#cherry writes stuff

On the day of Reginald's funeral, Pogo decides to go against his teachings and help out the estranged children. It is a decision he does not regret.

~~~~~~~

It was quite the pity that Reginald Hargreeves felt the need to die. 

Pogo muses on this for awhile, even after the deed is done. Granted, his knowledge is severely limited, and he thinks there is much to learn about the world outside the Academy's door. However, he does believe that if a man has to die to bring his children home… 

...well, that does seem a tad bit extreme, doesn't it? 

Pogo thinks he loves the children. On the other hand, he doesn't know if he knows what love is. Sure, he programmed affection into Grace many a year ago - a quiet act of affection, one that Reginald never learned of - but can that be considered love? Human emotions are so foreign to him.

 Reginald created him to be a guide, an accomplice, a helping hand. As such, he has bore witness to many a deed, whether it be good or bad. He had the privilege of witnessing the children grow. He knew them. 

And yet, he thinks as he watches them one by one trickle in to the Academy, yet they don't know him. They don't know the secrets he's held. He remembers the feelings of pain, the clenching of his chest as Reginald locked the tiniest of his children away, as he used his sharp tongue to belittle the kids that he called his children. 

Pogo knows that he owes much to Reginald. It is a debt he was never quite able to pay, not fully. How does one pay the price of existence? 

Not like this, he muses, listening to the five children - adults, they are adults now - bicker about the circumstances of Reginald's death. That both sides are incorrect is faintly amusing, and yet… the urge to reveal his Master's secrets is one that Pogo wishes he had the strength to ignore. Perhaps, in another time, he did. 

He doesn't, this time. 

Pogo pulls out the journal, glad he had the foresight to relocate it after Reginald passed. It had been a miracle that Vanya had not found it, perusing the books as she was. The spine didn't really stand out, he supposes. 

Oh, Vanya. Of all the children, Pogo thinks he pities her the most. Reginald had never touched the autobiography she had written, but Pogo had been enticed with the thought of hearing the words she had not been permitted to say. It becomes a lump in his throat he cannot swallow, all the pain and misery she writes about. So lonely, so scarred, and yet she only knew half of it. 

It was seeing Vanya again - watching the way she flinches from her siblings, ducks her head in meek submission - that confirms Pogo's own thoughts. He cannot play the accomplice any longer. Reginald's secrecy must die with him. 

"Master Luther," he says as he steps into the light of the sitting room, pursing his lips in fondness as the heads of all five present children turn. Pogo holds the journal loosely, allowing them all to see it. 

"What is it, Pogo?" Luther asks, his voice gruff and firm. He's lost most of his brash confidence that he had in his youth, and yet he has been the one to hold on to Reginald's ideals for the longest. Pogo can only imagine the pain Luther will feel once he learns the truth. 

"Forgive me for being so quiet," Pogo starts, drawing his gaze from Luther to Diego, bristling, to Allison, poised, to Klaus, relaxed, to Vanya, curling in on herself, "but I believe I can answer any of your questions." 

"You mean like who killed Dad," Diego states flatly - it's no question. 

Still, Pogo allows himself to chuckle, "Yes, precisely like that, Master Diego. In fact, I believe that will be the easiest question you all will have." He lifts his head a little, "your father was a complicated man who believed that he held the answers to everything. Once his mind was made up, he wouldn't allow anything to change it."

"Cut to the chase." 

"Reginald's death was no accident," Pogo pauses, if only to watch the way Luther's eyes light up in victory, "nor was it murder. He believed his death would be the only way to reunite the five of you and bring you home." 

Unsurprisingly - to Pogo, at least - Klaus is the first to put the pieces together with a near-hysterical giggle, "so dear old daddy killed himself?" 

"That's insane," Luther bites out. 

"I'm afraid not, Master Luther." Pogo sighs, watching the shock flash across all of their faces, "and, I'm also afraid, that is not the worst of your father's secrets." 

With the foreboding tone of his carefully selected words, he presents the notebook, lips pursed as he mentally selects which of the estranged siblings to give it to. Aware of questioning stares, he sighs once more and holds out the notebook to a rather confused Klaus. 

“You were always rather neutral in the rift your father maintained between your siblings,” Pogo explains, “I believe you should read this first.” He looks up once more to all of them, “do not take Sir Reginald’s words to heart - I’m afraid he had little experience with children when he brought you seven together.” 

“Can’t you just tell us, Pogo?” Luther asks, brow furrowed, “I mean, what did Father really have to hide?” 

Klaus, flipping through the journal’s pages in disbelief, scoffs at the words, “wow, Daddy Dearest really did hate us, didn’t he?” 

