Chapter Text
After Malleus overblotted, everyone was disoriented.
Silver remembers nothing but the sound of panicked whispers and gasps for fresh air. He remembers his ears ringing as he picked at the bloody scabs from dark thorns. He remembers stumbling to his room and looking at himself — A boy once so full of life, now looking as if he crawled out of a coffin.
…
His hair was disgustingly oily, body covered in grime and dust. His eyes were irritated from tears, a few scrapes on his arm had smudged now dry blood on his cheek.
Below the face was worse. From days asleep, he had definitely shed off a few pounds. When he shed off his clothes, a dry gasp escaped his throat.
A deep, large gash decorated his abdomen. How he had gotten it, how he hadn’t felt it, he wasn’t sure of. But he knew he wasn’t in the worst condition.
So he turned on the shower and bit his lip until it distracted himself enough from the pain.
The water below him stained brown from the dirt, sweat and blood he was covered in. He didn’t bother to look at the other cuts scattered across his skin, the worst of them all distracted him too much.
He avoided it at all costs as he washed himself. The others stung, but this one burned, and by the time he got out, it seemed like it was the worst pain he had ever experienced.
He dug through the cupboard in his room, searching for a bright red bag. He had his button up half done, leaving the cut space to air out. His once fitted slacks now bagged off of him, he wondered if everyone else was suffering from the same issue. Eventually, he found it. A white cross adorned the front and the label read “first aid.”
He dug through it quickly. Bandages seemed helpful, bandaids wouldn’t do much, neither would nausea pills or laxatives.
He pulled out the string and the needle from the bottom of the bag. They were sealed together in a zipblock bag, which he opened rapidly. He had never stitched himself, or anyone for that matter.
But it had to be done, and he felt horrible asking the currently swamped nurses for help in the infirmary.
He shoved the white string through the needle with shaking hands, biting his tongue and he pierced it through his thick skin. It was hot and red against his fingers, inflamed beyond belief. It was pain he’d never experienced before.
But father had certainly endured worse.
Father… who was father?
As he closed up the wound, tying a tight knot with the string, he pricked his finger.
And all of a sudden, it all went black.
…
It had been weeks since Malleus overblotted. School was back in session, everyone had gone back to their normal lives. Even most of Diasomnia had moved on, conversations varying from what they were going to do over the weekend to studying for exams.
For the first week after his overblot, Malleus had disappeared, nothing left but a note for Lilia saying he’d be gone temporarily. Those days were quiet. Lilia tried to lighten the mood, making jokes as he served his excuse of a dinner, but nobody cracked.
Not even Sebek Zigvolt, or Silver.
After Malleus returned, things inched back to normal. Sebek became his normal self, projecting voice echoing through the wide halls. Students came out of their rooms, spent time in the common rooms. Everything was normal, except for Silver.
He spent most of his time out of class staring at the ceiling, thinking to himself. He didn’t write, or complain, or even cry. His roommate stayed quiet, he didn’t tell anyone about the time that he found the boy passed out on the floor, shirt open with a nasty wound.
They used to speak, before everything went downhill. Blot collected in Silvers magestone, turning auroral tones to dark and corrupted.
He was silent.
Except for the quiet, degrading whispering he’d hear in the middle of the night.
…
Silver stared at himself in the mirror, hand running over his cheekbone. The color had come back to his skin, and his less severe cuts began to heal, but it didn’t fix the aching pit at the bottom of his stomach.
He felt like a monster.
Shameful thoughts came to his head one after the other. Thoughts that told him he was unworthy, that this was all his fault, that he didn’t deserve to cry, to feel pain. That Malleus was the one who should feel sorrow. It was his fault, his father killed his family. Killed fae.
How could any of them ever love him after knowing such a horrific thing?
Deep down, he knew he would turn out like him. Family was family, history was history, he’d always be connected to that past. His ancestors looked down on him, asking how he could possibly surround himself and love so many fae, the very people they sought against.
When he found out, he wondered if he was worthy. Worthy of their love, their kind words, their affection and care.
Now he has decided. He decided that he wasn’t enough.
Decided that Malleus Draconia deserves someone better, a knight who could fight, a knight and protector who didn’t cause so much terror. So much blood loss.
Decided that Fath— Lilia, deserves a better son. A stronger son. A son that wasn’t the reason he lost all of his magic, wasn’t the reason he had to drop school to take care of himself.
He wouldn’t quit, wouldn’t approach Malleus and state that he knew he wasn’t what he needed. It was only a matter of time.
Only a matter of time until Malleus dropped him.
…
One morning, Silver laid in his bed. Alone. Cold. Quiet.
A bird pecked at his window. One of the only things he found himself talking to recently was the animals, the ones that approached him in the gardens and the courtyard, the ones who so kindly flew and climbed to his dorm window to say hello.
He grabbed a bag of seeds from his desk and made his way over to the window. Two beautiful white doves were perched on top of the sill, one with its mouth empty, the other with a pristine white letter shoved in between its beak.
A smile broke across Silver's face.
“Well, hello there.”
He mumbled, voice raspy with sleep. His window opened slowly, being sure to keep quiet to not scare them off.
One of the birds dropped the letter to his feet. He looked down, but ignored it for now, focusing on the two creatures in front of him.
He opened the plastic bag and placed some sunflower seeds on the ledge, watching as they bent down to nibble at them. He brought up a hand to gently stroke their feathers. “What are beauties like you doing over here?”
One of the birds gestured down at his feet. Hesitantly, he looked down once again, squatting down to grab the letter and inspect it.
Oh.
Oh.