#Depth of Extinction

[carefulfears]

one thing that stands out to me about the IVF arc is the way that, for as much as i make fun of her for asking her coworker if she can have his babies, scully asking mulder to be involved in the biggest process of her life (and the most important thing in the rest of her life) is such a healing and reverent experience. like he says “i’m absolutely flattered,” but it’s so much more than that. it’s like…spending your whole life feeling like you should’ve died at age twelve and then being told someone just wants more of you, more and more and more, in everything.

[thoughtlessarse]

The carbonate compensation depth — a zone where high pressure and low temperature creates conditions so acidic it dissolves shell and skeleton — could make up half of the global ocean by the end of the century. In the deepest parts of the ocean, below 13,100 feet (4,000 metres), the combination of high pressure and low temperature creates conditions that dissolve calcium carbonate, the material marine animals use to make their shells. This zone is known as the carbonate compensation depth — and it is expanding. This contrasts with the widely discussed ocean acidification of surface waters due to the ocean absorbing carbon dioxide from the burning of fossil fuels. But the two are linked: because of rising concentrations of carbon dioxide in the ocean, its pH is decreasing (becoming more acidic), and the deep-sea area in which calcium carbonate dissolves is growing, from the seafloor up. The transition zone within which calcium carbonate increasingly becomes chemically unstable and begins to dissolve is called the lysocline. Because the ocean seabed is relatively flat, even a rise of the lysocline by a few metres can rapidly lead to large under-saturated (acidic) areas. -Our research showed this zone has already risen by nearly 100 metres since pre-industrial times and will likely rise further by several hundreds of metres this century. Millions of square kilometres of ocean floor will potentially undergo a rapid transition whereby calcareous sediment will become chemically unstable and dissolve.

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[gammija]

@a-mag-a-day Follow-up to yesterday's poll:

My previous poll is still open for a few hours, if you want to share your interpretation of yesterday's mysterious statement benefactor. And of course, if you've got an idea that couldn't fit in the polls, share it!

[randomfoggytiger]

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part VIII): Tena, Amor Fati, and Who's the Daddy

Tena's absence heavily marks Mulder's life post-Demons, stretching through the end of S4 and into all of S5 and S6. The incredibly close and traumatized bond she's shared with her son is shattered after his confrontation; and she reacts to this new schism like she has every other trauma in her life: denial, outrageous anger, and silent avoidance. This neglect contributes to Mulder's apathetic nihilism after Scully's recovery, slowly (and unknowingly for him) inserting a wedge in his and Scully's relationship that Diana Fowley tries to split wide open. Thankfully, Mulder is able to recover ground in S6; but the effects of her distance linger, leading up to her reemergence in The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati.

The Aftermath of Demons

During Gethsemane-Redux II, Mulder has no emotional support outside of Scully like he had before: in End Game, he had his mother to tuck in. In The Blessing Way and Paper Hearts, Tena cooed at him and rewarded his visits with love and affection (she started to do so in Demons; but his confrontation and accusations turned her spigot of affection off.) When Mulder hits his lowest, his mind has already vetoed Tena as a source of support, having no one to stand between himself and his gun other than the few days or weeks Scully has left on this earth (not a powerful motivator.)

He “commits suicide” and Scully is called in to identify his body-- Tena never comes, never identifies, never approaches the situation at all. We’re not given any information on how she’s processing the news-- aggrieved and holed up, heartbroken, at home like Anasazi-The Blessing Way; or emotionally numb and ignoring any and all calls or news about her son-- but it’s safe to say that’s a pretty telling and horrific to do to your own child, especially if the fault is all of your own making. 

During all of the emotional upheaval of Redux II-- CSM producing Samantha for her brother, laying out a tasty proposition for him, then getting shot while Mulder exposes Raush’s connections with the FBI higher-ups, and (of course) losing Scully then almost saving her then losing her again then miraculously witnessing her recovery-- he does not once mention his mother, and she does not once check up on him. It’s a repeat of his relationship with his father, one he didn’t see happening with his emotionally-available mother. 

During S5, Tena continues to be absent from Mulder’s life. It’s really a melancholy season: Tena is gone, leaving Mulder to solely rely on a partner whose very existence is tied to a mind-controlling chip in her neck. Not only that, but he also has to watch Scully's life fall apart at the hands of the men his father worked with: men who extracted her ova, and callously used it to create a hybrids-daughter who can’t survive without being treated like a lab rat every day of her lives. Every action he takes in S5 leads to a swift downfall; and Scully has to salvage the two of them constantly from his repeated mistakes and stubborn resistance to her gut instincts about aliens and God. By the end of the season, both of them are burnt out-- literally, when CSM destroys their office.

Again, his mother remains absent and unresponsive.

An important note: Scully uses his mother (and sister) to call back Mulder from the brink in Kitsunegari, stalling off his shooting rampage long enough to save both of them and stop Linda Bowman.

In FTF, Tena does NOT appear to support her son when he is hospitalized for a gunshot wound, leaving him to the care of his Three Stooges' friends and his boss. When he dips to Antarctica, she doesn’t seem to worry or care that her son has gone MIA ; or even worry about any additional bodily traumas and recovery time he has stacked on his plate. There is no response from what would have been a second hospital call in as many days.

During S6, Tena does not appear ONCE. Mulder has learned from Redux II onward that he has been effectively cut from her life; and has, by this point, grown used to her distance. Mulder doesn’t seek her out during his "toilet brush" detail at the hands of Kersh; instead, pouring all of his energy solely into Scully. It’s the start of a deeper, more human connection to Scully than he had been able to form previously;

and possibly could have allowed a more nuanced relationship with his own mother as well-- an upgrade to their usual parentification-alienation dynamic they’d cultivated. But none of that happens. 

Another important note: Scully again refers to Tena in The Unnatural, asking if his mother had ever told him to go outside and play. The only two mentions across S5 and S6 have come from Scully to Mulder, proving she is that grounding, "normal" influence between tractor beams and familial, everyday life.

Then Mulder’s brain explodes and his physical abilities implode and all around him goes nuts during Biogenesis and The Sixth Extinction. 

The Sixth Extinction-Amor Fati

The episode begins on Mulder’s blissfully peaceful face-- one we hardly ever see-- as he sits on a beach observing a family and their little son. As the boy grows up, Mulder passively follows his adventures, eventually shifting to active participation after extracting himself from his brain's induced, dreamlike state.

(Side note: There’s some speculation about the boy-- "Is he William because the writers were already planning for Requiem’s plot twist?", etc. I believe he’s a manifestation of Mulder’s inner, childish drive for the Truth. He yells at Mulder “You were supposed to help me!” while destroying the UFO sandcastle, a predecessor to dream-Scully yelling at him to “Get up and fight” while the aliens were invading at his doorstep. It’s that inner part of himself that gets lost in the wash of apathy he’s prone to; and which Scully always ignites and pulls him out of-- Little Green Men, Anasazi, One Son, etc.) 

In the present, Mulder’s doctor gives his prognosis to Tena Mulder. This is the first we’ve seen of her since Demons; and she doesn’t seem pleased to be put in this position. 

She loves her son, she does-- but she’s avoided his sick beds and injuries since his confrontation, blinding herself to the truth: he hadn’t come to cudgel her with the past (like CSM did in Talitha Cumi), and it was deeply unfair and cruel of her to smear him with that greasy label and cast him from her life. She had treated Mulder like her ex-husband; and used him, like Bill Mulder, as the strawman for all of the past’s wrongs, including her own. 

“Enough!” she yells at the doctor. 

“There’s only so much bluntness a mother can take.” 

Tena looks down and away, a bitter undercurrent to her grief. And while this applies to this specific moment, it also harkens back to the fracturing conversation in Demons and other breaking shouting matches in the past. 

Again, Tena demonstrates her main reaction to unavoidable stress is anger, like her son (see here for Demons and here for Talitha Cumi.) She does not wilt: she commands and screams. 

She’s already all in black, mourning her son while desperately hoping he’ll pull through. It’s part of their dichotomous relationship: 

Mulder was dead to her for over a year now, hypothetically mourned and buried; but now he’s very much alive and truly dying. 

She cuts off the doctor’s conciliatory remarks: “All you do is sedate him.”

Turning to her son, she mourns, “You’re turning him… into a zombie.” 

The former Mrs. Mulder reaches out to touch her son's face--

but she halts her movements,

either out of guilt for trying to connect now or out of some misguided sense of self-denial. She turns her gesture into a utility, moving his face toward her to look for a sign of recognition--

and, though his eyes drift towards her--

they've listlessly moved, meaning nothing.

“I know you can hear me, Fox,” she insists. 

“Can you give me a sign?”

This is incredibly telling: Tena firmly believes their relationship is so strong that Mulder would be able to pull himself from the brink to satisfy any of her pleas. And he would have if he'd been able to-- always will for those he loves (Scully says this directly to Diana’s face later this episode when confronting her in the hallway.)

It’s here that Tena realizes her son is truly beyond all help, medical and personal. There is only one option left: one she hoped to avoid. 

Mulder responds internally-- “I can hear you, Mom”-- without realizing his words are trapped in his mind.

Tena has given up hope; and turns to leave-- “Fox…. I love you, my darling boy”-- resigning herself to her next task: calling in smokey reinforcements of the hated ex-lover kind.

Mulder can hear and it makes him desperate for her not to leave. This is the first time in years he has heard her say she loves him; and he can’t hug her or even keep her by his side. It breaks him, and his internal begging escalates to screaming. 

It’s here when Mulder’s daydreams mesh with reality as CSM begins invading his thoughts (Note: His response to CSM is intriguing: “I could always hear you. Even when my mind is jammed with a thousand voices, I can hear you like a snake hissing underneath.”) But his mother’s involvement is not quite over. 

After Mulder’s disappearance, security camera footage is combed through, showing Tena directly involved in signing out her son to CSM (while his men spraypainted the cameras to avoid detection-- 

only, they’re really bad at it, ineffectively spraying all of the cameras and catching Tena and their boss’s arm in the process.)

Thus ends Tena's involvement in this episode.

Biological Father? 

An important aside is the biological father question; and it’s necessary to pause here to reflect more deeply on this issue. 