Presumably, Pogo thinks, Klaus is reading each carefully written entry, although he’s skimming through the pages far too quickly to tell. 

“What does it say?” Allison prompts, shifting to stand up as if to make her way over to the journal. Luther and Diego both look as if they are doing the same - a subtle crane of the neck, fingers flexing together. Unsurprisingly - to Pogo at least - Vanya appears to be showing the most restraint, making no move to peer over Klaus’s shoulder. 

There is quiet for a few minutes before Klaus’s eyes widen minisculely - Pogo allows his shoulders to slump in anticipated stress. Undoubtedly, he’s reached the notes on what is perhaps Reginald’s biggest secret. 

“Woah, okay, that’s a lot to unpack,” Klaus says finally, slamming the journal shut, “thanks for choosing me, Pogo, wow. So… let me get this straight.”

Pogo straightens his shoulders once again, folding his hands in front of him, “I will answer any of your questions.” 

Klaus nods, then glances at Luther, “dad sent Luther to the moon for nothing - he just wanted to focus his loyalty somewhere else.” 

“That is correct,” Pogo confirms, “Sir Reginald believed giving Master Luther purpose was what was most beneficial to him.” 

“Dad festered the rivalry between Luther and Diego because it was the only way to ensure Diego’s cooperation.” 

“He believed the rivalry improved both of their motivation and helped them to be the best they could be.” 

“Dad wanted Allison to be manipulative, which is why he didn’t teach her much about word choice and let her get away with nearly anything she wanted.” 

“I don’t believe Sir Reginald saw the difference in her wording, but yes, he did allow her more liberties to keep her in his control.”

“Dad purposefully wanted me to be scared of the ghosts so that I’d be more motivated to get them to go away.” 

“He always believed that you hadn’t reached the full potential of your powers - he never once thought to question his methods.” 

“Dad knew that Five was going to run away and encouraged it, for whatever reasons he didn’t write down.”

“Yes. He wanted Master Five to pursue time travel in the hopes of learning more about the future.” 

“Dad,” and Klaus falters here, glancing around at his siblings in panicked support. Of course, all of them - save Vanya - seemed to be in different states of shock, which is to be expected, “Dad was scared of losing control of Ben and knew that mission was going to kill him.” 

Pogo releases a deep sigh, hoping his mournful expression is enough to convey his feelings towards that particular entry. “I am afraid so, yes. Sir Reginald believed that Master Ben was going to lose control at some point and he chose to sacrifice him to save the rest of you, despite my opinions.” 

This elicits a round of shocked gasps - Klaus hangs his head, while Vanya stares mournfully at the ground, and Luther looks so surprised and guilty, and Diego hisses with gritted teeth, and Allison rubs at her eyes. 

“I believe you are not finished, Master Klaus,” Pogo prods gently, soothingly. 

“No… no, I’m not.” Klaus turns to the smallest of his siblings, leaning over to take her hand in comfort, “Dad… when we were four, Dad decided that Vanya was too hard to control, so he drugged her powers away and had Allison rumor her and told her she was ordinary to keep her subdued.” 

Pogo looks at Vanya, who glances up sharply in disbelief, already shaking her head. Allison’s eyes widen in shock and then in guilt - she must finally remember her actions all those years ago. Pogo had all but begged Reginald to change her wording a little, or maybe try a bit harder to train Vanya, to no avail. 

“That is correct,” he says, as sadly as he can muster, “Reginald was afraid of what Miss Vanya could accomplish - she was quite powerful at such a young age - especially since her powers were tied to her emotions. He thought she could’ve caused destructive things - she did cause destructive things, but she was a child prone to violent outbursts of emotions, just like the rest of you.” He looks to Vanya, whose shock was quickly giving way to anger, “do not blame Miss Allison. She did nothing more than what Reginald forced upon her.” 

“I have powers?” Vanya pulls out a cylindrical orange vial, staring at the contents in disbelief, “all this time… I was…” 

“Special,” Allison supplies, and she’s moved in the minutes Pogo has spent watching Vanya - enough to sit next to her, tug her into a hug, “I’m so sorry, Vanya, I didn’t… I don’t…”

“We were four,” Vanya mumbles in reply, and Pogo smiles softly, glad, in that instant, that he chose to reveal everything now. 

All of the siblings look like they’re about to collapse in on each other - Diego and Luther stand side by side, both sharing sorrowful looks, Klaus still has Vanya's hand, even as he stares off into the distance. 

They don't even notice the blue flashes of light, the way the house shakes, the secondary flash that brings with it the presence of someone long thought dead. 

Just squeaking in right before the deadline for @pomegranate-belle for @nagamas! This definitely got away from me a bit, but I like where it ended up. I hope you do too! 

This is heavily inspired by the musings between myself and @deetheteadrinkingdragon , along with @my-daughter-rayla who started the thread. I dedicate this to you two, so enjoy some Rayllum fluff!

