Chapter Text
“It is… not my place to question your decisions, my liege—” Sullivan begins, kneeling before The Crown with his head bowed. One hand rests atop his knee, but the other curls into a fist on the marble palace floor.
King Derkila, one leg folded over the other as he slouches in his throne, raises a palm. Sullivan’s jaw snaps shut. The demon looks more tired than Sullivan has ever seen him. The weight of the kingdom has been growing heavier on him over the past few years. Spot-fires of clan infighting have begun to flare up and King Derklia is required to stamp it out each time, but it is evident that doing so is wearing him down.
King Derkila sighs. “Then do not, Sullivan,” he says, hand falling as his eyes briefly flutter closed. “This is for the best.”
Sullivan does not hastily retort otherwise, despite very much feeling as though he should. Instead, he ponders the thought with pressed lips.
“The entire realm would be overjoyed to learn that you have inherited an heir,” he says thoughtfully, carefully studying the King’s reaction. “Why do you not wish to share that joy with them?”
Briefly, the King smiles. It’s soft, but sad. His eyes drift away from Sullivan, no doubt to the infant in his mind.
Then, his face stills, turning to sour stone. “The child will not be safe here. At least, not for the moment.”
When his hardened gaze finds Sullivan’s again, the sheer power in them sends a shudder down his spine.
“Our enemies conspire against us, Sullivan,” King Derkila continues, shifting forward in his throne. “If they catch wind of my son they shall destroy him. I cannot abide this. You must hide the boy, Sullivan, and when the time is right, you will fetch him.”
Obediently, Sullivan dips his head, but it pains and worries him. Where will he take the child? Who will look after the boy?
“But, my liege,” he interjects, a frown forming between his brows. “Where will I hide the boy? Our enemies have eyes and ears everywhere.”
King Derkila sighs once more, heavier this time as his pointed fingernails dig into the arms of his throne.
“I have cast a spell on the boy that only I can break. You shall take him to the human world,” he says thinly, each word more brittle than the last. “And hide him. For all intents and purposes, the boy shall look human. When my son is reunited with me, I shall remove the curse.”
Sullivan still doesn’t like the idea, but he does not say so. The King may be right. The human world, filthy and putrid as it is, may be the only safe place for the child right now.
“When my son is reunited with me,” King Derkila repeats, softer this time, “we shall be a family again.”
—😈—
Iruma sleeps soundly in the large bed Sullivan has provided for him, not stirring even when the bed depresses with the chair-demon’s weight. Sullivan’s calloused fingers find his hair.
“... I failed you, my child,” he whispers in the dark, brushing the blue locks away from the boy’s face. “I left you in the care of those foolish humans and they abandoned you.”
Sullivan had not known the students of Babyls were due for their yearly physical today until Iruma had brought home the report card and left it on his study desk.
The chair-demon had almost wept.
Iruma was well behind that of his peers in almost every aspect. He’d always known the boy was undernourished, to see it highlighted in the nurse’s red handwriting twisted up his stomach uncomfortably, but worse than that, the demon-psychologist running the second part of the exam had definitively diagnosed Iruma with separation anxiety disorder.
He was not looking forward to the overdue conversation he was planned to have with Naberius tomorrow. Iruma’s homeroom teacher wasn’t the most likeable of demons, but he cared about the safety and wellbeing of his students like none other.
And right now, Naberius knew two things: one, Iruma was severely underscoring, and two, the child was terrified to part with his friends and caretakers.
Sullivan got lucky the first time. Shichiro was understanding of Iruma’s situation. Most probably because the man himself had bone trauma to his face that had left him indefinitely scarred on the outside, but internally too.
He does not think he will get so lucky with Naberius.
Tiredly, Sullivan scrubs a hand over his face.
By now, the whole school staff are likely aware of Iruma’s, ahem , diagosis . Naberius isn’t a gossip, the opposite in fact, but he is honour-bound to inform the school of any suspected abuse.
Wingless children with separation anxiety disorder don’t just happen, but it’s best not to think of the years of neglect and the effects of the King’s spell on his own son.
Out of either worry or hope, his hand migrates to Iruma’s back and he begins to rub soothing circles there. The boy’s back must ache under the weight of the curse, keeping his wings permanently inside him. The same must also be said for his fangs, nails, and horns. He’s sure it must be incredibly painful. He worries, too, for the boy’s mental state, but with time, he hopes to undo some of the harmful coping mechanisms Iruma has managed to come up with.
When Iruma audibly sighs and relaxes contentedly under his ministrations, Sullivan’s heart constricts. The boy has had a hard day.
