🍰🍓Synopsis: Nyoka remembered the look on Kalim's face when he learned that Cobra Beastmen had venom. Those red eyes never saw him quite the same.
Or, how two differently traumatized people miscommunicate with each other
Thank you @cozymochi for creating the header for this fic! It was at her request to explore these two's dynamic! Is this canon..? Maybe 👀 AO3 LINK
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Nyoka wasn’t a stranger to people staring at him.
They did so out of awe and suspicion. For every starry-eyed glance, there was a suspicious glare right around the other corner. Nyoka still remembered when it first happened, when the Asim’s heir had realized that Cobra Beastmen had venom.
He was in attendance for one of his extended family’s performances in the Asim’s large estate. The heirs of their respective households, both Wadjet and Asim, sat together for the performance. Kalim’s siblings sat elsewhere, and in the place where the second-born spare should go sat a humble servant boy…How curious.
It didn’t pique him enough to wonder too much. The Asims were clearly different people…More lax when it came to companionship between master and servant. He entertained himself through reading a new book as opposed to watching his uncle and cousin’s same old performance over and over.
Kalim was chummy, often trying to get both the servant and Nyoka to engage in conversation with him.
All of that stopped once Kalim had overheard a casual conversation between his father and Nyoka’s uncle.
It was an exchange of compliments, honors, and all the formal necessities of good business. At some point, Master Asim asks about anti-venom research and if any members of the immediate or extended Wadjet clan were interested in contributing to that.
Kalim asks how that would work.
Kalim’s father answers, “Cobra Beastmen have venom. It releases from their fangs.”
Kalim’s face falls, and he slowly turns to look at Nyoka. The boy who had previously excitedly draped his hand over his shoulder and declared them as friends, stared at him with an intensity Nyoka didn’t think capable.
The red of his eyes never looked so deep before, like two huge pools of blood, the kind he was probably already assuming Nyoka would spill just for existing.
Nyoka had experienced many different reactions over the years, but none were as jarring as Kalim Al-Asim, who seemed betrayed to learn of a biology Nyoka couldn’t control.
Kalim continues to stare, determined not to lose eye contact. When it comes time for the families to join together for a meal, Kalim takes his servant by the hand and leads him away, setting himself a decent ways ahead of Nyoka.
However, that was the coldest Kalim ever acted toward him.
The rest of the visit was par for the course. Kalim was smiling and being outwardly social again, but choosing instead to sit across the table from Nyoka instead of next to him. When Kalim had to sit beside him, his head was always turned almost entirely to its side to face him.
Nyoka didn’t wish to put much thought into the matter, but…He wondered why, if Kalim had such a distrust for him, didn’t he place his servant between the two as a shield.
Whatever the reason, those eyes never strayed away from his own.
He might’ve forgotten them if he hadn’t seen them again after Scarabia gained a new member…A transfer, a wealthy heir to a merchant family, the owner of a pair of intense, ruby irises.
Their paths did not cross much, and the year and following year rolled by without much interaction.
It was the same as always.
Kalim started a chummy conversation; it would reach an impasse, he would stare at him, then they’d go their separate ways.
If he didn’t know any better, which he definitely did, he’d say that Kalim genuinely wanted to be friends. But, in his own irrational fears and prejudices, he squandered each and every attempt by placing visible barriers of distrust between them.
It was irritating enough to deal with outside of a school setting…But now he was being tasked with giving Scarabia information in Leona’s stead…And he would never disappoint his Housewarden.
If only Jamil Viper were made housewarden…Even as a servant, he had tact, intelligence, and the right fortitude to complete any task given to him, that much he could observe. It reminded him of someone else he knew. He shouldn’t have felt that way, but then again, he shouldn’t be phased by the eyes of a human.
He doesn’t consider wrapping his tail around his waist like he ‘supposedly’ should. The familiar appearance of Scalding Sands architecture makes him feel momentarily at ease. A few stray students look at him with a mix of curiosity and caution.
He supposes he has to make his presence known to that ruby-eyes gaze. “I’m here on behalf of my housewarden to deliver a message to yours. Where is he?”
“I-I don’t know, the Vice stepped out, m-maybe you can wait for him to get back..?” one of the students stuttered. Did he seriously mishear him?
“I did not ask for your Vice Housewarden, I asked for your Housewarden.” He reiterated, “I’ll search for him myself.”