~~~~~~

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

Callum stares at the night sky, entranced. Watching the sky had never been one of his hobbies, but here, in Xadia…

The stars were stunning.

“Yeah,” he answers after a minute, turning his head to give Rayla a sheepish glance, “it is.”

Zym is curled up, fast asleep, next to them, his head snuggled into Rayla’s lap. It’s adorable, and Callum would be drawing the scene if it weren’t for the clear skies above them. They had just passed a village and were sitting atop a grassy hill, overlooking the buildings below. Without trees, the stars were in plain view, and there were so many.

“I’ve never seen so many stars before,” he breathes, mostly to himself. There are so many that he isn’t sure he could draw them all.

“Meira is out tonight,” Rayla mentions, stretching her arms from her position on the grassy earth, “that’s my favorite constellation.”

“Meira?” Callum questions, turning his head to look at her once again.

She meets his confused gaze, looking quizzical at first before her expression melts into something more akin to amusement.

“You… don’t know what constellations are, do you?” She asks, a teasing disbelief in her tone.

“In my defense, I never studied the stars much,” Callum attempts to defend himself.

Rayla just rolls her eyes before returning her gaze to the sky. She hums lightly before pointing, “do you see the petal-like shape that those stars are making?”

He looks in the direction she’s pointing, eyes narrowing before he finds the stars she’s talking about, “...yeah, I see them.”

“Well, that’s Meira. Legend says she was an earthblood elf who was obsessed with flowers. Used them for everything. She invented the tradition of giving flowers to someone you love,” Rayla explains, a fond smile on her face, “when I was really little, I would pretend to be her and throw flowers at people. Runaan hated it, but Tikaal always laughed.”

Her eyes mist up at the mention of the elves who raised her, and Callum frowns. He doesn’t get to hear her talk about her childhood much - mostly because it always brings bad memories - but he hates seeing her upset so he points at a random star, “what about that one?”

Rayla smiles at him, which is a relief, and then glances up and says, with full sincerity, “that one is the jellytart constellation.”

“Rayla, you didn’t know what a jellytart was, why would there be a constellation for it?”

She laughs then, a playful sound, “okay, okay, I may have made that up. Not every star has a constellation you know.” She gestures to another small grouping of stars, “that one is the Great Hunter Maanos. He was supposed to be this super powerful sunfire elf who pretty much invented the modern ways of fighting. See that triangle? It’s supposed to be the shape of his belt.”

“Wow,” Callum breathes.

Rayla smiles again, “the pointed star next to him is supposed to be Leilaana, his lover. Story has it that she, a startouch elf, taught him everything.” Her eyes start to mist up again, “the stories say that she was first known as Lilaan, son of the famous startouch elf Corinth. Her story represents becoming your true self. Runaan would tell me her story all the time, back when I was super resentful of my parents. He told me that my parents didn’t define me, that they had no say in the way I lived and that I should be proud of myself.”

“Rayla,” Callum swallows, lightly reaching out to touch her shoulder. The distance between them had somehow gotten shorter and he almost smacks her in the face.

She doesn’t look at him, wiping at her eyes and seemingly lost in thought.

He can’t think of anything to say - comforting has never been his forte, regardless of how much he shares her pain - so he decides to do the thing he’s best at.

“You know, if you look up and you see that circlet of stars,” he starts, and Rayla looks at him curiously, “that is… uh… the Great Banther, protector of the animals.”

“What?”

“You know! It’s a king, a leader. All the animals look up to the skies and see the Great Banther and know that they are safe,” Callum says all of this with all the sincerity he can muster, keeping his expression neutral even as his lips itch to smile.

Rayla stares at him for a full minute before she snorts, “that… that looks nothing like a banther.”

