D’Argen was walking down one of the hallways that led to his rooms in the castle. It was a nicer one, where one side was covered in the white marble that was a signature of the castle, while the other side was completely covered in glass. The windows were huge, the stone pillars between them thin, and D’Argen was always in awe at the large sheets of glass, something extremely hard to come by.
Past them, he saw the trees swaying with a strong wind. It was too early for a spring storm. When the faint scent of dew wafted over him, he thought of Lilian but then immediately got distracted when he saw two mortal staff members ahead of him. They had one of the giant glass panels swung inward, cleaning it, and leaving the hallway open to the cool breeze outside.
He passed them with a smile and as soon as he was gone he felt a new scent waft over him. He knew that one. It was his own sweat. Since returning to the castle, he had just gone from one meeting to another and had yet to return to his own rooms and change robes, let alone take a bath.
He rubbed at that sore spot under his ribs as he considered whether he should indulge himself and order for a bath to be drawn up in his rooms rather than go to the communal baths underground. He definitely wanted to clean himself up before he met with the others.
Especially Lilian. They had a habit of scrunching their nose in this really cute way, not that he would ever tell them it was cute, whenever D’Argen forewent bathing for longer periods of time.
Thinking of Lilian, he decided to skip ordering a bath as it would be quicker to use the communal ones. Lilian had been alone with Vain, of all people. Vain was a know-it-all. Nobody liked Vain.
That was a lie.
Everybody loved Vain. Even D’Argen liked the man, even if his perfect memory sometimes freaked him out.
“Do you know what it means to have perfect recall of the last few thousand years?” Vain had asked him once when D’Argen thought it would be quicker to ask the head scholar a question rather than spend hours looking for the right books for the answer. “It means sorting through everything on a regular basis.”
At the time, D’Argen had not understood it and had thought the man was just brushing him off. He had been annoyed. Two months later, Vain found him and answered his original question. D’Argen had, at that point, completely forgotten what he had even asked. It was only then that he realized how hard Vain had it.
But nobody had the patience to deal with Vain sorting his memory. And Lilian barely had the patience to deal with D’Argen when he was in one of his manic moods.
As he turned the corner and spotted the doors to his rooms, the pressure under his ribs narrowed down and then dug deeper. He paused and pressed down on it. As if his hand pressing on it was enough, the pressure increased and moved deeper into his body, past his organs and into something more. It turned sharp.
Three mortals were walking towards him with woven baskets filled with linens. They were chatting but stopped as soon as they noticed him. One smiled, a shy blush painting the man’s cheeks and his eyes quickly darting away.
D’Argen tried to smile back but an intense tingle under his ear, something that felt like lightning hitting that tiny spot, had him snapping his head to the side in surprise. He accepted the message though, the magic of a long distance communication spell wafting over him and then he heard Vain’s voice.
He was panicking. Vain did not panic. He was calm and collected and almost cold in his interactions sometimes. But the panic was clear in his voice and D’Argen felt his feet moving even before the words registered.
Then the sharp stab inside him grew.
He knew that pain.
D’Argen did not even realize he had opened his mahee until he burst through a set of ajar doors and slid to a stop to a scene that shocked him into stillness.
Abbot was sitting on the ground, his hair and clothes in complete disarray as he was buffeted by strong winds in the closed space. Vain was kneeling behind him, hands on his shoulders to keep him steady even though the wind was also tearing his long black hair about, free of its standard braid.
And in the middle of the room was Lilian. The winds that swirled around their small form were strong enough to push all furniture away and their feet were off the ground. But the most worrying part was the blood that covered their arms.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“What is going on?” D’Argen heard a voice behind him but ignored it.
“Lilian?” he asked. He received no response.
He took a step closer and the winds he had only seen until now started pushing at him. That pressure under his ribs increased. “Lilian!” he called louder but still no response. It was as if Lilian could not hear him at all.
He took another few steps closer and the wind turned sharper. Vain reached for him, grabbing his robe. He looked back at the scholar and though the panic was clear in his eyes, he could not hear a word he said. He yanked his robes out of the scholar’s grip and stepped closer. The wind turned sharp enough to cut. He watched as Lilian's silk shirt tore at the waist. Then the skin under it ripped apart.
Without thinking about it, D’Argen yanked his mahee open and ran right at Lilian. He passed through their winds and crashed bodily into them, sending them both toppling to the ground with him on top.
