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Chapter Text

Sometimes in the dead of night, under a sky with painted stars, Malleus ponders his minuscule wonders, weaving the threads of an answer into a tapestry of his own making. 

He cares not for reality in this practice. He only cares about his perception and what he can intuit. Such reckless meanderings act as a form of meditation, stimulating the imagination and enticement vital to the art of magecraft. 

More often than not, these curiosities comb through the most nonsensical things: “What is the taste of chocolate?” “How are humans incubated in farms?” “What is the look of a home?” 

These things would be obvious to anyone else, but for Malleus, they were an endless font of contemplation. Like puzzles with no pictures, he put the pieces together through trial and error, ignorant of whether he was getting closer or farther away from the truth. He often passed the days this way, his soul lost to a sea of his creation.

Yet in some rare cases… That serene sea would be churned by the promise of a violent storm.

These ‘rare’ cases had become more frequent as of late, for the Briar Valley was not scarce in things that perplexed him. Human emotions, the expectations of the faeries, and the meaning of his role as the Child of Prophecy; he cupped these concepts in his palms like fresh spring water, ignorant of their importance as they dripped down into the lake.

He could not comprehend these ripples. And in the eves of twilight, when Malleus should feel the most at peace, the storm of madness before his eyes…

It refused to abate, despite only being a shadow of what it once was.

Malleus closed his eyes. He closed his eyes to the whirling storm and took a deep breath, tasting the bustling of a Fae Domain on his lips. The Faerie Lord’s fluttering mana, equalizing and indiscriminate, did not match this world he perceived to be grotesque and hideous.

A discrepancy that contradicted the presence of the storm. Through that one action, a mental separation slid into the cracks of his mind. Everything unpleasant was packed in and suppressed, allowing the light of reality to seep through. Gone were the dismal wanderings of a dragon that greedily ate what he should not. All that remained was the emptiness, giving him back a sight he could tolerate.

And the first thing he saw was Sebek.

Under the light of the stars, Sebek’s sleeping form could be mistaken for the shroud of a Nightcall, hiding bones and dead-white hands. But despite the macabre comparison, something in Malleus’ chest softened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to comb his hands through the half-fae’s wild green hair as he dreamt.

He could wish him good dreams that way. Ensure that he would never wake from night terrors again. It would be a token of his affection for this spinster who betrayed everything he knew and loved just to save him. 

To save him…

Before his hands could card gently through the half-fae’s hair, Malleus sighed, then stepped away. It was too intimate a gesture; too shallow a recompense. His whims were not an appropriate way to reward Sebek, nor the best way to show his gratitude.

…But he didn’t know how else to repay him at this time.

(Back in the place he called home, the touch of another creature was a momentous occasion, carved deep into his memory. The insect faeries and low-intelligence seasonal faeries always refused to get close to him, choosing to preserve their lives even as they threw their voices to bridge the gap they made.

Malleus cannot remember the last time anyone got close to him like that.

So nothing could be more special. He could not fathom anything more precious.)

Looking away from Sebek, he instead turned to the world outside the window, where the streets of Gloucester bustled with extant life. In many other places, like the villages he passed by and the caravans he observed, the changing colors of the sky would dampen the energy of the residents, dyeing their souls with thoughts of rest and recuperation. But big cities were proving to be the exception to this rule, with Gloucester standing at the pinnacle of what he imagined a ‘nightlife city’ should look like.

High-ranking faeries were followed by their exhausted human servants. Department store cashiers were ringing up every purchase they could squeeze. Dozens of faeries wearing a new, exciting ‘trend’ walked together in droves, competing and conversing amongst themselves as they tried to guess when the next change of the tides would come.

Malleus didn’t feel very motivated to step onto such crowded streets, but the sight of all those stores stirred up an idea. Would there be something Sebek would appreciate, somewhere in the countless aisles and displays? Would an expensive gift not make for a more grandiose statement?

It was a possibility that the dragon fae couldn’t resist.

Taking a small amount from the thaumarks they received from Aurora, Malleus smiled with an air of purpose. Tonight, he would search for a suitable reward for Sebek. It was a task he was committed to, and the resolve he shored up at that moment manifested in a pair of jet-black wings.

Opening the window to their room, Malleus jumped off the frame and flew.

Or more precisely, he slowed his fall and blended into the shadows of a cramped alley before re-emerging from the darkness like a true creature of the night.

Verily, he was living up to his bloodline. Malleus chuckled under his breath, and while riding the mirth of his frankly low-bar humor, he stepped out onto the lamp-lit streets of the City of Trends, Gloucester.

The gaudy atmosphere swept him away from there.

His heels tapped across the cobblestone, carrying him from store to store to find the perfect gift. Having a discerning eye, however, was difficult when everything caught his attention. Anything someone could ever want was gathered in this city, from glittering emeralds to practical outerwear. Malleus was possessed by the spirit of an avid window shopper scouring the land for his ideal purchase.

But as time went on and his search spread widened, Malleus came to learn one thing: A window shopper was all he could be.

Even if he scraped together everything he had of value, it wouldn’t be enough to afford the smallest accessory from Spriggan & Capless. All the prices were meant to appeal to those of a high-class status, regardless of the worth of the object. And Malleus, the prince of a backwater recluse subsisting on a loan he shared with another, could not hope to buy any of these items even if he worked a whole human lifetime.

Discouraged by this realization, he stopped in front of a jewelry shop and peered through the window.

‘Those hair clips would complement him well.’ He thought as he spied a pair of hair clips decorated with shimmering scales. With how often Sebek’s hair fell into his eyes these days, those clips would be a most suitable gift.

But the sentiment would remain a sentiment, and Malleus could only return to their inn empty-handed.

Some part of him, buried deep within his heart, trembled in resigned anger. He hadn’t expected things to go well from the start, but being so incapable of caring for another person made him feel like striking down the next faerie to look at him oddly. The indignity and self-inflicted humiliation that followed pierced through his dragon’s pride, turning Malleus’ lips down into a scowl.

Crossing his arms, he spun on his heel and marched farther down the street. The few citizens who were still up this late at night gave him a wide berth, tasting the frizzling ozone that hounded his steps. To those faeries, Malleus felt like a barrel of gunpowder, ready and raring to explode from the heat smoldering in his lungs.

No one would dare approach him. No one would dare catch his attention. It was an invitation of wrath in and of itself.

There was nothing that would have been able to intercept him.

…But exceptions can always be found.

As Malleus passed by an aging oak tree, he paused. The burning wick known as impatience went out, and his heart was cooled by the sound of something suddenly falling to the ground. It thunked against the polished cobblestone right where his feet would have stepped. Seized by a burst of curiosity, he looked down to see what it was.

“...A heel?”

He reached out, gingerly picking up the black military heel that felt fit to obstruct his path. It was a beautiful thing if one paid attention to its subtle details. What he thought was just a plain one-color heel was hiding a shimmering pattern, white and flowing like the whorls of a milky river.

The epiphany struck Malleus like a hammer to the head. He knew this heel. It had haunted him in visions, flashing through his mind while the world around him broke down in war.

The realization made him stiffen. Against his better judgment, he glanced up.

An unclad foot swayed from where it hung off a branch, enticing him to keep his eyes moving despite the voice in his head telling him to look away. He felt like a thrall under a spell. There was nothing he could do to stop himself from turning; to stop himself from obeying his base instincts that yearned for the conclusion of this mystery.

He didn’t regret it at all.

Beneath the shade of the tree, slumped against the trunk while nestled in a nest of branches, the owner of the heel came into view. His silver hair glowed like moonlight beneath the cover of the leaves, and his uncovered limbs were dark like the grasping night. He wore a resplendent black suit over a cornflower blue vest that hugged his body snugly, gracefully tracing his natural features in a way that emphasized his beauty.

And hanging over his face was a rose-motif cloth mask that obscured his eyes from view. Similarly shaped rose accessories pinned the mask to his hair, but their protection was almost flimsy if not for the fact that no one would dare to snatch it off.

It was a boy Malleus hadn’t seen since the Siege of Sheffield. It was the warrior who dealt him blows that left phantom pains that still hadn’t faded.

It was–

“Fae Knight Lancelot…” Malleus muttered, his grip on the heel slackening.

What was he doing here?

Perhaps it was a foolish decision, but Malleus found himself stepping closer to the tree, walking into its shadow just so he could tilt his head even further up. He watched as the Fae Knight’s head lolled against the branches, his chest moving up and down in gentle patterns that spoke volumes about how relaxed he was. It was a state Malleus had only seen him in once, when he and Sebek successfully fled from the siege.

Lancelot was asleep.

For some reason, that piece of knowledge made Malleus’ eyes trail downward until he was left staring at the Fae Knight’s unclad foot.

‘Should I return this?’ He asked himself, the heel burning in his hand like a chunk of hot coal. ‘He must be in deep sleep if he hasn’t noticed his shoe fall off.’

Returning Lancelot’s belongings wasn't a terrible move, Malleus debated. Gloucester was a city that forbade violence universally, based on what Sebek said, meaning that this rule applied to Fae Knights as well. If there ever was an opportunity to speak with one of Meleanor’s trusted aides without getting killed on sight, this was it.

(Malleus ignored the trembling sense of excitement sending shivers down his spine. He told himself it was anxiety; a more rational emotion to be feeling before the other dragon fae.)

“Lancelot,” he called out, trying to get him to wake. “Lancelot, come down.”

The Fae Knight did not respond, for he was trapped in the throes of dreams. Not even the loudest faeries could rouse the slumbering knight now, let alone the dulcet tones of a naturally low-speaking boy.

Finding his efforts going nowhere, Malleus sighed and glanced at the heel he was holding once more. It was such an innocuous thing, yet it was giving him hurdles he hadn’t been prepared to face tonight. 

It was also rather out of place in his image of Lancelot. While the Fae Knight wore heels to battle, they were armored and made to hurt anything he kicked. This heel was delicate; an item made for dancing with steps lighter than air. Was it custom-made to fit him? Or had it fallen from his ankle because it was just some common apparel he wore on occasion?

Silently, he traced the flaps of the heel and compared them to the curves of Lancelot’s ankle, then stopped himself hurriedly. 

‘What am I thinking?!’ He shrieked at himself, mortified. He had to cease these ideas immediately!

Just give it back. Just give it back. Just give it back. Malleus repeated this train of thought endlessly as he spurred his limbs into action. 

Clamping the heel between his fangs, Malleus grabbed the nearest branch and hoisted himself upward, climbing the old oak tree with great dexterity. His foot stepped on one branch while his nails dug into a crack, each ascent getting him closer to his goal.

Eventually, he made it to a branch right underneath where Lancelot was sleeping. He slipped the heel out of his mouth, wiping away any trace of his rough handling before looking towards his goal: Lancelot’s foot. Slowly, he reached up, fingers gently grasping the Fae Knight's ankle as he slipped the heel back onto its rightful owner, wriggling it in a bit to secure it better.

‘There. It is done.’ 

Malleus breathed a sigh of relief, but the jitters that followed him still hadn't gone away. He could feel his fingers tingling, exhilarated by the rush of getting so close to someone he knew was his enemy. Even with his gloves as a barrier, the touch of Lancelot’s skin was scalding, yet it was impossible to pry his hand loose.

Where was his propriety? His decorum?! Every lesson on common decency vanished like mist as curiosity overtook him. Was skin contact usually this dizzying?

That was when the worst-case scenario happened.

