Private Tales In the Vicinity of Thunder

[Mylo]

Mylo listened. Gods, he tried to listen, his mind clinging to the sound of her voice as though it were the only thing tethering him to this world. Each word wrapped around him like warmth, easing the storm from inside his chest even as the one outside rolled and thundered above them.

But his body was broken, exhausted, and every gentle brush of her thumb, every steady note in her voice tugged him further under. His eyes burned with the weight of sleep, but he fought against it, lids drooping before he forced them open again… only to fail, slowly, finally.

By the time she whispered her question, his lashes were still, his breath soft and shallow. He didn’t stir. His hand remained in hers, slack but holding onto her warmth, as though some small part of him refused to let her go, even in sleep.

 

[Stasya]

She did not want to let her hand leave his. She did not want to leave his side. Again, she told herself that it was not fair to let him wake up in the middle of a storm alone. What if he needed something?

Stasya set aside the book. She found a way to ease down onto her side. Reached behind her for the other blanket she had been ready to put on him if he needed nore warmth. Night would have fallen by now, and no food could be prepared while the promise of rain was on it's way. Some sleep, some rest.

At some point in her sleep, someone had fixed the blanket over her. She would open her eyes, look about the tent, until she saw Nadya sleeping against Cullen.

Stasya's hand was had been freed from Mylo's, but their hands resting side by side.

Slowly, she brought it back. A small press of guilt began to grow in her, that her sister and Cullen came here to find her. That they would have seen her and Mylo, hands together.

She rolled, turning to face Nadya and Cullen.

"What will happen to him?" She asked the quiet.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s voice was low, rough from keeping it to a whisper, his arm tightening around Nadya as though grounding himself. His gaze lingered on Stasya, then drifted back to the boy laid out on the blankets. The boy who's hand he'd wanted to sever from his body the moment he'd walked into this tent..

He let out a slow breath, his jaw working.

“If your sister is right about the Princess, then he won’t die,” he said at last, his tone careful. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, though. Cullen had seen first hand how thin mercy could stretch in Thanasis. “But stolen dragon eggs…” his head shook faintly, “they don’t just brush that off. Especially not this one. There’ll be punishment.”

His dark eyes returned to Stasya’s, softer now, though firm in the way they always were when he thought he was looking out for her. “You’ve a kind heart. Too kind sometimes. But he is what he is. A criminal.”

A pause. His thumb absently brushed Nadya’s arm as he pulled her closer into his side. “Don’t get attached,” he repeated, more gently this time, but with an edge of warning she couldn’t mistake.

 

[Stasya]

Stasya could feel it grow, that guilt taking form and shape.

She had grown up to Cullen, welcoming him into her family like every one else had. Had gone to him whenever Nadya had put her foot down, and often blamed Cullen for being in love with her sister whenever he agreed with Nadya's choice but was gentler and more kind about it's approach.

Even now, she knew he spoke with his own voice regardless of his love for Nadya.

"He told me he did not want to do it. That his father and brother called him cruel things for so long..." She had to say it, even if Cullen would hear it only as excuses. "He was surrendering the egg back to you."

Stasya was no lawyer. She was not familiar with the laws as well as those that fought to maintain the system.

"He's good." That feeling of guilt could not squash the adamant knowledge. She trusted her intuition when it came to people, and Stasya saw the good in Mylo.

Unfortunately, Stasya had already grown attached. She did not move from Mylo's side, knowing she should check his temperature soon. Her head turned to look at him, saw his hair tussled over his brow again and she had to fight the urge to smooth it away. "I guess the trial will have to see if he deserves a second chance."

Stasya had met the Princess once before. At her own debut ball, where it was tradition to always extend an invitation to the royal family. Princess Orissa had been dressed in a lovely mauve dress, had smiled with magnetic delight when Stasya was to make introductions before her. The Princess made a comment on how she knew Stasya owned a cat, for the white cat hairs still stuck to both their dresses from their own respective felines.

The people of Thanasis all loved Orissa. The same people also said she was too pure and soft to be the next Queen, that she had no warrior heart like her brothers.

Stasya began to think the same until she heard how she brought a man back to life after death made it's claim, and that the two would be arranged to marry. Many forgot that the Princess learned to heal, and Stasya wanted to do the same. Perhaps one day she could heal someone and have her life forever changed from it.

Her eyes fell onto Mylo's face again.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s jaw tightened as he listened, his thumb pausing against Nadya’s arm. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to bite back what Stasya was saying, but instead he let out a long, weary sigh through his nose. He could see that she wanted to believe him, had already taken a liking to the injured lad. He didn't want to upset her, but there was a reality she had to face.

