hey all! this piece was written as part of the @spiralzine, the leftovers sale of which goes live soon! All proceeds are benefiting eSIMs for Gaza. You'll be able to order any extra zines, prints, or stickers here!
I am so so delighted to have been part of this project, and I'd recommend trawling through the tag and checking out all the other contributors works as they came out spectacular <3
(ao3 fic link for folks who would rather read there)
All magic requires a level of innate power.
Most magic requires some level of self control.
But Conjuration? The magic of Myth and the monsters of history?
That requires control over the other.
Cyrus Drake has taught the students of Ravenwood for decades now, has watched year after year as fresh conjurers give up before they even summon their first troll. This is the way of things. It has to be the way of things. Even the calmest of magics have dangerous edges, and Myth could not be called a calm magic even on its easiest of days. If a student of his is going to exert their will over a Minotaur, a Gorgon, Raven willing someday a Basilisk—then they must clear the first hurdle: him.
His harshness not a matter of distaste, nor to dissuade those truly willing to learn, but rather to ensure that those who endure are truly able to excel. The method is not often appreciated, nor taken to heart, but when the alternative is learning in the later years of teaching that the student cannot bend the will of the creatures they are summoning—
—suffice to say he would have bigger problems than Nolan Stormgate needing to be extricated from the stomach of his own Humongofrog. So he maintains a harshness that endures until the students have proved they are unwilling to back down. That their will is unbreakable and unyielding as the very roots Bartleby has spread beneath their feet.
First years often crumble under the weight of his gaze. Shrink away from impossible tasks and wild snipe hunts.
But some return to him with annoyance and a willingness to demand answers.
Second years are prone to losing their footing under the shaking stone of a Cyclops summons, to their voices wavering with fear at creatures who tower above them. To cowering behind trees as though that will save them from the stomach acid hurled forth by a frog as large as their classroom.
But some stand their ground, and allow an edge of steel to back their words.
By the third year it is rare he loses a student. Though there are some who do not heed his warnings when faced with the eyes of a gorgon for the first time. Those for whom he keeps a well stocked apothecary of remedies.
But even so, they learn.
There is a steady pace to it. A push and pull. Criticism is razor sharp. Praise is always grudging.
He can always see it the moment another student realizes they are over the hump, that they have, however scarcely, earned his respect. There are few prouder moments he gets to experience as a professor.
To that end, the problem standing before him is a very particular student, one with whom he has been trying harder than any before to dissuade from their continued study of both Myth—and beyond that magic in general. Not for lack of skill, he had watched this child at 12 speak in such a commanding tone that even the summoned creatures of their classmates had looked over for orders. No, it was rather for the use to which that skill would soon need to go.
This afternoon they had come to him with a request that very nearly had him sending another note to the Headmaster.
Orthrus.
Brother to Cerberus, keeper of the gate to Hades.
A task for which they were neither ready nor prepared.
The collars required to summon Orthrus as an entreatment were difficult to acquire. And though there are a pair of them resting on a hook in his office—that is not knowledge he is willing to volunteer. The only other set of which he is currently aware of are resting in a tower in Dragonspyre, unused and at this point in time—very possibly destroyed.
There is little to be done for that. There is no key for Dragonspyre that he has access to, and his family home has long since been in ruin, the portals and tapestries within no longer functional, and even were they to be, certainly not safe enough to send a student through.
Even this student.
Especially this student.
It has been a fair few months since last this particular student had set foot in his classroom.
Their time spent on the spirit ridden battlefields of Mooshu.
Cyrus Drake looks down at the young wizard and pulls his lips back into a sneer.
“Do you realize the ridiculous nature of what you are asking?” He demands, “A child of thirteen, proposing to control Orthrus. I would sooner suggest you attempt to cleave the Grandfather Tree in two.”
“I need him.” The young wizard insists, eyes wide and painfully honest. “Please. I have to learn. I have to be strong enough for—”
“—for what?” Cyrus cuts across their words, “To show off to your adoring little friends? To win a duel on sheer overdrawn strength rather than intellect and skill? Or perhaps worse because you think a dog will be easy to tame?”
“Because he can keep me safe—if I have him, his strength, his help—I could—” there is very nearly a waver to their voice this time. A weakness that he has not yet heard. Unwillingness? Or perhaps acceptance of the fact that they are ill-equipped to learn a spell of this caliber.
“—enough of this.”
“Professor, please—”
They are shaking now.
Whether with scarce concealed anger or fear he cannot be sure. This student’s expressions have always been somewhat hard to read, on occasion seeming to drift into a cloudy vacancy that makes him wonder if they are listening at all.
He has had enough of this.
“—if you wish so badly to control a pup that can be matched to your lack of discipline, might I suggest paying Professor Falmea a visit to discuss the properties of the Heckhound?” He asks them, “Or if that won’t do, you could start smaller with a firecat.”
He cannot dissuade them forever.
