YUVEN

They don't need me. They aren't children. They are perfectly capable of handling it. I taught her everything I could — the rest is up to her. The pencil suffered in his steel grasp to the endless screams of the mob for still royal salvation after all their suffering underneath those who cowed power through blood alone and not through perception — the true testament to power. Perception is power. He pointed the pencil at the stones of his enemy while Neven washed out his feathers from the other side. It spun through his fingers at a rattle from the older Warden as his feathers brushed against each other with a flick of his head to shake off droplets. Ever since he revealed the truth of his own childish behaviour, Neven grew as cold as Naveera. They don't need me, they're not the problem child. He tapped the tip of the pencil against the desk. "Are you going to give me the cold shoulder? It's unbecoming of you." You're better than they are.

But I would deserve it.

Neven went still, then turned around. "I'm not giving you the cold shoulder, Yuven," he said as he brushed back his damp feathers, his grip wrapped around a pair of scissors to trim the golden locks, letting each strand fall, and Yuven chewed on spite as he watched Maria do the same thing to her own once long hair.

"Would it help if I said sorry?" The pencil he threw clattered across the desk and he swung himself to the other side of his chair.

Neven snipped at the longer, unsalvageable blonde strands, taking care around his long feathers. "I'm not the one you had to apologise to," he replied with a huff, dropping the scissors beside the washing basin. It took all of his strength to lift himself out of the chair when Neven picked up the comb and ran it through the gold waves. Yuven tasted old blood on the tip of his tongue, resting between his fangs though he tried to shake out the sensation of his constant past of an icy gaol. "The thing you struggle the most with is your impatience, not your pride."

"You so sure about that, Miesero?"

Neven fiddled with the comb through one of the stuck strands and didn't answer; the silence deafening until he tossed the comb to the side and turned around in one graceful movement to walk up to him. "You've had to use pride as a shield all your life, Yuven. You were always like this as a child, stubborn, unyielding. These traits are not bad things... but they are dangerous things. You have become so used to Fenrer reigning in those pieces of you, making excuses for your behaviour. The first step was apologizing for your actions, your words — the next is putting them to the proof."

Your faith is a shield.

"I'm sorry, Neven."

Neven's brow scrunched and created weary ravines. "I said I was not the one you had to apologize to."

"But you are." Yuven choked out a tasteless laugh at the burning bloodline in his spatial-born magick. Echoes torn asunder, a slave to someone else's whims and bespoken destiny. He was never free. "The Loyalists cling onto the ideal of my name born from a fairytale. Lies. And through those lies, that perception, they saw you as a traitor, an Oathbreaker, but what oath did you make but the one you swore underneath the stars of evenfall?" Neven flinched, but Yuven pressed on, "You were considered an enemy of Naveera. Your devotion — faith in it was your undoing." One step closer, Neven's feathers thinned against his pointed ears. "And I will not have you stand here pretending that you still have faith in it when I know better."

A shaky, deep-throated hiss left Neven's nose as he chewed on his lower lip. "You don't need to apologise for a thousand turns of this unchanged, frozen behaviour," he insisted after a second, and Yuven resisted the urge to scoff. "Whatever their reasoning for their actions does not make you culpable. You aren't to blame for that. You were just as much a scapegoat as I was, yes?" He smoothed out his tunic and went for the entrance into the corridor of the sanatorium.

"If you hadn't taken care of me, do you think they would've viewed you as they did?" Yuven demanded, and Neven twisted around with a sharper, hissy huff as his pupils tightened. "I'm not wrong. Your life would've been so much easier if you didn't agree to take care of me." He dropped his hand against his side when Neven returned to his place in front of him, meeting him at eye-level. Everyone's lives would've been so much easier if— His own rattle of frustration shook his vocal chords which caused Neven's nostrils to flare. If I had just gone on that infernal damned boat with Fenrer and Adara instead of cowering. "I made your life harder."

"You were a child, Yuven," Neven pointed out when the rattled hiss went quiet, then grabbed his head with both hands. "You did not do this to me. I chose this. I'd choose it again. Again, I don't want to hear your apologies, I don't accept them because you have no reason for them." His fangs slipped over his lower lips, and he pressed, "Take responsibility for your own personal actions, not someone else's. I know you've done it in a place of leadership where people looked to you to guide them, direct them even if the risks were great. You never asked them to do anything you yourself weren't willing to do. Do it in your own personal relationships." His fist bumped against the center of his chest. "If you want to make up some sort of slight for me, make sure Fenrer understands that the most, hm?" Neven nodded through his hum. "Understand? Life's still too short, even for us twice century beings."

"I understand." Yuven curled his lips inward when Neven tugged him into a hug.

"Good." Neven released him with his hands still on his shoulders, before letting them go. "I need to get up to the Upper Echelon and start getting things sorted for my return to Asairai. I've left Kemal over there alone and I have some unfinished business." He hooked his hand through the strap of the bag underneath the alchemist's desk, throwing it over his shoulder. "Kayal was his Trainee, I owe that much to them both."

Yuven followed him out of the lower sanatorium and into the lift to the main floors of the citadel. "Is it possible for us to come?" He pushed his glyph through the floor when Neven struggled to bring his sapphire studded one to life with a frustrated, low-tempo growl. "Maria discharged you, but you're not recovered. I've seen her notes."

"I'll discuss it with the Warden-Commander," Neven said when the lift opened and they stood in the sunlight from the tall, arched windows. "I won't make any promises on that front... it's far too dangerous."

"I'm a Storm Warden," Yuven argued. "I knew what I signed up for when I became one."

Neven closed his eyes with a deep, sad sigh. "I know. We'll see how things unfold. Go enjoy your day, Yuven. Take solace in the sun."