“It’s true!” He insists, scanning the sky for a minute before pointing in a random direction, “and that one… that one with the interlapping rectangles is called the Dumb Human Who Can’t Make A Box, as named by the dumb human who tried to draw a box but didn’t connect the rectangles.”

He must sound ridiculous because she openly laughs, “Callum, that’s The Lover’s Dance!”

“Well, it is now the Dumb Human Who Can’t Make A Box. Dumb Human, for short,” he says, barely managing to keep a straight face even as she shakes her head.

“You’re a dumb human,” Rayla says fondly, looking over at him again. The pale moonlight catches her eyes, making them sparkle.

And you’re beautiful, he thinks before the words catch up to him and he blanches internally. He can’t just say that out loud so instead he shrugs, “you keep me around anyways.”

“Of course I do.” And then somehow, somehow, her head is brushing his shoulder, her arm languidly atop of his hand, and she’s still staring at the sky so he doesn’t even think she noticed.

It’s a closure that almost makes him blush because yeah, they’re close but they’re practically snuggling together at this point and it isn’t helping his thoughts any.

For lack of word, he just sighs and glances upwards again. Callum has to force himself to relax, keeping an eye on the few constellations that she had pointed out. “Thanks for showing me, Rayla.”

She doesn’t answer.

He glances over at her when a few minutes pass and she hasn’t said anything, only to find her eyes closed, her body relaxed for what must be the first time in days.

He smiles.

“Good night, Rayla.”

And if he has the tiniest of crushes on her…

Callum barely has the time to think when the elf appears.

It(he she they?) comes out of nowhere, leaping out of the shadows. Wary eyes fixate on him, on the dragonling he carries in his arms. Nevermind that he’s traveling with another elf - he’s human, so he must be evil, right?

(He understands how Rayla felt now, back when they were still in Katolis).

He doesn’t note much of the elf’s features(dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, dark dark dark) and the only thing he can truly think to do is drop Zym, hands out to attempt to protect himself despite the bare minimum of spells that he knows.

He doesn’t have to.

Within an instant, there’s a blur of motion and then Rayla is in front of him, her blades crossed defensively. She says something that Callum doesn’t understand - some form of elven language, probably - and her tone is more biting than he’s ever heard. The foreign elf gives her a chilly look but backs off, understanding the threat in Rayla’s words.

As soon as the elf is gone, Callum breathes a sigh of relief, kneeling down to apologize to Zym for the fall. “That could’ve been disastrous, thank you Rayla.”

She doesn’t answer.

Callum extends an arm to Zym, but the dragonling dodges his searching hand in favor of whining and stumbling over to Rayla. It’s only then that Callum glances upward, wondering what was going through his companion’s head that would cause her not to answer.

What he sees makes his heart drop.

Rayla has all but collapsed, leaning against a tree with a hand pressing against her stomach. Red seeps from between her fingers, staining her outfit. Zym is nosing at her legs, climbing up into her lap to worry at her free hand.

“I’m okay, little one,” Rayla says to Zym, but the words come out breathy and strained, color draining from her face.

Callum can’t move fast enough, instantly at her side while tugging his scarf off of himself. It’s the only thing he can think of to stop the bleeding on such short notice - he doesn’t have anything else.

“Rayla- Rayla you’re going to have to move your hand, I have to see,” he fumbles with his words, even as he gently pries her fingers away from the bleeding gash. Before he pulls all of her fingers off, she complies, readjusting her hand to allow the red-stained skin to fall limply into her lap.

It’s bad.

Callum can hardly see the wound itself - his eyes focusing on the red red red seeping from the gash - and it is a struggle to press his scarf against it, shaking hands clutching the fabric like a lifeline. They don’t have any actual medical supplies(he never thought they would need them) and he’s not strong enough to carry Rayla into the nearby village for help.

The scarf soaks through in a matter of minutes, despite his increasing pressure. The few times he affords to glance away from his own hands, he can barely meet Rayla’s eyes - they’re glazed over in pain, her breathing shallow and strained.

She’s not going to make it, a small voice inside of him whispers, you’ve just lost another person you care about.

“Rayla,” Callum whispers, unsure of what else to do. What can he do? He can’t leave her, he can’t carry her, he can’t fix her. All he can do is stare, and apply more pressure, and beg for a miracle.

“Rayla,” he repeats, glancing up to watch her lavender eyes shift from the ground to meet him. Despite her condition, she gives a weak smile, her fingers curling together.

