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dearmantis · 2 years

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The fruits of my labour

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: Haunted by shadows during the day and the words of your old teacher you don't expect two little boys to be the first sign of your upcoming downfall.

Warnings: drowning, manipulation, hints of psychological abuse, descriptions of anatomy, mentions of bone breaking (?), death of an animal

Word Count: 4k

Authors’ Note: This is the last chapter that is still kind of chill, just fyi. Things are going to start going down rather quickly after this part. Please pay attention to the warnings at the top of each chapter and on the series masterlist. This is also still not edited and English is still not my native language (and I technically accidentally posted this so if you see any mistakes please dm me)

Part 1 | Previous Part | Series Masterlist

Baghras words put you into a weird, almost distant state that you're unable to escape, stuck in an odd void between reality and your racing mind.

You start eating lunch and dinner with the other Grisha again, skipping breakfast entirely, but you don't use your free time to experiment anymore. You can't bring yourself to.

The bird, a beautiful little dove, is free since you came back to the Little Palace after that first dinner with your old teacher. You hope the time it spend locked in a cage in your tiny one person workshop in the basement of the Palace scared it so much that it flew far away from Os Alta.

Instead of experimenting you focus fully on the prototypes, finishing ten slightly differentiating grenades for the General to test and pick his favourite from. You haven't seen Kirigan once since you met up with Baghra, but you swear you can feel him lingering closer than before.

It's driving you slowly insane, how the shadows seem to follow you in odd ways, a bit too long and a bit too dark for your liking. You start to question if it has been like this since he first ran into you in that hallway. If he has been watching your every move since that fateful day and you were simply too caught up in your own obsession with the forbidden science to notice.

All that confidence that you built up over the last weeks is gone, the inner armour disappearing into thin air and leaving behind nothing but your rotten, ruined soul and the fear in your heart.

Baghra is annoyed by your distant state, convinced that you're wasting precious time you should spend hiding your tracks. She has advised you against running, at least for now, instructing you to finish the presentation of the grenades and then return to your previous team to make corecloth.

Disappear in mediocrity. That's what she had called it. You're terrified enough to agree with her plan without questioning it.

Despite your trust in her you lay awake at night, combing through memories of your interactions with the General to see if you can tell if and when he noticed anything off about you until the exhaustion drags you into restless sleep once again.

You're nothing short of miserable.

A part of you wonders why even bother with the prototypes, now that you're aware that he probably doesn't care about your idea in the slightest. Of course you know that you have to act like you think it matters, like you care so much about the validation and love from your dear General, no matter how ashamed you are of yourself.

You got tricked so easily by him. A few minutes of attention and some compliments and you were clay in his hands. Years of distaste and anger directed towards the man who never cared for anyone from your Order unless he wants something, gone after a few nice words and a glass of water. Pathetic.

You're a fabricator, child. He doesn't care about your kind.

Baghra's voice haunts you like the shadows do, following you even when you sleep. She has warned you of him. She has done so for years, hundreds of times, but you never understood how serious her warnings were until now.

It's hard to keep your schedule stable, to do everything the way you did before Baghra kindly alerted you that the General is watching you like a hawk watches a mouse, but your mind is clear enough to know that he will pounce if he notices anything unusual about your already odd behaviour.

You try to plan ahead for the meeting with the General, spending more time hanging around your old teammates. You speak more during meals, discussing your grenades animatedly with an Alkemi and another Durast, careful to mention how much you miss working together with others. To even out the scales you then complain on your way back to your room with another Durast about how boring the corecloth making can be.

It's all a balancing act. Every step is careful and meticulously thought through while you fight to hold onto the last strands of sanity you have left.

In the night before your scheduled presentation you watch as the shadows draw figures on the wall across your window. You're not sure if it's your own fear turning tree branches into people and figures vaguely reminiscent of volcra, if you're slowly going crazy on your own or if the General is intentionally driving you to insanity.

To watch you break, maybe in hopes of getting you to expose your secret in your panic?

You have to hold onto reality. If the only way of doing that is to surround yourself with darkness and other people until he finally loses interest, then so be it. He can't haunt you if others could see, can't draw shapes with shadows if everything in your vicinity is cloaked in blackness.

Standing up from your bed you step over to the window and pull the curtains closed tightly, promising yourself to steal some fabric from the workshops to thicken your curtains a bit more, in hopes of blocking the light more efficiently, before going back to bed.

When you finally manage to fall asleep you dream of drowning in that river again, but this time you feel how the water fills your lungs, how death takes over your muscles and bones and carries your soul into the shadows. This time you're not at peace. You scream silently, cursing the world and it's cruel nature while starring up towards the surface where the people of the village stand and watch you drown.

You don't pray for the making to show you mercy, you pray for death to come for those who killed you.