“Mm… What are you doing with my heel, Child of Prophecy?”

A sleep-riddled, soft, and dreamy voice called out to him from above.

Malleus ripped his hand away, scandalized at being caught in… whatever depraved act he was committing! He quickly hid the offending limb from view like a killer disposing of a murder weapon, all while trying desperately to keep his panic off his face.

‘If I don’t say anything, he might tacitly agree to never speak of this again.’ He hoped against all hope.

Unfortunately, the now awakened Lancelot was regarding him silently, his expression unreadable beneath the veneer that was his mask.

“...Touching someone’s bare ankle is indecent behavior. This goes double when the skin you’re caressing belongs to a former enemy,” the Fae Knight listed neutrally, his statements like a damning sentence. “Was your courtesy towards me in Sheffield a lie?”

Malleus looked up at that, placing them face-to-face with each other for the first time since the invasion. At first, the sight of him made invisible bruises ache across his skin, the phantom pain of the blows the other delivered previously strumming through his nerves in remembrance. But past the flare of pain dancing through his muscles, the sharp tang of vexation gnawed at the Child of Prophecy; an emotion born of Lancelot’s accusation and the cloth mask obscuring his eyes from view.

“What I said to you was no lie,” he defended fiercely, “Your heel fell while you were sleeping. I was merely returning it to you.”

“It fell?” Lancelot parroted inquisitively, lifting his dangling leg to see. There were patches of dirt covering one side of the shoe, as well as an odd displacement between the sole and the body. “Oh, so it did.”

He braced his foot against the branch and brought his knee to his chest, keeping a remarkable sense of balance as he reassessed the situation.

“Most faeries would have absconded with it as soon as they made a token effort to wake me. That you chose to climb up to this height just to return it to me is… weird.”

First, he’s a danger to public morals, and now he’s weird. Why was this Fae Knight now so hard to read? He was rather open back in Sheffield.

“Is it so strange?” Malleus asked with his arms crossed. “I believe the most mystifying thing is your presence here. Tell me, do you often fall asleep in places most people wouldn’t dare to reach?”

The silent accusation laced in his question made Lancelot go quiet. While his lips didn’t so much as twitch, he slowly shifted his head to the side like he was unable to withstand Malleus’ gaze.

“You already know the answer to that,” Lancelot replied calmly, but Malleus could see the tips of his red ears peeking out from behind his hair. It was a sight that had him biting his tongue to keep himself from screaming. “And you should also know that my appearance here… isn't a coincidence.”

The Child of Prophecy swallowed something that tasted like anticipation.

“Then why have you chosen to come?” Made a little wiser by the many incidents that occurred between Sheffield and Gloucester, Malleus' countenance grew more serious. “You made your fidelity to the Queen quite obvious in Sheffield.”

Lancelot cast his gaze downward, his rose-detailed mask staring Malleus dead in the eye. “I’m here because I wanted to meet you again,” he said unhesitantly.

Whatever gravitas Malleus managed to scourge together was annihilated instantly. The Knight of the Lake’s gentle sincerity was plain to even Malleus’ truth-seeing eyes. It was that purity, that stoic determination, that caught Malleus off guard before scrambling his mind to pieces. 

The Child of Prophecy suddenly had the overwhelming desire to throw himself off the tree, consequences be damned. But none of his limbs responded to his commands, paralyzed by the implication of Lancelot’s words. The only thing he could move now was his mouth, which shot off faster than he could think. 

“You wanted to meet me?” Malleus uttered, perplexed.

Lancelot nodded solemnly. “The dialogue we had at Sheffield was… insufficient in many ways. I tried to accept it for what it was, but then found my thoughts drifting to you the more I tried to convince myself. That’s why I wanted to meet you again. I want to settle this dissatisfaction as quickly and directly as possible.”

“I see…” A brief spike of disappointment pierced through Malleus’ ribs, but he suppressed it quickly. “That’s why you came to Gloucester. In Muryan’s territory, you could not capture me even if you wanted to. Therefore, your only option to confront me is to engage me in conversation.” It was the same logic Malleus used earlier when he first approached Lancelot.

The Fae Knight nodded again. “The Queen’s Army needs special permission from Lord Muryan to act freely in this city, but I’m not here on official business. My swords are sheathed while I’m in this city, and Her Majesty has had my wings clipped. I am incapable of matching you on even ground as I am currently, which is why speaking with you is all I can do.”

“So why not take advantage of a potentially free exchange of information?”

“…In a manner of speaking, that is what I came here for...”

At Lancelot’s quiet reply, Malleus’ gaze slowly began to soften. The Fae Knight had an odd hesitance about him now, like part of his resolution had gotten lost somewhere in their talk, and he didn’t know how to advance without it. Perhaps he was reading too much into things, but that small sign of uncertainty melted through whatever remained of his caution. 

‘If a discussion is what he wants…’

Malleus swung his legs over the branch he was sitting on, shifting his posture so he could look out at the city proper. The auditorium where auctions were held towered over the rest of the buildings in the city, with lights and music pouring out of the grand windows that didn’t reveal a thing of what was happening inside.

“How are you not anguished by the loss of your wings?” He asked after a moment. “They may still rest against your back, but being unable to fly… Does the sky not call to you, Lancelot?”

Those born with wings would always yearn for the clouds above. It was a sentiment, an instinct, imprinted deep in Malleus’ soul. He knew what it was like to be chained to the ground, shackled by invisible leashes that held tight without mercy. To be kept from the sky was like intentionally letting a limb atrophy; muscles and fibers rotting away until the wings that once gave so much freedom were nothing more than broken mantles dragging behind one’s back.

That same sentiment was why Malleus could hardly believe Aurora’s testimony. No dragon fae would willingly ask to have their wings clipped, even if it was as non-harmful as the prohibition of flight. He only reluctantly accepted it because she wasn’t lying. 

He couldn’t stifle his morbid curiosity over it. And if he was being honest with himself, he could admit to some concern, too. They were both dragon faeries, two people with the same set of base instincts, meaning that Malleus knew Lancelot’s current struggle better than anyone.

He just needed to know why.

Lancelot was initially reserved as he contemplated the question, the answers Malleus was looking for gradually forming on his tongue. When he spoke, the noise of the city almost seemed to fade away, like the air itself was barricading their talk from unwanted interruptions.

“You might not know this, but I gave up my ability to fly of my own volition,” the Knight of the Lake began. “When I allowed you to escape from Sheffield, I had to be punished for my negligence. I volunteered to have my privileges stripped from me because it allowed Her Majesty to discipline me properly without resorting to extreme violence.”

“I have heard about that,” Malleus admitted.

“Have the rumors already spread that far?” Lancelot asked, unaware of the way Malleus stiffened his shoulders. “Well, regardless, I chose this punishment because it was appropriate for my crimes and wouldn’t result in needless death. It’s also something I’m capable of enduring. Being flightless doesn’t hinder my ability to destroy Mors clusters even if my response time has been slowed, and it serves as a limitation I can benefit from when I train.”

Malleus tilted his head upward, staring at the other inquisitively. “Do you enjoy practicing a knight’s techniques?”

The other dragon fae hummed, his gaze landing on Malleus once more as he replied. “I do. Training your body also trains your mind, allowing me to make full use of the combat experience I received from the Saint Graph of my namesake. It might not be necessary for me, but relying on technique instead of raw power lets me hold back in battle without actually restraining myself.”

The utter beatdown he and Sebek suffered in Sheffield was Lancelot ‘holding back’? The aches that still haunted Malleus’ waking moments were from Lancelot acting under restraints?

“Ah... that's admirable,” Malleus said honestly, rubbing his hand against his neck to hide the heat creeping up his skin. “But why are you constantly holding back? Wouldn’t you be able to fulfill your duties better if you used every asset at your disposal?”

Something in Lancelot’s movements stuttered at his question before recovering in the blink of an eye.

“The reason might sound stupid coming from someone who fired artillery into a city, but… I don’t like hurting people unnecessarily.” Lancelot huffed a little, his lips forming a tense line. “By using combat techniques, I can control the situation around me to some extent and cut down the probability of accidents. My Fath– mentor taught me that mastering precision strikes was the only way for me to adhere to both my desires and my duties, so I decided to put my all into that ability.”

“That’s why you only had bannermen with you at the rear gate.” 

Malleus remembered the scene like it was yesterday. Despite the appearance of a Fae Knight, a lot of civilians slipped through the gate and made it to the shelter. Many of them claimed that they had only been pursued by a small battalion, which was odd when one took into account the person leading them.

But Lancelot shook his head. “I only led that many faeries at the rear gate because I’m incapable of commandeering more. Unlike the other Fae Knights, I was not given a title of lordship nor a military position apart from my current title. In terms of politics, I am at best the High Queen’s bodyguard who also happens to handle threats in the North.”

Malleus furrowed his brow. From all his studies into Briar Valley’s history, Lancelot’s words didn’t make any sense. The position of Fae Knight was considered the highest honor, and anyone who claimed that title was automatically given effects equal to a Faerie Lord’s. But from the sounds of it, Lancelot hadn’t even received personal property.

It was strange, and Malleus couldn’t help but feel annoyed on Lancelot’s behalf. He had seen the Fae Knight’s skill, his merits, and his resolve to do his duty even when it went against his ideals. Not even an enemy should be disparaged and dishonored like this.

“That’s outrageous,” he hissed through his teeth, his affronted tone surprising Lancelot. “Someone as hard-working as you should be rewarded with more than just a title. I do not doubt your devotion, but even those who reject recompense should be respected for their actions.”

Malleus knew that this vexation was more personal than necessary, but he couldn’t suppress his emotional outburst. For all his supposed hang-ups, Lancelot was an excellent knight. He knew this from moments that haven’t happened, from events that still haven’t passed. He knew this from dreams closer to reality than fiction, spinning tales of hardship and the solutions to overcome them.

In a way he could never describe to anyone, Malleus understood.

And Lancelot…

“...You shouldn’t be overly sympathetic to your enemies, Child of Prophecy. That way only lies cruelty against yourself.”

For the first time since their talk began, Lancelot smiled.

It was beautiful and self-deprecating all at once, as though it were unable to choose between the two. But in the small gaps of his lips that showed the whites of his teeth, there was an indecipherable hint of fondness, like he heard an old and distant friend remember his name.

Malleus snapped out of his enraged state immediately. “Hypocrite,” he blurted out in a panic.

But Lancelot kept on grinning. “I am, but hypocrites often give advice they are incapable of following. Could you move over, please?”

Enraptured by the sight of Lancelot’s soft smile, Malleus scooted farther down the tree branch, making way for the Fae Knight as he climbed down from his wooden nest. Despite his size, the branch barely shook when he settled his weight onto it. Now the Fae Knight was sitting next to Malleus, snugly fraternizing with the target he had been tasked with capturing on sight.

“Thank you,” said Lancelot, the lilt of his voice now as clear as nightingale songs.

Malleus sincerely begged every greater power in existence to keep him from jittering right off the edge of the branch.

“Why did you come down here?” he asked, channeling all his nervous energy into more questions.

“Because I wanted to sit next to you,” Lancelot replied frankly, the tips of his ears turning pink once more. “And while it isn’t right to you, I'm… glad that you’re still the same as you were when you held your hand out to me.”

The hand he extended back in Sheffield, mere moments before both of them would face each other in battle. It was a plea, one that stood out like a bitter memory.

