rotworld

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According to A Comparative Study of Kin Metaphysics, witch telepathy and nightbound telepathy don’t work the same way. This is the case for all techniques you share. Their bodies process, store and harness magic differently than yours does, and many chapters in this musty yellow doorstop of a tome are dedicated to meticulously cataloguing and contrasting these peculiarities. You’re not here for all that. You just want to know about telepathy because according to the section on “mental magics,” witch telepathy can be especially aggravating for nightbound.

Athanasius, you think, trying to call out to him with only your thoughts. No answer. No metaphysical stir in the back of your head. You focus your thoughts, picturing him in your mind, but you never get a response or any sense that he heard you. You frown and flip to the next page. 

You have the parlor to yourself this evening. No hatchlings are around to complain about the light so the chandelier overhead shines the burnt gold of dusk, just bright enough to read by. Stretched out on the sofa with a bowl of snacks in your lap and a pile of books spread across the coffee table, you study intently how to be a more effective nuisance. 

The nightbound need a connection to speak in their minds, a bridge of mesmerism for meaning to travel along. All a witch needs is a target, a bit of magic, and something they want to say. The book warns that inter-kin telepathy should be initiated by the nightbound to avoid irritation or discomfort. Young and inexperienced witches can be loud, their thoughts chaotic, their clumsy attempts at communication headache-inducing. There are mental magics for shielding the mind and preventing unwanted intrusion, complex skills you’ve made a note to return to once you have a better grasp on your magic, but the nightbound’s principles are more limited in scope. 

In other words, there’s no tuning you out. It’d be like having a megaphone or cranking up the TV too loud. There are other spells you could be learning, enchantments you should try to memorize, but testing Athanasius’ patience is one of the few simple pleasures remaining in your life. This absolutely has to come first.

Athanasius! you try again. You imagine threads, roots, slithering tendrils of connection, your thoughts unspooling like spidersilk. You don’t know if it helps. You can’t tell if you reach him or not. With a frustrated huff, you abandon your study hovel and trudge the mansion’s halls in search of him. Maybe you need to see him first and keep the distance small until you get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll help if you know what it feels like first. Maybe—

Something shrieks. 

You freeze. It sounded close. Not inside but nearby, maybe out in the garden. Was that one of the hatchlings? Are you in danger? You call for Athanasius with your mind again, then feel hot with shame when you realize you’ve done it. He doesn’t answer anyway. You wait to see if it happens again. You can’t figure out which way to go if you don’t even know where it’s coming from. 

Then something moves in the dark. Your pulse picks up. Someone’s here, inside with you. Not Orion; he would’ve said something. Probably not Renaud, either, he’d come closer and tell you what he wants or keep moving wherever he’s going. Caught in the long, windowed corridor where the moonlight trickles through in curtained slivers, you stare down the person you least wanted to see. Mihai is easy to miss. He keeps to the dark space between windows and silver light, the glint of his eyes partially hidden by long, unruly bangs. He’s the smallest of the hatchlings, shorter and slighter in build than either Orion or Renaud. You would’ve missed him entirely if he hadn’t moved.

Was that on purpose? Did he want you to know he was there? You stare at each other in the dark. He stands perfectly still in the middle of the hallway like he doesn’t intend to let you pass. 

“Hi,” you say awkwardly. You don’t particularly want to talk but the silence feels oppressive and dangerous. Mihai shifts slightly; a nod. “I’m looking for Athanasius.” 

He makes a rumbling, almost animal noise, a throaty, “Hm,” that’s not quite a hum or a growl. He says something else you don’t catch, a quick, hoarse rasp too quiet to decipher. When you continue to stare, uncomprehending, he huffs. Like a dog, you can’t help but think. It’s the exact noise a puppy makes in the face of mild inconveniences.

“You’re loud,” he repeats irritably. “And I’m not a dog.” 