The winds slowed down and suddenly sound returned.
Lilian was screaming.
“What is it? Lilian! It’s me!” D’Argen started calling but small hands started pounding on his chest. When one of them punched him across a fresh cut on his cheek, he grabbed it. The winds increased and he yelled Lilian’s name again but could not even hear his own voice.
Lilian hit him with their free hand and warm blood covered D’Argen’s chin. He quickly realized it was not his own. He grabbed that arm too and slammed both of Lilian’s hands to the ground. The winds cut at his robes and tried to throw him off. He opened his mahee and used it to push down, keeping him locked in place. Then his hands became slippery. A quick glance revealed that they were covered in blood and more of it was pooling under Lilian’s arms on the light wooden floor.
He called Lilian’s name again but did not hear it.
Suddenly, the winds died down. D’Argen was so surprised by it that his entire body dropped on top of Lilian and he heard a grunt of pain. He quickly recovered, standing up, but Lilian was now… crying.
“I want to go home,” Lilian muttered through their sobs.
D’Argen heard a commotion behind him, more voices joining Vain’s and Abbot’s. he ignored them to focus on Lilian.
“Who hurt you? What’s going on?” D’Argen asked, his voice turning into a tremble.
Lilian was babbling something, their voice cracking and weak. D’Argen heard the words “home” and “together” and “tired”. Hearing that, he did not want to know the answer to his first question. He already suspected it.
Lilian suddenly sagged under him, tears pouring out of their light eyes. The pressure under his ribs, the one that stabbed at his mahee, decreased.
“What is going on?!” A yell behind him, one that sounded too much like Acela, made him flinch.
Lilian started struggling once more, yelling and swearing like D’Argen had never heard them before. He could do nothing but bear his weight down on their arms and twist his legs through Lilian’s, locking them in place. Their cries felt more painful than the stab that returned under his ribs. The commotion behind him died out once more as the winds started tearing at his robes, his hair, his skin. Then they started tearing Lilian apart as well. The skin on their face started splitting in long lines, their loose hair started splintering and flying, and the silk shirt they wore turned to ribbons.
Everything suddenly stopped when a single drop of D’Argen’s blood fell on Lilian’s face.
They stared up at him with wide, wet eyes. For the first time since D’Argen arrived, he felt like Lilian was actually looking at him, not through him. Lilian’s entire face crumpled up and then they closed their eyes tight. D’Argen felt them tense their arms under him and the slick of their blood was already sticking his fingers together. But the stab inside him faded away once more.
D’Argen had no idea how he had missed this. He knew that Lilian was sensitive. He knew that Lilian had once before tried to harm themselves. He saw that now, for some reason, it worked.
Lilian was still breathing heavily, heaving sobs and the occasional hiccup. Their arms were slack. D’Argen was afraid to let go only because he felt the torn skin under his palms. It would heal on its own if he let go. Right? He glanced a quick look over his shoulder, knowing his own panic was clear on his face.
Yaling was standing at the closed doors, leaning against them. He had no idea when she got there and in the room. Abbot was sitting where he had been earlier. Vain was leaning against the toppled chaise nearby. All three of them looked so afraid. A pounding at the door had Yaling shake under its strength but she held fast.
“What happened?” someone asked.
When D’Argen noticed both Yaling and Abbot shrug, he looked at Vain. The scholar was staring at him with wide eyes, wet tracks running down his cheeks and his mouth clenched tight. It was only then that D’Argen realized the words fell from his own lips. He looked back down at Lilian who had gone silent. Tears were still streaming from their eyes.
“Lilian? What is it?” He forced the words out, not really sure what he was asking until he heard his own question.
“I want to go home,” they answered in a whisper.
“We… we are home…” D’Argen tried to reassure.
When Lilian turned to look at him, their eyes narrowed and wet and spilling, they looked so angry. The inner edge of their lips was darker than the rest and it took D’Argen too long to realize it was probably blood.
“Fuck you,” Lilian spat out, venom lacing the words.
D’Argen flinched. The pressure under his hands increased as Lilian tried once more to throw him off.
“I’m here,” D’Argen said quietly, bearing his weight down again. He was not sure if he was doing more harm than good but feeling Lilian under him, alive and thrashing, even if in anger, was a comfort he did not realize he needed. “We’re home, Lilian. We’re home.”
“This is not my home,” Lilian spat out again and blood speckled D'Argen's face.
The runner had no response.