“Lancelot.” Malleus bit his lips, struggling to find the right words. “I should not have let you refuse me.”

That was the regret he kept locked up in his heart, never to see the light of day until he could say it to Lancelot directly. It was a remorse born of sadness and disappointment, of rejection and rage. He couldn’t accept what he saw that night, and even now, his passivity made his teeth ache. Although the day of his confession came sooner than expected, Malleus snarled when his grievances refused to fade.

Throughout his internal monologue, the Fae Knight slowly digested his words, tasting them as they settled within his gut.

“Child of Prophecy– No, Malleus Caster,” Lancelot spoke directly. “You’re a weird person.”

Flummoxed, Malleus opened his mouth to protest, but the silver-haired boy was already moving on.

“I don’t believe it’s necessary to think too hard on ‘what-ifs’ or the ‘what-shoulds’. What you saw that night — what I saw that night — was merely a summary of our own choices. It’s not a destiny to fight against. It’s the path we chose despite knowing what lies ahead because that is who we are as individuals.” 

The Fae Knight leaned closer to Malleus until they were face-to-face. The movements of his lips were now impossible to miss.

“I will be your foe until the end, Malleus. Will you… choose to be mine?”

Lancelot’s proposal reverberated to the depths of Malleus’ heart, crushing his walls and grinding his emotions as if they were little more than cheap concrete. There were no hidden meanings in Lancelot’s words, leaving nothing but a direct question that stirred Malleus’ conscience.

Did he want to be his foe? Did he want them to cause pain and misery to each other?

No, of course not.

But there was a faith in Lancelot that he couldn’t ignore. A belief so warm and compelling that it felt less like he was drawing lines in the sand and more like he was building a two-way bridge—patient, weathering, and kind.

If he accepted, they would be enemies. But they would also be–

Malleus fought down the blush threatening to rampage across his face.

“I–” The Child of Prophecy cleared his throat. “I will.”

Lancelot’s quiet happiness shone like a jewel in a dream.

“Then, as foes, we are obligated to spend time together in a neutral environment to learn each other’s weaknesses. You have already interrogated me with several questions, which means it is my turn to seek information.”

Why did Malleus get the feeling that he’d been bamboozled?

The feeling only intensified when Lancelot leaned back, putting some space between them. “What were you doing wandering around at this time of night?” he asked.

It was an innocent question, but an understandable one. Malleus looked too much like Meleanor for it to be a coincidence, a key feature sure to be noticed by many. He could hide in Gloucester for some time, but only if he lay low.

“I was shopping for goods.” Which was the exact opposite of laying low.

“Reckless,” Lancelot chided him softly. “Sebek will blow a gasket as soon as he realizes what you’ve done.”

Malleus snorted. “It will be worse when he realizes that I went out to buy a gift for his sake.”

“A gift?” The Fae Knight seemed genuinely shocked. “I have never heard of Sebek receiving anything that wasn’t from his family or his family’s friends.”

“Truly?” Malleus both could and couldn’t imagine why. “That makes this hunt all the more important then. There is still some time before midnight, but I must hurry if I’m to find the right gift in time.”

Though it would mean the end of this moment with Lancelot if he left now. Stealthily, he glanced at Lancelot, watching as he caught on to the implications of his statement.

“...Then would you mind if I accompanied you on your gift shopping?” Lancelot asked, tentative yet bold.

Malleus’ heart and mind felt like they were collapsing.

“Not at all,” he said, trying not to wheeze like a man desperate for air. “You’re more familiar with Gloucester than I am. Perhaps you may be able to give me some recommendations.” 

Lancelot gave him a small smile, and Malleus wondered how he managed to survive without such a precious treasure all his life.

“I will do my best to fulfill your expectations.” He looked down at the ground as if calculating the fastest way to make it back down to earth. “There is a new department store attempting to rival Spriggan & Capless’ branch here. I hear that their items are of much higher quality.”

Malleus was starting to feel light-headed. Would he be able to make it down okay? 

“Perfect. Let us see what these citizens have to offer our cause. I hold high expectations of the lauded ‘city of trends’ and the caliber of their goods.”

“Sebek and I trained together in the palace when we were younger, so I also have a few suggestions for what you could get him.”

“Will they be available?”

“I don’t visit this city often. We will have to see.” Lancelot tilted his head to the side. “How will you be returning to the ground?”

“By leaping.” Malleus’ wings appeared in a burst of feathers. “I may not be able to fly, but I can still slow my fall.”

Lancelot gazed at his wings for a moment, his hand twitching towards them before he composed himself. “Then please wait for me as I climb down the trunk.”

As the Fae Knight moved to do just that, Malleus, without thinking, grasped him by the wrist.

“Hold onto me,” he said.

With that as his only warning, Lancelot soon found himself trapped in Malleus’ arms as the two leaned forward into a free-fall. He grabbed Malleus’ shoulders just as his wings caught the wind, letting them slowly descend before hitting the ground without much impact.

Only after everything was over did Malleus realize he was being awfully forward.

“Pardon me.” He released Lancelot from his hold, trying not to pay attention to how hard the other was staring. “It’s already quite late. We have to get going.”

Lancelot continued to stare at him silently. Now that they were closer to the street lights, was his face turning red underneath his cloth mask?

“...I’m not dreaming. Right.” The Fae Knight muttered under his breath before shaking his head. “Let’s set off. We’re bound to attract attention no matter what, so please keep close to me.”

“Is this a manner of protection?” Malleus asked, smugly yet unsurely.

“It’s efficient.” Came the curt reply. “And you still need to answer my questions.”

He stepped closer to Malleus until they were side-by-side, his lower face finally returning to its usual neutral line. However, a hint of softness still colored his cheeks, letting Malleus know their information exchange would remain cordial.

Unable to help himself, the Child of Prophecy smiled.

“Ask away, Lancelot.”

That was the beginning of a short and utopian springtime memory.

Chapter Text

Allow me to paint you a picture.

The eyes of a dragon see further and observe farther than those of any Phantasmal creature, a product of their nature as the strongest beings in the world. They are constantly aware of past records. They are eternally pursuing present eventualities. Most importantly of all, they are capable of glimpsing far ahead into the future, the threads of fate aligning to draw a path they would soon know by heart. 

But even those brief visions are rare for the draconic species. They can sense the change of the times, the flow of the world’s breath, and discern the state of the hereafter through their deep connection with the planet. In doing so, they are perceived as wise, their knowledge colored by the long life that other living beings lacked. This is not true foresight, however. 

No, a dragon only witnesses the future in full once in their lifetime. A moment of intuition where they sense a startling fate and comb through the twists of destiny all the way through. In an infinitesimally small period, a whole other life would have flashed before their eyes, settling in their souls as the inevitable, unchangeable truth. 

Hours spent together with someone from here on. Battles faced in the throes of adversity. Trials are overcome through patience and wisdom.

An encompassment of ‘firsts’ before they were realized. 

A throne of hope made of dreams from a distant land.

The significance of their one chance, of their one selection, is written as thus:

A dragon only sees the future when they gaze at the form of their ‘most important partner’; the soul mate of their choice, they shall hold onto forevermore.

Despite his attention being drawn every which way in the search for Sebek’s gift, Malleus' eyes always found their way back to Lancelot.

It wasn’t that his friend had little import in his mind — he listened to every suggestion and appraised all potential gifts seriously — but there was something just mesmerizing about being in the other dragon fae’s presence. Whenever his gaze fell upon him, the stories Malleus should not have known yet played out scene by scene. 

The words Lancelot would speak, the wounds he would deal with, and the faces he would make were embedded in Malleus’ head, tasting like the succulent sweetness of forbidden knowledge. His entire body ached with a desire he couldn't comprehend, only settling whenever he abandoned all propriety and put himself closer to the Fae Knight, whose existence soothed the howls of gluttony.

But not even a purring hum of primal satisfaction could stem the tides of fantasy. The destinies he had foreseen played in his mind like a film reel, depicting all that could be in glossy memories of yesteryear.

…

(Lancelot was leaning against his side, his eyes closed as he lost himself to sleepiness. Malleus had a wing folded around Lancelot’s slumbering body, tucking him in closer to greedily savor his warmth. And throughout it all, their hands remained intertwined, linking the two together in mind, body, and soul.)

…

(Malleus felt beaten, laid out in a carriage, and covered in bandages, his mighty regeneration refusing to knit even a single wound. Sword strikes from Arondight were ‘incision-precise’ for a reason, and as the vehicle jostled from the road, Malleus wished they weren’t made to be as painless as they were.)

…

(Lancelot was stoic, his expression practically carved from stone as he stared down Malleus from the other side of the battlefield. The rose-blue mask was hiding his eyes again, and in a moment of furtive hope, Malleus wondered if those brilliant auroras were flooded with anguish.

Then the moment passed, and all he could feel towards himself was disgust.)

…

Each vision burned with emotions that Malleus couldn’t name, drowning him in indulgence yet lifting him away from hell. They rained drops of color into his world, scattering the storm of malice that surrounded his lone island and quenching the thirst for life he had felt for so long. Everything from the awful to the ordinary shone like jewels in Malleus’ eyes, drawing him back to Lancelot, the catalyst for those sights.

While he had held onto the daydream of them following the destiny written out in the sea of fate, he didn’t dare get his hopes up. Lancelot had been clear back in Sheffield; they would not walk the same road together. Although their paths might sometimes intertwine, Lancelot was firmly on the opposite side, and Malleus would fight him time and time again even as his heart shattered in his chest.

That was the future he tried to brace himself for. It was a journey he knew would lead somewhere, towards an ending more definite than the threads of prophecy he followed. But as his eyes traced the distant horizon, he didn’t see the fellow traveler approaching from the side.

In other words, Lancelot had appeared when he least expected it. Now they were here, alone together, and Malleus didn’t know what to do.

He hadn’t prepared for their outing at all. How could he begin to make the most of their short period of peace in Gloucester? What limits were there to Lancelot’s serene composure? He didn’t want this outing to stop, but everything, everything, from his brain to his rationality was telling him this was a monumentally bad idea.

Slumping inelegantly against the bench where Lancelot had asked him to wait, Malleus groaned. He was getting a headache, swimming around in circles like this. A part of him wanted to scour through his memories of the immediate future for a guide or some tips or anything, but his desire to hold onto his present anticipation shoved that wish back down.

Instead, he looked to the sky for guidance. Fiendish and horrifying the world may be at times, at least the ceiling above it lacked the pollution known as ‘lies’. 

Then suddenly, the moon above was replaced by a far more bewitching satellite.

“Are you looking for a particular star, Malleus?” Lancelot asked, his earlier forwardness having faded into a more reserved way of speaking. 

The Fae Knight's face was close enough to his that Malleus could press their foreheads together, nuzzle his cheek, hold his head in his hands, or strangle him by the throat. All he had to do was cross the small space between them.

He restrained himself.

“Merely searching for a bit of guidance, Lancelot.” Malleus straightened his posture, a large part of him screaming in embarrassment at his earlier thoughts. “Despite us perusing most of the department stores, there isn't anything that matches my standards for Sebek.”

Lancelot sat down beside him, arms carefully folded behind his back. “Sebek enjoys gifts on the more practical side of things. The kind that emphasizes function over form. Unfortunately, it looks like Gloucester's current trend is focused on ‘the adornment of bedazzling jewels’.”

“Glittering accessories must be quite the eyesore to Sebek.”