No matter how many times he has tried over the years, how heavy the workload he has piled on their shoulders, how high the tower of homework becomes, nor how much of it remains untouched and unreturned. No matter how often he has spoken to Headmaster Ambrose, offered, suggested, demanded to see this through, to bring Malistaire to his senses alone.
Cyrus is, rather notably, not a fool.
And he knows how this must likely end.
Has known where it will end for quite some time.
But it does not solidify, does not quite feel real, until the young wizard digs one hand into the pocket of their robes—not robes he realizes now, but the padded cloth armor of one of the Mooshu villages—and thrusts it out to them, a key dangling off the cord now clutched in their fist.
A key that he recognizes.
For a moment, a single bare trace of time.
Cyrus Drake is at a loss for words.
Staring at that little golden key.
No more than three inches of cast metal.
But he can feel the weight of it, even now, even at a distance.
He can almost hear his brother and Sylvia laughing.
Echoes from what feels like another lifetime.
Another existence.
Words are sacred to the magic of Myth.
No one knows this better.
From the chanting used to summon and entreat creatures outside of combat, to the complicated collection of syllables that made up a being’s true name. Words, for a conjurer, can bend even the most unruly beast, or the strongest mind, to their will. Can soothe an enemy or empower an ally. Can trick the mind into belief where there should be doubt.
Perhaps.
Even in this case, the answer still lies in words.
Perhaps, if both he and this student are unimaginably lucky.
after weeks of forgetting to post this, here is my piece for the fabulous @spiralzine that was just recently put out! it was such an honor to be a part of this project and to work with so many of the talented people in this community for such a great cause. you can still snag the zine here! all proceeds will be benefitting eSIMS for Gaza.
to the shock of everyone and no one at all, my piece is khrysalis-centered. i hope you enjoy a snapshot of dyvim, zaltanna, and their people healing the burn post-morganthe's defeat!
There is rain coming to the Last Wood.
The Burrowers have been anticipating this. For months, their best mages have tracked variables like temperature, air pressure, and cloud patterns in an attempt to pinpoint a good storm. Such a thing is necessary for working new seeds down into soil. Now, they finally have the forecast they’ve been hoping for— a day or two of steady downpour right around the corner. They must make their move now, or else they risk another month or so of waiting.
Dyvim Whitehart works with a group of his fellow knights to distribute seed packets to the crowd waiting on the edges of the Burn. Many of them are afraid to set foot on the blackened section of the forest floor. Though he walks over it now with ease, Dyvim doesn’t blame them for their hesitation.
Its been over half a year now since the Shadow Queen’s defeat at the hands of the Wizard. In that time, the knight has learned the hard way that making a postwar “to-do list,” for lack of a better word, is practically impossible. There are no words that can summarize decades of loss and no actions that can swiftly heal the wounds of a world half razed to the ground. They’ve been aiming for a healthy mix of repair and reflection.
That being said, replanting the Burn is something both tangible and symbolic that can be done. Slowly, as the woodland they call home heals, so will they.
This valley, situated at the intersection of Bumbler Town, Pepper Grass Nook, and what still smells of Camp Havoc, was once highly traversed. Now that the flame legs that once roamed it have been ousted, the Burrowers have a vision of restoring it to glory in the same way they did Bastion and the Silent Market. Then, their dream of full reconciliation with the Bees may finally be realized.
“And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt the bottoms of your feet?” One young woman asks as she tentatively takes the seeds handed to her.
“Not in the slightest,” Dyvim smiles. He lifts a leg and turns his foot upward for good measure. Sure enough, the flesh there is soft and undisturbed. “The valley is safe. I promise you that in the good name of our king.”
The woman looks a tad more convinced after that. Carefully, she slides a foot out from beneath her skirt and tentatively places it atop the darkened soil. Then, she turns to her family clustered beside her, nodding happily.
It would have been much more efficient to seed the valley aerially with the help of their new dragonfly brigade, but such an endeavor would have left no room for tender moments like this. Now more than ever, Dyvim is glad he pushed for the seeding to be a community affair.
Once all the Burrowers in attendance have a packet of their own, the knights regroup in the center of the Burn. Dyvim himself moves to the front to address them all.
“I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out today,” he begins. “A project like this is no small feat. Just by gathering here with intention, we make our ancestors proud.”
There’s a smattering of applause and a few distant cheers before he finishes his sentence. One of his fellow knights rubs his shoulder affectionately, and Dyvim shakes his head, humbled.
“As far as procedure goes, the instructions are simple. Find a section of the valley to call your own and begin sprinkling the provided seeds. Allow me to demonstrate the proper technique, if you will.”
There’s a murmur of laughter as Dyvim makes a small show of stepping forward and reaching into his pouch. He carefully gathers some of its contents in his hand, and then reaches out over the plot he stands atop, moving his arm in a fluid criss-cross motion. Once his palm is empty, he holds his arms off, flashing the crowd a grin.