Nyoka walks past the students with ease, who all practically leap to get out of his way.
Cobra Beastmen were known for their keen senses of sight and sound. His glasses were all for show, a decoration to make him appear just slightly less intimidating to peers and future business partners.
In truth, he could see clear images from far away hallways and hear the distinctive jingle of gold jewelry. A door closes a couple of halls down on his left side. He follows the sound.
A soft one-sided conversation hits his ears. He recognizes Kalim’s voice, higher in octave as if he’s talking to a child or a pet, and expressing interest in investing in wanting to ‘detangle the tassels.’
Whatever the chatter, Nyoka was prepared to interrupt it. He opened the door to some spare room with a grand door similar to others he had seen in the dorm, and was greeted with a mass of treasure piled up to the ceiling.
Kalim was crouched there, talking to a carpet that was floating and moving its flat body as if it were truly listening.
Nyoka approached wordlessly; Only when his impressive shadow hung over Kalim and the carpet protectively curling around his shoulders did Kalim turn around and gasp in shock.
Kalim quickly laughed off his initial fear reaction and looked at him with a friendlier expression than the one he wore in the past, “Oh, it’s you! What brings you here?”
Things were going suspiciously well…Maybe Kalim had managed to conquer his biases.
“Housewarden Leona has approved your request to utilize Savanaclaw’s private Spelldrive field, on the basis that your team practices with the new recruits.” Nyoka informed him, and he held out the stack of papers to him. “All I need you to do is sign.”
“Sure thing!” Kalim replies, “Er, wait, I’ll have to read them over just in case. Maybe I should wait for…No.”
He seemed conflicted in his next steps, bringing his arm that was once outstretched back to the safety of his own torso. He looked away in thought. It was irritating.
“Just take them and return them to me later.” Nyoka offered an alternative.
“No, I’ll do them now.” Kalim insisted.
“So take them,” Nyoka says more forcefully, ire rising, “Or would you prefer I bring them to you with my tail since you hesitate to come near me.”
“Oh no, no it’s not that,” Kalim replied, worry rising in his voice. His small brows were knitted in concern, but his intense glare returned, and he raised his hands to show he meant no harm.
Nyoka could read people fairly well; he had to, and Kalim was sending a plethora of mixed signals that were making him lose his composure.
Did he fear him? Was he disgusted by him? Was Nyoka misunderstanding his intentions instead?
Whatever they were, Kalim’s inability to explain himself clearly led Nyoka to stride forward at a quick pace. Kalim backed away until he hit the wall. Nyoka placed an arm on the wall beside Kalim’s head and leaned in.
He had been making an effort not to open his mouth too widely when speaking to others. Showing his fangs to others outside of his clan was frowned upon…But he didn’t care now. If Kalim couldn’t swallow his dislike of Nyoka’s fangs, then Nyoka would make him adapt.
“What is it about me that frightens you so, Kalim Al-Asim?” Nyoka questions him, “Care to finally admit it to me after all these years?”
“Nyoka, I’m sorry, I really am!” Kalim bargains, “Could we discuss things over food? Someplace not here..?”
“Not until you admit it. Admit to me that the thought of my fangs piercing your skin frightens you so. Tell me that you detest my biology, that you have distrusted me from the moment you learned I had venom.” Nyoka tells him firmly. He does not shout, but he speaks in an intensity far greater than he would ever willingly show others.
“I don’t detest you.” Kalim emphasizes Nyoka as a person; he’s trying to separate him from his body. He still cowers in Nyoka’s presence; his carpet companion had since slipped away to who knows where, leaving them truly alone.
“But you do, because my venom is a part of me. It is a part of my magic.” Nyoka corrects him firmly.
He leans in, close enough so that Kalim can feel Nyoka’s breath on his face. Those red irises widen with a fear that can no longer hide under baseless words and empty dialogue.
“If I bit you now, you would die by my venom within fifteen minutes without an antidote. If I enacted my spell on you, your personality and all of your morals would belong to me.” Nyoka threatened, “Care to test if your servant is up to the task of saving your life?”
“Don’t bring him into this!” Kalim suddenly shouted in his ear and somehow found the strength to push Nyoka back just a bit.
It wasn’t enough to release him from Nyoka’s grip, but Nyoka found himself pleasantly surprised that Kalim had managed to catch him off guard.
Instead of begging for mercy, he lashed out at the defense of another.
