Chapter Text
It had been five years since they last stood in the same room.
And yet, the moment the music started, rich with brass and local percussion, the pulse of Sunset Savanna thumped through the floor. It felt like slipping into an old uniform. A little tighter in places, a little more worn, but still familiar.
Laughter and voices filled the party hall, and enchanted firefly lanterns strung overhead flickered. Golden light bathed the sandstone walls, and outside, the sun was high in the sky, the party only just getting started.
Kalim’s grin could’ve lit the room on its own as he moved through the crowd, greeting old classmates with open arms and loud joy. “You made it! I knew you would! It’s not a real reunion without you!”
“Technically, you never doubted anyone would miss it,” Jamil muttered beside him, arms crossed, but not stopping Kalim from clapping hands with Ace and Deuce as they arrived together.
“I missed this chaos,” Ace admitted, snatching a drink from a floating tray. Deuce flailed to offer a polite greeting to Trey and Cater.
“I didn’t,” Riddle cut in, but the sharpness in his voice was dulled by affection. “But I’m here. I already regret it. Don’t make it worse.”
Cater looped an arm around him with a grin. “Aww, don’t lie, Riddle-kun. You missed our faces.~”
Riddle grimaced. “...Some of them.”
The years had left their marks, some subtle, some bold. Trey’s hair was slightly shorter. People swore Jack had grown taller still. Azul’s catering suit now bore the insignia of a growing restaurant empire. Even Leona, draped lazily across a sunken lounge seat, looked a little more at ease, like the weight of future expectations had finally settled into something tolerable.
Azul stood behind a gleaming buffet table, eyes sharp as ever as he oversaw his catering team with military precision. “I trust everything is to your expectations, Kalim?”
“You always impress, Azul!” Kalim said brightly. “I knew you’d be perfect for this. It’s not a party without great food.”
Jade and Floyd, still working under the same business umbrella, though “loosely,” as Azul described it, floated through the party in their own fashion. Jade offered drinks with quiet charm. Floyd had already stolen a couch and, in a twist of fate, pinned Ruggie beneath him again.
“Déjà vu, huh, Remora~?”
“Get off me! You’re still heavy, and still annoying!”
Off to the side, Ortho hovered beside a tall standing tablet with a live feed of Idia’s face. The older Shroud had clearly not changed much, nervously adjusting his jacket collar even through the screen.
“Ugh, I forgot what social live latency feels like. IRL status effects: +100 stress.”
“And yet, you showed up,” Yuu commented nearby, trying their best not to laugh.
Idia blinked. “Only ‘cause Ortho wouldn’t let me weasel out of it.”
Near the edge of the room, Yuu lingered against one of the sandstone pillars, half-illuminated by lanternlight. They looked good. Broad shoulders beneath a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. Aloof, and striking in the kind of way that made people talk when they thought you weren’t listening.
Yuu let their gaze drift across the crowd, drink in hand, jaw relaxed… until the doors opened.
The chatter didn’t stop. The music didn’t stop, but the warmth bled out of the room. Breath hitched in a dozen throats. A hush moved like a shadow.
Yuu’s fingers tensed on the glass. Something primal, unspoken, clawed at the back of their throat.
Malleus Draconia entered the room first, tall and imposing, regal as ever in sleek formalwear that gave no hint of dust or time. Beside him walked Lilia, smiling that too-knowing, too-youthful smile, followed by Silver and a very vocal Sebek.
Yuu froze.
It felt like the blood left their fingertips first. Then their throat. Then the base of their spine.
They didn't look directly, didn't need to. Just caught the green of Malleus’s cape in the corner of their eye, the echo of his footsteps, the way the room paused around his presence.
Yuu didn’t flinch. They just went still, like a drawn bow string.
The laugh they’d been stifling from Floyd’s latest stunt died in their throat. They shifted their weight subtly, away from the doors, from the shadow of long memory.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too deeply. Like a plant unconsciously turning from a cold window, seeking warmth it hadn’t trusted in years.
Just watched from the corner of the room, silent and still.
Like an old wound remembering what it used to ache for.
Elsewhere, Kalim greeted the group with exuberance. “You came!! Oh, I was really hoping you’d make it!”
“You invited them?” Ace muttered to Deuce behind a plate of mini croquettes.
“Of course I did! It’s everyone’s reunion! This is even better than the time we did synchronized fireworks!” Kalim beamed, missing the look of horror on Riddle’s face.
Silver nodded to a few familiar faces. Sebek began his usual verbal charge. Leona rolled his eyes but said nothing. The room gradually accepted them. Music flowed again. Conversation resumed.
The moment passed.
Yuu forced a long sip of their drink, keeping their posture controlled. Cool. Casual.
But the tension didn’t leave their shoulders.
They were already mapping escape routes when the buzz in their pocket cut through the haze.
They glanced down.
Incoming Call – LANDLORD
Their brows furrowed. The screen lit their face in a blue-white glow as they hesitated.
And the screen pulsed once more.
Incoming Call – LANDLORD
Yuu hesitated for only a heartbeat before tapping Accept .
Their voice was calm, but the kind of calm that meant ‘run.’ “Hello?”
A sweet, fragile voice trickled through the line, kind and matronly. Too gentle for what followed.
Yuu’s posture stiffened, face gone white. Their throat bobbed once, swallowing a sound that didn’t quite make it out.
Conversations carried on behind them. Ace was laughing. Kalim was still running between groups. The music kept playing.
But Yuu stood stone-still, like a wire pulled taut.
“…One moment,” they said quietly.
They muted the call.
And turned.
From across the room, Silver glanced up. Sebek was saying something animated to Malleus, but Malleus didn’t appear to be listening. His gaze had drifted unfocused toward the glowing floor, a glass untouched in his hand.
Yuu walked toward them.
It wasn’t quite a walk. More a confession in motion, shoulders drawn, jaw tight, every step dragging the weight of years behind it. Expression unreadable under the dim lighting, but for the shine of tears in their eyes. The world behind them dulled. Every step rang louder than the music.
The group quieted the moment they approached.
Even Sebek fell silent.
The air turned viscous, heavy with something that had long been buried and clawed its way back to the surface.
Yuu stopped just short of them, their breath visibly shaking.
“I’m sorry,” they said, and the softness in their voice didn’t match the trembling in their hands. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but…”
They looked at the group, gaze skimming past Malleus, who still refused to meet their eyes.
Yuu’s lips trembled.
“How do you treat an iron burn on a fae…?”
One hand extended. And in it, their phone. Muted. Shaking
A hush fell over the room. Jade glanced from afar. Jack’s ears twitched. The room didn’t quite know what was happening, but it felt it.
Lilia was the one who moved first.
He stepped forward, expression calm but grave, and gently took the phone from Yuu’s hand. With a practiced motion, he unmuted the call.
“Hello,” he said warmly. “Ma’am, this is Lilia Vanrouge.”
“Oh, Lilia, dear! Thank the stars,” the voice on the other end exhaled in relief. “I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s just, my dearie said her friends would know what to do. I didn’t know what else to do. There’s… there’s a line. A burn. And it won’t heal.”
There was a pause on the line, then the woman added tearfully, “It was an accident. We were baking cookies together. I didn’t know the old pan contained iron. He brushed it when he grabbed the edge of the tray. I didn’t mean to. He didn’t even cry at first, but it won’t go away.”
Yuu turned away slightly, shoulders hunched.
