Fable - Ask What Happens After

[Samantha Black]

Ralene let Zael go, carefully, and extricated herself from behind, jaw drawn taut with unspoken words, gaze following Davi as he departed from the infirmary hall.

Should have let that hoard of goblins and ogres bulldoze him into that wall. Should have left him with Everleigh to die in the forest - but Ral didn't live on shoulds or what-ifs. Either way, regardless of where she ended up after all this, be it with the Knights or in jail for her crime, she didn't plan on seeing most anyone from the Academy again. Certainly not Zael.

"Think what you want," Ralene glared at the blond with distaste, "you know fuck-all about me."

There were others that did know her better and maybe they'd have defended her, maybe they wouldn't, but none of them were present so it hardly mattered. She stepped away and around Sable to pause at the exit, "I'll tell Everleigh you're alive if I see her."

And then she was gone through the same door as Davi who'd expressed about the only good idea she'd heard in the last 24 hours.

"Davi, hold up-" her rasp voice called after the half-naked initiate, "I'm coming with you. Fucking starving."

 

[Evangeline]

Evangeline had always had a knack for reading people. Even when she was an initiate, picking up on fine details was considered to be one of her more notable talents. That attention had been one of the tools she needed to survive her time at the Academy.

With Kalix, she didn't need that knack. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Evangeline admired that about Kalix; he wasn't afraid to let everyone around him know what he was feeling, even if he would rarely outright say it. You could usually just tell. This was, in her time, considered a weakness. Dreadlords were meant to be unfeeling, or to feel only contempt and anger. That Kalix felt comfortable being so brazen was...strangely, a relief.

Perhaps it was because of that usual conveyance of Kalix's thoughts through his body language that made it so surprising that he did start talking when Eva asked. She pursed her lips as he spoke; the thoughts he was processing were difficult ones to work through, even for someone much older than him. Questions of what is or isn't "fair," or what that even means, were philosophical musings that men and women far more qualified than herself hadn't fully worked out.

"Life rarely is fair, Kalix. It's merciless. On the path we walk as Dreadlords, death is something we have to contend with any time we step out into the world. We try to, we're meant to be strong...but there's always someone stronger." The proctor replied in measured, soft timbre. She reached across the desk and gently placed a reassuring hand on Kalix's. "The gods won't step in to save us...but if you forge the right bonds, we can rely on those we keep close to."

Eva pulled back, brows furrowing deeply with the weight of her guilt. Life for initiates was supposed to be different now; Evangeline had hoped that students like Kalix would be spared the nightmare of the graduation ceremony now that it had been purged from Academy doctrine, yet Kalix and the others of his class had been forced to participate in it all the same. That fact wrenched a pit in Eva's stomach.

"I...I'm sorry for what happened. I wish I would have seen the signs, that I could have done something, anything--" Eva bristled in her frustration before reminding herself that this was not about her. She squeezed Kalix's hand, tone becoming softer. "I should have been there. I should have been able to give you that mercy. I just never imagined those proctors--those traitors would have done something so monstrous."

 

[Liliana]

Liliana nodded at Alistair's words.

He was completely right of course. Anirian Politics had been dangerous before the Revolution, and now after it had only become more so. With the inclusion of dozens of new players, outside influences, and now these rebel Dreadlords it was all becoming a storm of chaos.

Yet she had spent the last ten years in such a storm.

The Academy was a different game all together, she knew that, but she had managed to thrive. She would do so again once she stepped out into the real world. Of that much she was confident. "Oh yes, a meal does sound delightful."

Though delivering it to the fools in the infirmary could be left to others.

She had a very important meeting to get to, one with a Guardsmen who hadn't yet realized it.

Flickering a smile to her two companions the three of them set off. One of the Black Guard slowly turned his head, watching as the Initiates made their way towards the exit of the courtyard. He said nothing, but the vigilance was hard not to notice.

Tension seemed to grip the Academy at every corner.

Trix | Alistair Krixus

 

[Alistair Krixus]

As the three walked to the cafeteria, Alistair could not help as his eyes trailed the guards that watched them. The Academy had always felt like a prison, but now they were actually adding guards too. The Black Guards were an elite group, Alistair knew that, but that did not mean that he would not fight if he had to. Did they think they would keep them in here like animals?

