't paid much mind to when he'd come into the room initially. Was there someone inside?
"I knew that it would be difficult to introduce you to the concept of sentient objects so I thought it best to rip the bandaid off and start from there." Y/n's jaw dropped as at the top of the wardrobe, where two designs whirled, moved as if blinking, the two sides of the oval coming together and then moving apart. Between them, further down, just above the two doors that would have opened to reveal clothes, was a small arch that rose from the top of the opening. When the wardrobe spoke, that little opening moved like a mouth.
"How-" He couldn't form a thought enough to ask a proper question. There were too many, too suddenly; he was immediately overwhelmed.
The wardrobe chuckled and Y/n took some quick steps to move closer, inspecting it from a better angle. "I believe the Darkling mentioned that non-grisha were turned into volcra, and grisha did not?"
Y/n sputtered for a few seconds. "But! He's a volcra!" It had clicked that this darkling must have been the volcra who had lead him here, and the wardrobe didn't argue. "I thought all of you would be like him."
The wardrobe hummed in understanding. "Yes I thought I would put an ending to that as soon as possible. My name is Genya, and I am one of many grisha whose consciousness was put into an inanimate object. And here I've been since the Fold was created."
Y/n blinked a few times. "How is it that a magic born of darkness made something... cartoonish happen?"
Genya smiled warmly. She seemed amused by this whole ordeal. “It does not matter who cast it - it was magic. Chaos, corrupting. It changed things; as an attack on humans, but as a protection in grisha. So here I am, not a monster, but not a human either. I cannot be harmed… so I suppose the magic did its trick.”
“I suppose.” He sounded half horrified, half curious. That seemed to amuse her too. He suddenly snapped out of it though. “Didn’t you say you were grisha?” She hummed in confirmation. “Which one? Please, I beg of you.”
Genya considered him a moment, and then answered him, watching closely. “A tailor.”
Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, she seemed to be surprised by his shining eyes and wide smile. “Amazing,” he breathed. His words were too thick with awe to be doubted. He didn’t pause to think about it - he had more questions. “May I meet more grisha? I have so many questions - I’m desperate to know everything. Perhaps you can tell me about them? Or perhaps just yourself, and I can pester them another time. Since…” suddenly his light died. “Since I’ll be here now.”
It was hard to read Genya’s subtle expressions on the strange face but she seemed to grow sad, maybe piteous. “I can give you a rundown, and then you might have some starting idea as you slowly meet everyone.”
Y/n hummed mindlessly, suddenly distracted. “Yes, tell me.” He needed a distraction. Genya seemed to see that and indulged him, even if all she might accomplish is to give him an alternative thing to focus on.
-
The knock came quite some time after Genya finished, which is how Y/n knew he had been in this room for quite some time. He didn’t feel tired yet so he slipped out of bed and opened the door, part of him expecting the Darkling.
When he saw no one act first, he once again wondered distantly if he was going insane. Then he heard a voice. “Uh, down here.” His eyes fell to the floor at his feet, and there was a candelabra and a clock. Like Genya, their builds and designs made humanoid shapes and even little faces that allowed them to emote. The one who had spoken, the candelabra, waved with a soft smile. He flipped back through the names and descriptions he’d gotten from Genya.
“You’re Fedyor, aren’t you?”
The candelabra grinned. “Ah you’ve been briefed.” He spoke gentle and smoothly; it was incredibly soothing.
“Partly,” Y/n offered. “I asked Genya and she was kind enough to give me the beginners guide.” He tried to mimic the soothing nature and simply fell short. His eyes flickered to the clock. “So that makes you Ivan, then?” The clock simply nodded, and Y/n returned the gesture. These two worked directly with the Darkling. “Why… are you here?” Had he decided to change his mind? Were they here to escort Y/n to his death?
“Dinner,” Fedyor answered. “We’d like to encourage you to take more freedom around the castle, perhaps give you a tour. After dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Y/n shifted awkwardly. He honestly didn’t feel hungry at all… probably a bad sign. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
Only then did Ivan speak. “Be our guest. We want you to be comfortable here. We don’t often get guests, it’s an honor to have you. Especially someone so proud of your abilities. Seeing a proper grisha again, it’s special to us.”
Y/n was honestly touched. The man spoke in a flatter voice than Fedyor, but had its own smoothness and calmness. Like he was firm, dependable. Like you could fail and it would be okay because he had your back.
“Okay. Lead the way.”
Ivan and Fedyor brought Y/n through the castle and into a large dining room with a long table full of food. They stayed nearby when Y/n sat down and began eating, keeping him company. At first. Their casual back and forth came to a grinding halt when Y/n looked up and the Darkling was at the other end of the table, watching Y/n eat.
The man paused, swallowing his bite. “It’s rude to sneak up on someone. You could have announced your entry at least.”
The Darkling raised an eyebrow. “I do not answer to you.”
“I didn’t give you an order, I made observations.” Then he caught himself, looking down at the table. “My apologies. I have always… had problems keeping my temper.” As much as he was losing his need to hide, he had not yet lost his will to survive entirely.
The Darkling seemed to mind less than Y/n thought he would though. “Don’t apologize. All grisha should have as much bite as you; it’s admirable to see. Encouraging.”
When he continued simply watching Y/n eat, the man paused. “Are you not going to eat yourself?”
“Not in front of you,” the Darkling answered. Y/n hesitated, but then nodded. The Darkling leaned forward. “You had questions about grisha. I can answer them, if you’d like me to.”
At first Y/n was hesitant. It was still scary to speak about all of this openly, and he was very unsure about all these people and their exact intentions and character. But he was getting answers, and for the moment it distracted him just enough to really launch into his most thorough attempts at getting answers.
He wanted to know everything, and the Darkling was more than happy to fulfill that desire with every bit he knew.
Be the time dinner ended, Y/n was buzzing with information. He asked for an empty notebook he might be able to write this all down in, and was provided with one. He left dinner and raced his room without even thinking, and thought for just a moment he caught the Darkling smiling out of the corner of his eye.
Impossible of course.
Volcra didn’t smile.
It did convince him that this place might not be so bad after all, though. He would never see his family again and his dreams were crushed… but he was free, in a way. He was a grisha here, not a farmer’s son. Not a weirdo. Not a nuisance or good for looks and nothing else. He mattered here; he was part of something.
Even if his friends were household objects, he enjoyed them. The duster named Zoya, and the piano, David. The oven, Fruszi, and even the kettle. Baghra kept glaring at him, but even she seemed to respect him for his control over his abilities despite being self taught.
Maybe there was hope for a life here yet.
-
Male readers: @sortzz @gardening-guy-round-2
Story: @cleverzonkwombatsludge