In the morning you drop the prototypes in a big, cushioned chest and place it next to the door of your workshop, before going up to eat breakfast with the other Grisha. Eating slowly you speak with the others, tightening your ties to the other Fabrikators even more. People who will miss you if something happens to you. People who will ask questions if you disappear.

People who are less susceptible to the Generals manipulation since they know, just as well as you do — hopefully better than you do — that nobody cares about the Materialki order.

Anja, the Durast woman next to you asks if you're scared of presenting as she watches your hands play with a fork, your hands humming with power as you move the metal around like clay.

"A bit" you admit, rolling the polished steel into the shape of a marble. "But I promised the General that I would present today, and I worked quite hard. I honestly can't wait to get a break, to just work on corecloth again for a while. A solo project is a lot of responsibility."

You can feel the eyes of a Heartrender on you as you speak, can feel the subtle, signature brush of her powers as she checks if you're lying. The eyes of the General are everywhere.

Heartrenders are luckily not perfect. Calm breathing, a clear mind and simple, easy lies can throw them off well enough, not that anyone cares. The Corporalki are the Generals favourite, so they can't do anything wrong, right? That's at least what everyone thinks. You're not gonna fall for the lies though. Baghra has taught you well.

"Ah, yeah. That makes sense. I would probably not finish my work at all if I had to make my own schedule. I can't take my own deadlines seriously at all. But with the General breathing down my neck, everything is suddenly serious, isn't it?" she says, her voice dropping to a whisper at the last sentence. You nod quickly, finishing your meal alongside her before you accompany her to your old workshop.

You do really miss your old work, despite the fact that your old team leader is arguably one of the most unpleasant people to be around. Being surrounded by other Fabrikators, people who understand your oddness, your greed for knowledge, your fascination with the unexplainable, is a comfort nothing can replicate.

"I hope the General summons you soon, and that the whole presentation goes well. And afterwards you're gonna come back, yes? Boris and I miss you a lot." Anja asks when you finally arrive at the workshop, quickly slipping in through the open door and walking over to her table. You watch her collect her materials for a bit before you turn around to walk over to your own workshop.

Your one-person workshop is technically a bigger storage closet down in the basement of the Little Palace, the only access to fresh air being a tiny window directly under the ceiling. It's easy to cover it with a few layers of thick parchment, blocking out the daylight entirely.

For the next three hours you make yourself familiar with your workshop while sitting in pure darkness, counting floorboards, then nails, then the bricks in the foundation of the building.

Lunchtime comes and goes and you don't get summoned, now using your powers to follow the skeletons in the palace around.

You try to see if you can tell the location of the General without paying attention to his rings, try to feel the Merzost Baghra claims sits deep in his bones, humming quietly in the compact tissue.

When your powers brush it you wonder for a second if he feels it, if he feels that something touched his secret, but then you remember what else Baghra has revealed to you. You can't draw from Merzost. You can summon, can weave it into things, can shape and change and evolve, but you cannot use it for yourself, cannot feel its power humming in your own body. All you have is your own talents as a Fabrikator.

You will never be more. You have turned yourself into a tool for others. You're here to make, not to use.

So you reach out for it, trying to understand how the forbidden science sits in his bones. You chose a bird for your first experiments with amplifiers due to their hollow bones, an empty space you could fill with something new — something forbidden — but human bones aren't hollow, they're filled with spongy bone tissue and marrow.

Feeling along the skeleton of your General without his knowledge feels odd, like a violation of privacy, and you wonder briefly if the Corporalki feel the same when they start learning to feel out hearts or if they're simply born with a disregard for other people's personal rights. You can feel it though, carefully woven through his bones in a way you hope you will be able to replicate one day.

Most of it sits deep in the cortical tissue, but some of it seems to weave through the soft tissue as well, thin strings almost building a net in between. It's harder for you to follow the soft tissue, the marrow too squishy for your Fabrikator powers to really hold onto and follow, but the Merzost makes it a bit easier.

A darker part of your mind, the same part that convinced you to figure out how to summon the forbidden science in the first place, briefly wonders what his broken bones would look like. There is so much Merzost in his skeleton, would you be able to see it? Would his bones shimmer in that iridescent way that you have come to associate with the forbidden science?

Shaking your head a bit you try to clear your head, a bit disturbed by your own thoughts. You stretch your hands for to loosen the muscles in them before finally deciding that you could probably go on a quick walk, as long as you stay around the Little Palace where the servants can find you when he finally decides to call for you.

You lock the door to your workshop behind you, quickly walking up the slim staircase and slipping out of the servant entrance of the Palace.

It's freezing outside, your breath clearly visible in front of you as you walk through the gardens of the palace. Above you heavy clouds hang in the sky and a sweet smell is in the air.