Lilia’s voice remained gentle and instructional, going into detail on how to care for a burn made by the touch of iron. "Cool the burn, keep it away from magic, clean it thoroughly..."
As the voice continued, describing the injury in grandmotherly concern, the truth bloomed behind every word to those not privy to the contents of the call: this wasn’t theoretical. This was happening. To someone. A fae.
There was a rustling over the line and then:
“Tell Mama I’m okay!” came a small boy’s voice, distant but clear. “It hurts… but I want Mama to be able to see her friends!”
Lilia’s expression flickered for a moment.
“I’ll tell them,” he said softly.
He ended the call with practiced care.
The room seemed to exhale with him.
And then, it hit .
A pulse, low and slow, like the breath of something ancient and wounded, rippled across the hall.
No sound. No light. But the temperature dropped. The enchanted lanterns flickered.
Several guests paused mid-laugh. A server dropped a spoon. Jade’s fingers went still on a wineglass stem. Riddle turned his head sharply, face pale.
The air thickened. Every magic-user in the room felt it: the oppressive, wrong pressure of something old, buried, and bound flaring to life.
Yuu’s knees buckled.
They didn’t hit the ground.
Malleus was there, faster than breath, catching them against his chest with both arms. His drink shattered on the stone beside them, forgotten.
For a heartbeat, Malleus’s mask cracked. Not rage. Not majesty. Just raw fear.
Yuu’s fingers clutched weakly at his coat.
Their eyes fluttered, unfocused.
And suddenly... darkness.
The party shattered.
Gasps and shouts erupted across the room as Yuu collapsed and was moved to the nearby couch. Malleus eased them down slowly, his movements careful, cradling them with a gentleness few had ever seen.
But that gentleness only made the fear sharper.
Yuu’s body trembled violently, their breathing shallow, their face pale beneath the warm lanternlight.
“What-what’s wrong with him!?” Ace cried out, frozen in place.
“They were fine just a second ago!” Deuce added, eyes wide with alarm.
“Did someone cast something on him?” Ruggie barked, scanning the crowd like he expected to see a wand still smoking.
Grim’s tail puffed to twice its size. “This wasn’t me! I swear! I didn’t do anything!”
Trey tried to push through the rising noise. “Someone call for help, someone get a-”
“I think I saw his eyes roll back. Oh no, oh no-” Cater was already on his phone, fingers shaking as he tried to open a signal.
“Back up, everyone, back up!” Jack growled, trying to create space around the couch, but the room was closing in.
Even Floyd had stilled, brows furrowed as he watched the way Yuu’s hands twitched, grasping at nothing.
“Should we try magic?” Ortho floated higher, scanning with light pulses. “I can’t identify the source, his vitals are dropping-”
“QUIET!” Riddle’s voice cracked like thunder.
Everything froze.
The panic stopped mid-sentence. Breaths held. Heads turned.
Riddle stood at the edge of the group, his eyes blazing, chest rising and falling with restrained urgency.
Yuu’s body jerked suddenly on the couch, a soft cry torn from their throat, a choked, breathless noise, barely human.
He twisted onto his side, then arched back again, hands clutching at the cushions like they were the only thing anchoring him to the world.
“Vil-!” Trey shouted, stepping forward.
“I know!” Vil snapped, already moving.
The mist from Vil’s attempted basic counter curse thickened like smoke around Yuu, then dispersed violently, repelled by something in their body. Yuu’s breathing was ragged. Their jaw clenched. Their hands scratched at the arm of the couch, nails leaving shallow gouges in the fabric.
“He’s in pain,” Vil said. “He’s reacting violently to something internal. Magical in nature. Residual… or anchored. But this isn’t passive, it’s invasive.”
“Oh, sevens,” Cater breathed.
“He’s not dying,” Vil added quickly, “but he wants to. Anyone would, with this.”
The others flinched as Yuu let out another hoarse cry, his back arching again.
“He was fine earlier,” Jack muttered. “How the hell did this happen so fast?”
“He got a call,” Deuce said. “I think I saw the screen say his landlord. That’s when everything got weird.”
Kalim shook his head slowly. “He asked about how to treat an iron burn… on a fae.”
The words hung in the air.
Lilia, still holding Yuu’s phone, spoke quietly: “The child touched a pan. The coating had worn thin. It was iron underneath.”
A beat.
“He said it hurt, but he wanted me to tell his Mama to stay with her friends.”
The chatter of the room stalled.
“… Mama ?” Ace said. “Wait, what?”
Cater blinked, glancing around, then turned to Vil. “Did he say Mama ?”
Vil didn’t look up. “He did.”
The shift was instant.
The hush that fell over the room wasn’t confusion. It was a dawning realization, horror clicking into place like the final piece of a puzzle.
“She?” Epel whispered. “Then Yuu's-?”
“No one knew?” Riddle asked, quietly incredulous. “None of you ever suspected?”
“How the hell did you guys find out?” Ace blurted, staring directly at the Diasomnia group. “You knew this whole time?”
Silver didn’t answer.
Lilia remained unreadable.
Sebek, tense, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides, growled through gritted teeth:
“The human was courting Lord Malleus.”
The words hit like a dropped weapon.
“She remained by his side until graduation,” Sebek went on, voice clipped. “And then… she vanished. Without a word. To any of us. She was with him faithfully. Then disappeared. I thought...”
Shock rippled through the crowd. Ace reeled back a step. Deuce’s mouth opened in silent surprise. Even Trey faltered.
Malleus hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t looked away from her once.
And then, cutting through the stunned silence, came Leona’s voice, dry, unimpressed, and sharp as a claw:
“Come on. We're all putting this together, or do I have to draw a chart?”
He nodded lazily toward Lilia. “Kid’s got fae blood. Iron burned him bad. You don’t get that unless there’s fae in the family tree.”
Then, with a glance at Malleus, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth:
“And from the sound of it, the human and your prince here weren’t just writing poetry in the garden, if you catch my drift.”
A stunned silence swept the room. A few faces flushed. One person audibly choked.
But no one denied it.
The Past
She had stepped out of the Mirror Chamber with one hand curled over her stomach.
The floor beneath her boots was cold and smooth, a familiar, grounding stone. Her fingers found the edge of her coat and pulled it tighter. Not from chill, but instinct. She hadn’t needed to conceal much yet, but the curve was beginning to show if someone looked closely.
Two months. Maybe three.
She had done the math again and again, like the answer might change.
It must have happened during spring break.
That week, under the trees near Lilia's home. The hours they stole together. His hands in her hair. The way he’d whispered, “ You are the one thing I am certain of. ”
She remembered every breath of it.
Graduation was over. Her diploma was tucked safely in her dorm. Professors had shaken her hand. Classmates cried, made plans, and took selfies under the tower clock.
But her future had shifted with two truths:
- She was the first student of Night Raven College to graduate without magic.
- And a positive pregnancy test.
She didn’t hesitate.
Instead of attending the celebration dinner, she walked back to the Mirror Chamber. She whispered the only place her heart still belonged: “Castle Blackscale.”
The mirror’s light swallowed her whole.
And the cold wind of Briar Valley slammed into her like a wall.
Twilight blanketed the jagged peaks. Snow clung to the pines. The sharp scent of ash and stone filled her lungs as she stepped onto the polished black marble of the courtyard.
She expected him.
Malleus.
She expected him to be there, tall and waiting, his presence as familiar as her own breath.