Kalim’s eyes glared at him angrily, but softened as he threw a hand to his mouth in shock, and finally…Nyoka finally saw remorse.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I have either…” Kalim apologizes, “Please, allow me to explain everything to you..?”
Nyoka picks up the papers he had carelessly tossed on the floor in his anger and, with more composure, hands them out for Kalim to take. Kalim finally accepts them, and Nyoka feels ready to allow the fellow heir to speak properly.
“I have a…Thing with poison. I got poisoned a lot as a kid, like, all the time.” Kalim said, “It didn’t stop until…”
He seemed like he wanted to say more, but Kalim quickly redirected himself.
“I just had a lot of experiences where I had to be careful around that sort of thing. I’m sorry if that didn’t make any sense.”
“…My venom isn’t something I can change about myself.” Nyoka told him, “It isn’t even remotely close to poison.”
“I know. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t like you. I do. You’re a great guy.” Kalim exclaimed empathetically, Nyoka hated the way his eyes somehow effortlessly became softer, “I’m trying to do better, and I’m not scared of you or anything, but it’s really hard for me not to be vigilant sometimes, even if nothing’s wrong. It’s like, an automatic reaction I do without thinking. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
Kalim didn’t even seem satisfied with his own answer, and his eyes began to well up with tears.
Why Kalim would cry for him, he didn’t know. It perturbed him enough to drop all his walls, if only for a moment.
“I’m such a jerk.” He adds as his voice blends into a cry.
The Asim’s heir shouldn’t be crying over hurting the petty feelings of a Wadjet, even if this was a private moment no one outside of this room would learn about.
“It’s alright. I apologize for snapping the way I did. It was uncouth of me.” Nyoka speaks with regained composure and bows out of respect, “It will never happen again, I promise.”
“Please, don’t apologize to me. It was my fault.” Kalim assured him, taking one of Nyoka’s hands into his own. It was too casual, too companionable, as if they were friends.
“It is a relief to know you stare out of your own experiences and not because of my nature. I will no longer comment on the subject.” He tells him.
“Oh yeah, it’s honestly not even myself that I worry about.” Kalim assures him, “Even if you did choose to bite me, I could handle it just fine.”
“Your confidence astounds me.” Nyoka compliments, to which Kalim beams a bright smile. “Then, who is it you are so vigilant for? You never struck me as someone cautious, even when you stared-“
“There you are!” A third voice joined in their conversation.
Kalim’s loyal attendant and vice housewarden ran into the storeroom, disheveled and panting as if he had been searching in a panic, carpet floating loyally behind him. Kalim’s expression hardens once more, and as Jamil places himself between the two of them, Kalim grabs Jamil’s arm as Nyoka had seen him do in the past.
Ah, that makes sense.
“How many times have I told you to discuss things with me first!” Jamil chastised his master as if he were a fool. For all of Jamil’s intelligence, he was somehow ignorant of Kalim’s true character.
Or perhaps Kalim did not like that side of him being seen. Kalim smiles widely at him and plays into Jamil’s vision of him, allowing Jamil to take over the conversation, “My bad! We just got caught up in talking!”
Jamil turns to Nyoka, “I’m so sorry about all this. What was it you needed?”
“I need the housewarden to sign some papers regarding the use of Savanaclaw’s Spelldrive field.” Nyoka answered, and he wonders how, if Jamil turned around right at this moment, would he characterize Kalim’s stare of vigilance.
Perhaps he would have found it rude as Nyoka did. For the sake of keeping up appearances and not ruining Wadjet relations for the future, Nyoka chooses to see it as Kalim’s unorthodox way of being protective.
“Right,” Jamil says, taking the papers from Kalim’s hands and flipping through them before looking back to Nyoka, “We’ll get those right back to you after I read them.”
“Take your time, snakelet” Nyoka tells him.
Jamil seems confused at being granted the monicker of a newly hatched snake, but doesn’t comment on it. Nyoka couldn’t unsee the way the viper tried to bare his small fangs and make himself seem large and in charge, not even knowing that his wrangler’s cold stare had already made the point clear.
They were an interesting bunch, a connection his family would be disappointed if he ever parted with.
He was beginning to understand those eyes, that stared at him not out of hate but out of vigilance and understanding that if Nyoka should one day choose to pounce, Kalim would rather free his neck for him to envenom in place of his servant.
