It was Io; walking alone with his gaze lowered to what looked like an envelope in his hands. A letter. And at the end of the corridor above, a familiar face from this morning. Umbra; who was starting towards the sparrow.

*

There is reason for the surfacing of Vaughn Alekseyev's motherly instincts whenever Iolani Tori happened to appear within his field of vision, and it all stemmed from the fact that the sparrow never seemed to take any of his thoughtful advice (however strict and sarcastic in its delivery) seriously. Not the time when Vaughn had advised him not to go against the Pyramid or that he should never go about poking his head into the business of others—and certainly not when he warned him against the dangers of having his head buried in any form of reading while he was walking because that was the exact crime he was committing at present.

Had he taken the vulture's advice and cast aside all reading materials or at least looked them at a time where he wasn't moving, he would have noticed Umbra starting towards him. The former, who was making his way down the corridor at his slowest pace, gaze lowered to what looked like an envelope in his hands, clearly had his mind in the clouds. Somewhere high.

"Hi," the voice startled him into nearly dropping the letter. "Hi. I saw you this morning. Have you seen someone by the name of Luka Sullivan?"

Scrambling to tidy his belongings and straighten himself, Io raised his gaze to meet the eyes of a fellow prey. They were standing several feet apart, and the latter had his hands kept behind his back. Io had blinked in surprise.

Not only was this the very first time he's had anyone ask him for the whereabouts of his eagle friend; he felt—as the one closest to Luka himself, or at least he hoped to be the case—a strange inability to correct the pigeon across him or even attempt to explain how the phrase 'someone by the name of Luka Sullivan' felt nearly insulting. It was practically unheard of.

"Oh. Hello," he waved, folding the letter in his hands and slipping it back into its envelope. "You're Umbra! Jeremiah's prey... right?"

The pigeon watched as Io stowed the envelope in the pocket of his blazer. His eyes, an earthen shade of redwood that could, at a glance, be mistaken as Io's, were fixed on the latter's hands without any indication of answering or even acknowledging the question that had been posed to him. His Avian circled above, landing on the bannister after a moment of silence. "I'm looking for someone by the name of Luka Sullivan," repeated Umbra with a smile, "do you know where he is?"

As curious as the creature in his cage turned out to be, Io understood that it was impolite to pry into the private matters even of his closest friend; and so resisted the temptation to ask further questions. "Um, no... not really," he settled with an honest answer. "I've been sort of busy all morning. We haven't seen each other since breakfast 'cuz I had to meet Professor Faustes in the hall downstairs for a position rehearsal! The coronation's in a few days, you see. I'm supposed to be on a five-minute break now but, um, I think it's over and I'm actually late."

Umbra observed the sparrow's sheepish laughter, attention seemingly piqued. "I didn't know that. They didn't tell me there was a rehearsal for the knighting ceremony. What time did it start?"

Lyra cocked her head to the left, increasingly confused by the other's behaviour. Her thoughts jumped from 'silly little pigeon' to 'trust him not to know' in Io's mind, rendering the latter slightly muddled. "Ah," was all he managed to say without knowing how to break the news. After all, Io had yet to encounter a prey (or predator, for the matter) with completely no knowledge of who he was. However oddly arrogant that seemed to sound. "I... it's not for Knights. It's um, it's just for the coronation ceremony."

"But... aren't you a Knight too?" Umbra frowned in response, reflecting the confusion that everyone in the space of twenty feet (just them) seemed to embody.

That Lyra was chiding her Winged about having unrealistic expectations of everyone on the island seemed almost absurd. Though both she and Io had been slightly taken aback by Umbra's responses to their every word, it served as a timely reminder that there were others who weren't entirely informed of his infamous escapades and unlikely status, making for new beginnings and raw first impressions.

"Oh! Oh, actually. I'm... not exactly... well—"

"Umbra?"