But instead… she saw them.
Twelve figures, wreathed in old power. Horns. Fangs. Robes woven from shadow and memory. They glowed like coals, neither entirely living nor dead.
The Senate of Briar Valley.
She froze. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
One stepped forward. A woman, regal and severe, with horns like carved obsidian and a gaze that burned.
“Yuu of Night Raven College,” she stated. “You were not summoned.”
Yuu swallowed, already feeling her stomach tighten. Not from the pregnancy, but dread.
“I’m here to speak with Malleus.”
Another figure moved beside the first. A man cloaked in green fire, voice like smoke.
“We know why you came.”
Her breath hitched.
“You carry the child of the Draconia heir. A shameful bloom in the bloodline.”
She flinched, hand flying instinctively to her belly.
“I need to see him,” she said. “He deserves to-”
“No.”
The word wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. It struck like a bell cracked in half.
More voices rose, chilling and scornful.
“The heir cannot have a magicless bride.”
“Nor a child spawned from thee.”
“He must have a Dragoness. Strong. Worthy.”
She backed up a step, panic swelling hot in her throat.
“You can’t! You don’t decide-!”
But she never finished.
The magic hit her all at once.
Agony burst through her body. Her abdomen, her ribs, her spine.
Like being torn inside out.
She collapsed to her knees, retching.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Only curled instinctively around her stomach as though her arms could protect the child from ancient, crushing power.
“From this day forth,” the Senate declared, voices echoing, overlapping, “should you set foot in Briar Valley again, your body will betray you.”
“You will know agony.”
“You will not speak of the child to any soul born of this land. Not with your voice. Not in script. The words will die before they are even breathed.”
She tried to cry out. “ Malleus …”
But a croak came out. Barely audible. Her voice fractured beneath the curse’s weight.
“He will forget you in time.”
“As he must.”
The marble beneath her splintered.
A final pulse of power, and she was gone.
She woke curled on the Mirror Chamber floor. Skin slick with sweat. Stomach hollow. Magic gone silent in her veins.
Alone.
Pregnant.
Cursed.
She tried to write first.
A week after her banishment, her hands still trembling, she sat at her desk with parchment spread over her lap.
“Lilia, I-”
The pen slipped from her fingers as pain lanced through her ribs, white-hot. Her vision blurred. Her throat locked.
The ink bled across the page as her body folded in on itself, a choked gasp escaping her.
She tore the letter in half, sobbing.
The next day, Silver.
“Please, I-”
A blinding bolt of agony burst behind her left eye. Her body spasmed. She nearly knocked over the lamp.
She hurled the pen across the room.
She tried again. Sebek. Two words, “I’m sorry” , and her whole arm seized.
Then Malleus.
That time, she vomited in the corner of her room, unable to breathe for an hour after. Her body curled like a dying leaf, and not a single word reached paper.
It wasn’t just letters.
She tried to tell Professor Trein. Her voice stopped mid-syllable. Mouth moving, breath stuttering, but the words refused to form. Her lungs rebelled. Her throat locked.
She passed out in the hallway.
After that, she stopped trying.
For a few days.
Then she turned to her phone.
She remembered how Lilia used to tease her about her slow typing.
“Too many dramatic pauses, dear girl.”
She opened his contact.
Lilia. She typed: “I need help.”
The phone grew hot in her hand. Her shoulder locked. Her lungs seized. She dropped it, gasping.
Next day: Silver . “Can we talk? It’s important.”
She didn’t make it to “Send.” Her stomach cramped so violently that she collapsed to the floor.
One more try: Sebek . She typed: “I’m sorry.”
Her thumb hovered. The message unsent. The screen went dark on its own.
She never tried again.
Not because she gave up.
But because she knew.
No paper. No voice. No spell. Not even a glowing screen would carry her truth to them.
And Malleus? He didn’t have a phone.
Late spring gave way to summer.
She graduated without fanfare.
She left without saying goodbye.
The following weeks blurred together. Many towns, too little coin, too much nausea. She wore loose-fitting clothes to conceal her curving belly. Ate whatever she could afford.
She’d stopped in Sunset Savanna for the shade. She hadn’t meant to stay.
The town was half-song, half-dust. But the sun was warm. People didn’t ask questions, and if they had, she wouldn’t have been able to answer.
Then there was her landlord.
An older woman with sharp eyes and a kinder heart. She saw a girl with blistered feet, a hand over her belly, and said, “Come in before the heat cooks you.”
There was a room above the woman’s flower shop. Just big enough for a single mother and her child
Yuu cried that night in the little bed. The woman fed her soup. Made her lie down. Tucked her in.
No questions. Only care.
And when the time came,
She stayed.
As the months passed, her belly grew.
So did the life inside it. Kicks. Hiccups. Tiny shifts under her ribs.
And always, always, she thought of him.
Of green eyes.
Of whispered promises.
Of lullabies in a tongue she couldn’t speak, but still hummed when sleep wouldn’t come.
And her landlord never pressed. Only smiled. Called her dearie. Said, “My brave girl.” Taught her to cook with local herbs. Showed her how to stretch when her hips ached. Made her laugh when the weight of silence felt unbearable.
Under her bed, Yuu kept a box.
It held torn letters. Half-finished thoughts. Words her body rejected.
A life stolen.
But their child. He would have one.
Even if it had to be in secret.
Present
The room had gone still again, save for the faint, rhythmic click of Vil’s boots as he paced once around the couch, examining the magical residue curling faintly above Yuu’s skin.
Her breathing was shallower now. Sweat clung to her brow, her lips parted in pain. But she hadn’t regained consciousness, not even for a moment.
She was holding on, but only just.
Vil’s jaw was tight as he turned to Lilia. “I’ve done all I can with my tools. Whatever this is… It’s not responding to conventional curse diagnostics. I need your eyes on this.”
Lilia blinked, then slowly stepped closer, gaze steady but unreadable.
“You think it’s fae in origin?” he asked, voice low.
Vil didn’t answer immediately. “I think it’s old. I think it’s political. And I think it’s personal.”
The gathered alumni gave them space, forming a loose half-ring. Jack kept Grim from getting too close. Ortho floated just above, scanning for vitals but remaining respectfully silent. Riddle, arms crossed, stood at Vil’s shoulder, tense but alert.
Lilia knelt beside Yuu, hands ghosting over her form without touching. His eyes softened, but his magic sharpened, his aura humming just barely above perception.
Black-gloved fingers traced a glowing thread in the air just above her collarbone, where magic had scorched a path like a brand left in spirit, not flesh.
And …he stilled.
The air around him grew cold.
Lilia inhaled slowly, eyes widening. “No…”
Vil caught the change in his voice. “You recognize it.”
Lilia looked up, voice bitter with familiarity.
“It’s the magic of the Senate of Briar Valley .”
Lilia’s words struck like a match in dry grass. The mood snapped taut.
Vil straightened. “You’re sure.”
“I would know this rot anywhere,” Lilia said quietly, eyes still trained on Yuu’s pale face. “They carved this into her like a brand.”
Silver stepped closer, brows furrowed. “Father…What did they do to her?”
Lilia’s gaze dropped to Yuu’s collarbone, where the last traces of spectral magic still shimmered beneath her skin. He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he slowly took off one glove.
Lilia’s hand hovered above Yuu’s collarbone, where pale threads of ancient magic still pulsed beneath the skin.
