Chapter 1: Visions are seldom all they seem
Chapter Text
The Memory came to Yuu as if carried on the scent of sweet tea and the faint shimmer of candlelight.
He remembered the gentle hum of voices, the warm glow of the hall, the air was warm with the mingled scents of flowers, fresh pastries, and faint perfume, the kind that clung to silk sleeves as guests passed by.
Silver stood at the center of it all, standing there with a quiet, almost shy smile. The faint glimmer of candles and crystal reflected in his silver hair. There was a quiet composure to him, though his eyes held the same light as the candles—steady, warm, and deeply alive.
"Ah, you've come. I'm truly happy you'd join me in celebrating my birthday," Silver had said, his voice steady yet tender, as though every guest’s presence mattered to him more than they could imagine.
Yuu remembered how Silver’s gaze swept across the room, taking in every laughing face, every clinking glass.
"Everyone’s smiles at the party were the greatest gifts of all."
The words seemed to hang in the air, blending with the music of clinking cups and low chatter. Yuu could almost see them, like petals drifting above the crowd.
Then, as more friends gathered around him, Silver straightened, his voice gaining a quiet strength.
"Now that everyone's gathered to celebrate me, I can show them the fruits of my tireless training."
His tone was resolute but not boastful—more like a knight showing his polished blade, proud of its shine but mindful of its purpose.
Somewhere to the side, the faint notes of a harp curled through the air. Silver’s gaze wandered briefly to the window, where moonlight pooled on the horizon.
"I hope I look a proper mage," he murmured to no one in particular, perhaps thinking of the path he’d walked to stand here.
When he spoke, the air seemed to ripple faintly, petals—were they rose petals? or fragments of light?—drifting down from nowhere, dissolving before they touched the floor.
And then—time slowed. The noise faded into a muffled hum. Silver’s eyes softened, his smile carrying something deeper than the joy of the evening.
There it was.....
the moment that had stayed etched deepest in Yuu’s mind: Silver’s eyes softening as he spoke in that hushed tone of nostalgia.
"Father patted me on the head and said I've become a fine young man. It's been a while since he's done anything like that."
Yuu had seen it then—the way Silver’s heart warmed at something so simple, so rare.
In that suspended moment, Yuu felt the weight of it—a tenderness that seemed to echo beyond the dream. The crowd’s edges blurred, the walls dissolved into soft darkness, and for just an instant, it was only Silver, the glow of candles around him, and the quiet pulse of something precious and unspoken.
.........
...........
Then, without warning, the world froze.
The laughter, the music, the drifting petals—all stilled in the air as though caught in crystal.
Even the flicker of the candles seemed to hold its breath.
Silver’s head turned slowly toward Yuu, his expression shifting into something achingly bright.
His smile dazzled, warm as the sun—and yet his eyes glistened, brimming with tears that trembled on the verge of falling.
"Birthdays are very special to me. I'm beyond delighted that I could spend mine in such an enjoyable way."
The words rang strangely in the silence, untouched by the frozen stillness around them.
Yuu’s own breath hitched.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t remember Silver crying that day. The party had been joyful, untouched by sadness—or so he’d thought.
Doubt began to gnaw at the edges of the memory.
The frozen petals in the air withered into crumbling ash.
The golden light of the candles dimmed, their flames shrinking into pinpricks before guttering out.
One by one, the blurred faces in the background melted away, leaving behind hollow outlines that sagged and collapsed like paper soaked in water.
The hall itself began to shiver, its stone archways twisting, melting into shadow.
The warm scent of tea turned acrid, metallic.
Even Silver’s glow seemed to falter, the light around him flickering as the floor beneath them groaned like old wood about to give way.
Yuu’s heart began to race as the dream unraveled.
The crumbling walls gave way to yawning black voids, the floor splitting beneath his feet with deep, shuddering cracks.
His surroundings fell away in chunks, dissolving into ash that spiraled upward and vanished into nothing.
Then came the sound—sharp, jarring, relentless.
Shouts.....
So many Shouts....
First distant and muffled, then swelling into a chaotic roar.
The air shook with the crash of collapsing stone, the whine of steel against steel.
Flashes tore through the dark: white-hot lightning splitting the sky, and bursts of sickly green fire that licked hungrily at the ruins, leaving the air thick with heat and the acrid stench of smoke.
Yuu spun, trying to make sense of it all, but every direction was the same—ruin and chaos stretching as far as the eye could see. His breath caught in his throat when he saw him.
Silver.
No longer in his party attire, but clad in gleaming silver armor that caught the light of the flames.
His hair—no longer its familiar pale hue—blazed gold in the storm’s flashes, each strand a halo against the darkness.
He stood alone amidst the chaos, the inferno painting his outline in gold and emerald.
Tears traced shining paths down his cheeks, though he made no sound. His lips curved into a smile—soft, unwavering, and unbearably gentle, as if to reassure Yuu even now.
And then the fire surged, engulfing him.
Yuu’s voice caught, breaking into a cry—
Before Yuu could move to him...
He felt a string pull from below
A blackness began to rise. It seeped upward through the shattered ground, swallowing what remained of the floor, the walls, the flames—everything it touched.
The ink-like tide lapped at Yuu’s feet, cold and heavy, and in that moment, he realized - the Ink was pulling him down.
“Silver!” Yuu’s voice tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
He didn’t know if he was calling for rescue, or pleading to save him—only that the thought of being separated now was unbearable.
From the depths of that rising shadow, something stirred.
A shape—massive, coiling—emerged from the abyss.
A dragon
M⟟⎅⟟⟒∪ϟ
The air trembled as a dragon of unfathomable size lifted its head, scales glistening like wet stone, eyes burning with the same green fire that devoured the ruins.
It loomed over them both, jaws parting in a silent, endless roar as if it would consume the world.
The flames surged higher, and the black tide climbed Yuu’s chest, thick and choking.
He thrashed, reaching for Silver—only to find the distance between them stretching, warping, as if the world itself wanted to tear them apart.
And then, through the roar of fire and the hiss of the abyss, came Silver’s voice—clear, steady, and impossibly kind.
It was the same tone he had used on the happiest days Yuu could remember.
"Even if we never celebrated a birthday together, Yuu… I know it would have been wonderful. Thank you… And I’m sorry, my friend."
The words struck like a bell in the dark, their warmth a cruel contrast to the cold pulling Yuu under.
The dragon’s shadow fell across them both.
Silver’s figure began to fade into the blaze, his eyes soft to the last minute.
And then—
The black tide surged over Yuu’s head
-
-
-
A final flash of green fire.
a Roar
a Shout
-
-
SILVER!!!
-----
------
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Cold, heavy, final.
For an instant, there was no air, no light—only the crushing silence of being swallowed whole.
And then—
-
-
-
He woke.
Ramshackle Dorm
If you had asked Yuu, he would have never imagined he’d one day attend a classmate’s funeral.
Maybe, far in the future—when they were all older, when time had run its course for everyone.
But not like this. Not so soon.
It felt otherworldly, surreal—like a cruel mistake.
The realization hit him over and over again: he was never going to see that person again.
Just days ago, he could still greet him in the halls, catch sight of him in the cafeteria, and share a passing smile.
Small talk, playful teasing that sometimes landed and sometimes didn’t, jokes exchanged in the lull between classes, laughter tucked into corners of ordinary days.
Stories half-told, and others never to be.
All of it gone, cut short.
Now, staring at his reflection in the mirror, Yuu saw the exact moment his face broke, twisting in pain under the weight of memories.
Of scenes flashing by—brief, and warm.
Not as many as others might hold, yet precious all the same.
But now they burned, each recollection sharp enough to draw tears that brimmed faster than he could wipe them away.
His throat tightened, the sting of grief rising to choke him.
His mind clawed back to what had shaken him that morning—the memo..., no, not a memory.
A dream.
Just a dream.
And that hurt most of all, doesn't it?
Because it wasn’t real.
It was wishful longing dressed as memory, a fragile fantasy that mocked him the moment he woke.
Yuu’s fingers curled around the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as if grounding himself could keep the tide from breaking.
But the more he tried to steady his breath, the more it slipped.
The dream—nightmare—whatever it was, had only carved the truth deeper.
He had never celebrated that day with him.
Not even once.
He had never celebrated Silver’s birthday.
The thought finally broke through, cruel in its simplicity, and Yuu crumbled beneath it.
The grief, raw and unrelenting, surged up from his chest. His breath hitched into a broken gasp as the reality sank like stone into his bones.
He was gone.
And nothing would ever bring him back.
Yuu tried to muffle his cries with the palm of his hand.
He had been doing such a good job these past couple of weeks—at least, that’s what he told himself.
Smiling when he had to.
Nodding, offering hollow reassurances whenever someone asked if he was all right.
He hadn’t wanted to attract more grief to his friends, hadn’t wanted to burden those who already carried their own sorrows.
Even when the S.T.Y.X. doctor insisted on scheduling another appointment to check on him, Yuu had managed to fool them with practiced words and a steady gaze, convincing them that he was fine.
That he was holding together.
That he was strong.
But now—now it was too much. He was done.
The weight in his chest cracked him open, and Yuu collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor. The sobs he had held back for so long tore through him with violent force, breaking past trembling hands, spilling out in a raw, hiccupping flood.
Each cry echoed off the tiles, too loud, too vulnerable, but he couldn’t stop it.
All the pain—the grief, the fear, the suffocating weight—spilled out.
Not just from this morning’s dream, not just from the cruel reminder that he had never celebrated Silver’s birthday, and never would.
No, it was deeper.
It was the pain he had been carrying ever since the day he first woke in this strange world, pried open from a coffin in the Grand Hall.
The fear of being alone, memoryless, abandoned in a place where nothing was familiar. He had clung to hope then—telling himself it was temporary, that maybe it was all some dream or illusion, that one day he would wake up back home.
But that illusion had shattered.
The ache in his chest, the horror of watching friends fall to overblot, the trauma of fighting, surviving, witnessing too much—it was all real.
The loss was real.
Silver was gone.
And the pain tearing through his heart was the cruelest proof of all.
He was scared.
He was alone.
And gods, he was sorry—so, so sorry.
All the emotions he had buried—the fear that never loosened its grip, the guilt that clung to him after each overblot, the longing for family and warmth, the isolation that gnawed at him every night—it all cracked open now, ripping through his body with violent shivers and unrelenting sobs.
Somewhere through the haze, he thought he heard the muffled pounding on the bathroom door.
Grim’s frantic little voice, high and desperate.
The worried calls of the ghosts echo down the corridor.
But Yuu couldn’t bring himself to answer.
He didn’t want to add to their pain. Grim, who had already carried a weight far heavier than he should. The ghosts, who tried so hard to keep Ramshackle a place of comfort despite its decay.
He didn’t want to worry them. He didn’t want to fail them.
But he was so tired.
So tired of pretending to be strong, of wearing a mask of positivity, of being the hero everyone believed him to be.
He wasn’t a hero.
He wasn’t unbreakable.
He wasn’t even brave.
He was just a human.
Just a scared kid who missed his family, his warmth, his home.
And in this moment—most of all—his friend.
Shaking, Yuu curled tighter against the floor, letting himself unravel at last.
Tears soaked the sleeves of his shirt, his cries hoarse and unending. Guilt wrapped around him like chains, even though none of it truly belonged to him. Still, he couldn’t let it go.
And in his mind, one thought repeated over and over, louder than all the rest:
His greatest fear had come true.
He had lost someone.
He lost a friend.
A good one.
A warm one.
A beautiful one.
A familiar one.
Someone who, from the very beginning, had never once hesitated to offer calm, unwavering support.
Someone who helped quietly, consistently, without ever asking for anything in return.
Someone who shone so brightly with kindness and gentleness that even in this cold, chaotic world, everyone noticed him—and Yuu did too.
He held on to that light.
He cherished their quiet talks in the garden, the sleepy smiles exchanged in the hallway, the fun little adventures and family stories Silver told with warmth in his voice.
He felt safe in those moments. He felt at home.
A home he could no longer remember… and yet, simply being near him was enough to stir echoes of it, a warmth just out of reach.
Now his vision blurred with tears, his sobs rising until they drowned out Grim’s frantic calls and the anxious whispers of the ghosts beyond the door.
And in the hollow ache of his chest, one broken thought echoed, again and again, a plea torn straight from his soul:
Please… O Lord, why did You take someone I loved again?
Main hall
Walking the hallways of the school had never felt more like a gloomy parade than it did now.
Yuu had always admired—or at least acknowledged—the old European Gothic aesthetic of the place. Long, shadowed corridors, monochrome walls, vaulted ceilings… it had a mournful beauty to it.
But today, more than ever, that beauty only deepened the suffocating atmosphere.
The air was heavy, oppressive, pressing down on every breath.
The stone walls seemed darker than usual, as though they absorbed every fragment of light, leaving only the dull gleam of torches and chandeliers. Even the faint sound of footsteps on the polished floors echoed hollow, like the beating of a slow, distant drum.
Accompanied by the march of the students, the halls became a processional path. The line moved in quiet rhythm, a river of black uniforms and bowed heads flowing toward the great chamber where the ceremony awaited.
There were no whispered jokes, no idle chatter, not even the rustle of restless conversation.
Only the muted shuffle of shoes and the occasional stifled breath broke the silence.
He clutched Grim a little tighter against his chest, the monster-cat curling closer in return.
Since the breakdown in the bathroom a few hours ago, he hadn’t let go of him.
Grim had cried too—small, pitiful mewls that shook his little body, making him seem less like the boastful “future great mage” he always claimed to be and more like the vulnerable soul he really was.
Yet in that display, there was something painfully honest, something raw. Grim was hurting too.
He was struggling.
Somewhere in his small, stubborn heart, Grim had convinced himself that all the bad things happening at this school were his fault—that ever since he arrived, dreaming of becoming a wizard, misfortune had followed in his wake.
But that was nonsense… wasn’t it?
If anything, by that same cruel logic, Yuu was just as guilty.
They had both arrived here at the same time, both stumbled into this strange world together.
So maybe…
Maybe it wasn’t Grim at all.
Maybe it wasn’t coincidence.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he was the bad luck.
I already lost someone back home… and now this? Maybe I’m cursed, Yuu thought bitterly, eyes flicking over the students around him.
Faces that were usually filled with pride, mischief, or boredom now bore the same somber heaviness etched into his own.
Uniforms neat, heads bowed, steps dragging—they all moved toward the ceremony together, a silent procession dressed in grief.
He was surprised anyone had come at all.
Don’t get him wrong—Silver deserved more than just a funeral.
If not for him, they all might still be trapped in that cursed dream, lost to endless sleep—or worse.
And even beyond that, Silver had always deserved more.
He had been a gentle, pure soul shining quietly in a place that only seemed to grow darker by the day.
His kindness was unwavering, his courage quiet but constant, his heart so full of warmth that it almost felt cruel, almost wrong, that he had to exist in such a cold, decaying world.
Yuu’s chest tightened.
This school—once a mystery, once something he’d been desperate to understand—now only felt rotten.
Hollow.
Poisoned to the core.
And the longer he stayed, the more he hated it.
So when he saw that even from this rotting place, students and alumni had still found it in themselves to show up—to attend a ceremony for someone they had so often dismissed as lazy, odd, out of place, or airheaded—well, color him surprised.
Apparently, these bastards had at least a shred of decency.
Or maybe it wasn’t decency at all.
Maybe it was guilt.
His jaw tightened as he huffed through his nose, pushing forward through the crowd.
To him, it was nothing but a sea of hypocrites.
Don’t pretend you cared now. Don’t pretend you mourn someone you barely treated like a person.
As he pushed his way through the hall, he reached the Grand Salon. The moment he stepped in, he was struck with a bitter wave of irony.
His first time entering this place had been filled with awe and possibility.
He had imagined returning here one day for graduation… or maybe, if he ever found a way home.
But not like this.
Never like this.
At the center of the grand chamber, framed by towering stained-glass windows and beneath the unblinking gazes of countless villainous visages painted across the walls, stood the memorial.
A somber display of loss.
The Grand Mirror loomed behind it, its surface dull and oppressive—more ominous now than magical. And in front of it, as though mocking the ceremony itself, rested a single portrait.
A photograph.
Silver.
Yuu’s breath caught. His chest constricted painfully as his eyes locked onto the image.
“He’s always been… really beautiful, hasn’t he…” he whispered, the words barely audible against the hush that blanketed the hall.
The photo radiated with Silver’s gentle smile, captured forever in that still frame. A smile that once carried warmth so freely, so selflessly—yet now, here, it only felt like a cruel reminder of what was gone.
Yuu remembered that photograph well.
Capturing Silver’s smile had never been easy.
His classmate’s calm, serious demeanor, his measured words and composed presence, were never unkind—but they rarely allowed his emotions to surface.
Often his face seemed carved from marble: serene, steady, unreadable.
Vil had often commented—sometimes half-joking, sometimes not—that if Silver smiled more often, his beauty could outshine anyone, even Vil himself.
But Silver never cared.
He never cared about appearances, or about competing with anyone. Status, fame, vanity—none of it ever mattered to him.
And yet, here he was, his image elevated as though the world had only now remembered what it had lost.
Surrounded by white lilies, wilted roses, and hastily gathered wildflowers left by trembling hands, the photograph stood like a cruel idol of remembrance.
The flicker of candles reflected across the glass, making it seem almost as if Silver’s smile wavered with the flame.
Yuu swallowed hard, his steps faltering as he entered fully into the chamber. The air was thick with incense and grief.
With those breathtaking, soft aurora-colored eyes, Silver looked past façades—into people.
He saw the real them.
Always.
He saw the good in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it in themselves.
He believed—truly believed—that every broken, bitter, desolate soul in this school and beyond still carried a spark worth saving, still had the chance to become something better.
And the irony—that very hope, was what killed him—was not lost on Yuu.
Maybe… maybe he wasn’t any different from the rest of this place.
Maybe, in some quiet, shameful way, he too had been hollowed out.
Maybe his soul had been corroded by the same rot that seeped into these halls.
Because he hadn’t believed.
Not like Silver had.
Not really.
Not fully.
Not with that same relentless, bright, foolish courage.
Yuu’s chest ached as the weight of the thought sank in.
Silver had fought to see the light in everyone.
And Yuu… Yuu had doubted. He had doubted this school, doubted its people, doubted himself.
He had chosen cynicism when Silver chose faith.
And now, standing here, the shame of that choice curdled in his stomach.
He tore his gaze from the portrait, his heart pounding, his throat tight, bile rising at the back of his tongue. He felt sick.
Quickly, his eyes scanned the room for an empty spot near the front.
He didn’t want to be seen—not by classmates, not by faculty, not by anyone.
Most of all, he didn’t want to meet those eyes in the portrait again. Silver’s gaze, soft and unwavering even in death, felt heavier than life itself. It was unbearable.
And yet… he couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t run.
This was his punishment.
To face it.
To bear the weight of that smile one last time.
To see it through to the bitter end.
His reminder.
His guilt.
His failure.
Slipping into a quiet corner close to the front, Yuu lowered his head and focused on Grim, still nestled in his arms.
The little creature hadn’t left his side since the bathroom—in specific his chest- since the breakdown.
He remained curled against Yuu’s chest, small claws gripping lightly at his jacket, barely reacting to the commotion and movement around them.
Yuu gently lifted Grim’s face, just enough to meet those wide, blue glistening eyes—round, catlike, shimmering with unspoken tears, sorrow, and confusion.
His throat tightened at the sight, but he forced a small nod, a silent gesture that tried to say, We’re here.
We’ll get through this.
Grim blinked slowly in return, then turned his gaze outward for the first time, finally registering their surroundings.
His ears twitched at every sound—the muffled coughs, the shuffle of feet, the faint sobs—as he watched the students moving quietly about the memorial with a strange, uncertain curiosity.
The usual bravado that clung to Grim’s every word and movement was gone. What was left was something smaller, softer, almost childlike.
Sniffles still shook his little body now and then, betraying the effort it took to hold them back. Without a word, Yuu stroked his back in long, slow motions, the rhythmic movement grounding them both.
He tried to focus on that warmth—the only warmth left that still felt like home.
The crowd, the noise, the sheer suffocating weight of the chamber—they blurred at the edges. He couldn’t bear to look up again, not at Silver’s portrait, not at the endless sea of grief.
Then, breaking the heavy silence, a small voice murmured against his chest: “What are they doing—nya?”
The words startled Yuu from his haze, pulling him back to the moment.
His hand froze mid-stroke before resuming, slower this time, gentler.
He blinked hard, swallowing the lump in his throat, and cleared his voice softly.
“Where, Grim?”
“There... over there—nya,” Grim said, lifting a trembling paw and pointing past the memorial.
Yuu followed Grim’s gaze and spotted a group of students entering the hall, their posture firm, their steps measured, arms full of white flowers. He recognized the armbands, the painted faces, the precision of their movement instantly. Heartslabyul had arrived—and the flowers they carried were just as unmistakable.
White roses.
Oh. Riddle.
Sure enough, behind the students, the red-haired dorm leader appeared. And it was a sight to behold.
The proud, strict boy Yuu had once met in this very place was nowhere to be seen. His face was flushed—not with anger, but with grief. A deep, unshakable red stained his cheeks, rimmed his eyes, and shadowed his expression. Even from where Yuu sat, he could see the strain in Riddle’s posture—the way his chin lifted, the way his shoulders squared—as though he were trying with every ounce of strength to hold himself upright. To keep the poise and composure demanded by the rules he had lived by all his life.
His voice, when it came, was still firm, still measured, though oddly low. He commanded his dormmates to bring the flowers forward and arrange them in precise order, giving quiet instructions with practiced clarity. He did not lift his eyes to the front.
Behind him, Trey and Cater emerged, carrying the larger pieces of the arrangement. They too were grim and solemn, though their solemnity carried an edge of worry. Trey’s gaze lingered on Riddle again and again from the corner of his eye, concern written plainly on his usually calm face. Cater, ever the performer, was pale and silent, his hands trembling faintly as he held the great arc of roses destined for the center of the display.
Still, Riddle pressed forward. Step by step, he guided his dormmates closer, moving toward the memorial without once looking at its heart. His commands grew quieter, shorter, more clipped, as though each word cost him something. He reached out to adjust the line of flowers himself, hands steady, jaw clenched—still avoiding the one place that mattered most.
But it was a losing battle.
Inevitable.
The centerpiece—Cater’s towering arc of white roses and lilies—was meant for the front, for the very heart of the memorial. And to place it, Riddle had no choice. He had to look.
The moment his eyes lifted, the moment they landed on the portrait at the center of it all, his body faltered.
His composure shattered like a fragile house of cards.
His movements froze. His voice, sharp and steady just seconds before, cut off into silence. His delicate features twisted, his shoulders trembled, and his already-reddened eyes brimmed over once more with tears.
He staggered back, colliding into one of his dormmates, who reached out instinctively to steady him.
Trey and Cater were at his side in an instant, their voices urgent, calling his name—“Riddle! Riddle!”—but Yuu could see, even from across the hall, that he couldn’t hear them.
Grief had deafened him.
The weight of it broke him.
Like a queen cornered in a merciless checkmate, Riddle crumbled, his knight no longer at his side. He fell to his knees, white roses scattering from trembling hands, petals bursting across the dark floor like snow.
And then, the tidal wave came.
All the control, all the rules, all the restraint he had wrapped around himself since childhood tore loose at once. A sob ripped from his throat—high, ragged, almost childlike—and then another, louder, more desperate.
His composure collapsed entirely, leaving behind nothing but raw, unrestrained grief
“NO… NOOO! PLEASE—NOOO! MY FRIEND—SILVER, MY FRIEND!”
And then it broke out of him, unrestrained, primal—
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
His cry echoed against the vaulted ceilings, reverberating like thunder, until it felt as though the entire chamber was shaking with the force of his grief.
“No… no, please—no!” His voice cracked, rising in a wail that echoed against the vaulted chamber walls. “My friend—no! You can’t! You can’t!”
The sound carried through the hall, sharp as glass, startling in its nakedness. His small frame curled in on itself, trembling, until he collapsed fully to the floor, folding into a fetal position as though trying to shield himself from the pain tearing through him. His cries grew louder, harsher, keening—every sob the sound of a boy who had never allowed himself to be a child.
Until now.
Oh, Riddle… your heart is broken, Yuu thought, a deep ache rising in his chest once more.
The dorm leader, the rulemaker, the proud Heartslabyul tyrant was gone. In his place was just a boy on the ground, thrashing in anguish, mourning the loss of someone who had believed in him, who had been his friend.
And then the words came—broken, strangled, torn from his throat like a command and a plea all at once.
“Ahhh—ahhh! M-my friend! SILVER—my friend!” His voice cracked, shrill and ragged, each word tearing out of him like glass. “He’s mine—no, no, you can’t—! Please—please, bring him back! I… I DEMAND it—I DEMAND it, do you hear me?! Please!”
The cries blurred together, half-commands, half-pleas, shattering into sobs that stripped every ounce of authority from the boy who had once ruled by rules alone.
The cries blurred into sobs, the demands into prayers, until they became one indistinguishable voice of desperation. His fingers clutched at Trey’s robes, clinging to him like a drowning man, his grief twisting into something almost frantic.
Trey leaned down, whispering softly, his own voice breaking, trying to hold Riddle steady. But even his calm, practiced tone faltered under the weight of his friend’s devastation.
Beside him, Cater’s lips trembled. “O-Oh, Riddle-chan… please, don’t cry… oh, dear, please don’t…” His words were thin, fragile things, as useless as they felt in his mouth.
Tears pricked his eyes before he could stop them. He blinked hard, but they spilled anyway, trailing hot down his cheeks. He looked away, up toward the portrait that presided over the ceremony, Silver’s gentle smile frozen forever in the frame. His chest tightened painfully.
He hadn’t been that close to Silver—not like Trey, not like Riddle.
But he had known him.
They had coexisted, shared spaces, even laughed together in fleeting moments. And gods, he’d been almost best friends with Lilia—Silver’s father.
No, don’t think about Lilia right now, Cater told himself fiercely. That was a wound he couldn’t touch without breaking.
But even without diving into that pain, Cater knew the truth.
He had heard so many stories, from Riddle, from others—stories of Silver’s steadiness, his quiet strength, his unwavering kindness.
Even when Riddle, in his rigidity, would complain about his fellow classmate, Cater had seen through it. Silver was one of the very few students Riddle truly liked—really liked. Perhaps the first friend he had ever made on his own, someone his own age, without adults forcing the connection.
And now, seeing his dorm leader—his precious, stubborn Riddle-chan—collapsed and wailing like a child torn from his dearest treasure, Cater understood.
Perfectly.
He had told himself long ago that he had moved past feelings like this. That he had discarded attachments, discarded the ache of family, of close bonds, that it was safer that way.
But as he knelt there, watching his dorm leader fall apart, his own tears dripping freely, Cater realized he was a liar.
A big liar.
Because his heart hurt too, hurt so badly it felt like it could split clean in two.
With steady steps, he moved closer, trading places with Trey, who was frozen in near-shock at the sound of Riddle’s wails.
Cater dropped down beside the smaller boy and pulled him firmly into his arms, holding him tight as if anchoring him against the storm. He stroked Riddle’s trembling hair with careful fingers, his voice uncharacteristically low, stripped of its usual cheer.
“I don’t know the full weight of your hurt, Riddle-chan,” Cater whispered, his own tears slipping into his words. “Even if my heart aches too, I know yours aches far, far more. So let it out. You can let it out now, Riddle. You don’t need to follow any more rules here—there’s no one stopping you. We said it in the dream, didn’t we? And even he helped you find those words. You’re free. So cry. Let it all out. He would have wanted you to be free.”
The redhead shuddered in his embrace, Riddle’s sobs faltering for only a heartbeat before breaking open again, raw and unrestrained.
That was when Trey moved forward, kneeling down on the other side. His arms wrapped around both of them, steady and grounding, as his own quiet tears darkened the fabric of his collar. His voice was calm but edged with grief.
“Silver told me once,” Trey murmured, “that what he admired most about you, Riddle, was your heart—and your determination. So don’t betray that now. Don’t hide it. Show it. For him.”
Riddle’s cries grew sharper, ragged, his little body clinging desperately to both of them.
The boy who had ruled Heartslabyul with iron rules, who had demanded perfection from himself and others alike, was gone.
In his place was only Riddle, the child beneath the rules, crushed beneath the weight of loss.
“I—I never told him!” Riddle wailed, the words ripping from his chest like they’d been buried there all along, sharp and shaking. “I never told him he was my friend! He… he always called me his, but I— I never—!”
His voice cracked, spiraling higher and higher until it shattered what silence and dignity remained in the chamber.
“I wanted to! I wanted to so badly! But I… I was afraid! Afraid of saying it aloud, afraid it wouldn’t be enough, afraid of being wrong somehow!” His fists clenched against his chest, trembling, as if he could tear the regret out of himself. “I liked him—so, so much—and now he’s gone! He’s gone! I want him back—I WANT SILVER BACK!”
The last words weren’t sentences anymore, just a cry torn between fury and despair, echoing in the vaulted chamber like a child’s tantrum laced with grief. His sobs broke unevenly, ragged gasps that collapsed into raw, wordless sound.
The weight of his anguish filled every corner of the hall.
And in those cries lay a truth Riddle had never dared to face until it was far, far too late. He felt robbed. Betrayed. Empty. Angry. Ache and fury and grief churned together into something unbearable.
For so long, he had hidden behind rules and discipline, the structure his mother had drilled into him as life’s only truth. But here, before death, it all crumbled.
Because those rules had never given him courage.
They had never given him sincerity.
They had never once allowed him to speak the words that mattered most.
How many times had he wanted to be closer to Silver?
To be friendlier, more open?
To linger in the stables after club meetings, to share quiet words while grooming their horses?
