Dragons were never meant to speak to butterflies.

Speaking to it would be a disaster, a calamity. For he, so large, would do nothing but destroy a thing so small and infinitely beautiful.

*

Final words. The price, the weight of it all and to sum it up in a sentence; the mere piecing together of words to form the culmination of one's life was no easy task for the dying. What one would expect to be saying seconds before their departure was nothing like what they ended up with. And yet, what may seem to the naked eye a string of nonsense—where is my clock?—can somehow be the sum of a whole.

For bridges to burn and for one to be standing in the middle of the flames that swallowed and took was a feat like no other. It had been more than a hundred years since he'd first used them but Falrir never imagined the lapping fires to look this menacing up close. These flames, his very own, felt nearly foreign in the darkness. He knew they could not harm him and yet there were scars and wounds that drained every bit of the energy inside. The force of adversity was not something he could belittle or disregard and this very moment did much to demonstrate the power of the Wind—the spreading of his flames.

"Put out the flames, Iolani," he felt the tiny frame heave at his shoulders in an attempt to take him away. "We need the storm."

"It's coming, sir," Io lied through his teeth, helping the dragon to his feet and holding on to the arms over his shoulder. "I think I heard thunder in the distance."

"It's here," Falrir reasoned. "It must be. I feel it inside."

And there it was—an inexplicable, miraculous phenomena that he could never understand. To be apart from the one closest to the heart was a feeling that could not merely be felt or experienced for it was more. More than a feeling; an instance; an expression of loss. Loss altogether boiled down to this, a heavy hole, deep and grieved and the seemingly futile search for that which once filled its hollow place. Falrir could tell that Sylvain and he were farther apart than they ever were.

"Sir, the bridge," he could feel the support beneath his feet weaken at every step. "I don't think we can make it to the other side in time. We need to shift and fly or the wounds on your back will—"

The sheltered path had its roof caving in a matter of seconds, crashing onto the flagged stone floor of the bridge and, at the impact, breaking off it's second pillar of support so that it formed the most unlikely 'v' in the middle of it all.

There were voices Io could not quite make out amidst the spitting of fire and rubble, coming from every direction he could think of and leaving him desperate to search for a way out. Above, something landed on a part of the roof that remained intact.

"Lord Falrir!"

Footsteps clunked over their heads and a flurry of feathers he could not recognize swooped in through the only safe opening that had held its weight against the flames. It was Kirill, shifted into his half-form and accompanied by the other members of the dragon's Order, rushing to his aid.

"The Lord—those wounds," the headmaster turned to Io in an outrage. "How did this happen?" Members of the Order came forth to take the dragon out of his arms, propping his arms on a shoulder each before shifting into their halves.

Falrir made a feeble attempt to dismiss his words. "Nothing. Nothing, just. Outnumbered, I suppose. Drained me and before I knew it, scales were gone and you know humans. Skin like the wings of a butterfly..."

The flames produced an enchanting smoke that bred a longing for renewal quite unlike the draw of death in the dark. Any moment now, the rest of the bridge could cave and no chances were taken in ensuring a fast escape or, till the very last moment, claiming credit.

"You have nothing to worry about, Lord Falrir," said Kirill to the dragon. "We have sent people after the Hunters for what they took. The speed at which they flee—ridiculous—but we've rounded up a few. I knew I felt something was wrong and we came at once. Sent an entire team out but the point is you're alright and we will get you to Jane at once. These wounds will disappear in a blink, I guarantee you."

The dragon returned his gaze with a feeble laughing of his eyes and while his back was turned to Io, the latter could count the number of bullets that had found its target amidst the flames.

"There is no need for the girl to waste her energy, young one." Falrir shook his head. And shook it again. Professor Kirill was appalled by his rejection of healing, pulling up every excuse that he could think of to reason through the dragon's seeming illogic. Being immortal was the deciding factor in his argument; the primary case that placed him above everything else. Above the hierarchy, above the pyramid, above the world.

"You cannot possibly live with these scars forever!"

It was then that Falrir could not help but chuckle. The very same sound Io recalled hearing on the night of their first encounter. "Oh... not forever, no," he smiled. "Now, maybe. But not forever."

Above the world— "Forever is a very long time." He was not.

________________

Dmitri Ford was honestly feeling so attacked when he realized there was no kiss and cry session after the big ordeal. Apparently, moving on was a thing that grown-ups did and although Dmitri preferred not to think about his growing age and responsibilities of adulting, he was forced to come to terms with it all outside the infirmary.

"Luka!" Well, at least people were hugging, he thought. His partner reached over to pinch the skin on his forearm before he could rid of irrelevant thoughts.

Iolani Tori had emerged from the infirmary with a pale, sickly expression on his face. His eyes were a peachy shade of moonstone, jagged and edged so that tiny lines veined over the sides like cracks. It was three in the morning.