“… Let's see, shall we?” he murmured, and closed his eyes.
“ As fast as the days pass by, take me there in the blink of an eye. Far Cry Cradle.”
The air bent around them, shimmering like heat rising off stone. The light from the party dimmed, as if sucked into the quiet gravity of what Lilia summoned.
Magic bloomed outward.
The floor beneath them dissolved into polished black marble. The room around them stretched into obsidian arches. Columns adorned with dragon carvings. The scent of ash and wind. Lanterns burned green with fae flame.
They were in Castle Blackscale, or rather, inside a memory of it.
And at the center…
Yuu.
She stood straighter in the vision. Younger, her hand resting gently over a barely noticeable curve in her stomach. Her expression was nervous, hopeful.
And then, they appeared.
Twelve spectral figures materialized in a half-circle around her, towering and inhuman in presence. The Senate of Briar Valley . Wreathed in robes older than stone, their horns and eyes glowed with magic as old as war.
The room in Sunset Savanna held its collective breath as the vision played.
“ Yuu of Night Raven College,” the leading voice rang out. A woman with horns like carved obsidian and a gaze that burned. “You were not summoned.”
Yuu stepped forward in the memory, voice soft but firm. “I’m here to speak with Malleus.”
Another figure, male, cloaked in green flame, snapped:
“We know why you came.”
Her breath hitched.
“You carry the child of the Draconian heir. A shameful bloom in the bloodline.”
A ripple of disbelief passed through the watching party.
Yuu tried again in the memory. “I need to see him,” she said. “He deserves to-”
But the Senate continued, voices overlapping in a chorus of unrelenting judgment:
“The heir cannot have a magicless bride .”
“Nor a child spawned from thee. ”
“He must have a Dragoness. Strong. Worthy .”
Yuu backed away a step, face filled with panic and fright. “You can’t! You don’t decide-!”
The moment shattered, light exploded from their circle, magic slamming into her body. Yuu screamed, crumpling to the floor of the throne room, arms shielding her abdomen.
“From this day forth,” the Senate declared, voices echoing, overlapping, “should you set foot in Briar Valley again, your body will betray you.”
“You will know agony.”
“You will not speak of the child to any soul born of this land. Not with your voice. Not in script. The words will die before they are even breathed.”
Yuu sobbed in the vision, writhing on the cold floor.
She lifted her head, broken and breathless. “Malleus…”
“He will forget you in time .”
“As he must. ”
And with one final thunderous blast, the memory shattered.
The vision faded.
They were back in the warm, golden party hall.
And silence had never been so loud.
Yuu lay still on the couch, sweat clinging to her skin, body still caught in the vise of residual pain.
Lilia lowered his hand slowly. His expression was blank.
“She tried,” he said quietly. “And they made sure she never could.”
No one spoke.
Sebek’s mouth opened and shut. Silver had looked away entirely.
But Malleus-
Malleus had not moved.
Until now.
When the last flicker of memory vanished, his shoulders rose slowly with a deep, cold breath.
And his face.
For the first time, even Lilia took a step back.
This was no quiet sorrow.
No passive ache.
Malleus Draconia stood amidst the stillness of the room, and his expression was unlike anything any of them had ever seen before.
Fury . Cold, ancient, and unforgiving.
His jaw was tight. His eyes glowed not with light, but with the kind of storm that leveled cities. His aura surged, low and threatening, pressing into the bones of everyone present. Not wild, not uncontrolled.
Focused.
Vil’s breath caught.
Even Leona, leaning in the shadows, straightened.
The air seemed to buckle around him, not with rage alone, but with purpose.
And for the first time, he spoke.
No thunder. No lightning. Just a stillness so total, it became a scream.
“ They knew .”
Malleus’s voice rang out, quiet, flat.
Deadly.
Lilia didn’t speak. Neither did anyone else. Even the lanterns seemed to wait.
Because something had changed.
The room, for all its warmth and luxury, had grown cold not just from the echo of the Senate’s curse, but from the sheer gravity of Malleus himself. Power coiled beneath his skin, not wild or unstable like the days of his Overblot, but controlled.
Rage on a leash.
The air tingled with static, brushing over skin and bone.
Deuce swallowed hard.
“Those ancient fools…” Malleus continued, voice low. “They passed judgment as though she were a stain. A threat.”
His eyes flicked to Yuu.
The girl who had stood beside him for four years. Whose voice had once been the only thing that could reach him when the loneliness took root too deep.
“She was never unworthy,” he said, louder now. “She was mine .”
The admission sent a crack through the room, like a single bell tolling from a distant tower.
“I do not care for what power they believe her to lack,” Malleus said, the syllables too smooth, too calm. “I care for the truth. And the truth is this, she endured all of it... to protect our child.”
His hand closed into a fist at his side.
“They cursed her. Banished her. And I…” His jaw locked. “...I did not even know she was gone.”
There was something broken in that last sentence. Something that slipped past the fury and landed in guilt.
He exhaled once, long and low. His eyes never left Yuu’s face.
Then he turned to his knights.
“Silver. Sebek.”
Both men straightened instantly.
Malleus’s tone turned cold with command.
“You will watch over her. Protect her. From anyone. Even I, if it comes to that.”
Sebek blinked, eyes wide. “M-My lord?”
Silver’s nod came slower, but sure. “She will be safe.”
Malleus nodded once. “Good.”
He stepped back from the couch.
That was when it happened.
A flicker.
The faintest twitch of fingers.
The slow rise of a breath that no longer sounded like gasping, just tired.
Yuu stirred.
Her brows knit together faintly, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Her body remained still, trembling, but her fingers twitched again.
“…Mmh…”
The softest sound.
Barely a whisper.
But it was hers .
Silver dropped to a crouch beside her, fingers brushing her wrist gently. “Yuu?”
Her eyes opened.
Sluggish, unfocused, still glazed from the lingering burn of pain and unconsciousness.
She blinked.
The light was too bright. The world too full. Her throat ached. But she saw Silver.
“…’m not… dreaming?” she croaked, voice rough with strain.
He shook his head. “No. You’re safe.”
She winced, but tried to lift her head. “I… the call-where’s-?”
Lilia moved beside Silver. “The little one is safe. Your landlord was calm… He wanted you to stay here with your friends.”
Yuu’s lips trembled. “I…”
“You couldn’t tell us,” Silver said softly. “We know now.”
Yuu’s eyes fluttered open fully, just as Silver gently helped ease her into a sitting position. She hissed through her teeth, every muscle aching like she’d been run through a gauntlet.
But it was nothing compared to the pain she’d lived with for years.
She blinked through the haze, breath shallow.
Too many people. Too many voices.
Someone had draped a blanket around her shoulders.
Someone else was fussing over the cushion at her back.
A cool glass of water was pressed into her hands, held a little too long.
Cater whispered, “Are you okay? I mean, dumb question, but-”
Azul muttered something about proper hydration and electrolyte spells.
Epel had already offered to go get her “something sugary, maybe a tart.”
Even Trey was hovering like a mother hen.
Riddle stood just off to the side, arms crossed, obviously trying not to panic again.
And Yuu…Yuu gritted her teeth.
She hated being fussed over.
“Guys. I’m not a porcelain plate.”
“You passed out and started glowing with ancient dragon magic,” Ace countered.
“I didn’t ask for that,” she snapped, then instantly softened. “Sorry. Just… give me a second.”