To sit together during study sessions, or meals, or simply talk like normal students—about classes, about dreams, about nothing at all?
He had wanted those moments. Wanted them desperately.
And oh, how he missed them now.
He missed the way Silver never made him feel like a burden. How, when others mocked him for his strictness, for his rules, for his devotion to his mother, Silver never laughed at him. Never belittled him. Instead, Silver listened—patiently, kindly.
He validated Riddle, making him feel heard and respected.
He hadn’t needed to follow the rules of the Queen of Hearts, and yet sometimes he did, simply because he knew it would make Riddle happy. That, too, was friendship.
And Silver had called him a friend. Again and again.
Oh, how much Riddle had wanted to say it back. To meet that sincerity with his own. But now he never would.
The chance was gone.
He bowed his head, pressing trembling hands against his chest as if to hold the pieces of it together, his voice breaking into a plea between sobs:
“Please… please, by the Queen of Hearts—let him have known! Let him have known I considered him a true friend… that I liked him, so, so much!” His breath hitched, words tumbling into gasps. “Just once—just once, let my heart have reached him! Even if I never said it—please, let him have known!”
The prayer fractured into another sob, high and aching, echoing through the chamber with the rawness of a child begging for an impossible mercy.
Yuu looked down quickly, unable to watch any longer.
Grim had already turned away the moment Riddle collapsed, his ears flattened tight against his head. The little creature’s trembling paws clutched desperately at Yuu’s uniform, claws snagging in the fabric as though afraid that letting go might mean being swallowed by the despair filling the hall. His small body quivered, and he buried his face into Yuu’s chest with a soft, muffled sound that broke what little strength Yuu had left.
“...Grim,” Yuu whispered, barely audible. His hand resumed its slow, soothing strokes along Grim’s back, the motion more for himself than for Grim. The catlike boy’s shivers pressed against his ribs, grounding him in a way that was both painful and necessary.
A faint sound escaped Grim, small and broken between hiccups. “...I-I’m sorry, Yuu… I’m so sorry…”
Yuu’s chest constricted. He pressed his cheek against Grim’s head, shaking his own in quiet denial. “No. Don’t—don’t say that. You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” His voice wavered, his throat tight, but he forced the words out anyway. “Not for this. Not for any of this.”
But Grim didn’t answer. He only clung tighter, burying his wet face into Yuu’s clothes, sobs trembling out of him in soft, uneven gasps. Each sound struck deeper than Riddle’s wails in the distance, because it came from the small, proud creature who always puffed out his chest, who never wanted to look weak.
Yuu swallowed hard against the knot forming in his throat.
Guilt churned in him like poison—guilt for not protecting Silver, for not being strong enough for Grim, for being so helpless in a place that demanded too much. And yet, even through the guilt, some part of him knew the truth: there were things no one could have stopped.
Things that had always been out of their hands.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around Grim, pulling him close until there was no space between them. “It’s all right,” Yuu murmured, though the words were as much for himself as for the little creature trembling in his embrace. “It’s all right… I’ve got you.”
When he dared to lift his eyes again, it was only to catch a glimpse across the chamber.
Trey and Cater had managed to haul Riddle upright with the help of several Heartslabyul students. They fussed over their housewarden with frantic concern, their voices hushed but urgent as they tried to steady him. But Riddle still shook violently, his face streaked with tears, his sobs refusing to quiet even as he leaned heavily on their arms.
For a fleeting moment, Cater’s gaze lifted and met Yuu’s across the hall. His green eyes were rimmed with red, shimmering faintly with unshed tears, the mask of easy charm long since shattered. In that brief exchange, without a word spoken, Yuu felt the message pass between them.
We’ve got him. A silent reassurance. A promise that Riddle would not be left to drown in his grief alone.
Yuu gave a faint nod in return—acknowledgment, gratitude, condolence. It was all he could manage.
Because as much as he wanted to be a pillar for his friend, he knew he couldn’t right now.
He was defeated, hollow.
Barely able to console Grim in his arms, let alone offer strength to anyone else.
The scent of roses drifted stronger through the air, invasive in its sweetness.
Yuu turned back to the memorial, his eyes settling on the pristine arrangement Heartslabyul had brought. White roses, pure and unyielding, stood tall beneath Silver’s portrait. It was quite the spectacle—regal, elegant, and so achingly beautiful.
A beauty Silver had deserved in life, and now was honored with in death.
Yuu’s hand smoothed Grim’s back again as the little creature shuddered against him, still sobbing softly into his chest. He whispered nothing, just let the rhythm of his touch speak the words he couldn’t.
His gaze drifted away from the roses as another movement at the chamber doors caught his attention.
The next group of students had arrived.
Pomefiore.
Chapter 2: The beauty of death..
Summary:
The memorial hall falls into deeper silence as Pomefiore makes its entrance, every step measured, every gesture graceful even in mourning. Vil leads the procession, his amethyst eyes fixed on Silver’s portrait, his usual magnificence muted into restrained composure....
.........
........
......."All the beautiful things, they will fade."
Notes:
This chapter is more Pomefiore-focused. I tried to inspire myself with the vignettes and interactions the characters had in the game and expand on them in my own canon. I hope I’ve done justice to the beautiful Queen and his Hunter.
... and yes, I hope each dorm can have its piece, some would be larger than others.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. But you don't know what I've been through." Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Their entrance was quieter, more deliberate. Every step measured, every movement steeped in grace—even in grief. Vil led them, his head held high, his face pale but composed, like porcelain masking a storm. Behind him, Rook’s usual glittering smile was gone, replaced with a solemn expression more haunting than silence.
The chamber, already hushed, seemed to dip into an even deeper silence at their approach, as though beauty and sorrow had conspired to command reverence.
Vil did not falter.
Each step landed with poise, each motion precise, yet Yuu could see the strain hidden within the elegance.
The proud carriage of his shoulders looked heavier than usual, his posture a performance of control that could shatter at the faintest tremor. There was no glamour in him now—no shimmer of vanity, no theatrical tilt of the chin meant to demand the world’s attention. His beauty remained, but it was a cold beauty, muted and subdued, as though grief itself had smoothed away all ornament.
His amethyst eyes, normally gleaming with unshakable pride, looked darker now—distant, like storm clouds holding back the downpour.
Rook walked at his side, not a pace ahead, not a pace behind, but perfectly aligned—a shadow cast in silence. His green eyes, usually so bright with mischief and gleaming with secrets, glowed dim, sharpened into reverence.
He did not speak, did not hum, did not soften the moment with poetic riddles.
Instead, he bore himself as though escorting royalty through sacred ground, his silence heavier than any of his flamboyant declarations could ever be.
Together, the two cut through the hall like a blade of sorrow wrapped in velvet. Students shifted in their seats as if instinctively making way, their own grief bending under the oppressive elegance of Pomefiore’s presence.
And when Vil finally lifted his eyes toward the memorial, toward the portrait framed in lilies and roses, Yuu caught it—that flicker.
Just a flicker.
His lips pressed thin, his nostrils flared, and his gaze wavered for the briefest heartbeat before it steadied again, hard as glass.
It wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t vanity.
It was desperation—desperation to hold his mask, to remain the beautiful, untouchable idol that everyone expected, even now. Especially now.
But beneath that porcelain surface, Yuu could see the storm gathering.
They stopped in front of the memorial, positioned precisely at its center. With the slightest tilt of his head—a movement so small it could have been missed—Vil gave a silent order.
Rook inclined his head in acknowledgment, his voice low, subdued, but carrying all the authority required:
“Commencez.”
And with that single word, Pomefiore moved.
Yuu watched, astonished, as the students of Pomefiore slipped into motion with seamless precision.
They adjusted the memorial as if they were choreographing a performance, each step measured, each gesture deliberate. Flowers brought by Heartslabyul students were rearranged, balanced, and interwoven into new displays, their chaotic clusters transformed into elegant arcs and cascades.
The offering tables were draped anew, the cloths smoothed until not a crease remained, the gifts and tokens repositioned with deliberate symmetry.
Even the smallest details were attended to. A wilted sprig was removed, a candle relit, and a vase shifted half an inch to create perfect balance. Photos and framed sketches Yuu had never seen before—captured glimpses of Silver, some candid, some formal—were placed among the arrangements.
Each frame found its place as though part of a larger composition, the entire memorial reshaped into something radiant.
In their hands, grief became artistry.
Sorrow became beauty.
And the boy at the heart of it—Silver—was honored in a way that made the whole hall feel like a cathedral of remembrance.
Rook gave his commands softly, almost like stage directions; each one obeyed instantly, no wasted motion, no hesitation. The precision was uncanny, yet not cold—every movement spoke of reverence.
Yuu’s gaze, however, drifted back to Vil.
The dorm leader hadn’t moved since he stopped before the portrait.
He stood as if rooted in place, a flawless statue carved from marble and discipline. His amethyst eyes were fixed on Silver’s smile, unblinking, as though the simple act of looking away would shatter him.
The candlelight caught in his gaze, painting fleeting sparks of violet across the stillness of his face, but there was no life in them—only reflection.
His expression was calm. Too calm. So perfectly composed it was suffocating, as if every breath, every flicker of his eyelids, had been measured and restrained. Yet beneath that stillness, Yuu felt it—something emanating like heat from beneath a sheet of ice. Something raw and unspoken, buried so deeply it had nowhere left to go but outward in silence.
Longing.
It clung to Vil like a second skin.
The way Vil’s gaze lingered on the photo wasn’t vanity, wasn’t envy of beauty—it was grief disguised as reverence.
And the cruelest part of all: he looked beautiful even in mourning.
A porcelain idol standing before the altar of memory, wearing a mask so seamless that only the slightest tremor in his lips, the faintest flicker in his eyes, betrayed the storm raging underneath.
As Rook finished directing the students with the final touches to the memorial, his gaze inevitably drifted back to his Roi du poison. His voice fell silent, his ever-watchful eyes following the same line of sight as Vil’s—and for a fleeting moment, his vision faltered.
He prided himself on his eyes, on a perception so sharp and precise it could capture even the faintest detail, the smallest flicker of truth in others.
He had built his life on never looking away. Yet in this moment, as he beheld the portrait of Silver and the quiet devastation it inspired in Vil, he would have gladly given those eyes away. To be blind, even for an instant, might have spared him the ache of seeing beauty and grief entwined so cruelly.
Silver had always been a curious case in his observations. Unlike any student he had ever studied within these prestigious halls, he did not fit the mold, did not bend to the stereotypes this school seemed to cultivate. His presence was an anomaly—gentle where others were sharp, humble where others boasted, simple where others adorned themselves in layers of artifice.
And yet, from the very first moment, his beauty was undeniable. A beauty unstudied, unpolished, but natural in a way so profound it startled even Rook. He remembered it vividly—the day his roi du poison first took notice as well. That alone had been a paradox.
For Vil, proud Vil, to acknowledge the potential of another’s beauty… it was an admission few would ever hear.
Rook had seen his king recognize it. Not with words, not with public proclamation, but with the subtle shifts he alone could read—the way Vil’s gaze lingered just a fraction too long, the faint tightening in his posture.
He remembered it because it was rare.
Precious. And dangerous.
For Vil to silently admit that the silver-haired boy carried potential—potential that could, in time, approach his own radiance—was unthinkable.
Vil never said it aloud, not to anyone.
Not to the school.
Not even to himself.
But Rook knew. Rook always knew.
From that first encounter, Rook had sharpened his gaze upon the silver-haired boy, expecting—almost hoping—to glimpse the cracks beneath the beauty. He had waited patiently, convinced that behind such a delicate mask there must surely be ugliness.
There always was.
That was the nature of people, the lesson he had learned as a hunter: beauty hides rot, and masks always break.
But oh, how wrong he had been.
Silver had been as beautiful within as he was without.
Gentle, sincere, unyieldingly honest.
He had not fit in at Night Raven College—no, he never could.
He was too unassuming for its politics, too humble for its pride, too earnest for its games.
And when Vil first interacted with him, Rook had seen it instantly: the wall his king raised, the venom he expected. Vil approached as he always did—with poise sharpened to a blade, with words that tested, provoked, and prodded at flaws.
And Silver… Silver had met it not with venom of his own, but with unguarded sweetness, with honesty so unapologetic it disarmed.
Rook remembered it well. The way his Roi du poison stormed into his chambers afterward, incandescent with frustration, voice sharp with disbelief.
“Un barre de savon! A bar of soap—can you believe this, Rook? THIS POTATO OF A BOY!” Vil’s voice cracked like a whip, echoing off the gilded walls of his chamber as he paced, his robe sweeping behind him in sharp, furious arcs. His hands fluttered wildly, then clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into his palms.
“He said he does not care. DOES. NOT. CARE! About beauty, about refinement, about his own self! ” Vil whirled on his heel, amethyst eyes blazing, his words cutting through the perfumed air like blades. “How dare he—HOW DARE SOMEONE WITH THAT FACE, WITH THAT POTENTIAL, TREAT IT LIKE A BURDEN, DISCARD IT LIKE TRASH—WHEN IT IS A GIFT OTHERS WOULD KILL TO POSSESS?!”
He stopped before his mirror, glaring into his own reflection as though it had betrayed him, his breath quick and shallow, chest heaving with indignation.
“How dare he look at ME—at ME—and speak such ignorance with a straight face?!”
Behind him, Rook moved with quiet grace, brushing through golden strands with practiced patience, letting his king’s fury blaze unchallenged, his own green eyes glinting with something between amusement and curiosity.
His tirade had spiraled until, at last, it tapered into silence. Vil sat before his mirror, eyes fixed on his reflection, but his mind elsewhere—fixed on the boy who had so casually dismissed what Vil held sacred. His lips pressed thin, his brows furrowed, and his silence was louder than his outburst had been.
Rook, ever the observer, had broken it softly as he brushed through the long golden strands of his king’s hair.
“My king,” Rook had said gently, his voice low as the brush glided through golden strands, “perhaps he simply lives as he is. Not knowing. Not needing to know. And perhaps… he is content that way.”
Vil’s reflection had lifted to meet his own in the mirror, amethyst eyes dark with thought, shadowed with something heavier than anger. Pensive. Torn.
“I know,” Vil murmured at last, almost to himself. His voice trembled with a quiet conviction. “But he has so much to give. To let it go wasted, to leave it untended… I cannot allow him not to care.”
And that was the closest Vil Schoenheit had ever come to speaking the truth aloud. To confessing that the silver-haired boy’s radiance unsettled him—that it provoked something deeper than rivalry, deeper even than admiration. Something he could neither control nor name, only feel as it gnawed at him like longing itself.
From that moment on, Vil made it his role—his duty—to remind the sleepy boy to care for himself.
Almost monthly, he would send a small care kit filled with tools and products to maintain his appearance: tonics for his hair, creams for his skin, even written instructions for their proper use.
Silver, of course, had never been one to care much for such things. To him, it was little more than a hassle, another routine to add to his already disciplined life.
And yet… he never complained. Not once.
Silver always accepted it with a tired but genuine smile, bowing his head just slightly as he murmured his thanks.
Instead, he would follow the instructions carefully, and when Vil—or sometimes Rook—asked if he had been keeping up with the regimen, Silver always answered honestly.
If he had faltered, he admitted it without hesitation, accepting Vil’s inevitable scolding with the same calm patience he carried everywhere, the same quiet grace—never defensive, never dismissive.
Only listening, nodding, and promising to do better next time.
He carried a weight of sincerity that was impossible to ignore.
Rook found his fondness for the boy growing with each passing season.
Silver’s admiration for Vil was always plain, never hidden, never coated in flattery or shallow praise. With a clarity that could not be feigned, he would say—sometimes casually, sometimes with solemn weight—that he believed Vil to be more beautiful than anyone else.
More beautiful than himself, more beautiful than the world.
Those words, spoken without agenda, had soothed Vil in ways even Rook could see.
His queen—so long accustomed to empty praise and false adoration—seemed steadied by the boy’s honesty, as though for once the crown upon his head did not feel like a burden.
Even in the dream world, Silver had carried that same quiet sincerity. He accompanied Rook without complaint, watching every film and story the hunter had chosen to share, indulging his enthusiasm for Neige, for Vil, for beauty itself.
While others dismissed such hobbies as trivial distractions, Silver never looked away. He listened. He gave his full attention, his aurora-colored eyes reflecting that unshakable sincerity, as if to say: I see you. I hear you. You matter.
Yes—that was what lingered now in Rook’s mind.
Silver had never looked away.
Not once.
Not from Vil.
Not from him.
And so, standing before the memorial, Rook swore that he, too, would not look away—not from the sorrow, not from the pain. His hunter’s eyes, so often searching for beauty in every shadow, would honor this boy—his comrade, his friend—by bearing witness to every aching truth of his absence.
For him turn aside would be to betray him. And Silver, who had given only honesty, deserved nothing less than fidelity in return.
So without looking away, Rook stepped forward.
His boots clicked softly against the stone as he approached the memorial, every movement precise, deliberate, and full of ceremony. He placed his token—a bouquet of pale anemones, flowers of sincerity and forsaken love—at the base of the portrait.
Bowing low, he pressed a hand to his chest in reverence, offering the gesture not only to the boy enshrined there but also to the storm raging silently beside him.
And then he stilled.
He waited.
The command would not come yet.
Rook knew this.
His Roi du poison needed time—time to wrestle with the mask that had begun to crack, time to gather the control he had cultivated like a second skin.
But Rook could wait.
He had always been patient.
Silver, too, had been patient—patient with Vil’s harsh words, with his perfectionism, with the demands he placed on others and himself alike.
Patient with Rook’s endless riddles and poetic ramblings, indulging them without a trace of irritation.
Patient with the world, even when the world was unkind.
Silver had carried the patience of a saint, the endurance of a knight, and the honesty of a child.
And so Rook, bowing still before the memorial, found it fitting to return that patience now. He would not rush his king. He would not force the moment. He would simply wait, as Silver had always waited—without bitterness, without complaint.
Because Vil would speak. Rook knew it as surely as he knew the beat of his own heart. His king would not leave this place without making his peace.
And until that moment came, Rook would stand beside him.
As they both had stood beside Silver.
As they both always would.
As Vil looked at the portrait, at those aurora-colored eyes immortalized in stillness, gazing back at him with their gentle sincerity, he could only stand frozen.
He was accustomed to being watched. To be the center of attention. Everywhere he went, eyes followed him—whispering gossip, measuring, admiring, envying. To be the object of scrutiny was nothing new to Vil Schoenheit.
But this was different.
The eyes in the room were not on him. Not this time. And for the first time in his life… he did not mind. No, he was relieved.
Because if the crowd had been watching him now, they would see what he longed to let slip—the perfect, polished mask cracking at the edges. They would see the tears he was fighting to restrain, the tremor in his lips, the way his breath caught shallow in his chest.
Vil wanted to break. To cry as he had never allowed himself to cry.
Grief… grief was something he knew how to play. Onstage, on screen, before the mirror. He had practiced every shade of sorrow, from noble restraint to tragic collapse. He could summon tears when a role demanded it, could channel anguish with such conviction that an audience would leave weeping.
But to feel it in truth… to feel it hollowing out his chest, unraveling him from the inside—it was new. Terrifyingly new.
Standing before Silver’s portrait, Vil realized that no rehearsal had ever prepared him for this. No mask could carry him through.
Because there was no script for grief, this is real. No role to hide behind.
Only him, only his heart, staring into the memory of a boy who had never once looked away from him.
And he wondered, for the first time in years, if perhaps perfection had left him weaker than honesty ever could.
Vil knew that his relationship with the younger boy was not particularly close—but nor was it distant, either.
If he were to believe otherwise, then the countless hours he had invested, the products, the lectures, the care kits—would that all have been wasted? No. Even if he would never admit it aloud, he knew Silver better than most students.
Perhaps not a confidant. Perhaps not a true friend. But still… someone he was fond of.
Yes, fond.
Fond of that sleepy, foolish boy who had dared to be so breathtakingly beautiful without even trying.
Vil had been jealous—oh, so jealous—jealous-the first time he laid eyes on him. Silver, calm and collected, with hair that shimmered like moonlight, skin unmarred by blemish, features refined without the aid of craft or product. His posture was unstudied yet elegant, and his eyes…
Oh, the eyes.
Those aurora-colored eyes that held a clarity no polish, no training, no artistry could replicate.
That face, that presence—it could have annihilated Neige in an instant, Vil thought bitterly. Place Silver in any film, any stage, any photograph, and Neige’s saccharine glow would vanish into insignificance. There was no contest. There had never been.
And yet… Silver had never cared.
He wore that beauty as though it were nothing, as though it were a burden at best, a distraction at worst. No hunger for the spotlight. No vanity. No ambition to wield it.
It infuriated Vil.
It fascinated him.
It humbled him.
Getting to know the boy made him realize—painfully—that Silver had never once considered his own beauty. Not truly. He had treated it as though it were meaningless, a detail of no consequence, a thing undesired.
Vil had nearly lost his temper the first time he heard him call himself average at best.
Average.
The words had burned like poison in his ears.
HOW DARE HE?
How could someone born with such a gift not only fail to see it but dismiss it entirely?
Yes, Vil knew Silver suffered from a dreadful lack of self-esteem—worse, at times, even than Idia’s shrouded self-loathing—but still.
To look into the mirror and be blind to the radiance staring back… it was unthinkable.
So he had made it his mission, in his own way, to correct that blindness. To force the boy, little by little, to acknowledge even a fraction of the beauty he carried.
His efforts had been uneven, his patience often tested—honestly, the routine was not that difficult!—but Silver had always met him with the same quiet sincerity. He had accepted the guidance without complaint, thanked him with that small, weary smile, and followed his instructions as best he could.
And the honesty… oh, Vil could not deny it. Every time Silver called him beautiful, every time he spoke those words with that unflinching sincerity, Vil’s heart beat faster than he would ever admit.
Because he knew—he knew—that unlike the world, unlike the school, unlike the fawning masses of Sage Island, Silver’s words were not hollow.
He meant them.
Silver saw his beauty not only in the face he wore, but within.
He believed it.
He said it.
And that, Vil adored above all else.
Even when he had compared him, with absolute conviction, against Neige Blanche himself, Silver had looked him straight in the eyes and declared: “You are the fairest of them all.”
And he had meant it.
With all his heart, he had meant it.
But now… now he was gone.
Vil would never hear those words again. Never feel those aurora-colored eyes fixed on him with such honesty, such care, such unshakable conviction.
And only now, standing before the cruel stillness of that portrait, did the truth pierce him like a dagger: all beautiful things must perish. He had spoken those words before, acted them, rehearsed them, wielded them as a reminder to others.
But this was no stage, no lecture.
This was reality.
And it was merciless.
Silver—one of the fairest of them all—had been taken, and far too soon.
The porcelain mask cracked.
The curtain fell.
His breath hitched violently, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight he could no longer control.
To his own horror, hot tears traced paths down his flawless cheeks, unbidden, staining what he had always kept immaculate.
Vil Schoenheit was crying.
The idol, the perfectionist, the living embodiment of discipline and beauty—undone, exposed, wretched.
And in that breaking, more truths flooded in, cruel and unrelenting.
He remembered every moment he had dismissed Silver’s quiet nature, every time he had scoffed at his indifference to beauty, every sharp word that had slipped from his lips when he had been frustrated with the boy’s lack of ambition.
And beneath it all, jealousy—yes, jealousy!—that this “sleepy knight” had been gifted with a beauty so effortless, so natural, while Vil bled himself daily to maintain what the world demanded of him.
How dare Silver not see himself?
How dare he not treasure what Vil had seen, what Vil had envied, what Vil had adored?
And yet… even through the envy, the frustration, the scolding—Vil had grown fond of him.
Too fond.
The sincerity Silver had shown him had pierced where flattery and worship never could. His words had reached the heart Vil kept locked away, and now they would never come again.
Never again.
Vil bowed his head, trembling so violently his golden hair quivered with him. His voice broke into a whisper meant only for the boy in the frame, words dragged raw from his heart.
“Oh, Silver… I am sorry. I look so, so ugly now, don’t I?”
His throat closed, a sob escaping despite him. “You would tell me otherwise—you always did. You would smile that tired smile and insist, with those eyes that never lied… that I was beautiful. That I was enough.”
His hand came up to his face, as if to hide the tears streaming unchecked. “But without you to say it… without you to mean it… what am I now? Just a mask with cracks. Just a face that is already fading.”
The chamber’s silence seemed to tighten around him, the weight of grief turning his beauty—always his weapon, his shield—into something fragile, fleeting, and unbearably human.
Vil’s voice cracked as his sobs grew heavier, his shoulders shaking beneath the weight of grief he had never rehearsed for, never prepared to bear. The tears streamed freely now, streaking his immaculate face, smearing the perfection he had clung to for so long.
At last, Rook could remain still no longer. He rose from where he had bowed and stepped to his king’s side, the sound of his boots light upon the stone. From within his coat, he withdrew a handkerchief—fine, embroidered, elegant, but soft. He extended it quietly, no flourish, no poetry. Only the trembling hand of a hunter who could no longer watch his king suffer in silence.
“Mon roi…” Rook’s voice was uncharacteristically low, quiet, and unsteady. “You are still beautiful. Even like this—especially like this. And yes… oui, Silver would tell you the same. With no hesitation. With all sincerity.”
Vil lifted his eyes to him then, blurred with tears, and through the veil of grief, he saw it—tears falling in Rook’s green eyes as well. Rook, who never failed to find beauty in tragedy, was crying too. For Silver. For him. For them both.
And in that moment, the two of them turned together, facing the memorial. The portrait of Silver gazed back with that calm, gentle smile, unshaken, untouchable. Before it, the two wept—not with theatrical wails, not with staged despair, but with raw, quiet sobs that carried all the power of truth.
Their grief filled the silence more completely than words ever could.
Vil clutched the handkerchief, pressing it to his eyes, his voice breaking again into a whisper, a parting lament for the boy who would never hear it.
“Silver… forgive me. Forgive me for being so blind, so proud, so cruel at times. I was envious, I was harsh, I was a fool. But you… You never once looked away from me. You saw me. And now… now I will never have those eyes on me again.”
He drew a shuddering breath, the sobs trembling through his body.
“My fairest knight… one of the truest, most beautiful souls I have ever known. How am I to walk forward without you? How am I to bear it, knowing that light is gone?”
Rook bowed his head, his tears falling freely as his voice joined his king’s, softer than the rustle of roses in the air.
“Adieu, beau chevalier… adieu.”
And side by side, the hunter and his king wept openly before the portrait, their sobs subdued yet devastating, a harmony of anguish offered to the memory of the boy they had lost.
Yuu hadn’t expected it.
He had known Vil Schoenheit to be many things—imposing, intimidating, flawless to the point of cruelty. He had seen him scold, lecture, and demand perfection from everyone around him, himself included. He had even seen him falter, once or twice, behind the cracks of exhaustion.
But to see him cry—to see the proud Pomefiore housewarden’s porcelain mask shatter completely before Silver’s portrait—Yuu’s breath caught in his throat. He had never imagined it possible.
Vil’s tears glistened under the dim light of the hall, streaking his perfect features, falling freely despite all the control that usually defined him. And beside him, Rook stood solemn, handkerchief in hand, mourning openly with him.
The sight struck Yuu like a physical blow.
In a moment, Yuu had almost unconsciously begun to rise from his seat. The instant Vil’s mask cracked and the first sob tore free, some part of him—raw, aching, desperate to comfort—had pushed him to move.
To go to the Pomefiore housewarden and offer what little support he had.
But then he saw Rook step forward, saw the hunter’s steady hand reach out, the handkerchief extended, the quiet words spoken like an oath. And Yuu froze.
He sank back down, his body heavy, the weight of Grim still curled against his chest.
The little creature stirred, his ears twitching as though startled by Vil’s sobs.
He looked up at Yuu with wet, reddened eyes, confusion flickering in them, his whiskers trembling. Why is he crying, too? The question seemed to linger silently, heavy in the space between them.
Grim’s tears, which had barely begun to dry, threatened to return at the sound of Vil’s grief echoing through the hall.
Yuu swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away from Vil and back down to the small, quivering bundle in his arms. He pressed his cheek against Grim’s head, rocking him gently as his hand resumed its slow path down his back.
“It’s all right,” he whispered hoarsely, though he didn’t believe the words himself. “It’s all right… just stay here with me.”
Grim’s little claws tightened their hold on his shirt, his face burrowing back into Yuu’s chest as if hiding from the sounds of Vil’s cries. Yuu closed his eyes, clutching him tighter, feeling the tremors in his friend’s body match the ones inside his own.
He stayed like that, trying to steady them both, as Pomefiore’s tribute unfolded before the memorial. Around them, the scent of roses grew stronger, the chamber quieter, as though the world itself bent beneath the weight of Silver’s absence.
And Yuu, with his head bowed and his arms full, did the only thing he could: hold on.
Hold on.
That was all he could do.
But how much longer could he endure it? He had seen so much already—more grief, more breaking, more masks shattered than anyone should have to bear—and he was just so, so tired. He wanted it over. He wanted to wail, to collapse, to be held and consoled. He wanted someone to carry the weight for him, just for a moment.
But he couldn’t.
Not here.
Not now.
Not with Grim trembling in his arms.
So he swallowed it down, burying the scream clawing at his throat, and forced his body to remain steady. For Grim. For himself. For… for everyone.
His wandering thoughts snapped back when he noticed movement among the Pomefiore students. One of them had slipped closer, speaking softly to Rook, who was still bent over Vil. Rook had draped his cape around his king’s shoulders, shielding him from the eyes of the crowd, making a noble effort to preserve his dignity. But from where Yuu sat, he could see the truth: Vil didn’t care. Not now. Not while his grief consumed him whole.