It’s Amor Fati that takes another firm stance on the paternity issue, stating clearly and concisely that Carl Spender is Fox Mulder’s father, with CSM himself as well as side characters acknowledging this as irrefutable fact (Diana Fowley included.) This becomes canon from now on; however, in previous episodes the issue of paternity was only ever mildly called into question and placed firmly on Samantha’s shoulders: she was the lovechild of Tena and CSM, which is why he spirited her away after her abduction, never returned her, and kept her picture with him wherever he went (established in Redux II; and reaffirmed the rest of S5 and S6. Another post for another day.) In fact, it was firmly established that Fox Mulder was not CSM’s son; and was set up as the foil for Jeffrey Spender so that he could become greater than his rival (Mulder having disappointed and frustrated CSM and the powers that be by not embracing their ideology ultimately) in S5 and S6.   

Can these two perspectives-- both held by the same character that had previously had the same conviction for the opposite viewpoint but changed it suddenly and (seemingly) randomly without any new information on the topic, unlike any other issue he dealt with previously in canon that had involved him directly or indirectly-- be reconciled? Or is it the writers’ fault?

Well, of course it’s the writers’ fault. But let’s examine the two theories: 

#1. Bill Mulder is Fox Mulder’s biological father.

This holds up because it was implied he didn’t meet Carl Spender until they bunked together at the army base around a year after Fox Mulder was born. They were friendly enough for Bill to brag about his son’s first word-- “J.F.K.”-- but not enough for Carl to have known about the finer details of Bill’s family’s life (names, ages, etc.) Bill and Tena were married ten months before Mulder was born, meaning he was either a honeymoon baby or a very late out-of-wedlock baby. Regardless, that leaves no wiggle room for a paternity question. EXCEPT Travelers is set in the 50s, previous to the Mulders’ marriage in the early 60s, and Bill is sporting a wedding ring and recruited out of the army. Because of that hiccup in the timeline, it lends more credence to the show bible's interpretation (meaning: there was no show bible-- Chris Carter and his show runners were proud of that fact); or Bill, like his son, just likes to wear wedding rings without being married. 

#2. CSM is Fox Mulder’s biological father.

Samantha is already established to have been his daughter (with strong confirmation in Demons alone; but continual proof since Redux II), so it wouldn’t change his abduction reason. But if this were true, why did he leave Mulder to be raised by a broken home where he would get less access to his son-- especially after the divorce-- and thus have less control? It was only by luck that Mulder decided to join the FBI when he was recruited out of school, whereas Jeffrey Spender had been (essentially) pushed and nudged since childhood into the FBI. If Mulder had decided against recruiting, all of CSM’s-- supposedly-- long-term plans for his son would have been for naught. And since he places so much time and energy cultivating Mulder’s interests and-- supposedly-- checkmating his moves left and right to engineer him down to the office and into the very hands of the Conspirators so that one day he might join (another post for another day), all he had to do was raise him, show him the bounties in store for him with the Syndicate, and groom him into being an intellectual mastermind on par with the best thinkers the Consortium has to offer.

On top of all that, he’d have to have known Tena without Bill knowing he knew Tena; and Tena would have had to manipulate Bill into marriage to cover up her mistake. Which would mean she is projecting a lot of anger onto Bill that belongs squarely on her own shoulders: her own children’s futures being related to this man and his dark secrets, involving herself in this mess through this man BEFORE her husband had even been recruited by this shadow group; tying herself forever to the darkness of the Conspiracy before her children were even born and she was even married. In which case: BILL was the unwitting victim, being recruited by CSM and co. to keep Tena close to her lover; and he was involved in something WAY over his head before he could even comprehend it. That could easily align with his perspective in Piper Maru and Travelers; BUT it wouldn’t align with his own self-loathing and distance, as he placed full responsibility on himself and tried to shield Tena from his work as much as possible. And it would place a more treacherous angle on Tena: woman who seduced the wrong man, covered up her mistake through marriage, kept going back to her mistake, volunteered her husband to his cause to keep Spender close and in her life, and eventually threw all blame onto Bill’s unwitting lap when CSM came to collect his dues. 

While this is a great and more sinister reading, it doesn’t match up with her actions in the series:

her hatred of Spender at her 4th of July party in Two Fathers’ flashback; her hatred of him in Mulder’s Demons flashback; her hatred and fear of CSM in Talitha Cumi; and, more importantly, CSM’s reactions to her throughout the entire series. He's lovesick, but also vindictive: if Tena’s wrath weren't righteous and justified, Carl Spender would have rubbed her faults in her face and threatened to expose her to her son to keep her in line. He did none of these things; and respected her and her actions enough never to threaten or harm her.

So, ultimately: no, I don’t believe there is the wherewithal to manufacture a scenario where Tena and CSM were lover-like embracing throughout the years (too much intent and cunning involved, as well as fierce loathing from her side even before her children were abducted and the Mulder family fell apart.) No, there is no canonical weight for CSM to assume Fox Mulder is his son pre-The Sixth Extinction (as stated and shown multiple times.) No, there is no evidence to overturn his conviction that Jeffrey was his only son. No, there is not a shred of evidence to prove he and Tena Mulder had even MET prior to the Mulders’ marriage (not even in the messed up timeline of Travelers.) So no, I do not believe he is Fox Mulder’s biological father. 

OR-- and this requires stretching of the brain so vast that Mulder would have collapsed in a matter of seconds instead of days-- Tena met CSM once randomly before she married; neither thought anything of it; she becomes pregnant, assumes or passes off the baby as Bill's; and Spender doesn't remember the incident at all until he sees her picture in the barracks (CSM's flashback episode), carrying his suspicions with him from that point onward. Then Tena and he met again later, had another brief affair; and he said something she disliked and hated him ever since, keeping him away from her kids and angrily telling Bill off every time he let his friend into the family home. It would explain the long look at Tena's photo in the barracks. ...But, again, this is WILD conjecture that is a headcanon that really shouldn't be except the writers doubled down on the CSM paternity question. (AH, WELL.)

I liken this debate to a loose quote that I heard sometime while watching the show (do not quote me on this): If you repeat it often enough, a lie becomes the Truth. All evidence points to CSM not being Fox Mulder’s biological father; but everyone-- the show’s writers included-- repeat that he is; and now it’s become a truth of its own. You decide which side has more merit~. 

In Summary

Tena Mulder is back, having no one else there to make medical decisions for her son. Seeing him so vulnerable breaks down that resistant wall she’d built up since Demons. Tena sees Mulder has no hope without the enemy's help; so she signs him over to CSM.

Also: there is more evidence against CSM being Mulder’s biological dad than for it. It all comes down which side of the discussion you deem more meritable.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[fox-teeth]

poppin the TINIEST bottle because I’m finally done with this comic…the most complex one I’ve made yet!!

[david-watts]

whilst I think the type of blogger is overly hated as eventually any subculture on this site will come to be I will personally run over every single yankee rot decay god is in a puddle in an abandoned car park type who kins the thylacine and talks about how 'it's so sad how we drove them to extinction' who's we

[garlic-sauc3]

🦖 Favorite extinct animal?

jaws the shark

[prussianbluepuppy]

Would you like to find out what you would be the god of? Take my new uqiz to find out

[acr3ss-the-cosmos]

Y.ukong's parents are only mentioned once in one of her express visitor dialogues but that's not going to stop me from making up backstories for them

[ninibeingdelulu]

Calmness ✧

Plot: Ken and you have a real daughter.

A/N: kinda short :(

Soft evening light filtered through the den, casting everything in that warm, nostalgic glow you'd come to associate with pure contentment over these past few blissful years together.

Ken's attention remained transfixed on that vintage baseball game rerun flickering across the flatscreen.

Body settled deep into those overstuffed couch cushions with one leg casually crossed over the other in peak middle-aged dad repose.

But it was the tiny, swaddled bundle cradled against his barrel chest that held your rapt fascination from the archway.

Soaking in every precious detail of their serene tableau with an overflow of maternal adoration swelling in your breast.

At just three months old, your newborn daughter remained utterly oblivious to her surroundings - cherubic features smoothed into perfect repose while bronzed lashes fanned over porcelain cheeks.

One little fist tucked up beneath her chin while the other tiny starfish hand rested atop Ken's broad pec, rising and falling with each of his steady rumbles.

Her doting father absently brushed the pad of his thumb in soothing circles over the minuscule knuckles. Never once taking those transfixed mahogany pools off your slumbering miracle's face as if committing every microscopic shift to eternal memory.

That singular worshipful reverie you'd immediately recognized and fallen hopelessly in love with all over again these past few weeks.

The exact same soul-deep look Ken once bestowed solely upon the orphaned kaiju he'd raised before watching her depart for greener pastures - now magnified tenfold through his unbreakable connection to your shared offspring.

A permanent reminder of the family you created together from that cosmic loneliness.

"She's not at all like Emi was , is she?" You murmured, footsteps barely audible across the plush carpet until dropping onto the open cushion space beside him.

Ken responded with only a low rumbling hum from his broad chest while immediately unfurling that sheltering arm around your shoulders.

Cocooning you into his solid, familiar warmth until your cheek smooshed comfortably against the firmness of his shoulder. Close enough to press a wandering caress across your tiny miracle's silken crown.

"No - she's not. She's ours." A meaningful pause preceded Ken's soft, gravelly rasp ghosting across your hairline. "Our daughter...our real baby that you gave me, sweetheart. One I'll guard with my life the same way I do for you always."

Melting into the tender, possessive squeeze encircling your trim waist, you craned your chin up against his collarbone to receive that lingering brush over your puckered lips.

Ken's soulful gaze locked onto yours - swimming depths of protective ferocity tamed only through utter reverence for the two solitary souls anchoring his universe now.

The unspoken mantra of doing anything to safeguard the loves of his life until extinction itself.

"You've already given me more than enough happiness to last a trillion lifetimes, babe. Thank you," he whispered hoarsely against your skin.

"For being everything I could've dreamed during those cold, empty decades..."

You stifled the tiny sniffle by reclaiming his questing mouth in a searing, needful communion - conveying through satin caresses alone just how desperately you treasured this man and the profound sanctuary of family he'd bestowed upon you.