It’s working! you think excitedly, which makes Mihai groan and clutch his head. “Oh. Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t mean for the whole house to hear me.” You shut your eyes and imagine everything folding back inward. Flowers closing; seams stitching shut. When you open your eyes again, Mihai has crept closer. He stays just out of arm’s reach, a single stripe of moonlight falling through the curtains between you. “So have you seen Athanasius?” you try again.

“Hm,” he says with a curt nod.

You wait a moment but he doesn’t continue. “Where?” you ask.

“Outside.”

You peer through the curtains but don’t see anything. Mihai lurks in your periphery, staring intently. “Where outside?” 

Another bloodcurdling screech makes you both flinch. It’s not a human noise. Mihai looks in a seemingly nonsensical direction, staring at the wall, but you trust his hearing. Whatever’s going on, it isn’t happening on the front lawn. “He was in the garden. Now…” He pauses, tilting his head. You watch him turn, tracking something you can’t see. “Hm. He’s handling it.” 

“It?” you echo. 

He doesn’t answer. He steps back from you, tilting his head sharply in a beckoning gesture. “Follow,” he orders. When you don’t move, he really does growl. “Athanasius sent me to get you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“House meeting.” 

“Why didn’t he tell me about it himself?” 

Mihai scowls. He lets out another long-suffering, dog-like sigh and starts to hum under his breath. You’re confused, trying to make out if you recognize the melody or not, when your awareness suddenly goes fuzzy at the edges. It’s the pleasant fogginess of waking up without urgency, luxuriating in blankets and birdsong on a day when you have nothing to do. Your muscles unclench, your shoulders sag, and your eyelids flutter shut. Your head is full of warm fur and soft moss. 

That’s right. That’s how it is right now. There’s nothing you need to do. Nothing to worry about in the meadow of your mind. There’s only whispering leaves and clattering branches and the song the wind carries. Nothing more.

“Sacrament?”

You look up. There is the canopy, the leaves almost blue in the night, and stars in the spaces between, and him, lovely and wise. The leader of the flock strokes your cheek with a soft, adoring smile and you lean into his touch with a contented sigh. 

“Mihai can be rather heavy-handed with his mesmerism. But it is pleasant, is it not?” You have some sense of movement; of the world tilting, adjusting, another body and mind folded around yours. You feel caged and protected. You hear the flutter of great wings. “Focus on my voice. I will help you back to the surface. Mihai, if you would—yes, very good. Gently now.” You feel yourself rising, carried skyward in the grasp of sheltering shadows. You drift higher, beyond the leaves and branches of the canopy, beyond the clouds, into silver light, into crimson stars, into eyes wide open, eyes upon wings upon a nightmare, hunger of eons, destroyer of dynasties, King-Breaker, Blood Dancer, He Who the Ancients Dread—

“Sacrament?” Athanasius says.

“Huh?” You blink, bleary-eyed. You feel heavy and half-asleep. You find yourself in the little seating area just outside the kitchen, potted plants and patio furniture scattered around a wooden table. You sit up slowly, rubbing focus into your eyes. Athanasius looms over you, examining you with a patient smile. 

“Back with us?” he asks. 

The hatchlings are all across the table. Orion and Renaud both sit hunched and guilty-looking, avoiding each other’s eyes. They’re shirtless, showing off Renaud’s tattoo sleeves and the scrapes and bruises mottling their chests. Mihai sits between them but he stares at you. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, plain black and slightly too big for him. The sleeves fall all the way to his knuckles and he seems content to leave them there, nothing but his fingertips and sharp, claw-like nails peeking out. 

“What was that for? You could’ve just asked me to go with you!” you snap.

Mihai shrinks back like you lunged at him but there’s anger mixed in with the fear, his face marred by a glaring snarl. “You were defiant,” he says. His voice never rises above a hoarse murmur. “Waste of time arguing with you.” 

“You may blame me, sacrament. I would have retrieved you myself, but there were other matters that required immediate attention.” Athanasius looks pointedly at the hatchlings. Orion and Renaud carefully look anywhere else. “You have all made tremendous progress since arriving at the convenire. I am proud of you. But these recent incidents must not go unaddressed. Orion.” 