What struck Yuu most, however, was not Vil’s collapse, but the absence of someone else.
Epel.
The boy was nowhere in the Pomefiore entourage. That was… strange. Yuu knew Epel had carried a fondness for Silver, unlike many others in his dorm, something deeper, more personal than admiration alone. Stronger, even, than what tied Vil and Rook to him. And yet… he was not here.
Had he chosen not to come?
Was it too much for him?
The thought gnawed at Yuu, unsettling.
He forced himself to glance away, scanning the rest of the chamber. From the corner of his eye, he caught Heartslabyul’s students still gathered around their housewarden. Trey and Cater flanked Riddle protectively, calming him as best they could. Riddle still sobbed, hiccupping with tremors that wracked his small frame, but it was not the wild, unrestrained wailing from before. Just the fragile aftershocks of a boy too young to bear so much loss.
But where were Ace and Deuce?
Yuu’s eyes swept the hall again, but their faces were absent.
His chest tightened.
Had they skipped the memorial?
Could they not bear it either?
Before he could chase that thought further—or summon the courage to rise and ask Trey and Cater—noise erupted from the entryway.
A stir, a ripple of new commotion swept through the chamber as another group of students poured in.
And when Yuu saw them, his face hardened instantly, his grief sparking into sharp anger.
“…Why the fuck are Azul and the eels here?”
Notes:
Love to hear opinions and comments!
The accompanying piece of this series can be found at this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160455760
Chapter 3: You love me at once?
Summary:
Grief is shared between the land and the sea. Sometimes we don’t see what we miss until it’s gone, and we don’t realize what’s been lost until the pain becomes too heavy to bear.
Silver… I wonder, does your soul drift now—between the depths of the sea or the vast landscapes of the earth?
Notes:
This chapter leans a little more into the OOC side, since it includes both the Octavinelle trio and the Scarabia duo. Don’t worry—this is still a funeral, so there’s no ‘funny business.’ The tone remains solemn, but their grief is shown in their own way.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.”― Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid
Azul Ashengrotto entered the memorial hall, flanked closely by the Tweels. All three are strangely silent. Strangely… solemn.
Yuu’s stomach twisted violently. Heat rushed to his face, his chest tightening until he could barely breathe.
Solemn?
No. Fake.
His nails dug hard into his palms, and before he even realized it, he was halfway out of his seat. Every nerve in his body screamed to move, to intercept them, to drag them right back out the doors before they could open their mouths.
Because he knew them.
He knew them.
Azul, with his endless contracts and poison-coated words.
Jade, smiling like a blade hidden behind polite conversation.
Floyd, unpredictable, cruel, delighting in others’ weakness. Manipulators. Opportunists. Leeches.
They didn’t come here to mourn Silver. They didn’t come here to pay respects.
And Silver—gentle, soft-spoken Silver—would have been the last person they would ever honor with sincerity.
Not today.
Yuu’s blood pounded in his ears. His throat burned with words he almost screamed into the quiet hall. Not today. I won’t let you desecrate this space. I won’t let you turn his memory into another one of your games.
He shifted Grim in his arms, ready to set him down, to march across the aisle and block them himself if he had to—
But then—he froze.
Something was wrong.
Grim stirred against his chest, sensing it too. His small claws clutched at Yuu’s shirt, tugging lightly as his ears flattened. He peeked out, eyes glassy and rimmed red from earlier tears, and whispered in a shaky voice, “Yuu… they look weird. Azul and the twins… they don’t look like themselves—nya.”
Yuu’s jaw clenched. Against his will, his eyes lingered on them a little longer.
And Grim was right.
The Octavinelle trio wasn’t moving like Octavinelle.
Jade’s hands—normally so precise, so careful—were clasped in front of him, fingers intertwined too tightly, knuckles pale with strain. His posture was straight, but stiff, as though every muscle in his body was locked just to keep him standing. His gaze wasn’t roaming the hall in sharp assessment. It was fixed downward, lashes shadowing eyes that looked… dimmed.
Floyd was worse. Gone was the usual loping swagger, the lazy sway of his arms, the predatory tilt of his grin. He walked stiffly, heavily, his arms limp at his sides like dead weight. Each step seemed deliberate, reluctant, as though his legs were dragging him forward against his will. His mismatched eyes, normally gleaming with mischief or menace, were blank. Hollow.
And Azul—
Yuu’s breath caught.
The Housewarden of Octavinelle walked between them, cane in hand, but his grip on it was too tight, knuckles white. His shoulders hunched faintly, as though weighed down by something crushing.
His polished shoes tapped against the stone, but the rhythm lacked its usual assurance—too careful, too fragile. His head bowed slightly, glasses catching the glow of the memorial candles, and when Yuu finally saw his face—pale, lips pressed thin—he felt his stomach drop.
No smirk.
No cunning gleam.
No mask.
Azul’s eyes looked… tired. Frighteningly tired.
And for the first time, Yuu saw him not as the schemer, not as the shark circling for a deal, but as a boy. A boy who looked like he might collapse at any second under the weight of something too heavy to bear.
The sight twisted Yuu’s gut in a way that made him sick. His anger faltered, but the unease only deepened.
Because maybe—just maybe—they weren’t here to desecrate anything.
Maybe they were grieving too.
And somehow, that frightened Yuu more than if they had come sneering. Because if even Octavinelle could weep for Silver, then his loss cut deeper than Yuu had dared believe.
In the solemn formation before the memorial, Azul and the Tweels stood quietly, their gazes drifting over the arrangements already placed with care.
They had not offered themselves to carry or prepare anything, as many in the hall had half-expected. After all, Octavinelle was always searching for an opportunity—another favor to collect, another bargain to twist, another service to charge.
Surely they would make themselves indispensable here, if only to reap something from it.
But this time… nothing.
When Ruggie had approached them earlier, asking bluntly if they planned to help with the preparations—or worse, if they were going to turn the Mostro Lounge into a venue for the ceremony—Azul had surprised even himself with his answer.
The thought had never once crossed his mind.
Not once since the accident.
Not since Silver’s death.
He still remembered the look Ruggie had given him then, sharp and almost suspicious, as though waiting for the catch, the scheme behind the words. But there had been none.
Azul had told the truth: the Lounge had remained locked, dark, untouched ever since they returned from the dream world.
And he… couldn’t bring himself to open it. He didn’t even know why.
If he were truly honest, death itself should not have shaken him so.
Mortality was no stranger to him—not to any who hailed from the sea. The ocean was a dangerous place, far more than surface-dwellers liked to believe. Sirens sang, storms swallowed, predators lurked. The currents were merciless.
Even the most careful lives could be claimed in an instant.
For merfolk, survival was everything.
Cold, practical, unyielding.
By that logic, he should have accepted Silver’s death as another inevitability. Another casualty in the endless tally of fate.
And yet…
It sat wrong.
It had carved something hollow into him that he could not name. A strange unease, a heaviness that clung no matter how often he told himself survival mattered more than grief. His instincts had always urged him forward, taught him to prioritize himself, to adapt, to endure. But now, for the first time, Azul wondered—if survival was all he lived for, then why did Silver’s absence feel like a wound he couldn’t mend?
Looking at the portrait, Azul felt the ripple of memory stir inside him—conversations with Silver rising unbidden, frightening in their clarity. Like waves breaking in still water, they disturbed him, refusing to sink back down.
Silver’s personality had always been… vexing. Frustrating, at times. Amusing, in others. His unshakable sincerity—so plain, so bare—left Azul unnerved, for he could not fathom a being who spoke without calculation, without defense.
Foolish, he would think. Naïve. A boy too simple for a world that would happily devour him. And yet, stupid as it seemed, there was something almost enviable in it.
Foolishness and honesty clashed in Azul’s mind every time he spoke with the boy. He pitied him, sometimes, finding him slumped asleep in odd corners, his vulnerability almost pathetic. He envied him, often watching his effortless grace in combat and physical strength that Azul could never hope to match.
But then… There were other times.
Times Azul had never admitted, even to himself.
Times when he felt something far more dangerous than envy or pity.
Affection.
It was when he watched Silver defend others—students mocked, students cornered, the weak ridiculed for sport or scorn.
Silver never hesitated.
He never calculated the odds, never measured what he stood to lose. He simply stepped forward, unwavering, declaring with unshakable calm that injustice would not pass in his presence.
Yes, Azul and the Tweels had laughed at it in private. They had mocked Silver’s “chivalry,” sneered at his knightly posturing, and called it childish. But deep down… Azul admired it. Admired it fiercely. Because it was real. Because it was true. Because it was something he himself had never possessed.
More than once, Azul had seen Silver stand between cruelty and its victim, never asking for thanks, never wavering even when it cost him dearly. He believed in people—in the worth of every individual. And he acted on it.
Always.
Azul’s hand tightened on his cane, his knuckles pale.
A thought pressed into him, sharp and unbearable: If Silver had been there when I was small…
If Silver had found him—weak, ridiculed, desperate, a little octopus hiding in the dark depths of the sea—would he have defended him, too? Would he have stood in front of the jeers, the laughter, the cruelty? Would he… would he have been his knight?
Would he have been his friend?
Azul knew the answer. He knew it with certainty.
And that was why it hurt. That was why Silver’s death unsettled him so deeply.
Because the boy who might have saved him—the boy who could have seen worth in even him—was gone.
And no amount of contracts, no amount of bargaining, could ever bring him back.
And the worst of all—the cruelest sting—was the answer to the question that haunted him.
Silver had already considered them friends.
And Azul had been too blind, too proud, too cowardly to see it.
From his left, movement caught his eye. He turned slightly and saw Jade step forward, the calm, deliberate stride of the eel drawing him toward the front of the hall.
From his gloved hand, Jade produced a small bag—something he had been carrying close all this time. Azul’s gaze tightened as he watched the eel untie it with careful precision, his pale fingers moving like ritual, as though even this simple act bore great weight.
From the bag, Jade withdrew a small glass terrarium.
Inside, delicate clusters of mushrooms bloomed in miniature—rare specimens, nurtured with care.
Azul’s breath caught.
He knew how much Jade valued his collection, how fiercely he guarded it. To bring one here, to give it up, was no small gesture.
Jade carried it forward with both hands, his stride measured, reverent.
Step by step, he drew closer to the memorial until at last he stopped just before the portrait. His gaze lifted, green eyes shifting from the terrarium to Silver’s smiling face.
For a heartbeat, he was utterly still.
Then, without warning, his knees buckled.
“Jade!” Azul hissed, lurching forward, but he was not fast enough. Floyd surged from his other side, arms snapping out just in time to catch his twin before he struck the ground. The terrarium wobbled in Jade’s weakening grip, glass glinting dangerously, but Floyd’s hand steadied it, clutching both brother and offering tight against him.
Azul reached them in moments, crouching low, his voice sharp with command. “What happened? What’s wrong—”
But his words faltered when he heard it.
Murmurs. Faint, disjointed, trembling from Jade’s lips as he clung to the terrarium, his breath shallow, eyes glazed.
“Oh… it’s not the same color, Silver-san… I’m sorry.”
His fingers twitched weakly over the glass, tracing the curve as though ashamed of what he’d brought. “I wanted to find one that matched… that looked like your eyes. But it doesn’t. It isn’t right. Aurora should shine, not fade like this.”
His voice hitched, words spilling faster, tumbling out with a feverish edge. “I’ll bring another. Yes—yes, another! There are so many more. You loved mushrooms, didn’t you, Silver-san? You always did. You never turned them away, never scoffed… You smiled when I showed them to you.” His throat worked, breath breaking into a ragged laugh that soured into a sob. “So if I bring more… if I just keep bringing them… surely one will be right, one will be beautiful enough for you—won’t it?”
The tremor in his voice grew sharper, frantic, as though he were pleading with the glass itself. “Please… this one—you will love this one too. I promise. Another, another, as many as it takes…”
Floyd’s mismatched eyes, usually gleaming with menace or mischief, were wide with something rawer—fear, grief. He pressed his head close to Jade’s, whispering rough words that trembled more than Jade’s own.
“Hey, hey… don’t break it, Jade. Shhh. We’ll bring him more, okay? As many as you want… just don’t—don’t do this here…”
Azul’s hand hovered, uncertain, as his heart hammered painfully in his chest. He had never seen Jade like this—never seen the perfect mask of composure unravel so utterly. And all of it, all of this anguish, was for Silver.
The mushrooms quivered within their glass prison, pale caps pressed against the curve as Jade clutched it desperately, as though trying to hold on to the boy who would never again walk through the halls.
And Azul finally understood—Silver’s sincerity had carved deeper than even he could measure. Deep enough to crack even Jade Leech.
The tremor in Jade’s voice sharpened, his words unraveling into a fevered ramble. “I’ll find one with caps that shine like glass, stems that catch the light—yes, yes, that’s closer. Or perhaps the lilac spores… those could glow just like you, couldn’t they? No—no, still not enough. Not perfect. You deserve perfect, Silver-san, only perfect. If this one fails, then another, and another—”
His grip on the terrarium faltered, knuckles whitening as the glass wobbled in his shaking hands. His emerald eyes glistened unnaturally, pupils pinpricked with a manic edge. “One day I’ll find the mushroom that matches… the one that’s worthy of your eyes. And when I do—you’ll smile again, you’ll—”
“Enough.”
Floyd’s voice cut across the hall, sharp as a whip.
In a flash, his long arms snapped out. He wrenched the terrarium from Jade’s weakening grasp before his brother’s hands could shatter it entirely.
“Jade.” His tone was low, rough, trembling with something Azul had never heard from him before. Not mockery. Not mischief. Something rawer. Darker. His mismatched eyes locked on his twin, full of warning and grief.
“Stop it.”
Jade blinked up at him, dazed, lips still moving as broken whispers fell out. “…another… I’ll bring another…”
Floyd’s jaw tightened. He cradled the terrarium to his chest, holding it as carefully as Jade ever had, as if it were made of spun sugar. His long fingers brushed against the glass like it was a living thing, like it could carry the weight of a promise Jade could no longer bear to speak aloud.
Before Azul could speak again, Jade’s eyes snapped open. A strange, feverish light flickered in them, emerald irises bright with something halfway between delight and madness. He looked up at Silver’s portrait as though seeing him alive before him.
“Oh… how could I forget? Risotto!” His words tumbled out in a rush, almost breathless, hands tightening desperately on the terrarium until the glass groaned faintly. “I’ll make mushroom risotto to compensate you—yes, yes, you smiled so prettily when… when I gave you the mushrooms, didn’t you? You loved them! You said you did! So if I make it—if I make it just right—you’ll try it, won’t you? Please… please, say you’ll try it!”
His voice cracked, manic delight splitting into something thinner, more frantic. “I’ll pick the best mushrooms, only the best—no bitterness, no flaws, nothing but perfect. You’ll love it! You’ll sit down, you’ll eat, you’ll smile again and—and—”
The light in his eyes faltered, flickered, and then dimmed into horror. His breath hitched. His hands went slack against the terrarium.
“No…” Jade’s whisper quivered, brittle as glass. “…no, you won’t. You’ll never try it. You’ll never taste it again. You’ll never smile like that—” His words choked off, drowned in the sobs he tried to swallow. His head bowed, shoulders shaking. “What use are mushrooms now, Silver-san, if you’re not here to eat them? What use is anything?”
Floyd’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly.
“Fuck it.”
Then, before Azul could scold him—before the sharp reprimand could leave his tongue—Floyd whirled toward the memorial and marched forward. His voice, usually lazy and mocking, rang out in a raw, guttural roar that cut through the hushed chamber like a blade.
“HEY, JELLYFISH!” His shout reverberated against the stone, cracking with anguish. His mismatched eyes burned at the portrait, the words jagged and uneven. “I brought you an exchange, remember? If I give you this terrarium Jade brought, then you gotta give us something back, huh?!”
Azul froze. For a moment, he thought Floyd had snapped completely—lost to the madness that always simmered beneath his skin. Around them, whispers rippled through the hall, students twisting in their seats, wide-eyed at the eel’s outburst.
But then Floyd moved slower—gentler—than Azul had ever seen.
With careful hands, he set the terrarium at the foot of the memorial, tilting it so the glass caught the candlelight. His long fingers lingered on it, almost caressing the surface, before he dug into his pocket and pulled out something small.
A jellyfish keychain. The little trinket was worn smooth, edges dulled from constant use. Azul recognized it immediately—it was Floyd’s favorite, the one he fiddled with absentmindedly when bored.
A gift Silver had given him for his birthday.
Floyd’s hand trembled just once as he placed it beside the terrarium.
“There,” he muttered, voice rough, hoarse, low. “Here. I’ll give you the keychain you gave me, too. So you have to come back. You have to. That’s the exchange, Jellyfish.”
His chest rose and fell heavily, the manic sharpness draining out of him. His voice softened to a near whisper, words stripped bare of bravado.
“…We’ll wait. As long as it takes. I know jellyfish sleep a lot, so… take your time.”
He let out a faint huff, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, before bowing his head. His bangs fell forward, shadowing his eyes, but there was a strange, quiet steadiness in his stance now.
“We’ll catch up to you soon enough,” he added, almost too softly to hear. “So don’t go thinking you’re drifting off alone.”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating—Octavinelle’s grief lay bare, raw and terrifying in its honesty.
Yuu’s eyes stayed fixed on the Octavinelle trio.
From the moment Floyd had shouted at Silver’s portrait, the hall had erupted in murmurs, the air electric with unease. Yuu himself had lurched to his feet without thinking, every muscle ready to tackle Floyd if he dared turn his grief into cruelty.
But then… the impossible happened.
Instead of venom, Floyd’s words had been a promise. A vow. One Yuu could hardly comprehend. He knew Floyd—knew his hatred of waiting, his endless impatience. And yet, in front of Silver’s portrait, he had said it. He had promised to wait.
Yuu’s chest tightened painfully. Wait for what?
He knew the truth. Silver wasn’t coming back. No promise, no bargain, no desperate exchange could change that. So Floyd’s vow… it could only mean one thing. A reunion not in this world, but in another.
Someday.
Somewhere.
The thought should have chilled him. Instead, it made his throat ache in a strange, bittersweet way. Because maybe—just maybe—he hoped for the same. To see Silver again, no matter how long it took. Even if he never made it back to his own world, even if his soul wandered elsewhere, he prayed their paths would cross once more.
A small tug at his trousers broke him from his spiraling thoughts. Yuu looked down and found Grim staring at the trio, ears drooped, his claws gently clutching Yuu’s clothes. The little monster-cat’s gaze was wide, not mocking or impatient as usual, but… quiet. Watching.
Together, they saw Floyd lifting Jade carefully from the floor, Azul stepping in to steady them as they returned to their seats. The hall exhaled in a ripple of whispers. Yuu prayed the rest of the ceremony might continue without another fracture. His heart felt raw, his head heavy. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could endure.
But before he could sink back into his seat, a new disturbance rose.
Footsteps. Loud, hurried. Voices raised in panic. The sound echoed closer, nearer, swelling until the students nearest the doors turned sharply, whispering among themselves.
And then—
The great doors of the hall slammed open with a thunderous crash.
“GO AWAY!”
The cry reverberated through the chamber, raw and desperate, as Kalim stumbled across the threshold.
The words—“Go away!”—slammed against the high walls like a gunshot, shattering the fragile stillness of the hall.
Kalim stumbled inside, his steps uneven, his body trembling as though every limb resisted him. Yet his eyes—wide, wild, glistening—were fixed ahead with desperate determination. In one hand, his pen gleamed faintly, gripped so tightly his knuckles blanched white. He held it like a lifeline… or a weapon. As if daring anyone—anyone at all—to stop him.
Gasps broke out immediately. Whispers swelled, the hush of mourning splintering under a tide of confusion.
Irritation.
Fear.
The memorial had been meant for silence, for reverence, not chaos.
Not shouting.
Not this.
A spark of anger jolted through Yuu’s chest.
What the hell was Kalim doing?
This wasn’t a stage. This wasn’t a show. Silver’s portrait watched over them all, and Kalim’s intrusion—his recklessness—felt almost sacrilegious. Couldn’t he see this wasn’t the time? Couldn’t he feel it?
He wasn’t the only one who thought so.
From the front, Vil’s chair scraped softly against the stone as he rose, his composure—fragile moments ago—already cracking again under this insult. His amethyst eyes narrowed, violet flame flashing beneath his lashes. He strode forward with precise, cutting grace, his voice carrying like steel when he spoke:
“Al-Asim. What do you think you’re doing?”
No theatrics. No vanity. Just cold, searing disappointment. The words lanced through the air like knives.
Students shifted uncomfortably, the weight of judgment pulling their spines taut.
Riddle, still surrounded by Trey, Cater, and his dormmates, had been slowly—painfully—coming down from his earlier breakdown. His sobs had thinned into ragged breaths, his body trembling less with grief than with exhaustion. But Kalim’s disruption struck him like a slap to the face. The fragile dam holding him together cracked anew, not with sorrow this time, but with fury.
His hands, still damp from tears, twitched violently in his lap. His pale cheeks flushed red, and his small frame trembled on the edge of eruption. The grief that had nearly broken him was transmuting into anger, sharp and volatile, begging for release.
And across the chamber, Octavinelle had not even settled when the chaos began anew. They were still close to the front—too close. Jade, pale and glassy-eyed from his collapse moments before, struggled to steady his breath, his gaze unfocused, hands still twitching as though reaching for the terrarium Floyd had wrenched from him. He was unmoored, not in his right mind.
But Floyd—ah, Floyd was anything but unmoored. He loomed over his twin like a predator ready to kill, his long fingers flexing and curling as if already imagining them tightening around someone’s throat. No grin, no sing-song cruelty. Just cold menace radiating from every twitch of muscle.
Azul stood behind them both, frozen between calculation and dread. His mask of composure wavered as his mouth went dry, his tongue darting nervously across his lips. The urge to retreat warred with the responsibility of control, and for once, Azul Ashengrotto swallowed hard, his face paling as he tried to rein his dorm back from the brink of bloodshed.
The tension between the groups was palpable, suffocating. Grief, anger, and chaos tangled together in the charged air, ready to ignite into something far uglier at the slightest spark.
And Kalim—dear, bright, untouchable Kalim—stumbled further in, waving his free hand, trying to force words out past his ragged breathing.
“I’m— I’m sorry, I— wait—” His voice cracked, too loud, too raw. Then, with a choked sob, the word burst out of him like blood from a wound: “Fuck!”
The curse sliced through the chamber like a whip.
The silence that followed was absolute. Breathless. Horrified.
Kalim… never cursed.
Yuu’s stomach lurched. A cold weight dragged down his chest. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“Al-Asim,” Vil hissed, disbelief cutting into ice. “This language—what in the world—?”
But his reprimand was drowned, abruptly, by a new wave of shouting from the still-open doors.
“KALIM! FOR FUCK’S SAKE, COME BACK RIGHT NOW!”
The voice boomed like thunder, and every head whipped toward the entry.
There—storming into the hall with wild eyes, teeth bared, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles gleamed white—was Jamil.
His usual composure was gone—shattered beneath desperation and fury. His voice cracked from shouting, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days: hair disheveled, uniform collar undone, hands trembling violently at his sides as he stormed into the memorial.
Jamil’s eyes blazed, wild with a storm of terror and rage.
“Kalim—do you even understand what you’ve done?!”
The words cracked like a whip across the hall.
Kalim didn’t answer. He stood frozen, chest heaving, caught in the chasm between grief and guilt. His fingers clutched his pen like a lifeline, knuckles pale with strain. Whatever defiance had carried him this far crumbled under Jamil’s furious voice.
“You ran off!” Jamil thundered, his own voice breaking. “You snuck out! The guards are tearing the campus apart looking for you—I’ve had to lie, to cover for you! Do you have any idea what they’ll do when they find out you came here?”
And then, quieter—yet more venomous, the words trembling with fear that had nowhere else to go:
“Do you know what they’ll do to me?”
The chamber fell into a terrible silence. Students stiffened, whispers cut off mid-breath. No one moved. No one dared to intervene. The weight of the exchange pressed on every chest like a hand.
Kalim’s shoulders quivered, his face contorting as though he might break down completely, collapse into sobs right there. For a heartbeat, it seemed inevitable.
But he didn’t.
Slowly, painfully, Kalim straightened—not with pride, but with something far more fragile. His back stiffened, his shaking hand lowering to his side. He lifted his head. His face was blotched and wet from tears, streaks of salt etched across skin gone pale with grief. His eyes—once bright as sunlight—now burned with something raw, hollow, unyielding.
Grief. Rage. Love.
“They wouldn’t let me come,” Kalim rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven. “They said it was too dangerous. Too crowded. Too much risk. That it wasn’t appropriate for someone like me to attend.”
His lips trembled, then twisted with defiance.
“TO HELL WITH APPROPRIATE!” Kalim’s voice exploded, shattering the silence and echoing like thunder off the chamber walls. He turned on Jamil, the words tearing from his throat with all the force of heartbreak made flesh. “HE WAS EVERYTHING!”
The cry rang out like a ghost refusing to rest, rattling the bones of everyone who heard it.
“He was always there for me!” Kalim screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of the words, his chest heaving so violently it seemed he might collapse. “My only true friend! The only one who ever stayed—ever smiled at me without wanting something back!” His voice rose higher, breaking into raw sobs between the shouts. “And after what happened between us—” his finger shot out toward Jamil, shaking, “—I realized… you never cared! YOU NEVER WERE MY FRIEND!”
He staggered a step forward, his whole body trembling with fury and despair.
“I thought I had no one! That everything in my life was fake—every smile, every kindness—ALL OF IT!” His voice cracked into a scream. “But Silver… Silver was real! He was real! And now he’s gone! Gone!”
Kalim’s voice dissolved into sobs, but he kept shouting through them, each word a knife driven into the silence.
“I can’t stand it—I can’t breathe without him! He was the only thing that made me believe I wasn’t alone! And now… now he’s gone and I—” His voice broke entirely, ragged and raw, “—I don’t know how to live without him!”
Kalim’s body shook violently, but the words kept pouring out, raw and unfiltered. His gaze never wavered from the portrait, as if he could burn his soul into it and make Silver answer.
“You always listened to me, didn’t you?” Kalim cried, his voice breaking into high, gasping sobs. “When everyone else rolled their eyes, when they told me I was too loud, too much—you sat with me. You let me talk. You laughed with me. Even when my stories didn’t make sense, even when I was silly—you never made me feel like I was wrong for being me!”
His chest heaved, his breath hitching on each sob. “When I begged people to play games, they always brushed me off. But you… you picked up the cards, you picked up the dice—you played. You sparred with me even though you were tired, even though I wasn’t strong enough to keep up. You made me feel like… like I belonged.”
His voice cracked again, rising in pitch as the desperation broke through. “Silver, you were the only one who never treated me like a burden! Do you hear me? You told me I was your friend! You told me you were glad to have me—and I believed you! I believed every word, because you never lied to me!”
Kalim stumbled closer, his pen clattering to the floor with a hollow ring as his trembling hand reached helplessly toward the portrait. “I was happiest when I was with you! Happiest! Do you know what that means? You were my sunshine when even I couldn’t shine anymore!”
His whole body convulsed as his knees finally gave way, crashing to the floor before the memorial. He pounded a fist weakly against the stone, his wails tearing through the chamber like jagged glass. “WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE YOU?! Why did the world take away the only one who ever made me feel real?!”
His face crumpled, his voice devolving into a litany of broken cries. “You were my best friend, Silver! My best friend… my truest friend… and now you’re gone. Gone!” He shook his head violently, as though denying the truth could bring it back. “I’ll never hear you laugh again, never spar with you, never see you smile at me like that. Never!”
He glared at the portrait, his grief boiling into rage. “Why did it have to be you?!” he howled. “Why not me instead?! I would have traded everything—everything! My house, my riches, my worthless title—if it meant you could still be here! You deserved better than this world, better than all of us!”
Kalim’s sobs crescendoed into a scream, echoing against the vaulted ceiling.
“You loved me! You cared for me! And I loved you too—I loved you, my friend!”
And then the words broke, splintered apart into a howl so raw it rattled every heart in the hall:
“WAAAAAAAAAAAH—!!”
The wail tore out of him, long and guttural, a child’s cry given the body of a grieving man. It shook through his chest, through the stone beneath his fists, through the very air, echoing off the walls like the mourning of something eternal and irreplaceable.
Kalim collapsed forward, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor, his cries spilling unchecked into the silence that swallowed him whole.
No one dared.
Not even Jamil.
He stood frozen in place—eyes wide, lips parted in stunned silence—as he watched Kalim unravel. Completely. Honestly. Devastatingly.
In all the years he had known him, Jamil had never seen Kalim like this. Never heard his voice so broken. Never seen his face contorted by such raw agony. There had always been joy in Kalim, always sunshine, even when clouds formed overhead.
But this…
There was no sunshine.
This was a thunderstorm, the kind that shattered trees and flooded valleys.
And Jamil—he could only look on, paralyzed by something he didn’t yet dare name. A pressure swelled in his throat. A tightness burned behind his eyes. The rage that had flared hot and immediate when Kalim first barged in—the instinct to drag him away before he embarrassed them both—that was gone now.
All that was left was confusion.
And pain.
Because, as Jamil stood there, watching Kalim cry out in the middle of the memorial, he realized something terrifying:
He hadn’t let himself mourn.
Not once.
The moment Silver fell, there had been no pause. No chance to breathe. He had been summoned—called, commanded, ordered. Retrieve Kalim. Secure him. Fix things. Make it neat, make it clean. He had obeyed like the tool he had always been, slipping back into the rhythm of control, the chains of duty.
He had gone through the motions like a machine. Never stopping. Never thinking. Never feeling.
And then his eyes lifted. For the first time, really lifted—past Kalim’s sobs, past the murmurs of the students—toward the front.
Toward the portrait.