There was tension in the school, but where was it coming from? Obviously, their class had some, but that was normal. Was it the guards? Was it the nobles that he had noticed arriving earlier? It felt like the Academy was set to implode at any moment.

"Agreed, I did not realize how hungry I was until you mentioned it."

He would ignore it all for now, or at least seem to. Better to stay low than to make a big deal of anything.

The walk to the cafeteria did not take long, and surprisingly the place was pretty much empty besides the cook. It was like even the other initiates could sense something was off. They had barely even seen any students walking the halls.

Trix Liliana

 

[Davi]

Davi marched. Or, at least, he attempted to. He still felt like a weak lamb and every step was like he was trying to wade through sinking mud. He paused when he heard Ralene shout and held the door open for her, waiting only a second to see if Sable was coming too, before letting it fall shut behind him.

He took a much slower pace in the hallway where it was only Ral who could see the toil of the last 24 hours.

"I don't think I've ever heard the Academy this quiet," he murmured more to himself than to her. It was nice even though it spoke of just how serious yesterday's incident had been. Adjusting his bedsheet so it was more like a toga and less like a widowers cape he glanced across to his sole companion.

"You know, what Zael said? It's a load of shit. Don't let yourself feel bad for surviving. Guys always been a right dick."

 

[Zael Castomir]

As Ralene and Davi left, Zael slowly reached up to the edge of his infirmary bed. With a grunt and some effort in his weakened state, he began the arduous process of pulling himself back up and into it. He had gotten himself out of the bed (and Ingrid out of the infirmary and out of his face, thank Kress), the least he could do was get himself back in it under his own power.

Slowly. Surely. He did. He lay on his back and stared up at that hateful ceiling. He was aware of Sable's presence still.

The heat of the moment died down. Quickly. And without anger, there was only the welling of sorrow.

Zael felt the impulse to cry. He wanted to cry, actually wanted it, for the first time in his life. The Dreadlord half of him was disgusted. The better half was understanding.

Not in front of Sable. Not in front of anyone.

Zael flopped his arm over his eye. Lay there with a forced stoicism. Awful as it was, at least she was killed by someone who gave a damn. Someone who would always regret it. Someone who cared.

I'm sorry, Little Lilly...I'll never forget what they made me do. What they made you do.

 

[Samantha Black]

A glance fell Davi's way at his remark on the current stillness of the academy grounds. He was right, there was something about the aura permeating every hall and room that felt different. Felt off. Like a blasphemer had stepped on hallow ground. The entire citadel seemed to be holding its breath and the tension it left on the air was nearly palpable.

Ralene felt it in her bones as if she'd been saturated by it from the events of the previous day. She didn't remark on it. Couldn't even assemble a coherent thoughts on it. Between exhaustion and hunger and her mind trying to deal with everything that had happened, all she wanted to do was focus on the easy stuff.

Put a meal in her belly.
Get through the day.
Figure out what fate awaited her.
Sleep.
Get the fuck out of here and put all of this behind her for good.

The intensity of her need to do just that pervaded her every facet from her expression to the directness of her movements. Her pace had slowed to match Davi's but for certain if he wasn't walking alongside her Ral couldn't rightly say where her feet would have taken her. A second glance shifted to him, the harsh line of her furrowed brow eased, "I don't feel bad," she admitted, "it's in the past. Feeling bad about it won't change anything."

Her gaze briefly flickered over his makeshift wardrobe - another time she might've been amused. Probably would have teased him, too. Now? Ral's hands shifted to her waist to unhook her belt, one of the few things that hadn't been melted by Noel in the woods thanks in part to its wooden hardware. She pulled it free from the loops of her trousers and handed it over to him, "Here, you need this more than I do."

 

[Tobias Pirian]

This is her first year as a Proctor, correct?

A reasonable concern, if a predictable mention on the Weiroon woman's part. Lack of experience was potentially an issue, if Evangeline was actually at a lack in that regard. Tobias knew better, but not every noble of every house was privy to the inner workings of the Pirian family, especially before the Revolution.

Ronan also threw his proverbial hat into the ring. Again, not an unforeseen development. To be an archon was to be an avatar of ambition. In this blooming new Vel Anir, former Archon Gilram had already demonstrated that particular play for power. Controlling the development of the impressionable future generations of Dreadlords was likely going to be where the new locus of power lied.