Jack wisely took the glass of water and then backed off, pulling the others gently with him.
Only Silver and Sebek remained at her side.
Her heart beat a little faster, seeing Sebek now. His posture was stiffer than usual, not with judgment, but shame.
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Silver did. Calm. Steady.
She turned her gaze slowly, and that was when she saw Malleus.
Across the room. Still as stone.
Eyes alight like emerald fire.
Watching her, not with judgment.
With guilt and fury.
“Malleus…” she whispered.
Her voice broke again.
He didn’t move.
Not yet.
But the fury in him softened just slightly, just enough to let something old and aching take its place.
She was awake.
And he would not lose her again.
Yuu opened her mouth.
She didn’t know what she meant to say. I’m sorry? I missed you. It wasn’t my choice?
No words came.
Malleus crossed the room. Each step was deliberate, like a misstep would scare Yuu off like a spooked fawn.
The guests parted in silence for him.
Yuu drew in a slow, shaky breath.
He stopped beside her. And for the first time in five long years, his hand touched her face, fingertips light against her cheek, barely there.
But it was him. His magic. His warmth.
Her eyes filled without warning.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t cry.
Just looked at her like she was something sacred and forbidden and stolen from him all at once.
Then, with a slow breath, he turned to Lilia. “We leave now.”
Lilia nodded grimly. “It’s already open.”
Yuu blinked. “Wait, Malleus…?”
He paused, hand lingering at his side. Not turning back.
But his voice was quiet. “I will not let them bind you again.”
And then he was gone, his cape trailing behind him like thunder held at bay, as he and Lilia vanished into a gate’s glow, bound for Briar Valley.
Yuu stared at the empty air where Malleus had stood. Her heart hurt.
And the pain in her body felt far less pressing than the ache he left behind.
“...He didn’t even yell,” she muttered under her breath.
Silver offered her a quiet, sad smile. “He’s saving it for them.”
She groaned and flopped back against the cushions. “Please, someone punch me if I start crying again.”
“Yuu…” Trey began gently.
“No. Don’t coddle me. Seriously. I’ve had worse hangovers than this.”
Ruggie raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure most hangovers don’t involve dramatic magical collapses.”
“You almost died,” Deuce muttered, clearly still shaken.
“Well, hey, look who decided not to flatline. You trying to out-drama Vil or what?” Cater said brightly, but his grin was tight.
Azul cleared his throat. “You should avoid standing too fast. Or speaking too much. Or arguing. Or collapsing again. I'd rather not have a casualty at one of my events; it’s terrible for brand optics.”
“I’m gonna argue,” Yuu warned flatly.
Sebek, rigid, pale, and still avoiding eye contact, blurted, “You should remain seated regardless. Your body has suffered considerable stress!”
Yuu turned to him with a deadpan look. “Thanks for the thrilling diagnosis, Doc.”
“...You are still as insufferably reckless as ever,” Sebek muttered, though softer than usual.
“You’re still loud,” she shot back, then sighed and leaned back against the pillows.
“But I guess you mean well.”
“You are not pathetic,” Silver said quietly.
“But you are kind of terrifying,” Ace offered. “In a… new way.”
A small, tired laugh slipped from her lips despite herself.
The soft conversation and low-level spell scans continued around her, but Yuu had gone quiet again. Not from pain…just… thinking. Processing.
The throw blanket around her shoulders smelled faintly of citrus and sun-warmed linen, probably borrowed from one of the party tables. She hated feeling like fragile glass. Hated that Malleus had to walk away to clean up a mess instead of staying.
And more than anything, she hated that the people she’d once laughed and fought beside hadn’t met the best thing she’d ever done with her life.
She sat up straighter. “…I want you all to meet him.”
The table nearby was still.
Riddle glanced up. “Yuu-”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupted, her voice hoarse but steady. “That I should rest. That the curse might activate again. That I look like I got hit by a cart and dragged through a marketplace.”
“That last one wasn’t in my top five,” Ace said.
“But you were thinking it.”
A few chuckles scattered the tension like dust in sunlight.
Yuu inhaled, bracing herself, and swung her legs carefully over the side of the couch. Her knees ached, her bones protested, but she gritted her teeth and stood.
Sebek was at her side in an instant. “You shouldn’t be walking!”
“I’m not dying, Sebek. Just sore.”
“You could collapse again.”
“And if I do,” she said, shooting him a look, “you’ll catch me, right?”
Sebek straightened, clearly flustered. “Of course I would!”
Silver came up on her other side with calm assurance. “Then let us come with you. No hovering. Just beside you.”
Her smile was small, tired, but real. “I’d like that.”
Behind her, the rest of the group had risen more slowly, unsure whether to object or stand down. Vil and Riddle shared a glance, clearly torn between logic and letting her go.
She raised a hand.
“Please. Just a little time with him. I’ll bring him here later, if you'd like to meet him. But for now… it has to be just me. And them.” She nodded toward Silver and Sebek.
She didn’t say it aloud, but the meaning rang loud anyway: He’s their kin, too.
The group parted like a tide, reluctantly.
Grim, sulking from the arm of a chair, muttered, “Better not keel over halfway…”
“I won’t,” she replied with a breathless grin.
The afternoon sun greeted her as the doors opened. It was bright and warm, the late-summer heat mellowed by a passing breeze. The sandstone streets of Sunset Savanna gleamed under foot traffic and open market awnings. Saffron-colored cloth fluttered above merchant stalls, and the smell of citrus and warm sugar drifted from nearby bakeries.
Her apartment wasn’t far. A ten-minute walk with normal legs. Fifteen, maybe, with a body still aching from curse residue and emotional whiplash.
Still, she walked.
Silver kept perfect pace, quiet and steady as ever.
Sebek hovered half a step behind, his shoulders stiff with internal conflict, eyes flicking constantly from her to the street and back.
“I named him Mallin,” Yuu said quietly as they turned onto a minor side road.
Neither of them answered right away.
Then Silver asked, “Did you mean for it to sound like his name?”
Yuu nodded. “I wanted to follow what seemed like tradition. Something close enough to mean something... far enough to protect him.”
Sebek’s voice was soft. “It suits him?”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Green eyes. Dark hair. Temperamental when he’s woken up early. And he hoards shiny rocks like he was born with wings. What do you think?”
Silver gave the smallest laugh under his breath.
Her building came into view ahead, sunlight gleaming off the windows of the little flower shop below her apartment. The open sign had been flipped to “Closed,” the shop’s striped awning casting dappled shadows over the front steps. Upstairs, the windows were open to catch the breeze, a few curtains fluttering like flags.
“He should be having his afternoon rest,” Yuu murmured. “But he always waits if I’m out longer than usual.”
She gripped the stair rail tightly as they climbed.
Halfway up, she paused.
“I was terrified,” she said softly. “Every day. That someone would find us. That the curse would shift. That if I ever let myself feel everything I’d lost, I’d fall apart.”
Her fingers tightened on the railing. “But today… for the first time, I’m not scared.”
She reached the door. The key trembled in her hand, but she turned it cleanly.
The door creaked open, letting warm afternoon light spill across the worn wooden floor of the small apartment.
It smelled faintly of chamomile, clay, and sweet orange peel. A stack of children's books lay beside a threadbare couch. Potted plants lined the windowsill, and a mismatched blanket was folded across the back of a rocking chair. It wasn’t grand.
But it was home.