Your Ultraman, protector, partner, and living legacy of insurmountable love all in one. Cradling you both to his gallant hero's heart for eternity.

[girasois]

words for users !

ideias de palavras aleatórias para ajudar você a criar seu próprio user;

random ideas of words to help you to create your own user.

core -> aesthetic core

vlog -> daily videos

logs -> daily facts

mp3 -> audio file format

m4p -> apple audio file format

mp4 -> video file format

txt -> text format

jpeg -> image file format

jpg -> image file format

png -> image file format

gif -> animated file format

raw -> uncompressed file format

zip -> compressed archive file format

rar -> compressed archive file format

web -> internet file format

doc -> document file

pdf -> document file

vinyl -> phonograph record

film -> motion picture; photography

user -> person who utilizes a computer or network service

i2 -> "keeping it real"

self -> a person's essential being

itself -> a person's essential being

priv -> private

luv -> love's short form

tale -> a fictitious or true narrative or story

archive -> to place or store (something) in an archive

list -> connected items

tier -> a type of hierarchy

talk -> speak in order to express something

chat -> to have a conversation

post -> to announce or publish something

zone -> a subject to particular restrictions

vie -> life in french

tie -> to form a knot or bow in

on/online -> connected to a network

byte -> a group of binary digits 

bits -> a small piece, part, or quantity of something

ram -> hardware in a computing device

8bit -> computer term used to designate either color depth

pixel -> a minute area of illumination on a display screen

data -> things known or assumed as facts

series -> a number of things, events, or people of a similar kind

village -> a self-contained community within a town or city

lab -> a laboratory

lady -> a woman

miss -> a form of address to a woman

mister -> a form of address to a man

error -> something not found

art -> the various branches of creative activity

petit -> small in french

poet -> a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression

thing -> an object without a specific name

stuff -> a vague reference to additional things

vogue -> the prevailing fashion or style at a particular time

tv -> taylor's version and/or television as a system or form of media

media -> the main means of mass communication

topia -> an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect

saur -> forming names of extinct reptiles such as dinosaurs

tune -> a melody, one that characterizes a particular piece of music

deun -> melody in deutsch

off/offline -> disconnected from the Internet

gloss -> shine or luster on a smooth surface

fae -> a fairy, in modern fantasy fiction

[dramadramallama]

i really like how unhinged they made jeong su-min in marry my husband. it goes beyond the classic "villain of the story" role.

it adds a lot of depth to her character, because her motivations are difficult to fathom, and the way she reacts to rejection/failure is fascinating. it's that contradiction between not being able to exist without ji-won (she follows her anywhere, like a shadow), and at the same time, trying to dim her light to extinction (which she ends up doing, when ji-won dies in the original timeline.)

honestly, hard to pull off, but the actress is killing it. she plays it like su-min is clinically unwell. if she could swallow ji-won whole to make sure she'll stay hers/stay with her forever, she 100% would.

[mbari-blog]

Very demure. Very mindful. 💕⁠ ⁠ In 2012, MBARI researchers were the first to publish observations of the red coffinfish (Chaunacops coloratus) in their natural, deep-sea habitat. In addition to documenting these fish walking on the seafloor and fishing with their built-in lures, the researchers discovered that they change color from blue to red as they mature.⁠ ⁠ This species was first described from a single specimen collected off the coast of Panama during an expedition in 1891. For the next 100 years, marine researchers collected deep-sea fish using trawl nets and dredges, so this anglerfish was never seen alive. That changed in 2002 when researchers from MBARI, Moss Landing Marine Laboratories, and the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary used the remotely operated vehicle (ROV) Tiburon to explore Davidson Seamount—an extinct volcano off the coast of Central California.⁠ ⁠ As a result of MBARI’s ROV observations, researchers also learned that red coffinfish can live as deep as 3,300 meters (10,827 feet) below the ocean’s surface. Given the great depths these fish inhabit, it is no surprise that they had never been seen alive. It is a testament to the usefulness of ROVs, which have provided marine scientists with a new window into the deep sea. MBARI has pioneered the use of ROVs to study animals, discover new species, document previously unknown behaviors, and observe individuals in their native habitat.

[duplicitousfate]

Hear me out: Lamb but two 👀

Literally everyone knows about there being two lambs. The Bishops, the cultists, the crowns. Everyone EXCEPT Narinder

It made... quite a first impression when he was later revived after bringing the bishops into the cult

Now the whole cult's placing bets on how long it'll take for him to figure out which of the lambs killed him and which lamb he kinda, maybe, likes hates with a passion.

(Art by @dashing-through-ecto )

No one looks at tumblr blogs anymore so under the cut is more in depth refs about the bishops and such! WARNING: LONG.

LAMBERT: Masc They/Them. The main caretaker of the followers. The few times they go on crusades, they prefer the blunderbuss and the golden fleece combo. Did, in fact, one-shot Leshy’s fight with this min-max strategy.

They are gentle and treat the followers more like their kids than their followers for the most part. They are the one that loves Narinder, but for the sake of the bit, they keep it subtle.

LAMBARI: Femme They/Them. The main crusader. They can work with generally any weapon, but will refuse and in fact rage-quit if they get the gauntlets or the dagger, preferring to strike heavy. They were the one that made the original deal with The One Who Waits, and was more than happy to slay the bishops.

They are more stern, preferring to take a more tough-love approach that will tell you immediately if they don’t like something. They eventually get with Shamura, and have the goal of restoring their mind.

NARINDER had absolutely NO idea there were two lambs until he was brought back to life, after his siblings were brought into the herd. The twins did what any pair of identical twins would do: Fuck with him.

Now, he not only has to figure out which one was the lamb that struck him down, but also which one he began to harbor feelings for. The entire cult is now taking bets.

His role in the cult is undefined, as he is far more occupied in figuring out his conundrum.

SHAMURA was the first Bishop of the Old Faith, and the first to be betrayed by Narinder. They were the last Bishop to be struck down by the lambs, and the last to be brought back. The God of War and Knowledge, the most savage and yet the most diplomatic, attempting to warn the Lambs of their imminent betrayal and the quickest to listen and convert when they bested their brother.

They have the most vague position in the cult, often focusing on the personal care of Lambari after their long, grueling crusades. They are often seen at the refinery otherwise, when there’s nothing else to keep their many hands busy.

KALLAMAR was the second Bishop of the Old Faith, the second to be betrayed. Third to be struck down, third to be brought back. The God of Pestilence and Vitality may be a coward, but he is an impeccable fighter, providing the most trouble thanks to how devoted his followers are to him.

While his official role is that of a healer and the main refiner, he will be seen in various roles to help any number of his multiple boyfriends. He is also often the one sent out on missionary work as the most charismatic of the siblings.

HEKET was the fourth Bishop of the Old Faith, and the third to be betrayed. The second to be cut down and brought back, and the first to make moves when the group acts as a unit. The God of Famine and Fertility took over when Shamura’s injury proved too debilitating, acting as the big sister despite being the second youngest. She is strong, stern, and acts in the best interest of the siblings, which the Lambs respect despite the implications of her involvement with the extinction of the sheep.

She is the strong silent type, overseeing the farming and cooking. She keeps to herself, when she isn’t busy making everyone swoon, intentionally or otherwise. Many men’s hearts have been broken when she made her preference for women clear. Much to the delight of many girls.

LESHY was the final Bishop of the Old Faith, the youngest and last to be betrayed. He was the first to be struck down and the first to be brought back, both times cut down in one single attack from Lambert. As the God of Chaos and Order, and someone who respects a good fight, he was easily converted thanks to Lambert’s dedicated attention to dealing with him.

Any attempts to assign Leshy to a duty end in failure. He often does whatever work interests him that day, to mixed results. So his “official” role is that of an enforcer, which he often takes to mean “the bookie, right? The guy that keeps track of all the bets? Yeah I got that, no problem.“  But he has no hesitation when it comes to helping Lambert take care of the cult.

[novaursa]

The Last Dragonslayer (The Lost Chapters)

- Summary: One last tale of the Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The conclusion of this story has been expanded by popular demand.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Above the God's Eye

The wind howls above the God's Eye, where the skies churn with dark clouds. You can feel the heavy weight of your sword at your side, its hilt familiar in your grip, the legacy of your ancient order pulsing through the blade. Below you, the twisted expanse of Harrenhal rises, a testament to the folly of dragons and men. But your focus is not on the crumbled towers or the history beneath your feet. Your gaze locks onto the monstrous shadow circling in the distance—Vhagar. The largest, oldest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, her scales rippling like molten jade under the waning light.

Aemond Targaryen rides upon her back, his long silver hair streaming like a banner of defiance against the darkening sky. The patch over his eye gleams, a stark reminder of the hatred he harbors for you. You feel it as sharply as your own, a hatred forged in fire and blood. But there is something else beneath his fury—a fear he won’t admit, one that only you, of all people, can summon in him.

You stand tall on the back of your mount, the Banshee—a creature from the depths of the world, more beast than dragon, her long leathery wings blotting out the sun as she shrieks across the sky. It is a scream like no other, a sound that turns dragonfire cold, that sends a shiver of dread through creatures bred for conquest. Your Banshee is a nightmare made flesh, darker than the sky itself, larger than any dragon. Her glowing green eyes narrow with hunger, fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Aemond circles above you, tugging at Vhagar’s reins. His voice reaches you across the distance, carried on the wind like a taunt.

"Run while you still can, Y/N!" he bellows, his arrogance sharp. "You cannot hope to defeat the might of Vhagar. You will die like the rest of your kind—forgotten, a relic of Essos, your bones dust beneath dragon fire."

You say nothing in response, only urging the Banshee forward with the barest of commands. She roars, a chilling sound that cuts through the sky like a blade, and you feel the thrill of her power beneath you. A primal connection between rider and beast, honed through generations of bloodlines. Your people were not conquered by the Valyrians—they resisted, even as the Freehold rose in dominance. Dragons fell to your blades, your creatures hunted them to extinction in your homeland. The legacy lives through you, and today, it will be written in blood.

Vhagar turns, her massive wings unfurling as she prepares to attack. The ancient dragon’s roar echoes like a crack of thunder, but the Banshee is unphased. You’ve seen this dance before—dragons are always arrogant until they’re faced with something that terrifies them. Vhagar hesitates, her massive body trembling, but Aemond snarls and spurs her forward.