Next, Elise took her turn once more, and once more Tobias' expression did not shift as she offered her, frankly, ludicrous suggestion. To wit, Percival had given Madame Lévesque constant headaches during his time at Aurel; what hope had she with children being fostered as super soldiers?...Then again, Percival was frequently quite the headache for most individuals.

"Miss D'Amour is hardly lacking in experience as either a teacher nor a Dreadlord. While she doesn't have a record as substantial as yours, Archon Ronan, a full decade hardly qualifies her as a 'pup,' I should think." He intoned steadily, careful not to hit an inflection that the archon might perceive as disrespectful. He simply spoke to the defense and advocacy of his protégé. "Evangeline spent quite a fair share of her time re-educating the improperly trained Dreadlord apprentices that came out of this academy and into Pirian service in the years prior to the Revolution. I recommended her for tenure as a proctor based on my knowledge of her capability as a teacher."

Tobias leaned forward, shifting his weight onto his cane as he weighed the options that had been presented.
"There are both merits and flaws in any choice we make in this regard. There is no guarantee that a mistake would spell certain doom for a Dreadlord succeeding as headmaster, but I tend to agree with Ronan: our affixing Madame Lévesque as headmistress would signal our loss of faith and trust in our own mightiest protectors. Fresh or 'independent' as she may be, I firmly believe that decision would be folly."

Jiya's suggestion seemed to be the most logical course of action for now. For one of the same generation as Elise and his own son, the Luana woman seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Besides, Elise was impatient in wanting this decision made immediately. That meant making her wait was likely the appropriate course of action, even if he knew that Evangeline was unlikely to even want for this.
"I tend to agree with Lady Luana. Let us defer to democracy."

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Being stepped around by Ralene...that admittedly hurt. As much as that line had resonated in Sable's brain for the last several weeks, he should have known better. Ralene would stick her neck out for most anyone, and Sable didn't so much as stick up for her when Zael accused her. He sighed. That was an apology and a talk that he would owe her later.

Sable would have tried to aid Zael back into bed, but he knew that his fellow's pride would have prevented him from even getting near him now. Zael was hurt and angry and he had every right to be. Sable just wished there was more he could do.

...Maybe there was.

"Zael...you know...Noel, she--well, she was furious as well. I don't think she'll ever forgive me for not charging Gilram myself, but..." He let out a weak, wistful chuckle. Zael probably knew as well as Sable did that he'd have been paste if he'd done that, but Noel had screamed at Sable all the same. He didn't blame her. "I know you're probably feeling the same as her. And truth be told, so am I. She wants to sign up with the Blackguard when we get out of here. Hunt down Gilram and the proctors that got away. What do you say?"

Sable sat down weightily next to Zael's bed. He was thankful that the scuffle that had ensued before at least had bought them a few minutes to talk.
"A bit of closure? A bit of revenge? We've earned that much at least, don't you think? At the very least..." Memories shot through Sable's mind anew, a dark picture show that he didn't care to witness on infinite repeat. "We owe it to the ones we couldn't save."

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael listened, though he didn't give much outward sign that he was. He couldn't risk removing his arm from over his eye. Couldn't risk looking into Sable's own. Not yet.

So he did not speak for a long time.

A long time.

Until the fires of anger became embers. Until the murk of sorrow receded, not in whole, but for a short reprieve.

At last his tongue wet his lips. Another second passed. And then he allowed for his arm to slide away from his face and he chanced looking at Sable, sitting there beside his bed.

"I shouldn't have said what I said." Zael bobbed his head toward the parting of the curtains. Where Ralene had left not so long ago, carrying with her the spiteful words he had spoken. He had let that fire meant to scorch Ingrid get out of control, let it burn not just Ralene but himself as well, and the light gloom of regret had come over him. "It wasn't right."

He shook his head, the pillow softly rustling with the movement. He knew his emotions weren't completely wrong, though. Misguided onto Ralene in that heated moment, yeah. But not completely wrong.

"I can't just do nothin. It ain't that easy. Davi's wrong. It does matter. I—we—owe a debt to the dead. And those Proctors who got away? They owe a debt to us. And we need to make them pay up."

Then his eye made firm contact with Sable's gaze.

"Noel has the right of it. Doubt the Blackguard will take me, but it don't matter if they say yes or no. Gilram? He's born and bred of the old way. He sells a sweet lie and his heart is black as death. He'll bring the old way back and then some." The blue of his eye shimmered with intensity. "Tell her I'm in. Better yet, ask her to come here and I'll tell her myself."