“Looks simple enough, doesn’t it? Though our gardeners have informed me that you must be careful of clumps.”
Like a slow-crashing wave, the crowd of Burrowers moves forward across the darkness of the valley, murmuring amongst themselves as they find places to stand. Some break out into peals of laughter, overjoyed at just how easy the planting process is. Others find themselves choking back tears, the bitter smell of the Burn reminding them of the nights where the Umbra Legion roamed this very space.
Dyvim feels a healthy tension build between his ribs as he moves to a corner near the entrance to the Moon Cliffs. Whether it will bring him to laugh or cry, he doesn’t know. He’s just glad he’s there to bear it.
A sudden rustling in the underbrush, however, ignites the soldier’s reflex in him. Dyvim retracts the hand sprinkling seeds over the forest floor to his chest as his head angles upward. He doesn’t know quite what he’s expecting to see— maybe a stray Bumbler coming to ask of their progress— but it definitely isn’t what, or who, ends up being there.
“Zaltanna?” His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”
He notices something different about her the second his brain puts two and two together. She’s keeping her distance, still partially obscured by the shadow of the cliff beside her. She’s also down a scythe. Instead of her usual weapon, she’s got something cradled in her hands that he can’t yet make out.
“I… do hope I’m not intruding.” She says.
Dyvim glances over his shoulder. None of the other Burrowers are aware of her presence yet.
“No, not at all. Can I help you with something?”
Zaltanna’s mandibles click. She looks down at her folded hands before responding.
“I heard some of the guards at the palace talking about your seeding project earlier. I wanted to… bring you something on behalf of myself and my hunter-sisters. On behalf of the Fifth Column, really.”
He steps forward once he sees her hands beginning to open. In her palm sits a single seed, much larger than any of the ones currently being spread behind them. Briefly lost for words, he looks between her and the offering. She clears her throat and continues.
“Though we weren’t Umbra, we are still closely associated with the Shadow Queen by species and find ourselves on your land due to her reign. I wouldn’t dream of dominating your cause, but I wanted to offer you this. A token of peace and healing. It will forever be sickening what they did to this place.”
“Zaltanna, I…” Dyvim lightly touches the side of the seed. “Is it a tree?”
“Yes, it is. I bought it from a gardener in the Silent Market.”
“This is very kind of you. Thank you. You, and your hunter-sisters.”
She gives a reserved nod and moves to place the seed in his hand. Though, without anything to keep her hands occupied, she grows uncomfortable and takes a small step backward.
“I should head back to Bastion. I left my post at the World Door without telling anyone.”
Zaltanna turns then, not giving him more than a mere second to think through his next words. Dyvim has barely processed them by the time they start spilling from his lips.
“Wait, Zaltanna,”
The Mantis does as she’s told, looking over her shoulder at him. Her antennae twitch in the air.
“Why don’t you come and help me plant this?”
She blinks. The implications of such a move are not lost on either of them. Had they been, she would have simply walked right out onto the Burn and asked to see him instead of slinking about in the shadows.
To put it plainly, some Burrowers are keener than others when it comes to the presence of Mantises and Goliaths on their side of the Starfall Sea. While many were Fifth Column, like Zaltanna, and others went on to repent and serve time for their crimes, others remained loyal to the Shadow Queen beyond her defeat. That, compounded with the decades of clashing between their kind, didn’t make unification easy. Even in this newly realized Bastion, there was still an undercurrent of tension.
But Dyvim believes in the goodness of Zaltanna’s heart. Without her help, the Wizard never would have been able to skirt their way through the Umbra ranks. Without her help, he’d still be rotting in that cage, or worse.
“You’re sure about this?” She asks.
“We stood united against the Shadow Queen together. Let us continue to do so now. Let us and our people do so forever, so that this never happens again.”
After a moment of careful consideration, Zaltanna steps forward and nods. Dyvim encourages her to walk at his side. Together, under the green clouds of their new home, they re-emerge into the valley together.
Surprise ripples through the crowd of Burrowers as they make their way to a distant corner of the Burn. Zaltanna keeps her head high, but her body relaxed as a path is made for them. She stops when Dyvim does, gaze flickering across the dozens of denizens looking her way.
“Sir Whitehart!” A voice calls out. “What is this Mantis doing here? We stand on land destroyed by her people!”
“Zaltanna has brought us a very generous gift.” Dyvim says. He holds the seed up then, moving it around for all to see. “Without her and her hunter-sisters of the Fifth Column, without every individual who ever stood up to the Shadow Queen, we would not be here replanting today.”
“But she is a Mantis! This is a Burrower operation!”
“She is my friend. And she does not come here to take our cause or our dreams. She comes here to help us rebuild. This new Khrysalis will be one of Burrowers, Mantises, Bumblers, and more. And if we further ice out those who seek to listen and aid us, we will remain relegated to the edges of this forest.”
At that, Dyvim turns to look at her, voice resolute. “Zaltanna, if you would assist me?”