“He is from a noble family, so he does appreciate the value of an aesthetic piece,” Lancelot pointed out. “But the accessories sold in Gloucester don’t match his tastes.”

Malleus conceded at that. It was frustrating, the way their search was coming up fruitless because of the whims of a ‘trend’. At this rate, it would be faster to shock and awe the populace into establishing his desired ‘trend’ than it would be to browse the shops for what he needed.

But that kind of scheme was too troublesome, so Malleus banished the idea from his head.

Before he could fully snap back to reality, a mellow cold began wafting around his face. Malleus blinked, turning to look at Lancelot, who was holding out a frozen treat on a stick in each of his hands.

“It's a popsicle,” Lancelot explained, accurately reading Malleus’ curiosity. “I'm not sure how it's made, but it's sweet and refreshing. I thought you might like it.”

‘He… thought I might like it?’ As Malleus processed that admission, the feeling of something fuzzy bloomed in his chest.

Pushing the strange emotion down, he took the offered popsicle graciously, taking note of its blocky shape and snowy texture. “Is this food?” He asked, just to be sure.

Lancelot held out his popsicle, making a show of licking it in place of a verbal answer. Malleus knew that he was only giving an example, but the sight of the fae knight's pink tongue incited a primeval urge within him. It was a mindless tease. An unintentional temptation.

He wanted to poke it back into his mouth.

But instead of doing that and proving that he was some kind of unmannered bumpkin, he bit down on his popsicle. The cold assaulted his fangs, freezing his nerves before he could start yelping incoherently. This proved to be a mistake, as now his teeth were aching and his tongue felt burned.

For a split second, Malleus utterly loathed the treat called ‘ice cream’.

Then came the flavors.

The taste of salty-sweet washed over his tongue, the treat melting into liquid as he chewed and swallowed. It was nothing like the sweet fruits that grew every spring in the woods. The popsicle had a tang to it, the flavors mixing in an almost savory way.

He took the half-finished treat out of his mouth and stared at it.

“It's delicious,” he said to Lancelot.

Malleus’ heart stuttered when the Fae Knight's lip corners crinkled at the edges, his expression projecting relief and happiness. “I'm glad. I took a wild guess and picked out Sea-Salt over the other flavors.”

“What made you think I would like it?” There were many other things Malleus had never tried before.

Lancelot shifted his head away so he didn't have to look Malleus in the eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy the novelty of it.”

A faint blush dyed the tips of the Fae Knight's ears red, as though he couldn't believe his boldness. He quickly gnawed on his popsicle, mirroring Malleus’ actions from before to cool himself down.

Malleus was riveted.

“How is this delectable treat made?” He asked, throwing his avid thirst for knowledge at the reins before he could spout off something goofy. “Ice and flavor of this uniformity point to the use of Sacraments, but there had to be an original product for it to be copied.”

Lancelot paused halfway through his next bite, then took his popsicle out of his mouth. Malleus didn’t need to see his eyes to know the Fae Knight was staring at his threat inquisitively.

“...I’m not sure how it’s made,” Lancelot said regretfully. “Sweets are a luxury item kept under control by the High Queen, so it would have to be developed in a major city. Maybe in the north, where there’s more snow?”

“They would also need access to sea salt, which I presume is a literal appellative.” The dragon fae gave his treat another taste. “How many coastal cities are there in the north? It is most likely that this ice cream was initially created there.”

If Malleus had been paying any less attention, he would have missed the way Lancelot’s fingers went slack, the digits barely holding onto the popsicle as it tipped toward the ground. His lips parted slightly as if holding an answer on the tip of his tongue that he was afraid to let go.

All those little idiosyncrasies happened in less than a second. By the time Malleus blinked, they were gone, and Lancelot was back to his earnest and cool-headed self.

“There is only one coastal city in the north. The Furthest Orkney.” The Fae Knight fiddled with his popsicle stick. “It’s the territory of the Rain Clan, which consists of weather faeries. Humans there probably had access to sugar or nectar.”

Everything Lancelot said was true, but there was a slight feeling of wrongness that drilled into Malleus’ brain. Though difficult to discern its origins, there was no denying that the Fae Knight’s small lapse in calm was unusual.

Malleus thought about digging into what was amiss, but…

“Would you like to eat the rest of my popsicle?” Lancelot offered. “I don’t feel like eating it anymore.”

…Maybe an interrogation wasn’t what Lancelot needed right now. Their night was peaceful, blessed with laughter and quiet joy. No matter his worries, Malleus should at least keep this idyllic scene going a little while longer.

“Well, if you insist.” The popsicle switched hands, leaving the dragon fae in possession of two sweet treats. “And now that you are bereft of food, I suppose you will soon be asking me more questions?”

The diversion did the trick. Like the dew of life nourishing a wilting flower, Lancelot perked up attentively, the idea of discovering more about Malleus visibly brightening his features. A smile appeared on his face, gleaming genuinely even as he ducked his head to hide it behind his hair.

Malleus couldn’t help but find that behavior utterly endearing. Back when they were still shopping for Sebek’s gift, the Fae Knight displayed a terrifying level of frankness, often shooting words like bullets straight into the hearts of vendors and passersby alike. It was only when he was caught in the heat of the moment that he’d mellow out and become more expressive, their talk atop the oak tree being one example.

“I will since you’re offering.” Lancelot folded his hands over his lap, prim and proper. “What made you and Sebek flee to Gloucester? Was it to take advantage of Muryan’s Fae Domain and relative independence?”

Malleus smirked at Lancelot’s guess. “Precisely. Even a Fae Knight such as yourself has to have their movements restricted here. The soldiers will be unable to get a warrant for our arrest so long as we cause no trouble, giving us ample opportunity to prepare for our future travels.”

“It’s best not to rely on that crutch for too long,” Lancelot warned. “Despite Muryan’s stance on soldier activity, he still defers to the Queen should she give him a request.”

The Child of Prophecy nodded once, welcoming the advice.

“Nothing unexpected there.” Malleus finished off his original popsicle before glancing Lancelot’s way. “Do you know what sort of person he is? Gloucester strikes me as a rather whimsical place where the citizens obsess over material rarities, but how a territory is managed isn’t indicative of someone’s entire character.”

It was a rational assumption, but to his surprise, the Fae Knight quickly shook his head.

“Um… your observations aren’t far off the mark...”

Malleus blinked rapidly at Lancelot, who shifted his gaze towards the auditorium. Even this deep into the night, it was a stamping ground of excitement, where the cries of bids over countless auctions reverberated through the length of the city.

“Lord Muryan is eccentric,” the Fae Knight explained. “He holds auctions every night and uses the thaumarks from those operations to fund lavish parties. He plans them so often that Gloucester has a secondary name in their honor: the City of Elation. Some of them are exclusive, while others are open to the public. But no matter what type of celebration it is, Muryan is there to mingle with the guests, always wearing a smile on his face.”

“...I must confess. That does not match the information I have of him.”

Lancelot’s description was outside of Malleus’ wildest dreams. He tried to connect the figure known as Lord Muryan to the tragic story Sebek told him, but the puzzle pieces didn’t fit together. The only thing his brain found from this juxtaposition was a blaring siren telling him there was an error in his evidence.

As the gears in his head creaked and groaned, Lancelot tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. It was an act so distracting that it pulled Malleus back to reality. “He’s a good man,” the Fae Knight vouched quietly. “I’ve been to a few of his events over the years, and he has never treated anyone unkindly, whether they be human or faerie. I don’t believe he’ll report your presence unless you give him cause to.”

Malleus trusted Lancelot’s evaluation, but something sharp bristled beneath his skin over the knight’s stunning endorsement of Muryan. Rather than think about the odd unpleasantness caking the walls of his stomach, however, he channeled his energy to more important matters.

“In other words: Don’t create trouble, don’t get into trouble, and don’t bring trouble to Gloucester’s doorstep.” He counted out those rules on his fingers. “A month ago, I would have confidently said that I’ll conduct myself judiciously.”

Lancelot’s stoicism was in full effect right now, but his lips were twitching a bit. “And now?”

“Now I know how foolish it is to hold out hope that trouble isn’t around the corner,” Malleus smirked, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “Whenever we attempt to avoid our old problems, we run straight into new ones. It’s a vicious cycle of constantly erupting coincidences, misunderstandings, and shenanigans short of active sabotage by fate itself.”

“Maybe it’s the world’s way of making you stronger.”

“If so, then that would explain all the tribulations we’ve encountered thus far. We will need plenty of strength for the Calamity ahead.”

The Calamity of Norwich… 

Just thinking about it made him break out in a cold sweat. Malleus understood that he couldn’t avoid confronting the approaching disaster. It was his beginning; his starting point as the Child of Prophecy. Defeating the Calamity was the first condition he had to fulfill to complete his mission. He’d trained until he bled and cried so he could face that danger with his head held high, devoting more than a century of his life towards that cause.

And because of that, he was powerful. Inordinately so. Yet despite all his preparations and the inherent power smoldering within him, Malleus could sense it. That he was still too weak. Still too artless, too reckless, and far too naive.

Those weaknesses were something they couldn’t afford when the promised time came. If all this trouble was to better prepare them, then Malleus would gladly throw himself into hell or high water. They had to survive. They needed to survive.

Or at the very least, Sebek should.

“Malleus?” Lancelot called out to him.

The sound of his soft voice brought him out of his reverie, and Malleus then let out a short sigh. “Lancelot, there is a favor I would ask of you if you can fulfill it.”

Lancelot stared at him imperceptibly from behind his cloth mask. “Did you… want me to finish that ice cream myself after all?”

“Excuse me?” Malleus startled, before feeling a trickle of cold water run down his thumb. He looked down at the popsicle Lancelot gave him, melting away alone and neglected by the person entrusted to eat it.

Was he so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Lancelot’s treat melting? Apparently so.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he scarfed the whole thing down, ignoring the prickling feeling it left in his cheeks and the brain-broiling knowledge that he was chewing up the pieces Lancelot had put his tongue on. By the time his stick was bare, his original request was nearly forgotten, lying in his stomach with the taste of brevity and sea salt.

But not even the most delicious treat in the world could bury the plea beating against his skull.

“No, I did not want you to take back your ice cream, Lancelot,” Malleus stated seriously. “What I want from you is to protect Sebek should I perish.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Lancelot, quick and soft like a gasp, but apart from that, he didn't move an inch. Malleus couldn't tell whether he was trying to keep himself calm or was too experienced to show any other reaction, but regardless, the request had caught him off guard. 

The Fae Knight's lips parted a little, a sight that Malleus seared into his memory before Lancelot finally spoke.

“I cannot get him pardoned for his treason. He turned his back to the High Queen's banner of his own accord and without coercion, a crime that calls for immediate execution without trial.”

Malleus’ tentative hopes plummeted to the earth.

“However,” clarified Lancelot, arresting his descent at the last moment. “Reports of him turning coat in Sheffield have not reached Her Majesty yet.”

“They haven’t?”

Relief surged in his chest when Lancelot shook his head. “None of us Fae Knights said anything about his departure when we reported the army’s victory to the Winter Court. I can’t speak for the other two’s motives, but I've known Sebek for a long time. I won't jeopardize whatever safety he has left, no matter how small.”

Lancelot’s lips were drawn into a thin line, his staid stance wrought with resolution. While it was clear that he and Sebek knew each other personally from their dialogue in Sheffield, Malleus wasn’t expecting Lancelot to be so willing to cover for the artificial fae. It made him wonder what their past together was like, and what exactly birthed Sebek's one-sided antagonism towards this Fae Knight that seemed to genuinely care for him.