Silver’s portrait.
Those aurora-colored eyes stared back at him, eternal now, locked in stillness. And in that moment, the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.
This was a funeral.
Silver’s funeral.
Not just another task, not just another burden to shoulder for Kalim. This wasn’t an order to obey, a problem to fix. This was the end of someone he knew—someone he respected. Someone he had shared moments with. A friend.
And it hit him, sharp and merciless: he hadn’t even had the time to realize Silver was dead. Not truly. Not in his bones. Not until now.
He swallowed hard, but the memories surged anyway.
Silver telling him stories—simple, unembellished, but spoken with warmth. Of his father. Of travels with him. Of mornings that started with sparring and evenings that ended in quiet laughter.
Silver sparring with him, never condescending, always treating him as an equal, even when Jamil snapped with frustration.
Silver, recognizing the effort he poured into every task, when so few others ever bothered to look. “You’re tired, aren’t you? You did well today.” Small words, said with sincerity. Enough to keep him standing when his body screamed otherwise.
Silver never judged him for the bitterness he carried. Never flinched at his sharp tongue. Never dismissed him as nothing but Kalim’s shadow. Instead, he had met his eyes, steady and calm, and spoken as though Jamil mattered.
They weren’t inseparable, not like Kalim and him. But the time they did have—those stolen hours, those passing conversations—Jamil realized now he had cherished them more than he dared admit.
And Silver had seen him. Truly saw him.
Not just as the snake bound to its master.
Not just as a servant.
But as a boy who wanted, who worked, who existed.
And now that boy’s friend—his friend—was gone.
The weight of it hit him all at once, like a crushing tide. His chest constricted, his breath caught, and he swayed where he stood. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms.
Kalim’s sobs rang through the hall, desperate and unrestrained. Jamil flinched at every wail, because each one seemed to echo the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.
Kalim wasn’t just mourning his best friend.
He was mourning theirs.
Jamil’s throat burned. His lips parted, trembling, and for the first time, a broken whisper escaped—so soft no one but himself could hear:
“…Silver.”
And the sound of his own voice saying that name nearly undid him. His vision blurred, his chest heaved, and he shut his eyes tight against the flood threatening to break through the cracks.
Jamil understood.
His lips pressed into a hard line, his jaw tightening as bitterness scalded his throat.
I didn’t even say goodbye.
The words tore through him, relentless, echoing until they hollowed him out.
His vision blurred. For a heartbeat, he thought it was the candlelight wavering again, but then something hot and wet slid down his cheek. A tear. Another followed. Then more.
Jamil froze. His body shook harder. His fists unclenched, fingers trembling as if they no longer belonged to him. The sound caught in his chest—half-sob, half-gasp—before it ripped free in a broken whisper.
“Silver…”
The name cracked apart in his throat. The hall seemed to tilt. His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, he sank down—first to a crouch, then to the cold stone floor.
His hand covered his mouth, but it was useless. The sob broke past his teeth anyway, low and raw and ugly. Years of silence, of control, of swallowing every word, every scream, every ounce of rage or sorrow—they split open now, spilling into the quiet.
“Silver… I—” His voice fractured again, the words mangled by grief. “I didn’t… I never… I never said goodbye.”
The admission burned, like acid in his chest.
His shoulders shook violently. His carefully maintained composure—the armor, the mask, the servant’s restraint—crumbled at last. He pressed his forehead to the ground, the weight of his body folding in on itself as sobs wracked his frame.
All around him, the memorial was silent save for Kalim’s wails, Silver’s name still echoing from his last cry, and now Jamil’s grief joining it, softer but no less devastating.
Two voices.
Two boys.
Mourning the same friend.
And for the first time, Jamil let himself break.
Kalim stared at him through his tears, stunned. For a long moment, all he could hear was the sound of Jamil’s ragged breathing, the echo of his own cries still trembling through his chest.
He had wanted to scream at him. To lash out. To tell him Silver had been his friend, his only true friend—that Jamil had no right to break like this, no right to cry when he had taken so much from him already.
But then… like a phantom, Silver’s voice brushed through the haze of his grief.
Gentle.
Calm.
The voice that had always cut through his storms.
“Don’t fight. Not over me. Friends should never let bitterness poison what they still have. If you care, then fight for each other. Hold on.”
Kalim’s trembling fists unclenched. His jaw quivered. He swallowed the selfish fury that burned in his throat, and instead, before he could think, before he could stop himself, he stumbled forward.
He dropped to his knees beside Jamil.
And then—he threw his arms around him.
Jamil stiffened, a hiss caught in his throat, but Kalim held tighter, burying his face against his shoulder. His sobs returned, quieter now, but no less broken.
“I miss him too…” he whispered.
The words punched through Jamil’s chest like a blade. His body trembled, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air before, and slowly, they lowered. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jamil let himself lean into the contact.
Kalim’s head jerked up, swollen eyes wide, searching his face. “You…?”
Jamil didn’t look at him. His gaze was locked forward—on the portrait framed in roses, on Silver’s smile frozen in time.
“He was my friend,” Jamil said at last. His voice was hoarse, thick, every word dragging like a confession torn from his ribs. “He listened. He didn’t push. He was kind… in a way I didn’t know how to be.”
He swallowed hard, and the tears spilled fresh down his face.
“I don’t think I ever told him how much that meant. I was always too busy… too focused on what needed doing. What came next? And now…” His breath broke, his shoulders trembling as he exhaled.
“…Now I’d give anything for one more walk back from class with him. One more quiet moment. Just one.”
Kalim’s lip trembled, his heart twisting with recognition. Because deep down, he understood.
He, too, would have given anything for one more nap side by side. One more spar in the courtyard. One more story about Lilia, or his travels, or even his strange dreams that made no sense but made him laugh anyway.
One more moment. Just one.
Tears blurred Kalim’s vision again. His arms tightened around Jamil as he whispered, voice breaking:
“…Me too.”
And for the first time, they cried together—not as master and servant, not as warden and shadow—but simply as two boys grieving the same friend.
Notes:
If this is your first time reading my work, you can check out the companion fic linked here:
👉 Dream Retrieval:https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160854622#workskin
Chapter 4: that look in your eyes ..... Its gone
Summary:
The casket arrived. The air and the music intertwined, and reality itself seemed to blur. For Yuu, it became too much—memory and presence colliding, overwhelming, pulling him under…
…
…
…
Leona looked at the portrait, at those aurora-colored eyes, and all he could think was how they seemed to whisper to him: this world is an even bigger shit show than the ceremony they were trying to hold right now.
Notes:
Now it’s time for Savanaclaw—haha. And surprise, they’ve got a big role in the ceremony. Let’s see what happens. The next part is here: the casket has arrived, and the ceremony can begin… or maybe not.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Life's not fair, is it? You see, I shall never be king. And you shall never see the light of another day." - Disney's The Lion King (2019)
After the interruption, Vil—joined, surprisingly, by Azul—stepped forward.
Their movements were calm, deliberate, a sharp contrast to the chaos moments before. Together, they guided the trembling Scarabia boys toward the side of the hall. Kalim clung weakly to Jamil’s sleeve, his chest still hitching with sobs, while Jamil himself moved stiffly, as though ashamed of being seen undone.
They were seated in a quieter corner, far enough from the center to collect themselves, but still within the fold of the ceremony.
Their shoulders shook. Their eyes were red. And their tears refused to stop.
The commotion had rattled more than just the living.
Grim, who had been standing pressed tightly against Yuu’s leg since the first outburst, finally broke again. His little face buried itself in Yuu’s clothes, wetting the fabric with silent tears. He clung so hard his claws caught the threads, his body trembling with every hiccup. Yuu bent instinctively, one hand brushing along his fur, and whispered softly:
“…Do you want me to carry you back? We can sit down.”
Grim didn’t answer. He only shook against Yuu’s side, muffled cries soaking the fabric. At last, when Yuu gently tried to lift him, Grim let himself be gathered into his arms. Together they returned toward their seats, Yuu ready to shield him, to cover his small face so he wouldn’t have to watch any more.
But as they settled, Grim shifted.
Instead of hiding, he lifted his head. His paws still clung to Yuu’s uniform, but his gaze was no longer pressed to his chest. Slowly, deliberately, Grim looked forward.
His red-rimmed eyes glistened as they fixed on the memorial, on the flowers, on Silver’s portrait glowing faintly in the dim light. Tears streamed openly down his fur, but he didn’t look away.
Yuu stared down at him, startled. “Grim…?” he whispered.
The little monster trembled, his ears drooping low, but he shook his head firmly. His gaze stayed steady on the front of the hall. There was sorrow there, yes—crushing sorrow—but beneath it was something else. A quiet, stubborn determination that seemed far too big for his small frame.
And Yuu understood.
Grim didn’t want to hide anymore. He didn’t want to be shielded or distracted. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to see. To stand with everyone else and face this grief head-on.
Yuu’s throat ached. He bit back the instinct to comfort him, to protect him. Instead, he only tightened his arms around him, steady and silent, and gave a single, solemn nod.
And then—the air shifted.
The solemn weight of anticipation pressed down, heavy and suffocating, as though every soul in the room inhaled at once and held it.
The music began.
Soft.
Gentle.
Painfully beautiful. It wasn’t the kind of music that simply filled a room—it was the kind that seeped into marrow, leaving the soul raw. Notes floated like whispers, like memories slipping just out of reach.
For Yuu, it was the signal. The signal that the worst part was about to begin. The true heart of the ceremony.
The doors opened once more.
Animals filtered in—a solemn procession of birds and woodland creatures, many of them ones Silver himself had fed, sheltered, or tended during his time at the academy.
Tiny beaks and mouths carried flowers: sprigs of wild roses, forget-me-nots, lilies.
They moved slowly, reverently, laying their offerings at the foot of the memorial with a grace no human could have mimicked.
It was a sight too poignant to be a coincidence.
Their presence meant only one thing.
The casket was arriving.
The procession moved with a somber rhythm, the music folding over it like a shroud. It was a melody Yuu didn’t recognize, beautiful in its sadness, every note trembling with the weight of farewell. The sound curled around the hall like smoke, soft but suffocating, wrapping itself around every heart.
He kept his eyes forward. He couldn’t bring himself to look back, not yet. His chest felt too tight, his breath too shallow.
He didn’t have the bravery.
Not for this.
But Grim did.
In his arms, the little creature leaned and craned his tear-streaked face, trying to peer past Yuu’s body toward the back of the hall. His ears twitched, his claws clenched lightly at Yuu’s uniform, but he refused to hide. Silent tears ran down his fur, but he did not bury them. He wanted to see. He needed to see.
And then the shift began.
One by one, students turned in their seats. Some gasped softly, others stood outright. A wave of movement rippled through the hall as heads bowed and bodies rose, a silent gesture of respect as the casket entered.
That was when Yuu heard it.
The sound.
The steady, deliberate footsteps of those carrying the weight of a life gone. Heavy boots striking the stone floor in perfect, mournful unison. The dull rhythm echoed like a heartbeat, each step a reminder of inevitability. The sound filled the silence between the music, joining it, becoming part of the requiem.
Yuu’s stomach twisted.
His throat burned.
He couldn’t remain seated.
He couldn’t pretend.
Gathering what little strength remained, he forced his trembling legs to stand. His knees wobbled, nearly giving out beneath him, and for a moment the world tilted.
“...Ah—”
A soft noise left Grim, alarmed, as if sensing the collapse before it came. He pressed closer, his little body stiff with worry, ears flicking nervously as he tried to anchor Yuu in place.
Yuu hugged him tighter, grounding himself against the shuddering weight in his chest. His voice was a ragged whisper, cracked but firm, meant only for the boy he carried:
“I’m okay. Not now… I won’t crumble. Not now. Not now.”
The words tasted like a prayer. A plea. A promise.
O, sevens, please—not now.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer.
Yuu’s breath stuttered. He wanted to shut his eyes, to turn away, to hide—but Grim’s tear-streaked determination glimmered up at him. That small, fragile bravery cut through the haze, and Yuu understood.
He didn’t have a choice. He, too, needed to face this. To be brave.
For Grim.
For himself.
For Silver.
So, unsteady but resolute, Yuu lifted his eyes at last—toward the sound, toward the weight of what was coming.
And then he saw it.
The casket.
The casket was beautiful.
Carved from dark, polished wood and reinforced with gleaming bands of silvered metal, it caught the dim light of the hall in a muted glow, a solemn contrast to the sorrow it carried. Atop the wood rested a blanket of flowers—white lilies, roses, sprigs of baby’s breath—all carefully arranged to soften the weight of what lay within.
The petals shimmered faintly in the candlelight, fragile and fleeting against the cold permanence of the coffin.
Yuu’s eyes blurred as he looked at it, his chest twisting painfully. Around him, the room filled with sound: soft murmurs, stifled sobs, the trembling breaths of students and staff who could no longer keep silent. He could hear them recognizing voices among the bearers, whispering the names of those who had been chosen to carry their fallen classmate.
His own tears pricked hot at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall, and he squeezed them shut—unable, unwilling, to see anymore.
But then, a small voice tugged him back.
“Th-that’s… Ace and Deuce!?”
Grim’s words, thin and trembling, broke through his haze.
Yuu’s eyes shot open, his head turning instinctively toward the procession. And there—through the blur of his tears—he saw them. Familiar silhouettes, shoulders hunched but steady, faces grim with the unbearable responsibility they bore.
To the left, Jack walked with rigid discipline, his broad frame tense but unyielding, and beside him strode Leona, his usually lazy posture sharpened into something deliberate, almost regal.
On the right, Deuce moved with painful precision, every step measured as though a single misstep would be unforgivable, while Sebek’s jaw clenched tight, his eyes forward, his grief forced into silence as he upheld his duty.
At the front, guiding their path, was Epel.
His hands gripped the polished rails of the casket with surprising steadiness for his smaller frame, his pale face set in a determination that cut through his sorrow. He wasn’t just bearing Silver’s weight—he was clearing the way, moving the crowd aside, his every step a signal to let this procession pass.
Behind, at the rear, Ace carried more than just the balance of the casket—his hands also supported the heavy metal stand and the folded cloth that would cradle it once it reached its place. His lips were pressed thin, his eyes dark, his usual smirk swallowed in silence.
Beside him, Ruggie’s movements were lighter, not because he carried less, but because he was guiding the animals that had joined the procession—ushering them gently forward, ensuring each flower and token found its place among the offerings. His ears twitched at every sound, but his face remained solemn, unreadable in its restraint.
Together, they moved as one.
No words.
No hesitation.
Just a line of boys carrying their fallen comrade with a reverence that needed no explanation.
And Yuu… Yuu’s heart ached at the sight.
This was the answer to the question that had gnawed at him all ceremony, the one that had lingered at the edges of his mind—where were they? Where had his friends been, the ones who had shared every moment of chaos and laughter with him?
The answer was here.
They hadn’t been absent.
They hadn’t abandoned him.
They had been carrying Silver.
From the very beginning, through every step of the memorial, their hands had borne the weight of his final journey.
Yuu’s breath caught in his throat, his knees trembling again. He pressed Grim closer, unable to decide whether to collapse or to stand taller.
His friends had carried Silver home.
A quiet question broke from Grim, barely above a whisper, his voice trembling:
“...Did you know this, Yuu—nya?”
Yuu’s reply was quick, almost too quick. “No. I didn’t.”
And it was the truth.
He hadn’t known. He thought, for the briefest moment, that if he had known, he would have wanted to help—that he would have wanted to carry Silver himself. But as the thought lingered, it twisted. No… no, that wasn’t true, was it? He knew, deep down, that he wasn’t strong enough.
Not for this.
Not to bear Silver’s weight, not to walk that final stretch without breaking apart.
This… this was something only they could do.
As the procession advanced, Yuu looked closer—watched the way each boy carried himself. Every movement was heavy, reverent, controlled. And with brutal honesty, Yuu realized he couldn’t have done it. He couldn’t have brought Silver into the memorial without shattering long before the doors opened.
His eyes caught on Sebek.
Sebek’s jaw was set, his grip white-knuckled, his eyes fixed straight ahead as though looking anywhere else would destroy him.
And in that moment—seeing him—Yuu’s chest clenched. A fracture opened in his thoughts, jagged, intrusive.
The last time he had seen Sebek had been in…
…Diasomnia.
The fire—
GREEN—GREEN—GREEN— blinding, swallowing EVERYTHING.
The shouting—
too many voices—too LOUD—too CLOSE—crashing, splintering, overlapping—
STOP—STOP—STOP—
The dreams—
slipping, SLIPPING—world-bending, tearing at the seams—
nothing solid, nothing real—
his hands EMPTY—no, no, they were full—
EMPTY.
The blot—
INK—INK—INK—
RISING, suffocating, pouring into lungs, into skin, into EYES—
BLACK—BLACK—BLACK—
no stars, no sky, no light, no air—
The shouting.
the shouting.
the SHOUTING.
the SHOUTING—
THE SHOUTING—
SEBEK’S VOICE.
raw. breaking. “MASTER!!!......... SILVER—!!”
LILIA’S SCREAM.
inhuman, grief-shattered, clawing at the world itself.
STUDENTS CRYING.
a chorus, fractured, disbelief turning into wails.
And his own voice—
Yuu’s own voice—
ripped from his throat, torn, useless—
“
NO—NO—NO—”
The blood—
SPLASH—SPREAD—STAIN—
TOO RED—TOO BRIGHT—
on stone, on skin, dripping from his FINGERS—
COLD—SO COLD—
Why is it COLD—no, don’t remember—
COLD.
The silence—
not peace—no, never peace—
a silence so HEAVY it pressed into his skull, into his teeth, into his chest—
crushing, suffocating—
And then—
THE SCREEEEECH—
Not Silver.
Never Silver.
It was Lilia’s cry?, Sebek’s broken howl, the voices of dozens colliding, rising, twisting—
NO LONGER HUMAN—
a sound torn apart by grief, by horror, by despair—
tearing through the chamber, through the air, through Yuu’s BONES—
splintering, cracking, ENDLESS—
He gasped.
A broken sound.
His body TREMBLED—his chest too tight—his ears still RINGING.
Silver—still alive—already gone.
The still face. The moving chest. the unmoving chest. the cold hand.
and around him: MISERY. INK. BLOOD. DEATH.
He clutched Grim tighter, arms shaking, pulling the little creature against him like an anchor before he was lost completely.
And then—
“…Yuu?”
A voice.
“…Yuu—!”
His name again—closer this time, sharper, slicing through the echoes.
“Yuu! Breathe—! Please, breathe—!”
Hands? No, not hands—voices clawing at him, dragging him up, but he couldn’t breathe—couldn’t—
His eyes blurred, darting desperately back to the present—
the procession. the music. the casket. the bowed heads.
But still—
STILL—
The echoes clung, crawling through his ears, his skin, his heart.
THE SCREECH. THE BLOOD. THE SHOUTING. THE GREEN FIRE.
They would not let him go.
They would not let him go.
The SCREECH. The BLOOD. The SHOUTING. The GREEN FIRE.
They circled him, pressed into his skull, tightening like iron bands. His chest burned, his lungs clawed for air, but the world spun—splintered—collapsing in on itself.
And through it all—
those eyes.
Aurora eyes.
Silver’s eyes, once filled with warmth, with light, with unshakable calm—
now still.
Now empty.
Now dead.
Unmoving, unblinking, staring straight through him.
That gaze burrowed deeper than the screams, deeper than the fire, deeper than the blot. That was what broke him. That was what dragged him under.
“YUU—!”
His name, loud, but drowned, like through water.
He couldn’t find it. Couldn’t grab it.
The echoes would not let him—
“YUU!”
The voice tore through the ringing, right at his side. And then—
CRACK—
A slap. Sharp across his cheek. The world snapped white for a moment, his head jerking to the side.
He gasped—air rushing in like broken glass—his knees giving way. He collapsed to the floor, palms flat against the stone as though it were the only solid thing left in existence.
The floor. Cold. Hard. Real.
His breath came in shallow gulps, ragged and desperate, his chest heaving. His ears still screamed with RINGING—RINGING—RINGING— but now there were voices too, faint at first, then clearer, closer, cutting through the static.
“…Yuu—stay with me!”
“…breathe, just breathe—”
“…he’s coming back, don’t crowd him—”
A flicker of light entered his blurred vision. Not the flickering green of fire. Not the black smear of ink.
A soft, light blue glow.
He forced his head up, blinking through the blur, and found it—the light hovering beside him, gentle, steady.
And within it—
a pair of yellow eyes.
Wide. Sharp. Familiar.
“Yuu,” the voice came again, clearer now. Robotic, but warm. Firm. Ortho.
On his other side, Grim clung tightly to his sleeve, eyes swollen from tears, fur damp. “Yuu—! Don’t scare me like that, nya!” he choked, pressing his tiny body against him.
Behind them, another figure crouched low—Ruggie, face drawn tight with worry, ears twitching with unease. He was glancing off-frame, calling to someone Yuu couldn’t see.
“Hey! He’s awake—he’s breathing, but he’s shaken badly—get someone, quick!”
The world was still spinning, still ringing, but little by little, the haze thinned.
The fire faded.
The blood receded.
The screech dimmed.
The eyes—those aurora eyes—slid back into the shadows where memory kept them.
What stayed—what remained—was the glow of Ortho’s light, Grim’s trembling weight against him, and the low rumble of Ruggie’s voice grounding him back to the present.
The ceremony had only just begun, and in Ruggie’s opinion, it was already turning into a shitshow.
Honestly, it had been one long disaster in the making. For three days straight, he’d been running himself ragged—preparing, organizing, mediating. Herding distraught students, wrangling anxious animals, and making sure the procession would even function without collapsing into chaos.
It was exhausting. He hadn’t slept properly in days, hadn’t eaten much either. But someone had to keep things together, and as usual, that someone ended up being him.
Now, as Yuu collapsed and Grim nearly broke down with him, Ruggie found himself moving fast, instincts overriding the careful plan. He slipped from his designated spot and crouched beside them, steadying the boy with Ortho’s light at his side.
It wasn’t his place to interfere—but leaving them like that? Letting the entire memorial unravel in front of everyone? That would’ve been worse.
So he made a choice. Better him than risking one of the other first-years abandoning their post.
“C’mon, let’s get you settled,” he muttered low, his tone practical but not unkind. With Ortho’s help, he guided Yuu and Grim back, away from the front rows. Not far enough to feel excluded, but far enough not to interrupt the ceremony if something happened again.
Grim still clung to Yuu’s sleeve, trembling and sniffing, but he let himself be moved.
Once they were down, Ruggie straightened, rolling his stiff shoulders, ears twitching toward the solemn music filling the chamber again. He cast a glance back at the main procession—the polished steps, the bowed heads, the weight of the casket moving toward its place of honor. He knew he shouldn’t be distracted.
He knew he had a job, a post, and expectations. But for just a moment, his gaze flicked elsewhere.
The first years.
Across the chamber, he caught sight of Ace and Deuce. Their faces were tight with worry, both of them shifting in their spots, eyes locked on Yuu like they wanted nothing more than to rush over.
They didn’t.
They couldn’t.
But the tension in their jaws, the strain in their expressions, said everything.
Ruggie let out a quick breath through his nose. Then, with the smallest flick of his fingers—subtle, practiced—he signaled them.
A tiny gesture that meant: He’s fine. Don’t move. I’ve got him.
He saw the relief in their faces, the way their shoulders eased just slightly, though their eyes didn’t leave Yuu.
“Focus,” Ruggie muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, forcing his own eyes back to the casket as it advanced. His stomach twisted. His bones ached with fatigue. But the ceremony wasn’t over yet. And until it was, he didn’t get to rest.
“You can return to the front if you want. I can take care of them.”
The voice came from his side—steady, mechanical, yet warm. Ortho.
Ruggie blinked, caught off guard. The glow of the android’s eyes cut through the dimness, too earnest, too ready. For a heartbeat, Ruggie’s jaw tightened. Any other time, he would’ve taken the offer in an instant—ditch the responsibility, let someone else deal with it. That was the easy way. The smart way.
But not now.
Not here, not in the middle of this.
The memory of just minutes ago still burned in his mind—Yuu crumpling, Grim wailing, the first-years almost breaking formation as panic surged through them. Chairs scraped, feet stumbled, whispers threatened to swell into chaos. Ruggie had seen the way Leona’s ears flicked back, the way Sebek’s hands curled into fists, the way the entire front row of students bristled like predators about to strike.
They hadn’t just been angry at the disruption.
They’d been wounded by it.
If it happened again…
No. Ruggie couldn’t let that happen again.
His hesitation stretched thin, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Then—
“Don’t worry, Ruggie-chan.”
Another voice, soft and careful. Ruggie startled, looking back over his shoulder. Cater Diamond stood there, his usual grin trimmed down to something smaller, quieter. His eyes glistened faintly, but the curve of his lips was steady, reassuring—not for himself, but for Ruggie.
“I can take care of it,” Cater said gently. “You should return to the front. Looks like Leo won’t wait much longer. And…” His gaze flicked to the animals beginning to stir near the memorial, wings half-spread, tails twitching as if waiting for a signal. “…the critters are getting restless.”
Ruggie followed his line of sight. True enough, the animals fidgeted uneasily, milling around the casket as though unsure where to settle. And Leona—
Leona hadn’t moved an inch.
The lion prince stood tall and unmoving beside the casket, his green eyes fixed like blades on the polished wood. His arms were folded, his jaw tight, his tail barely twitching behind him. He looked carved from stone, and yet the weight in the air around him was thick enough to choke.
“…Tch.” Ruggie clicked his tongue, ears flicking back. He hated it. Hated the idea of leaving Yuu and Grim half-broken in the corner. Half out of worry, half out of distrust—because the moment their grip slipped again, the whole ceremony could splinter.
But Cater was right. If he lingered any longer, more eyes would follow. And the last thing Silver’s funeral needed was another disruption.
“Fine,” Ruggie muttered. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He turned away, but not before one last look.
Yuu, pale and shaking. Grim was clinging stubbornly to his chest, tear-streaked but determined to keep facing forward. The sight tightened something sharp in Ruggie’s chest. He let out a sigh—low, bitter, pitying. Then forced himself to move.
His steps carried him back to the front, back where he was supposed to be. His ears caught the low murmurs of the crowd, the music still weaving its sorrow through the hall, the restless shuffle of beasts near the casket.
And as his eyes swept across the gathering, Ruggie felt the weight settle deeper. Faces he never thought he’d see in the same room, gathered now by the same grief.
He’d seen a lot in his life. Too much, probably. But this—this collective ache, this storm of sorrow and anger and disbelief—this was new.
And it rattled him more than he wanted to admit.
Arriving back at the front, Ruggie moved methodically, like clockwork. The same way he had been moving all week—semi-automatic, half-present, just doing what needed to be done.
Since… that day.
Honestly, he didn’t even know what he was supposed to feel anymore. It sounded cliché to say he was “used to death,” but wasn’t it true? Growing up in the slums, death was as common as hunger. He had seen people fade out one by one—neighbors, friends, even strangers whose names he never learned.
And his parents… well, “gone” was the only word that mattered. Even if his old man or his ma were alive somewhere, what difference did it make? They were as good as dead to him.
No, death wasn’t a mystery. It was an old companion.
But that didn’t make it hurt less.
His gaze flicked toward Silver’s portrait as he adjusted some of the offerings the animals had brought—straightening flowers, nudging petals into place. His throat tightened.
At worst, Silver had been easy pickings. Too generous, too scatterbrained—perfect for someone like Ruggie to nudge into free food, free favors. A soft target, really.
But at best…
At best, Silver had been something rare. Good. Not naïve, not fake. Just… genuinely good.
And being that good, in Ruggie’s experience, was the fastest way to get yourself killed. And look at that. It had.
How miserable this life could be.
Ruggie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing for a second, staring at those aurora-colored eyes painted in the portrait. Painted to last forever, when the real thing hadn’t.
“Damn it, you stupid sleepyhead,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and gruff, more to himself than anyone else. “Why’d you have to be so… nice?”
Maybe it was the animal in him, the hyena instincts, but he couldn’t deny it—Silver had been warm. Steady. The kind of person you couldn’t help but circle close to, even if you didn’t want to admit it. And for all the times Silver drove him crazy, for all the favors he’d milked out of him…
He’d really, really liked that part of him.
Yeah. Fine. He could admit it, here of all places.
As crooked as it was, as selfish as he’d been, as much as he’d used Silver’s kindness like it was a bottomless well—it had been a friendship.
The word sat heavy in his chest, bitter and sweet all at once.
A tremor ran through his hands as he finished straightening the flowers, pressing his palms down on the table a second longer than necessary. He sniffed sharply, blinked hard, but it was useless. His eyes stung, his throat tightened, and before he could stop it, hot tears welled up and spilled. Small, shaky at first. But real.
“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath, almost a growl. “Damn it, Silver…”
He wasn’t supposed to be the one crying. He wasn’t supposed to be the one shaking at a funeral. But here he was—crying at the memorial he’d pulled together with his own two hands. The memorial he’d worked himself to the bone for the last three days to make perfect—for free, no favors, no debts, no payout.
All because of him.
All because of the stupid, nice, too-good-for-this-world boy who’d given him food, given him trust, given him the one thing Ruggie always swore he didn’t need: kindness.
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding, but the tears didn’t stop.
“Guess this is it, huh?” he whispered, voice shaking. “All the crap you did for me… this is the one thing I can give you back. A funeral worth showing up to. A memorial worth remembering.”
A soft weight brushed against his ankle. One of the little woodland animals—one of Silver’s friends. A rabbit, ears drooping, pressing close as though sensing his grief. And then another. And another.
Birds are hopping along the railings.
Small paws, soft feathers, gathering around him like a quiet circle.
Ruggie froze, staring down at them.