The Deer Mouse Knight lowers himself to the ground then, digging a pocket for the seed to rest in. Zaltanna joins him a moment later, and together, with one hand each on either side of the seed, lower it into the dirt. Their free hands then move to cover it up so that it may wait for the impending rain like the rest of them.
It feels like the crowd holds their breath for the duration of their planting. When they rise, some clap. Others look on in awe, worry, or a mix of emotions. Eventually, though, the majority of them return to their cause, criss-crossing seeds across the untouched portions of the valley.
Dyvim and Zaltanna step to the outskirts to watch their efforts continue. For a moment, they’re silent.
“Thank you.” Zaltanna murmurs. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“I did. I want you to know that I consider you a friend. This New Khrysalis will wear our faces, among others, don’t you think?”
She clacks her mandibles. “That is a hope of mine, yes.” A beat. “Never before did I think I would consider a mouse a friend.”
That in itself is all the confirmation Dyvim needs to break into a small smile. The pouch in his palm is empty, so he tucks it into his armor and folds his hands behind his back, content with his efforts.
“What will you do if it doesn’t rain?” Zaltanna asks.
“What we’ve done for centuries,” he replies. “Wait. And in the meantime, we’ll heal in other ways. All of us.”
“All of us,” she echoes. Then, she mimics the way he stands, hands folding behind her back. Together, they consider the crowd. “All of us.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hi! I wrote a fic for the @spiralzine! You can grab a leftover copy on the Etsy store soon, so keep an eye out for that! All proceeds go to eSIMS for Gaza.
Super happy to have a piece in this zine, and you should also check out the other contributor's works - art and fics - as they're all amazing!
doing knockoff nano this year and. Here is Day One's efforts!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
After the confronting passing of Ravenwood student Mariah Hailsinger and tedious back and forth with the Council of Light, the three spirit school professors of Dragonspyre Academy track down one Emmaline Frostflower - a powerful thaumaturge, shadowmancer, and Schismist whose reach is far greater than any of them had imagined.
But vengeance isn't the goal, just yet. They should all know better than to strike blindly.
RAHHHH. Post game timeline. Like it or not, spirit professors are always so tightly woven together. My first piece for my first November writing challenge and also my first published fic!
Also thankyou @oldestenemy for letting me play dolls with your Eurydice and Duncan they mean the WORLD to me ♡
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A shake of the head as it held its head in its hands. The light, the noise, the loudness of the interviewer, it all hurt so much. It felt a smile on its face but it didn't want to do that, the subject just wanted to go home, even though 'home' was a concept so far from it.
~~
The Karamelle Employee Reintegration Program seeks to ensure that no worker loses productivity when the Company can help! The Company is grateful for you taking the initiative and enjoying our Wellness Program, and we are so proud of you for taking the initiative to get yourself into our care. We will look after you, and you will return a happier and more motivated person.
The concept for this fic just came to me like a vision and now I am sharing that vision with all of you! I love looking at the brutality behind the Happiest Place In The Spiral(tm), it's so fascinating and really helps me get my worldbuilding bees out. Like yeah, they WOULD have re-education facilities in there, you know?
Also taking a cross-section of the interaction between interviewer/interviewee and then RECONTEXTUALISING it as perpetrator/victim? JUICY. making it business-business all the way down and it being so aggressively depersonal while simultaneously being so inherently linked to personhood and self? JUICIER. I had so much fun coming up with new little details to add in about it it's maddening I swear.
Pairing: Destiny DreamWielder (OC) x Malorn Ashthorn
Summary: Destiny and her companions return to Ravenwood after Polaris. But everything is changing now, including Destiny's relationship with Malorn, one of her very best friends.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Discussion of bullying, a decent amount of angst, and a relationship getting to first base.
A/N: This is a sequel to this fic I posted a while ago! (I do encourage refreshing yourself if you'd like, though this one can be standalone.) I wanted to finally write out and post how Destiny and Malorn got together, because I have brainworms about a set of pixels with personalities I gave them. Title comes once again from a Taylor Swift song, this time it's So High School.
“Go on and take your leisure,” Baba Yaga instructed. “You’ve earned it. Don’t stray too far though. Don’t leave the Spiral. We’ll be in touch soon enough.”
“Alright,” Destiny answered, head still spinning. She had been expecting instructions along those lines. Back to “normal,” for now. She turned back to her companions as Baba Yaga retreated to her office and Fitzhume returned to his desk. Destiny stood surrounded by Mellori, Myrna, and Catherine, and she knew they weren't all returning to the same place. “I guess this is where we split up,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.
“Are you okay, DreamWielder?” Catherine asked, concerned as she always was. Destiny was often rather shaken up after a quest, and usually asked her best friend to stick around for a while to discuss everything.