A kite landed between the pair, perched on the bannister overlooking the rest of the building downstairs. Jeremiah emerged from the corner of the stairs, peering over the shoulders of his partner to catch a glimpse of the person he was speaking to. "Io? You guys know each other already," he sounded amused, closing the distance until they were standing side by side. Silently thanking the timely interruption that saved him from awkward explanations and stiff conversations, Io raised his hand for a feeble wave.

"Well, um. We just got acquainted," he laughed, inching towards the stairs. "Also, I better get going. Professor Faustes would probably make me mop the floors if I stay out any longer, so."

Jeremiah gave him a nod of understanding. "Sure. See you at homeroom." They waved, turning in the opposite direction and heading towards the other end of the corridor. At this, Umbra could not help but steal a glance over his shoulder, curious about the sparrow that seemed almost un-sparrow-like. Homeroom. But Jeremiah belonged to a class of top-tier predators.

This gaze, Io did not notice as he took the stairs to the floor below, spotting Dmitri and Lucienne looking up at him from the ground floor. The falcon whistled to catch his attention, waving indiscriminately like a fool to which Io laughed and waved in return.

_______________________

By the time Io and Luka had returned to the dressing room after their mini-escapade to the convenience store and handed out the mango juice and chili crisps to Pipa and Jing respectively, it was near time.

Places were called and people were flying right left center trying to fix Io's hair. Even the tailor downstairs had dropped by to give his robes a final check only to notice a dark spot at the ends of his anointing gown. This invited several rounds of protracted nagging, mostly aimed at the moon phoenix and his eagle companion for leaving the room. Io, who had raised his hand to interject by stating that the combination of all his robes was heavy enough to halve his walking speed, apologized nevertheless.

"At least it decreases my chances of tripping in the middle of the aisle," he hoped. "Minutes of practice is always better than none." Pipa stopped fiddling with his circlet to poke him on the cheek.

She could tell the tailor was about to launch into an award-winning response when the room was thankfully saved by the knock of a messenger. He'd popped his head into the room, dove perched on his shoulder, and announced the arrival of Lord Falrir who would soon be heading to the ceremonial hall.

As though cued, the blast of a fanfare could be heard coming from a room not far away, louder down the corridor and up into the open. Lord Alfred was in a frenzy, dismissing the dove before pointing at the remaining people who weren't ceremony-ready—which was everyone, really.

In a matter of seconds, Jing was fastening a fire-red shawl over her shoulders and Pipa wheeling about to retrieve her circlet. Luka attempted to fix the last of Io's robes, draping the handmade surcoat across his shoulders before noticing a stray thread and quickly snipping it off. Left with empty hands, Io resorted to fiddling with the eagle's tie.

"You." Lord Alfred seemed to notice something quite out of the picture. It was Luka. "What are you doing here? Knights have their own dressing room! You're not supposed to be—"

Yet another round of fanfares signalled the official start of the coronation, where guests stood outside the hall and waited for the dragon to walk from his room to the ceremonial doors. This particular segment varied from five (decades ago) to fifteen minutes (Jing's time). Despite the timely distraction of trumpets and French horns, Luka had not grabbed the opportunity of escape and made for the door. Instead, he'd waited for the fanfare to be over before returning his attention to Lord Alfred.

Io had laughed.

"The deputy headmaster is requesting for Miss Jane and Mr. Tori," the dove returned to announce, eyes darting towards the lone Knight in the room. He'd dropped an additional remark before flitting away. "And, um, I passed the group of Knights making their way to the hall. They left the dressing room two—three minutes ago."

At this, the pair exchanged a look before Io snapped out of it and shooed his companion towards the door. "Uh oh. Vaughn's going to read you bedtime stories."

The hint of a grimace surfaced on Luka's face. Io nodded slow. "Exactly. You should go now." He propelled the statue further towards the doorway and was about to send him taking off to the ceremonial hall when all of a sudden, a wild crème brûlée appeared at the door. It looked perfectly surly; as though someone had made a tad too many pans and he was the leftover waiting to be binned.