“Do it!” Aemond shouts. “Burn her alive!”

Vhagar releases a torrent of fire, but the Banshee dives beneath it with lethal speed, cutting through the air like a shadow. You’re already on the move, sword drawn, the ancient steel gleaming with deadly intent. The Banshee spins through the sky, her wings slashing at the air as she rises above Vhagar, letting loose another scream, one that rattles even your bones.

Vhagar falters. The sound is too much, too unnatural. She tries to retreat, her instincts urging her to flee, but Aemond yanks on her reins, refusing to give in to fear.

"Fight, you stupid beast!" Aemond’s voice is filled with desperation now, but you can see the fear in his remaining eye. He knows, even if he won’t admit it.

You push the Banshee into a dive, the wind screaming past you as you close the distance. Vhagar rears back, trying to snap at you with her massive jaws, but the Banshee is faster, more agile. She lashes out with her talons, sinking them deep into Vhagar's neck. Blood erupts from the wound, spraying the sky in a crimson mist. Vhagar roars in agony, thrashing wildly as she tries to shake the Banshee off.

Aemond’s curses are drowned out by the sound of his dragon’s suffering. He clings desperately to Vhagar’s saddle, struggling to maintain control as the Banshee rips into her flesh with relentless ferocity. Your sword flashes, and you bring it down in a deadly arc, slicing through the thick, leathery membrane of Vhagar’s wing. She howls, the injury throwing her off balance as she plummets toward the lake below.

But the Banshee is not done. She dives again, her jaws locking around Vhagar’s throat, and with a sickening crunch, she rips it open. Blood pours from the wound, a river of hot, steaming liquid that paints the sky red. Vhagar's struggles grow weaker, her mighty wings faltering as she begins to fall. But even as her life fades, the Banshee does not stop.

Her jaws clamp down on Vhagar’s still-beating heart, ripping it from the dragon’s chest. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping fill the air as the Banshee devours it whole. You watch as she tears into the liver next, blood drenching the sky as she feasts on the dying dragon.

Aemond, thrown from the saddle by Vhagar’s final thrash, scrambles to his feet on a small outcrop of rock. His once-proud visage is now twisted in disbelief, covered in the blood of his dragon. He stares at you, fury and fear mixing in his violet eye.

"You—" he starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

With one swift motion, the Banshee turns her gaze toward him. Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and she lets out a low, rumbling growl. You don’t need to give the command. She strikes like a predator who knows her prey, her jaws snapping around Aemond’s body. His scream is brief, cut off as the Banshee crushes him with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from her mouth as she devours him, piece by piece.

It’s over in moments.

The skies are quiet now, save for the distant echo of your Banshee’s final shriek as she consumes the last of Aemond’s body. You sit atop her back, your heart steady, your breathing calm. The blood of Targaryens, of dragons, stains the air, marking the end of one more chapter in this endless cycle of fire and blood.

You lean forward, resting a hand on the Banshee’s neck as she licks her blood-soaked jaws. "Let them remember this day," you whisper. "Let them remember what happens when dragons challenge those born to slay them."

The wind carries your words across the battlefield, to the ashes of a dragon that once ruled the skies, and to the man who thought himself invincible.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragonslayer

The courtyard of Dragonstone is alive with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, the wind carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea. You stand in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, its weight an old, familiar comfort. The sword is unlike any in Westeros—its hilt and blade adorned with intricate designs that speak of its Essosi origin. Passed down through generations of your family, it is a weapon forged not just for battle, but for the ancient art of swordplay, a style lost to time.

Luke stands before you, eyes wide and eager, his own sword gripped tightly in his hands. The boy has always had a fire in him, a determination that you recognize, but today there’s something more—a request that he’s hesitant to voice.

“Are you sure, Lucerys?” you ask, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It’s not like the training you’ve had.”

Luke’s jaw tightens, but there’s a spark of excitement in his violet eyes as he nods. “I’m sure, Y/N. I want to learn. I’ve seen you fight. It’s different. It’s... graceful but deadly. I want to be able to protect my family, to fight for my mother. Please, teach me.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. He’s young, still growing into himself, but there’s no mistaking the resolve in his voice. This is more than just curiosity—this is about loyalty, about becoming someone his family can depend on in times of war.

“Very well,” you say, stepping back and motioning for him to take his stance. “We’ll start with the basics. Forget what you’ve learned with the knights and their heavy blades. This style isn’t about brute force. It’s about precision, timing, and reading your opponent.”

Luke’s brow furrows as he shifts into the stance he’s been taught, but it’s rigid, his grip too tight on the hilt. You circle him, the soft clink of your sword against your thigh the only sound between you.

“Relax,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Your sword isn’t a hammer. Loosen your grip. Feel the flow of the blade, not the weight.”

Luke adjusts, trying to mimic your posture, but it’s awkward, his movements still tied to the way he’s been taught to fight. You stop in front of him, reaching out to gently correct his grip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you guide him into position.

“Think of it like a dance,” you instruct. “You move with your sword, not against it. Watch.”

You take a step back, lifting your own sword. With a fluid movement, you swing the blade in a graceful arc, slicing through the air with precision and speed. It’s a dance, each movement flowing into the next, your feet shifting lightly on the stone floor. Luke watches, mesmerized by the ease with which you wield your sword.

“See?” you say, coming to a stop, the sword resting lightly at your side. “You let the blade guide you. Don’t fight it. Let’s try again.”

Luke nods, determination etched on his face. He takes a deep breath, mimicking your movements as best as he can, but there’s still hesitation in his swings. You step in close again, showing him how to shift his weight, how to flow through the movements instead of forcing them.

“You’ll get there,” you assure him, seeing the frustration flicker in his eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect right away. It’s about learning how to adapt, how to use your opponent’s strength against them.”

For the next hour, you guide him through the basics, correcting his stance, showing him how to strike with precision rather than power. There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t complain. He listens, he watches, and slowly, you begin to see the change. His movements become less stiff, more fluid. There’s a natural grace in him that surprises even you.

"Like that?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes after a particularly well-executed swing.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Better. You’re learning quickly. But remember, this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the mind. You have to stay calm, even when the battle rages around you.”

Luke nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep practicing. Thank you, Y/N.”

You sheath your sword and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving look. “You have the heart for it, Luke. That’s what matters most. But don’t forget to take your time. Don’t rush what you’re not ready for.”

As you speak, the familiar sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you turn to see Rhaenyra approaching from the far end of the courtyard. She’s draped in black and red, her long silver hair billowing slightly in the wind. Her eyes fall on you first, and then on Luke, her expression softening as she watches the two of you together.

"Mother," Luke greets, sheathing his sword and offering her a small smile.

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before she turns to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see you’ve been giving Lucerys lessons. Did he beg, or did you volunteer?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He asked, and I couldn’t say no. He’s determined. He wants to protect you.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her gaze flicking between you and Luke. There’s pride in her eyes, but also a deep, unspoken worry. The war is heavy on her shoulders, and she knows what it means for her children. She steps closer to Luke, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’ve made me proud, my son,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Luke looks up at her, the boyish smile returning to his face. “I’ll keep practicing, I promise.”

Rhaenyra kisses his forehead, then turns to you as Luke takes his leave, retreating to practice on his own. The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between you charged with a different kind of energy. Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a softness there, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day.

“You’re good with him,” she says, her voice quieter now, intimate. “He looks up to you.”

You step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body in the cool evening air. “He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He has your spirit.”

Her eyes search yours for a moment, and then, without hesitation, she closes the distance between you, her hand coming to rest on your arm, fingers trailing lightly over your skin. There’s a softness to her touch, but also a weight—a trust that goes beyond words.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “In this war, in this chaos… you’re my constant.”

You reach up, gently brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering there, caressing the soft curve of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice firm but tender. “I’ll fight for you. Always.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and then, slowly, she leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. There’s a peace in this moment, a stillness in the midst of the storm that rages beyond these walls. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the warmth of her so close.

“You are my heart,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I am yours.”

You don’t need to say anything in response. The bond between you is deeper than words, forged in fire and blood, stronger than any sword. You stay like this for a moment longer, lost in each other, before she pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks softly, a playful glint in her eye.

You smile, your fingers brushing over her hand as you nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turns, the lightness in her step a stark contrast to the heavy world that surrounds her. You watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin, knowing that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter what enemies rise to face you—you will always stand by her side.

The Past Lives

The winds howl across the dark, jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, but you barely feel the cold. Standing at the edge of the precipice, the sky overhead is filled with swirling clouds, dark and tumultuous. Your eyes, however, are not on the present, not on the sea crashing below or the distant lights flickering from the castle behind you. No, your thoughts are far from this place, far from this time.

You have lived many lives. Far too many.

The weight of it presses down on you now, like an invisible chain that has grown heavier with every passing century. There was a time when you had felt invincible, when the bond between you and your Banshee was something you had reveled in. Immortality was not something you had feared—then, it had felt like freedom. The blood ritual that had sealed your fate had been your choice. You had chosen to bind yourself to your Banshee, chosen the power and the bond that came with it.

But time changes everything. You had no idea, back then, what it truly meant. You couldn’t have.

Your mind drifts to the ancient ruins of Valyria, now long turned to ash, but once an empire of impossible might. You were there when the Freehold ruled the skies, when dragons cast shadows over cities, and sorcerers shaped the world with fire and blood. Your people, the Dragonslayers, had been the last stand, the ones who resisted the dominion of dragons. You remember the battles fought in the sky, the screams of dragons as they fell to your blades and the primal terror they felt at the sound of a Banshee's scream. 

But your people are long gone now, consumed by the same fires that once forged them. You watched as the Doom swallowed Valyria, watched as your homeland crumbled under molten rock and fire. You fought, you survived, but the world you knew died that day. And with it, everyone you had once called kin.

Empires rose after that. You saw them all—the Free Cities, the Rhoynar, even the rise of Oldtown and the Reach. You fought in wars, watched as kings claimed thrones and lost them, as cities were built and then turned to rubble. And you never changed. The world around you shifted like the seasons, but you remained. Unaging, unyielding, bound to your Banshee, your soul entwined with hers.