An heir who loved his vassal as he did…Nyoka couldn’t help but feel just a small bit of admiration…
So small it was easy to bury down into the depths of his carefully crafted character. He adjusted his glasses, grounding himself. The way Kalim acts is something he should not strive to emulate.
He is the calculated, stoic heir to a clan of great Cobra Beastmen. Softness is prohibited.
Banner and Nyoka Wadjet are by, and belong to, @cozymochi, who has kindly granted me permission to use their artwork and Twst OC for a writing exercise.
This piece is heavily inspired by a series of cozy’s illustrations, which you can view here and here! I of course added my own spin on it and expanded on the ideas already present ^^
I want y’all to know that right as I was making final edits to this, the full version of Leona’s solo song, Still Infallible, Until Tangible dropped… I manifested it/j
Imagine this...
As a rule, snakes are solitary creatures. Nyoka Wadjet is no exception.
He kneels, having forgone his dorm uniform in favor of a pair of rubber gloves, rolled up sleeves, and the most casual pair of slacks he owns (which still are not that casual). His dress shirt has been relieved of a few buttons, revealing a patchwork of scales running down his neck. They shimmer iridescent upon his dark skin, like the suds that have formed bubbles set adrift in the breeze rolling in from wide, open windows.
A small shadow flits by, and Nyoka is drawn to it. Outside, a brown bird—tiny enough to fit several in his palm—perches on a barren branch. It chirps a few notes, flutey and bright.
A nightingale, singing a sweet distraction.
Nyoka sighs and tucks a long braid behind one ear—the many that adorn his head keep swinging into his field of view. Next time, he thinks, pushing his glasses up using his wrist, the bun should be wrapped tighter, and the braids pinned up.
Nyoka runs a sodden, soapy rag across a line of wooden planks. Once the section has been sufficiently cleaned, he wrings the cloth over a container collecting grime, then places the fabric in fresh water. To the next square of flooring.
It’s tedious work, but he doesn’t mind it. There’s a rhythm to cleaning, and peace set in this brief, quiet moment of solitude. His escape from the daily rowdiness of Savanaclaw.
He eyes the murky brown carpet liquid inside one bucket. The color runs deeper than usual, almost completely opaque.
Odd. I cannot fathom why the floors would be this filthy. The students assigned to tend to the chores last week should have thoroughly scrubbed—
SPLOOSH!!
Nyoka startles.
Dirty water floods the floor and soaks into his pants. The toppled over bucket rolls over and collides with his calf.
A chorus of laughter kicks in. One whiny and shrill, one low and rumbling, and one wheezing for breath.
“Missed a spot, cobra!!” a gruff voice jeers.
A crowd of boys has appeared. Four of them in total, griseled with muscle and meanness. They move with a swagger, exchanging coy looks as they loom over their prey: Nyoka.
Bullies. They always travel in packs.
Nyoka hasn’t bothered to memorize their names–it would be a waste of his time and energy. They were all interchangeable anyway. The same black, shriveled hearts, the same leering grins. He had simply taken to calling them A, B, C, and D, in descending order of who happened to be the most combative but–consversely–had the least brains.
“… An astute observation,” Nyoka murmurs dryly. He stares directly at A, who appears to be the leader. “Look what you’ve gone and done. Do you care to make amends for this?”
“Nah, I’m good,” A replies with a shrug. His cronies cackle as if he has said the most hilarious thing. “We already did our time last week.”
So it was this lout and his gang who shirked their work. I shouldn’t be surprised.
Nyoka frowns. “Whatever you did, it was insufficient. Do take the task more seriously on the next rotation.”
A crouches down, resting beefy forearms on his knees. “Angry now, are ya? What now? Finally gonna bite back?! That’s what cobra beastmen do, right? They bite.”
Nyoka picks up the fallen bucket and sets it upright. He speaks lightly, but his every word is coated in a thin layer of frost. “I could, but I would rather not have your foul taste lingering on my tongue… I’ve no idea what landfill or rotten log you crawled out from.”
Rage flashes across A’s face.
“Hah! The cobra’s got jokes!” With a growl, he lunges and seizes a fistful of Nyoka’s shirt. “C’mon then! Prove it! Do something! Bite me!”
Nyoka purses his lips. Above all else, I must maintain my dignity. I will not stoop to their level.
“As I have previously expressed, I do not wish to pursue that path. Your appalling behavior is making you appear more unappetizing by the second.”