"Hi I'm here to collect a fool by the name of Luka Sullivan who has apparently never heard of the concept of time," he said to no one in particular, staring directly at the subject of his statement. Papercrane, who had been spending her afternoon at Slayne's quarters and ran into an irritable Vaughn on her way to Luka, sidled into view. Both she and Victoria appeared terribly amused.

"You could give me a watch." No one could tell if the eagle meant what he said except Io, who struggled to hide a smile behind his hands. Either way, Luka made for the door and joined his knighted partner, glancing over his shoulder to look at Io, who waved. Behind, Pipa mimicked him and Jing, whose hands were occupied with her hair distilled the gesture into a single nod.

"Neither does he happen to have a sense of urgency," quipped Vaughn under his breath with a shake of his head, starting towards the stairs at a pace that Luka could easily fall into step. "There's a fixed position in which we must stand. We are to head down the carpet before the dragon—do you understand?"

"Yes," said the Winged with two Avians circling above, one of which dreaded going down the corridors with her supposedly bigger wingspan. "We are standing...?"

"You, between Dmitri and Bolt, I, Deveraux and Zahir," the vulture explained, using both his hands to somehow provide a visual aid for his otherwise hopeless partner who'd paused at the last names of his classmates. "It's two separate rows, you understand? One on each side of the carpet. We walk down in twos, and then split. Avians to the gallery.

"One other thing," he added with haste, as they were approaching the crowd outside the ceremonial hall and Vaughn Alekseyev was never caught in front of strangers without a dangerous smile. "Always looks straight ahead. Stare into space if you will, but do not, for skies' sake, stare at Iolani Tori for more than two seconds or awful things called emotions will start to appear on your face and I'd rather it stay blank like it is now. You understand?"

He received a reluctant nod in response. "Must you always say 'you understand' like a..."

"Like a what?" The vulture dared the other with narrowed eyes, perfectly harmless. "Mind you, I wouldn't hesitate to report anything you say to Io since he, unlike yourself, doesn't have any issues with my language."

Luka stared, quiet as they neared the group of Knights round the corner waiting for their cue to start walking and smiling and pretending that they weren't bored. Just before they were close enough to take their places between fellow predators, the eagle raised a suggestion.

"Tell him I miss the treehouse."

At this, Vaughn had turned to him with an expression of complete absurdity, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, which in his case, was the sudden exposure to an air of vulnerable emotions. "I—what? Context. Also, I forgot to mention that expressions of endearment or anything along those lines do not count. You tell him."

And that was the end of their conversation because Dmitri had turned around to ask in curious excitement to join the fun and Shri had leaned so far out of line to eavesdrop that Aaqil had to bend sideways.

All commotion ceased as soon as Viktor arrived, directing them to the spot in which they were to start walking from and the way in which they must stand. "Hands in front, right on left. When you're called up, just make your way there and kneel. Receive your sword with two hands and no talking. All good?"

There was a general consensus—nodding and fixing of hair. In the few seconds before they were given the cue to start down the red carpet, Viktor had made final checks of everyone's attire. He'd raised a hand to mess with his step-brother's hair when it was his turn but stopped himself in time. Not today.

___________________

Dmitri was having the time of his life standing still and doing absolutely nothing, having to stare into space for the next thirty-minutes or so which he now thought was a severe underestimation. That, and the fanfare ringing in his ears since the announcer's declaration of the dragon's entry into the ceremonial hall and called for everyone else to rise, all because Lord Falrir was inching down the carpet and no trumpeter was daring enough to catch his breath. Across him, Lucienne was most certainly not staring into space; her gaze going from the slightest fidget in Dmitri's toes (covered, mind you) to his eyes in warning. The falcon held his breath, straightening his back and standing at attention as the dragon neared, willing the latter to go a little faster.

He didn't. Lord Falrir had stopped in his tracks every five to ten steps, waving to the crowd before starting on yet another minute of hobbling on his walking stick with a smile that appeared, up close, less lively than when they'd last saw him during the winter solstice. He now walked with a limp—which, although slight and barely noticeable—appeared like a crack in a piece of exquisite china.