But speculations aside, there was still one thing he had to say.

“Thank you.” Malleus smiled, his green eyes shining with an unearthly light. “That reassures me quite a bit.”

Lancelot’s lips twitched like he wanted to return that smile but couldn’t. ”Queen Meleanor may still find out about him, though. She has many eyes and ears in the form of loyalists who love to talk. Sebek may not be a well-known figure, but he frequently visits Camelot as Gawain’s page. Meleanor might be able to recognize him from a description alone.”

That was worrying, but Malleus supposed that it was better to be aware than ignorant. Sebek’s bag of disguises was going to do them some good in Gloucester.

“I shall tell him to keep his hair out of view.”

Upon his affirmation, Lancelot finally smiled, soft as silk and sweet as nectar. Despite the blue roses etched into his armor and clothes, Malleus thought Lancelot better suited the image of a white lily, encompassing within him a subtle sense of peace, purity, and devotion. In their short time together, he had seen Lancelot’s desire to care, his quiet determination, and the happiness he glowed with whenever someone acknowledged his hard work. He hid his eyes behind a curtain but kept his heart on his sleeve, and was active despite his reticence.

Not for the first time, Malleus wondered if his ‘foe’ was truly capable of following his chosen path. It was a road covered in bloodshed, one that people like Lancelot weren’t supposed to tread, lest they lose themselves to the monsters festering under their skins.

Without any warning, the Child of Prophecy reached out, cupping Lancelot’s face with his hand. The Fae Knight stiffened abruptly, a surprised noise leaping from his throat as Malleus held his head still.

“Why do we have to fight?” Malleus asked, his expression incomprehensible.

Lancelot’s skin was flushed pink against his palm when he answered. “What are you asking this for?”

Malleus brushed his thumb over Lancelot’s cheek, running it under the cloth mask he wore before leaning in closer. Only a few centimeters were left between them.

“I am your enemy,” the Child of Prophecy said, “But I am only your enemy for as long as you try to kill me. Why do you even try to follow your orders? Is that how indebted you are to this kingdom?”

“...No.” Lancelot slowly placed his hand over Malleus’ own, pressing it further into the warmth of his cheek. “There are responsibilities I can’t leave alone, even if I never wanted them in the first place. I’m going to kill you… because there is something I must do. I may not have wanted what happened, but I’m the one at the center of it nonetheless. I have to tie up the loose ends.”

From behind his cloth mask, Lancelot pinned Malleus with a soul-searching stare.

“Isn’t it the same for both of us?”

“...It is.”

Malleus could offer him nothing more than a resigned look, something deep inside of him feeling battered and bruised. He knew why he constantly asked these questions, rushing through the verses of prophecy while running away in spirit. He was growing more scared. More and more aware of the weight of the boulder in front of him, the more he continued to push it uphill. If he got it up the incline and onto the slope, there would be nowhere to dodge if he made a mistake.

But he still had to push that boulder uphill. It was his purpose, his duty. Even though the existential terror of getting crushed by that burden made him want to throw away everything...

He never could. Despite the disgusting way the world appeared to him and the fear he felt towards the future, Malleus wanted to hold out on the hope he was given. A hope born of Tristan’s care. A hope born of Sebek’s steadfastness. A hope born of Lancelot’s compassion.

To retain those hopes for tomorrow and the day after that, Malleus would have to preserve the planet that raised them, even if it meant hurting the sources of those hopes with his own hands.

“This is getting rather ridiculous.” He began laughing at himself. He could tell his pessimism was starting to run rampant again. “Discourse seems to be a common ailment with me.”

Lancelot leaned his face further into his hand. “You overthink about terrible things,” he said analytically.

“I’m indeed in the habit of doing that when not thoroughly distracted.” But the rapid palpitations of his heart were making quick work of his earlier thoughts. “I apologize. I’m still not accustomed to being in other people’s presence.”

“I understand.” Lancelot finally brushed Malleus’ hand off his face. “On the matter of a distraction, however, I think there is one thing Sebek would enjoy from Gloucester.”

Malleus perked up with curiosity. “Where?”

“A magecraft goods store down in Tuffley Avenue. Owned and stocked by the Lord of New Darlington, Fae Knight Tristan.”

“Tristan owns a magecraft store in Gloucester?”

Malleus asked Lancelot as he followed the Fae Knight through the streets, weaving between miniature monoliths and throngs of people unwilling to sleep. While he knew that Tristan was the only other faerie in Briar Valley with any knowledge of magecraft, he never thought that he would retail them to the public.

“He told me so himself as an off-handed remark. Said that it lets him get rid of old magecraft experiments taking up space in his workshop.” Lancelot’s voice was like a beacon out at sea, guiding him forward with steady patience. “He initially wanted to open it in New Darlington, but Muryan convinced him to move his operations here. Tristan tells me that it’s because they’re old friends.”

“Old friends?” Malleus repeated, nonplussed. “Something as simple as friendship was enough for Tristan to change his shop location to Gloucester?”

“He said something about wanting private property here, but I fell asleep in the middle of his explanation.”

Although Malleus could only see Lancelot’s back, he somehow got the feeling that the Fae Knight was ashamed of his social blunder. 

He decided not to call further attention to it. “Enough of that, then. This store purportedly sells Tristan’s old Mystic Codes, correct? I doubt anyone would have the guts to falsify a Fae Knight’s backing.”

“I don’t know really,” Lancelot muttered, “I’ve never been inside myself. I only know that it’s named the ‘Sanguine Count’.” 

“Of course it is.” Malleus shook his head as he chuckled. “If he is selling Mystic Codes and other magical items here, then they should be high-quality, regardless of their status as ‘dregs’. How convenient that he’s chosen to open it here, within my reach.”

“Doesn’t Muryan’s Fae Domain only affect living creatures?” Lancelot inquired. “While finding a magecraft store was my suggestion, you seemed to be a magecraft expert back in Sheffield. Couldn’t you make him a disguise spell?”

“I could. Anywhere that isn’t Gloucester, that is,” Malleus began to explain. “While Mystic Codes and the spell formulae engraved in them do not count as ‘accumulated experience’, the skill needed to manufacture them does fall under that category. At best, I could create auxiliary-type Mystic Codes by transferring mana into storage devices, but that is the extent of my abilities here.”

“Ah, so that’s why you can’t make something for him.” Lancelot tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Though, since you are a dragon fae, I suppose that doesn’t make much of a difference to you.”

“Not particularly. Unless you have a way for me to demonstrate my prowess whilst in city limits.” Malleus smirked jokingly.

“...I don’t think I can do that without resorting to something drastic…”

The Fae Knight’s straightforward answer caused Malleus’ smirk to grow wider. “It’s merely a jape, Lancelot. No need to take it so seriously.”

“...oh.” Lancelot’s ears stained bright red, his earlier actions backfiring on him. His head swiveled left and right, trying to shake off Malleus’ teasing grin under the excuse of looking for the Sanguine Count. Said excuse ended up becoming real three seconds later. “We’re here.”

The two dragon faeries stopped in their tracks, their eyes falling on a corner store lit by floating lanterns, which cast a homely glow across the dark red brick. Various sign boards were displayed outside, describing the fantastical items and tasteful sales available before the week's end. Wide windows surrounded the first floor, giving curious buyers a peek of the Mystic Codes lining the shelves, as well as the store name stamped on the front window in burnished gold.

The Sanguine Count.

Malleus could practically taste the magical energy flowing inside.

“I think Sebek would like to have a shapeshifting spell or disguise spell from this shop,” Lancelot said, “Those can keep his most noticeable features under wraps.”

“Black Magic does involve metamorphism as one of its core systems…” 

A part of Malleus was excited beyond belief. He was about to enter an actual magecraft store owned by his mentor! But a sense of caution he had been honing since Sheffield made him rein in his ardor.

“Would Tristan not know that we purchased an item from his establishment? If his subordinates see us entering this place together, then you shall likely be listed as a collaborator.”

“...I think Tristan will be too busy to visit the Count for a while. He’s been assigned to requisition Sheffield until a new Marquess or Marchioness is put in charge of the territory.” Lancelot tilted his head to the side, recalling the Queen’s orders from a previous council meeting. “Sheffield acts as an invisible border between the North and the South, so with no one left to oppose Cnoc na Riabh’s march down the western roads, a temporary camp has been erected to keep the situation from escalating.”

‘And keep the remaining denizens imprisoned there,’ Malleus thought but did not speak.

“Tristan shall remain ignorant of my whereabouts until after we’ve left the city.” He looked Lancelot up and down, doing his best to keep his stare pointed despite how fuzzy his insides felt. “Perhaps it would be best for me to enter alone. Many people have already seen us tonight, but I would rather not risk your standing in court. You have enough problems as it is.”

Lancelot shook his head at his last statement but deferred to his decision. “Take your time, then. I’ll see if I can find a coffee shop nearby.” He yawned into his hand, looking just a little drowsier.

For some reason, a shudder ripped through Malleus’ heart. He knew that Lancelot’s state was unnatural, that he couldn’t help when or where he would fall into slumber. That was his affliction; a curse of extreme potency. Strong enough that even a ripple of its magical energy made Malleus want to flinch.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, then gave Lancelot a nod. “I will find you once I am finished,” he promised.

This earned him another smile from Lancelot. “Alright. Here are some extra thaumarks just in case you don’t have enough. Gloucester runs prices so high that even I could crash into them while flying.”

Lancelot offered him a pouch swelling with thaumarks, which Malleus took gratefully. He had his doubts about whether he could pay for these luxury items, but thanks to the other’s generosity, he could purchase anything he wished.

“I will return the remainder to you later,” he said, biting back his bittersweet feelings on the matter.

He watched as the Fae Knight gave him a crisp bow, giving him one more smile before he turned down an alley, seeking a cafe still running at midnight. As soon as he was out of sight, Malleus put the pouch of money away and entered the Sanguine Count, the bell above the door signaling his arrival.

He was immediately blasted by a familiar scent so intense it made his teeth ache. He smelt the sweet scent of dog rose, thick and heady as it lingered over the Mystic Codes lining the shelves. It was Tristan’s least favorite perfume; the one he always used to cover up the stench of his witchcraft.

‘Blood, bone, skins, and tendons… The marrow of a fae and the fangs of a monster…’

He examined the shelves full of Mystic Codes with a keen eye, dissecting their functions and the materials used in less than a minute. Although he lacked diverse exposure to Mystic Codes that weren’t his own, he had accumulated enough experience to analyze a practitioner’s work in almost no time.

That was why he ignored the attendant and the shopkeeper welcoming him warmly into the Count. He didn’t need their help. And they were planning on schmoozing him for his money anyway.  

‘Metamorphosis and transformation… If I can find something made out of a shape-changer, then Sebek can have free rein over how his appearance turns out.’

Most forms of Black Magic required some form of living tissue as a sacrifice. This was especially true of witchcraft, which utilized flesh and blood as conduits to activate spell formulae. Malleus himself knew a bit of witchcraft — his pinion bullets and transformation spells were the result of his studies — but he was nothing but an amateur compared to Fae Knight Tristan. 

Still, he was his student. His ward. He’d studied witchcraft under the Fae Knight for over 150 years and counting. If he couldn’t tell a doll meant for sympathetic magecraft from a Geass scroll, he might as well be worthless.