A’s minions clamor around him. Cruel, hard eyes and mouths twisted into sneers, teeth bared. A less noble creature may have balked, but not Nyoka.
To him, they are mere insects, writhing when exposed to the sunlight. The noise they generate, the annoying buzz of a cloud of mosquitos, their wings all flapping in unison and filling the air with a meaningless drone.
“All talk, again…”
“So annoying…!”
“I never liked his snobby attitude…!”
“Stupid snake…”
“Damn irritating…”
“He thinks he’s better than us…”
”Lotta lip for a guy that ain’t man enough to fight back,” A scoffs.
“The true measure of a man is not in his level of aggression, but the grace with which he displays when presented with provocations.”
Confusion blooms on B’s otherwise dopey expression. “Provo-what now?”
C scratches his head. “He’s usin’ the big words again, bro…”
“Allow me to simplify it for you: you are engaging in pointless, petty squabbles. It would do you well to quit while you’re ahead,” Nyoka offers calmly.
“YOU…!! YOU REALLY PISS ME OFF!!” A bellows, shoving the cobra down.
His glasses go crooked, and Nyoka reaches up to fix them. D, the scraggly, weasel-like student, swoops in, yanking the glasses off of him. His eyesight remains unchanged—the glasses are purely cosmetic—but Nyoka feels uncomfortable without them.
Naked, exposed.
He attempts to rise, but he is slammed back down to the floor, legs forced to buckle. A pins Nyoka’s arms behind him, jutting his chin to B. The signal to close in.
“Bet we can get him to use those fangs!” D snickers.
“Let’s make’im cry uncle,” C moves to scoop up the other bucket. Soapy water sloshes against the rim. “Teach him a lesson.”
Nyoka squints at the mob students. “And just what are you intending to… AGH!!”
B delivers a swift kick to his stomach, knocking the wind out of Nyoka. He hisses, his escaping breath shaky.
A second kick. Then a third, a fourth. Each strike is more powerful than the last
Black creeps into Nyoka’s vision. Stars wink in and out behind his eyelids, exploding in colorful bursts of hurt. His lungs burn, a slow, throbbing pain radiating from his core.
He’s left slumped over and panting, braids curtaining his contorted face. But he’s not granted the grace of a moment’s respite.
A’s meaty finger hooks onto the corner of Nyoka’s mouth, prying it open. “Let’s see those fangs, hah?!”
He can only manage a weak grunt in response. “Ngh…”
”Gahahahah! Look at’im squirmin’!!” His assailants howl like hyenas. “Just like the snake that he is.”
“Ya think you’re better than us?!” B demands. “Well? Do ya?!”
Nyoka’s gaze immediately cuts away. I won’t entertain these trigger happy ruffians.
“Hey!! Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya!!”
B grabs a handful of Nyoka’s braids and yanks hard, forcing him to look up. He cannot help but wince. His scalp silently screams, his hair holding on for dear life.
“C’mon!” B barks in his face. The mob student reeks of something sour. His personality, perhaps, Nyoka thinks. “Fight back! We know you can!”
He’s answered with a sharp head turn, Nyoka blatantly ignoring him. B’e nostrils flare. He sees red. “You piece of—”
“A little dip in the pond oughta liven up the punk,” C suggests, lifting the bucket in his possession.
”Heh, yeah,” D says with a barely contained chortle. “Let’s take our little friend out for a swim, see if he’s a sea snake.”
The bucket’s shadow hovers threateningly over the cobra beastman. A stray drop of water trickles down the side, landing on his nose. It’s icy cold, sending a shiver down his spine.
Nyoka braces himself for the hit.
That’s when it happens.
Not the water crashing down on him, but a commanding baritone tearing through the savanna. The earth itself seems to rattle under his feet. A light spray lashes him across the cheek like a wake-up slap.
“Oi!!”
Nyoka stiffens—and so do his assailants. They all recognize that voice.
Their king’s roar.
“D-Dorm leader?!”
The mob students shrink back like trembling field mice as he approaches, every one of his steps carrying the heft of a lion. Slow yet purposeful, strides, as if he toyed with the world in his palm and could crush it on a whim. Striding in with such confidence, backlit by the sun, it looks as though he’s crowned in a halo of golden light.
The rightful ruler of Savanaclaw, Leona Kingscholar.
His savior.