“And I said I knew nothing at all of my father’s treason,” he murmured, voice steady but carrying that old edge of bitterness. “Didn’t matter. They beat me, left me to rot in a cell. Then they dragged me out, tortured me, burned me with these marks so everyone would see me as nothing but a traitor for the rest of my life. I wasn’t part of my father’s plans at all, Stas. if there were ever any plans..” His dark eyes flicked from the sleeping boy to her, and there was something hard in them now. “Didn’t matter.”

He shifted slightly, lowering his voice further so as not to stir Nadya or Mylo. “I know you want to see the best in everyone. Maybe the boy’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s good. But whether he is or not..” Cullen shook his head, “.. it’s not up to me, or Nadya, or perhaps even Orissa. The Royal family aren’t in the habit of pardoning men who steal from them. Especially not dragon eggs.”

His gaze softened a fraction, but the weight of his words lingered. “So don’t get your hopes up, Stasya. You’ll only make it harder on yourself when they make an example of him.”

 

[Stasya]

His truths were hard to hear.

They made her tense, not looking back his way. Stasya rarely cried before anyone, and she certainly did not want to do so in front of Cullen. "Things are different now." She mumbled, stubborn. "Those of us that saw all this cruelty, we have voices to fight."

Because she had watched Nadya do it for years. Heard the things her sister said whenever someone came to attack the integrity of Cullen and his family. Even over Stasya and their sisters, Nadya was a fierce protector. It opened her eyes to the society they lived in, and Stasya began to sympathise. Even Faye Valimir kept friends that would be deemed questionable, and she would not dare tell Cullen or Nadya this, but the stories Faye shared with Stasya about the lives of many Marked Ones...

Stasya wanted to help make a difference in this world. Even if she could not fix it in her lifetime, she would want her future children to learn how to be strong and fight for what they love and thought was right.

Just like their Aunt Nadya.

"There is no use hating things we can change." Still, Stasya did not turn her face towards Cullen. "I hear what you have said Cully, but I aspire to help make that change." A new legacy for the Caliar name.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s head tilted, and for a few moments, he just watched her in silence; the defiance in her shoulders, the tremor she was trying to disguise in her voice. He’d seen that same fire in Nadya countless times, but from Stasya… it was quieter. Softer. The sort of courage that bloomed out of love, not anger. And that, somehow, always hurt to look at.

“I know you do,” he said finally, his tone quieting, losing that sharp edge it often carried when he spoke of the city and its ways. “And I know you mean it.”

He sighed, long and low, leaning back slightly as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, little sister. You can’t take responsibility for every injured thing you heal, or don’t. You need to harden your heart a little to the truth that sometimes things don’t go the way they should, no matter how good you are, or how much you care. It’s not fair, none of it is, but it’s not always ours to fix.”

His dark gaze drifted toward Mylo, his brow furrowing. “I saw the lad's father call for his death. Whatever he did or didn’t do, that much I’ll swear to before the Princess. Whether it earns him any leniency, I'm not sure..” He shrugged slightly, but his jaw flexed - that was as much as he could offer.

Then, at last, his gaze softened again when he looked back at her. “Now, get some sleep, Stas,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’ll need all that energy for the change you’re planning to bring about.”

The smirk faded into something fonder. “Just… make sure the world doesn’t change you first.”

 

[Stasya]

"In your own bed." Grumbled Nadya. Stas breathed heavily, eyes fixing on her sister, but Nadya returned to slumber soon after.
Stasya could not help it, but she had to stifle her laughter.
She looked to Cullen, warmth in her eyes again. "I just need to change his bandages and then I will go rest."

---

The return to Thanasis was smooth as the skies after the storm.
Stas rode with Nadya, Kalyss large enough to carry a third rider if there had been a saddle large enough. Nadya did not lecture Stas on anything to do with Mylo other than to ask about his injuries. She had been grateful not to be needled into by her sister, and thought perhaps the eldest Caliar sister had heard the conversation between her and Cullen.
Upon return, the Princess waited for them. She was beautiful, even more so with her own dragon coiled around her. Her Gilded Wings gave her a wide berth, save for the Captain who stood nearest to the Princess. Stasya had been about to follow Faye and their charge towards the camp, but Nadya pulled her back.
"Stay. In case Her Highness has questions."
Debrief took hours. The day had been growing warm under the sun, and Stas was feeling the heat more than the others until Kalyss nudged her under his front left leg. She rested there, waiting for the Thunder and the Princess to finish their talks. All the while, she could feel another set of eyes on her. When she turned, she spied the other Storm Dragon peering at her. Stasya had thought nothing of it until Kalyss saw what she had been looking to, and he let out a territorial growl.
Nadya turned towards them, watching a moment before turning back. Moments after that, the riders and royal entourage parted ways.
Her sister went to approach Esdyr, spoke in Old Thanasian in low tones. Stasya recognised very little, only learning High Thanasian but spoke better in modern.