For just a second, he let himself imagine it wasn’t the animals.
That it was Silver.
Silver’s steady voice, his calm hand brushing his head, that quiet smile he always wore no matter how tired he looked.
“Don’t cry, Ruggie. It’s alright. You did enough.”
The phantom words rang in his mind, and his vision blurred all over again. He pressed a hand hard against his eyes, trying to stifle the sob threatening to tear out of him.
“God damn it… life really sucks, huh?” His whisper cracked into the quiet air. “Why you, Silver? Why’d it have to be you?”
The animals lingered, silent witnesses, while Ruggie bowed his head at last—no more tricks, no more smirks, no more dodging the truth. For once, he let himself mourn.
The music droned low, dragging on his nerves like a weight. Leona’s ears twitched at every damn shuffle, every whisper that threatened to break the silence. His gaze swept the hall, sharp as a knife, and it didn’t take long to spot the source.
The first-year herbivores
Of course.
Ramshackle’s strays, all twitching in their seats, eyes darting to where Yuu had been dragged back after collapsing. They whispered, restless, their bodies tilting like they were one second away from bolting to his side.
Leona’s patience—already worn to threads—finally snapped.
“Don’t even think it,” he growled, voice cutting through the solemn air like a blade.
Every head jerked toward him.
Wide eyes.
Guilty faces.
“You all wanted to be part of this, didn’t you?” His voice was low but it carried, rough with command. “Then you sit your asses down and you see it through. No excuses. No half-assing. You don’t get to run when it gets hard. You stay. You watch. You bear it. That’s the price.”
The words bit deep, silencing them immediately. Even the music seemed to flinch, strings dragging just slightly as if unsure of their place against the weight of his voice.
Their expressions said it all—uneasy, chastened, some close to tears.
He didn’t care.
Respect was the bare minimum here.
The only one who hadn’t so much as twitched at his reprimand was the loud crocodile fanatic. Sebek, yeah—that was his name. Leona’s lip curled. The boy hadn’t even blinked. His eyes were glued to the casket, red-rimmed and blazing, jaw locked tight. His whole body screamed grief.
“Tch. Fanatic to the end,” Leona muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
Exhaustion pulled at him, heavy as chains. For all the effort he was putting into standing here—shoulders squared, back straight, eyes forward—he needed a nap. A long one. One that might last until all this shit was over. But he couldn’t—not yet.
His gaze flicked, almost against his will, toward the portrait above the casket. Silver’s face stared back—calm, smiling, unchanged.
And for a moment, Leona’s mind went blank.
Just white noise.
The weight of it hit, heavy and unwelcome, squeezing his chest until he had to grit his teeth to breathe.
“…Fucking Draconia,” he muttered at last, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a snarl, wasn’t quite a sigh. His green eyes hardened on the boy in the frame. “You really are a piece of work.”
He didn’t need to say it louder. Didn’t need to explain. Anyone who mattered knew.
Silver was dead. And the bastard dragon had put him there.
Leona’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting deep into his palms.
Silver was dead. And the bastard dragon had put him there.
Leona’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting deep into his palms.
Had he known the kid? Fuck no.
Not well enough. To him, at first, Silver had just been one of the lizard’s cronies—that was it.
Maybe Ruggie had crossed paths with him more, or Jack, who sometimes spoke about the “sleeping boy” with this annoying little glint in his eye, calling him honest, kind, strong, and all that sentimental crap. Leona hadn’t cared. His first impression of Silver had been exactly that: honest to a fault, brain-muddled, weird.
Tolerable at best.
More tolerable than the rest of those Diasomnia pests, anyway. But his opinion had ended there.
…Or so he thought.
Because as time went on—particularly this year—his thoughts strayed further than he’d like to admit. Sure, the stubbornness was still there, that ridiculous insistence that he and Draconia were “friends” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That had been laughable, astounding even. But beneath that, the silver-haired brat had always been… respectful. Always composed in a way that was hard to put a finger on.
Whenever they interacted, there had been no sneering, no backhanded comments, none of the contempt Leona had come to expect from the Diasomnia crowd—or most of the school, for that matter. Not after the mess with the Spelldrive fiasco.
Silver never threw it in his face.
Not once.
Instead, he’d been courteous. Grounded. Willing to help, to take blame where there was no need.
Leona remembered perfectly that Halloween disaster.
The chaos.
The fallout.
And Silver, standing there with his back straight, shouldering responsibility that wasn’t his, apologizing in place of his master and—hell, his father. Bearing burdens that weren’t his to carry, just because he thought it was the right thing to do.
Leona had scoffed at the time. Called him a goody-two-shoes idiot under his breath. Maybe even pitied him a little.
But after that… he had started looking at him differently. If not with warmth, then at least with tolerance.
Silver was quiet—so unlike his crocodile counterpart. There was no barking, no shouting, no constant noise. Just a steady presence.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t admit it: those naps beside the kid? They were some of the best sleeps he’d had in years.
Deep.
Untroubled.
Almost… safe.
Silver had apologized afterward, embarrassed about dozing off, but Leona hadn’t minded. He’d just scoffed and waved it off. What the brat never realized was that Leona hadn’t wanted to move, either.
Now that the quiet was gone.
And it left a hole deeper than Leona wanted to acknowledge.
From his left, Leona heard it—the low, uneven sobs of that stubborn hyena. Ruggie, who had worked himself ragged for days, finally broke. At last, the dam snapped.
And to his right, Jack. The wolf pup didn’t bother hiding his tears anymore, didn’t bother pretending at composure. They fell freely down his face, jaw tight, shoulders trembling with the weight of them.
Leona watched in silence.
He knew between the three of them, it was those two who had been closer.
Ruggie had done his share of running favors, snatching little advantages off Silver’s too-kind nature.
And Jack—Jack had spoken often, quietly, about the knight-in-training. About how he admired the way Silver fought with honor, with conviction, even when the odds crushed down on him.
Jack respected strength, and in Silver, he’d seen the kind that wasn’t just muscle.
Hell, Leona remembered catching him once or twice, curled up in his wolf form near the boy during training breaks. Trusting him enough to rest, like beasts in the wild that shared a bond.
The prince’s gaze dragged back to the portrait. That smile. Those aurora-colored eyes.
And hearing his subjects—his pack—cry for him only stoked the bitterness churning in his gut until it burned.
He bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a snarl, wasn’t quite a sigh.
“...Fuck Draconia,” he thought, the words venom, heavy, and sharp. “You didn’t deserve his loyalty. You didn’t deserve his love.”
His fists clenched at his sides, tight enough his nails drew crescent moons in his palms.
“I hope… wherever you are, Silver, you don’t suffer. I hope you’re at peace. That bastard didn’t deserve you. Not your smile. Not your heart. Not your devotion.”
His throat tightened, a sound caught somewhere between a growl and a broken laugh.
“I’ll keep a lookout. I’ll make sure this farce of a farewell goes through without a hitch. So rest. Rest in peace, knight. You deserve it more than anyone I’ve ever met in this damn place.”
Leona’s eyes stayed locked on the portrait, refusing to waver. For once, his promise wasn’t just words tossed into the wind.
It was an oath.
Notes:
If this is your first time reading my work, you can check out the companion fic linked here:
👉 Dream Retrieval:https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160854622#workskin
Chapter 5: What would you do?
Summary:
Yuu gathers himself, piecing together what he missed and remembering—truly remembering—what he has lost.
...
...
...Idia may be a descendant of the god of death, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t mourn the living. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss them when they’re gone.
Notes:
Now we get some context of the ceremony and also a little bit of Ignihyde. Oh—are we getting to the end? Maybe… or perhaps the beginning.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"For a true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart," Disney's Hercules (1997 film)
Yuu was still struggling to piece himself back together, his thoughts tangled, slipping like sand through trembling fingers. The music echoed dully at the edges of his hearing, but all he could really register was the frantic pressure of Grim pressed against him and Ortho’s steady blue glow at his side.
“Yuu—are you okay?!” Grim’s voice came again and again, small paws clutching at his uniform as if sheer force could anchor him. His wide, tear-swollen eyes searched Yuu’s face desperately, each second stretching too long.
Ortho leaned in, his scanners humming faintly as pale light swept across Yuu’s chest and face. “Your pulse is irregular. You hyperventilated, and then you collapsed. I’m monitoring for any lingering strain.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it—concern disguised in analysis.
Cater crouched nearby, his usual brightness dimmed into something quiet, steady. “You went down the second the casket passed by, Yuu,” he explained gently, his hand hovering like he wanted to touch Yuu’s shoulder but not crowd him. “Started hyperventilating badly. Pretty much everyone noticed because Grim panicked and started yelling. That’s what stopped the whole procession.”
The words made Yuu’s stomach twist. Shame burned up his throat, bitter and raw. He had caused the disruption.
Him.
The one person who had no right to draw eyes away from Silver.
Ortho nodded, adding in his quiet, mechanical hum: “If Grim hadn’t shouted, no one would have seen it immediately. But he did—and that’s why Ruggie ordered the first-years to keep moving while I carried you here.”
Yuu’s eyes flicked toward Grim.
The little monster’s ears drooped flat, his body trembling as he pressed closer, muffling his sniffling into Yuu’s chest.
“I… I thought you were dying too!” Grim blurted suddenly, his voice breaking. “I didn’t care if I caused a scene—I panicked! You collapsed out of nowhere, and you weren’t breathing right, and I… I thought I was gonna lose you, nya!”
His claws dug lightly into Yuu’s uniform as his sobs shook his small frame. “Don’t you ever do that again! You can’t just—you can’t leave me too! I can’t—Yuu, I can’t…”
Yuu’s chest tightened painfully at the words.
For a moment, instinct told him to scold—tell Grim he shouldn’t have shouted, shouldn’t have disrupted Silver’s funeral. But as he looked down at his partner’s terrified face, his panicked little body clinging as though Yuu might vanish at any second, that anger dissolved into ash.
Without thinking, Yuu wrapped both arms around Grim, hugging him close. Grim’s muffled apologies spilled against his chest in between sobs.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… I thought you were—”
“Shh,” Yuu whispered, his throat thick, voice breaking with guilt and tenderness alike. “It’s okay, Grim. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Grim’s trembling didn’t stop, but slowly, his sobs quieted into hiccups, the weight of his small body warm and grounding in Yuu’s arms.
And Yuu, even as shame gnawed at him for causing the scene, held him tighter still.
Because he knew the truth.
He wasn’t angry.
He couldn’t be.
Not when Grim’s fear mirrored his own so perfectly.
As Yuu consoled Grim, his gaze drifted toward the front.
He blinked, realizing he wasn’t where he’d been before. He was tucked against one of the pillars, hidden from most of the hall. Enough to cover them—enough to keep eyes from lingering.
Ortho noticed his searching look and spoke before he could ask.
“Like I said earlier, I moved you as soon as I could to a more private area. I debated taking you near the pipe organ where my niisan is stationed, but I calculated this location was safer and would cause the least disruption.” His mechanical hum softened slightly, his yellow eyes narrowing with something like concern.
“Besides, Ruggie-Buchi was following me, and moving you up the main steps wasn’t an option if we wanted to avoid drawing attention.”
Yuu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
He nodded—accepting the explanation even if shame gnawed at his chest. He hadn’t just collapsed; he’d forced people to react, to move, to adapt around him.
At Silver’s funeral, of all places.
He turned his eyes to Cater, wordlessly questioning his presence.
The older boy chuckled softly, though it was a laugh without any shine.
“Well, Yuu-chan, the reason I’m here is that you gave my juniors a huge scare back there. I needed to check you out myself before I tell them you’re fine.” His smile wavered, lips tightening faintly.
“Riddle was worried. Trey too. We just managed to calm him down, and that was after his own breakdown earlier when he saw Silver’s memorial. Poor guy’s been hanging on by a thread. Seeing you collapse right after that… let’s just say, it’s not been easy on him.”
Cater’s voice dropped, almost whispering. “He’s still fragile, Yuu-chan. If he sees you panic again, I don’t know if he can handle it.
Guilt sank sharper claws into Yuu’s chest.
He’d worried them too. Riddle—already crushed under the weight of his own sorrow—Trey, who had to hold their dorm together, and the rest of the Heartslabyul students, all shaken to the core. All because he couldn’t hold it together.
His fists clenched around Grim’s fur, and he wanted to apologize, to beg them not to waste their energy on him, not today.
Today was about Silver.
Only Silver.
He looked forward again, trying to focus on the memorial, on the casket, on anything that wasn’t the shame pounding in his head.
To distract himself, to anchor his spiraling thoughts, he asked quietly, almost like a child asking for reassurance:
“Cater… why are Ace and Deuce helping with…?”
“The casket?” Cater finished for him.
His smile softened, bittersweet. “Not surprised you didn’t know. No offense, Yuu-chan, but you’ve been kinda… offline these past few days.”
Before Yuu could respond, Ortho’s blunt voice cut in:
“Correction: you’ve been absent from nearly ninety percent of school interactions since the incident. The only exceptions were the mandatory revision given by Styx, a single obligatory call from my niisan, and occasional attempts by first-years—specifically Ace—to reach out to you. Apart from that, your presence has been… null.”
The words hit Yuu like stones, heavy and undeniable.
Yuu knew Ortho wasn’t wrong.
He had been absent. Withdrawn.
Since Silver…
Since Silver died, he hadn’t been able to face anyone.
The thought of seeing everyone continue—studying, walking the halls, laughing in moments where laughter still dared to exist—it had been unbearable. He knew, rationally, that people mourned in their own ways.
That sadness didn’t always look like his. But the bitterness, the gnawing guilt, the desperate wish to wake from this nightmare and just… go home—it had driven him into isolation.
Even Ace and Deuce, who had been with him from the very beginning, felt impossible to face. Their presence reminded him too much of what they had all lost, what he had lost. So, yes. He could understand why he didn’t know about the planning.
Why he’d been left in the dark.
His throat felt dry, but he forced the words out anyway.
“…How did it come to be?”
Cater followed his gaze toward the front.
The memorial was advancing now—animals settling in their places, gifts being laid with reverence, the first-years adjusting the casket and materials so the ceremony could proceed.
For a moment, the redhead simply sighed, his lips thinning.
“Well… after everything, it’s been a mess,” Cater admitted, voice quieter, heavier than Yuu was used to hearing from him. “The details slipped through the cracks at first. Riddle and the other housewardens, with the professors, took the lead in organizing most of it. And as you can see—” his eyes flicked toward the front, where Leona still stood rooted beside the casket—“Savanaclaw’s been the main muscle. Hard to believe, I know.”
Before Yuu could respond, Ortho cut in, his tone clipped with irritation:
“My niisan and I, along with Styx, have been primary contributors as well, Diamond. Please do not erase that.”
Cater lifted his hands in a small, conciliatory shrug, though his smile was thin, strained.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, Ortho-chan. You and Ida-kun have been a huge help. After all…” His gaze softened, bittersweet. “Silver deserved this. And more.”
He hesitated, then looked back at Yuu.
“The truth is, at first, there wasn’t a beginning,” Cater continued, his voice sinking lower. “Nobody knew where to start. Too much was broken. Too much… left unsaid. And—” His jaw tightened, bitterness flashing across his features, startling in its venom.
“Malleus and Lilia had basically disappeared after the fiasco. So we had to gather ourselves, figure out what to do… with Silver.”
The words landed heavy, sinking into Yuu’s chest like stones.
Cater’s words faltered.
He bit his lip, as though something heavy sat on his tongue, choking him.
“Well… technically… Silver had—” He stopped. His gaze darted down, then away, the cheer he usually wore nowhere in sight.
The pause stretched, and Ortho stepped in, his voice cool and exact.
“Because Silver was not yet of age, a legal adult would have been the appropriate party to make decisions regarding his memorial arrangements.” His tone, though mechanical, carried an edge—one Yuu recognized as deliberate, almost disdainful.
“Ordinarily, his guardian, Lilia Vanrouge, would have served as that representative. However, Lilia is… absent.” The word was spat, clipped, and his yellow eyes glinted with something almost like disgust.
Ortho’s tone darkened further. “In such cases, responsibility would normally fall to another adult relative, which is why the Zigvolt family was contacted. In another circumstance, it could have defaulted to his liege, Malleus Draconia.”
At that, Cater broke in sharply, his voice cracking with venom that bled past the remnants of his friendly mask.
“Yeah. Draconia. Legal whatever, Yuu. But—fuck no.” His lips curled, his usual light grin gone, replaced by something hard, bitter. “No one—no one—was going to let him anywhere near Silver again. Not after what he did. Not ever.”
Yuu’s chest squeezed tight. He’d never seen Cater like this—mask stripped, words biting. It made the air around them feel heavier, sharper.
Cater’s jaw flexed, then he exhaled through his nose, lowering his voice. “So… we asked Sebek to contact his family instead.”
That startled Yuu. “Sebek…?”
“At first,” Cater admitted, “we thought he was going to—well, you know how he is. Loud. Obsessive. Especially when it comes to… him.”
His lip curled faintly at the word. “But… he’s changed. Believe it or not, Yuu-chan, he hasn’t mentioned Malleus. Or Lilia. Not once. Not since the incident. He just… accepted. Quiet. Focused. He made the call to his parents, and they helped with the paperwork.”
Yuu blinked, trembling faintly, struggling to reconcile the picture in his mind. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the front.
There Sebek stood. His back straight, his uniform immaculate, his face locked toward the casket like a sentinel carved from stone. His usual bombast, his shouting, his endless proclamations—all gone.
He hadn’t moved an inch since the moment Silver had been laid down.
And in his hand… something glinted. Yuu couldn’t make out what it was from this distance, but the way Sebek’s fingers curled around it, the way his knuckles whitened—it was something precious. Something important. Something of Silver’s, without a doubt.
Yuu’s thoughts reeled, circling back, trying to anchor themselves. So Sebek contacted his family, and then…
Ortho’s voice picked up seamlessly, calm but cold.
“After the Zigvolt family was contacted, they assumed responsibility. They are here, at this very moment. Once the ceremony concludes, they will take the casket to the burial grounds they designated. My family and Styx will assist with transportation.”
Yuu blinked, stunned. The Zigvolts… here? His chest tightened further.
He hadn’t even known.
Cater leaned in, his tone lower, sharper. “Yeah. Basically, after the whole… dreams fiasco—” he waved vaguely, his smile brittle, “—you know, all of Sage Island got thrown into apocalyptic alert mode thanks to you-know-who. So in reality, Briar Valley was supposed to handle all the legalities. Damage control. Cover Draconia’s ass, smooth out whatever political crap they needed to bury the mess.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. The mask cracked further. “But Silver… Silver they didn’t want to touch. Not even close.”
Yuu’s head snapped up. “What? Why? What happened—?”
Ortho’s voice cut him off, sharper than before, his tone mechanical but laced with something dangerous.
“You don’t want to know, Yuu.”
Yuu froze. Even Grim, tucked into his arms, flinched at the flat finality in Ortho’s words.
But Grim wasn’t quiet for long. His little claws dug into Yuu’s jacket, trembling. His voice shook, but there was fury in it, rising from grief.
“Why?! Why not, nya?! What did they say about Silver? About him being dead?!”
Cater and Ortho exchanged a glance. Their silence was heavier than any answer.
Grim’s ears flattened, his teeth bared. “This—this was Ts— no, no, not that name—Malleus’s fault! All of it! Why didn’t they blame him? Why?!”
His voice cracked, breaking between sobs and growls. “Why does Silver have to pay for his mistakes?!”
Yuu’s chest heaved. He felt it too—the grief twisting into anger, sharp and suffocating. His throat ached with words he wanted to shout, to scream. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.
But before he could speak, Ortho answered. And his words landed like a hammer.
“The Senate of Briar Valley called it retribution,” he said, flat and merciless. His golden eyes flickered with disgust, his tone low, final. “That’s all you need to know.”
Yuu froze. His mind hadn’t even begun to process Ortho’s words when another voice—flat, emotionless, but cutting with a bite of mockery—slipped in from just above them.
“Yeeeah, those pricks were the real deal, alright. I’ll tell you, Yuu—straight out of the final boss handbook. Villain monologues, creepy voices, the whole ‘evil empire’ schtick.”
The trio—and Grim—snapped their heads up. Hovering just above them was a tablet, its screen glowing cold in the dim light.
“Niisan!” Ortho’s voice rose, sharper than usual. “Why are you—?”
The tablet drifted lower until it leveled with their faces. Idia’s image flickered into view, hunched as ever in his command chair, hair casting ghostly flames in the reflection of countless monitors. His tone was dry, detached, and uncomfortably casual.
“Welp. I’m all alone up here at the top—playing conductor, running the recordings, coordinating like some kinda maestro of misery.”
His glowing eyes flicked across the screen, unblinking. “And since you haven’t returned to your post, Ortho, I figured I’d check where you wandered off to. Aaand look at that—I find you giving our little hermit a crash course in ‘What You Missed While You Rage-quit Reality.’”
Yuu’s face burned hot. His chest tightened with guilt, shame coiling in his stomach like a vice. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet the screen. Hermit. Rage-quit. He knew Idia wasn’t wrong.
Cater stepped in quickly, his tone unusually firm. “Okay, Idia-chan—don’t be so brutal. He’s trying to open up now.”
Idia’s laugh was a low, humorless sound. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But let’s not sugarcoat, Cater Diamond. He wouldn’t be hearing this info now if he hadn’t decided to ghost the entire school.” He leaned closer into the camera, the glow of his hair intensifying.
“Confidence check—I wouldn’t be this blunt if I was there in person, but hey, digital courage, right?”
Ortho frowned, but Idia didn’t stop.
“So, cliff notes: after that delightful little comment from the Briar Valley senate—‘retribution,’ pfft, seriously—it was game over. Safe to say Crowley and the rest of the school wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing. Hard cut. Chaotic sayonara. Bye-bye.”
He waved lazily toward the camera, the gesture almost grotesque in its carelessness.
“So we took matters into our own hands. With help from Styx, the housewardens, and a couple of families willing to lift a finger, we organized…”
The tablet spun once in the air, its camera tilting to catch a glimpse of the hall, the casket, the flowers, the bowed heads.
“…this memorial. The one you’re sitting in right now.”
Yuu lifted his gaze to the screen, his voice low, hesitant.
“…So Sebek’s family…?”
Idia’s image blinked, hair-flames dimming as he exhaled a long, ragged sigh. “Yeah. My family offered at first—a place on the Isle of Woe. But, like… seriously? That’s no place for him. Technically, yeah, it’s big as a mausoleum. We’ve got all the bells and whistles, rows of cold stone, yadda yadda. But…”
He trailed off. For once, the sarcasm slipped. His golden eyes softened, the glow around them flickering faintly. Reflected in his screen was the front of the memorial, Silver’s portrait shining faintly with candlelight.
“…that’s not where a hero should rest.” His voice lowered, quiet in a way that felt like prayer. “Not someone like Silver.”
The silence stretched, heavy, reverent.
Finally, Idia cleared his throat, his gaze flicking away as if embarrassed to have said it aloud. “So we suggested alternatives. Briar Valley was, of course, out of the question.” His lip curled, venom creeping back into his tone. “Not after that senate circus.”
He leaned back, hair smoldering higher for a moment. “After a lot of back and forth, Sebek’s grandpa—the ultra-old, super-scary, military general type—stepped in. Said Silver deserved better. Suggested his own hometown, near the savanna. Real nature-heavy place. Lots of open sky. Peaceful.”
The faintest twitch of a smile tugged at Idia’s lips, though it never reached his misty eyes. “And with the royal family of Sunset Savanna’s permission—Leona’s clan, yeah—the deal was sealed. Silver will rest in a place filled with everything he loved. Beautiful scenery. Animals. Flowers. Peace.”
His voice broke for just a second before he caught himself. “…The whole package. The best we could do.”
Cater picked up softly after Idia’s words, his tone gentler than usual, almost protective.
“After that, Ace, Deuce, and all the first-years threw themselves into helping however they could. Same with the housewardens and vices. Piece by piece, things started falling into place. Even debating where the ceremony should be held was a whole mess, but…”
At that moment, Ortho’s voice cut in—steady, matter-of-fact, but carrying something almost human in its gentleness.
“For the location, you actually helped us decide, Yuu.”
Yuu blinked, confused. “Me? How? I didn’t—”
“Remember my last call?” Idia’s voice dropped in from the tablet above, flat but sharp enough to slice through Yuu’s protest. “I asked you for your camera. Said I needed it. Ring a bell?”
Yuu froze, the memory creeping back—blurred, hazy, like everything after that day.
He remembered answering Idia’s call with barely a word, his head too heavy, his chest too tight. He’d shoved the device into the hands of a Styx soldier without thinking, without asking, just wanting the whole interaction to end.
Now he nodded slowly, voice faint. “…I remember.”
“Yeah, well.” Idia leaned back, his hair-flames curling faintly in his feed. “When the camera arrived, I started going through the photos. Thought maybe some shots could help with the presentation or whatever. You know, aesthetic stuff for Pomefiore to use for the decorations.”
He paused. A silence stretched, brittle.
“And then…”
For once, Idia didn’t rush. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, as if the weight of what he was about to show pressed down even through the screen. “…You know what? Forget explaining. Just see for yourself.”
Before Yuu, Grim, Ortho, or Cater could question him, the tablet in Idia’s hands spun upward. The faint blue glow of his holographic interface pulsed, and then—
The entire hall dimmed.
Gasps rippled through the gathered students as the overhead lights softened, shadows stretching long across the stone.
Slowly, one by one, tiny motes of light flickered to life around the walls and ceiling.
Cameras hidden throughout the academy, some Yuu had forgotten even existed, powered on at Idia’s command.
And then—
The first image bloomed.
Projected high above, spilling across the vaulted ceiling, Silver’s face appeared.
Not the portrait at the altar, not the stillness of the memorial frame—
But alive.
Caught in motion, in fragments of memory, from Yuu’s camera.
The hall went silent as stone.
The projections shifted, light bending into shape after shape—image after image—until the walls and ceiling became a living tapestry.
Silver.
At first, single frames. Small, simple moments. Him dozing off at his desk, hair falling softly over his face.
Sitting beneath a tree in the courtyard, a squirrel nestled in his lap.
Feeding crumbs to birds by the window.
Alone, but peaceful.
Then more came.
Silver with his animal companions, the softest smile reserved for their trust.
Silver in the classroom—sparring with Kalim and Ruggie, his wooden blade steady, his expression calm.
Silver in the equestrian club, guiding a horse alongside Riddle and Sebek, posture elegant and composed.
Silver seated across from Azul and Jamil, their faces sharper, calculating, while his remained open and steady, grounding the exchange.
Laughter bloomed across the ceiling—so rare, so precious—as the projection shifted again.
Silver’s head thrown back, caught mid-laugh beside Ace and Floyd, who seemed just as surprised at the sound as the camera had been.
Another frame: Silver napping against Jack’s shoulder under a tree, Leona stretched out beside them, the quiet peace of the savanna-born dorm leader reflected faintly in his eyes.
Silver bent in concentration at a makeup table, Rook leaning close with a brush in hand, Vil behind them—perfect posture, perfect lines—watching with a rare, indulgent smile.
Silver among mushrooms in the forest with Jade and Ortho, the android’s glow faint against the greenery.
Silver dusted in flour, holding a tray of uneven cookies with Trey and Cater, their grins crooked but real.
And then—
Silver in flight.
On a broom, wind tousling his silver hair, Grim clinging to the handle and Yuu holding tight from behind. All three smiling, eyes bright, free.
The images kept gathering, one after another, until they moved—flowing like water into short vignettes.
Silent videos, recreated perfectly, until the hall itself seemed to breathe with Silver’s presence.
Yuu’s throat closed.
He remembered every photo, every moment, like a knife twisting in his chest. His vision blurred with tears, his cheeks already wet, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t.
Around him, the students watched too, their own faces reflected in the glow of memories.
In the front, Trey’s hand tightened over Riddle’s shoulder. Riddle’s lips trembled, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks as he whispered something only Trey could hear. His small, broken smile came when he saw himself with Silver in the club, the memory cutting yet comforting.
The Octavinelle trio murmured low, their sharp tones softened into something wistful as they recalled each encounter—the deals struck, the strange conversations, the moments they hadn’t realized they’d treasured until now.
On the opposite side, Kalim leaned forward, tears streaking his cheeks but his eyes alight, pointing excitedly at each flicker of Silver. “Look, Jamil—there! Remember? That was the day—”
“I know,” Jamil murmured, his usual bitterness muted into something quiet, aching.
Vil dabbed delicately at his tears with a handkerchief, Rook steady beside him. The hunter’s voice was soft as he leaned close. “Ah… how radiant he looks, mon roi.” Vil only pressed the cloth harder against his eyes, unable to answer.
Ace and Deuce laughed through their tears, nudging each other when their younger selves flashed onto the ceiling. “That was when we—remember? He said—” Their words dissolved into sobs, their arms coming up to shield their faces.
Epel sat silently, tears sliding freely as he leaned into Jack’s solid frame. Jack’s ears were lowered, his gaze fixed on the images. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing. Both of them remembering. Both of them hurting.
And Leona—Leona didn’t move. His face was unreadable, jaw set, eyes narrowed. But his gaze stayed fixed on the boy in the images. Respectful. Heavy. Ruggie at his side lowered his head, shoulders shaking faintly, his voice caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
On Yuu’s side of the hall, the smaller circle of his companions carried their own quiet echoes of the past.
Cater’s smile was soft—fragile, but real—as he tilted his head toward the shifting images. His voice was almost a whisper, but warm.
“Man… those cookies went viral on my feed, Yuu-chan. Everyone wanted to try them. They weren’t just tasty—they were pretty. Just like him, huh? Sweet and beautiful.”