Sable Pembroke Noel

 

[Aisling Weiroon]

Aisling sat silently as Elise proposed installing Madame Lévesque. Years at sea negotiating with pirates had taught her a bit of keeping a decent poker face and the past few months dealing with nobles had refined such skills. However, it was difficult not to show at least some degree of shock at such a proposal.

"You shouldn't underestimate Madame Lévesque, Lord Pirian," Aisling said trying to conceal her doubt, "she's as tenacious as any ruffian I've ever encountered on the high seas."

Though in truth Aisling didn't see it either.

Dreadlords were a different breed. Even the initiates could be a tad... unpredictable. She'd learned not to tip her hand too quickly from both her relatives and Elise but the proposal wasn't one she was willing to immediately back. "I'm certain D'Amour is perfectly qualified. As is Archon Ronan. I agree that putting such a notion to a vote - after we've spoken with the candidates - is likely the best course of action."

The Weiroon noble paid little mind to the General who was becoming increasingly annoyed at the situation.

 

[Elise Virak]

"I acknowledge there is a difference between this school and any other, I'm not a fool." Elise had not attended the Academy of course, none of them had except for Ronan, but she knew the weight of a proper education.

"But lets be serious." She stated plainly. "These children are being brought up as-"

Before she could finish Garret Marr interrupted her, the General apparently entirely tiring of this entire process.

​

"Enough!" His voice boomed, his words suddenly gaining a firmness that hadn't quite been there before. He looked around the room, his stare as hard as steel. "Let me just remind those in this room that this is the Guards decision."

Marr slowly tapped his fingers against the table. "You may represent the former noble Houses, and some of you may sit in Parliament, but ultimately the Dreadlords fall under the purview of the Guard."

His eyes slowly fell over each of them. That had been the decision of the Republic. It might change in the future, but right now the only one who got to choose was Him. The one actually representing the Guard. "I cannot stop you from holding a vote."

"But, this place is too important to leave rudderless." Garret continued.

"You may gather support, you may push us into another other choice if you wish." He stared hard at Elise. "But since it seems none of you can agree right now, It doesn't really matter, does it?"

Elise bit back an envenomed repute, her lips thin as she stared at her distant cousin. "As always, the Guard will take action where its needed."

The General said plainly.

"If parliament wishes they can gather, change the law as it stands, and vote on a new headmaster, but in the interim I am taking the measure afforded to me." His stare leveled on all of them this time. "Major Thawne will be appointed as head of the Academy, Archon Ronan and Dreadlords D'amour and Nemene will advise him."

A pause carried in the room. "Are there any legal objections?"

Elise, pointedly, stayed silent.

 

[Musah]

Ronan once again had that far-away look in his eyes but was forced to come back to the conversation at the General's outburst. Leave it to the guard to ruin anything interesting happening around Vel Anir. It was ironic that the revolution had happened mainly because the royals and some nobles got a little too comfortable waiving around their power. It seemed like the Guard was beginning to get used to their newfound authority. It would be a shame if anything happened.

Either way, the fun was over. Ronan grumbled acknowledgment before moving to the door.

"Well then, if Thawne wishes to hear my...advice then he knows how to find me, or I will find him. To our other esteemed guests, it was a pleasure to speak with you all. I have been away for some time, but I think it is time to enjoy my home."

He offered polite nods to them all and began to leave.

 

[Davi]

Davi looked at the offered belt and realised that that was the first time any initiate in the Academy had offered him something without there being some hidden agenda behind it. They had been taught since they were young that nothing was free in this world and that there was no such thing as a gift. But what Ralene offered in that simple gesture showed that in just one year that teaching had fractured. Even if it was just a little bit.

What else had fractured? What more could fracture?

Davi took the belt with a slight smile and tied it about his waist.

"Thank you," another two words he had not uttered in these halls. "Now, let's get some food."

 

[Jiya Luana]

Jiya noted those who flinched when the General took command of the room once more. As for herself, she folded her hands in her lap beneath the table and listened with a polite and open expression. It was nice to see, in a way, that the Guard had a voice that was allowed to be heard. Oh it had been respected it before, perhaps even listened to on the odd occasion, but now it commanded and Jiya was relieved to find she did not find it a burr. But a relief. She did not wish to govern only to guide and help shape this new nation. Somewhere her brothers and sisters could grow up in happy. Somewhere she could be happy like she could not be when she was here in her youth.