At first, there had been others like you, remnants of your order who had survived the fall of Valyria. You remember them vividly, their faces, their voices, their laughter. You remember the brothers and sisters you had once fought beside, who had shared your bond. But even they could not withstand the toll of immortality. One by one, they had fallen—some to madness, some to the blade, and others to the slow decay of time. And you had been forced to watch it all.

You close your eyes, the weight of centuries pressing in on you. The names of those you loved haunt your thoughts. Faces flicker in your memory, faces of people long dead, faces you cannot forget. It is a terrible thing to love when you cannot die. To watch those you care for grow old, wither, and pass on while you remain. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing, this immortality.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the presence of your Banshee nearby. Her glowing green eyes watch you from the shadows, her dark, leathery wings folded against her massive body. She is a part of you, and you of her. The bond between you runs deeper than blood, deeper than any love you have known. Yet even she cannot ease the pain of loss.

You think of the lovers you have had, the fleeting moments of happiness in an otherwise endless existence. There had been many over the centuries—strong, beautiful souls who had entered your life like flashes of light. But they were always temporary. Mortal. You had loved them fiercely, but they all left you in the end. Not by choice, but by the slow march of time. You remember holding their hands as their eyes dimmed, feeling the coldness creep into their skin as life slipped away. And you, left alone again, unchanged.

Until her.

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra. She is different, and yet she is the same. The moment you met her, you felt the familiar pull of love, the warmth that you had thought long gone. You had tried to resist it at first, tried to keep her at arm’s length, knowing the pain that would come. But Rhaenyra—stubborn, fierce, and full of fire—broke down your walls, just as others had before her. Now, you are bound to her, not by blood or ritual, but by something deeper.

But Rhaenyra is mortal. Like all the others. And you know, in your heart, what that means. You know how this will end.

A part of you wants to run, to leave her before the inevitable comes. You know that one day, you will have to watch her wither, to see the light leave her eyes as it has with so many others. You will have to endure the agony of her loss, just as you have with everyone else you’ve loved. The thought of it terrifies you, more than any battle, more than any dragon. 

You hear the soft rustle of footsteps behind you, and you turn slowly, already knowing who it is. Rhaenyra stands at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the faint light of the moon. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she can sense the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Y/N," she says softly, her voice gentle, yet filled with concern. "What troubles you?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead letting your eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the strength in her gaze. You wonder how long you will have with her before time claims her as it has claimed so many others. How long before you are left standing alone once again, the cold shadow of immortality your only companion.

Rhaenyra steps closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your arm, her touch warm and grounding. "You’ve been distant," she whispers, her brow furrowing slightly. "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, you are tempted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude. But her eyes hold you, her presence a balm against the ache in your heart. You sigh, your voice low and rough when you finally speak.

"Do you ever fear time, Rhaenyra?" you ask, your gaze distant. "Do you ever fear the years slipping away, taking everything and everyone you love with them?"

Rhaenyra frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Of course I do. Time spares no one. But that is why we must live now, in the present. Why we must cherish what we have, for however long we are given."

You look at her, your heart heavy. "But what if time spares one of us, and not the other? What if I must watch you wither and fade, as I have watched others before you?"

Rhaenyra's hand tightens around your arm, her expression softening with understanding. "You have seen more than any of us can imagine," she says quietly. "But that is not our fate. Our fate is what we make of it, here and now. You have me, Y/N. And I have you. We cannot fear the future, not when we still have each other."

Her words are a comfort, but the ache remains. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of her hand against your skin, the steady beat of her heart. For now, she is here. For now, she is yours.

But in the back of your mind, the shadow of time looms, reminding you of what is to come. Always watching. Always waiting. 

And you, immortal and unchanging, will face it again.

The Rogue Prince

The sun hangs low over Dragonstone and the courtyard where you stand, gently tending to the Banshee. Her massive form is hunched, wings folded tight against her body as you move your hands over her dark leathery skin, inspecting every inch. The creature is quiet, save for the soft rumble of her breath, her green eyes glowing faintly as she watches you with an ancient understanding. There's a bond between you, one forged in blood and ritual, something deeper than words or time. A connection that goes beyond mere companionship.

But that connection, that understanding, is not one shared by anyone else. Especially not by those who feel the primal fear that the Banshee's presence invokes. She is a thing of nightmares, a creature bred to strike terror in the hearts of dragons and men alike.

You hear the soft crunch of boots on the stone behind you and know, without turning, who it is. Daemon Targaryen, always light on his feet, his presence unmistakable even when silent. He has an aura about him, a sense of command that fills any space he occupies. Still, you sense a hint of hesitation in his steps as he approaches the Banshee, something unusual for the Rogue Prince.

“You must have lost your nerve, Daemon,” you call over your shoulder, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. “I never took you for a man who hesitated.”

Daemon’s voice, rich and low, carries a mocking edge as he replies, “I don’t hesitate, Y/N. I’m simply weighing whether or not I want to be torn apart by your little friend here.”

You laugh quietly, running a hand along the Banshee’s side, feeling the strength of her muscles under her skin. “She wouldn’t tear you apart—at least not if I told her not to.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. Even for a man who rides Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, there’s a certain respect—or perhaps a deep-seated fear—in the way he regards the Banshee. Caraxes is terrifying, yes, but the Banshee is something different. Something older. Something darker.

“She looks like she crawled out of the Seven Hells,” he mutters, folding his arms as he studies the beast. “Is there any part of her that doesn’t scream death?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “She’s not so bad once you get used to her. A bit like you, I imagine.”

Daemon chuckles, moving even closer. He stops just a few paces away, the distance between him and the Banshee still deliberate. Her green eyes flicker toward him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest, but she doesn’t move. You can sense her wariness, her innate mistrust of anyone but you, but there’s no aggression in her stance. Not yet, at least.

Daemon’s eyes shift from the Banshee to you, his expression turning playful. “Does that thing even have a name? Or do you just call her ‘Beast’?”

You roll your eyes, returning to your task of checking the Banshee’s wings. “She has a name. But you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Not with that Valyrian tongue of yours,” you tease, glancing up at him. “It’s an old name, from my people’s language. Far older than any of your words.”

Daemon watches you for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Humor me. Let me hear it.”

You pause, running your hand along the edge of the Banshee’s massive wing. It’s a name that few have heard, fewer still have spoken aloud. A name passed down from generations of Dragonslayers, from a time when the world was different, when your people stood against the might of Valyria itself. You hesitate, knowing how the sound of it might unsettle even the most fearless of men. But then, Daemon is not most men.

You murmur the name softly, almost under your breath. It rolls off your tongue like a whisper of the wind, ancient and guttural, a sound not meant for human ears.

Daemon’s expression shifts as he hears it, his usual bravado tempered by something quieter, more thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “I doubt I could manage that without a few drinks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I told you. But she knows it, and that’s what matters.”

Daemon’s gaze drifts back to the Banshee, the massive creature still watching him with glowing eyes. He inches closer, almost imperceptibly, as if testing his own courage. He reaches a hand out, hovering just shy of the creature’s leathery skin, as if waiting for some signal from you—or perhaps from her—that it’s safe.

“She’s not like a dragon, is she?” he asks quietly, his voice no longer teasing.

You shake your head. “No. She’s older than dragons. The Banshee is a predator, made to hunt them. Her instincts are sharper, more calculating. But she’s loyal, in her way.”

Daemon lowers his hand slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Banshee’s wing. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move, accepting his touch with a kind of reluctant tolerance. You watch him carefully, knowing that this moment is not just about him facing the creature—it’s about him conquering the fear she inspires. And for a man like Daemon, fear is not something he allows himself often.

“You know,” Daemon says, his tone lighter again, “I’ve always thought dragons were the pinnacle of terror. Now, I’m starting to think there’s something worse.”

You smirk, folding your arms as you lean against the Banshee’s side. “Oh, trust me, Daemon, there are worse things in this world than dragons. Much worse.”

He glances at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Like you?”

You tilt your head, your eyes meeting his. “Perhaps.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Daemon is many things—arrogant, reckless, fierce—but he is also perceptive. He knows of your relationship with Rhaenyra, has seen the bond you share, and yet he does not object. Perhaps he respects the connection, perhaps he knows that you and Rhaenyra are tied by something deeper than even he could touch. Or perhaps it is simply that he, like you, understands the burden of being more than what the world expects.

“You’re a hard one to figure out,” Daemon says, stepping back from the Banshee and folding his arms again. “But I suppose that’s why Rhaenyra loves you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And you’re not?”

Daemon laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I’m an open book, Y/N. But you—you’re something else entirely.”

You shrug, turning back to the Banshee. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to read me yet.”

Daemon grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Give me time.”

As he walks away, leaving you alone with your Banshee once more, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Daemon Targaryen may be many things, but fearful is not one of them. And perhaps, in some strange way, he understands you more than anyone else—because like you, he walks the line between power and fear, life and death.

And though the Banshee watches him with her glowing eyes, she too understands.

The Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent, save for the soft crackle of the torches lining the walls. The Iron Throne loomed before the gathered court, its jagged edges a testament to the power it represented. And seated upon it, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen—first of her name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She had worn the crown for years now, her reign hard-fought and blood-soaked. The weight of it showed in the lines that etched her once-youthful face, in the silver hair that had begun to streak with gray. But there was a strength in her still, the fierce fire of a Targaryen queen who had battled for her birthright.

Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere. Far beyond the hall, beyond King’s Landing, beyond even the lands she ruled. They were with a memory—one that had haunted her for years. A memory of you.

The court was in session, lords and ladies arrayed before her, but she barely heard their voices. Her mind was with the last time she saw you, so many years ago now. You had saved her children, stopped the ships of the Free Cities at the Gullet, and then... vanished. You had promised to return, yet the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and still, you had not come back. Rhaenyra had waited, even when reason told her that you were lost. And still, somewhere deep inside, she had never stopped waiting. But now, so many years later, even the hope had begun to fade.

Until today.

“Your Grace,” a guard interrupted her thoughts, stepping forward with a slight bow. “There is a visitor at the gates. They claim to be a close friend of the Queen, though they come from distant lands.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she regarded the guard. “A close friend? Who?”