She turned to Cullen, frowning. "Did the Princess say anything about pardoning My— the prisoner..?"

 

[Cullen]

Cullen had said little during the debrief, staying beside Nadya like a shadow while she gave her report to the Princess. The exchange had been formal and tense, hours of recounting the ambush, the pursuit, and the deaths that followed. When his turn came, Cullen’s voice was steady, his words clipped but clear. He spoke of the youngest brother’s surrender, of how his father had given the dragon the order to throw him and then turned his weapon on Nadya, forcing Cullen’s hand. The boy hadn't seemed to have wanted any part in it, if his brothers' verbal abuse was anything to go by, and so Cullen told the Princess as much, for Stasya's sake.

"He didn't really seem.. Part of the family. Or in agreement with the plan. And so they thought him worthless enough to prefer him dead.. Not that you'll care much for my opinion, but the facts stand and i'll give it anyways. Charge them separately, the lad doesn't deserve the same level of whatever punishment you had in mind."

He made no apologies for killing the man. He’d been armed, dangerous, and had aimed at his wingleader - that was the truth, and Cullen would stand by it. "My only regret on that matter is that the old man had been less of a prick and had the good sense to come quietly, alas..."

Cullen did, however, concede again to silence under Nadya’s glare, his jaw tight, eyes on the ground while the others continued.

When the ordeal finally ended, Cullen stretched in the sun with a low groan, dragging a hand down his face as he wandered over to Stasya, “Well, that’s several hours of my life I’ll never get back. I don’t know how your sister does this political shite without throwing someone off a balcony.”

She looked tired, the heat having drawn colour to her cheeks, and still, she’d stayed through every word of the proceedings. He sighed, his arm coming around her shoulders, loose and protective.

“Your My-prisoner,” he said quietly, “is being held for now. They’ll need time to decide what’s to be done with him. I told them what I said I would.. Its out of our hands..”

He studied her a moment longer, brow furrowing slightly. “But tell me why you felt the need to wait out here all day to find out?” he asked, tone gentle despite the words. “Did you listen to anything I said before we left camp? You can’t help everyone, Stas. You’ll tear yourself apart trying.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed once, lightly. His voice dropped to something softer. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but you’ve got to be careful. That sort of kindness burns fast. You’ll lose yourself if you don’t guard it.”

 

[Mylo]

Mylo had slept for the first time in what felt like days, and only because Stasya had been there, and perhaps thanks to a little too much blood loss. Her voice, soft and sure, had grounded him in a way nothing else could. Even when pain dragged him back to waking, he’d looked for her.

When they came to move him, his body betrayed him. He was too weak, too sore to stand on his own for long. His legs buckled twice before someone caught his arm and shoved him forward again. Getting him onto a dragon had been a miserable ordeal, his limbs barely responding, every muscle trembling as though he’d been hollowed out.

His brothers hadn’t missed their chance to sneer.
“Dead weight,” one spat. “Leave him. Or let your beasts have a meal before the flight.”

Mylo said nothing. He didn’t have the strength to fight, not even to look at them. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the dragon Stasya rode, the gleam of scales, the way her braid caught the wind. He tried to think only of her stories, her laughter, her quiet curiosity, the light she carried that even this darkness couldn’t dim. If he could just hold on to that, maybe he could forget for a moment, what waited for him in Thanasis.

The flight was long. When they landed, the heat and noise of the city pressed in on him like a suffocating wave. He was led through the corridors of the stronghold and down into the cells, where the air turned cool and damp. His brothers were dragged elsewhere, shouting still, curses, threats, the same poison they’d always spat.

When the door closed on him, it was almost a relief.

The cell was small, stone cold beneath him as he sank to the floor. He could still hear them though, muffled through the walls, their voices sharp and furious, blaming him for everything. For their father’s death. For their failure. For being born weak. And the promises they made to make him wish he'd died in the fall.

He pressed his hands to his ears, curling in tighter despite the pain, until his knees touched his chest. Fear crept in slow at first, then all at once.

So he closed his eyes and saw her instead. Anastasia, bright and kind, with eyes that had looked at him like he was something worth saving. He held on to that image, clinging to it as though it might be enough to keep him from breaking completely.

If he had to die, he wanted her to be the last thing he saw.