She inclined her head politely and stood.

"Any help my House can offer, it would be our pleasure as always. I wish Major Thawne all the best and look forward to seeing the new direction he takes the school in," others were standing too. The meeting at an end. She had a mind to find both Jiya and Mas before she had to leave and ensure once more both were safe. With a final nod to those gathered she left.

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Sable was patient. He was all too familiar with anger. Rage had pushed him into some irrational positions before. It had seen his hands around Jaxan's throat when he was still alive. Fury had made him believe that he could stand up to Gilram back in those forsaken ruins. It was why Sable now sat with barely working vocal chords and wrists scarred by the manacles that had cut into his flesh.

Anger was quick to rise and slow to fall. So he waited. And waited. And when Zael finally spoke, Sable listened. He understood. He agreed.

"No, you shouldn't have. And I shouldn't have stayed quiet while you did," He said in turn, shame taking its course as he heard out Zael's own regret. A half smile bridged his face, however, as Zael's regret turned to determination, as he, too, spoke of what they owed the others. "But I'm glad we're on the same page."

Sable knew that glimmer in Zael's eye all too well. The fire of resolve. The proof of one's honor. Sable's smile widened.
"You and I, right now, our fires burn as one. Gilram and those wretches of former proctors will know our vengeance, and they'll pay their debt in blood." Sable stood as he made the vow, offering an outstretched hand for Zael to take. "I'm sure Noel will be pleased that we'll be joining her, one way or another."

 

[Zael Castomir]

His arm felt like a sack full of lead ingots, but Zael cobbled together what strength he had to reach up and clap a hand as firmly as he could presently manage to Sable's own. All of his resolution he channeled into that bond, the clasping of their hands in brotherhood to a common cause.

"You're goddamn right."

Gilram, like Zael said, sold a sweet lie. That sweetness was almost too good to resist. Freedom? Making one's own destiny, as Ever might say? Yeah. A nice promise, especially when put up against the Republic's own promise: we fucking own you, Dreadlord, you're on our leash no matter what stupid choice you make (even in Exile, you'd be killed if you tried to come back, and the Republic probably wouldn't even have the decency to nail your coffin shut).

But Gilram offered the same illusion of choice, didn't he? Say Gilram got everything he wanted—any takers that he wouldn't establish a truly tyrannical incarnation of the old way? Thought so. You got the freedom to do what he says is what you got, and the time would come when he wouldn't play so nice with disobedience and dereliction. Zael didn't yet know who all went with Gilram, but the only thing they did was switch out the pair of boots they preferred to lick.

"Bring Noel here, would you?" Zael said. He allowed for a little smile. "Let's make this official."

Sable Pembroke Noel

 

[Tobias Pirian]

Tobias raised a curious brow at Marr's outburst, but made no objections to anything he had to say, nor any other signs of perturbance. That seemed to draw this little gathering to a succinct conclusion.
"No objections, General. House Pirian, too, will do its best to collaborate and support Vel Anir's future, as it always has."
Without another word, Tobias pushed upon his cane and rose from his seat, then vacated the office alongside his peers.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Tension fizzled and popped, the silence between the two proud women coming to a crescendo as both Marianne and Everleigh stared straight into the other’s eyes. Everleigh had read once that felines were ambush predators, and the best way to protect yourself from their sharp claws and teeth was to stare them straight in their eyes. For each dragging second, the only thing Everleigh saw was blue iris of the proctor she hated most.

Proctor Palahniuk, unaware of the game that the two were playing, cleared his throat once. Neither looked away and so he did it again, shifting a bit in his seat and picking up the papers he had previously been looking at.

“Just explain why,” he began after a second or two more of unbearable silence. Everleigh broke eye contact, looking down at her hands as she made sure to be careful with her thoughts.

“I’ve been punished severely: beaten, humiliated, shamed, defiled, brutalized— you think I care if I thought about making your son eat shit? How’d I get that idea? Who gave me that thought? Who starved me for years, who shoved my head into shit, piss, fucking rotting animal guts and FORCED me to EAT—“

“That’s enough. You don’t need to remind me,” Proctor Marianne interjected with a wave of her hand as if there was a bad smell in the air. “Instead you should be thanking me. You took down Proctor Malaneaux. Everything I did to you made you stronger, I am the one who ensured you have a future as a second-level, maybe even a first. I made you: my perfect prized fighter. You don’t need anyone but yourself.”