“I’m actually doing alright. I know we saved the entire Spiral again, but honestly I was more freaked when Myrna almost punched the Empress.” (Catherine laughed at that, while Myrna huffed.) “You should go talk to Alhazred. Give the Order of the Fang an update. I’m sure they’ll call us back here soon, let’s be normal for now. I’m gonna go get all my things from my dorm. I was supposed to do that before we left.”
“About that,” Myrna interjected. After months at home, her accent was even stronger than it was when Destiny first met her. “I’ll be collecting my things and saying my goodbyes as well. Tarrack agreed to take me on as a student once again, and I am needed in Polaris. I cannot be around Ravenwood anymore, anyway. Knowing that Professor Drake and Headmaster Ambrose lied to me all these years, I can’t stand it.”
Destiny’s heart sank a little. She'd known when she'd graduated that things were going to begin changing, but she hadn’t realized it would be so soon. “That sounds really great, Myr. I’ll miss you, though. And you’re telling Shawna, not me.”
“Of course,” Myrna responded. The usually stoic Polarian had tears forming in her eyes, and they all fell quiet.
Catherine took the silence as an opportunity to say her goodbyes. She hugged Destiny tightly, and promised to come see her the next day. Then she turned to the others. “Mellori, it was an honor adventuring with you! Good luck at Ravenwood, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” She offered her hand, and Mellori shook it with a smile of her own.
“Looking forward to it,” the younger girl responded with a grin.
“Myrna, it was really nice to see you again, I hope this won’t be the last time. And honestly, I think you’ll do incredible things for your people. You’re their lost princess, I saw the hope you brought them.” Catherine held up her arms gingerly, unsure if Myrna would accept a hug.
The Thaumaturge allowed it, embracing the Sorcerer briefly. “Thank you, Catherine. I hope to see you again as well.”
Catherine gave Destiny one last hug before leaving the group for the world door, pulling out a key and stepping through to Krokotopia.
“Mellori, come on,” Destiny beckoned as she turned back to her remaining friends. “We’ll bring you to Ravenwood.”
“I don’t need a chaperone,” Mellori groaned, crossing her arms in annoyance.
“We’re going back there anyway, and you should be introduced to everyone properly. Seems like Baba Yaga has already spoken to Ambrose, so we’ll bring you right to Mr Lincoln and then Professor Wu. And we’ll introduce you to Shawna and Neela. I'm not chaperoning you, I’m being a friend.”
“Okay, I guess that doesn’t sound terrible,” Mellori agreed sheepishly, and the three of them followed Catherine’s path to the world door.
They ascended the platform, and Destiny reached into her satchel and pulled out the correct spiral key. She inserted it into the lock and opened the door, gesturing for the others to go first. They stepped out into Bartleby, and Destiny frowned, seeing the dead leaves scattered around the floor of his chamber. An odd, tingly pit formed in her stomach. Something felt…off. She could tell he’d gotten worse.
When they stepped outside, she could hear the great tree groaning. She couldn't understand him, but she was distracted by Shawna before she could stop to try. The fairy was hovering in front of Bartleby and chatting with Arthur Wethersfield, but she looked up at the sight of her friends emerging.
“Destiny! Myrna! How was Polaris? Who’s this? I’m Shawna, I’m a Theurgist! And a fairy. I’m from Avalon. Where are you from?”
Destiny laughed at her friend’s familiarly fast speech. She and Myrna both embraced the third member of their trio eagerly. “We missed you, Shawna,” Destiny smiled. “This is Mellori, she’s from Polaris as well, and she’s come here to study Theurgy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mellori added, offering a hand.
Shawna grabbed it and shook it enthusiastically. “Alright! That’s amazing! Let’s go see Moolinda! She’ll be glad to meet you!”
“Mr Lincoln first,” Destiny interjected. “She has to fill out the paperwork.”
“You do that,” Myrna smiled weakly, her resolve clearly weakened by seeing her best friend again. “I must return to my dorm.”
Destiny nodded. “I’ll send her your way when we’re done,” she whispered. Myrna gave a small smile before leaving.
Shawna waved goodbye as she led Mellori to where Mr Lincoln stood, explaining Ravenwood to the new girl like she once had to Destiny. Mellori listened intently as she filled out the consent and allergy forms, and snipped off a lock of her hair. As soon as they were done, Shawna immediately guided Mellori over to the Life School before Mr Lincoln could even finish his welcome speech.
Destiny half listened to Shawna’s continued explanation as she followed. Shawna GoldHeart and Abby Doodle each had signature RA welcome speeches that worked very well, but they both gave the same one every time. And as much as Destiny loved her friend, she could only listen to the same speech so many times. As her mind wandered, she considered all that she had to get done before she was inevitably summoned again. Besides fully leaving Ravenwood, she had to catch up with Neela, at the very least. But she made a note to go visit Alia as well. The Diviner would definitely want to meet Qyburn, both as a scholar of Astral magic, and as a fellow Celestian. Most of all, though, Destiny really wanted to find Malorn. She hadn’t spoken to him at all since her graduation, even though she had really intended to seek him out before leaving for Polaris. Everything he’d said to her had broken her heart, and his promise to wait for her had remained at the top of her mind. Now, she really needed to see him, both because he was one of her best friends, and because she was realizing that she wanted to be more than that.