And at the far end of the hallway stood a small boy, barefoot, holding a stuffed wyvern by one wing.
He couldn’t have been older than five. Slender, with faintly pointed ears and tousled black hair that curled at the ends. He blinked at the light from the doorway, green eyes adjusting to the brightness.
And just along his cheeks, where soft baby fat hadn’t entirely faded yet, were faint, iridescent black scales. Subtle, but distinct. A pair on either side of his face, just under the cheekbones, like polished obsidian embedded into skin.
Mallin.
His fingers clutched the wyvern plush tighter. “Mama?”
Yuu was already kneeling.
“I’m here,” she whispered.
He ran to her without hesitation, small feet pattering across the wood as he crashed into her arms. She caught him, tucking him against her chest, breathing in his scent like it would anchor her to the earth.
“I’m okay,” she murmured into his hair. “I’m okay. I came home.”
Sebek and Silver stood in the doorway, unmoving, watching the scene in utter silence. Sebek’s mouth was slightly open. Silver's eyes had dropped to the scaled cheeks pressed against Yuu's shoulder, and his expression tightened with something quiet and heavy.
Mallin peeked up at them, peering over Yuu’s shoulder.
“These are friends,” she said softly to him. “From the school I went to before you were born.”
The boy tilted his head. His gaze flicked over the tall figures. He wasn’t frightened. Just curious in the open, slightly guarded way of a child used to keeping his world small and safe.
Silver crouched to be eye level with him. “I’m Silver,” he said gently. “And this is Sebek. We served someone very important to your mother. Someone named… Malleus.”
Mallin’s eyes widened just slightly at the name.
“I know that name,” he said, brows furrowing. “That’s my papa.”
Yuu exhaled shakily and pressed a kiss to his temple.
Sebek’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he managed, “You… know of Lord Malleus?”
“I don’t know’em,” Mallin admitted plainly. “But Mama tells me stories. Sometimes when I can't sleep.”
Silver’s eyes softened, and he gave a slight nod. “He would have liked that.”
Mallin tilted his head again, taking in the two's strange looks. “Did you guard him like knights?”
“Exactly like that,” Silver said.
Mallin grinned a little, small fangs gleaming in his mouth. “Cool.”
Sebek cleared his throat. “You… possess a remarkable magical presence for your age.”
Yuu snorted faintly. “Sebek, he’s five. Say hello, not write his entrance exam.”
Sebek flushed. “...Hello, young master Mallin.”
Mallin gave a lopsided smile. “That’s weird. I like it.”
Yuu groaned lightly and shifted, still holding him. “He’s going to start calling everyone ‘sir’ now. Great.”
“You say that like it’s a problem,” Silver murmured.
She chuckled. And for a moment, that golden-lit room became the whole world.
Yuu brushed a comb gently through Mallin’s hair, smoothing back his curls as he squirmed in her lap.
“Mamaaa,” he whined. “It’s just people, not a Grand Sorcerer.”
“It’s people I used to fight monsters with,” she said, keeping her tone light despite the twist in her stomach. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, Mallin. Let them see that.”
He tilted his head up. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
Her lips curved softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Not with you next to me.”
Mallin beamed.
Outside, Silver waited quietly on the stoop while Sebek busied himself pacing. But inside their small home, Yuu exhaled slowly and tucked the final clasp of Mallin’s vest into place.
“All right, little dragon. Let’s go say hello.”
The Hall of the Ancients pulsed with a strange, almost living tension. The very walls, volcanic stone etched with the history of Draconia’s long reign, seemed to strain under the weight of what had been done here.
Before the throne stood Malleus, tall and motionless, his gaze as cold and bright as starlight over ice.
Beside him stood Lilia, composed but grim.
Floating like faded memories above the polished black stone were the Senators, a dozen or more translucent, flickering souls, once ancient nobles of Briar Valley, now reduced to ghostly custodians of tradition.
And seated above them all, like judgment given breath, was Queen Maleficia Draconia.
She did not speak at first. Her silence was heavy. Purposeful.
“You cursed her,” Malleus finally said. The words echoed through the hall like a pronouncement of doom. “You silenced her, tortured her body with magic drawn from the bones of our own ancestors…and all because she was not born with magic of her own.”
“She was a threat to the succession,” one senator replied, voice worn and bitter. “A magicless mortal. She would weaken-”
“She bore the heir,” Lilia interrupted coldly. “Your future king. And you branded his mother like a criminal.”
The green fires in the sconces flickered violently as Malleus took a step forward, each footfall crackling like lightning.
“You call her weak,” he seethed, “but she bore exile, pain, and your curse while raising our son alone . What you saw as impurity was strength you could not fathom.”
The Senate wavered. Another tried to speak.
But Maleficia raised her hand, and the chamber went still.
“When you acted,” she said, voice sharp as a blade unsheathed, “you acted without crown or counsel. You took the Draconia name into your own hands, and in doing so, you tarnished it.”
Another pause.
“You will be punished. But not erased.”
Whispers rippled through the Senate.
“You will no longer carry titles,” she said, rising from her throne. “No longer bear the names of nobility, nor hold seats in royal judgment. You are stripped of your authority, your legacy, and your magic. The power you used to bind a young woman in torment is no longer yours to wield.”
The senators recoiled as golden-white runes ignited around them.
“You will remain,” Maleficia continued. “Not as lords, but as keepers of knowledge only. You will advise when asked. And listen, when silenced. You will pass on history, but never again write it in blood.”
The circle of flame closed.
The specters, once so cold and sure, now stood still, hollowed, their magical aura fading into silence. But their voices and memories remained. Not exiled. Not destroyed. Reduced. Rebalanced. Rendered harmless.
“You will never harm another soul again,” Malleus said, voice low.
“And if you try,” Maleficia added, “you will not be sealed. You will be forgotten.”
The green fire dimmed, and the runes burned themselves into the stone.
It was done.
The Senate said nothing.
And for once, they would not speak first.
Malleus turned, cloak sweeping behind him as he strode from the circle.
“I go to them now,” he said. “To the family you tried to take from me.”
Lilia followed.
Maleficia remained, watching the flickering remnants of the Senate, her gaze like cold moonlight over snow.
“You will not disgrace us again.”
The double doors to the party hall creaked open once more, letting in the burnished light of late afternoon, and with it, the soft patter of small footsteps.
Yuu stood just inside the threshold, her body still aching, but her face lifted. One hand rested gently on Mallin’s shoulder as he clung to her leg, peeking past the edge of her coat. Silver walked a half step behind, quiet and steady. Sebek hovered like a second spine, stiff, protective, and ready to blast anyone who breathed too loudly.
The reunion crowd turned as one.
Conversations stilled. Someone’s glass clinked softly on a table.
And then-
“Oh my god,” Cater whispered, clutching Trey’s sleeve. “He’s tiny .”
“He has horns ,” Epel muttered, staring.
“They’re just nubs, he’s still a hatchling,” Jack said, squinting.
“Is that…” Riddle’s voice faltered. His gaze snagged on the scaled cheeks, the dragon-spun energy wrapped around a five-year-old’s frame.
Mallin didn’t flinch.
He stood with the same calm defiance that his mother had once shown. He stepped half a pace in front of Yuu, lifting his chin like he was ready to introduce himself to a boardroom of dragons. His vest was slightly crooked, and one of his shoes was untied.
He beamed at the sea of wide eyes. “Hi. Do you have cookies?”