The small flight of stairs leading to his throne proved of greatest challenge, inviting a round of heavy breathing and an additional escort in the form of the headmaster. Jeremiah and Umbra, the pair standing closest to the high table, fought the urge to pick him up and sit him down at the top of the stairs.

To Falrir's right and left were two smaller thrones—each of a different colour. Common sense told Dmitri that the silver seat would be occupied by Io while the gold, his counterpart.

"First Eye. Jane, the sun phoenix."

Unlike the Dragon, Jing was accompanied by a pair of familiar-looking male students lagging several feet behind her. Each wore an attire of similar colours and motifs resembling her that of her robes. The girl seemed almost acquainted with her position, as though this was no different from her daily routine and it, like everything else, would pass in a moment so fleeting. Her anointing gown, an intense shade of scarlet chiffon littered with ruby rhinestones that blinked under the light would have made her look like a walking garnet had she not draped an ivory surcoat over her shoulders. Sitting right in the middle of her collarbone was a gold brooch the shape of a Greek sun.

"Xu, Cai Teng. Cai, Zi Jun. Members of her Order."

At once, the room was swept with a wave of surprise. Vaughn was quick to meet the eyes of his partner only to see that the latter had took his advice a little too seriously—staring into space without a hint of consciousness. As such, he'd rested his gaze elsewhere without turning his head in hopes of connecting to any other established Link. He decided against this after witnessing Dmitri's unsightly gaping mouth.

The phoenix did not take her seat at the top the stairs, turning to wait for the first members of her council as an assistant held out a tray with two brooches of similar design. A Greek sun.

It was upon closer inspection—a distance of approximately nine to ten feet—that Vaughn began to pinpoint his exact instinct of familiarity. The two he'd often seen together with Jing, he had become acquainted with on rare occasions at his mother's special ops team, headed by Faustes in which only a select few of students were aware of. And judging by the nature of applause, the fact had remained.

This applause, resounding in the enclosed space could be heard by people waiting behind closed doors. Outside, Iolani Tori stared at his fingers that were beginning to tingle. The chill of the night draped around his shoulders and his legs, stiff and brittle from nerves.

"Nothing to fear," said Callaghan all of a sudden, adjusting the frames that sat on the bridge of his nose with a trembling finger. "Nothing at all." His escort let slip some nervous laughter, to which Io could not help but respond with one of his own.

"Really?" He raised his gaze to meet the eyes of the widowbird. "I think I fear many things. I fear quite a lot, professor."

Callaghan stared for some time before smiling with a sigh. "It hasn't been long, Iolani. But I somehow feel as though it has."

"That's because we've come a long way, sir," Io reached up to rub the top of Lyra's head with a finger. "We've made it so far that time might not even seem to matter. Plus, there's more to go. I've always felt guilty for neglecting my duties as the club president. I'm sorry I never got to recruiting more members—do you think everyone likes looking at the moon?" In the professor's glasses reflecting something. That which was the thing he was looking at and what else could a surface reflect but light and light only?

It was time.

He could tell from the dying of applause inside; followed by a silence that was ready to see something new. It waited for the parting of clouds on a quiet evening—the sound of double doors, opening and in he stepped.

"Second Eye. Iolani Tori, the moon phoenix."

The extravagance of dinner was unexpectedly extended beyond staff and predators—making waves amongst prey as they marvelled at the vegetarian spread they never knew could look and taste so amazingly delicious. Io, who'd gone for the strawberry trifle as soon as dinner service was announced (everything came at once, to his delight), appreciated the fact that someone had bothered to accommodate his strange eating habits. Apparently, it was Lord Falrir.

"You did say the trifle was parti-cularly good the last time," he chuckled, reaching for the palm-sized jar of trifle himself. "So we meet again, radiant youth."