Nyoka snaps out of his awe and scrambles into a semblance of a bow. He suspects he must look ridiculous in his cleaning gloves and damp slacks, but neither is an excuse to not pay the proper respect to royalty.
“Rough play is over,” Leona announces, his bored tone tinged with annoyance. He doesn’t bother to give Nyoka even a passing glance. “This ain’t magift practice, so knock it off. If you got energy to burn, take it out on the field, not in the playground sandbox.”
“W-We were just trying to teach him a lesson!” A explains meekly. His cronies, who have all shuffled behind him, chorus in agreement. “Y’know, toughen him up? Savanaclaw’s got no use for weaklings.”
“Yeah?” Leona folds his arms. His eyes, a discerningly deep verdant, narrow into a glare. “Who died and made you lot the arbiters of that? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the boss around here. Unless…”
His mouth cocks into a smirk. Never a good sign.
“… You mean to challenge me for the dorm leader seat?” Leona looks them over again, then manages a scoff. “Hah, don’t think I’d even need to bust out magic to take out a few sniveling cowards. Can’t even muster the courage to take on a cobra one-on-one.”
“W-We’d never dream of fighting you, sir!!” C assures him. The mob student exchanges nervous looks with his allies. They’d all seen what had become of the 30 or so upperclassmen that had gone after Jack Howl—all of them, almost sanded.
”Then put the toys down and scram. Leave the cobra to me. I need’m for a sec.”
“B-But…”
“Toys, down. You, outta my sight,” Leona snaps, holding out a hand. “Do NOT make me repeat myself again.”
That does it. On command, the mob students scram.
They shuffle off with their tails between their legs, C abandoing his bucket and whimpering like a wounded dog. D deposits Nyoka’s stolen glasses in Leona’s palm on the way out. A and B practically trip over themselves trying to cram their massive, broad-shouldered bodies through the door. The pack’s footsteps are a frantic pounding as they retreat back to their landfills and rotten logs.
When they’ve finally all cleared out, Leona sighs, tossing the glasses at Nyoka. “Here.”
He catches the spectacles with his tail and quickly returns them to his face. “Your highn—dorm leader Leona, I appreciate your timely intervention. Ah, and please excuse my disheveled appearance…”
Covered in sweat and dirty water… I may as well be dressed in sooty rags. This is absolutely no way to have an audience with his highness.
“Don’t read too much into it,” Leona says with a yawn. “Get up, and c’mon.”
Nyoka obeys—but the instant he stands, Leona has already turned on his heel. “Ah… What is it that you need me for?“
“Just c’mon,” he calls over his shoulder, gesturing with one hand. “I don’t have all day.”
“My apologies… I am coming.”
Nyoka takes two steps before his foot comes into contact with something solid. He looks down, finding the toppled bucket of filth flush against his shoe.
“What of the floor though?”
“Don’t sweat it. Ruggie will clean it.”
“… Of course.”
Nyoka hurries after his dorm leader. He’s careful to trail behind him, never to match his pace or to breeze by. Always staying contained in Leona’s shadow, where the light cannot touch him.
They’ve reached a quiet corner of the lounge, shaded by broad leaves, when Leona comes to an abrupt stop. He speaks up.
“… You really let those guys lay into you, huh?”
Nyoka jolts at the sudden question. “Well, I thought it uncouth to play their games.”
“There’s a difference between picking the battles you fight and lettin’ ‘m walk all over ya. I trust you know what that difference is.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“And yet you still let’m walk all over ya,” the prince groans, running a hand through his hair. There’s a pause, then he asks, ”You hear of the girl in the glass slippers before?”
Nyoka’s heart leaps. A chance at redemption.
“I have. It’s a popular children’s story from the Shaftlands.” He clears his throat and recites what he recalls.
”Once upon a time, there was a girl who lost her mother. Her father remarried, but the girl was subjected to cruelty by her new step mother and stepsisters. Despite her hardships, she never returned the abuse she experienced.
“One night, a fairy appeared before her with a pair of glass slippers. The girl put them on and was transformed into a princess. Her stepmother tried to prevent her from leaving, but the girl managed to escape regardless.
“A prince saw her on his way to a ball, and was so stunned by her beauty that he invited her to come with him. He would fall in love with the girl in the glass slippers and whisk her away from her horrid stepfamily.
“Excellent book report,” comes Leona’s drawl, accompanied by sarcastic applause. “Full marks, A+, gold star—and what’d we learn from that?”