“Pardon,” Malleus addressed the attendant, grabbing an item off the shelf as he did. “When did this come into the shop?” 

The attendant, who had begun to quiver anxiously due to Malleus’ aplomb, glanced down at the item he was holding. Between his fingers was an amulet made of aging bone, with an eye surrounded by magical symbols carved into the pendant. It was strung through a cord made of dark twine, but if one gave it a closer look, they would quickly realize that the twine was actually yarn made of hair.

“This piece was delivered to our store one month ago,” the attendant answered, warming up for their sales pitch. “It’s an item that gives one the ability to change their face without the use of glamour. A more permanent solution if you don’t want to bother with illusions!”

Malleus clasped the amulet a bit tighter. ‘He’s telling the truth… This was made from the bones and hair of a Púca.’

Tristan taught him a lot about the Briar Valley, including the many faeries that made their homes across the land. According to him, Púca were a type of flotsam from the Otherworld that propagated into a low-intelligence faerie race unrelated to any of the Clans. They were a mischievous bunch, playing tricks and harmless pranks on lone travelers using their shapeshifting abilities. 

Normally, any material extracted from a Púca would continue having the traits of whatever they transformed into. For this amulet to be made out of pure Púca bones and hair… 

‘There’s a reason I never used anything that did not belong to me whenever I practiced witchcraft.’ Malleus bit his tongue, trying his best to stay calm and collected. ‘This is Tristan’s handiwork, however. If this is a recent creation, it should last a whole year before needing a blood sacrifice to recharge it.’

Taking a deep breath, he brandished it at the attendant. “What is your price for this amulet?”

“7,000 thaumarks!” The attendant grinned. “If you buy another item off our shelves, you’ll receive a 30% discount off your total purchase!”

Malleus narrowed his eyes at the attendant, trying to figure out what a discount was. Did that mean they would reduce the price a little if he bought something else?

“Very well,” he said noncommittally. “Allow me some time to think…”

Scanning the room, Malleus cast his senses out, doing his best to examine the Mystic Codes around him without the use of structural analysis magecraft. There were many interesting trinkets he could work with, such as a ritual dagger meant for soul severance or a grimoire meant to fire a litany of curses, but what drew his attention was a diamond pendulum hanging off the neck of a mannequin.

“Ah!” He did not even hesitate. In one swift motion, Malleus lifted it off the mannequin and showed it to the attendant. “This one.”

“That thing?” The attendant scoffed as if offended by his choice. “Young man, there are many more extraordinary items in this shop.”

“I have already made my selection,” Malleus rebuked, giving them a hard stare. “A 30% discount for the purchase of two items. Those were your own words.”

‘Albeit your inability to tell the value of this pendulum works in my favor.’

Pendulums were often used as mediums for fortune telling and dowsing, but the pendulum in Malleus’ hand was far from being a divination tool. The diamond hanging off the chain was a high-purity mana crystal, one that had been modified to accumulate more mana over time. From what Malleus sensed from its confines, it already had enough mana to blow up the whole building and was still capable of storing more.

Such a thing was an unexpected treasure for Malleus, but to any other faerie, it was nothing more than a pretty jewel on an awful necklace. An opinion the attendant seemed to share.

“100 thaumarks for the pendulum,” they droned, like the fun of the sale had been sapped out of them. “7,100 thaumarks will be your original total.”

“And?”

“...4,980 thaumarks with tax. You can pay at the counter over there.”

Malleus gave the attendant a smirk, showing off a hint of fang. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

The splash of thaumarks hitting the counter had never felt so satisfying. In a few short moments, they rang up his purchase, wrote ‘Caster’ in their little account books, and then sent him on his way. With purchases in hand, he strode through the alley where he saw Lancelot go down, gratification curling around his ribs like a snake. He had accomplished his initial goal and could now return victorious, carrying a present for Sebek in tow.

‘Now all that’s left is to spend time with Lancelot.’

Malleus’ heart started thumping a little louder, beating against the pendulum he had wrapped around his neck. He felt exhilarated, to an extent that made him feel a little sheepish. Was this how all his meetings with Lancelot would go? With his appearance throwing him off-balance while leaving him hanging on his every word?

‘...No. That shall not happen.’  

His smile became a little emptier after that thought.

Shoving his growing despondency into a box, Malleus navigated the street of Tuffley Avenue, looking for Lancelot’s signature silver hair. He cheated a little by remembering the vision of them meeting up again, the light of that possibility guiding him like a lone star through the storm running rampant around him.

It took longer than expected, mostly due to the sudden surge of foot traffic in Gloucester. The auctions had ended, and people were leaving the auditorium en masse, their chatter almost deafening as they rode the waves of enthusiasm. A small part of Malleus was tempted to shove his way through the crowd, manners be damned.

But he never went through with that idea, because he had found his man.

“Lancelot,” Malleus whispered as he approached the other dragon fae. “It seems like the coffee did not do much for you.”

A soft snore was Lancelot’s only reply.

As per his promise, the Fae Knight had located a small cafe near where the Sanguine Count did business. The store was still open despite a lack of customers ordering drinks, making it the perfect place for Lancelot to avoid public attention and wait for Malleus. However, despite nursing a black coffee for a spurt of energy, his curse caught up to him. It left him slumped over the table, head cushioned by his arms as he lay still, almost dead to the world.

There was something sour about watching someone so bright fall victim to a forced slumber, but Malleus did his best not to dwell on it. Instead, he sat opposite Lancelot, slowly pulling the coffee mug out of his hands and putting it off to the side.

“I located a gift that was in line with your proposal,” the Child of Prophecy relayed. “An amulet made from the flesh of a Púca. I am certain he shall be pleased with this Mystic Code, though I also predict that he will begin shouting at me when he realizes I left to wander the streets at night.”

He felt his expression soften the longer he gazed at Lancelot, who seemed to be in the throes of a peaceful sleep. Malleus was suddenly nostalgic for their meeting in the branches of the oak tree, despite it having happened mere hours earlier. He had seen Lancelot asleep before, but now that he could see him up close…

Lancelot was beautiful.

Malleus reached out his hand, a surge of confidence rushing through him as he carded his fingers through the Fae Knight’s silver hair. The nervousness that had hounded him all night was now gone, banished from his heart by the ethereal image of Lancelot’s sleeping form.

Slowly, gently, he patted Lancelot’s head, smoothing down his hair as he indulged in a bout of selfishness. There was no dread, no desire for comfort, and no extremity spurring him to chase the solace Lancelot provided. The only thing influencing Malleus’ actions now was… an emotion too heavy for him to give a name to.

Again and again, he ran his fingers down Lancelot’s scalp, content to repeat this motion until the Fae Knight woke up.

That was until he noticed the envelope.

A slip of parchment was hidden under Lancelot’s arms, which Malleus only saw when the Fae Knight shifted a little, pushing the envelope further into view. At first, he assumed it was a letter the knight decided to read in private, but when he glanced over the paper out of curiosity, he read part of the name it was addressed to.

Child.

Now, Lancelot was many things, but only one person here had the word ‘Child’ in their title.

It was as if a cold snap had come in through his veins, freezing his organs solid and leaving Malleus paralyzed with unease. A deep sense of foreboding emanated from that innocuous slip of paper. The dragon fae wanted nothing to do with it.

But the envelope was pinned under Lancelot, which couldn’t have happened unless he fell asleep on top of it. Could he have written the letter?

Perhaps inevitably, Malleus’ thirst for knowledge overcame his fear of the unknown.

He carefully lifted Lancelot’s arms off the envelope and slid it over to him, resisting the urge to bolt for the hills. Holding the letter in his hands, he read the cursive script carefully. Over and over and over.

The face of the letter read:

“To the esteemed Child of Prophecy.”

Malleus wanted to say ‘how amusing’, but the leaden feeling poisoning his stomach made it impossible for him to lie.

Chapter Text

To the esteemed Child of Prophecy,

You are cordially invited to a celebratory feast hosted by Duke Muryan, Head of the Wing Clan and Lord of Gloucester. Formal wear is not required, but as the possibility of a Styling Battle cannot be disregarded, you are encouraged to dress your best for this event.

We highly anticipate your arrival with your entourage at Duke Muryan’s private residence of Hardwicke Court at 9 AM, Spring Day XX of the Year 2023.

Signed, Duke Muryan, Lord of Gloucester.

Those were the words written on the letter, which had been sealed in red wax and stamped with the city’s coat of arms. Its writing was succinct, coherent, and short; formal and distant in a way that addressed him like any other citizen. Had it landed in the hands of anyone else, they would have swooned for joy, ecstatic at receiving a personal invitation to one of Muryan’s grand celebrations.

But this letter wasn’t addressed to just anyone. Its recipient was the Child of Prophecy.

And after the last bout of mayhem he’d suffered at the hands of a Faerie Lord, Malleus Caster was feeling none too pleased about this invitation.

‘They even delivered it to me by using Lancelot as a proxy…’ The dragon fae rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the snarl he could feel rising to his lips. ‘Being seen together by the common folk was unavoidable, but I had hoped the news would reach those of higher station through Lancelot’s own lips.’

Malleus knew he was harboring a futile hope. Both he and Lancelot were aware of the consequences of their meeting, and the latter already accepted the fallout he’d receive from the court. That was the price they accepted for these few short hours with one another. Despite that, Malleus greedily wished for the impossible to come true. Such craving was his vice, one of his greatest weaknesses, he knew.

However, this invitation was beyond his expectations. Malleus presumed that as long as he didn’t make a scene, Muryan would quietly tolerate his presence and leave him be. It reminded him of Salisbury. Of dancing to the machinations of others that he knew little about, yet held all the power. It was a feeling he greatly disliked.

‘I recall Lancelot saying that Muryan is a decent sort. The type that is generous, open, and excitable.’

What were the odds that this invitation was a trap? Malleus pondered the possibilities, trying to gauge the situation from what little information he had.

Despite her objectively terrible methods, Aurora sought them out without hostile intent. She explained her situation and the bargain she had in store for them, speaking between the lines that she was looking for a reason to rebel. Gloucester prohibited violence, but that was a rule Muryan could overthrow at any time if he decided to turn them in.

However, Lancelot said that Muryan would only hand them over to the authorities if they gave him trouble. If the faerie himself matched the Fae Knight’s claims, then it could be an amiable meeting. But what was the purpose of placing himself under public scrutiny by inviting Malleus and Sebek to a feast?

…The Child of Prophecy couldn’t make heads or tails of Muryan’s end goal.

‘Not to mention the peculiar dress code. What in the world is a ‘Styling Battle’? Is that a Gloucester tradition?’ 

Annoyed with his inadequate deductions, he slapped the invitation down on the table and sighed. Perhaps he jinxed himself earlier with his thoughts on trials and tribulations. When he said he was willing to throw himself into trouble, he imagined facing perilous battles. Not intricate games of webs and pieces that made him feel like he was losing his mind.

‘I have known the intricacies of politics for less than a month, and I still despise engaging with it from the depths of my being.’

There were several reasons he and Boggart didn’t get along before Sheffield’s end. The latter’s desire to make the Child of Prophecy a political figurehead was one of them.

Malleus rubbed his forehead, unsure of how to proceed. There was too much he didn’t know and too many risks he wasn’t thinking about. Anything beyond this point would need Sebek’s counsel.

‘Moreover, I require Lancelot’s statement before I cast my judgment.’

