Children in Coffins
Orientation grew odder and odder each year he attended. Of course, it was one of the few sources of entertainment he had in the school. Seeing all the new faces gave him a sense of pride. For a hundred years, this institute had run, and every year more and more students were selected to attend. Malleus had come to the school only a few years prior, and naturally, he’d come with. That child was as antisocial as one could get, but such was the nature of youngling dragons. He’d come to prevent any “incidents”, not that he worried much about them. Malleus was at that point in his life where he didn’t need much protection anymore. It left Lilia woefully bereft. Although, with Silver’s attendance, he was sure he’d have at least someone to dote upon. His son was growing so very fast, too fast, it felt.
He’d arrived in Malleus’ place, as usual the Headmaster had “forgotten” Malleus’ invitation, along with the other dorm heads and vice dorm heads. Two years in a row, Crowley had slighted his prince, and had Malleus been any younger, Lilia would’ve dealt out punishment. Alas, Malleus was no longer a child and needed to learn to handle his own affairs.
He floated to the ceiling leisurely, waiting patiently for the ceremony to begin. Silver would be in attendance this year and, as any proper parent would, Lilia intended to get pictures from every angle. Oddly enough, the chamber held a heavy scent of blood. He leaned back, lounging in the air, breathing in the scent with half-lidded eyes. A curious hum rumbled in his chest. Below, the beastfolk shifted uncomfortably, the scent just as clear to their senses. Leona, arrogant youngster that he was, licked his lips with a distinctly hungry look.
It was concerning; the scent. Blood and death and fire mixed with an electric magic that tingled the tongue. One of their newest was injured or, at the very least, had come from a very concerning situation. It had been a very long time since Lilia had smelt the stench of battle, and he had not expected to smell it here. It carried grim tidings for the year or even, perhaps, the next several. High above the school, the bell rang out, the low drone echoing through the campus. Crowley swung the main doors open with his usual flare and dramatics and nearly stumbled as the scent hit him.
The headmaster tilted his head back, gold eyes meeting Lilia’s red. Lilia quirked an eyebrow at him. As far as he was concerned, this was still Crowley’s school, and thus, it was his responsibility to handle outstanding situations. Unless Crowley made a deal with him or the situation particularly interested him, he’d remain on the sidelines. The headmaster sighed, the glow of his eyes dimming, before he turned to the coffins. With a wave of his pen, a procession of clicks rang out as the gates were unlocked. One by one, the incoming students pushed open their lids, taking their first steps into Night Raven College. Lilia spun upside down, settling his feet on the ceiling, and sat.
They were all so small and innocent, he willfully ignored how all of them were taller than him. Beastfolk, fae, and humans mingled below him, though none looked up. He’d fix that soon enough. A soft giggle drifted from him. Instantly, Silver’s little silver head popped up. Lilia giggled again, his camera clicking as he snapped a picture, disappearing deeper into the shadows. He could almost feel his son’s eyes roll.
Still, even as the students congregated before the dorm heads and the headmaster, one gate remained closed. He lingered above it briefly, just long enough to smell the blood emanating from it. He chewed at his lip, a fang-piercing the flesh. His tongue darted out to lick at the beading blood, the taste igniting a burn in his throat. With as heavy as the scent was, there was very little chance the student within was still alive. That would cause issues. They’d need to get the students out of the hall before they could open the gate. There were still a few primitive places in the world with outdated views of magic, it was entirely possible the student was attacked just as the Black Carriage was picking them up.
He would’ve liked to lead Silver and the other new Diasomnia students to their dorm, but there was a prodding feeling that he’d be needed. A dead student was, after all, a potential threat to the rest of their charges. Depending on who and what the student was, the death could be a warning or a threat to one of the other students. NRC had plenty of royalty in attendance, the threat of assassination was very real. Malleus at least had him to protect him in the event it was needed, the others no doubt had their own retinue, but any threat was one they needed to investigate. Especially if it was aimed at his prince.