Then, her eyes close, and her body sags against the tree even more, curled fingers falling to the ground. Zym whines again, nudging at her fallen hand.

“Rayla!” Callum’s heart shatters as his breathing picks up, a black hole in his stomach consuming his thoughts until there’s nothing left, “wake up, please, wake up! I can’t… I can’t lose you, not like this!”

Not when all she’d done was protect him from her own kind. Not when she didn’t deserve a fate so cruel. Not when they were so close to their destination.

“Please, please, don’t… don’t leave, you can’t leave, not now,” he begs, grabbing at her limp hand desperately, “Rayla… please… please.”

He doesn’t sense the presence behind him, not until hands gently push him away from Rayla, sending him toppling to the ground.

Callum jumps to his senses, frantically scrambling back to his feet. An elf crouches next to Rayla, his back to Callum and blocking his view. At this point, Callum knows better than to make himself known to the elf - instead, he crawls over to the side, scooping Zym into his arms and watching the elf work with wide eyes.

The elf has drawn a small series of runes into Rayla’s blood, directly on the wound. Callum’s scarf lay fallen to the side, dripping. The elf’s lips are moving, although the ringing in Callum’s ears proves too loud to hear anything.

After a couple of heartwrenching seconds, the wound seems to close, and Rayla’s breathing evens out, her expression relaxing minisculely.

The elf then surprises Callum - he scoops Rayla into his arms, pressing a light kiss to her forehead in the process.

“Come with me, human,” the elf speaks, his voice warm, “draw your cloak over your head and follow.”

Well, Callum can’t argue with that - especially since this elf still has Rayla and he refuses to abandon her - so he complies, drawing Rayla’s cloak that he may or may not have borrowed over his head and tucking Zym into his arms before standing.

The elf leads him into the nearby village and to a small inn. Eyes follow them, but Callum doesn’t turn his head to see - instead keeping his gaze fixated on the elf and Rayla. The elf’s dark hair - messily cut and windblown - almost blends with his darker skin, and even though Callum hasn’t met very many elves, he knows this isn’t a moonshadow elf. It contrasts so much with Rayla’s light hair and sun-tanned skin, he can easily see the lines where the two of them meet.

He’s also acting like he knows her.

Maybe he does.

Whatever may come, Callum follows the taller elf into a small room, empty save for a bed and a desk with a rolled parchment atop it. The elf gently eases Rayla onto the bed, tugging the blankets around her.

“Why are you helping us?” Callum finds his voice, asking as the elf kneels to rummage through a bag in the corner.

“I’m helping her,” came the voice, as warm as before, “helping you is merely a bonus.”

“But why? Who are you?”

The elf sighs, standing and turning to face Callum. His eyes are soft, his lips pursed, “I should’ve known that she wouldn’t have mentioned me. Oh well.” He turns, “my name is Tikaal. I’m one of her… guardians, of a sort.” He laughs, “I would ask who you are, but I already know. Prince Callum of Katolis, correct?”

Callum stares, “how did you-”

“My husband did his research well, and he rambles when he’s stressed out,” Tikaal explains, “I believe I know more about you than you do me because Rayla is the opposite. She’d rather hold everything in until it bursts than talk about her feelings.”

“Your… husband?”

“Aye. Does it surprise you that I’m married?” Tikaal pulls out a rag and a roll of bandages, returning to Rayla’s side to gently mop up some of the blood. Callum scrambles over to her as well, fingers itching to help.

“Is she going to be okay?” He ends up asking, taking one of her hands into his own as he kneels beside the bed.

“She’ll be fine, Tikaal says, almost fondly, “she just needs rest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rayla wakes slowly, her chest aching like she’d been laying down for too long. Sunlight streams into her face, causing her to blink her eyes open and then wince at the brightness.

“Ugh,” she groans, attempting to lift a hand to rub the light out of her eyes. This backfires, though, because for whatever reason her hand is pinned down to the bed, heavy and unmoving. She frowns, attempting to tug at her hand, to no avail.

Finally, the light dims enough that she can actually see, and her heart flutters at the sight of Callum, kneeling on the ground slumped against the bed, her hand securely grasped in his.

“He was really worried about you,” a familiar voice says from the other corner of the room, and Rayla inhales softly, turning her head to look at the speaker.