“But that’s the thing.” Everleigh wasn’t sure if Marianne was complimenting her or complimenting herself, but the words of praise dimmed immensely. “I’ve always had to be on my own, because when I was with others I was just an accessory. Poison for their weapons, nothing more. In War Games, I was certain that my teammates would just want me to take a supporting role, maybe a distraction.” She thought back to Zael, but also Sieglilly. She could remember the smell of burning human flesh.

“I went to Zael’s side because there’s no two people I believe in more. No two people can take on the world like Zael and I can. No two people are stronger, smarter, more capable than us— together.”

“You believe that.” Marianne said, a statement.

“With every fiber of my being.” Everleigh agreed. “I won’t let Zael die, as long as I’m there I’ll make sure he’s safe…. My only regret yesterday was not joining his side sooner. I’ll never let my inaction hurt Zael again.” She could tell by the glint in the blonde’s eyes that she was thinking, debating over Everleigh’s spoken answer and the secret ones deep in her mind. A minute passed, exactly sixty seconds before Marianne spoke again.

“We’ve lost a lot of proctors, could even lose more. Seeing as Proctor Malaneaux is dead, due to you, and also considering I will be going on maternity leave in seven months, I have a proposition.” Everleigh raised a dark brow. A proposition? “The academy needs proctor’s, and while you’re still quite green on teaching, I think under my name you could be a substitute.”

“Substitute? For a proctor? For a day?”

“Think of it more as… for a whole year. A resident substitute. You’ll live here, teaching alongside me, and I’m sure you’ll have to go on a few missions overseeing the younger classes— maybe even some solo missions on your own or with other dreadlords. The details are a bit hazy, nothing has officially been decided but both Proctor Palahniuk and I will put in your name. The chances of you being chosen are quite high.”

“Okay, but I was hoping to go into the guard and maybe…”

“Go North? With Zael?” Marianne smiled a knowing smile. “You’ll still be in the guard. Just not with Zael. He doesn’t really have the aptitude for teaching, the last thing we need is a dozen or more kids like him running amok Academy grounds. Once you start teaching you’ll agree with that statement, I’m sure.” Everleigh looked at Proctor Palahniuk, then back at Marianne. “We’re serious, Evie. We want you here, and others will agree once we tell your answer. Right now, teamwork is all the rage.”

“Do I need to respond now?” Everleigh asked, thinking of Zael. The plan that she had quite forcefully set before them even though he had never outright agreed to it. Mostly because she had never outright said it to Zael, never outright asked him. She never minded walking two steps behind him, because then it seemed like it was by chance that she was there. But directly asking him was like directly asking to be by his side, and that was something she still couldn’t do.

“How about… you give us an answer this time tomorrow. If it’s yes, I want to start preparing you for a couple of, well, I guess we can call them upgrades. If not, you’ll need to start packing. Think it over. Consider what you want, but Evie, maybe also consider what is needed of you— and who needs you more.” Everleigh nodded her head once.

“May I leave?”

“Sure.” Everleigh stood up, turned around and began walking to the door. When her hand touched the handle, Marianne spoke up again. “If you’re off to see Zael, maybe stop by the kitchen and grab an apple. Broth, rice, apples and tea when someone is recovering, alright?” The poison eater nodded her head, glad that the proctors couldn’t see her flush. Kress, hiding her thoughts would be such a pain once again.

 

[Kalix]

Kalix felt a mixture of emotions from Evangeline’s words. Of course he knew life wasn’t fair! Look at him! Look at his magic! Sure, he couldn’t read or do mathematics right, couldn’t remember the names of important generals or remember what years wars took place. But when it came to fighting, when it came to killing, when it came to controlling his magic— that was natural talent! Something that was there when he was born, something that he never had to ever think about.

A part of him wanted to yell at her, tell her to shut up when she apologized, tell her to shove it when she said she wasn’t there to protect him. Kalix didn’t need protecting! What dreadlord needed protection? The shitty fourth and third levels? Kalix didn’t need anyone’s help, he would never reduce himself to something so weak and pathetic as asking for help when it came to fighting.