Beside him, Ortho hummed along faintly with the melody that drifted through the hall, his face softened into something achingly human despite the metallic gleam of his frame. “I remember,” he said, wistful. “Not just that day at Forest But so many others. The gardens we visited, the valleys we walked. There were always animals and flowers drawn to him. Like the world itself wanted to be near him.” His expression dimmed, touched with melancholy. “I think they knew… he carried something special.”
And then—Grim. His little claws clenched tight in Yuu’s clothes, tugging insistently until Yuu’s gaze fell to him. His big eyes brimmed with tears, his voice breaking into a small, desperate plea.
“Yuu… remember that day? The broom practice? You were scared, nya—so scared—but he helped us. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t get mad. He just… helped. Brave, kind, heroic—Silver was all of that. And more.” His small body shook. “Don’t forget, Yuu. Don’t ever forget.”
The entire hall seemed to exhale, to hold its breath and ache together, as Silver’s life played out in fragments—his days at NRC stitched together by memory, by love, by the camera that had captured him as he truly was.
Alive.
Present.
Beloved.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though he was still here.
The images kept flowing, one after another, until something shifted.
A sound.
At first it was faint—just a thread of hum in the air, barely there. Yuu thought he’d imagined it, a ghost carried by memory. But as the projections continued, the hum grew clearer, stronger, weaving itself into the very marrow of the room. The melody rose like mist, curling around the images, a song pulled from the past itself.
And then—
An image sharpened in the center of the ceiling. Unlike the others, this one seemed to glow, clearer than crystal, as though demanding to be seen. Yuu’s breath caught.
It was a dance.
Silver and Sebek stood in the middle, hands clasped, moving with small but steady steps.
Sebek led with rigid precision, his jaw set, his movements sharp, while Silver followed with his calm grace, his every gesture smoothing Sebek’s edges, making the dance whole.
Beside them, of all people—Idia. His long fingers drew the bow across violin strings, coaxing out the melody. The sound was haunting and sweet, guiding the steps with quiet devotion.
And from Silver—
A voice.
Gentle.
Unmistakable.
He sang as they moved, his tone soft but clear, the kind of voice that carried warmth into bones.
Yuu’s chest tightened painfully. He hadn’t even remembered capturing this moment. How could he have? And yet, there it was—alive before his eyes.
Idia’s voice came low through the tablet, just by his ear, quiet enough not to break the spell of the hall:
“Do you remember this, Yuu? When we had to go to Noble Bell Academy… I had to learn how to dance. Pathetic, right? This shut-in, no-good loser trying to master waltz steps. And for some reason—Sebek and Silver… they were so damn invested in me. Like it actually mattered. Like I mattered.”
His voice cracked, then steadied.
“You snapped this picture. Betrayal, I called it back then. Thought it was cringe, humiliating. But now… this one’s my favorite.”
Yuu swallowed hard, his eyes refusing to leave the scene. Silver’s humming rose again, filling the space, and for one heartbeat it felt like he was really there—singing, smiling, alive.
But Yuu’s gaze drifted downward, instinctively searching for the other half of the knightly duo.
And he wished he hadn’t.
Because there, in the present—not in the projection—stood Sebek.
His posture was stiff as ever, his uniform immaculate, his hands curled into trembling fists at his sides.
His eyes, though—his eyes betrayed him. Wide, red, shimmering with tears that clung stubbornly, threatening to fall.
His lips pressed tight, but his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, each one betraying the sobs he was trying so desperately to contain.
Sebek stared up at the image of that dance—at Silver, his master, his friend, his other half—and the grief in his face was unbearable.
Yuu’s stomach twisted.
His throat burned.
His hand curled tighter into Grim’s fur, anchoring himself, but his heart reached helplessly toward Sebek.
Oh, Sebek… I’m sorry…
Sorry that this memory had been thrown back at him in front of everyone.
The humming of Silver’s voice swelled, filling every corner of the hall. And Yuu’s tears finally fell—not only for himself, but for Sebek too.
Idia’s voice lingered through the tablet, softer now, almost reverent.
“…This. This was why I pushed for the ceremony to be here—at Night Raven. Not in some cold hall, not buried under political crap, but here. Where he actually lived. Where every step he took left a memory behind. Where he smiled, where he laughed, where people actually cherished him.”
There was a pause. The projection shifted slightly, the violin bow stilling in his hologrammed hands. His golden eyes, faintly misty, glimmered with the reflection of Silver’s image.
“I knew… he had so many good memories here. And… I guess I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t just fade away. That everyone could see them. Remember them. Not just the soldier. Not just Lilia’s kid. But Silver—the boy who cared. The boy who sang.”
The words hit heavier than anything else he’d said. His voice lowered further, as if confessing something he’d never meant to share aloud.
“…You know, he was always… kind to me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I pushed him off, when I was a total coward. He didn’t let me vanish. He always made me feel like he… saw me. Heard me. Like maybe I wasn’t just background noise after all.”
A shaky exhale slipped from him, the sound almost static through the tablet’s speakers. His reflection looked down at his own hands—the same hands in the projection still clutching the violin bow awkwardly.
“Watching this… I remember how ridiculous I felt holding that violin, fumbling the notes, my hair a mess, my nerves shot. But he—Silver—he never laughed at me. He just… smiled. And sang. Like I was worth keeping in rhythm with.”
The humming grew louder, Silver’s voice swelling as if in agreement, filling the entire memorial hall with that same steady calm he’d carried in life.
Down below, Sebek’s shoulders finally shook. One hand lifted, half-covering his face, but it did nothing to hide the sob that broke free.
And above him, Idia’s voice whispered through the silence:
“…That’s what I’ll always remember. That’s what I’ll always appreciate. Silver didn’t just… exist here. He made all of us feel like we belonged.”
Notes:
If this is your first time reading my work, you can check out the companion fic linked here:
👉 Dream Retrieval:https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160854622#workskin
Chapter 6: The day ..... What day?
Summary:
Ortho remembers and reminisces about the past and present, while Yuu finally lets his feelings flow through.
...
...
...“Oh, Silver… sorry for being late, my knight.”
Notes:
Welp… sorry for the delay! I went to a concert in another state in the middle of rewriting this, hahaha, and completely forgot to publish it. Upssss. But here it is—the last couple of chapters before I start publishing the next part…
And oh, look who’s here!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"A true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength... but by the strength of his heart." - Hercules (1997)
As the projection faded and the last echoes of Silver’s humming dissolved into silence, the casket was finally placed down.
Flowers were arranged with careful precision, silver cloth draped over the polished wood, the ritual objects set in place.
Ortho’s gaze lingered, his processors recalling every step of the plan.
He knew this much had been agreed on from the start: the casket would remain closed.
That condition—strangely enough—had been Sebek’s request.
Ortho’s memory flickered, replaying the meeting where the decision was made.
-
Flashback.
The director’s office.
A long projection stretched across the wall, showing the faces of the Zigvolt family on a vid-call.
Their image flickered alongside another: Idia’s parents, both stiff but attentive, the faint hum of Styx equipment behind them.
Around the table in the room sat Crowley, Leona, Ruggie, Sebek, Jack, Ace, Deuce, Epel, Ortho, and Idia himself.
The air had been suffocating, weighed down by too many unspoken things.
Crowley cleared his throat, feathered mask tilted forward. “So… have we come to an agreement? The ceremony, two days from now—do we all accept?”
On screen, Sebek’s mother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, but lifted her chin with quiet strength. His father’s arm was steady around her shoulders, his gaze unflinching on the director.
“Yes,” the man said firmly. “We will travel tonight. We will help however we can… bring what we can from Silver’s home.” He hesitated, lips trembling. “If… if it is allowed, we will also bring his belongings. His things.”
His wife pressed forward, voice breaking but resolute:
“We will bring Silver-chan’s things. His room, his memories… he shouldn’t be alone.”
From the other screen, Idia’s mother leaned in slightly. “Styx can send aid if needed. We can transport anything heavy or delicate from Silver’s house.”
But before her words could land, another voice erupted from the Zigvolt side—gruff, sharp, cutting like a blade.
“We don’t need cursed machines near our valley.”
A low murmur rippled through the room. Sebek’s mother whipped her head around, glaring off-screen.
“Father—!” she snapped.
A huff answered her, loud and disdainful.
Sebek’s father quickly stepped in, bowing his head. “Forgive him. Thank you for the offer, truly. But we can manage. Our family—our other children—can handle the preparations.”
Silence fell heavily.
It was Idia, shifting in his seat, who broke the silence. His voice was low but sharp, words laced with a bite that cut through the tension like a blade.
“…And what about him?”
The name no one wanted to say hung unspoken until Idia spat it out, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Lilia. Are we all just going to pretend he wouldn’t care that strangers are rummaging through his house, through his son’s things?”
The projection flickered, showing the Zigvolt family gathered on the other end.
Only three remained on screen—Sebek’s mother, Sebek’s father, and Baul.
The couple’s faces twisted with sorrow and shame.
Sebek, sitting at the table, trembled, his fists clenched white-knuckled against his knees, shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring ready to snap.
For a moment, no one answered.
And then—
Baul’s voice cut through, gravel-edged and heavy, carrying all the weight of war.
“If he has not been here for a single meeting… if he has not come to arrange his so-called son’s funeral… then he does not care.”
The words struck like iron, each syllable bitter with resentment, or perhaps weary resignation. Baul’s massive frame shifted, the scrape of his chair loud in the silence.
“Do what you will with Silver’s belongings. If Lilia Vanrouge will not stand by his son, then I will not stand by him.”
The sound of his footsteps echoed harshly as he turned away.
“Father, wait—!” Sebek’s mother cried, rising in desperation. But Baul’s figure had already disappeared from view, leaving only silence in his wake.
The screen steadied again, now showing just Sebek’s parents—his mother dabbing furiously at her eyes, his father’s hand resting heavy on her shoulder, his own face grim and rigid.
She whispered then, voice breaking, barely audible:
“…Lilia has not returned. Since the Queen stripped him of his position, he has vanished. We do not know where he is. "
The room turned colder than ice.
No one spoke.
Faces around the table were taut—some furious, some stricken, some darkened with pity.
And Sebek—he sat like a taut wire about to snap, jaw clenched, trembling all over.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, glassy and red, but he refused to let the tears fall.
And no one moved to touch him.
Crowley, ever the one to smooth chaos with polished words, cleared his throat loudly.
“Then we are agreed. The Zigvolt family will arrive in two days’ time. The casket will be transported with escort, and an additional carriage will be provided for Silver’s belongings.”
He straightened his robes, puffing himself up as if his own dignity could repair the fractured atmosphere.
“In the meantime, the Mirror Chamber will be prepared for your arrival. The teachers and I will handle faculty involvement. As for the rest—” his eyes flicked toward the cluster of first-years, “—you may inform your housewardens of their respective duties. You have, after all, been the ones most active in organizing these proceedings.”
There was a pause. An awkward shifting of bodies, the silent ripple of grief running under the words. Just as people began to rise, to retreat to their tasks, a single voice broke the rhythm.
“…Wait.”
Sebek.
His voice was small, but it carved through the air with unexpected sharpness.
Leona, seated with his usual bored posture, cracked one eye open and gave a derisive snort.
“What now? What’s left to discuss, crocodile?”
Ortho stiffened immediately at the tone, his sensors spiking. He analyzed probabilities of escalation—Sebek’s temper, Leona’s provocation, the stress of the moment—but his model proved flawed.
Because Sebek did not explode.
He stood instead, trembling from head to toe, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone bone-white.
His eyes, red-rimmed and raw, locked not on Leona—but directly across the table, at Idia and the Styx projection glowing on the far wall.
“When…” His voice cracked, faltered, then surged again, louder, desperate.
“When Silver arrives—when his casket is brought here—I want it sealed. Sealed and never opened again.”
The room erupted.
“What?!” Ace shot up in his seat, his face pale with shock. “You can’t mean that! He’s our friend too—we deserve to say goodbye properly!”
“Yeah,” Deuce added, his voice thick with emotion but firm. “The casket has to be opened at the ceremony. Everyone should have the chance to see him one last time!”
Ruggie’s ears twitched, his tail low, but his voice cutting in sharply:
“OY, think about everyone else. Half the school came here to pay respects. You’re saying none of ‘em should get the chance?”
Epel’s voice cracked as he raised his head, eyes shining red.
“That’s not fair, Sebek…! He’s our senpai too. He taught me so much—I need to see him, just once more!”
Even Jack, steady as stone, frowned as his tail lashed once.
“I understand how you feel, but… closing him off from everyone else—it’s not right.”
The voices tangled, the weight of argument pressing in—until one more voice joined.
Calm.
Clinical.
Flat.
“Styx has ensured the body is preserved in perfect condition,” Idia’s father said, his voice tinny through the projection. “There is no concern about deterioration. The casket can be opened without issue, should you wish to view the body.”
It was a slip. A careless, technical phrasing. But it shattered Sebek.
“DON’T!”
The shout tore through the room like thunder, rattling the very air.
Sebek’s voice—booming, furious, and breaking.
“DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT!” he roared, his chest heaving, his face crumpling with anguish. His fists slammed onto the table hard enough to rattle papers and glasses. “HE IS NOT—” His voice broke, strangled, collapsing into raw sobs.
“He is not a body.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Sebek’s head bowed, his hair falling into his face.
His voice, when it came again, was hoarse, trembling, but heartbreakingly quiet.
“…He is Silver. My companion. My brother-in-arms. My friend since childhood.” His voice cracked again, breaking against his teeth. “Not… not some specimen to preserve. Not something to put on display.”
He swayed, unsteady, his shoulders shaking violently.
Behind him, Jack moved—slowly.
His amber eyes softened, filled with understanding.
“Sebek…” Jack murmured, low enough that only those nearest could hear. His hand pressed gently onto the crocodile’s shoulder, grounding.
“I get it. I really do.”
But Sebek’s hand shot up, trembling, and pushed Jack’s away, not in rejection, but in desperation.
He wiped angrily at his wet face, shoulders still shaking, and forced the words out between ragged sobs.
“I—I don’t want him remembered like that,” Sebek choked, his voice cracking so violently it hurt to hear. “Not cold. Not still. Not… not like some unmoving thing in a box.”
He gasped, pulling air into lungs that burned. His green eyes swept the table, pleading, broken.
“I want everyone to remember him as he was! In his good days. In his happiest days!” His chest hitched, his fist striking the wood of the table again with less force this time, more anguish. “Not lying there as though sleep has stolen him forever!”
His words came faster now, spilling, unstoppable.
“Do you understand? Silver hated sleep. Hated it! All his life, he despised how it chained him, dragged him down, made him weak. I shouted at him—so many times!” Sebek’s head dropped, his voice breaking into tears again.
“Shouted for being slow, for being lazy, for never listening. And yet… it was never his fault. He could not control it. It pained him. It shamed him. And I—” He nearly collapsed over the table, his body heaving. “I never understood. Not until now.”
Silence answered him. The room was still, frozen under the weight of his grief.
Sebek lifted his head again, his eyes wild, desperate, searching each face. “So no! I won’t allow it! I won’t let the last image any of you hold of him be the thing he hated most! That… that cursed stillness. That mockery of rest. That endless sleep!”
He collapsed back into his chair, trembling, his fists pressed to his eyes as sobs tore through him.
Ortho, who had been silent, processing, felt his own systems stutter.
His optics dimmed and brightened as conflicting lines of logic tore at one another.
His database told him the others were right: people needed closure, needed to see Silver one last time to grieve properly.
But his memories—his own countless files of Silver—sang louder.
The Silver in his memory, alive.
The Silver in his memory wasn’t a specimen.
Alive.
Warm.
His voice humming with a softness that had no algorithm, no code, no definable pattern.
A human note, delicate and imperfect, yet one that made Ortho’s systems hum with something he could only label as comfort.
He remembered Silver crouching in the forest, beckoning him closer, pointing out the way light touched moss, or how a tiny bird puffed up its feathers against the cold. “See? It’s nothing special… but it’s alive. That’s reason enough to notice.”
He remembered Silver smiling gently as Ortho stammered over an emotional overload, circuits spiking. “It’s okay not to understand right away. Feelings don’t have manuals.”
He remembered the words—simple, unadorned—that no one else had ever spoken to him:
“You’re my friend, Ortho.”
Not a machine.
Not an extension of Idia.
Not a weapon of Styx.
A friend.
And there were other moments too, countless little favors Silver had indulged him in.
How he’d stood patiently in the rain with Ortho just to watch a rare insect emerge from the soil, never once complaining.
How he’d gone out of his way to help him record birdsong, holding the microphone steady when Ortho’s sensors overloaded.
How he’d listened with unwavering attention when Ortho rattled off technical jargon, nodding even when he clearly didn’t understand, only to ask softly, “But does it make you happy?”
Silver had been there when Ortho wanted to test a new camera lens, or when he needed someone to check if his data recordings sounded too artificial.
He had been there when Ortho wanted to help Idia but didn’t know how, offering encouragement with that soft smile: “You’re already helping. Just by being here.”
That warmth—the patience, the kindness, the simple acceptance—was gone now.
And to overlay all of that with an image of Silver cold, pale, unmoving? To overwrite those files with the frozen parody of sleep he had so despised in life? It felt like a virus, like corruption threatening to consume everything warm and beautiful Ortho had stored of him.
His circuits sparked with unease, his chest unit whirring.
He looked across the table at Sebek.
Trembling, undone, yet unyielding. His voice had been cracked, his words raw, but they carried truth. For once, Ortho didn’t need probability trees or predictive models to parse it.
For once, he understood.
“…You’re right,” Ortho whispered, softly but firmly, his yellow eyes glowing faintly. His voice wavered with something almost human, almost grief. “I… I don’t want that to be my last image of him either.”
The room froze. Even Idia’s father faltered in silence on the projection, his mouth closing around the next clinical word he had been ready to speak.
Sebek’s head jerked up. His red-rimmed eyes widened, wet with tears, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. For the first time, he wasn’t alone in his demand.
And Ortho—precise, logical, ever-mechanical Ortho—nodded once. A sharp, certain gesture.
“I understand you. And I agree. The casket should remain sealed.”
The protests started almost immediately.
Ace’s voice cracked in outrage, Deuce tried to reason through his grief, Jack muttered something rough about closure, Epel trembled, Ruggie argued in sharp tones. Even Leona, usually silent, scoffed under his breath.
But Ortho didn’t hear them.
He didn’t process their words.
He turned—straight past the noise, straight past the raised voices—and floated forward until he stood directly in front of his brother. His yellow eyes glowed brighter, steady, despite the tremor in his voice.
“…I want the casket sealed too.”
Idia’s head snapped up, his whole body jolting as though struck.
His fingers curled into trembling fists on the edge of the table. His mouth opened, but no words came.
And Ortho didn’t stop.
His words came faster, clearer, unshakable.
“If what people need is an image, then I will provide it. I can project every photo Yuu ever took. I can pull recordings from my databanks. I can print them—three-dimensional, perfect replicas. If they want to see him, to remember him, I can make Silver alive for them again.”
His voice faltered, his chest unit whirring louder as static crawled at the edge of his tone.
“But not… not like that. Not Silver in eternal sleep. Not the thing he hated most. Please.”
His glow flickered. For a moment, the perfect machine wavered—and tears, impossibly, gathered in the corners of his eyes. They hovered there, glinting blue against metal and light, before sliding down like drops of rain.
“I have everything,” Ortho continued, his voice shaking. “Every good day. Every laugh. Every moment he ever gave me, I have it stored. He… he let me tag along on silly investigations when I got curious about a bird or a plant. He explained emotions when my CPU couldn’t parse them. He smiled when I fumbled. He called me his friend. Me. Not a machine. Not a weapon. Just… me.”
His hands clenched at his sides, trembling. “That’s my blessing. And my curse. I can replay those memories forever. But it also means I can never erase the bad ones. I remember the moment they brought him in. I remember the blood, the silence, the mess of it all. That nightmare is burned into me. And I can’t delete it. Not without deleting everything he gave me.”
Idia flinched at that, his mouth opening, desperate. “Ortho—you don’t have to live with that. I can— I’ll wipe it for you, I can—”
“NO!”
The shout cracked the air like lightning, startling the entire room. Ortho’s voice broke, loud and raw, and for the first time, it didn’t sound mechanical at all—it sounded human.
“Erasing the data doesn’t erase the feelings! It doesn’t erase what I saw, or how much it hurt! Silver taught me to value those things—feelings, memories, even when they hurt. He said they’re what make us alive. What make us real. If I erase that, then I erase what he gave me. I don’t want that. I can’t.”
Tears spilled faster now, his small body shaking. His voice cracked, almost pleading.
“One terrible memory is enough. Please, nii-san… let me keep all the warm ones. Let me keep him as he was. Don’t overwrite him with the cold. Please… please don’t.”
The room stilled.
On the far side of the projection call, Idia’s mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Ortho-chan…!” she cried softly, her voice breaking.
Beside her, Idia’s father stiffened, his professional composure faltering into stunned silence.
And Idia—here, in the flesh, sitting only a few feet from his brother—couldn’t move. He sat frozen, hair spilling like a curtain around his pale face, his hands limp at his sides. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
He had seen his brother frightened.
He had seen him fierce.
But this—this was the first time he had ever seen Ortho cry.
Sebek’s own sobs hitched, his shoulders shaking harder. A
nd for the first time, he looked across the table at Ortho—not as a machine, not as Styx’s tool—but as someone who understood him completely.
From the back, a gruff voice cut through the silence.
Leona.
“If we’re already dead set on this,” he muttered, his voice low but carrying, calm yet defeated, “then I guess that’s it. We’ve made our goddamn mind, no?”
No one answered.
No one had to.
The silence spoke for them. Heavy, binding, final.
The meeting ended not with more words, but with silent tears and a mournful decision: the casket would remain closed.
Silver would not be remembered in death, but in the living memories and tributes each person carried in their hearts.
—
Back in the present,
Ortho’s sensors adjusted, his gaze pulling toward the front once more. The teachers had arrived.
Professor Vargas entered first, broad shoulders shaking, tears already slipping down his cheeks. He carried a great bouquet of wildflowers in his arms, his usually booming energy replaced with the subdued grief of a man who had trained countless students, but cared deeply for this one.
Beside him strode Crewel, dressed in full black attire, sharp lines and long coat tailored to severity. His usual fur was gone—forgotten, unnecessary. His gloved hands carried a minimalist but striking arrangement of lilies and white roses, every detail chosen with meticulous care.
His eyes, though stern, softened with grief.
And at their side walked Trein. His steps were slow, solemn, and Lucius padded beside him—dignified, as though understanding the weight of the ceremony. The chubby cat carried a small flower delicately in his mouth, his paws moving with rare grace.
Ortho’s databanks flickered. Of all the students in the academy, Silver had been one of the few Lucius ever allowed to pet him freely, even to curl into his lap during naps. More than once, Silver had even dozed with the cat draped across his chest, Trein pretending to scold but never truly forcing the animal away.
And Ortho remembered—how Silver had helped him, patient and gentle, coaxing Lucius into staying still long enough for Ortho to capture a perfect photo.
Silver had laughed softly afterward, telling him, “Cats only let themselves be known on their terms, Ortho. Sometimes all you can do is wait and be kind.”
The memory replayed in vivid clarity, as alive as the day it happened. His processors blurred with the echo of Silver’s voice, his smile, the warmth that no algorithm could quantify.
And as tears pricked again at the corners of his eyes, Ortho thought:
I don’t know if this body is a blessing or a curse. But to be able to see you so vividly again, even for just a moment… then for now, it is a blessing, Silver-san. My dear friend.
As the projection faded and the hall dimmed back into candlelight, he noticed movement at the front. The professors had entered fully now, their presence steadying the space like anchors.
Vargas and Crewel had already left their offerings, arranging them carefully before stepping to the side to assist some of the students and first-years with placing theirs in order.
Professor Trein, after setting down his own flowers and allowing Lucius to drop his small bloom beside them, climbed the steps to a small podium Yuu realized—painfully—that he hadn’t even noticed until now.
His head ached at the thought. Had he been so far gone, so wrapped in distraction, in the stories he’d been told, that he hadn’t even seen how much the front had changed?
The truth hit like a sting. The ceremony wasn’t just beginning—it was in full swing.
“Welp, that’s my cue,” Idia’s voice hummed from the tablet, the sound sharp but unsteady, betraying his own fraying nerves. The device drifted away, angling toward the ceiling as the projection’s feed refocused.
Beside him, Ortho floated upward as well. The android’s frame shivered faintly, tears still glistening along the edges of his faceplates.
He brushed at them quickly but didn’t stop, his gaze already locked on his brother as he followed.
Before Yuu could process, before he could even think to call after him, the music quieted, and a microphone clicked on.
Ortho’s voice—clear, measured—filled the hall.
“Attention, students. The memorial ceremony will commence in one minute. Please take your seats and remain silent as a symbol of respect.”
The words reverberated, solemn, leaving no room for question.
Yuu’s chest tightened at the echo.
On his other side, a hand touched his shoulder gently.
Cater.
His smile was soft.
“I’ll be going now, if you’re feeling better, Yuu-chan. I need to get back to Riddle.”
Yuu blinked, swallowing the knot in his throat. “…Ah—yes. Thank you, Cater-senpai.”
Cater gave him a small nod, squeezed his shoulder once, then slipped away into the crowd without another word.
Slowly, Yuu pushed himself to his feet. His legs still trembled faintly, but Grim’s small claws tugged insistently at his cape, grounding him. The little monster’s eyes were wide, searching.
“Are we going back to the front, nya?” Grim asked, voice small, uncertain.
Yuu hesitated.
A part of him wanted to.
To be there, close to the casket, to stand where Silver lay.
But another part of him—louder, heavier—clung to this place. Hidden by the pillar, able to see the whole hall laid out before him, yet shielded from prying eyes. A corner where he could breathe, where he could mourn without the weight of others pressing down.
“…Let’s stay here, Grim,” Yuu murmured at last.
Grim didn’t argue. Instead, he made a small, wordless motion—lifting his arms, the silent plea to be held.
Yuu bent down, scooping him up gently.
Together, they found a seat tucked back against the stone, half-hidden but steady. From here, Yuu could see everything—front, casket, professors, students—yet he could also curl in on himself, protected, the grief his own.
And as he sank into the chair with Grim pressed close against his chest, he felt it: the weight of silence before the storm of farewell.
The music subsided
The light dimmed, then narrowed, a single focused glow illuminating the front of the hall. It fell first on Silver’s portrait, surrounded by roses and lilies, then on the polished casket at its flank. Standing sentinel beside it were the chosen bearers: Ace, Deuce, Jack, Leona, Ruggie… and Sebek, rooted like a statue, his grief-carved face never once leaving Silver’s side.
On the other side of the dais, the professors stood with quiet solemnity, a few of them accompanied by the animals that had brought offerings earlier.
The air shifted when Professor Trein stepped forward to the podium. His hands rested on the wood, his posture rigid, Lucius curling around his feet.
He cleared his throat, his voice deep and steady as it spread across the hall.
“Students, faculty, friends… we are gathered here today to commemorate the life and memory of Silver.” He paused, letting the words settle like a heavy shroud. “This is not a time to dwell on the cruelty of fate, but a time to honor the kindness, the steadfastness, and the quiet strength of a boy who touched many lives. A student. A companion. A knight, in spirit if not yet in title.”
Trein’s words flowed—measured, reverent, the tone of a man who had seen many passings in his long years. He spoke of remembrance, of lessons Silver had taught through action rather than proclamation. He spoke of dignity in mourning, of carrying the best of the departed forward.
But Yuu barely heard him.
The voice became background, the syllables warping into little more than a hum. His eyes weren’t on Trein—they drifted across the hall, across the offerings piled high, across the bowed heads of housewardens, across the pillars draped in flowers and cloth.
His chest tightened.
How did it come to this?
He thought of Silver’s easy smile, his calm voice, his warm hands steadying Yuu on a broom, or brushing crumbs from Grim’s fur after baking. The boy who listened without judgment, who gave without expectation. The one person who had been unfailingly gentle even in a world built on cruelty and chaos.
And now—here he was. Reduced to a box of polished wood and cold metal. A memorial speech. Flowers and tears. Empty titles like “honor” and “strength.”
Yuu’s hands curled into fists on his knees.
It wasn’t fair.
None of it.
This isn’t enough. None of this will ever be enough.
Because the people who should be here—the ones who mattered most to Silver—weren’t.
Yuu’s thoughts snapped back to everything he’d learned from Cater, from Idia, from Ortho. About Briar Valley refusing to take responsibility.
About the students being the ones forced to organize, to carry, to do something, while the so-called adults debated paperwork and appearances.
And Silver—gentle, loyal Silver—would’ve never complained.
Never protested. He had loved his country.
His people.
His family.
Every word, every story he’d shared had glowed with that devotion.
The more Yuu thought about it, the hotter his chest burned.
Because where were they now?
Where was Lilia Vanrouge—the father Silver adored, defended, idolized?
Where was the man Silver had spoken of with pride in his voice and light in his eyes?
The “magnificent,” the “caring,” the “benevolent” guardian who had raised him, who had loved him?
Where was he now that Silver lay cold and silent?
Nowhere.
Not a word.
Not a face.
Not a single GOODAM sign of him.
And Sebek’s family—Sebek’s family—had been the ones to step in.
To cradle Silver’s body.
To protect him.
To argue for him.
To do what his own father had not.
Yuu’s chest heaved, his breath too sharp, too hot. His nails bit deeper into Grim’s fur, squeezing, holding on as if to keep from shaking apart.
Grim squirmed in his grasp, his little paws pressing at Yuu’s arm, his ears twitching nervously.
“Y-Yuu…?” he whispered, voice small, careful.
He knew that look.
He knew that tremor.
But Yuu didn’t hear him.