“They would not give a name, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But they were insistent. Said you would know them.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of hope, a sensation she had long buried beneath the weight of her duties and losses. She composed herself quickly, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

“Bring them in,” she commanded, her tone betraying none of the sudden storm inside her.

The court murmured softly, curious at this unexpected arrival, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind. She sat taller on the Iron Throne, her hands gripping the arms of the seat, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be? After all these years?

The great doors swung open, and the guards entered, flanking a figure draped in the travel-worn garb of distant lands. Your steps were measured, slow, as you crossed the hall. The torches flickered as you passed, casting shadows on your face, but Rhaenyra’s eyes never wavered. She knew you. She had never forgotten.

It was you.

You looked exactly as you had the day you left her—unchanged, untouched by time, your features sharp and ageless. Your eyes, those eyes she had known so well, gleamed with the same strength and wisdom that had captivated her so long ago. Your movements were graceful, as they had always been, as if the weight of the world did not cling to you as it did to everyone else.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as her world tilted, the very axis of her reality shifting with your presence. Her mind struggled to grasp what her heart already knew—that you had come back. You hadn’t aged a day, while she had grown older, while years of ruling, of loss, had worn her down. And yet, here you were, as if time itself had no claim over you.

You stopped before the Iron Throne, your gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the years fell away. You bowed your head slightly in respect, but there was a knowing smile on your lips, a look that spoke of secrets shared, of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Your Grace,” you said, your voice like a familiar song, one Rhaenyra hadn’t realized she had been longing to hear. “It has been a long time.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne, her heart racing as she fought to find words. “You...” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and something more—something raw and painful—tangling in her throat. “You’ve come back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you said softly, your eyes never leaving hers. “I always keep my promises, Rhaenyra.”

At the sound of her name on your lips, something inside her broke. She rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps slowly, her eyes locked on yours as if afraid that if she looked away, you might vanish again. The courtiers, the guards—none of them mattered. In this moment, it was just you and her, and the years that had stretched between you dissolved like mist.

When she reached you, she hesitated for a brief second before raising a hand to your cheek, her touch tentative, as though testing if you were real. The warmth of your skin, unchanged, made her heart ache with a mixture of relief and pain. She had waited so long.

“You haven’t aged,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. “Not a day. How...?”

“I told you, Rhaenyra,” you replied, gently taking her hand in yours. “The bond with the Banshee—it comes with a price. Time doesn’t touch me the way it does others.”

Her eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too tangled to name. “And yet... you left. You didn’t return.”

“I had to protect your children,” you said softly, regret flickering in your voice. “And then, I couldn’t come back. There were things I needed to see, places I needed to go. I didn’t want to drag you into the curse of my immortality.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she heard the pain in your words. She had lost so much—friends, lovers, even family. But you... You had been her constant, her anchor in the storm. And now, here you were, offering her a path she had never imagined.

Your fingers gently entwined with hers, your grip steady and warm. “Come with me,” you whispered, your voice filled with the weight of centuries, with the promise of something beyond the world she knew. “I’ve seen worlds beyond this one, Rhaenyra. Places that would take your breath away. Let me show you.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to where your hands met, and for a long moment, she was silent. She thought of the realm she ruled, the Iron Throne that had been her father’s, her birthright. The crown that weighed so heavily upon her head. But then she thought of the years that stretched ahead—of the loneliness, the losses yet to come. Of the children who had grown, who no longer needed her in the same way.

Slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra reached up and removed the crown from her head. It felt heavier than it ever had before. Without a word, she dropped it at the base of the Iron Throne, the clatter of metal against stone echoing in the silent hall.

She turned back to you, her lips curving into a smile that was filled with a rare lightness, a freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, you took her hand, your grip firm as you led her away from the throne, away from the court, away from the world that had bound her for so long.

And that was the last time anyone ever saw the Dragonslayer or the Dragon Queen. The court whispered of their disappearance, of how the crown was left behind, a symbol of the queen who chose love and freedom over the weight of a kingdom. Some said they went east, to lands beyond Essos, to realms where dragons and gods walked side by side. Others said they were never seen again because they left this world entirely, into places where neither time nor death held sway.

But in every corner of Westeros, in every whispered legend, one thing remained clear—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had found her heart once more. And she had followed it beyond the edge of the world.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct- (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 11

(Lilia can hear extremely well and can be rather sensitive to loud noises. He often covers his ears or magically deafens himself if Malleus' temper ever causes thunder.)