Ruggie let out a sound between a laugh and a wheeze. “Aww, he’s gonna kill us all with cuteness.”
Grim stalked closer, narrowed his eyes, and pointed an accusatory paw. “He looks just like Lizard Breath.”
Yuu chuckled, finally stepping fully into the room. “That’s because he is his.”
Mallin tilted his head at Grim. “Are you a raccoon?”
“I’M NOT A RACCOON.”
The room rippled with laughter.
Azul adjusted his glasses, stunned into silence. Floyd just blinked and then wandered off to get a juice box, muttering something about “even shrimpier than shrimpy.”
And then, quietly, so quiet it was nearly missed, Yuu felt it.
Like a deep thread unwinding in her bones.
Like an invisible hook pulled from her ribs.
A sharp inhale caught in her throat.
The weight that had lived beneath her skin for five long years, sickening, burning, silencing, was gone .
She exhaled shakily. A sob almost followed it, but she caught it with a laugh instead.
Silver caught her glance. “It’s lifted.”
Sebek looked down at her in shock. “Now?”
Yuu nodded, tears brimming. “Now.”
No magic flare. No thunder. Just… peace. Her body, finally hers again.
Mallin looked up at her, confused by the sudden swell of emotion in her face. “Mama?”
She crouched, brushing his wild hair gently. “I’m okay, baby. You’re safe. And… so am I.”
Then she looked up at the sea of former students and friends, each still staring at the small boy who had just calmly asked if Grim was a raccoon.
“Well,” she said, wiping at her eyes, “do you all want to meet him properly or what?”
Cater darted forward first. “Hi, little guy. What’s your name?”
Mallin grinned, utterly unfazed. “Mallin!”
“That’s a great name,” Trey said warmly.
“Sounds suspiciously like Malleus,” Ace muttered, squinting with a smirk.
Mallin shrugged. “Mama picked it.”
Yuu smirked. “I thought it sounded right.”
Mallin glanced around, then pointed at Rook. “You look like you eat soup with a knife.”
Rook gasped as if he had been praised by the stars.
“Oh,” Yuu muttered. “Here we go.”
The party hall had never been louder.
Or stranger.
“Why are your teeth pointy if you don’t bite people?” Mallin asked, head tilted as he stared at Floyd.
“I do bite people,” Floyd grinned. “You wanna see?”
“Only if I get to bite back.”
Ace choked on his drink. “By the seven, he’s you , but tiny.”
“Don’t tell him that,” Yuu sighed, nursing a cup of water and looking ten years older, but finally at ease.
Nearby, Riddle was locked in a heated yet baffled debate with Mallin about the logistics of toothbrushing in households with horns.
“Do they make special dragon toothpaste?” Mallin asked seriously.
“I… don’t know,” Riddle said slowly, visibly spiraling. “I suppose there must be regulations-”
“You look like you’d cry if toothpaste was out of order.”
“You’re too small to be this disrespectful.” Riddle said, ears red.
Jack was handing Mallin a cookie. “Do you have claws? Like, real ones?”
Mallin proudly extended his tiny hands. “Not yet. But I growl really good.”
He proceeded to demonstrate.
Cater was filming.
Yuu pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why do I feel like I owe the world an apology?”
“No one’s mad,” Silver murmured beside her. “They’re… endeared.”
“He’s a menace,” Sebek muttered behind his cup of tea. “A bold, wild miniature threat.”
Yuu grinned. “Takes after his father, then.”
That was when the doors opened again.
The room quieted, not suddenly, but like a ripple through water. Heads turned.
And there, in the afternoon light, stood Malleus.
Regal, composed, but visibly weary. The kind of tiredness that comes not from fighting a battle, but from burying its weight.
Beside him, Lilia stood straight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened when they landed on Yuu.
For a breathless moment, no one moved.
Then Mallin looked up from his cookie, and his entire face lit up.
“Mama!”
Yuu blinked, startled. “What, baby?”
Mallin pointed excitedly toward the tall man at the door.
“That’s him! That’s the one from the pictures on your nightstand!”
Her heart skipped.
Malleus froze.
Mallin scrambled across the floor, not running, but hurrying in that awkward, eager way kids do when their shoes are a little too big and they are a little too shy, but a lot too excited.
He stopped just in front of Malleus, tipping his head all the way back to stare up at him.
“You’re my papa,” Mallin said, in a voice filled with calm certainty.
Yuu’s breath caught behind her ribs.
Malleus sank to one knee, something breaking open behind his eyes.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I am.”
Mallin’s hands hovered uncertainly, then reached up, touching one of Malleus’s horns.
“They look bigger in person,” he whispered.
Malleus smiled. Genuinely, gently.
“You’re taller than I thought,” Mallin added, stepping forward without hesitation and hugging him around the neck. “I’m happy you’re real.”
Yuu covered her mouth with her hand.
The party had gone silent again.
Malleus’s arms came up slowly, then pulled his son close, as if anchoring himself in the world. As if afraid to wake up.
“I am real,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Mallin just grinned into his shoulder. “It’s okay. Mama said you didn’t know.”
And then, muffled, almost so soft the rest of the room couldn’t hear it, “But I know now.”
Mallin was still clinging to Malleus’s neck when Ace leaned toward Deuce and whispered, “So… do you think it’s too late to ask for parenting tips from the heir of the Valley of Thorns?”
Cater snorted. “Parenting? That kid just gave Riddle an emotional breakdown about toothbrushes. He’s the one writing the parenting manual.”
Riddle, still off to the side and red in the ears, huffed, “He asked if I ever alphabetize my feelings and then told me that was sad.”
“He’s not wrong,” Trey murmured.
Jack crossed his arms, watching Malleus blink in soft awe at the child curled against him. “It’s weird. You expect the kid of a guy like that to be all quiet and royal.”
“Instead, we get a blunt gremlin who climbs people and calls Baby Seal a raccoon,” Floyd said, delighted.
Grim puffed up. “I AM STILL NOT A RACCOON OR A SEAL!”
Lilia gave a small chuckle. “It’s rather poetic, actually.”
“How so?” Ruggie asked.
Lilia glanced toward the pair. Malleus still motionless, overwhelmed but not withdrawing, and Mallin, perfectly at home tucked under his father’s chin.
“Because Malleus spent most of his youth believing no one wanted to be close to him. And now…” Lilia gestured lightly with a hand, “he has someone who made up for five years of distance in five seconds.”
Sebek sniffled somewhere behind them.
“…Sebek, are you crying?” Epel asked, wide-eyed.
“I AM MERELY EMOTIONALLY OVERCOME BY THE MIRACLE OF REUNION, WHELP.”
“Right.”
Rook placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “To be embraced by one’s child at first meeting, it is the sweetest shot of arrowed fate.”
“Didn’t he call you a soup-knife?” Vil deadpanned.
“…Artfully so.”
Yuu finally walked toward them, slow but steady, her steps no longer dragging. Her eyes met Malleus’s as she approached. No fear, no shame. Just something raw and brimming beneath her ribs.
Mallin turned and looked up at her with a sunny smile. “I told you I’d like him.”
Yuu reached out, brushing his hair back. “You were right.”
Malleus swallowed. “May I… speak with you?”
Yuu nodded once. “Yeah. I think it’s time.”
The side room was quiet, tucked into the stone like a secret held too long. The rest of the hall, the music, the conversation, the dizzy warmth of reunion, faded behind the heavy door, muffled now to little more than echoes.