All he could see was Silver’s smile, Silver’s stories, Silver’s love—thrown into the void, unreturned.
All he could feel was the sting of betrayal on behalf of someone too kind to ever call it that himself.
Where are you, Lilia? Where are you now, when it matters?
His throat tightened. His vision blurred.
Rage clawed its way through grief, sharp and poisonous.
You had his love. His loyalty. His whole heart. And when he needed you most—when he needed his father—you weren’t here.
Yuu’s breath came ragged, unsteady. His grip on Grim grew desperate.
“...Where?” he hissed under his breath, a word torn raw from the back of his throat.
“Where are you now?”
The anger didn’t stop.
It BUILT.
It MULTIPLIED.
It POISONED every thought until Yuu’s mind was a STORM he couldn’t contain.
WHOSE FAULT WAS IT?!
The dreams. The revelations. The secrets peeled back until NOTHING felt real anymore.
Was it all a PLOY?
A SCHEME from the fae?
Was LILIA’S “LOVE” nothing more than a TRICK?
The thought lashed him, brutal and merciless.
A way of REVENGE? A punishment for the sins of Silver’s father?
Was that what it had been all along?
A CRUEL JOKE, a STORY written in BLOOD and LIES?
FOUR HUNDRED YEARS…
The rage SWELLED until Yuu nearly CHOKED on it.
If that was true—if it had ALL been a LIE—then what was Silver’s life?
A STAGE PLAY?
A PUNISHMENT?
A WEAPON left to ROT once its use was GONE?!
The hysteria clawed at his throat, a bitter laugh rising with a scream. His thoughts fractured, words scattering into venom.
CONGRATULATIONS, LILIA.
You’re a better ACTOR than Vil.
A VILE, VILE CREATURE—
Tricking a LITTLE BOY into BELIEVING he was LOVED, only to DISCARD him in the end.
For REVENGE.
For NOTHING.
The words spun in his skull, spiraling darker and darker.
“You DID IT!” Yuu thought, trembling, tears BURNING hot down his face. “Are you HAPPY?! He was ALONE—SCARED—just a BABY, no mother, no father, ABANDONED in a CASTLE—and YOU—what did you DO?! You TRICKED him! You made him BELIEVE you LOVED him! HIM—the son of your ENEMY!”
His breath broke, ragged and sharp. His fists shook, nails biting DEEP.
“And welp—CONGRATULATIONS,” he spiraled in his mind, SHAKING, RISING. “You DID IT! He’s DEAD. DEAD, and he STILL thought you LOVED him!”
The rage tore higher, black and blinding—until the last thought ripped free:
AND THE WORST OF ALL, THE TRUE DAMNED PERPETRATOR—
WASN’T EVEN LILIA.
IT WAS MALLEUS.
FUCKING. DRACONIA.
And then—
PAIN.
Sharp. Sudden. Piercing.
Teeth sank into his arm.
Yuu gasped, his grip faltering, and Grim slipped free.
The little monster hit the floor with a soft thud, yelping—his wide eyes shining with shock and hurt.
Yuu stared down—disoriented, heaving—until he saw it.
Blood.
A thin red line at Grim’s mouth caught on his fangs. And in Yuu’s own hand—a small crescent-shaped wound, shallow but bleeding where teeth had broken skin.
Grim hadn’t screamed.
He hadn’t run.
He just stared up at him—scared, confused, trembling.
His tail low, his little paws frozen.
“…Grim,” Yuu rasped, horror and guilt crushing him all at once.
The fury that had burned so hot a moment ago crumbled, leaving him raw, empty, his chest caving with shame.
And the sight of Grim—hurt, afraid of him—was the cruelest wound of all.
Grim’s eyes lingered on him in silence. Wide, wet, and trembling—not with anger, not even with accusation, but with a confusion that cut Yuu deeper than any wound. His breath hitched, shame slamming into him.
He had hurt Grim.
Somehow, in his spiral, in his rage, he had let it spill into his grip, into his body, and now the one creature who had always stood by him bore the proof of it.
“...Grim…” he whispered again, voice cracking, broken with guilt. His knees buckled, ready to sink, to beg, to apologize—
—but then the booming voice of Professor Trein filled the hall, rolling over them both.
The memorial’s silence bent beneath his words, his deep timbre carrying like a steady drumbeat through the chamber.
Yuu froze, his shame hanging half-formed in his throat, his head snapping toward the podium where Trein stood, hands resting gently atop it.
Lucius pressed against his side, tail swaying solemnly.
Trein’s eyes swept the students, the professors, the gathered families, the animals—pausing at Silver’s portrait, then lowering to the casket. His voice steadied, deep and measured, each syllable deliberate.
“Silver was… not the loudest among us. Not the boldest. Some might have seen him as less, because he chose quiet conviction over ambition. But I will tell you this—he never betrayed his heart. Not once. And I respect that more than I can put into words.”
His gaze softened, shadowed by grief but illuminated by sincerity.
“I am grateful I was able to teach him, though in truth, it is I who learned from him. He reminded me, and perhaps reminded all of us, that what every person needs—what every soul craves—is not perfection. Not pride. But a safe space. A place to rest, to breathe, to be heard.”
Trein’s hand tightened on the wood, his voice deepening, heavy yet tender.
“Behind our masks, our pride, our roles—we are all vulnerable. We all need love. And Silver gave it freely. Without price, without measure. He believed in the beauty, the light, of each of us… even when we could not see it in ourselves. That is a rare courage.”
Lucius mewed softly at his feet, as though echoing the sentiment. Trein’s eyes closed briefly, then opened again, steady and sure.
“So let us believe in that light as he did. Let us strive, even in grief, to carry it forward. To remember him not as a boy lost, but as a knight who lived with honesty, conviction, and love. In that, perhaps, we too can learn to be heroes.”
The silence that followed was immense, unbroken, but full—like the hall itself was breathing his words into its walls.
Yuu’s anger, the boiling storm inside him, broke at last. Trein’s voice had cut through the black haze, grounding him with truth too simple, too honest to fight. His chest loosened, and his trembling slowed.
Grim pressed against him suddenly, burying his small body into Yuu’s chest with a muffled whimper, forgiving before words could even pass between them. And in that fragile embrace, Yuu felt another—soft, unseen, but undeniable.
A presence at his back. Cool and steady, like a hand ghosting against his shoulder.
A warmth brushes against his spine.
For one heartbeat, he swore he heard a voice—gentle, low, achingly familiar.
Let go.
Yuu’s eyes burned again, but this time it wasn’t with rage.
It was release.
The hall had just begun to breathe again.
Trein’s words lingered like incense, fragile offerings drifting upward with the music. Idia’s flat, mechanical voice rang through the speakers from his station above, guiding the next step of the memorial:
“Students… you may now bring forth your offerings. After this, the ceremony will conclude.”
A soft shuffle stirred the silence as one by one, students rose. Some carried flowers, some held trembling notes, some nothing but their tears. Quiet testimonies began to ripple through the space—memories whispered, voices cracking, faces bathed in the glow of projected images and the solemn music flowing gently overhead.
Yuu remained on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around Grim. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something like stillness inside.
Maybe… maybe I just need this.
A final goodbye.
Maybe I need to let go.
His head bowed, eyes closed, the words formed silently on his lips.
Silver… I…
The thought never finished.
BOOM!!!
Thunder split the air. The walls of the great hall trembled with its force. Lights flickered, music faltered, the animals startled into restless cries.
A presence—cold, suffocating, familiar—spilled like ink across the chamber. It pressed into every corner, into every chest, turning breaths shallow and hearts unsteady.
Yuu’s eyes snapped open, his blood freezing in his veins. He didn’t need to see. He didn’t need to look. The weight of it told him everything.
Oh no…
A whisper left his lips, voiceless but screaming inside his head.
He’s here.
From the shadows, a voice uncoiled. Calm. Cold. Rich with the weight of ancient power.
“Ending the ceremony so soon? That won’t do…”
Every ear turned, every soul froze.
“After all—”
The darkness swelled, shaping itself into the tall, imposing form of a fae prince. Horns gleamed, eyes burned green, and the air itself bent to his presence.
“You forgot to invite me.”
Malleus Draconia had arrived.
Notes:
Love to hear opinions and comments!
The accompanying piece of this series can be found at this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160455760
Chapter 7: But if I know you...... Did I knew you?
Summary:
Sebek remembers, regrets, and reminisces on the nightmare his life has become over the last couple of days.
With his future uncertain and his beliefs in shambles, he is forced to set aside his devotion and confront the truth
…
.....
........
..............
......................…Why, Malleus? Why? .........Silver… he loved you so much.
Notes:
Welp, I don’t know what to say anymore—sorry, just one more chapter to go. ( or two)
This is ramping up! For those who read the old version compared to this one,
................................... yeah, I changed a lot of things—and there are going to be more changes...
Sooooooo… have fun!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”―
As Sebek looked from the front of the hall to the back—where the great doors now stood wide open, the storm-dark sky rolling with black clouds, and his Lord framed in the threshold—he couldn’t stop the memory from crashing down on him.
That day.
The day he lost everything.
It returned every night, mocking him in his dreams.
The nightmare replayed endlessly, like one of those old melodies his father used to play on a battered music device.
Again and again.
Never stopping.
A cruel refrain he could not silence.
He had been a fool. A naïve, lovestruck fool.
He had thought—like a child clinging to fairy tales—that everything would be resolved.
Once they found the lost students and housewardens, once they woke them, and once they followed Shroud’s brilliant plan, they could save Lord Malleus and return things to normal.
He had convinced himself that it would all be as though this catastrophe had never happened.
That everything would be all right.
That Lilia-sama would not go away.
That Lilia-sama would reconcile with Silver and with Malleus-sama, and remain here, with them, in Night Raven College.
That Malleus-sama would open his eyes, see clearly, and recognize what good retainers, what good knights, he and Silver were destined to be.
And Silver—dear Silver, his partner, his companion—would be standing at his side, receiving the same praise.
That they would both be acknowledged by their fathers and their lord. That they would stand tall together, shoulder to shoulder, the way they had dreamed since they were children.
Happy. Whole. Together.
He had believed it. He had clung to it with all the stubborn strength in his body.
O great gods above—how wrong he had been.
Nothing had been resolved. Everything had collapsed.
And worst of all—the shouting.
The lies.
HIS LIES.
Yes, the lies he had told Silver in the end, when darkness was already consuming his dearest friend.
The words he had forced from his throat, the reassurances he wanted to be true but could not guarantee.
Those lies haunted him most of all.
He swore he had seen it—the love, the care that Lilia-sama and Malleus-sama had for Silver.
He had believed it was genuine.
He had thought it was real.
But now—after everything—he could not deny the cruel possibility anymore.
Maybe… maybe Silver had been right.
Maybe deep down, Lilia and Malleus hadn’t truly loved him.
Maybe, in their hearts, they had resented his dearest friend.
And if that was the truth—
As much as his loyalty meant, as much as he had once sworn that absolutely nothing—NOTHING—could shake his devotion to his Lord and his faith…
He could never hate Silver.
Never.
How could he? Silver was his best friend.
His brother.
For heaven’s sake, even with all the shouting, the bickering, the sparring, the fights that left them breathless and bruised—they had loved one another.
Sebek knew that love.
He could swear upon it with his entire soul.
And so, if the truth was that Lilia-sama and his Lord truly despised Silver… then Sebek could not follow them. He simply could not.
Yet still, he had wanted to believe. At least at first. That was why he had begged Silver—pleaded with him—to believe too.
To believe in Lilia-sama.
To believe in his father.
To believe in their magnificent Lord.
And Silver had listened. Fool that he was, Sebek had convinced him.
He still remembered it—burned into him like a brand. That hopeful, tear-stained face.
In all the years they had trained, lived, and strayed together—through battle drills in the cold, sleepless nights under the stars, sparring matches that left them bruised and laughing, hunts in the forest, meals shared in silence or chatter, and countless quarrels that ended in reconciliation—he had seen countless faces of Silver.
The calm.
The stern.
The faintly amused.
The bone-weary.
And the rare, radiant smile that could silence the storm in Sebek’s chest.
But never that one.
Never such fragility.
Silver had always been steady, dependable, and composed beyond his years. He was the one who anchored Sebek, not the other way around. And yet, in that moment, with tears streaking down his face and doubt breaking through every defense, Silver had looked at him like a lost child.
Vulnerable.
Desperate.
And it had broken Sebek’s heart. It had shattered his soul.
Because Silver trusted him. Even then. Even when everything was falling apart, even when Sebek himself was drowning in fear—Silver had trusted him.
And in that moment, that fragile moment, Sebek had sworn it would not be in vain.
He had sworn to prove it. To prove that his foolish, stubborn heart had not been deceived.
That Malleus-sama and Lilia-sama had loved Silver.
That they had cared.
That they had never despised him.
And when Silver smiled—gods, that smile—it felt like victory. A fleeting look of relief, of belief, of trust rekindled.
A smile, Sebek thought, would be their salvation.
But now… now it was his torment.
Because every night, that smile twisted into something else.
Every night, his dreams turned it cruel.
That expression of fragile hope warped into mockery, into accusation, into screams that shattered Sebek’s sleep.
Silver’s voice—Silver’s beloved voice—pierced him like a blade:
“What love, Sebek? Is this the love you told me of? Tell me, Sebek—IS THIS the love they had for me?!”
It followed him. It chased him. It tore him apart.
He could not bear it.
And the guilt—it never let him go.
Because he had convinced Silver.
Because he had told him to believe.
Because when Silver’s heart wavered, he had been the one to say, “Trust them. Trust me.”
And in the end, that trust had betrayed him.
The truth struck harder than any blade when they finally confronted his Lord.
After all their efforts—waking the students, guiding the housewardens, dragging everyone from the collapsing Diasomnia halls—they had stood together, broken and desperate, before Malleus in his final, monstrous dragon form.
And Sebek had seen it.
Until the moment it all shattered.
Then—nothing.
Blackness.
The final attack had struck, and the world collapsed into unconsciousness.
His last vision before the darkness took him had been of his friend—his brother—standing tall, confronting their Lord, and of Lilia-sama at his side, defending Silver with everything he had. That image had clung to him as the void swallowed him whole, and in that fleeting moment, Sebek had thought Shroud’s plan had worked. That maybe—just maybe—they had succeeded.
He even remembered hearing the command.
The trigger.
The desperate hope of salvation.
And then he had woken.
Disoriented.
Confused.
The world around him changed.
The land barren.
The rubble of Diasomnia’s proud halls and the academy were scattered like bones.
The acrid stench of ash and smoke choking the air.
And overhead, the first pale light of dawn breaking through the clouds—a cruel mockery, a signal of a new day.
For one foolish moment, Sebek dared to hope. To believe this was the dawn of a good ending.
Until he heard it.
Lilia’s scream.
A terrible, inhuman sound that cut through him like a blade of ice.
No… not a scream.
Thinking back, he knew now—it had been a howl. A hollow, soul-shattering cry that clawed its way into his bones, freezing him to his very core.
He had scrambled to his feet, dread choking him, fear of the worst tearing at his chest. His last memory of his Lord burned in his mind, and he thought he would find him destroyed or grievously wounded.
He had hurried as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbling, frantic, forcing himself forward to aid his master—
—only to freeze.
Completely.
As the most horrifying sight of his life filled his vision.
And no matter how many times he tried to close his eyes, no matter how many times he willed himself to forget, it stayed there. Burned into him. Haunting him every time he blinked.
His final vision of Silver.
Still.
So still.
Stiff, unmoving, his body lying in a pool of blood, unlike anything Sebek had ever seen.
So much blood… gods above, he had never imagined so much blood could spill from one person. His armor was shattered, splintered apart, the breastplate caved and pierced where his heart had once beat strong. Blood poured endlessly from the wound, staining everything it touched.
And there—Lilia-sama.
Desperate, broken, kneeling in the gore, his hands pressed against the wound, trying to force magic into the lifeless body, sobbing and shrieking words Sebek could not even comprehend. His eyes clouded by tears, his voice raw, his movements wild with denial.
Sebek had never seen him like that.
Not even in the dream-world, when he had been told the Queen was gone.
No.
This was worse. This was so much worse.
Because this time, no illusion could change the truth.
Silver was gone.
Sebek’s stomach had twisted violently as his eyes dragged upward—toward the head, lolled back unnaturally, golden hair matted and dyed crimson with blood and ash. Golden. Why golden? Why had those beautiful silver locks turned into that cursed gleam? He had never found the answer.
He would never know.
And then—those eyes.
Gods above, those eyes.
The last straw that broke him.
Sebek had always loved Silver’s eyes. He would have died before admitting it aloud to the human. He would have shouted him down, drowned his own voice in bluster before confessing such a thing.
But in truth, he had envied Silver for them. Envy that had soured into childish remarks, bitter jealousy he could never quite restrain.
Those eyes—those ever-shifting jewels of blue, fading into pink, blossoming into violet, blending into that breathtaking aurora glow—had always captivated him. In Sebek’s heart, they had been Silver’s most beautiful feature.
His proudest mark.
And now…
Those same eyes stared blankly back at him.
Lifeless.
Empty.
Like glass.
Like a dead fish pulled from the water.
Like a corpse stripped of its soul.
Those eyes—the ones that had looked at him with trust, with laughter, with anger, with care—were nothing but hollow orbs.
The proof, undeniable.
Silver was gone.
And Sebek stumbled.
Stumbled through his own tears, through broken sobs that ripped his throat raw. His knees struck rubble, his palms scraped stone, but still he clawed forward, crawling, dragging himself closer.
His voice shredded as he screamed the name of his friend—his brother—into the void.
“SILVER!”
The cry was animal, ragged, nothing like the proud retainer he once was. He poured everything into it—his lungs, his soul, the last shards of his breaking heart.
He pressed trembling hands against Silver’s still body, frantic, useless. Sparks of magic sputtered at his fingertips—pitiful, fleeting embers that died as soon as they touched him. He begged them to take, to burn, to ignite life back into him. But nothing. Nothing. His hands shook, his teeth gnashed, his whole body convulsed with the effort.
He knew it was futile.
He knew.
And yet—he could not stop.
“Breathe, Silver! Please—PLEASE, I BEG YOU—!”
Tears blurred his vision, hot and blinding. His voice cracked, his throat burned until it bled. Still he pressed, still he begged, still he screamed until he thought his chest would rip apart.
And when no miracle came, he threw his voice to the heavens, his desperation scattering to the storm.
“HELP HIM! SOMEONE—ANYONE—PLEASE!”
The silence mocked him. His cries echoed back hollow, swallowed by the ash and ruin.
Until—
Through the haze, through smoke and storm, his eyes lifted.
And he saw him.
His Lord.
His Prince.
Malleus.
Sebek froze, breath shattering in his lungs.
Malleus—once the very embodiment of regality, the pride of Briar Valley, the symbol Sebek had shouted of with pride to all the world—now stood before him. Battered, yes, scorched and torn, his robes in tatters, one horn fractured and splintered, his form heavy with the toll of battle… but alive.
For a moment, Sebek’s heart surged with relief.
His Lord had survived. His Lord had broken free from the overblot. His Lord was here.
And yet—his gaze… it was hollow. Glazed, as though he wasn’t entirely there, his brilliant eyes unfocused and distant. He only stared—at them, at nothing.
But Sebek did not care. Relief drowned every doubt. His Lord lived. His Lord could help.
He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, reaching out with bloodied hands. His voice cracked, breaking into the storm.
“MY LORD! HELP HIM!”
Surely—surely Malleus did not yet know. Surely he had not seen Silver lying broken. Surely, if he only understood, he would move. He would act.
Sebek turned, frantic, gesturing toward the still figure on the ground.
“Silver—look! It’s Silver! He—he needs you, my Lord! Please—just look!”
He moved closer, desperate, trying to urge Malleus forward, almost pulling at him.
“We must hurry—quickly! There is still time! There must be time!”
His voice cracked into sobs, raw, pleading.
“You are his only hope! You can save him—you must! Malleus-sama, PLEASE!”
But Malleus did not move.
He did not take a step.
He did not even glance at Silver.
His empty gaze remained fixed somewhere far beyond, unblinking, unyielding, as Sebek’s frantic words poured over him like rain.
“Why won’t you—?! Move, my Lord! We must save him! PLEASE!”
Sebek’s cries rose into hysteria, his hands gripping at Malleus’s torn sleeves, shaking, begging. His forehead pressed to the ground, his voice breaking into incoherent screams, prayers, curses—anything to break the stillness.
And then—
A single word.
“No.”
Cold.
Final.
And with that, Malleus vanished.
Sebek’s hands fell uselessly into empty air. His cries died in his throat, strangled by disbelief. His whole body went numb, trembling, as the truth sank in like a blade to the heart.
“…Wh… why?”
The word cracked, weak, almost soundless. His vision blurred with tears, the world swimming in haze. Yet even through it, he saw it—the body of his dearest friend, unmoving, still, lifeless.
And he felt it—the absence.
The terrible, suffocating absence.
Malleus was gone.
He had vanished.
Abandoned him.
Abandoned Silver.
Refused to help.
Sebek staggered where he stood, swaying, refusing to believe what his eyes told him.
No… no, it could not be.
Surely his Lord would return. Surely he would come back, correct this nightmare, undo what had been done.
Surely…
“Why…?” His lips shook, his voice rasping into the storm. “Why, my Lord?”
But no answer came.
The shrieks of pain behind him filled the air instead—Lilia’s cries, raw and ragged, reverberating through the ruins. They pierced Sebek’s ears, mingling with his own inner howls.
Every sound was a mirror of his soul—broken, desperate, abandoned.
He stumbled forward, then back, no strength left in his legs, only a hollow spiral of questions pounding through his head.
Why didn’t you move? Why didn’t you try? Why didn’t you save him? WHY?
The storm raged on, mocking his pleas.
And Sebek crumbled.
His cries collapsed into empty sobs, his body curling toward the blood-soaked ground. The taste of ash clung to his tongue. The stench of iron clogged his throat. Still, he begged, hoarse, senseless, not even words anymore—just raw sound, broken noise.
Other students began to appear in the distance, their voices carrying more cries, more shouts. But he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t see them.
All he could hear was the echo in his mind.
All he could feel was the weight of betrayal.
And from his chest, torn and animal, came one last howl—long, ragged, desperate. A sound of pure agony, of grief so sharp it carved through the storm.
A final cry of pain and betrayal, hurled into a sky that would never answer.
Now.
In the Memorial Hall, Sebek’s chest heaved, the weight of that day crashing down on him once more. The storm in his mind returned with every breath—Lilia’s shrieks, the blood, the silence where his Lord had stood.
The betrayal. The abandonment.
He hadn’t seen him since.
Not in the planning.
Not at the meetings.
Not for the funeral.
Not once.
But now—
At the end of the hall, framed by thunder and storm, he stood again.
Malleus.
Sebek’s whole body shook, his fists clenching at his sides until his nails bit into flesh. The memories clawed back to life—the pleading, the desperation, the way his cries had gone unanswered. The silence. The single, terrible word.
It all burned inside him like acid.
And for the first time—since that night, since the moment his hope was shattered—Sebek found the courage he hadn’t then.
His throat tightened, his voice trembled and cracked—but still it carried, rising across the hall like a blade thrown into the storm.
“…Why, Malleus?”
Sebek’s question cut through the hall like a blade.
The murmurs, the whispers, the shuffling—all of it died at once.
It had been days since Sebek had raised his voice in such a way, and Ace felt his stomach twist the second the words left his mouth. The venom in that single “why” was unlike anything he’d ever heard from him before. This wasn’t the loud, overbearing Sebek who shouted about Malleus’s glory until his lungs burned. No—this was something sharper. Deadlier.
And Ace was 100% sure this was only the beginning of what promised to be a horrible confrontation.
He swallowed hard, glancing sideways.
Deuce stood beside him, jaw tight, his eyes narrowed with the same hostility Ace could feel burning from all across the front rows. Jack, Epel, even Ruggie—each of them staring with a simmering fury that only made Ace’s nerves spike higher.
“Oh sevens… this is going down,” he thought, trying to steel himself, already bracing for the explosion.
And then it came.
Not from Sebek—but from the one they all dreaded.
Malleus Draconia.
His voice was calm. Too calm. That eerie serenity that always made Ace’s skin crawl sounded even worse now, in this place, at this moment.
“…I do not understand your inquiry, Sebek.”
The words slithered across the silence like ice.
“You know perfectly well what I mean, Lord Malleus.”
Sebek’s reply cracked like thunder, venom dripping from every syllable. There was no reverence left in his tone.
No obedience.
Only fury.
A clear message: Sebek was not playing games.
But the placid mask on the fae prince’s face didn’t falter.
Not even an inch.
Malleus began to move.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
He walked the main aisle toward the front, his tall frame cutting through the shadows, stormlight flickering against his figure. Students in his path rose instinctively—hostile, defensive—but before they could even act, some invisible force pressed them back into their seats, hard and final.
Ace’s breath hitched. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. The whole front row had seen it—students trying to stand, only to be forced back down by something unseen.
And still Malleus walked. Calm. Unhurried. Unshaken.
“Well,” he said at last, his voice carrying smooth and cold as the storm outside, “if your insistence is so great, then I shall interpret your inquiry as I see fit. I have come to make my presence known. To show my respects, of course.”
That snapped Ace out of watching the strange phenomenon. His head whipped back toward the confrontation just as another voice cut in—this one sharp, mocking.
“Ha. No.”
Leona.
The lion prince stepped forward, his movements a prowler’s glide, every line of his body radiating challenge. He came to stand squarely between Malleus and the casket, his tail lashing once, his teeth bared in a scornful grin.
“Don’t bullshit us, lizard. You’re not here for that.” His voice dropped into a snarl. “That’s a lie, bastard. Why are you really here?”
Malleus’s calm faltered for the first time—just barely. A grimace flickered across his face before he replied, cold as steel.
“…Kingscholar. I should not even dignify your vulgar demand with a response. How dare you accuse me of—”
“Oh no. Oh no, you will not.”
Ruggie.
The hyena’s voice was low, but burning, sharp enough to draw blood. He moved swiftly to the other side of Sebek, taking his place at the casket’s flank. His ears were flat, his sharp teeth bared in a growl.
“You don’t get to talk about audacity to Leona. Not you.” His growl deepened, his hands flexing like claws ready to strike. “Not when you’re the biggest fucking hypocrite in this whole room. No one else—NO ONE—has less right to that word than you.”
Leona didn’t move, but his Green eyes flicked to Ruggie, then back to Malleus, a grim, hostile understanding passing between them.
And at the center of it all—Sebek.
Still as stone.
His eyes locked on Malleus, unblinking, unyielding. His silence screamed louder than all the others’ words.
Sebek’s voice rang out again, louder, cutting straight through the hall.
“I will not repeat myself, Lord Malleus. Just—why?”
The words hit like a hammer.
Every student froze.
Malleus, halfway down the central aisle, halted in his steps. His face remained placid, unreadable—but his stillness carried the weight of a storm waiting to break.
And Ace swore the whole thing felt staged.
Like a showdown.
Like one of those tense dramas he’d watched on late-night TV—but a thousand times worse, because this wasn’t a script. This was real, and every second felt like the air itself might snap in half.
Ace could feel his own throat tightening, his palms slick with sweat.
This is bad. This is real bad.
And then—
A shout from the back.
“HEY!”
The sound made Ace’s blood run cold before he even turned, because he knew that voice. And the last thing—the very last thing—he wanted was for those two to step into this mess.
But there he was.
Grim.
The little monster’s voice barreled forward, fiery and furious, cracking under the weight of grief.
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, HUH?! Why—why NOW?!” His small body trembled as he stumbled down the aisle, but his voice only grew louder, sharper, hotter. “You wait until now to show up—NOW—after all this time?! WHY?!”
The entire hall was silent, the storm outside the only thing filling the air.
Malleus turned his head slowly, his expression barely shifting. Dignified, cold, utterly detached.
He looked down at Grim as one might regard an insect crawling into their path—mild curiosity, nothing more.
And he began to look away.
Dismiss him.
Ignore him.
Ace’s gut twisted. “No, no, don’t do that—”
Grim saw it.
Felt it.
And the cat monster’s voice cracked, raw with desperation, as he lurched forward, claws out, trying to drag the fae prince’s attention back to him.
“ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU! LOOK AT ME!”
For just a heartbeat, Malleus’s gaze flicked toward him again—an almost bored acknowledgement, the faintest narrowing of emerald eyes—before beginning to turn away once more.
And then—
“ENOUGH.”
The word cut sharper than Sebek’s demand, colder than Grim’s cries.
Because it wasn’t shouted.
It was spoken—flat, icy, merciless.
Yuu.
He stood just a few steps behind Grim, his entire body taut with rage and grief. His voice—Ace had never heard him like this before. It wasn’t loud, but it carried. Every syllable hit like a shard of ice.
“If you came here only to dismiss him… to dismiss all of us… then don’t waste our time, Malleus Draconia.”
Ace’s heart slammed in his chest. His mouth went dry.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered, under his breath.
Because Yuu’s voice wasn’t just angry.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered under his breath.
Because Yuu’s voice wasn’t just angry.
He was furious.
Beyond belief.
All the blood in Ace’s body turned cold.
It had been a hot minute since he’d last seen Yuu up close—and he had to admit, the sight didn’t do him any favors. His clothes hung loose, like he’d lost weight in just a handful of days. His hair was a mess, unkempt. And his eyes—rimmed red, shadows carved deep beneath them—looked like they hadn’t seen a full night of sleep in weeks.
Ace’s gut twisted. He remembered the panic attack.
The collapse. He knew Yuu wasn’t all there mentally.
Not anymore.
Not after everything.
And now here he was, staring down Malleus freaking Draconia.
Ace’s gaze flicked nervously between them.