“Tinker?” She mumbles, because surely it couldn’t be him, he lived far too faraway from the little village she knew they were close to, surely she was hallucinating…

And yet, the sight of her uncle’s face greets her, his eyes twinkling with parental fondness as he approaches and kneels.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, surprised at how raspy her voice comes out.

Tikaal gestures to a rolled up piece of parchment sitting on the desk - one she’s very familiar with, “I saw that you had entered Xadia again,” the without Runaan goes unsaid, “and I thought I could meet you halfway. Imagine my surprise when I find you half-dead with a human prince and a baby dragon for company.” His voice is warm but laced with question.

Rayla swallows, “it’s… it’s a long story.” She glances down at Callum again, “how long was I out?”

“Long enough to send the poor thing into a heart attack,” Tikaal laughs, “you’ve been asleep for almost two full days. He hasn’t left your side at all - I’ve had to persuade him to eat and drink on occasion. Your dragon also hasn’t left your side much.” He gestures to the empty space next to Rayla on the bed, where Zym is curled up, nuzzling into her side.

There’s so much to be said - about the mission, about Runaan, about Callum - but Rayla forgets all of that when Callum stirs, his head lifting from the bed, sleepy green eyes meeting hers.

“Rayla-?!” He perks up almost immediately, his hand squeezing hers, “you’re awake!”

“Good morning,” she says simply, for lack of a better response.

Luckily, Callum just laughs, and stands, moving to sit on the bed rather than kneel before it, “you scared me so much,” he breathes, his free hand moving to - perhaps unconsciously - brush hair out of her face, “don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, even though she really doesn’t regret her actions. If keeping her dumb human safe comes with the cost of her life, she’ll pay tenfold. She vows this to herself even now, when Callum smiles at her apology and gives her that fond look that she both loves and hates.

Oh would you look at that - nothing like some good Rayllum to drag me out of a year's long writers block. Us Rayllum shippers need constant feeding, so here's a snippet of my newest AU!