This, Io was surprised by—dessert spoon hovering between the jar and his lips before setting it down. He found himself in quite the position of honour, sure that the dragon had barely been able to remember just where he had intended to be when all of a sudden, faces and names were not a problem for him. Either the awe was visibly obvious, written all over Io's face or he'd left his Link wide open because the next thing he knew, Lord Falrir was laughing. And coughing.

Io snapped out of staring, searching for words to say. "Oh! Yes. Yes I love the trifle. And we meet again... not how I'd imagined, definitely, but I'm glad we did, sir. I, um... did you know from the start? About me."

There was a spark of something in the dragon's eyes. "You think, young'n that I'd let anyone hold my stick while I, say, answer nature's call?"

The boy let slip something between a laugh and a snort. "Or share the cinnamon rolls you could have enjoyed all by yourself?" It was easy to spot Pipa amidst the crowd, at the very end of the table in her wheelchair, raising the jar of trifle over her head and pointing at it after catching Io's attention. Again, he laughed, reaching for the trifle. "No sir."

Lord Falrir turned to him with a smile, aged and seemingly... tired.

"That was a lie, Iolani Tori. I did not see it coming, not one bit. I do not possess the visionary powers that both you and Jane bear the burden of carrying. All I have is... power. Too much, I would say," he chuckled, tapping against the side of his wineglass. "What I did see, however, was a light in your eyes. And that was all I saw."

Their conversation ended there and then, leaving Io quietly enlightened; awfully curious. By now, the roots of his hair were the shade of moonlight and at every spoonful of trifle, was beginning to glow. He'd had some time to himself while the dragon turned to his other side and started a conversation with his fellow Eye, and this he used to communicate gesturally with Pipa and Jiro, seated beside her and also visibly impressed by the trifle. It didn't take him long to convey this to Nash who, unfortunately, found it sickly. He was about to turn to the table of Knights on the other end of the hall when Lord Falrir was back for another round of conversation.

"Little light," he said, leaning over to prod the armrest on which Io's elbow rested. "Do you like your throne?"

Puzzled, he'd glanced at the thing he was sitting on. "Throne? Oh," it hit him then. "So that's what it's called. I didn't know different chairs had different names. I mean... they're all for sitting, aren't they?" He couldn't quite tell if there was a better way of explaining it. "The purpose remains regardless of its appearance—it is for sitting."

This made the dragon laugh; a sound old and mystical. Slightly short of breath.

"But it is a special chair," said Lord Falrir, reaching for his entrée of lobster bisque. "Not everyone can sit in it. There is one for everyone and this is yours."

"True enough," Io nodded in return before processing his words and returning for more. "But just because it is special doesn't erase it's primary existence—to sit on. If this thing, this, um... throne, is not meant to be sat on, is it still called a throne? All bachelors are male and that is analytically true, so are not all thrones, chairs? Does the word not constitute any chair-ness at all? I mean I like sitting in chairs," he said this all very quickly, thoughts running ahead.

The dragon leaned in close, finding his interest piqued. "Mm... yes. Yes it appears that all thrones are, indeed, chairs. Thrones are, by definition, chairs in which kings and queens sit on. So yes, they must be sat on."

It did not cross Falrir's mind that Io had already moved beyond their current scope of knowledge. "But is it a throne because of the person who sits in it, or does the person become who he is by sitting on a throne?" He posed, staring down at his baked potato, topped with sour cream and bacon crisps that were really made of soy. Picking up a fork, he sent a piping-hot portion into his mouth. "If a king sits on a rock, is he still king?"

Already, the dragon was perfectly amused, both hands resting on top of his walking stick and abandoning his lobster bisque to listen to the boy. "Indeed, you are exactly as you were," he cracked a grin, wrinkles forming around his eyes. "And I hope you have been keeping Syl company with all these questions of yours. I wonder, is he bored?"

This, Io thought about as he filled his mouth with more potato.

"I never got to ask him that question, sir. But I can say that company is a very weird thing... it changes according to who you're talking about," he voiced after swallowing. "Luka once said he only likes my company. I'm not sure if Mr. Sylvain feels the same way, but I don't think it takes a clever person to see that he prefers your company, sir."