The hatchling flinches. He sneaks a look at you and then quickly looks away. 

“Orion,” Athanasius repeats more gently. “Now would be a good time to apologize.” 

Orion stares at the table. “Uh. Right. So.” He clears his throat. “Sorry for, uh. You know. The whole, like, coercion thing. And trying to make you like me more. And not letting you go when, um, you wanted to.”

You glance back and forth at all the nightbound seated at the table. You’re not sure why Orion’s the only one apologizing. They’ve all used their mesmerism in ways you find distasteful and the one most at fault for not letting you leave isn’t a hatchling. Then again, Athanasius has been careful about everything. There’s a schedule, a hierarchy, a particular way things are meant to go under his roof. Orion must’ve crossed a line when he cornered you in the hallway the other day.

“Do you think I’m weak?” he asks suddenly.

You’re completely blindsided by the question, even more shocked by the expectant looks you get as the silence stretches on. Are you supposed to answer that? Orion watches you so intently that it makes you nervous. “Uh. No?” you say. 

“But you like him better even though I’ve been nicer. Is it because I’m the youngest? You don’t think I can protect you? But if that’s all it was, you would’ve fucked Athanasius by now.” Orion frowns at you, eyes darting around to every micromovement of your expression as your face twists in confused embarrassment. 

“Or perhaps,” Athanasius says gently, “every witch is different. And because we are not traditionalists, there is no need for a witch to offer themselves in the hopes of ensuring survival, nor is there any need for these dominance scuffles you keep initiating. This convenire is safe for the sacrament and for you, Orion. All of you are safe in my care.”

Orion smiles half-heartedly and shrugs. He doesn’t believe him, you realize. Is that why he’s been so clingy, following you around and acting friendly? Does he think he can get you in bed that way? Does he think that’s normal? Is that how it was, wherever he came from?

Does he miss it? you wonder nervously. 

“Renaud,” Athanasius says.

Renaud takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and resignedly. “Yes, sir,” he says.

“I am concerned for your health. You have become avoidant again since your last incident.”

“I’m drinking—”

“Proper blood,” Athanasius stresses. “Cannibalism will starve you slowly.” Renaud doesn’t take the accusation well. He gets out of his chair, glaring, and opens his mouth but never gets the chance to speak. “Do not lie to me. You reek of your dalliances when you return from the bar. You gorge yourself on that which cannot sustain you and you do so with malice. There are many humans who are eager to feel our bite—”

“I don’t want them,” Renaud insists. He hunches over the table, rubbing a hand over his own face in embarrassment. “I don’t…can I talk to Rowan? Here? Not just over the phone.”

Athanasius’ gaze softens. “Rowan has yet to return from Envred, but he has assured me he will be here as soon as he is able. I can arrange something with Dr. Griffiths in the meantime.”

“I’ll wait,” Renaud says quietly. 

No wonder the household is such a wreck. They’ve all got the same counselor and he’s apparently out of town. You shift in your chair uncomfortably and look at the door to the kitchen. Do you really have to be here for this? You feel like you’re lurking at the edge of someone else’s therapy session, hearing things you’re not meant to. 

“Mihai,” Athanasius says. 

“Hm,” you hear. Then a choked sound, an awkward clearing of the throat. “Y…yes, sir.” Athanasius looks pointedly between you as if Mihai has looked anywhere else this entire meeting. His gaze steadily burns into yours. “I can’t apologize. I’m not sorry,” he says bluntly. 

Orion snorts, stifling it when Athanasius glances at him. “What, precisely, are you not sorry for?” Athanasius asks.

Mihai blinks slowly. That’s a cat thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t look particularly friendly or trusting right now. “Any of it,” he says. 

“What bothers you more? My inattentiveness, or the potential danger the sacrament poses?” Athanasius asks.

“Both,” Mihai says immediately. Then he frowns, glancing away from you for the first time and looking meekly at Athanasius. “No. It’s the witch. But you’re not careful enough, either. Witches are dangerous, elder. Especially the young and willful.”