Warnings; yandere, Yandere behavior, platonic and romantic yanderes, multiple yanderes, threats, blood, injury, poachers, drama, talk of eating Humans, attempts made, near-death experiences, violence, a few time skips, Shinigami, Vampire Bat, Dragon, Cervitaur, Raiju, Kelpie, Unicorn, Drider, Harpy, Genie, Naga, Merfolk, Cecilia, Nemean Lion, Werewolves, implied unnamed character death,

~~~~~~~~

Everyone moved quickly through the forest, eyes keenly searching every tree for any signs that could lead them to their quarry. Not just Housewardens were looking, a veritable army of students all searching high and low for their lost treasure. The staff were also keenly looking, the last location having been searched with a fine-toothed comb. When they found the Human's bloodied and broken collar next to Grim's ripped collar, it was not a good sign.

To think, one of Night Raven College's own students would commit such a crime. The crime of harming and stealing away such a precious creature was nigh unforgivable. The student accused of such a crime was equally unforgivable.

Many had seen him slip away into the forests shortly before the attack, all recounting the way his eyes glowed with danger as he slid from view into the underbrush. At the time, no one had known what he was planning to do and so many had even begun to believe he was harmless. Looks like they were wrong.

Ortho scanned frantically, wanting to find the Human he had befriended and hoping the terrible Beast had not harmed her. Lilia's words echoing in his mind after the chilling analysis of the blood left behind.

"It's (Y/n)'s blood. This... This is too much blood for someone of her size to loose and be able to recover from without aid. If we don't find her soon, she will die from blood-loss."

Malleus was raching through the trees, leading his Hoard in their search for the soft Human that had been attacked. He knew he couldn't trust the other Housewardens with his treasure, and all this did was prove him right. There was no pride in the realization that he had been correct, there was only white-hot fear that he was possibly too late.

Riddle and Trey galloped through the paths, leaping over fallen logs and searching the riverbanks for any sign. Riddle was beside himself with worry as he knew he couldn't trust that Beast that called himself a student. Trey was worried to be the one to find the Human's broken body and what that would do to his friend whose sanity hung by a thread. Riddle already overblotted once, who knew what finding the Human dead would do to the still recovering Unicorn. Who knew what it would do to any of them.

Rook carried his poisonous Harpy over and through the woods, both keenly looking for any sign of the lost treasure. As a hunter and a skilled tracker, Rook was the best bet Vil had to find the Human and hopefully find her alive. Should they stumble across the monster that committed such violence first, well, Vil was of the mind to attack first and question later.

Kalim soared above the trees on his magic carpet, watching his faithful Naga Jamil weave through the trunks and search from below as he searched from above. The Naga keenly followed the scent trail left behind, as faint and muddled by other scents as it was, his tongue tasting the air for any sign of the soft Human or the Beast that took her. Kalim wished he could use his own wishes to find the Human, but had to trust that himself and the others would find her in time.

Jade and Floyd searched the streams and rivers, following the waters into the depths of the forest and swimming at incredible speeds. If the Human were taken through the water, they would know about it and be ready to fight for her return. Jade was furious with himself for ever suggesting he take the Human along on a foraging trip. If he had only kept his mouth shut and never asked her to accompany him, maybe she would still be safe. He would never forgive himself for the tragedy that took place, or for leaving her and that cat of hers unprotected in that clearing while he ventured into the cave. He thought he was keeping her safe by preventing her from joining him in the underwater channels of the cave. He was wrong.

The Beast's own dorm had been placed on lockdown and none were allowed to leave through the mirror. It was a precaution given the fact their own Housewarden had been the offending party. Though many wanted to aid in the search, they were under scrutiny due to the actions of their leader and to many, that meant they were all guilty.

It was Malleus who came upon the scene first, smoke billowing from his mouth as he saw that wretched Beast's golden hide gleaming in the sun. The blood that flecked his fur only angering the Dragon further. What pushed him past his sanity was the way the Beast was positioned above his precious Hoard member.

The Beast was straddling the limp body of the little Human and looked over at the Dragon in surprise as he came thundering through the trees. Every scrap of evidence Malleus could see was more than damming and the Dragon was not keen to ask questions. This Beast had obviously killed Malleus' precious Human, and for that, could not be redeemed.

"For the crime of harming my Hoard and killing my Human, I- Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley- hereby sign the death warrant of Leona Kingscholar and consign his soul to oblivion."

~•§•~

Earlier that day.

You were slowly becoming more and more excited as each class passed, eager to get back to your dorm and play the promised Videogames you missed so much. Even if it was not the games you were used to, they were still games and should still prove to be a good mental distraction. Hopefully Malleus wouldn't be too upset that he was no longer your guard, the Dragon occasionally peaking into the classes you attended in a not so stealthy attempt to keep track of you.

Every time the Dragon appeared in the doorway, he would leave as soon as he caught sight of you smiling in amusement at his clear protective behavior. Even Silver appeared in the halls as you changed classes, walking with you and glaring at those who got too close to you. Grim was happy to have an extra set of legs to carry him around, hoping up onto the Deer-man's back and lounging between classes.

Perhaps you would invite one of your four Diasomnia guards to spend the night. All it could do was make them feel better about the situation and let them see you were safe. The question was who you were going to invite as one showing up typically meant the others would show as well.

All sorts of things fought for attention in your mind, but you were unable to give them much focus. Though you and Grim weren't really students or held to the same standard the other students were, you did want to know what you could about this world. You weren't native to Twisted Wonderland and so the many classes actually gave you a good look into the world you found yourself in and allowed you to learn.

Grim saw himself as a fully fledged student and was eager to remind others of that fact whenever they gave him odd looks in class. Despite how some of these other students seemed annoyed with the feisty cat-beast, most refused to upset or refute his claims as that meant upsetting you. Most students knew better than to mess with you by now and simply avoided conflict all together, as not even the dumbest among them were willing to anger Malleus.

It was during one of these passing periods between class that a familiar tall figure approached you. Silver rest his hand on his sword as the merman walked up, watching with untrusting eyes and a wary gaze. Jade politely approached, nodding his head in greeting as he held his hands in front of him to show he was not armed or seeking to attack.

"Hello, (Y/n), good to see you again."

"Hey, Jade! Haven't seen you since you and Floyd last came over for some dinner. How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you. I had a question for you- more of a proposition- since you are quite new to the campus. Would you like to come foraging with me today after classes? I don't expect this trip to take long as there is a nearby cave I was hoping to gather mushrooms from."

"Sure! I would like to know where you find a lot of the mushrooms you gather, so it would be helpful to have someone experienced guiding me along."

Your words and praise made a deep blue blush fan over the Merman's cheeks, dusting the blue-tinted flesh with a deep color. Jade was quite taken with your culinary skill and was keen to learn from you, so he saw this trade of information as a good way to gain your trust. Perhaps he could show you some gathering spots and you could teach him to make your fantastic meals. It certainly seemed like a fair trade to him.

"Wait, is that okay for us to go though? Crowley doesn't want me going into the forest, but if I'm with you, it should be alright, right?"

"Perhaps we should ask the Headmage just in case your collar prevents you from entering the woods? It should be safe enough during the day to forage without trouble."

"Well, I do have time until my next class, why don't we go ask him now?"

"If you're sure? Nothing would make my heart happier than the chance to forage with you."

"Yeah, may as well!"

You reach out and grabbed the Merman's hand, not seeing the way his blush darkened at the physical contact or how he seemed to cherish the feeling of your hand in his. Silver was less than pleased, but he was also not about to dampen your happiness and excitement, even for his own sake.

"Hooman, does that mean I'm coming with?"

"Of course it does. I'm your Hooman, and you're my Grim! We have to go together, or not at all. Right?"

"Yeah! No one can take my Hooman anywhere without me coming too!"

Grim leaped from Silver's back and onto your shoulder, snuggling close to you happily. The soft purr coming from the little beast made a smile pull at your lips as you chuckled and kissed his soft forehead, happy Grim was so sweet to you. It would be a lot harder for you to navigate the school and the students without your fluffy companion by your side.

"I'll check in with you after lunch, okay, (Y/n)?"

"Alright! See you soon, Silver."

~•§•~

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"No. The forest is far too dangerous for a soft Human to be roaming around. My answer is 'no'."

"Jade and Grim will both be with me! And it isn't like I don't have a collar on that tracks my location. Even if my collar stopped working, Grim has one too. We won't even be going far from campus!"

Crowley frowned at your insistent begging, not keen to let you go anywhere with anyone, let alone the woods around campus. It was still daytime so there weren't too many threats so long as Jade stayed by you, but there was still danger in the form of poachers. Could he really trust this merman student with your safety?

"What if something happens?"

"It won't!"

"But what if it does? You are Human, (Y/n), and that means-"

"I'm sick of being reminded of that fact every damn day!"

Crowley was surprised by your outburst, not expecting you to be so upset by his casually stated fact.

"Every day it's 'you're Human, you're too fragile' 'you are the only Human left' 'you aren't strong enough to protect yourself' and I am so tired of it! I'm not a child to protect, I'm not an idiot that can't recognize danger, and I am not a pet to keep indoors! You said yourself that almost everyone at this school is willing to keep me safe, so why is it such a problem that I want to see what lies beyond the campus? I refuse to spend the remainder of my life in one place, never allowed to leave and never allowed to experience something new. How am I supposed to be happy or find my own purpose in life if I am kept locked away like some glass figurine?"

He sighed and looked away from your intense gaze and the heated argument. You were right of course, and he was terrified of that fact. The last Human in his care had been taken from him because he just couldn't let her be free and he kept her away from everyone except himself. He saw firsthand how devastating isolation is on the Human mind, to the point that Hades himself had arrived to take the Human away from the unfair treatment at the hands of Crowley.

He couldn't let you be taken from him too, not when you were his precious chick just fledged and seeking to see beyond the fence of Night Raven College. Crowley couldn't blame you for being frustrated with him either as he knew you would get restless being cooped up on campus. The college was large and held many secrets to discover, but it felt so very small when compared with the rest of the world. Surely he could allow one measly venture off of school grounds?

"Mr. Leech, will you be with her the entire time?"

"Yes. I swear it."

"And you'll protect her should any danger present itself?"

"With my life."

"... Fine. Don't go too far and make sure you have your phone and Grim with you. I will make sure the Housewardens and the rest of the staff are on standby. If anything seems amiss, come straight back, understood?"

Your frustration melted away at Crowley's eventual acquiescence to your request, happy to be leaving the campus even if for only a little bit. There was still your displeasure at the overall dehumanizing treatment, but this was a step in the right direction. Hopefully this would prove to the Crow that letting you explore- albeit with a guard- was something that could be good for you.

"Thank you!"

You hugged the surprised Crow as he finally agreed to allow you to go foraging with Jade. The Crow was stiff for a few moments before melting into the hug and returning it in kind. He really did struggle saying 'no' to you and it only made it more difficult for him when you responded to his agreement with such affection. Truly, the Crow saw you more and more as his own young with every day that passed. It was hard not to.

"I'll make sure the others are aware. But I am being quite serious, (Y/n), there has been an exponential rise in visitors to our little island here and it would be foolish to assume they are not here for you. Promise me you will be careful."

"I promise."

"Alright. Don't hesitate to return or call at even the slightest worry that something is wrong."

~•§•~

The forest during the day was vastly different from the forest at night and you couldn't be more thrilled. At night it seemed like every shadow was alive and looking hungrily towards your direction. During the day those shadows were driven back to their dens and bird-song could be heard through the trees. Sunlight streamed through the branches and gave the forest an almost fairytale feeling as crickets and grasshoppers chirped pleasantly around you.

It was less of a foraging venture for you than it was an educational lesson on mushrooms from Jade, who happily pointed out every fungi and plant species he knew. Luckily, Jade had the foresight to bring a second foraging bag with him for you to use and even seemed bashful when gifting it to you. Maybe mermen just had a shyness about giving gifts to others? Regardless of what it was, you were thrilled with the venture and Jade was happy to split the spoils with you.

"So where is this cave you were talking about? Looks like we have most mushroom types I'm familiar with already."

"Not too far now. It is the only cave I have found Agaricus Bisporus, which you really seemed to like in the soup you made for Azul, Floyd, and I that day."

"Oh, so this cave is where the Button Mushrooms grow?"

Jade chuckled slightly at the cute name you gifted to the mushrooms he enjoyed on a regular basis. They were certainly useful and clearly edible to you, so he just found it all the sweeter that you named them after buttons. Such odd creatures Humans were, but he was certainly not complaining as he found himself quite endeared by the uniqueness of the soft individual before him.

"Yes. It can be a little tricky to get where they are growing tough, so I think it would be best for you to wait at the mouth of the cave for me."

"Why is it tricky?"

"It requires some swimming to get to where they grow, and I am fairly sure you cannot hold your breath for that long. But there are still some Pleurotus Ostreatus mushrooms on the felled trees around the cave you could gather."