Easily said and quietly crafted and yet, the weight of it felt—even for a dragon—heavy. There was something in his eye that Io could not quite identify. "And this... Luka. Who is he?"

Io was glad to point out his eagle friend. The latter was seated beside Dmitri of all people, who appeared to be eyeing his grilled crayfish whilst sneaking unwanted Brussel sprouts onto his plate. This all could be witnessed within mere seconds of observation.

"Ah, him." Lord Falrir's face appeared to harden. "That Knight. His name... they had announced it just minutes ago... I can't remember it. What is it? Starts with an 'S' and it struck me," he turned to Io with a frown of concentration. "What is his last name?"

"Sullivan," said the latter, searching his eyes for a sign. "You know him?"

"Sullivan... no, not really, but—"

The dragon's eyes seemed to falter then, as though something dark and sinister had crept inside his cage and for a moment there, he didn't look quite as immortal as people had made him out to be. Pausing long before finishing his sentence, he asked.

"His parents were Knights too?"

Io couldn't stop himself from freezing up, turning to Lord Falrir with a blank gaze. "Um. Sorry?"

"He hasn't said anything? Then perhaps I am mistaken," the older of the two resumed his dinner course, looking away. "It was a long time ago, the heat of the war... like now, I suppose you could say. Only, it lasted longer. Knights are deployed in cases of emergencies, very much like now, as I have said. Did I just repeat myself? I hope not," he chuckled, voice raspy as he reached for more wine. "Knights remain as they are even after graduating. As long as the war continues, the struggle never ends. They have to be on the run.

"Some fourteen, fifteen years ago, there was a group of Hunters seeking them out. Most of them escaped. It was all good, at least for the first couple of years but a case they called... what was it. Unfortunately, I can't remember. The entire family—Knights, children and all—perished."

Fathoming the slither of fear and disgust in his cage; stomaching words that were heavy, both posed an equal challenge to Io. After all, did he have the strength to believe that all this really happened to Luka? And if so, had he really forgotten it all?

"The time of darkness," Falrir went on to say. "It has come yet again. Perhaps it has always been. Dark. Perhaps it will never fade. Such a long, lost struggle. Though indeed there is no wrong in fighting for the preservation of one's species as nature has determined as such. But turning against one another—well. That is what we fear the most," he'd picked up his fork and held it in an angle of reflection. "The unnatural."

And before Io could further the thought or extend the conversation to depths beyond the reach of current minds, a burst of sound sought their attention elsewhere. An immediate silence followed suit, staring at the woman who'd blasted through the doors with a pale face and wide eyes. Her gaze, seemingly furtive, darted left and right.

Kirill was the first to stand, pointing at the apparent member of staff before dismissing her on the grounds of disrespecting Lord Falrir. The latter, however, raised a hand in waiting, watching as the woman continued to make her way down the aisle towards the high table.

Her urgent steps came to a stop several feet away from the dragon, bowing in haste. "Lord, I have news." She stepped closer, and in a whisper only he and the Eyes were able to hear, reported a possible infiltration. A sighting of Hunters.

"Spies, maybe. I wasn't too sure. At the east wing, with rifles." She had been the watchtower guard on duty, and while it seemed almost surreal, the occasion was, indeed, a perfect time to strike at the heart of the night; it's guard lowered in every other part of the island and where everyone else was gathered in a single room.

"Rifles?" The headmaster caught wind of the word. "Are you saying—Hunters, here, on the island? But that's simply impossible, we've..." He seemed to have recalled the events of the previous season. "Then you shouldn't have made such a ruckus! Now, you've alerted them, haven't you, blasting through the doors like that?"

Beside him, Verity-Ann was shaking her head. "Tell me that isn't what you're doing now." The entire room had their eyes fixed on the high table and for a moment, it almost seemed as though Io could hear the ticking of their minds and the beating of wings, caged.

And then, a roar.