Iruma still believes he is human. He had spent the entire day stressing about being found out as such. While Sullivan aches to correct him otherwise, he knows he cannot as of yet. It’s not safe. Only when Derkila returns can he…
He shakes the roundabout memories away. It does no good to dwell on that. Instead, he turns his attention back to his charge.
Iruma’s innocence, truly, only makes him all the more endearing. The abandonment issues the child carries with him are solely Sullivan's responsibility for his poor choice of human caretakers. When he returns to the human world in six years time, when the veil between worlds is at its weakest, his first order of business will be to burn those pathetic creatures to ash.
The door cracks open a fraction, letting in a beam of light just as Sullivan makes ready to stand.
Opera waits for him there.
“The boy sleeps,” Sullivan says quietly, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him. “It has been a long day.”
“Certainly,” Opera agrees, falling into lock-step as they walk the length of the hall. “But I worry the school staff may… overcompensate now that they know of Iruma’s… situation.”
Sullivan nods. “What worries me the most,” he returns, “is the possibility that they will treat him differently now that they know.”
Opera looks concerned for a moment, ears twitching, before he decides, “I am sure it will not come to that.”
Pausing at the end of the hall, the chair-demon hangs his head and changes tac.
“I wish,” he whispers, feeling oddly treasonous as he whispers his hope. “I just wish King Derkila would return. I wish life would return to the way it once was.”
Opera nods. “You and I both, my lord.”
Sullivan gives the cat-demon a half-smile.
“Good night, Opera.”
“Good night, sir.”
—😈—
Yesterday had been perfectly awful and Iruma is incredibly glad to put it behind him.
“Good morning, Iruma-sama,” Asmodeus greets him, dignified, at the manor gates alongside Clara, who is grinning her usual wild smile.
“Iruma-chi! Mornin’!”
“Good morning!” He greets them both brightly.
The trio talk and laugh as they walk to school, an ordinary, sunny morning, just like the many others that have come before. Grandpa is due to speak with his homeroom teacher, Kalego-sensei today, but he is thankful the meeting isn’t until the afternoon. They will go home together in the carriage and Iruma won’t be alone for a single second of the day.
Mentally, he runs through his list of classes today as they stroll up to the school gates, distantly aware that the usual student council members manning it are oddly absent today.
A foreboding feeling sends a shudder down his spine as they pass through the gates themselves. It’s like an aura, a miasma of power that tickles every sense and sets the hairs on his arms to attention.
And then, among the throng of excited students jostling toward the centre of the courtyard and the ring of teachers, they see the imposing carriage as the four black, demonic flying horses land and the wheels touch the ground.
“Who do you think that is?” Iruma whispers, turning toward Asmodeus. “They must be very important if they have a carriage like—” Iruma stops at the sight of his friend’s sheet-white, bloodless face. Beside him, Clara looks similarly pale. Which is even stranger because Clara never looks perturbed by anything.
The teachers and students alike fall to their knees as the carriage door opens and a plume of purple smoke exits through the door.
Asmodeus and Clara are no exception, one hand on their knees and the other on the pavement.
With a slight panic, Iruma copies as best he can.
A purple haired demon steps out of the carriage. The power he exudes is almost like a physical force. It sits on his shoulders like an actual weight.
Kalego-sensei rises to his feet, but no one else moves.
The court-yard is utterly still. So quiet, in fact, that if a pin dropped on the other side, Iruma is sure he would hear it.
Kalego-sensei’s voice is like a cymbal in the silence.
“King Derkila,” he says, placing a palm over his heart and giving a short little bow. “Your return is most wonderful news. We are honoured that you would choose Babyls as your first public appearance. The school is at your service.”
Iruma’s eyes widen.
King Derkila?
The King? The one that Grandpa had told him about?
The King in question says nothing at first, surveying the student populace with a certain scrutinising quality.
Iruma ducks his head.
If anyone in the demon world will know he’s human at first glance, he is sure it will be this most incredibly powerful demon. King Derkila.
Though he tries to keep his eyes focused on the ground beneath his palm, Iruma’s curiosity gets the better of him.
One quick glance up is enough.
And it proves to be his undoing as the King’s studious glare meets his.
The crowd of teachers and students parts like a wave as the King marches forward, gravel and pavement crunching under his boots as he makes his way over.
Oh no.
The King stops less than a foot away as Iruma scrunches his eyes shut tightly.
He’s panicking too much to think clearly.
The King hauls him up, but it’s gentler than Iruma expects.
“There you are,” King Derkila says, words meant for the two of them before his voice thunders across the whole school in a way that makes Iruma’s knees want to give out from under him.
“I have missed you, my son.”