While the visions they were granted were miraculous and authentic, they were also extremely overwhelming. Having the inherent ability to sense the destiny of others was a burdensome gift, even for species that were naturally attuned to it. Brief flashes of the future didn’t leave much mark on Malleus’ psyche, but listening to a detailed conversation between two parties would eventually draw in other images, leaving his mind scrambled across a kaleidoscope of possibilities.

If he wanted the full details, he needed Lancelot to tell him what occurred. A deed easier said than done with the Fae Knight tied in the fetters of sleep.

“...I apologize for disturbing your rest once more.”

After taking a fortifying breath, he placed his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder, starting his first attempt by gently shaking the Fae Knight back and forth. “Lancelot,” he called. “Lancelot, wake up. There is a matter of great importance you must share with me.”

Predictably, his half-hearted nudges didn’t even make Lancelot twitch.

Malleus scowled at the sight but chose not to agitate the Fae Knight further. He knew Lancelot’s condition was caused by a curse, but reversing it wasn’t as simple as snapping his fingers and wishing it away. Intensive and invasive examinations were required, and he couldn’t conduct that level of analysis while in Gloucester. The Fae Domain had robbed him of even the most basic of thaumaturgies, leaving him with nothing but his repository of knowledge and his investigation skills.

Still, Malleus had to try.

Shoving down his flustered emotions, he carefully smoothed down Lancelot’s hair before leaning his head towards him, aiming to catch a whiff of his scent. While his innate senses were good at detecting fluctuations in magical energy, a dragon’s nose was far more acute, granting him the ability to discern the conversion of magical energy in the form of scents.

As Lancelot was sleeping right this moment, the scent of his curse was strong, like a perfume so pungent it choked out any natural aroma the Fae Knight exuded. Malleus swallowed hard to keep himself from choking, his throat closing up in response to the magical energy cloying his lungs.

‘It took half a second for my Dragon Core to cycle out this foreign magical energy…’ His brain went rampant, quickly highlighting the important parts of his observation. ‘I cannot even discern where the curse ends and Lancelot’s scents begin. It completely overpowers him, slowly but suddenly putting him to sleep without notice. With how potent it is, I can only assume that it was meant to leave Lancelot in an eternal slumber. Is his physiology the reason he hasn’t fully succumbed to it?’

The scent of poppies saturated Lancelot down to his very bones; an observation that left Malleus with only one conclusion: That this curse was too powerful to circumvent or purify by anything weaker than a Greater Ritual. Only the Fae Knight’s high magic resistance prevented him from being completely comatose.

No wonder Malleus’ Noble Phantasm was so effective on him back in Sheffield. Slumber spells of any kind must exacerbate his condition.

Frustration rushed through his veins, a feeling which soon transformed into abject disappointment. There was nothing Malleus could do. Any short-term solution he could provide required rituals that he had neither the materials nor the ability to cast.

“...No,” the Child of Prophecy whispered to himself. “There remains one method I can use. An extraordinary curse-breaker that requires no magical energy.”

An act of reverence. A yearning for another so evident that it could manifest minor miracles.

True Love’s Kiss.

As soon as the thought passed through his head, Malleus blushed red from head to toe. This was depraved. It was the mindset of a deviant. Faced with an unbearable amount of self-mortification, he reached into his inner mind and slammed that idea into an acid cesspool, burning it out of his impulses until his face finally cooled down.

‘It wouldn’t have succeeded at any rate,’ Malleus analyzed his plan from a more rational perspective. ‘What I feel for Lancelot… is not yet true love.’

Malleus didn’t know what the feeling of ‘love’ entailed, even after glimpsing Lancelot’s destiny that fateful night. The cascades of emotion his future self underwent were not yet his, and the things he hoped for from the Fae Knight were distant stars shining against the horizon. He admired Lancelot and felt sympathy for him. His tenure as a knight would be far bleaker than they could ever imagine, but Malleus accepted being his enemy for the potential good that might come after everything was over.

However, falling in love with his fateful foe was not the same as being in love with him. And Malleus wasn’t foolish enough to think that the difference didn’t matter.

So he gave up and started over. By deciphering the feedback he got from the curse’s magical energy fluctuations, he could create a calculated list of its properties and trace its origins from there. From what he could discern, the curse wasn’t based on a specific thaumaturgical foundation–

“Mmm… Malleus?”

The dragon fae’s theories evaporated like mist.

“Good evening, Lancelot.” A small, relieved smile lit up Malleus’ face as Lancelot lifted his head off the table. 

The Fae Knight swiveled his head to look at his surroundings, yawning into his hand as he did. His expression was drowsy, but not a strand of hair was out of place, nor was his mind lacking in awareness. Lancelot had broken free from his curse, if just for a little while longer.

When his gaze settled on Malleus once more, the edges of his lips curled up in an anticipatory smile.

“Good evening…” Lancelot responded quietly, his voice a little hoarse from his impromptu nap. “Did you find a present you’re satisfied with?”

Malleus gave him the now-cold mug of coffee, which he accepted readily. “I have. The present I chose is an amulet made of shape-changer bones. Quite the rare find considering their small size and mischievous nature.”

“...I had no idea faeries could be used for magecraft in that fashion,” stated Lancelot.

Sensing the bewilderment in his tone, the Child of Prophecy launched into an exposition.

“Mystic Codes made with witchcraft often involve the use of flesh and blood. Animal parts can be used, but the parts of a Phantasmal Species provide better results for certain spells. This means that the body parts of faeries and monsters make for excellent reagents.”

Understanding dawned on Lancelot’s face.

“Tristan is the Duke of New Darlington… If what you say is true, he would have used his position to extract a large number of reagents from the faeries he was supervising,” he said, pensive. 

When Malleus expressed only confusion at his statement, Lancelot decided that it was his turn to explain. “New Darlington goes by another name: National Execution Bureau Darlington. The city was originally built as a prison for criminals, but now that it’s expanded into a metropolis, the old facilities have been repurposed to hold both death row criminals and faeries unable to pay their existence tax. They are detained and managed personally by Tristan, and are later sent to the edges of the country to create additional land mass for border expansion.”

“Leading to Tristan’s acquisition of notable Phantasmal Species reagents,” Malleus surmised. “They are slated for death. Queen Meleanor does not seem the sort of woman who would complain if a death row prisoner lacks a finger or two when they’re killed.”

Lancelot gnawed on his lower lip. “No wonder he was regarded as the most fearsome general of the past wars.”

“The witchcraft of a seasoned practitioner acting in tandem with a general’s tactics? There is little I would fear more.” Feeling that this was an appropriate end to that discourse, Malleus switched to more pressing topics. “Lancelot, do you recall who gave you this invitation?”

He slid the open letter over to the Fae Knight, watching as he quietly read through its contents. For a few seconds, it seemed like Lancelot couldn’t remember the looks or name of the person who approached him. It was only when he got to the writer’s signature did recognition flashed across his face.

“Billy Blind. He introduced himself as Muryan’s housekeeper.”

So it was someone Muryan trusted enough to let into his residence and not a mere messenger. Malleus’ brow furrowed as he digested that tidbit.

“Did he perchance speak to you about this invitation or Muryan’s motivations?”

“I had a feeling that it would be for one of his parties the moment I saw his handwriting. Whenever Muryan holds an invite-only event, he forgoes the use of scribes and writes all his invitations himself,” Lancelot replied.

“But did this… Billy Blind, say anything of precedence?” Malleus pressed, calmly yet urgently.

Lancelot tilted his head thoughtfully, putting his hand to his temples as he rewound the memory. “He said… That Muryan provided this invitation in good faith. He wants the Child of Prophecy to enjoy the sights of the city, and take their mind off the harrowing events you must have gone through to reach Gloucester.”

Malleus blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard Lancelot correctly.

“That’s all?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“That’s all.” The Fae Knight nodded.

The Child of Prophecy stared owlishly at his companion for three seconds, then leaned back into his chair. Somehow, the menacing aura surrounding the invitation had multiplied by ten, the supposed goodwill of the Faerie Lord penning it compelling Malleus to trust it even less. Running away from Gloucester was sounding better with every passing moment.

But then he thought back to Sebek and how exhausted he must be. Could they afford to run away again before things went south? Malleus tended to leap into action under pressure, a recklessness that nearly got them killed several times.

Could he trust his judgment?

Without him realizing it, Lancelot’s hand had inched closer to his own, his blackened claws tapping his glove. “Do you plan on accepting his invitation?” the Fae Knight inquired.

“...I am reluctant to,” Malleus confessed. “If this were a private meeting, I would be willing to give Muryan the benefit of the doubt. But he has chosen to invite Sebek and me to a public event, knowing well that we are wanted fugitives.”

“Is that not the same as what we’re doing right now?”

“I understand your intentions.” The Child of Prophecy pointed cautiously at the letter. “I am ignorant of his.”

That was the crux of the situation in Malleus’ eyes. People lied, constantly and wretchedly, until his world was practically covered in filth. He could ascertain their emotions or guess their mental state, but the farther he went from the forest he called home, the more he learned about the behaviors of others.

And the scariest thing he discovered?

It was the fact that there were people capable of convincing themselves of their lies.

There was a chance Muryan was sincere, that he wanted to see the Child of Prophecy relax and live free in the city he built from the ground up, but how long would that truth last? At what point will a welcoming smile become a revolting sneer?

(If only Muryan were a more hateful person. Then he could have at least believed in his hatred.)

As pessimistic predictions ran through Malleus’ mind, he felt something cold get shoved into his hand. When he looked down, he found the now lukewarm mug of coffee nestled in his fingers, placed there by Lancelot, who was gazing at him intently.

“Try it,” he urged, pushing it further into Malleus’ hand. “It’s not sweet, nor is it hot, but I want to know what you think of it.”

“...Why?”

Lancelot’s answer was succinct.

“Because I think you’ll like it if you try.”

For some reason, that simple hunch gave Malleus pause. The liquid in the mug hardly looked mouthwatering. It was dark brown like fertile earth, and it produced a riot of floral notes that collapsed into each other into the same thick sludge. Nothing was intriguing or exotic about it; all it did was give him the impression that he was holding drinkable mud.

But Lancelot’s hand was resting atop his.

The seeds of resistance died before they even sprouted.

“Very well.”

Doing his best to keep his mind off the blackened hand placed over his own, Malleus lifted the mug to his lips, forgoing his trepidation and taking a swift chug out of the beverage. Unlike the ice cream, the coffee didn’t immediately assault him and hold him at sword-point. It curled around his tongue and down his gullet, leaving a rich and astringent taste behind. An aroma of cedar interlaced with the coffee’s complex mouthfeel, giving it an extra kick that left his taste buds tingling.

It was everything that Lancelot claimed: Nowhere near sweet and unfortunately lukewarm. But the bitterness of the brew had a certain charm to it that desserts and other foodstuffs lacked. It was heavy. Grassy. Ashlike.

Coffee tasted… like the things he used to eat at home.

“It appears you guessed correctly, Lancelot.” Malleus smiled faintly. “I savored the taste quite a bit.”

Before he knew it, he was slotting his fingers between the gaps of Lancelot’s own, making it so their hands were intertwined. There was little he could feel through the felt of his leather gloves, but Lancelot’s skin seemed to have a supple texture to it, his scales so tightly woven that they could pass for expensive fur.