Snow. It's gonna snow soon.

Snow means the workshops are gonna be cold again, especially your solo workshop in the basement. You can only hope that your less than subtle conversations during meals in the past days are enough of a foundation to guarantee yourself a ticket back to the corecloth makers. Otherwise you might freeze to death before Kirigan even gets a chance to catch you messing around with Merzost.

A sudden scream rips your attention away from the sky and towards two small children. You can't see much from how far away you are, just that they're hitting each other quite aggressively. Without thinking you run to them, a loud "Hey!" falling from your lips as you get closer. "Stop that!"

As you get closer you start to realise how serious the situation truly is, not just for the kids but also for yourself. They're covered in blood, hands dripping as they rip on each other's hair. It's a nightmarish sight to see and you wonder where any of the teachers are. Kids aren't supposed to be outside on their own right now.

You can't see any big open wounds on either child, just scratches and bruises. Grabbing both of the children by their arms you try your hardest to pull them apart, pushing yourself between the two as soon as you create enough distance.

"What's going on?"

In the distance you can see a grey uniform slowly walking into your direction.

"I killed it first!" one of the boys yells, trying to get out of your grasp to hit the other.

"No! I killed it! I literally felt it!"

"Killed what?" You ask confused.

"The bird!"

Following the direction both of the boys are pointing at your eyes finally find the reason for all of the fighting and blood, and you can feel how your stomach drops.

The small, broken body of a dove lays in the frost coated grass just a few metres away from you, its neck hanging low as if someone broke it and its wings stretched and bend unnaturally. It's white feathers are covered in it's own blood.

They must've tried to rip it apart to kill it, you think, a heavy feeling of dread filling your chest. This is your fault. The death of this bird is your fault. You were the one to give it magic. It wasn't born with it.

"I was the one to figure out that it's an amplifier in the first place! It was my right to kill it!" the other boy wails, but you're not even paying attention anymore. Your thoughts are racing. How are you going to hide this? The way you worked the Magic into it's bones isn't now nature does it, not how it weaved it into the bones of the General.

Behind you the kids start fighting each other again. You can't bring yourself to care. Let them kill each other, that way there would be no witness to the crime against the Making you have committed.

Your eyes are glued to the small body. You can see its bones clearly, and even in the muted daylight, filtered by the thick clouds, you can see the way the insides shift unnaturally.

Merzost.

It's visible. It's clearly visible and you're sure if you look at it for much longer you will throw up.

"The General chooses who gets an Amplifier" you hear yourself saying, but it's not like the boys are paying any attention to you, too caught up in their own little battle. You can't even bring yourself to blink. There's nothing you want to do more than look away but you simply can't.

Far away you hear someone yelling out "Durast!".

You step closer to the dead animal and kneel down to observe it closer, fingers carefully moving the corpse to look at it from a different angle, desperate to understand how exactly they tried to rip it. Its a brutal sight, but you feel like you owe it to this bird, somehow, since you put it into this position in the first place. You changed it's destiny. It's blood is on you hands now.

The Oprichiki you saw coming towards you a minute ago finally reaches you, pulling the two children apart once again. He begins to scold them immediately, which is what finally pulls you out of your almost trance like state.

"I'm gonna get the General." you announce, standing up and smoothing down the material of your purple Kefta, smearing it with the blood that covers you fingertips in the process.

The guard tries to protest but you cut him off before he gets the chance to speak his mind. "They're fighting over an amplifier. I need to tell the General."

And that's that. No room for discussion.

You walk quickly back into the Little Palace, mind full with paranoid, broken thoughts that lead to nothing. If you were smarter you would probably go to Baghra with this. You would go to her hut as soon as you told the General what happened and explain that your dove has been murdered. She would tell you what to do, come up with some plan to save your pitiful, worthless soul once again.

But you're scared — you're fucking terrified — and you can't think when you're like this.

"There was an incident in the gardens. I need to talk to the General." you quickly say to the Oprichniki standing guard in front of Kirigans doors, pushing past him without waiting for his response and opening the doors. A part of you hopes the guard sees this as a threat, the start of an attack, an attempt on ending the Generals life, and rips your heart out. He doesn't.

Kirigan is bent over a mountain of documents laying on the table in the middle of the room when you step inside, eyes big as he looks at you, waiting for an explanation for your disrespectful behavior.

For a few seconds your fear of the man freezes you in place, eyes glued to his, darker than the night sky itself. His presence is dominant and it feels almost as if he's pressing down on your lungs somehow, trying to squish the words out of your body. The shadows crawling on the walls don't help you either, their odd, sharp shapes moving slowly into your direction like a predator towards it's mortified prey.