Warnings: none... for now

~~~~~~~

“Where are we going, Claudia?”

“Shhh!” Claudia presses a finger against her lips and then against Callum’s. Her dark hair is tied out of her face into a bun, the pink streaks almost glowing in the faded light of the hidden hallway. “This is a secret hallway, Callum - nobody can know we’re down here.” To emphasize her point, she taps her nose and then his, her eyes comically wide.

Callum shrugs off her invasive finger, pursing his lips together. His eighteenth birthday had been yesterday, and the dark mage - his closest friend - had promised something special for it. Something new.

“If this is some dark magicky stuff, I told you I want no part of it,” he whispers, begrudgingly following Claudia through the tunnels that only she really knew how to navigate.

In the years following her father Viren’s imprisonment, the tunnels have all but gone to waste, as only he truly knew how to find his way around. It was possibly the only negative thing about his imprisonment.

Claudia rolls her eyes, “it isn’t dark magic stuff, not really. It’s more… elfy.”

Elfy? Callum perks up at that. For years, he’s been studying elves and elven magic, interested in a culture long forgotten. Even now, elven artifacts were ridiculously hard to come by.

“What is it?”

As they round a corner, Claudia lowers her voice, “you’ve heard the story of the Moonshadow Six, right?”

It takes willpower not to roll his eyes and say ‘well duh’, “everybody knows that story, Claudia.”

“Everybody knows of the assassins,” she corrects, “but not the outcome.”

“...you’re going to tell the story, aren’t you.” Callum deadpans.

Claudia just winks.

“Long ago, before the hunting of elves truly began, there was a king. This was the most famous king of the humans, before the five kingdoms were split. He was well-loved by his people, kind and just.

“However, the elves distrusted him. They did not care for his promises of goodwill and peace. They wanted only to squash the humans like bugs beneath their feet.

“So, they sent a group of six moonshadow elf assassins to kill the king.”

Callum snorts, “once again, I reiterate - everybody knows that story.”

“But do you know what comes after?” Claudia gives him a hard look.

“Well,” he swallows, “we know that they were stopped. I always assumed that they were killed - the start of the elf huntings. Moonshadow elves are all but extinct, right?”

Claudia nods, “except the king didn’t kill the assassins. No, he devised a fate far worse. His high mage used dark magic to lock up their souls inside of the mirror dimension.”

“The mirror dimension that doesn’t exist?”

“They say it does exist. Each elf’s soul was captured inside of separate mirrors, and the mirrors scattered.” Claudia comes to a full stop, gesturing towards the room at the end of the corridor they were walking along. “Take a look.”

“Woah,” Callum breathes.

In an otherwise-empty room, a mirror glitters in the dim candlelight. It’s ornate and round, with the slightest sheen of dust catching in the light. Delicate swirls frame the reflective surface, and the top is carved with runes in ancient draconic.

“I found it with dad’s things. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it to reveal anything.” Claudia shakes her head, “but you’re our resident draconic-speaking primal source-using archmage. I figured you could do something with it.”

Callum just stares, mesmerized by the shine of the framing. The runes catch his eye, and he glances upwards, squinting.

“The Heart of Xadia,” he reads, stepping forward and reaching out to lightly trace the carvings, “it’s beautiful.”

He hears Claudia laugh behind him, “I’ll leave you to it, Archmage Callum.” She says the title like a joke shared between friends, and he can almost hear the wink in her voice as she turns and leaves. Nevermind that he probably won’t find his way out again. Oh well.

Callum brushes some of the dust off of the mirror, frowning, “If Viren kept you around, it must be for a reason,” he mumbles to himself. If dark magic couldn’t reveal anything, what could?

Well, he thinks, his own magic is worth a try. With a deep breath, he traces two runes into the air with his finger, summoning the primal magic from within him before releasing with a softly muttered “ilyin nostrum”.

The mirror shimmers.

Callum watches as the reflective surface shifts, swirling with fog and clouds before settling on a new image. One that wasn’t so reflective. It was… a room.

A room, with a small library in the corner, something that could be assumed to be a punching bag in the other, with tacked-up drawings hanging from the walls. There was a figure, covered in a cloak, sitting with their back to him, hunched over a desk.

Callum taps the mirror, curious.

The figure jerks alert, head turning to look directly at him. They stand up, hood still in place, and walk towards him. Their head tilts, causing the hood to fall back and reveal white hair and lavender eyes and dark skin.

And pointed ears.

And horns.

“A moonshadow elf,” Callum breathes, leaning in.

The elf jumps back, startled. Their purple eyes scan his face, flickering from his eyes to his decidingly human ears and head. Those eyes furrow in confusion, and they take another step back.

“Wait!” Callum steps back as well, hoping to ease the elf in the mirror, “It’s okay. My name’s Callum, what’s yours?”

The elf just frowns at him.

They can’t hear me, he realizes, frowning himself. He hums, scanning the room for something, anything…

Well, he always carries his sketchbook with him.

Hesitantly, Callum turns to an empty page in his sketchbook. This is an elf, he reminds himself - they won’t know any human tongue. Instead, he carefully writes down several runes, spelling out words in a language he never thought he’d be able to use.

He holds the sketchbook up to the mirror.

MY NAME IS CALLUM, the page read, WHAT’S YOURS?

And then, underneath, I MEAN NO HARM, I PROMISE.

The elf frowns again, and then pulls out a sheet of paper. After a couple minutes scribbling onto the paper, they hold it up for Callum to see. Somehow, despite the reflective nature of the mirror, he can read it.

MY NAME IS RAYLA, the note reads.

“Rayla,” Callum says aloud, tasting the name.

To all my tdp followers, I'm sure most of you know that I'm the author of the short-chaptered multichap fic Heart of Xadia, which is my current project. That being said, I'm sure those who have read Heart of Xadia know that I haven't updated in weeks.