"I told you not to leave yourself unguarded! Why did you send Papercrane after Victoria?" The moon phoenix mumbled into the chest of his eagle friend and the remaining Knights looked elsewhere to give the pair some form of privacy. "Something could have happened to you."

Luka did not recall sending the owl. In fact, he did not recall very much of what happened in the past couple of hours that seemed like him almost a week's worth of time spent without Io. Both Victoria and Papercrane, currently admitted into the Avian's infirmary not far away, had yet to report accounts of the night and all Luka had really heard from them both was that his friend was safe. Whether or not he did send Papercrane in the case of an emergency (which did occur), however, was not the point and he wasn't going to say anything about it to change the current position he liked so much.

"Listen to Vaughn when I'm not around, okay?" Io's robes were torn and tattered from the struggle in Sylvain's tower; small cuts and lacerations on his ankles and arms where they'd attempted to restrain him, leaving him looking quite beaten up.

The eagle hugged him back. "I did."

And there was the hug that Dmitri Ford had been waiting for. A sign to start his very own kiss and cry with the person next to him before dramatically turning it into an impromptu heart-to-heart, bird-bonding, no-cage teatime and all they were missing was the tea.

"So enough with the hugging," vulture-boy could not last any longer without the knowledge of every account, pushing Dmitri out of the way. The poor falcon experienced 'honestly feeling so attacked' for the second time of the night. "Tell us what happened. Your friends are waiting."

Pulling away from Luka and passing the back of his hand over his eyes, Io turned to the rest of the Knights to see a select group of prey in the back—peering between gaps with varying expressions of concern written all over their faces. Apart from Umbra who Mrs. Goldfinch was patching up inside the room and Jeremiah who was looking after him, everyone else was present.

"Io? Are you okay?" Pipa sounded from the back, her face barely visible between the right and left arms of Abigail and Odette.

He snapped out of it, feeling the need to sit but the hallway was empty and everyone was waiting for him to speak and fill the hole and the gap and the abyss in which the night had created within a blink of an eye.

"Um. Lord Falrir is... I'm not sure if you heard about the bridge. It fell because of the fire which I think, maybe, he'd used his flames to prevent more Hunters from crossing it. They had rifles and shotguns and stuff like that, I'm not sure if you heard it. They were really loud.

"I don't know what happened to Umbra just yet since Mrs. Goldfinch wouldn't let any of us speak to him but there was a lot of blood on his arm and his neck. She said he's going to be okay though," he summed up in a minute. Then, remembered what was supposedly the most important thing of it all. "The Hunters... just, um. I'm glad everyone's alright."

"Yes, but what happened at the library?" Vaughn was sharp in piecing every bit of information together and, almost like a reflection of Io himself, did not allow the moon phoenix to stop there. "Why were the Hunters hiding in there?"

The truth was that Io wanted to lie. He did not wish to talk about Sylvain or the library or cinnamon rolls and the prospect of losing a huge part of the world he believed in; at least not until Falrir was there to speak for him too.

"They were in the library because... because there's... I don't know if I should be the one telling you this," he retreated soon after, gaze losing its strength and falling to the flagged stone floor. "Last year. During the winter solstice—Lord Falrir's birthday—I... I met him. We went to the library together to do something and it was all very unplanned but it made me understand him a little better and because of that, I was kind of the only one who could... could help, I guess."

It was strange to be speaking on behalf of a dragon who was asleep in a portable bed of thin lining and mattress that spoke of smallness and the norm. Io could never imagine him looking so defenceless in his sleep or defenceless in general and wondered if that was how all human beings looked when they were apart from the ones in their hearts.

"I didn't, though. I didn't help in the end," he felt very much like he was about to throw up from the discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Whether it was to keep the creature inside contained within the confines of its cage or to set it free and let the tears fall in quick succession, he could not decide.

Io was about to say it all; the jar, the butterfly, the reasons for their doing the deed that was all of a sudden becoming clearer and clearer to him as the clouds—they parted.

"Which one of you is Utako Jiro?"

A voice broke the surface of a deadly silence, sending ripples of attention turning towards it. The nightingale had been standing behind Pipa's wheelchair, listening to Io without a word when an official from the Order called on him from the back of the group. He raised a tentative hand.

"Come with me," the official crossed out a name on his clipboard. "Witnesses are to be questioned next door."

Jiro glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the Knights. "We'll be here," said Io with a smile—weak, but reassuring, nevertheless. The eyes he met were heavy and tired.

"Go and come back!" Pipa called after him. He waved. "Quickly, okay?" Shri added.

And as they had turned to watch the nightingale's back disappear past the doorway, the growing sound of footsteps, accompanied by the ruffle of clothing and what sounded like the dragging of something weighted across the floor had their attention drawn. Through the opened doors down the hallway emerged four members of the Order, still dressed in their robes from the ceremony with a bundle of black secured by several ropes.