She’d had a crush on him for years now. Ever since he'd picked her up and spun her around in circles when she came home with the Spiral Cup all those years ago. She’d been thirteen going on fourteen, he’d been fifteen, and she’d suddenly begun to see him in a brand new light. Destiny had largely been able to ignore her feelings, though Catherine heard all about them on many sleepless nights in foreign worlds. Destiny had, in turn, happily listened to Catherine talk about her own crush back in Krokotopia, Tiye.
After a moment, she realized talking to Malorn was her easiest goal. Under the pretense of saying “hi” to Ivan, Destiny walked out farther past the Life School for a moment, craning her neck to look around to the Death School’s chasm. She spotted him conducting class with a number of apprentices. She’d talk to him as soon as she could, but for now she led her friends inside.
Destiny was the one to introduce Mellori to Professor Wu, and she was glad to see that Mellori seemed to perk up as the conversation continued and she saw she would not be stuck in with the novices. Instead, she’d be assessed and placed in the correct classes for her skill level. Moolinda seemed to take a liking to Mellori, and dismissed the older girls so she could talk more with her new student. Shawna looked excited to start the typical barrage of questions Destiny always answered after returning from a quest, but Destiny stopped her.
“Is Neela around?” she asked first. “I think she and Mellori will get along.”
“Oh I wish! They totally will, won’t they? But no, she’s off in the Sunken City. She’s collecting samples and stuff for Dworgyn. I offered to come, but she said she wanted to fight the Grub herself. She’ll be back tomorrow. But I can’t wait! Tell me all about Polaris! Mellori said you totally saved the world!”
“I’ll explain everything, but you need to talk to Myrna first. She has some big news, and you should hear it from her.”
Shawna frowned, a rare expression for her. “Okay,” she agreed, dropping down to her feet from her previously fluttering wings. Destiny watched her head back to the dorms, knowing they'd have to face the reality of their trio splitting up sooner rather than later. She was not looking forward to it.
Her thoughts were soon interrupted by another familiar voice. “Dez!” it called, and Destiny smiled. She turned back towards it and saw Malorn running right for her. He nearly knocked her over with the force of his hug, catching her off guard for once. Usually the bells on his hat let her know he was nearby.
“Hi,” she giggled, holding on to him tightly for stability’s sake. And also because she was very glad to see him. “I missed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye, as soon as Myrna heard ‘Polaris’ she was ready to go.”
“It’s okay, Dez, really,” he murmured in her ear before pulling back slightly, still not letting go of her. “Don’t apologize for saving us yet again. And I figured as much when I heard her screaming at Cyrus about the key.”
“Yeah. She’s decided to move back permanently. She’s packing up her dorm now. I’ve gotta do the same.”
“Are you sure you’re up to that right now?” he asked, concerned, and she faltered.
She wasn’t, she realized. Myrna was packing up to go back home, but that dorm was all Destiny had ever known as home. In the orphanage, she’d shared a room with ten other girls and had almost no possessions of her own. It had been the only home she’d known for eleven long years, but it had never really been hers. Her dorm and all she’d acquired to decorate it were the first things that had ever fully belonged to her. She had gold saved up, so she could buy a house. But all of a sudden, the realization that she had to leave her first real home was setting in, and she began to cry.
Malorn quickly reached up and wiped her tears away. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right away. Let’s go back to my place. You kind of look like you need a nap.”
“Are you sure?” she sniffed, trying to hold her voice steady. “I mean, I can just go back to my dorm. I can sleep there”
“Dez,” he said softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and cupping her cheek. Her heart melted a little. He'd always called her that, and he’d always been the only one who did. “I told you at your graduation that I’d be here for you. Here I am. C’mon, let me do this for you. I’ll make us some food, too. Seriously, I’m happy to.”
“Okay,” she sniffed and grabbed his hand tightly. She’d realized that she absolutely did not want to let go of him. He led her gently towards the tunnel to the Commons, on the way to Olde Town. Destiny ducked her head as everyone they passed stared at her. She hated her reputation, and hated the way everyone seemed to revere her. Everyone called her a hero, sure, and she was proud of what she’d done for the most part, but all she’d ever wanted was to fit in. When she’d first enrolled, she’d thought she finally would, but as soon as she became Ambrose’s favorite student, that dream was dashed. And even in the Spiral, her eyes and her visions still set her apart.
Malorn didn't treat her differently, though. He never had. He’d always been kind to her, and he’d always understood her. Even now, he just guided her down the familiar route to his apartment, unlocking the door and leading her inside. He led her to his bedroom without a second thought and pulled back the rumpled covers, finally releasing her hand. Her own hand felt empty now. “Sleep please, Dez,” he begged. “You’re crashing right now, I can tell.”