The act itself rendered the Fae Knight speechless. His lower face may not have twitched, but it was impossible to miss the blush dusting his skin a bright pink. Everything from his ears to his neck was bathed in color, a stark contrast to the cool and reserved persona he was trying to project through his body language.

‘Cute…’ Was the only thought running through Malleus’ mind.

The Fae Knight quietly cleared his throat. 

“Good. It’s good that you like it,” Lancelot said, though there was a slight warble in his words. “You’re… handsome when you smile.”

Now it was Malleus’ turn to get flustered. His grip on Lancelot’s hand tightened as he bit the inside of his cheek, doing his utmost to keep his gibberish responses trapped in the box where they belonged. By this point, most of his pessimism had vanished, overtaken by a reality dashed with sweetness and acerbity.

Lancelot was very efficient at getting him out of his melancholic funks, Malleus realized.

“You have my gratitude.” For the compliment and the diversion.

The Fae Knight bowed his head slightly, hiding his pleased smile behind the curtain of his cloth mask. “Don’t be too frightened of Muryan. By inviting you, he’s shown that he’s willing to shoulder most of the risk. This letter is his way of implicitly offering you some trust.”

“And if he has an ulterior motive?”

“...I don’t think you’re in a position to compromise even if he is,” Lancelot stated. “Everyone has their own ambitions for this kingdom. It may be hard to accept that you’re being used, but sometimes… enduring it is the only thing you can do to ensure your survival. By surviving, you retain the ability to fight. And by fighting, you will find the path to freedom.”

Malleus chuckled wistfully, enamored and intrigued. “Do you believe that the world after the prophecy will be one of freedom, Lancelot?”

“I think…” The Fae Knight leaned in closer, his forehead hovering just an inch away from Malleus’ own. “That the world in that future will be full of choices we never knew.”

‘Choices they never knew…’

To Malleus, such a concept was rife with nothing but trepidation and battered expectations. He, who discovered that he knew so little, was constantly barraged by options he would never have conceived a month ago. Instability was terrifying, and the more he tried to fulfill his role, the stronger his cowardice grew.

But a future with choices he never knew… included his dogged pursuit of closure with Sebek.

It included those few easygoing days studying architecture he’d never seen.

It included the magical hours he spent together with Lancelot.

They were small, ordinary, and meaningless moments in this nocturnal kingdom leashed by destiny, but…

“I’m glad,” muttered the Child of Prophecy.

Amidst the storm of malice that haunted his days, the twinkling star on the horizon seemed just the slightest bit brighter tonight.

And with that sparkle born from a time in spring, a small morsel of bravery was placed in his hands.

“Would you grant me the honor of seeing your eyes, Lancelot?” Malleus beseeched.

Leaning his face away from Malleus, Lancelot mulled over his request. The Child of Prophecy’s heart practically soared out of his chest when the other said, “Of course.”

Gingerly, as if trying not to scare a rabbit, Malleus’ free hand unwound the accessories that held the cloth mask over Lancelot’s face. His attentiveness was unneeded, for Lancelot did not flinch no matter how messily Malleus pulled off his hairpins. All he did was wait patiently for the other to finish his task, tilting his head whenever necessary.

Blue roses slid off Lancelot’s hair. The mask was bundled up and placed in Lancelot’s left hand.

And quietly, in the corner of the street where the lights of Gloucester were faint and colorless, Malleus witnessed the birth of twin stars.

Lancelot’s eyes were as boundless as a still lake, possessing a depth as though hundreds of lenses were layered upon one another, which granted Malleus a clear window to his soul. There, the Child of Prophecy saw the swirl of a sky unlike the one above their heads, dark blue and devoid of clouds for miles and miles. His eyes were enchanting waves of pink, purple, and green that reflected the shine of the stars themselves, weaving together into a stunning aurora.

In Lancelot’s gaze, Malleus saw a world he had never seen before. It was a world of beauty, unfathomable yet kind. Just like the boy before him.

Unable to help himself, the Child of Prophecy glided his fingers over Lancelot’s cheek before cupping it in his hand, keeping the other’s head still so he could stare into that inner world once more.

Oh, how expressive were his eyes! Lancelot must have kept them hidden behind a cloth mask for a reason because, despite the straightness of his jaw and lips, his pupils dilated without a hint of control. The longer Malleus held his face, the gentler his gaze became, full of shyness and longing and happiness and a tiny flare of drowsiness.

He absentmindedly noted that the skin beneath his hand was warmer than it should be, and that the Fae Knight’s face was slowly growing more rosy pink by the second.

‘Are you always this expressive beneath your mask, Lancelot?’ Malleus thought in admiration. ‘The rosiness of your cheeks utterly becomes you. How would you look if you were redder than this? Will your eyes reflect the colors of the rainbow if I make you laugh somehow?’

The soft pink blossomed into a blazing red. A tight yet overly embarrassed smile danced across Lancelot's lips as steam started rising from his head. He was straining so, so hard to maintain his composure.

‘Oh, I said that aloud, didn’t I?’

The fae knight mechanically nodded to that not-so-internal thought in reply.

Malleus could only laugh, drunk on the absurdity and the sheer cuteness of Lancelot's features. He let the boy’s cheek go, trailing the edge of his gloved claw over the curve of his skin. How he yearned to touch those features with his bare hands! To share a heat that could warm even dragons.

It was a bold, relentless idea that didn’t suit his reluctant and over-scrutinizing self. Yet in his moment, with the knowledge that the person in front of him would soon be fighting for his greatest enemy…

“One day, I intend to destroy everything you stand for, ‘Lancelot.’”

Something sharp and gratifying bloomed in his heart as he watched realization dawn in Lancelot’s eyes. His lips parted, mouth slightly agape as he processed the meaning behind Malleus’ words.

Three seconds later, the Fae Knight found his reply.

“...My knighthood shall not be broken by your hands, ‘Caster’.”

And in that moment, Lancelot smiled. It was a modest smile, yet it somehow lit up his eyes until they shone with unmatched radiance. They were like whorls of aurora borealis, stretching outward like a gate between the planet and the horizon, converging at the place where the sea kissed the sky.

It was a smile anyone would fall in love with.

Malleus never stood a chance.

They stayed that way for a while longer, contentment diffusing through their souls as they kept their hands intertwined. Malleus could have spent hours basking in that quiet peace, admiring everything about Lancelot and the expressions he made. 

Alas, no good thing can last forever.

“CASTER!”

Lancelot whipped around, looking towards the street. “What was that?”

“CASTER!!”

Malleus followed his gaze, his conscience stirring for some reason. “I believe that is someone calling my name.”

And there was only one person in Gloucester who would yell his name to the heavens.

“CASTER!!!”

“Ah, it’s Sebek,” Lancelot deduced solemnly. “Looks like our outing is at its end.”

Instead of the visceral swell of despondency Malleus was expecting from himself, a muted resignation appeared in its place. Although he treasured their time together, there were still many things that needed to be done, and fate wouldn’t grace them any further than this. Their paths would diverge here.

The Fae Knight disentangled their hands and rose from his seat. Malleus made no move to stop him.

“This has been a rather pleasant excursion, Lancelot,” the Child of Prophecy remarked. “When may I see you again?”

“Not any time soon.” Lancelot clipped his cloth mask on, obscuring his upper face from view once more. “I have duties to the north that I must attend to. If you and Sebek are invited to Camelot after the events of Norwich, however…”

He gingerly pinched the edge of his mask, lifting it to reveal the glimmering jewel that was his aurora-colored eye.

“I look forward to speaking with you both.”

Matching that ethereal gaze with another modest smile, Lancelot departed, vanishing into the din of Gloucester like a ghost veiled by moonlight. 

Malleus stared after him, watching the Fae Knight’s back as he walked farther and farther away. He knew that with every step Lancelot took, the more this wonderful evening of theirs would cease to be their present. Already, the warmth of the moment was receding. The happiness that he felt in his heart was being reduced to mere memory.

Greed swelled within him.

‘I will make more,’ Malleus promised himself. ‘Nothing shall stop me from gorging myself on this joy. I will create an ever-present moment, to consume over and over until I am finally satisfied.’

What Lancelot said earlier was wise. As long as he fought, he might be able to make space for things he never thought would satisfy him. That alone was worth overcoming his fears for.

And Malleus… Malleus also wanted to–

“CASTER!”

The Child of Prophecy was almost knocked out of his chair by the thunderous roar that boomed behind him. He caught himself on the table, mildly hyperventilating as he found the source of those porcelain-cracking sound waves.

“Se– Dinadan?!” 

His companion, who should have been sleeping soundly back in their inn room, was heaving furiously as his hands threatened to wring Malleus by the neck. Dark circles under his eyes made him look half-mad and starved for vengeance. Vengeance for his lost sleep, which panic had stolen from him. 

Malleus instinctively activated a sound-dampening Mystic Code he had made before they got to the city. A wise decision, as upon seeing Malleus’ wide-eyed expression, Sebek used his favorite method of dealing with a problem: applying volume to it.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” The Fang Clan fae screamed, grabbing Malleus by the collar and shaking him back and forth. “THE NIGHTS AFTER THE AUCTIONS ARE ALWAYS BUSIEST! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU FUCKWIT FAE?!?”

Malleus resisted the urge to scream in reply. He could hardly answer his questions whilst being strangled with his coat!

“Cease! Shaking! Me! I’ll! Tell you!”

Sebek acquiesced to his plea. Violently.

“FINE!” He shoved Malleus back into his chair like he was slam-dunking a basketball. “TALK! THIS BETTER BE GOOD CASTER OR SO FUCKING HELP ME…!!”

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell him that I went gift shopping for him, only to later use that as a pretense to have a private evening with Lancelot.’ Malleus was reckless, but even he knew that dying of foot-in-mouth disease was pathetic.

Pretending to take a deep breath, the Child of Prophecy decided to exclude all mentions of Lancelot for now. No reason to make Sebek more upset than he already was. The poor half-fae was already bound to have an apoplexy the way things were going.

“Sit down for now, Dinadan. I shall explain myself with due haste.”

Sebek let out a customary scoff before sitting down in the chair opposite Malleus. His reptilian eyes were brimming with barely contained anger and a droopiness that spoke of exhaustion, but he still found the energy to gesture for Malleus to speak.

The dragon fae didn’t waste a single breath.

He narrated his attempts at finding Sebek a present before finally settling on a practical gift that would better ensure the half-fae’s safety, handing over the Púca amulet after he did. This mollified Sebek somewhat, enough so that he grunted out a ‘thank you’ without raising his voice to the volume of a public speaker. Malleus took that as a display of approval and silently felt that the upcoming shouting spree would have been worth it.

A rather witless notion, but one Malleus stubbornly clung to as he made his way to the proverbial finish line. Gingerly, like he was picking up a pipe bomb and not an ordinary sheet of paper, he handed the invitation over to Sebek.

Snatching it from his grip, Sebek gave the letter a once over.

He did a double-take. Then a triple-take.

The envelope crumpled as he clenched his hand into a fist.

“I ONLY HAVE 10 HOURS TO PREPARE TWO OUTFITS FOR AN INVITATION-ONLY FEAST?!”

With that scream of sheer unadulterated panic, Sebek grabbed Malleus by the wrist and dragged him back to their inn, ranting several miles a minute as he worked himself into a frenzy.

Without meaning to, the Child of Prophecy glanced back at the cafe that had once acted as a sanctuary for him and smiled longingly.

Their utopian dream was over.

But Malleus Caster would never forget.