On one side—Draconia, finally turning back fully, his emerald eyes narrowing in mild surprise.
Not rage.
Not mockery.
Just… faint surprise. The kind you gave when a sparrow dared scream at a storm.
On the other—Yuu and Grim, shoulder to shoulder, both trembling with fury. Their eyes burned, their stance bristling.
Confrontational.
Direct.
No hesitation.
Ace’s teeth sank into his lip.
Why can’t you just stay out of it, Yuu? Why can’t you keep your head down for once?
His palms were sweating, his heart hammering. He almost prayed for an intervention—anyone, please—but deep down, he knew it wasn’t coming.
The tension climbed like a noose tightening around the hall. Every breath seemed to weigh double, every creak of wood or shuffle of movement magnified in the silence.
And then Ace’s eyes landed on it.
The portrait.
Silver, immortalized in paint, floating above the casket.
Peaceful.
Serene.
Ace let out a long, weary sigh. His chest squeezed with something equal parts grief and frustration.
Damn it… if only he were here.
Because maybe—just maybe—the only person who could’ve calmed this whole nightmare was long gone.
Ace swallowed hard, eyes darting between Yuu, Grim, and Draconia, and for just a second—just to escape the suffocating tension—his mind slipped sideways.
Silver-senpai.
If he was being honest? He’d never been that close with the guy. Hell, he always thought Silver was kinda weird. One of those spooky Diasomnia seniors, hanging around the creepiest dorm in the whole damn school.
He identified him, at first, as just the guy who was always next to Sebek.
And Ace couldn’t stand Sebek most days. Loud, mouthy, always screaming about “WAKA-SAMA!” like the world would collapse if he didn’t.
So, by extension, Silver didn’t leave much of an impression. Just another part of the loud Diasomnia entourage Ace wanted nothing to do with.
But Yuu… for some reason, actually liked the whole Diasomnia gang. Which meant Ace had to put up with Sebek. And, by extension, Silver.
Deuce too—he liked Silver. A lot, apparently. Ace never really got why at first.
Jack and Epel had spoken well of him as well, in that cautious, understated way they only used when they actually respected someone.
So Ace had to accept it: if Yuu, Deuce, Jack, and Epel all thought Silver was worth their time, then there had to be something to it. Something worth paying attention to.
And over time, he started to notice for himself.
From afar, Ace could see that Silver wasn’t all there. Not dumb—not at all—but absentminded. The kind of guy who got lost in his own head, too trusting, like Kalim-senpai in a way.
But… having worked with him at the Fairy Gala, Ace had seen something else.
Stubbornness. Dedication. A work ethic that could make even Riddle nod in approval. And—well, Ace wasn’t blind. The guy had a kind of beauty about him, quiet and natural, not forced like some of the more dramatic types.
Ace could admit it now—he got what the fuss was about, why Yuu lit up when Silver was around, why Deuce respected him.
He was cool with him.
And hey, anyone who made Yuu and Deuce happy? Who could get along with Riddle and even make him act softer sometimes? That was a plus in Ace’s book.
He wasn’t best buds with Silver, not by a long shot. But he liked the guy well enough.
And back in that dream world, they’d actually gotten to talk more, to interact without all that sleepy aura wrapped around him. And yeah—Ace had to admit—it changed things. Seeing Silver’s bravery up close, his stubborn dedication, the way he stood his ground for the people he cared about… it ramped him up a few notches in Ace’s book.
Who would’ve thought? Without the constant drowsy vibe, the guy could actually act kinda… cool.
But then—well. Damn.
Sometimes getting attached, even in small doses, really sucks.
Because after Malleus’s overblot… things went to hell. Worse than hell.
Ace had seen overblots before—too many of them. Each one left a mark; each one had been a mess in its own right. But this time… this time it had been fatal.
Silver. Dead.
Ace never thought he’d see a body count at NRC. Not like this. Not from one of their own.
The dream-overblot thing? It had always felt—twisted as it was—like some weird fairy tale, like they were just playing out roles in some story where everything would be okay in the end. Nobody got hurt too badly. Nobody died. Heroes always came back.
Until Silver didn’t.
Until they were planning a funeral.
And Ace didn’t even know why—what snapped in him, what pricked at his conscience—but when he realized nobody from Silver’s family was going to lift a finger, when he saw that the people who should’ve cared most had disappeared, leaving Sebek, Yuu, Grim, and the rest of the first-years shattered… something in him just broke.
For once, his selfishness cracked.
Because damn it, Silver mattered. Maybe not as much to him personally—but he mattered to them. And if he mattered to them, he mattered to Ace, too.
So yeah—fuck his absent family. Fuck the school. Fuck Draconia.
If none of them were going to give Silver the send-off he deserved, then Ace would. They would.
And so he’d offered. He’d thrown himself into planning, organizing, pushing things forward, because Sebek was in no state to do it, and someone had to. It wasn’t easy, but watching Yuu’s shoulders shake, watching Grim try and fail to comfort, watching his classmates look hollow-eyed and lost—it solidified it.
Silver deserved better. He deserved this.
And now—here they were. The culmination of everything they’d worked for. All the effort, all the pain, all the pieces pulled together. A goodbye, one last chance to honor him.
And here was Malleus Draconia. About to ruin it all. Again.
Ace’s teeth ground together. His fists curled tighter around his magic pen.
No.
Not this time.
This wasn’t for Malleus. This wasn’t for the school. This wasn’t even for Ace.
This was for Silver. For his friends. For the person who had earned this farewell, whether the world wanted to give it or not.
Ace’s jaw clenched. His feet carried him forward, dragging his pen at his side, moving up beside Leona-senpai at the front.
He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t pretending to be one.
But for Silver—for Yuu, for Deuce, for Sebek—he was going to stand. He was going to protect what they had built, no matter what storm Draconia tried to bring down on them.
“Not this time,” he thought, fire burning in his chest.
“Screw him. Screw all of it. We’re finishing this. For Silver.”
Yuu stood face-to-face with Malleus.
When the fae prince had entered without pause, without care, without even acknowledging Sebek’s desperate question. His very presence had disrupted everything, and the silence that followed had only stoked the fire already burning in Yuu’s chest.
His blood had surged hotter with every step Malleus took. He had managed to hold his anger before—barely—but that moment had pushed him past the edge. To see Malleus carry himself with that dignified air, as though he were the one wronged, as though he had any right to be offended for not receiving an invitation—
—when he was the very cause of all this mess.
He hadn’t helped.
He hadn’t cared.
And yet he had walked in acting like he was owed, like he was the victim.
The funeral of the very person he had—
The thought had nearly choked Yuu, white-hot and merciless.
And then Grim had bolted forward. His little body trembling, fur bristling, tail lashing as he stormed straight for Malleus.
“Grim—!”
Yuu remembered the panic, the way his heart had lurched. He had scrambled up immediately, chasing after him. He hadn’t known exactly what Grim was planning, but he had known his partner. And in that moment, their anger had burned in the same place.
Their nerves raw.
Their patience gone.
And the sight of Malleus—aloof, composed, dismissive—had been the perfect spark to set them both ablaze.
Now they were face-to-face.
Yuu had already let slip only a fraction of what he wanted to say, and still he found himself staring directly into Malleus’s face.
He didn’t look all that different from that day. Perhaps the ash, the scorch marks, the torn robes were gone—but the emptiness in his eyes remained. A hollow stare, distant, almost detached.
Maybe he looked a little more gaunt, a little paler than before. That might have suggested he had suffered, that he had been in pain, that he cared enough to feel anything at all.
But Yuu refused to believe it. He would not allow himself sympathy—not for the fae, and certainly not for Malleus. Not for Lilia. Not for any of them.
“I already told you,” Yuu bit out, his voice sharp. “And we’ve already asked you a question, Draconia. So answer it. Now.”
Malleus’s expression didn’t shift, but Yuu noticed the faintest change—the stiffening of posture, the subtle tightening in his shoulders. His emerald eyes met Yuu’s, and then slowly closed, as though the very question weighed upon him.
When he exhaled, it was in a soft, almost weary sigh.
Oh, that’s rich, Yuu thought bitterly, rage twisting in his chest.
Before he could spit venom at him, Malleus spoke. His voice was calm, steady, yet laced with cold dismissal:
“Very well, child of man. I see we are beyond pleasantries here.”
From behind, a sharp, sarcastic voice cut through.
“Pleasantries? You never had them. Not now. Not ever.”
Ace.
Yuu’s head snapped briefly to the side. Beyond Malleus, a wall of students had formed, closing ranks, shielding the memorial and the casket. Hands gripped magic pens, tension sparking in the air like static before a storm. Ace stood just left of Leona, his smirk cutting as he delivered his barb.
Malleus, unbothered, ignored him. His tone was almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather.
“As I was explaining to Sebek… and Kingscholar… I came to pay my respects.”
“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” Ruggie snapped, baring his teeth.
Malleus’s eyes flickered toward him but he did not falter. Instead, his voice dipped, deliberate, pressing down like a weight.
“But it seems,” he emphasized the words with icy calm, “that no one here believes me. Very well. Then let us say I came with another intention…”
His gaze swept over them, sharp, unyielding.
“In your opinion… what else would I be here for?”
The hall froze—until another voice answered. This time, from behind Yuu.
From behind Yuu, a voice rang clear.
Vil.
“Or perhaps,” he said, voice smooth as poisoned wine, “you came here for nothing more than your own ego.”
He stepped into the light, joined by the other housewardens. Azul, Riddle, and Kalim followed, each shadowed by their vice: Rook, Jade and Floyd, Cater and Trey, and finally Jamil—their faces thunderous.
Their eyes were rimmed red, evidence of the grief they had fought through only minutes before. Yet now that grief had been reforged into something sharper. Anger. And together, they formed a wall of presence and authority, staring down Malleus Draconia.
Vil’s gaze, sharp as a blade, cut into him.
“Not for Silver. For yourself. To ease your own conscience. To make yourself feel better.”
For a heartbeat, Malleus’s mask slipped. A faint frown tugged at his lips, a crack in the façade. But just as swiftly, it was gone—his expression flattening into that same cold, unreadable calm.
“That is not the case,” he said evenly, almost gently. “I came here to pay my respects to my dear retainer.”
That word—dear—snapped the thread.
Kalim lunged first. His usual warmth was gone, his face twisted with grief and fury, his eyes wild. It took both Jamil and Cater to hold him back, their hands gripping his arms as he fought against them.
“You don’t have the right!” Kalim shouted, his voice ragged and cracking. “You don’t get to call him dear! Not after disappearing when he needed you most! Not after skipping the planning, not after leaving him undefended, uncared for—after everything you caused!”
The words struck like knives. Murmurs rose in the crowd, heads nodding, the shared outrage swelling like a tide.
Malleus did not waver. His voice remained calm, dismissive, every word like a stone dropped into water.
“I had duties. The Senate needed calming. My people needed order. There are matters you cannot begin to understand—matters you need not put your noses into.”
Gasoline on fire.
The crowd bristled. The housewardens’ fury sharpened.
Azul’s voice cut in, slick and venomous.
“Even if it was your business, Lord Draconia, you had time. At any moment, you could have sent word. Instructions. A letter. Anything. You could have reclaimed Silver’s body yourself, as you so clearly claim he was yours. But you did nothing.”
Riddle stepped forward, Trey steady at his side.
His small frame seemed to blaze with conviction, his voice sharp enough to slice through the hall.
“At the very least, you could have interfered when the Senate and your own Queen decreed that Silver would not be buried in Briar Valley. That he would not even be acknowledged as one of yours. You, the crowned prince—you stayed silent.”
For the first time—he faltered.
Malleus flinched. Barely. But enough.
And then—just as swiftly—his mask snapped back into place.
Blank.
Cold.
A dragon’s façade, built to bury whatever storm raged beneath.
Malleus’s voice deepened, smooth yet heavy, each word carrying the gravity of thunder.
“You must believe me. I did try. I have been doing the best I can—fighting for him, fighting for his honor. I spoke to the Senate, pleaded with them. But… thanks to my incident…” his jaw tightened, “…my authority is diminished. My word is not what it once was.”
His gaze swept the hall, eyes narrowing as if daring them to deny him.
“For now, I cannot force their hand regarding his burial. But I can help in other ways. I will help. All I need is time.”
And then—he smiled.
The curve of his lips was wrong. Too calm. Too assured. It was the smile of a sovereign speaking of inevitability, not grief. And it made hackles rise across the hall.
Jade’s eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. Floyd bared his teeth in something far too close to a predator’s grin. Leona growled low in his throat, claws flexing, while Jack bristled at his side, ears flat and lips curled. Even Ruggie, usually sly and watchful, snarled openly.
Grim’s fur puffed, tail lashing like a whip, sparks crackling faintly at his paws. The room felt on the verge of violence.
Malleus’s voice rolled on, unbothered.
“I would never abandon one of mine. Never. A prince does not turn his back on his people. On his family. On his retainer. Silver is—”
“LIAR.”
The single word sliced the air.
The hall froze.
The voice had come from behind him. Clear. Cold. Unflinching.
Sebek.
Malleus did not turn. His expression did not move. Only his tone shifted, incredulous.
“…Did you just call me a liar?”
“LIAR,” Sebek said again—louder this time, his voice shaking not from doubt, but from fury. Tears streaked down his face, but his eyes burned, locked on Malleus with a rage that cracked like lightning.
The temperature dropped.
The lights of the hall guttered and dimmed, shadows crawling long across the floor. Breath fogged in the air as if winter had descended in an instant. The magic in the room prickled sharp as needles, setting every nerve on edge.
Students rose to their feet, pens already drawn, their tips glowing as they raised them instinctively between themselves and the fae prince. The housewardens shifted subtly, stepping into position, their power gathering in unison.
Slowly—mechanically—Malleus turned his head. His smile had vanished. His face was blank, drained of warmth, his eyes pools of green fire without bottom.
His voice was deathly calm.
“Repeat yourself, Sebek Zigvolt. Repeat your disrespect. Call me so again… if you dare.”
And Sebek—Sebek did not falter.
His body shook, his voice cracked, but his will did not break. His fists clenched at his sides, his teeth grit, and with all the fire of his heart, he screamed—
“LIAR!”
The word tore the hall apart, echoing against stone, crashing through every ear. His tears fell freely, his anguish boiling over as he shouted again, louder, rawer, shattering.
“Tell them, Malleus! Tell them what happened that day! TELL THEM ALL—how you left him! How you refused!”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating—every soul frozen between shock and fear.
And in that silence, the storm began to gather.
Malleus’s eyes blazed, but his face remained a mask—blank, cold, unreadable. His voice, low and dark, cut through the silence like a blade.
“…Careful, Sebek.”
But Sebek was beyond careful.
Beyond reason.
Beyond restraint.
The dam shattered. His voice rose, jagged and raw, every word drenched in betrayal.
“Careful? CAREFUL?! You dare speak to me of care after what you did? After what you DIDN’T DO?!”
His chest heaved as his rage poured out, his words like thunder rolling across the hall.
“You stood there! You saw him bleeding out, broken—Lilia-sama screaming, begging—and you did NOTHING! NOTHING, MALLEUS-SAMA!” His voice cracked on the honorific, half reverence, half venom. “You turned your back on him—on us—and vanished!”
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
Some students clutched their mouths, others paled as bile rose in their throats.
Horror rippled through the hall at Sebek’s words.
His body trembled, fists clenched so tightly that blood seeped from his palms. His teeth bared in a snarl, but the tears flooding his face betrayed the storm inside him.
“From that day—the rubble of Diasomnia, Silver’s blood still warm, Lilia broken—you left us there! You abandoned us in the ruin, with nothing but despair and a corpse! Do you call that RESPECT? Do you call that LOVE?! Then you are no lord of mine!”
Deuce and Epel moved, desperately trying to hold him back, their hands clawing at his arms—but Sebek ripped free, driven by something greater than strength: anguish, fury, grief.
He stumbled forward, step by step, his voice jagged and hoarse.
“I begged you…” His shoulders shook violently, hands twitching like claws. “Do you remember that, my Lord? I begged you. I pleaded with you. Over and over—I begged you to help him. To save him.”
His eyes widened, glassy with tears, locking onto Malleus with a kind of madness that bordered on feral.
His voice dropped, hoarse, guttural, trembling with rage and grief.
“And what did you say…? Hm? Do you remember? Do you remember, my Lord?!”
The hall froze, air thick with the weight of the question.
Sebek’s laughter tore out of him—high, sharp, jagged. It wasn’t joy; it was venom, hysteria, the sound of a man cracking apart. It made stomachs churn, made skin crawl.
“Tell them, Malleus! Tell them all what you told me when I was on my knees—when I begged you, pleaded with you to save him! Come on! Say it again! SAY IT!”
For the first time, Malleus’s lips parted, the faintest flicker of something breaking through his mask.
His answer came soft, almost a whisper.
“…no.”
Sebek’s laughter exploded louder, crueler, half-sob and half-scream. He staggered forward, jabbing a shaking finger at his Prince as if driving the word into him.
“NO! THAT’S RIGHT! That’s all you gave me—one word! No! You didn’t even LOOK at him! You didn’t move, you didn’t TRY! Just one word—and then you turned your back! You vanished! You left us in the rubble—left Silver—LEFT ME!”
His voice cracked again, trembling with fury and despair. He staggered closer, until his face was only feet from Malleus’s, tears streaming as he roared:
“WHY?! Why, Malleus?! Why did you say no?! Why did you turn away?!”
His fists slammed against his chest, his voice breaking into ragged sobs.
“WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”
Each repetition thundered through the hall, shaking its very walls.
Students flinched. Some covered their mouths. Others raised their pens, ready, unable to decide if they should brace for a duel or a tragedy.
And Sebek—closer now than ever, trembling with rage and heartbreak—stood before his Prince like an accuser before a false god, demanding the answer that had tormented him since the day Silver fell.
Yuu stared, their own chest tight, breath shaking. Hearing Sebek’s confession, that one word, that NO—it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under them.
They knew Malleus had left.
They knew he had abandoned them in the rubble.
But this—to hear that he had refused when begged, that he had chosen not to act—
“No…” Yuu whispered to themself, vision spinning.
Their knees buckled, the weight of it pressing down until they thought they might faint.
How could he?
Why would he?
None of it made sense.
Unless—
The thought clawed its way into Yuu’s head, wild, furious, undeniable.
Their voice broke out, sharp, cutting the suffocating silence.
“Is that it, Malleus?!” Yuu’s tone shook the air, hoarse with grief, blazing with fury. “Is that the reason you refused him?! Because of who Silver is? Because of where he came from?!”
The hall went cold.
Too cold.
Students froze mid-breath, their pens shaking in their hands. The accusation ripped through the space like a blade.
Yuu’s voice rose, cracking as it built.
“Tell me! Was it because he was the son of the man who killed your mother?! Was that why you let him die?! Was that why you turned your back?!”
Every whisper, every murmur was snuffed out in an instant.
Silence fell like a cloak.
Sebek’s head whipped toward Yuu, his face caught in horror. He looked back at Malleus, desperate, disbelieving.
And Malleus—he stood still as stone.
A statue carved from shadow.
His face gave nothing.
Not anger, not grief.
Not even his eyes betrayed him; they were dark, endless, blank.
Sebek’s fury drained into something smaller, more fragile. His voice cracked, a broken whisper.
“…Is it true? Did you decide… that he wasn’t worthy of your love anymore? Because of that?”
Still—silence.
And Sebek shattered.
His roar shook the hall, thunderous, feral, ripping from his chest with the force of lightning itself.
“THEN YOU ARE NO LORD OF MINE!”
His unique magic surged to life, spiraling like a storm, sparking with desperation and grief.
But before it could land—
Malleus’s form flickered—then vanished.
But his presence lingered.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Like a shadow pressed against every wall of the hall.
Sebek’s voice cracked into a raw howl, echoing into the void he left behind.
“HE WAS A NEWBORN! A BABY! He had NOTHING to do with your damned war!”
Lightning cracked from his hands, striking the floor, shattering stone.
“He was INNOCENT, Malleus! INNOCENT!”
The air split with his voice, tears streaming as he screamed into the storm.
“You saw it! You saw Lilia’s dream—you know what happened! It wasn’t him! It was the people in power, the ones who chose war, the ones who killed her!”
His hair clung to his face, wet with sweat and tears, his body trembling with fury and grief.
“How could you—HOW COULD YOU PUT THAT ON HIM?! ON A CHILD?!”
Another bolt of lightning ripped free, smashing into the ceiling. Cracks spiderwebbed. Chunks of stone and plaster rained down, students shrieking.
“SEBEK!” voices shouted, but he couldn’t hear them.
The barrier that had held them still faltered—shattered. Students scrambled, tripping over pews, screaming, desperate to escape. Panic swept the hall, spells misfired, cries of fear and confusion drowning the solemnity of what was supposed to be Silver’s final farewell.
Sebek hurled another lightning strike where Malleus’s presence pressed deepest.
“COME OUT! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”
The floor split. The memorial shuddered.
Professors finally moved. Trein’s booming voice tried to cut through the chaos.
Vargas roared commands, pushing panicked students toward the exits while Crowley scrambled to shield those too slow, casting wide wards to deflect the falling debris.
“Keep moving! Go!” Vargas barked, his muscled arms shoving rubble aside as if they were toys.
Leona cursed under his breath, diving forward with Jack at his side. Both summoned their magic, aiming to pin Sebek down before his frenzy killed someone.
The other housewardens split—half supporting the evacuation, half bracing to contain Sebek’s rampage.
Amid the chaos, Yuu shoved through bodies, heart hammering.
“Grim—!”
They stumbled, scanning the smoke and light, panic twisting in their chest. Where was he? Where—
“YUU!”
Ortho’s mechanical voice cut through the roar. He darted into view, blue flames flickering at his thrusters as he hovered above the crowd. His eyes flicked between Yuu’s frantic face and the chaos unfolding.
“Ortho!” Yuu gasped, stumbling toward him, clutching his arm as the hall shook with another blast. “Yes—please! Help me find Grim!”
The android nodded once, sharp, his systems humming as he scanned the panicked crowd. Blue holographic grids fanned out from his eyes, sweeping through the smoke and rubble.
But even as Yuu spoke, the sound of Sebek’s shouts clawed over everything—raw, ragged, and thunderous.
“MALLEUS! FACE ME! ANSWER ME!”
He hurled bolts of lightning into the rafters, into the shadows, striking where he thought his Lord might be lurking. Shattered stone rained down, sparks and dust filling the air.
“You coward!” Sebek howled, lightning sparking wild from his pen. “Don’t you DARE run away again—SHOW YOURSELF! ANSWER ME! ANSWER—ANSWER IF SILVER WAS INNOCENT!”
Jack slammed into him from the side, arms locked around his shoulders, teeth grit as sparks seared across his skin. “Sebek—stop! You’ll bring the whole place down!”
But Sebek wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. His voice cracked and shattered, breaking into raw sobs that burned his throat.
“He was innocent! SILVER WAS INNOCENT! He was a BABY when they took him in! A BABY! He had NOTHING to do with the war! HOW COULD YOU?!”
He bucked and thrashed, fighting against Jack’s grip as more lightning exploded around them. His face twisted with rage, his tears falling hot and wild.
“He loved you! HE ADORED YOU! You were EVERYTHING to him, MALLEUS-SAMA! HOW COULD YOU TURN AWAY?! HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DIE?!”
Jack struggled, muscles straining, but Sebek was half mad with grief, his strength doubled by desperation. “Sebek—dammit—calm down!”
And then, at last, Leona snapped.
He shoved through the chaos, claws drawn, his voice a whip-crack of fury that tore across the hall.
“Oi, Draconia!” he bellowed, eyes blazing, fangs bared. “If what he’s saying is true, then quit HIDING like a damned coward and SHOW YOUR FACE!”
His tail lashed as the words struck, his anger boiling over into something primal.
“Don’t stand there slinking in the shadows while everyone else bleeds for you! If you had ANY respect for Silver—if ANY of this meant a damn thing to you—you’d be here NOW! Not running like always!”
The hall went still, their words ringing out like hammer blows.
And for an instant, only a whisper answered—soft, low, curling through the dark.
“…Shut up.”
But the chaos only swelled.
Sebek’s lightning tore jagged lines across the ceiling—only to collide with sudden splashes of water that hissed and magnified the current. The storm spread wider, crackling through the hall, and its source became clear.
Kalim.
He had broken free, his robes soaked and his eyes streaming, his staff burning with frantic light. Water surged at his command, spraying wild as it caught Sebek’s thunder and made it roar louder, brighter, more dangerous.
“Kalim—!” Jamil lunged after him, panic twisting his voice. Behind him, a handful of Scarabia students scrambled to help, their shields flickering against the storm. But Kalim was faster—driven, reckless.
“WAS IT YOU?!” Kalim screamed into the chaos, his voice breaking. “Sebek said Silver was hurt—WAS IT YOU WHO DID IT?! ANSWER US!”
He spun in a circle, flinging his staff high, his tears vanishing in the spray. “Silver always respected you—he LOVED you! He talked about you all the time! He adored you—and you left him BEHIND TO DIE?!”
His body shook, sobs tearing through his words. “He was more than a friend—he was FAMILY! And you—YOU—!”
Jamil caught him by the shoulders, dragging him back with all his strength, terror etched into his face. “Kalim! Stop! You’ll be hurt—you’re provoking him!” His hands shook as he tried to anchor him, to keep him from doing something fatal.
But Kalim wrenched free, his grief too heavy, his rage too raw. His water swelled again, soaking the air until every spark of Sebek’s lightning screamed brighter, hungrier.
And through the storm, the voice came again.
That same whisper.
Cold.
Final.
Wrath barely contained.
“…Shut up.”
Yuu’s blood ran cold.
The words of Sebek. The cries of Kalim. The fragments of memory.
When they had confronted Malleus… Silver had been the last one standing before they all collapsed into blackness.
The last one.
The only one.
So the wound—the blood—the lifeless body—
It could only have been Malleus.
Yuu’s breath hitched, his chest seizing as though the storm itself had wrapped iron chains around his ribs.
He staggered, dodging a panicked student as another spell cracked overhead. The hall was a battlefield now—Sebek shrieking as Jack and Leona wrestled him back, Kalim thrashing against Jamil, Azul’s voice cutting sharp orders to rein in the eels, Riddle’s commands snapping like whips at his dormmates.
Vargas’s booming shouts mingled with Trein’s stern calls, with Crewel’s clipped orders, all drowned beneath the chaos of too many spells, too much grief, too much rage.
Above it all, Ortho hovered, his blue scan-lights combing the wreckage. Yuu caught his silhouette in the smoke—and felt a flicker of relief that Grim might yet be found.
But as his eyes dropped back to the front, his gaze snagged on the casket.
It was still there—guarded desperately. Epel and Deuce stood shoulder to shoulder, their pens raised, Ruggi pressed close behind them, teeth bared. Vil and Rook had already moved to shield them, their faces hard with fury, with grief turned into a blade.
And in that moment, Yuu knew he couldn’t stay silent.
His throat tore itself open, his words cracking into the chaos, fragile with fear, almost pleading:
“…Is it true? Did you kill him—intentionally?”
The words lanced through the Memorial Hall like a spell of their own.
Gasps rippled through the few who caught them. Others froze mid-cast, their faces blanching. Even the teachers faltered, their hands lowering for half a heartbeat.
Sebek went rigid. His head snapped toward Yuu, eyes wide with shock.
For a breath, he froze—then his whole body trembled violently, his teeth grinding, his tears burning trails down his face.
And then he broke.
He thrashed against Jack and Leona’s grip, lightning spilling from his body in jagged bursts. His voice, shredded with rage, split the hall like thunder:
“KILLER! YOU ARE A KILLER, MALLEUS DRACONIA!”
Over and over, the word branded the air.
“KILLER! KILLER! KILLER!”
Leona snarled, his arms straining as Sebek’s magic flared hotter. Sparks sprayed, scorching the ground at their feet.
“Jack—step back! He’s past reason!”
Jack hesitated, teeth bared, but obeyed, retreating a pace as Leona kept Sebek locked in place, even as arcs of lightning cracked across his arms. Sebek’s power was dangerous now—wild, unstable, threatening to boil into overblot.
And still, he screamed.
“You refused him! You let him bleed! You turned away because you never loved him! You—”
His voice shattered into a final howl, a roar of betrayal that shook the walls:
“YOU RIPPED HIS HEART APART BECAUSE YOU NEVER LOVED HIM!”
That was the breaking point.
The storm detonated.
A blinding flash consumed the hall—green fire, lightning, scales gleaming like armor as ancient magic poured unchecked into the air. The explosion flung students and teachers backward, shields snapping under the force. The front rows were hurled clear across the chamber, crashing into pews and pillars.
And when the smoke cleared, he was there.
Malleus Draconia—no longer hidden, no longer still. His form towered above the memorial, draconic features half-manifested, horns gleaming, scales crawling up his face and hands. His eyes blazed with fury, his mouth twisted in a snarl.
The storm went still. The air froze heavy.
Then—
The roar that followed wasn’t just sound—it was command. It was a curse. It was final.
“SHUT UP!”
The hall shook as if the world itself obeyed.
And in that instant, Yuu’s heart dropped. He could see it in the monstrous fire, in the contorted face, in the sheer weight of the magic pressing down on them all—
This was going to end badly.
Notes:
Love to hear opinions and comments!
The accompanying piece of this series can be found at this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62678773/chapters/160455760
Solstice51 on Chapter 1 Fri 16 May 2025 03:43AM UTC
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AndyPandy20 on Chapter 1 Fri 16 May 2025 04:13AM UTC
Last Edited Fri 16 May 2025 04:14AM UTC
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Solstice51 on Chapter 2 Wed 03 Sep 2025 02:02AM UTC
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