Benches and chairs, dragging across the flagged stone floor; people standing, heading towards the double doors and some, for the balcony to shift and take off; Avians in the gallery above squawked and screeched, diving down, circling above to join their Winged; voices merging into one thunderous rage, feet assimilating into a sound similar to a distant rumbling in the sky. Kirill had his staff blocking the exit in mere seconds and closing the doors to the balcony, the look on his face desperately furious as he repeated an order to remain seated.

Io and Jing, too, had stood on instinct, searching the chaos and forming divergent plans of action in their heads. It was strange, how chaos could sound. A note so grey and clouded that one could not quite hear anything distinct from the mass of everything else, so powerful that they could no longer hear what was within.

But it was only until Lord Falrir's silence crumbled with a single word—a name—that the two, stunned and surprised, began to map a synonymous course of action.

"This person," the phoenix turned to Io. "Do you know where he is?"

"There's a hidden staircase near the forbidden section of the library that leads to a room. I'm not sure if they know about it but... weren't Hunters only interested in predators?"

Jing took this into consideration. She, too, could feel something awfully amiss. "One of us has to stay. Most of the island's predators are here. We can't leave them alone."

"Then I'll go," said Io, helping Lord Falrir into a standing position while his Order had somehow gathered into a defensive formation around him. "It's night time anyway." They exchanged a look, an odd confidence brimming in the moment.

"Take me to the balcony," the dragon said quietly, turning to Io after giving orders to the rest. They were all to stay. "We will shift. It is the fastest way."

While the moon phoenix could not help but anticipate his very first encounter with Falrir's Avian form (a real dragon before his eyes!), he found it very hard not to continue searching for his friends in the midst of a thunderstorm.

"Io."

The very person he had been searching for appeared behind his back, the embers of his eyes crackling twice. "Where are you going?"

It did not take long for Vaughn to appear by his partner's side and look characteristically pissed about the entire world. "Stop disappearing without telling me! Io, do me a favour and get Sullivan seated or I'd have to revoke our partnership this instant."

Lord Falrir turned to the moon phoenix with a blink. "Ah. Your friends," he let go of Io, using his walking stick for support. "Do not take long." And made his way to the nearest balcony.

"I'm going to the east wing with Lord Falrir. Something's happening there," said Io to the pair, handing his circlet to Vaughn. "This will get in the way and I think it looks nice on you. Please stay here and protect everyone else." He turned to leave.

"Take Victoria," Luka held on to Io's arm, making him turn. In his voice was a streak of something; something Io had come to identify as worry and concern.

"Where's Papercrane?" He asked instead, wanting to be sure. Even if Victoria were to come with him, it didn't seem like the best of optionable help should Luka be left defenceless. The question, however, was almost rhetorical. All three knew just where the snowy owl would be in every dire situation.

Luka on the other hand, seemed desperate enough to use his partner as an excuse. "I have him, so." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, where Vaughn Alekseyev stood with a look of complete disapproval.

This somehow convinced Io. While Lyra was small enough to fly through windows, she lacked the power of a single beat; and though Luna packed the power of millions, no window would fit a creature like her. Most importantly, Io was simply too proud of Luka finally relying on someone else other than himself that he was in no position to refuse.

"See you guys later," he waved, making his way to the dragon with Victoria in the air and Lyra on his shoulder; making his way outside where Luna hovered in wait. "And Vaughn wants you to sit down, Luka!" 

_______________________

A/N: !!!! long chapter AND I skipped the knighting ceremony :( sorry I didn't write that. I felt it was a little draggy after a while and decided to move on to THE ACTION :> HUHUHU. More in two weeks! (I update every alternate week, cuz Flight School and Vanilla take turns to go). Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 

Also, I'm not sure if most of you guys know but I deleted the first half of Vaughn's chapter which I posted last year and replaced it with the full backstory I wrote two weeks ago 'v' it's titled You.  (because all Vaughn needs is You and the song 'All I want for Christmas is motifed across the chapter which I forgot to mention in the explanation HAHAHAHA) 

Have a great day!

-Cuppie.