I'm trying to fix that, though!

I'm struggling to keep my tdp inspiration intact amidst the season gap, and it's really affecting my motivation to write. But! There is a solution!

If you have any questions for me about Heart of Xadia - any at all - ask me and I will answer! This helps me think about my work and get excited, and you get something out of it too!

You’re staring off into space again.”

“Huh?” Callum jerks out of his thoughts, blinking.

King Harrow - his stepfather, he should say - laughs from across the table. It’s dinnertime here at the castle, and normally Callum’s more involved. It is the only time he has to freely talk to his parents, after all.

“He’s been doing that for days,” Ezran complains, “not even Bait has snapped him out of his thoughts.”

“Sounds like somebody has something to think about,” his mom, Sarai, says almost teasingly, her eyes sparkling, “or maybe someone?”

Callum flushes red, picking at his food with his fork to distract himself. Normally, his mom’s teasing doesn’t get to him(much), but her words hit so close to the truth it almost gives himself away.

“It isn’t like that,” he says defensively, “it’s just that, well, Claudia gave me something for my birthday and I’m still trying to figure it out. I guess I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Oh, it’s magic again,” Ezran snorts. Ever since turning thirteen, his younger brother has become more snippety and sarcastic than before. Callum hopes it’s only teenage-related.

“I suppose magic is just as distracting as a beautiful girl,” Sarai says, sneaking a sly glance at Harrow as she says it.

“I suppose,” Harrow agrees, wrapping an arm around her.

Callum sighs, pushing his plate forward before standing up, “I’m leaving.”

“Have fun with your magic!” His mom calls after him as he walks away from the dining room. He rolls his eyes, walking down towards the entrance of the secret tunnels.

His mom is right, as always - it is a girl on his mind. A specific girl. A moonshadow elf.

Can they blame him, though? Elves were all but extinct nowadays, and the opportunity to actually talk to a real elf is one he could never pass up. Not to mention one of the six moonshadow elf assassins that really kickstarted the war - he has so many questions.

He had some answered over the past week. Although his time had been limited, he sneaks down into the corridors anytime he has a chance, if it means getting to talk to Rayla. Talking to her, learning more about the elves… it’s been a dream come true.

Fingers drum against his side as he hustles down the corridors, casting the occasional light spell to illuminate the dark hallways. He hardly remembers the path, as twisted as the halls are. Over the week, he’s gotten better at not making a wrong turn somewhere, but he’s still unsure.

Luckily, this time, he weaves through the tunnels easily, and arrives at the room he had dubbed the “mirror room” without distraction. The mirror sits against the wall, as always, the surface blank. Callum glances behind him, making sure he wasn’t followed - a habit, even though Viren was imprisoned months ago.

“Ilyin nostrum,” he whispers once again, drawing the runes in the air.

The mirror shimmers and then the room appears. Nothing has changed much, save for a rough sketch of him pinned to the wall facing him. Callum almost feels touched.

Rayla’s sitting facing her desk, her back hunched over. She doesn’t seem to have noticed him, so Callum lightly taps the mirror. Reminiscent of their first meeting, Rayla jumps, her head turning to give him a sheepish glance. She stands, picking up the piece of paper she had been writing on, and rushes over to him.

Callum waves, tugging his sketchbook out. He’s already written his first message, but before he can do anything, Rayla shakes her head. She holds her own paper up.

I HAVE A WAY FOR US TO COMMUNICATE BETTER, the paper reads in her messy handwriting.

Callum raises an eyebrow. She hasn’t said anything about an easier way to talk - although to be fair, he was going to ask, if only because he’s running out of paper in his sketchbook.

He tilts his head and nods, a silent means of communication.

Rayla offers another smile - one slightly more teasing, a smile that almost makes Callum question himself on her trustworthiness - before turning her back to quickly scribble something else down.

LARIGNA, the paper reads now, and underneath is a rune.

Callum frowns - a small part of his brain tells him that he really shouldn’t be trusting a moonshadow elf who had been trapped in a mirror for years - but nevertheless he draws the rune in the air. “Larigna.”

As soon as he speaks the words, a small tendril of purple seeps from the mirror. It curls around his head, producing a tingling sensation that has Callum shivering.

“...can you hear me?” A distinct, female voice asks.

Callum glances around him, confused, before turning back to the mirror. Rayla is looking at him curiously. She opens her mouth.

“Well, can you?” And the words line up so perfectly with her mouth…

“Rayla?” He asks aloud, staring her dead in the eyes.

“Callum,” she says back, her voice whimsical.

Briefly, he wonders how he can understand her - when they spoke through written words, they both used the language of magic. It must show in his face, because she chuckles - a musical sound - and sets her paper down.

“It’s the only spell I actually know. A communication spell. It lets the two people talk to each other no matter where they are or what language they speak.” She explains, crossing her arms in front of her.

“That’s… that’s really cool,” Callum grins at her, “I can’t believe we’re actually talking.”

“Says you,” Rayla says with a sigh, “I haven’t heard an actual voice in years.”

Although she doesn’t sound accusatory - not in the slightest- Callum still feels the smallest pang of guilt. When they first started talking, she had told him that the reason she felt no ill will towards him was because it wasn’t him who trapped her, but he still feels… well, bad that humans had stolen her from her normal life and imprisoned her.

Once again, his guilt must show on his face because Rayla’s expression softens. She tugs a chair towards her and takes a seat, “Come on, sad human. I think we left off on moonshadow magic.”