“If I recall correctly… The moral of the story is ‘have patience and be kind, and you shall, in due time, be rewarded’.”
“Wrong.”
“Wrong…?” Nyoka blinks.
Leona taps a finger against his temple. “Use what you’ve got up here. Think. Was the girl in the glass slippers really as demure as the story makes her out to be?”
Nyoka’s brow furrows. “I’m not certain I’m understanding where you’re going with this.”
“Being patient and kind doesn’t necessarily mean she was weak. On the contrary, it takes a lotta courage and persistence to survive under the circumstances that she did. Her stepfamily just assumed she was docile, when, really, she was biding her time.
“And when an opportunity presented itself? She took it. When the powers that be tried to keep her trapped? She outwitted them. The girl in the glass slippers fought tooth and nail without ever having to throw a punch. You know what that means?”
The cogs connect, beginning to spin. It clicks, and realization blossoms on Nyoka’s expression.
There are non-violent methods to fight back, other ways to resist, without getting one’s own hands dirty in the process.
“Finally got it, have you?” Leona deigns to cast a glance at the cobra. “Put it to practice, cuz this is the one and only time I’m swooping in to play hero. You’re on your own from here on out.”
He reaches out and grips Nyoka by the shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. Leona’s next words are purred straight into his ear.
“Don’t let me find you knocked flat on your ass again. You won’t get any sympathy out of me.”
Then he releases the cobra, almost with a slight shove. Nyoka is able to quickly correct his posture, tail lashing out to balance himself. Mouth agape, he stares at his dorm leader.
The shining sun cuts the shadows on Leona’s figure into jagged pieces. Wind weaves through his mane, setting it flowing. The prince’s visage is immediately made harsher, like the look of an aged traveler that has braved countless sandstorms.
A fire ravages his eyes, the same color as emeralds, burning with an ambition indescribable. They seem to glow and pulsate like midday stars, come out early with intent to outshine the moon.
What an incredible aura. He is more than dignified, he puts me to shame.
Nyoka lowers himself into a bow. “… Thank you for the encouraging words, sir. You’re awe-inspiring.”
”Yeah, yeah,” Leona says dismissively. “Glad you finally got that through your skull. We’re done here.”
The lion begins to stalk away, but Nyoka calls out to him. “Dorm leader? Please wait.”
Leona freezes in the doorway, but doesn’t turn around. “What is it now?”
“What was it that you called me away for…? You said you needed me for something.”
“Hmm? Did I?” Sounding none too enthused, Leona inclines his head. “… Must’ve slipped my mind. Silly me.”
Is that the truth? Nyoka considers it. Or is it that he, perhaps, did not need my assistance with anything after all? Was it a bluff? A fabrication, for my sake?
It’s possible that he felt it a necessity to isolate me with him. There was no telling if the pack would return once he departed. That means… by claiming he needed me for an odd job, his highness was actually shielding me from further retaliation.
The corners of his mouth twitch, involuntarily tugging upwards. Fangs, out.
His highness conceals his heart well, but it continues to peer through the cracks. Fufu, I shan’t spill his secret, then.
“… Oi, what’re you smiling for?” Leona demands, scowling. “Cut it out, it’s getting on my nerves.”
Nyoka immediately moves to cover his mouth. “Excuse me, dorm leader.”
He means to say more. He should say more, express his gratitude in more detail. But it seems Leona has lost interest in the conversation.
His attention is now directed at a window. A soft song lazily drifts in from outside. Sweet and high, high and sweet.
Nyoka’s ears perk. Could that be the nightingale from before…?”
“Tch.” Leona clicks his tongue. “Damn bird. Doesn’t know when to shut its beak. How’s a guy supposed to get any good quality shut-eye in this racket?”
“If you wish, I can attempt to quell it. After all, I am in your debt for the earlier rescue.”
“… Nah. Leave it.”
“Eh? Truly?”
“Yeah. ‘S annoying, but it ain’t doin’ anything wrong. It’s just in a nightingale’s nature to sing, like it’s in a cobra’s nature to bite.” Leona’s eyes twinkle as they crease. “Am I right?”
There it is again—his fire.
Nyoka is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He feels the heat upon his skin, the embers licking him, yet he cannot stop his hand from drawing closer and closer to the apocalyptic green flames.
If he burns, then so be it. He will go out like a dying star.
“Ah…” Nyoka falters before providing, “Yes indeed.”