You’re surprised that Mihai speaks so boldly to Athanasius, and even more surprised that Athanasius tilts his head in consideration. “And yet you subdued them easily. You held them so deeply in your thrall that it took both of us to bring them back out again. What did you see while they were unguarded?”

Mihai looks at you again. He’s still nervous, studying you the way a person studies anything volatile and potentially fatal, but there’s pity there, too. “Sadness,” he says quietly, “and profound loneliness. A lifetime of fear, of isolation. Of searching and never finding anything. A desire for destruction, for…vengeance. And yet a reluctance to do true, lasting harm.” 

You’re too stunned to even try refuting him. Are you really that easy to read? Do they all see that whenever they peek into your mind, or just when they go looking for something specific? 

“We probably won’t be killed in our sleep,” Mihai says, not sounding fully confident. “But most animals bite when provoked, and you like provocation.”  

Athanasius smiles. “Then your ire shall be for me alone. Are we agreed, sacrament?” 

You look at him and he looks back at you, and something stirs in the connection between you. He doesn’t send a message or an image through telepathy or try to nudge you into any particular answer, but there’s something there. Wisps of emotion. A feeling unfurling. It feels vast and endless, smothering, consuming. It fills your mind and tingles across your skin. The word “mine” never fully takes shape but you sense the implication; the shape of hands. The weight of chains. Slits of light and dark, sky and birdcage bars. 

He wants you with such ferocity that it leaves you speechless, frozen in fear until he repeats, “Are we agreed?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure, yeah,” you say nervously, squirming in your seat. Mihai is unreadable but he’s watching carefully.

The rest of the meeting is thankfully uneventful. Athanasius spends some time reassuring the hatchlings, praising them for the things they’ve done well. Orion’s coworkers at the bakery are enamored with him. Renaud was recently mentioned by name in a travel vlog after he gave a tourist nightlife recommendations. 

“And Mihai,” Athanasius says proudly. “The Lord Regent tells me the Council greatly appreciates your insight. I would not be surprised if you are approached for an advisory position of some sort in the near future.” 

Mihai shrugs, letting out a quiet, almost shy, “Hm.” Dismissed, the hatchlings drift back inside. Renaud leaves first and Orion waits a while before he follows dejectedly, giving you one last thoughtful look. Mihai lingers and so do you. Making peace has been in your best interest so far so you let him stare as hard as he wants and clear your throat. 

“So,” you say.

“Hm,” he says.

“You must be pretty, uh…” Interesting? Knowledgeable? What’s he helping the Council with, anyway? “I didn’t know they let hatchlings join the Council.” 

“They don’t,” he says. 

You blink. He doesn’t. Mihai glances up at Athanasius like he wants or expects him to step in, but Athanasius is too busy tucking in Orion and Renaud’s chairs, pretending he isn’t eavesdropping.

“I’m…older,” he says slowly. “Renaud and I are similar. Hatchlings by other definitions.” He stands up suddenly, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, sounding seconds away from turning into a pile of leaves. 

“Hey, okay, no problem,” you assure him. Curiosity gnaws at you but you’ll leave it alone for now. “Well. It was nice to meet you. You know, properly. We haven’t really talked much before.”

He cocks his head in the sharp nightbound headtilt. It’s the first time you’ve seen it on him. Somehow, it strikes you as more intimidating than usual. His gaze is piercing. You feel like he sees things the other hatchlings miss. The dog comparison comes to mind again, but now it seems insufficient. That’s a wolf, you think. He’s been skittish but now that he’s tested you, sniffing around and prodding to see what you’ll do, he’s getting bolder. 

“Hm. We’ll speak more,” he says. For once, he walks away instead of shapeshifting and stealthily vanishing. His movements make your pulse pick up. He doesn’t walk like Orion or Renaud, confident, graceful, but ultimately human. He looks like Athanasius. Like Virgilio or Avudim. That’s a beast barely constrained by human skin, a predator that’s tasted centuries of blood.