Lilia shook his head, taking a moment to snap a picture of Silver in front of the mirror, before he went back to scrutinizing the most-likely-dead student’s gate. There was the morbid thought that maybe they could just bury the student in the gate instead of getting a separate coffin. It wouldn’t be too terribly difficult to hide the death. They could pay off the parents, keep the news out of the media. Lilia hummed, snapping another picture of Silver. His son looked so cute, all stiff up in front of everybody. He perked up as the mirror called out Diasomnia, even if the choice was obvious.
Soon enough, the remaining students were sorted, none sticking out except Silver, though that may have just been his own bias. With a final click of his camera, Lilia dropped to the ground. He grinned as a chorus of screams greeted him as he dropped through the throng of students. His heels clicked as he spun around to look at his new first years.
“Now, then. I am Lilia Vanrouge, Diasomnia’s vice warden. It’s lovely to see so many new faces. Unfortunately, I have some business I have to handle with the headmaster, so I won’t be able to personally show you the dorm,” He could feel Crowley staring at him.
“Headmaster, one of the gates hasn’t opened.”
Interrupt me again, child- Lilia pushed the thought away, he could deal with the boy’s rudeness at a later date. There were more pertinent matters to deal with first. He turned a benevolent smile on his students, hands clasped behind his back. A small bat wriggled its way out of his cloak, little squeaks escaping his little friend.
“Oh? How rude! Sleeping through their own orientation, honestly, children these days.” Crowley crowed, making as though he hadn’t been aware the entire time.
“Yes, very rude indeed. Now listen closely, dearies, my little friend will show you the way to the dorm. It’d be very inconvenient if I had to find any wanderers, so stick close.” With his obligations taken care of, he danced back, floating to Crowley’s side with the other adults. Looks were traded among the students before they dutifully began following his bat. Ah, he did adore how obedient Diasomnia students were. Compared to the other dorms, they were practically angels, though at least some of that obedience was due to his own reputation. The dorm heads didn’t bother pausing before herding their own first years to their dorms. Indeed, if there was anything he appreciated about this school, it was the sheer pragmatism of its students. If something didn’t benefit them, they were unlikely to stick their noses in places they shouldn’t.
The staff waited a moment, ensuring no stragglers attempted to eavesdrop. As one the staff stared at the one closed gate. Crowley sighed, shoulders slumping as he waved his pen again. The gate clicked, and with a smooth swing, the lid opened. Finally, the sound of quiet panting whimpers reached them.
The student was alive. How odd. Only it wasn’t a student. A ratty blood and muck-covered shoe stepped out of the gate, followed by another. Lilia froze stiff, along with every other adult in the room. A child. A small child shakily stepped from the gate, more stumbling under gravity’s pull than willingly leaving the comfort of the dark. They were pale, deathly pale, skin painted in drying blood. The scent of iron hit him hard, followed by the scent of heady magic. The stench of rot twined with fire, and the irrefutable scent of serpent stung his nose. His lips curled into a sneer with an instinctive flare of dislike, an old territorial instinct rising up.
The child was dressed in what was clearly a school uniform. Or rather what used to be a school uniform. Viscous blood soaked the sleeves, chest, and face of the child like they’d run face-first into a pool of the liquid. Black-as-pitch hair stuck to their skin, and venomous green eyes blazed like draconic fire behind the curtain of sopping strands. The child trembled, blood dripping in rivulets from their arm, an arm that ended in a gleaming sword.
He could hear the sharp gasp the child let out as they labored to raise the sword. The child grinned like they had a mouth full of knives instead of teeth. Ink completely covered one of the child’s hands, the uninjured one, and in that hand, they grasped a fang as long as Lilia’s forearm. Those green - too green- magnificent green- green like the jewels in a dragon’s hoard - eyes glared, half-lidded. Oh, Malleus was going to lose his mind. There was a moment of silence before Lilia stepped forward, slowly and deliberately. The other staff members took several steps back, an understanding that Lilia would handle the situation reached in mere seconds.