The anger within him quelled the moment the fair-haired proctor squeezed her cool hand onto his much larger one. While her apology and words angered him, it almost seemed like a lecture at one point but perhaps that was the proctor inside gear, Kalix couldn’t deny that a bit of physicality was comforting.

And Evangeline’s words did have some truth. It was through Alistair’s good graces that Kalix ever had a chance of survival.

So instead of yelling and raging like his initial response, Kalix instead shrugged. He waited awhile, wanting to decompress as much anger as he could.

“What mercy would you have given me?” He asked, rather sincerely.

Evangeline

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Sable gave a hearty nod and grin to Zael. Once more they would both have purpose. His new brother's zeal stirred a passion within Sable that he'd not felt in some time. Coals stoked from a fire he'd thought buried by cynicism. Yes...yes! He, Zael, and Noel would carve a new path towards righteousness, towards heroism. Things would be made as they should be!

"I'll fetch her at once!" He exclaimed, and standing up to his full height, he went to track down Noel . All that was needed was her blessing, surely...

 

[Noel]

She'd just finished speaking with Commander Ephraim when Sable caught her. It was a shame too, a few more seconds and she'd have been in the dormitory building and safely tucked away in her room to rest up.

But, it couldn't be helped, and after his explanation she felt a new found appreciation for the firebrand that she'd previously dismissed as an arrogant showboat.

Once in the infirmary she took a look at the battered body of the blonde initiate who, alongside Henk, had thrown their last trial into a state of utter chaos. He had clearly been on the mend but for a guy who probably should've died he looked alright, she supposed.

"You look like shit."

It was the first thing she could really think to say after she arrived. The only honest thing anyway.

After a moment she uncrossed her arms and glanced at both Sable and Zael. Then, her tone went serious, "it's pretty simple. I intend to see Gilram dead. I intend to bring back our wayward classmates." Her lips scrunched and eyes narrowed as she added, "alive and unharmed."

Perhaps the republic would simply march the defectors to the gallows but at least that would have some semblance of justice. If she were a betting woman though she surmised that they'd face prison sentences or rehabilitation. Dreadlords were far too valuable to simply slaughter... unless Gilram had them commit some sort of...

"The Stalkers will just gather intel. The main Guardsmen will likely be used defensively here-and-there. Maybe the Vestigare are called in once the ones we bring back stand trial." She paused for a moment to collect herself before proceeding, "they probably won't let many Dreadlords near this. For fear of more defections. But what they might do," she caught Zael's one good eye and paused for a final time.

This time her voice went from its usual monotone and calculated pattern to one of passion. With a hint of fury. "They might let Dreadlords attached to the Black Guard assist."

There was no chance any Dreadlord would be permitted to wear the magical nullifying armor of the Black Guard but it was that same armor that would make the Black Guard the most likely unit to hunt the defectors. It was their armor that made it likely to actually work with Dreadlords in the struggle against Gilram.

 

[Zael Castomir]

Sable brought Noel, and she was about as tender as any of the lovely infirmary nurses and healers. But Zael appreciated the honesty nonetheless. Even had a little laugh over it when she said it—something to get his mind off of Ralene and...Sieg. He looked like shit and felt like the same.

He listened. Yeah, from what he heard while fading in and out back in the Blackwood, she was deadset on seeing Gilram put into the ground alright. A tall order, but it lent itself to Zael's philosophy on fighting, to always strive to fight someone bigger than yourself—and they didn't come any bigger than an Archon. Admittedly, he was a bit iffy on bringing back their wayward classmates. Some of them, sure, that was an easy sell by Zael's reckoning (of course, whether they would even had the slightest sliver of will to return or would fight toe-and-nail to keep their independence was another story). Some of them, like Bull, fuck no. This was also putting aside the notion of whether or not they would even have the luxury of taking their rogue classmates alive—fights didn't always go the way you wanted them to go.

Zael would know.

But, at least, they could try. They could try.

She continued on all the way to the subject of the Black Guard.

"Doesn't matter to me what the Republic might let us do. I ain't askin anyone's permission," Zael said, resolute. The Republic already failed them, so as far as Zael was concerned, they didn't get a say in this. "Told Sable, the Black Guard might take me, but probably not. However it shakes out, I'm goin after him, no matter how I gotta do it."

He let out a satisfied sigh. Looked up to Sable then.

"At least Proctor Kimble's dead. That's one down."