She couldn't argue, so she unlaced her boots, pulled off her satchel and coat, piled them on a chair with her staff, and climbed into his bed at his insistence. His sheets smelled like him, fresh grave dirt and the Wisterian cologne he’d taken a liking to after she’d gotten him a bottle as a souvenir. She closed her eyes and slipped into slumber quickly, not noticing his smile as he watched her drift off.
Dreams came, as they always did, but these ones were bad. She saw flashes of Malistaire stealing Bartleby’s eye, of the great tree’s roots drying up, and of a grove of smaller white trees that had already died, floating in the aethyr. She saw herself standing in the grove, growing roots from her feet and branches from her arms, surrounded by dead husks of all the school trees. Raven looked over the scene with a disapproving glare.
Destiny began to panic, until suddenly a voice called and she was startled awake. “Destiny, it’s okay! You were having a nightmare.”
She opened her eyes with a start to see Malorn crouched down to her eye level, his hand on her shoulder. It was dark outside the window, and he’d taken off his own shoes, hat, and outer layers. She could smell something cooking.
Realizing her cheeks were wet, Destiny sat up quickly, wiping her eyes and pushing back her now horribly tangled curls. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them as she breathed heavily. “I’m fine. I have them a lot,” she admitted. “They’re like my visions, but they’re not always as literal. The dreams are usually more symbolic of something coming or that’s already happened, but the visions show me events exactly as they play out.”
Malorn sat down on the bed as well, looking at her sympathetically. “That sounds pretty terrifying,” he offered with a frown.
She snorted. “Yeah. I’ve had them since I was a kid back on Earth. They weren’t so clear back then, since there wasn’t much mana, but they still made me weird. I was so excited when I came here and thought I had an explanation, but I’m still a freak. No one else has these visions, and no one knows why I do.”
“Hey, you’re not a freak. I’ve always thought your visions were cool. You’re powerful, that’s all.”
“I never wanted to be powerful. I just wanted to be normal. But everyone’s always known I’m not. They pick me out and tear me apart for it. Like, when I was a kid, I had this crush on a boy at school, and I thought he liked me, too. But one time, when I thought he was gonna kiss me under the slide, he rolled his eyes back in his head and started screaming. He was making fun of me. That’s how everyone treated me. It’s not much better coming here and having everyone still think my visions are weird, and being scared of me, or jealous that I’m Ambrose’s pet.”
She’d brought up her feelings about the subject to Malorn before, but never in depth like this. Destiny looked up and met his eyes, half expecting him to look confused or annoyed. She knew she should be grateful for being naturally gifted, but she really just wanted to be like everyone else. At this point, though, she knew full well that would never happen.
The only thing in Malorn’s eyes, however, was kindness. He was quiet for a moment, thinking, before he began to speak. “There’s this girl who was here before you. Her name was Maria CloudCoin. She was a Diviner, and I had the biggest crush on her years ago, back before Malistaire left. Right after he did, everyone was really suspicious of his students. I mean, you saw some of it, but it was even worse early on. And she really, really thought we were going to follow in his footsteps. Right after Ambrose asked me to start teaching everyone who didn’t move to independent study, she marched right up to me and said she knew that I was recruiting new students to be in Malistaire’s evil army. She smacked me, right there in Ravenwood, and she got in really big trouble with Cyrus. I think he got her expelled. But after that, people still seemed to take her accusations seriously. Most people are over it now, and they all seem to like me well enough, but I still have to explain myself sometimes, especially since Duncan left. And I’m glad that I have this job. I like teaching young students. But I still feel like I’m carrying all this weight on my shoulders just to still be called evil. I know it’s not the same, but… I get it Dez, you know? And you never have to apologize for how you feel. Not to me.”
Destiny’s tears returned as she listened to Malorn’s story. She lowered her knees to sit cross-legged, reaching out her hands to take his. “I’m sorry, Malorn. I didn’t realize you were still dealing with that.”
“It’s not really common anymore, mostly thanks to you. People generally seem to like me now, I think. They like you, too. They’re just a little intimidated.”
Destiny sighed. “Of course they like you, you’re amazing. I don’t think they’ll come around the same way for me.”
“Sure they will. One day, everyone’s going to recognize all the amazing things I’ve always seen in you."
“Well, thank you. I hope you’re right,” she responded simply, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by Malorn’s confidence in her good qualities.
“I know I am,” he grinned. “They will come around. And not just because you’re beautiful, because according to Neela that’s a part of why everyone came around on me. I don’t think that’s fully true, though.”
This caught Destiny completely off guard. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“I don’t just think you’re beautiful, Dez,” he remarked so casually she thought she might die, “It's an objective fact.”
Destiny let out a high pitched laugh, trying to cover how fast her heart was beating. “Thank you for saying that, if it’s true. But what do you mean about Neela?”