"Okay. So long as you're quick, I'm sure we both can gather up enough of both mushrooms and trade when you come back out of the cave."

Jade smiled at this, happy to see you seemed to be enjoying the little jaunt through the woods and keen to gather enough mushrooms for the both of you. Maybe after your joint venture he could even help you set up terrariums to grow some of the rarer mushrooms he has found deeper in the woods.

Grim didn't seem half as enthused as you and Jade were, laying across your shoulder as he watched the birds in the trees. He grew up in this forest and suffered at the claws of the other beasts that called the woods home, so he wasn't really interested in the things you and the merman gathered. That certainly didn't mean he was opposed to snacking on several of the edible plants, however.

"Didn't the big Crow say you couldn't be left alone though? Kinda seems like this Eel-guy is fixing to leave us alone."

"Well, I'm not alone because you will be with me, and you won't let anything happen to me."

"Of course I won't! I'm the Great and Powerful Grim! I'll always protect my Hooman."

"Exactly, so there's nothing to worry about, right?"

"Right!"

Despite the way Grim now seemed alright with the situation, you also vaguely hoped that nothing bad happened while Jade was in the cave. You trusted Grim to watch your back, but he wasn't the best mage and you knew there were likely poachers who could overpower your little friend. Naturally, you still intended to be on guard in case anyone tried to approach while you were waiting for Jade.

The three of you came up to what seemed to be a large hole in the side of a large hill, hearing the sound of rushing water from deep within. Jade paused at the cave entrance, removing his phone to give to you for safekeeping as the item did not work beneath the water.

"Alright, I will be back in a few moments and then we can head back to campus."

"Okay. Don't take too long," you gently teased the merman, "or I might have to come in looking for you."

"I'm sure you would."

The merman gave you a final smile of reassurance before heading into the cave, quickly swallowed up by the darkness. A faint sound of splashing met your ears before going quiet and you figured you could look for those other mushrooms Jade mentioned. Grim hopping off your shoulder to go bother some birds that were chirping rather loudly nearby.

Along the many fallen trees, you could see several mushrooms growing from the rotting trunks. They looked like oyster mushrooms to you, which meant they were likely the ones Jade had been talking about. Though you weren't overly familiar with the names Jade used for them, you did recognize several by their appearance.

As you crouched down to start picking the mushrooms, something odd occurred to you. The forest was silent.

Moments ago there had been birdsong and the sounds of bugs going about their little lives, now there was nothing. The only sound that met your ears was the wind in the trees. Something about the sudden quiet made a long forgotten instinct within you stir as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

Where was Grim?

It was as you stood up to look around that a sudden force slammed into your side, throwing you to the ground beneath a much larger figure. You didn't recognize the beast man above you though they seemed to be some kind of heavily scarred wolf man with grey and black fur. His short whiskers were broken and his teeth were the same as he sneered down at you like a predator taunting his prey. The man on top of you was quick to slice the collar from your neck, nicking you in the process as he threw it away and to the side.

"Those fools just let this juicy treat walk right through their fingers. Idiots, the lot of them."

"Ow! Alpha, this stupid cat is more a nuisance than he is worth!"

You looked towards the second voice and felt your heart jump into your throat as you saw an unfamiliar Wolf-man with brown fur was holding Grim by the neck. Your devoted friend was struggling valiantly against the Gnoll but even you could see he was quickly running out of air and energy. Even as you tried to struggle to help Grim, a sudden stabbing pain forced you instead to return your attention to the one on top of you.

He had sunk a rather large hunting knife into your leg to hold you still and the pain made a harsh cry escape your lips. You couldn't reach your phone or Jade's phone as the bag you carried had been knocked out of your hands before you could react. With a quick motion the man ripped the knife from your leg and positioned it over your throat as if he intended to gut you with it.

"Quit your bitching! Break the damn thing's neck if it is that difficult to hold onto. I'll slice the Human up and we can scram before those students even realize-"

A sudden knobbed club seemed to fly from the forest, cracking against the lead wolf's skull with a sickening smack. The force of the club knocked the wolf off of you and for a moment you tried to get yourself to your feet, only to find your leg struggling to support your weight. In your dazed and panicked stupor, you barely realized there was a familiar golden Lion wrenching Grim out of the second wolf's grasp, throwing the wolf back into a tree. That same Lion was quick to hoist you up over his shoulder, breaking into a dash away from the wolves who were still reeling in pain and surprise.

"Damn it, hold on, Mousey!"

The gruff voice of Leona was a surprising comfort to you as the Lion swiftly ran opposite of the wolves. There must have been more wolves you didn't see as it sounded like an entire pack was chasing after the three of you. From your position over Leona's shoulder, you saw several wolf-men running on all fours after the Nemean Lion that had wisked you away. Despite how fast they seemed, Leona was faster and wasn't even slowed by your added weight.

Over felled trees and through the whipping underbrush, Leona was heading through the forest with far more grace than you expected from the temperamental and lazy Lion. Though it did seem like the school was getting further and not closer, he was still taking you away from the wolves and that was good enough for you. The pain in your leg sent shooting agony up from the wound and only hurt worse with every jostle or sharp turn the Lion had to make. Despite the fact that he was helping you escape, you still wanted to scream out to beg Leona to stop and give you a moment to address your wound.

You felt the trails of blood that ran down your soft flesh and you started to worry about how much you were losing as your leg was already fairly soaked. Only when you began to become lightheaded and started to lose track of the forest did Leona stop his sprint. The howling and barking of the wolves had faded away into the forest which meant Leona had a chance to slowdown and assess what kind of state you were in.

With a surprising gentleness you didn't expect from the Lion, he maneuvered you off of his shoulder and onto the grass. Judging from his grim expression, you were more injured than even you realized. The slight sound of ripping met your ears and you vaguely realized he had torn the leg of your pants to access your injury easier.

"Gotta stop the bleeding..."

Leona muttered as he worked, removing his belt and securing it above your wound. A loud cry left your lips as he tightened the belt and he visibly winced in response. Both Lion ears were angled back on his head as he used the torn fabric of your pants to apply pressure to the wound.

"Don't let my Hooman die, Lion-guy. Please- please, help her."

"I'm trying, you damned overgrown cub! How about you be useful and use your wings to go get help?"

"I can't use them to fly anymore!"

"Then run or something! We won't stay ahead of them for long, so use your collar to call the others before they catch up."

"That wolf-guy tore it off when he grabbed me, I don't have it anymore!"

"Fuck..."

Leona cursed angrily as he continued holding your wound. He could theoretically outrun them, but a lone Lion, even a Nemean Lion, was at a disadvantage when running from a pack. He had the element of surprise but had to throw his Knobkerrie to get the first wolf off of you. That meant he was without his Magestone, his phone- which he had left in his room that morning- and to top it off the one thing that was supposed to keep track of you and your cub had been removed.

The distant sound of howls made Leona's decision for him as he picked you back up, scooping up Grim and taking you both deeper into the woods. He couldn't make a wide circle to get you back to the school, he had no idea how many wolves there were in the pack and they could have spread out to cut him off if he tried. Staying still was not an option with the wolves already on your trail. Trying to signal to the others of Night Raven would also expose your position to the poachers. Leona would have to take you to the town in the valley beyond and hope you didn't lose too much blood in between or the wolves didn't catch you first.

~•§•~

Leona was getting tired. He couldn't keep up the pace forever and eventually he had to stop just to take a breath. Though he no longer heard the wolves, that didn't mean much as they were likely still in hot pursuit. No hunter would give up their greatest quarry that easily, and the soft Human was certainly a prize to obtain.

The problem was that your breathing had gotten shallower and you had fallen unconscious despite his best attempts to keep you awake. Your heartbeat was faint even to his ears and it was clearly upsetting your cub as Grim began to cry.

"No! Wake up, Hooman. Please... Please wake up, (Y/n)! We gotta go home..!"

"She can't. She can't wake up. She's lost too much blood to stay conscious."

"Help her!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

"I am! I am trying to keep you and her alive! What do you think I was running for? Maybe shut up and let me think, damn it!"

Grim's ears went flat, the tears only falling faster now as Leona immediately realized his mistake, trying to reach out to the cat who only sobbed and fled into the trees. He couldn't pursue the little cub as he had to make sure you were safe, but it was beginning to seem like you weren't going to survive the trip. Feeling helpless and angry with himself, Leona tried to at least keep you warm and perhaps stave off the cold approach of death. If the wolves came, he would fight until you both no longer drew breath as he refused to leave even your body for the scavengers.

He was ready to fight to his last when he heard the forest rustling with the sound of approaching footsteps, what he wasn't ready for was Malleus Draconia to erupt from the woods. A fair bit behind him rushed in his usual lackeys who also seemed to be out for blood, but none moreso than the Dragon. Smoke billowed from deep within the enraged Dragon as a heavy magical pressure slammed into Leona.

"For the crime of harming my Hoard and killing my Human, I- Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley- hereby sign the death warrant of Leona Kingscholar and consign his soul to oblivion."

"Wait!"

The loud yowl that interrupted from the woods distracted the Dragon just enough that the bolt of lighting crackling from his form barely missed Leona's left ear by a hair. Grim, with tears streaking down his little face, ran out in front of Malleus to put himself between the Dragon and Leona. His little ruined wings flapped frantically despite giving him no lift or speed.

"Wait..! He didn't- he didn't hurt her! He helped us, but she isn't okay. Please, help her!"

"If it wasn't Leona, then who-"

"It doesn't matter who did it if she dies! Help her now! She's dying!"

The pleas of the little cat moved the Dragon, agreeing to solve blame later and solve the problem at hand. Malleus couldn't hear your heartbeat and that was concerning as he rushed forward to render aid. Lilia was quick to join his draconic lord as his sensitive hearing picked up on the faint sound of your heart.

"She is alive, but she has lost a lot of blood and is going into a coma," he removed his jacket and pulled up his sleeves, "Malleus, use your magic to pull the blood soaked from the wrap, it will have to be enough for now."

The Dragon took orders easily and Leona vaguely wondered who the true leader of their group was as Lilia directed the great mage. They only really took a quick breath of relief when your heartbeat had returned to a steady rhythm in your chest. It was still weak, but not nearly as quiet as it had been. Lilia had done enough triage to know what spells would work best and by directing Malleus he allowed the Dragon to be the primary instrument in saving your life. He had his own reasons to encourage the bond between you and Malleus to flourish, but mostly the Dragon needed to be the one to help you and Lilia knew it.

"Explain quickly what took place. I am ready to listen and deliver punishment to the offending party-"

The howling on the wind was loud and almost sudden, as if intended to startle as the pack of wolves emerged from the trees all around the group. It was clearly a pack of poachers as they all eyed the prize laying between the men. The alpha, clearly bloodied and angry, wielded Leona's Knobkerrie like a sword, threatening the group that dare get between his pack and their feast.

"Hand over the meat-sack. My pack has rights to that kill and I'll fight every one of you prissy ass mages who gets in my-"

The sky went black in seconds, as if night had suddenly fallen over the woods, but instead of stars only rolling storm clouds could be seen. Lighting leaping between the masses of black oily cotton in a sickening green that churned the stomach of the foolish wolves. Hunters now turned hunted as power electrified the very air and stones began to quake in the very presence of rage defined.

Words were not needed, not anymore. They would only be wasted on fools such as this. Filth that sought to take what was not theirs and dare call Malleus' beloved (Y/n) something as demeaning as a 'meat-sack' and a 'kill' as if they had rights to feast upon you like savage Ferals.

No.

No, Malleus would not stand for such blatant disrespect to his Hoard and himself. Punishment would be delivered and it would be by Malleus' hands. They were going to wish he had used his magic.

"Wha-"

"You will not speak. We are leaving the area immediately. Walking, not running. We don't need to draw his attention."

Leona was silenced by a hand over his mouth as Lilia gathered up Grim with his wings, covering him with his jacket and handing the little cub into Silver's arms. Sebek was quick to get the wounded Human up onto Silver's back, climbing on himself to keep her secure on the Reindeer. Lilia spoke in a hushed tone to the Lion as his fellow dorm members worked as quietly as possible to not earn the ire of the beast before them.

Leona found himself unable to disobey the enigmatic old Fae and knew he must have used some kind of magic to hold the Lion to his commands. The ground rumbled as the sound of a true terror escaping their secondary skin to show the beast that lurked beneath. Many of Malleus' features hinted at his true Draconic form, from his long tail to his twin horns and wings, the full Dragon was still a very different beast.

The pure magic in the air was almost as difficult to breathe in as smoke. Once confident snarls turning to yelps and whines of genuine terror as the foolish wolves realized just how outclassed they were.

Lilia stayed alongside Silver as Leona took up the other side, moving with them even as he craned his neck to stare behind him at the Dragon in the flesh. Black scales glinted in the light, green lightning spewing from the sky as the elongated fang filled maw of the beast snapped around the fleeing figures. Maybe he was considered one of the most powerful mages in the world for a reason, and he wasn't even using magic at that moment.

"Lilia, what if his majesty needs us-?"

"We need to get her back to Night Raven, then we can work on calming Malleus if his temper tantrum doesn't burn him out before she wakes. She still isn't okay and we need to let the others know what happened. All we can do now is leave for our own safety and hers."