"I don't remember calling on you yet." the General finally speaks, his voice smooth and cold like satin, full of that awful authority you don't remember him pushing onto you when you last stood in these rooms.

The dread it sparks in you frees you out of your paralysis.

"Two children are in the gardens fighting over the bones of a dead bird. They claim it's an amplifier." You blurt out, almost stumbling over your words. You hate this, hate being so close to the man who might kill you if he finds out what you've done. Every word Baghra has ever said about him, every warning and cautionary tale, echos loudly in your mind while your fingernails press into the soft flesh of your palm.

The General proceeds to stare at you for a few more seconds, eyes piercing into yours as if he's trying to pull your thoughts out of your mind and read them, then he finally stands up and motions you to follow him.

You obey, almost jogging after him to catch up with his long, heavy steps. As you two walk through the Little Palace you notice how the shadows stretch, desperate to follow their summoner, and you begin to wonder when they slip back into their original shape. How far does the control of the Darkling truly go?

How far would you have to run to no longer be in danger?

Your own powers reach quite far, but things are probably different for summoners, and even you have to admit that your powers weaken greatly the further away something is. Feeling metals and bones and all that, that's simple, but the shaping? That's the part where distance begins to take a toll on you. It's probably similar for the Etheralki, right? Grisha aren't all that different from each other. Are we not all things?

"You said they think it's an Amplifier?"

Snapping out of your thoughts you look back at the General. His eyes are on you, watching carefully, and you have to swallow your anxiety down to answer him.

"That's what they said, yes. They're fighting over who killed it and gets to claim it, moi soverenyi. I tried to mention that you're the one who decides which Grisha gets to claim an Amplifier for themselves, but they refused to listen to me. A guard pulled them apart and I decided to get your help."

He nods, silently thanking you for your quick rundown of what had occurred, before his back begins to straighten, his shoulders stiffening in the process, and his chin lifts a bit, making it seem like he's looking down on everyone. His steps become louder but also smoother, and one of his hands combs though his ink black hair, ensuring that every strand is in perfect position.

He was already scary before, but now he really just looks like a proud, powerful hunter, ready to discipline whoever disobeyed the rules of the Little Palace. It almost feels like he's doing too much, but the dealings with amplifiers have always been quite serious to him so it makes sense why he would go all out to scare children back into good behavior. The rules regarding them are tight and unforgiving and breaking one of them by claiming an Amplifier without consent from him is a serious violation, even if the perpetrators are children.

You can easily see how this man terrifies all of Ravka, how he keeps the entire Second Army in line and makes sure that you all lack nothing. This is not just Kirigan. This is the Darkling, the descendant of the Black Heretic. The man who bends darkness itself to his will and carries pure magic in his bones.

Moving quickly to open the door for him, you let him step into the gardens while you desperately try to keep your body in motion. It's hard to remember how powerful you are when you have someone who's basically a mythical being walking two steps in front of you.

Sure, you could hold onto his bones, shatter them into splinters and dust with a few quick hand movements, perhaps even rip the magic out of his body, but how are you supposed to do that when his aura alone almost paralyzes your body? And who can say if you would even be quick enough to do all that before his famed cut slices you in half?

Your hands clench further at the thought, a piercing pain shooting though your hands and arms when your nails finally draw blood as your eyes gaze upon the two boys.

The guard is still holding them in place but someone else has joined the group to discipline them instead. A teacher.

"Baghra?"

She's in the middle of insulting the fire summoning of one of the boys, the dead dove carefully cradled in her hands, when she hears you call out, her tired, angry eyes looking first at you, then at the General who's still a few steps ahead of you. You doubt anyone else notices it, but you see a spark of worry in her stare before it all disappears back under her usual mask. You think it unsettles you more than anything else ever could.

"Durast" Kirigan says coldly, stopping a few metres away from the group, eyes clearly glued to the dead bird, before he turns back to you. It's still not your name, but this time you're more glad than anything. If he hasn't bothered to learn your name yet he might not be as suspicious as you thought. The only good thing that happened today. "Go back to your quarters. I will send someone for you after all of this is over."

You can't help but nod, sending another nervous look to Baghra before you disappear back into the Little Palace and hide away in your room.

It's after midnight when a loud knocking finally rings through your room, but it's not who you expect.

"He's going to find out soon." Baghra whispers as soon as you open the window she knocked at, her tone serious. "He noticed the unnatural Merzost in the bird and we already knew that he's suspicious of you. It's only a mater of a few more hours until he connects the dots. You have to leave."

Part 5 - I'm not the devil

Taglist: @shawty-writes-a-little @dreamlandcreations @watersquirtpewpewboomm @getawayfrommewerewolf @magicstrengthandcourage @blossomedfloweroflove

#aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #darkling x reader #the darkling x reader

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