Sunlight burst into sprinkled particles when Neven split off into the darkness of the citadel with his bag swung across his back. Shadows drifted in the corners, a softened touch compared to the crimson corruption Derelicts left. Outside, the empty training grounds created a warm, but forlorn image at the lack of Storm Wardens which bled with the moons and turns. Trees sprouted from the fertile soil of the caldera and the dormant volcano underneath their feet which the citadel flowered out of. Hippogryphs launched off the mountain peaks and cried out their freedom to join the chorus of the gulls down at the harbor below. Boat bells tolled and reminded him of his weakness when he took the opposite path of his Guardian. Storm Wardens passed him by with respectful nods, but its hollowness left a bitter taste in his throat when he came to the closest Annex entrance, and opened it wide.

Parchment fluttered with the blinds at the windows. His hand traced the railing as he headed for a familiar corner, tucked by a sunstrewn porthole with the beaches of the Gauntlet in view. Books piled on a nearby table with notes sticking out of pages. He pressed his thumb against one and recognized his own handwriting. Advanced Glyphic Theory. He read the title then cleaned off the table to put the books in a little stack for when the person who needed them at the ready returned. I've really... messed up. His tongue slid behind his fangs as he released the softest of quiet hums, the scorching melody leaving him in his own self-made silence. He drove his fingers into the decorated cover of runes and glyphs carved by the maker. It stung against his skin, and he put the book down on top of the rest and abandoned it for its journey across a paper sea.

Out into the caldera, he walked along the marble paths with his hands tucked on his belt with his own footsteps for company. In nature's quiet, he scowled. I can't take this. Off the marble track, he found space to work with. Let's see what freedom from death gave you, Yuven Traye. I've phased across vast distances before, have I not? Hands pressed together, he pointed himself eastward bound in the distant direction of Sivaport. Senses open, the citadel pulsated with life and movement and the tunnels below breathed and created dark images of the paths he tread in exploration. Ocean waves slowed to a complete stop as he timed his heartbeat, painting a lighthouse from steep cliffs. A coastal city sparkling against the ridges it was built upon. Harbors stretched out and around piercing rocks from the gulf. Yes... I can still see it... it's a blur, far away... but I can see it. My magick has touched it... and magick does not go away. It cannot be erased no matter what anyone does.

Yuven brought his hands from each-other.

Yes. I made a mistake.

Yuven stiffened his legs, then broke into a dash when the ghost of the world burst out from him. Images painted across the landscape, flickering without cease. It struck his body from all directions. Rivers of pain sent blood up into his throat when he took a leap for Sivaport. His heel broke the mirror, and he grunted when he face-planted into the dirt. Muscles sore, he groaned and rolled over onto the grass, scowling at his measly phase shift of a few fields and not an entire ocean crossed. Ugh... Straightened out, he brushed out dirt from his hair.

Dizziness created inky worms when he tried to stand up, then the world went into darkness. Voices molded together. Worlds blended. His fingers curled against his palm when the numbness slipped through his arms instead. Knives drove wedges into his skull when colors created the peaks of the citadel. Throat cracked, he groaned and sat up, again. Useless. Again. Pressure dug behind his eyes, and he swayed on the confusion it left. Needles danced across his body when he tried to move, so he chose to lay flat across the grass once more with a groan. Of course... silly me, why did I think that would work? I made my choice. I made my choice when I let Fenrer turn his back on me. Arm against his brow, waves upon waves of nausea slammed into his throat as he waited for the sensations after a flash to pass. Seconds into minutes. I let Fenrer turn away from me when I shouldn't have. I'm an idiot.

He smacked his fist against the grass, choking some of the stalks in his fingers.

"Yuven?" Yuven lifted himself upwards at her voice. Maria stood there, her hair fashioned into short sunbursts instead of the long rays from before. Concern pushed her nose inwards when she hurried over to him.

"I'm fine." He accepted her help when she put a hand on his back and one on his arm to pull him into a sitting position. "Dizzy."

"Did you—?"

He found enough willpower to nod at her, clinging onto her forearm to steady himself. "I have been taking my medication, before you ask," he mumbled, brushing his face as Maria worked him the rest of the way to his feet. "I believe I was out here for... ten minutes? More?"

"Yuven."

"Maria."

Maria sighed. "I know you're worried—"

"Worried?" He coughed out at the inane idea. "Worried about what? Adara Sazaka? If anything, I'm irate. I know the Elder Convocation is shaking in their boots with having the Anima in their city again and I know they'll be so determined to prove themselves right because they can't fathom being wrong for once in their lives," he spat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders for support. "That was a lot of work and time Fenrer and I went through for them. I just don't want all of that to be a waste of our time or else next time in Azahama I'm not bothering with words next time. I'll go straight for throwing them off their pedestals by force."

"Yuven, relax." Maria slipped her hand down his chest, the touch warm. "They'll be fine. Let's get you back to the citadel for something to eat and drink."

"I just said I'm not worried."

Maria tilted her head against his with a raised eyebrow. "Of course, Ice Knight."

Yuven drove his own fangs into his lower lip while Maria guided him back into the citadel. They won't be fine, as far as I'm concerned, the Elder Convocation as a whole is a monarch... a monarch clinging desperately onto power given to them so long ago. And a monarch afraid for their life from a perceived threat? He stood in the middle of a battleground, coated with snow. Knights lowered their pikes to him and Fenrer, and he grabbed the back of his Oathbound's armor to layer him in his lie while a stout man who called himself a powerful king called for the murder of magickae.

Fear spreads bloodshed and brings the Derelict for the feast delivered on a crimson platter.