Two weeks later...

Trigger warning: death/suicide. Please be safe while reading. Feel free to skip this chapter if this topic might be triggering. Crisis lines are linked below this chapter.

Darkstalker

I knock at the door a couple times.

I can't hear anyone moving around inside. Which is weird. it's even weirder that I haven't seen Arctic around the palace all day at work. I mean, we never talk, but usually we run into each other.

Still nothing.

The wind brushes against my scales.

I wish Clearsight were here. I have a bad feeling about this.

I lean my ear into the door. "MOTHER!"

There's no response.

"MOTHER?" I try again.

I frown. Furrow my brows. Dig through my bag and grab out my old key. The house feels weird--more silent than it's been in ages. "ANYONE HERE?"

I frown deeper. Whiteout should be here, at least. Painting or something.

I take a cautious step in through the door. Ever since I moved out, this place doesn't feel like my house anymore. I mean, my room has been converted into a guest bedroom. The dim light filters through the closed curtains, making the tassels of our rug glimmer. This is getting creepy.

I tiptoe through the hallways. When I was little, my sister and I used to play hide-and-go-seek together. This reminds me of that feeling I got when I got close to her hiding spot and I swore I could feel some seer instinct inside me pushing me forward, guiding me in the right direction.

The floorboards creak beneath my talons.

I pull the bedroom door open.

And then my organs rip themselves out of my body, and everything is kind of frozen, and it feels like gravity has been turned off or something—

No. No. NO.

***

There's no visible blood. Maybe he's just asleep. Maybe... I don't know. Maybe I'm dreaming. There has to be an explanation for this. This can't be happening.

Uncomfortably, I crouch down beside my father's body and press my talon on his wrist. His scales are strangely warm.

I try to stop breathing.

There's no pulse. I can't feel anything. My stomach freezes solid.

Why didn't Clearsight—why didn't I see this coming?

I back away. I can't be in the same room as a dead body. 

The visions are a tsunami, slowly drowning me.

He does not get to do this to me.

I can't think through the futures, cracking my skull open. Collapsing on top of me.

***

A dragonet with scales the colour of smoke looks down at the fireplace.

"Daddy, how come we always see Grandma, and Mom has a dad, but you don't have one?"

Mother, curled up in a ball with Whiteout wrapped up in her wings, crying. They're both crying.

Mother, ripping apart one of Whiteout's portraits of Father.

An IceWing screaming.

Clearsight looking at me, like this is the tipping point, and she's not sure whether or not she can really trust me.

A dragonet with black scales and bright blue eyes.

Me and Clearsight but older, and glaring at each other. I turn to face her, and scream "IT'S NOT THAT EASY!

***

I take a deep breath. A bird is perched on mother's hanging baskets, chirping merrily. It meets my eyes, and holds still, wings frozen in flight position. I clench my talons.

Mother will be back soon.

I take a couple of slow breaths. Unclench my talons. Close my eyes.

The best thing I can do is absorb some of the damage.

My talons have clenched up again.

Get it together.

I force my shoulders square and nudge open the door, ignoring the way my stomach feels like it's trying to squirm out of my body.

No. I won't let this get to me.

He doesn't get to do this to me.

My father is collapsed on the bed. Limp.

I want to throw up.

I force myself to look around the room. (What if there's a note? I don't want there to be a note. It's going to be hard enough on Mother already.)

I search around the room for a little. My father is not dead. I am in this room alone.

I start to think it's fine, and I'm in the clear. But then my stomach drops.

My parents' desk has been cleared off completely, except for a small scrap of paper that looks like it's been ripped off.

And on it is a note.

THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.

My stomach drops.

***

I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him—

I take a deep breath. I crumple the note in my talons, and bury it deep into the bag on my shoulder, between paperwork and notes for spell ideas.

He doesn't get to ruin our family, any more than he already has.

The door creaks open. I flinch, racing towards it.

"Mother—" My arms are shaking.

She frowns, her thoughts slow; a little tired and a little confused. "Darkstalker? Why are you in here?"

"Father's dead."

Mother flinches. "Wha—what do you mean?"

"I mean that right now he's lying dead in your bedroom floor because he killed himself. What do you think that means?" I glower at her.

Her thoughts are a rushing tornado, and even though I'm trying to steel myself, they're hard not to get swept into. "What—he didn't—"

The note keeps flashing through my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him--

It's my fault, Mother thinks. I should have noticed something. I could have--I can't believe this is happening-- The panicked rush of her thoughts knots itself tighter and tighter.

"When did that happen? Why—what—"

"I don't know."

"But—"

"I know."

"But he can't—but—"

"I know."

"Whiteout—?" There are tears in her eyes, but she's not sure what they mean.

"I don't know. I don't know where she is right now." I press one talon against hers.

He does not have the right to do this to her.

"She'll—" Mother starts.

She shouldn't be sad like this. Why does anyone even care?

I want to scream.

The vision echoes softly through my mind, like the beginning of a storm. My dragonets will never know who their grandfather is.

"How do you—"

"Because right now there's a dead body in your bedroom," I snap.

He has no right to do this to any of us.

The world is better without him.

I hate the haunted look in Mother's eyes. "Darkstalker—why didn't you tell me this was—"

"BECAUSE I DIDN'T SEE IT!" I roar, digging my claws into the stupid white carpet. I hate her. I hate him. I hate all of them—

"YOU CAN SEE THE FUTURE! Clearsight, who you literally are about to marry can see the future—" Mother roars.

"CLEARSIGHT IS PROBABLY NOT LOOKING AT THE FUTURES OF OUR STUPID BROKEN FAMILY, MOTHER! SHE HAS OTHER THINGS TO THINK ABOUT! WHY DOES IT EVEN MATTER?" Everything in this room makes my scales crawl. He does not get to do this. Not to my mother. Not to anyone.

"But—" Mother starts.

"He never made you happy," I say coldly.

"Darkstalker..." she sighs. Her mind is sinking, now. "It's complicated..."

I growl, taking a step back from her.

A tear dribbles down her cheek. Her mouth flaps open, and then closed. Her legs shake, like scaffolding on a building that's about to crumble.

Rain starts to softly patter against the windows.

"Just go," Mother whispers.