Sable Pembroke Noel

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen sat in the privy room of the girls' dormitory. All doors were mandated to be open everywhere throughout the dorms save for the privy rooms, and even then there was a pair of Black Guards stationed right outside, likely ready to bang on the door if they thought she was taking too long.

A minor distraction from it all: she was having her womanly flow, and she held a hand over her stomach in a vain attempt to quell the cramps. Normally it wasn't so bad. Was it because of stress? Maybe, but it should have been awful like this ever since she arrived in the Academy. Celestialist texts called a woman's flow the "suffering of Astra" for the sacrifice and agony of her departure from Arethil and into the stars—was that true? If it was the lot of women to bear this pain every month, did boys, then, have some equivalent pain of their own? If so, the brotherhood of boys held that secret quite close to the chest and apparently told no one of the fairer sex. Was there...a spell? That helped with this? There were certain potions, yes, Mother had that talk with her years ago, but what of a spell? Furthermore, if there was such a spell, how would she even begin to approach asking, say, Proctor D'Amour about one? Such an embarrassing and delicate topic!

Try as she might, Kristen found that even this aching distraction couldn't guard her mind forever from what had happened.

Her worst fear.

Come true.

Kristen stood from the privy. Cleaned herself up. Pulled up her pants and put on her fatigue jacket again. She left the privy room and the Black Guards, like hawks, watched her go down the hall.

By Aionus, how could this have happened? How? The Republic had said that the Academy was going to be different. They specifically said that graduation was going to be different (and there were plenty of testimonies to this from those who were present at the similar lockdown following the Revolution). Father himself even assured her that things were going to be different (yet did he even know what Dreadlords had to do in order to graduate under the old way?). And now this. And now this. Kristen wasn't even entirely sure who was alive and who was dead—the only person from her erstwhile class that she had actually seen before the lockdown was Noel.

But the Black Guard, though intimidating and emanating stern order by their very presence, did not seem to be restricting movement about the Academy, even if a good many Initiates simply preferred to stay in their open door rooms.

Kristen decided to head down to the courtyard, to the sparring arenas, all the familiar places Initiates gathered. See with her own eyes who was here...and who was not. She began to walk down the stairs in the female dorm for this purpose.

 

[Caeso Diemut]

Caeso Diemut was in the main courtyard, and elsewhere in the same locale were Alistair, Trix, and Liliana just then departing for the dining hall. The Black Guard were everywhere, but he cared not one jot or tittle for their presence. What were they now, these supposedly fearsome warriors, with a master as meek as the Republic?

Caeso was leaning casually against one of the few trees decorating the courtyard. Around him, three Initiates, two from his own class—Gosham and Ambrosie—and one from the class just behind his—Leonard. Varied were their expressions as they listened to him put to voice his own thoughts without reservation on this whole affair.

"What great lamenting, permeating through the deafening silence, do we have upon this familiar ground today. Pitiful. Who here can truly say that they are surprised by what has transpired? Who shall be the first fool to raise his hand and declare that he did not know such a thing awaited him at the end of the Academy road? Have we not all been preparing for this since the moment we first arrived here?"

Less so than addressing any of the three directly or as a group, Caeso was speaking aloud yet just so happened to have an audience.

"The 'new age' of the Republic." He scoffed. "Dispense with it. They cannot even institute their own rules correctly. Turn your attention, your passions, to what has come before you, to the undeniable totality of our very history. I ask: what separates Dreadlords from the effete mages of the College in Elbion or elsewhere? It is we who, at least in days past, truly foster strength. There are no half-measures in Vel Anir. Either you emerge from the bloody crucible of the Academy, prepared with all certainty for the inevitability of war, or you do not. Meanwhile, in Elbion, for all their vaunted magical prowess, even their mightiest Maesters could do nothing against the incursion of the dragon Drakormir. Indeed, they like a damsel needed to be saved from their distress by the Emperor Gerra of all people. If Drakormir had made the mistake of coming to Vel Anir instead? Ha, there would not be enough of the beast to go around, and gladly would we Dreadlords ask for seconds."

Now he actually passed his eyes over Gosham, Ambrosie, and Leonard.

"Let it be known: only the weak have anything to fear from the rite of graduation which has been the cornerstone of endless success for generations upon generations of Dreadlords. Secure your strength, and pay no heed to hollow promises from the Republic."