She knew exactly what he meant. Malorn was really cute, and all the novices noticed it. Neela had mentioned her classmates being jealous of Destiny and Malorn’s friendship, and Destiny had personally observed plenty of young students attempting to flirt with him. But she hadn’t realized Malorn knew about all that.
“I meant that Neela told me there are some kids that choose to be Necromancers because they think I’m cute. But seriously, I think she’s just messing with me.”
“No,” Destiny sighed, “she’s right. I’ve seen it too. It makes sense, you are really cute.”
Malorn’s tan cheeks tinged with pink, and she realized they’ve just made their position rather compromising. “Really?” he asked, suddenly very awkward, and Destiny buried her face in her palms to hide her own blush.
“Yeah, of course,” she responded, though it’s garbled a little by her hands. “You’ve got that mysterious vibe, you know? And you are good-looking.” She finally looked up to see him grinning like an idiot.
“You think so? You’re not messing with me?”
She rolled her eyes and moved again, sitting up on her knees. “Of course not. I have eyes. And I know you. How come I’m supposed to just accept that I’m beautiful, but you don’t believe you’re cute?”
He laughed, and seemed to speak before he could catch himself. “Because I and everyone else in the world have eyes, too. But I’m trying to figure out if I'm cute enough that you wouldn’t mind if I-” he cut himself off, looking embarrassed.
“If you what?” she asked, breathless as her heart skipped a beat.
“If I kissed you,” he said finally, breaking her gaze. “I’m sorry, Dez, I made it weird.”
Destiny's brain went blank. She could only stare at Malorn for a moment as she slowly processed that he was harboring the same feelings for her that she felt for him. As it finally clicked in her mind, she immediately reached up to touch his cheek. “Actually,” she began shyly, “I’d really like it if you kissed me right now.”
He instantly looked up at her, searching her eyes to make sure she was serious. When he saw that she was, he quickly leaned forward to capture her lips with his, one hand beside her on the mattress for balance as the other cupped her jaw. Her hands found their way to his jaw as well, and she smiled as she kissed him back enthusiastically.
When they finally broke the kiss, she couldn't do anything but stare into his eyes, an uncontrollable smile on her face. He seemed much the same, planting another brief kiss on her lips.
“Stay the night here,” he offered. “I made varenyky, like you showed me a few months ago. It’s all ready. And tomorrow, I’ll help you clean out your dorm. But you really deserve to just rest, and relax.”
“Oh, Malorn,” she sighed, “thank you.” She was a little overwhelmed by his care. Varenyky, cooked just like the nuns made it, had always been her favorite food, especially when she was upset. She’d shown him how to make it a little while after her defeat of Morganthe, when he’d wanted to help her cope with her guilt over Azteca and everything else. She was honored he’d remembered how to make it.
“I really appreciate it,” she continued, “but I don’t want to impose on you. You don't have to always take care of me or anything.” She wasn’t quite sure how they stood. Was he offering out of obligation? Did he really want her to stay? Were they still just friends, or did he also want to be something more? She felt like she had to clarify. If she assumed, she could ruin everything.
“Destiny,” he snorted, taking a hold of her hands, “I offered. I told you I’m here for you, and I mean it. I like taking care of you, and I know you’d do the same for me. You’ll have to get used to this if we’re going to… well you know.”
“If we’re going to what?” she asked, her stomach fluttering. She really hoped she knew where this was going.
“Well, I’d like to ask you to be my girlfriend. And I was really hoping you’d say yes. But if you do, you’ll definitely have to get used to me taking care of you when you need it.”
Destiny beamed. She couldn't help it. “Okay, fine. I accept your terms, Ashthorn.”
He laughed. “Glad we could reach an agreement, DreamWielder.” He leaned in for another kiss, and Destiny sighed as their lips met again. The scholars were going to call her back again soon. She’d been initiated into the Arcanum. Ravenwood wasn’t her home anymore. She needed to find a new house. Myrna was leaving. Shawna wouldn't be her neighbor anymore. Everything was changing. But that didn't matter right now. This new relationship with Malorn was definitely a change, but it was a really, really good one. One she’d wanted for a long time. And she really wanted to stay like this, with him, forever.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Wizard101 (Video Game)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Grandmother Raven/Baba Yaga (implied), Lady Nightstar | Grandmother Raven/Old Cob | Grandfather Spider, it's complicated its all so complicated
Characters: Mellori (Wizard101), Old Cob | Grandfather Spider, Baba Yaga (Wizard101), Lady Nightstar | Grandmother Raven
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Implied Relationships, exploration of one piece of dialogue, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Family Dynamics, :'), heavily inspired by items i'll put in the notes
Summary:
He makes a long sound of pondering. What a strange world, he seemed to be saying within the sound. What a strange world that makes strange things like these and calls them witches children.
hey besties... i actually made an attempt at writing wiz fic last night... enjoy da bullshit :3 !!!!