Inside, it smelled like sun-warmed dust and citrus-sweet wine left too long in a glass.
Yuu stood by the window, her back to the door, arms wrapped around herself in that old way she used to when she was too tired to pretend. Her head was bowed slightly, but the golden hour light made her glow. Skin honey-soft, lashes shadowed against flushed cheeks. One strand of her short hair curled loose behind her ear, shifting in the breeze.
Malleus stood in the doorway.
He said nothing for a long moment, merely observing her form bathed in gold, so familiar it made his chest ache. She was not a dream. Not a memory. Not a figment conjured by grief.
She was here.
She felt his gaze before he spoke.
“You always stand in doorways like you’re afraid you’ll break the room,” she murmured, not turning.
“I have broken many things,” he said, voice low, rich. “I should not wish this place to be among them. It holds something far too precious.”
A silence passed between them. Not heavy, only full.
“I presume you heard,” he added, quieter. “He asked if he might braid my hair.”
That cracked a small smile out of her. She turned, slowly. Her eyes shimmered in the amber light. Her posture was careful, but she faced him fully now. “And did you let him?”
“I sat upon the floor like a supplicant before a tiny court,” Malleus said with a faint curve of his lips. “And handed him ribbons as if they were jewels.”
“You hated people touching your hair,” she reminded him gently.
“I hated all hands but yours,” he replied. “And his, it seems, are the same.”
She stepped forward. “Did he do a good job?”
“Three knots, two crooked clasps, and a seashell,” he said. “I wear them still.”
That made her laugh, quietly choked. Her hand came up, resting lightly on his shoulder, fingers pressing to the place where the velvet of his coat met his collarbone.
“It suits you,” she whispered. “You look more real.”
“And you,” he said, his eyes drinking in every part of her, “are as I remember, and not as I feared. Changed, yes. But only as rivers change, wider, deeper, stronger for having weathered storms.”
He reached for her hand, took it gently, turned it in his palm, and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist.
Her heart stuttered.
“You always spoke like a poet when you were trying not to fall apart,” she whispered.
“I fear I have not the strength to do otherwise,” he murmured. “You stand before me, and I am undone.”
Her fingers laced with his.
His fingers were warm, rougher than she remembered, but familiar as breath. She leaned into his palm, her skin prickling with the old, electric jolt of being seen.
“I told him about you,” she said softly. “I told him about your voice. Your stars. That you were the kind of man who would love slowly and fiercely.”
“He… has your heart,” Malleus said, his voice roughened. “And mine. He speaks like you. Yet his eyes, when they looked upon me, did not flinch. I had imagined so many first meetings. None so gentle.”
She reached up, palm cupping his jaw.
“I thought you’d hate me,” she whispered. “I thought you’d see him and think I kept him from you.”
“No,” he said, with sudden conviction. “No, you did not steal him. You carried him. You bore the burden alone. You wrapped your arms around our future and made a sanctuary where none existed.”
Her lips trembled.
“I love you,” he said. “As I always have. Even when memory grew thin and time grew cruel, I loved you.”
She pulled him down to her.
The kiss began like a breath, soft and tentative. It deepened as the years poured into it. Malleus let out a quiet noise against her lips, pulling her flush to him, his arms winding around her waist. She rose to meet him, hands curling into his hair, mouth opening beneath his as though her heart lived there.
He kissed her like he had the right.
Like he had never stopped.
When they parted, his forehead rested against hers, his hands broad and warm against the curve of her hips.
“I had forgotten the taste of you,” he said, voice low. “It is unbearable to remember now how long I went without.”
“Remind yourself,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over his lower lip. “As long as you need.”
He kissed her again, slower now, deeper, his breath stuttering as one hand slid to the small of her back.
“Yuu…” he whispered. “If I do not stop now…”
“Then don’t,” she whispered against his mouth. “Not yet.”
He pressed her back, gently, against the wall beside the window, his body all but shaking from restraint. Her hands found the hem of his coat. His lips traced down the line of her jaw, breath warm, his voice murmured-
“Uhhh…?”
The door creaked open behind them.
They froze.
A beat.
“ I-Oh-oh seven’s sake-!”
It was Ace.
A clatter. A panicked retreat. And then Cater’s voice, faint but distinct: “DUDE. Boundaries .”
The door slammed.
Silence.
Malleus inhaled slowly, exhaled through his nose like a man trying to avoid immolating the carpet.
Yuu, breathless and half-laughing, buried her face in his shoulder.
“I loathe this institution,” he muttered.
“You showed up to the reunion,” she said, giggling into his coat.
He didn’t move for a moment, then chuckled low in his throat.
She looked up, lips kiss-bitten and eyes sparkling. “Still want me?”
“I will want you,” he said, “until the stars burn out of the sky.”
Then, slow and deliberate, he kissed her again, one last time, a promise sealed in breath.
And when they left the room, his hand never once let go of hers.
The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time Malleus and Yuu reentered the party hall, hand in hand.
There was no announcement. No fanfare.
But the moment they stepped through the doors, everything paused for a breath. Heads turned. Conversations stilled. The soft light of enchanted lanterns flickered across their joined hands, casting long shadows across the sandstone floor.
Malleus looked calm and serene. And Yuu? She looked… whole. At peace in a way she hadn’t been in years.
They’d crossed storm and silence, exile and ache.
And now, they had crossed back.
Then Yuu stopped.
“…Malleus,” she murmured, brows lifting.
“Yes, my love?”
“Please tell me that’s not Leona, willingly letting our child braid his hair . ”
Malleus followed her gaze.
Sure enough, Leona Kingscholar, king of sarcasm and sworn enemy of small children, was slouched back on a pile of cushions, resigned and vaguely betrayed. And across his lap, entirely at ease, was Mallin. Cookie in one hand. Leona’s hair in the other. Talking at the speed of thought.
“And then I told Grim he looked like a firework and he exploded, not literally, but, like, emotionally, so I think that still counts as winning…”
Leona groaned. “I will pay someone to get him off me.”
“I’m not moving,” Mallin said, pleased. “You’re warm and your braid is uneven.”
Not far from them, Lilia was misty-eyed, hand over his heart. “He reminds me of little Malleus. All that intensity in such a small frame… It’s like watching time fold.”
“You want to adopt him, don’t you?” Yuu asked.
“Oh, very much,” Lilia whispered.
Silver sighed behind him. “Absolutely not.”
Mallin looked up then and spotted them.
“Mama! Papa! I made a friend! He gives me fruit and pretends he’s not nice.”
“I’m not,” Leona grumbled.
“He is,” Mallin said smugly, resting his chin on Leona’s shoulder. “Squishy heart. Like a mean peach.”
Yuu laughed. Malleus gave a rare, gentle grin.
And for a long, quiet moment, the world didn’t demand anything more of them.
Not penance. Not secrets. Not pain.
Just the hum of old friends, the sparkle of mischief, and the wild, unstoppable joy of a child who had never known he was supposed to be afraid.
Yuu leaned into Malleus’s side. “He’s going to ruin this entire school when he’s old enough to apply.”
Malleus rested his cheek lightly against her temple. “He will be glorious.”
They stood together, watching as their son braided hair, stole cookies, and interrogated Riddle about royal toothpaste laws. Taking up space in a world that had once tried to erase him.
And the curse that had bound her for five long years?
It didn’t even whisper.
Only peace remained.