Those eyes locked on him instantly, a too-small body shifting, leaving a smear of blood across the stone. His smile softened. Oh, he knew that look all too well. He’d fought on the front lines for too long to ever forget that look, no matter how many centuries passed. He held his hands out to the sides, palms open and visible. This close, he could see the haze in the child’s eyes, the growing purple beneath their eyes, the slight blue tinge to their lips. Not good, not good at all.
“It’s alright now, Little One,” Lilia reached forward slowly, grasping blood-slicked fingers clasped around the sword's hilt. He knelt, palm burning as he gently pried the sword from the child’s grip. Tiny, too small, too brittle, fingers spasmed as they brushed against his. He kept his smile even as his skin sizzled where the sword touched him. Iron? No, it was too bright, too white of a metal.
“No harm will come to you here, this I swear.”
For the first time since the child stepped from the gate, their eyes cleared, staring into his. Silver liquid beaded at their eyelids, dripping down their cheeks, leaving a glowing trail as the liquid cleansed the blood. The child stumbled forward half a step, swaying dangerously. Something desperate leeched into their eyes, dyeing the miraculous green in a dark haze. A bloody hand twitched forward towards him, and Lilia had to fight the impulse to grasp it. There was something disastrously fragile about this child. It didn’t lie in the blood that covered them or the ink that dripped from their other limp hand. No, this fragility hid behind too-green eyes, deep within a damaged mind.
It lit something in him, that vengeful thing inside him that had lain dormant for decades. It woke the creature in him that wanted so desperately to revive those ancient myths about fae stealing children. He’d done it once before. He could do it again. Nobody would mind if he did. But no, it was things like that that led to the war all those centuries ago.
The child’s eyes, fever-bright, burning little auroras, misted over. Their grin trembled and fell as they crumbled inside. A whimpering whine echoed quietly from the child. They took a small step forward, a tiny boot-covered foot rasping over the stones.
“It hurts.”
Lilia felt himself melt, his heart convulsing in his chest. He’d seen too many dead children in his long life to want to do anything but save the small, too-small, child in front of him. He’d raised two children and looked after another so often he might as well be one of Lilia’s own, there was nothing in him that could let a child suffer like this. He could smell, feel, sense, how close this one was to death. It hung off of them, clung to them like a child with a favored toy. The blood dripping lethargically to the floor was bright with life, straight from a desperately beating heart that didn’t want to die.
“I know, Little One.”
This time, the child’s whine was louder. They squeezed their eyes shut, lurching over, and like a puppet with its strings cut, the child collapsed. Lilia darted forward, catching the child with deft hands and as much gentleness as he could spare. The child was cold, skin clammy, and wet with blood, sweat, and an assortment of other fluids. Instinct had him very, very , carefully dodging the fang that dropped from limp fingers.
A hand clutched at his jacket as the child buried their face into Lilia’s chest, smearing blood across his white dress shirt. Their body trembled with quiet choking sobs, shaking in his hands. Even overwhelmed with pain, they were silent. Lilia had the vaguest hope that their attempt at silence was from exhaustion and not a trained response, but he was too old to be deluding himself with hopes like that. As gently as he could, Lilia scooped the child up, settling them on his hip. He arranged their exhausted, limp arms around his neck, cupping the back of their head so he could tuck them under his chin. He rose to his feet and then into the air, gravity losing all meaning.
He turned to the assembled school staff with a smile that told just how close he was to his edge. They separated for him as he passed, but he paid no mind to the wary looks they exchanged amongst themselves.
“Crowley,” the fae stood ramrod straight, “I believe the infirmary would be the best place to relocate, yes?”
If he’d been in any other state of mind, he would’ve giggled at the young man’s almost robotic startle. Instead, he was just shy of committing deeds befitting the Old Fae, and Crowley was not yet young enough to forget what Lilia could do when given sufficient motive.