They neared the group outside the infirmary and the light of the moon caught the shadows on what they'd assumed was a black bag but was really the bodies of three Hunters. Still and unmoving.

"Don't just stand there," one of them hissed exasperatedly, dragging the dark bundle of flesh and blood. "Move!"

They made way at once, parting on both sides to let them through but watching every step of the way—stunned and disturbed by the gruesome sight of strangers drenched in their very own shade of crimson. A heavy stench of iron invaded every cage as they passed, leaving a distasteful churn in their stomachs as they turned away from what could be considered a test of their humanity. Luka, at once, felt the raw thumping of a muscle at the back of his throat but he swallowed hard and it tasted bitter and alive and it was gone. To think someone in the school had done this, regardless of whether they belonged to the same side... it was enough to send shivers down their spines.

Vaughn was the first to identify a common trait among the bodies and had it not been for the graphic images and recent case files that Viktor had shown him a week ago, he wouldn't have been able to do so.

"Their ears," he pointed out quietly, breath bated at the sight of bone. "Gone."

"Who would do something like that?" Abigail had her nose pinched in disgust, backing away as the bodies dragged by. "I thought they were the ones doing the killing."

"Could be someone from the Order," said Meryl, tugging on her blazer for warmth. "They had at least one exit sealed off, so. Maybe some of the Hunters didn't get the memo and tried to fight back so they had to... I don't know, self-defence?"

Dmitri made a face, glancing at the sword that was a new but almost decorative addition to his hip. "Cutting off ears doesn't really sound like self-defence to me. More like a trademark kink or something."

And for once, no one had proposed for the falcon to shut his mouth or stop with the nonsense. However disturbing and uncanny his projection was, it seemed to possess a certain level of truth. Hunter or Winged, there remained the pervasiveness of an unending ambiguity; lost in the quest of defining the enemy.

________________

The first thing he saw

was an egg.

A thing of fragile beauty—of young and new and potential for more; of birth and beginnings and open doors but once the egg sat on the wall, alas it's bound to fall.

And fall it did, cracks forbid, the egg was not the same.

He saw it—where they put the egg in a box that had no name. Put inside, sealed alive, he had no other pain.

________________________

"Mhm, it's in the box by your bed. You packed it yourself, remember?"

_______________________

"Come on, don't have to be dragging her head like that."

_______________________

"But I haven't got to see the moon yet."

_______________________

It was not magic.

Neither was it an art, or a wish; or anything like that.

______________________

It was—

_____________________

He woke with a start, breath caught in the back of his throat and the slow aching of his muscles creeping up behind him with a burn—the remnants of a dream that didn't quite belong to a mind of his own.

Io's eyes were quick to adjust in the dark, the one trait he'd found rather useful ever since Luna came around. Everything else was there for purposes he could not either understand or identify just yet but would soon come to terms with. Granted, his first instinct was to check the other side of the bed.

Under the covers and just an arm's length away was the owner of a nightmare he had somehow managed to extract himself from.

Luka Sullivan's Link had developed an inclination towards weakness in the darkness of the night, at the heart of its hands, so easily malleable under the weight of shadows and the abyss that reminded him of his past; demons stirred by the taste of muscle and flesh upon his lips and iron coating the insides of his mouth. The once light and uneasy sleeper had his back turned towards Io, tensed and rigid—the veil of moonlight filtering through the full-length window illuminating an otherwise dark and knotted silhouette.

The deeper the sleep, the harder to wake. Io began to see why he had been having such a hard time waking Luka over the past couple of days. He'd resorted to playing his wooden flute in the early morning after the usual alarm of calling his name failed to work, occasionally attacking the eagle with tickles only to find out that the former wasn't at all ticklish. This was on a completely different level from their time at the treehouse.

Io gave the bedside clock a glance. Midnight.

What would have been an eventful Saturday afternoon in the kitchen experimenting on new recipes and popping by the post for some shopping had eventually been substituted for a long, necessary nap. With the interruption of Io's coronation dinner and the chaos that had ensued the night before, the Knights had left the infirmary after Jing had emerged and explained, with sunken eyes and a pale complexion, that Falrir was fast asleep. And by then, the sun had peeked over the horizon and confirmed the exhaustion on everyone's faces.

"Luka," Io sat up and reached over, under the covers to tap the eagle's shoulder. "Luka, wake up. I can't play the flute because it's midnight."

He received close to nothing in response. Luka did not turn and neither did his nightmare seem to be ending.

"Luuukaaa." Io kept his voice down regardless, snailing out of the covers and closer to his friend. He placed both hands on the latter's arm and attempted to turn the other so that he wouldn't be sleeping on his side. Unfortunately, Luka was much heavier than he thought him to be.

This called for further action and indeed, with his friend trapped in what seemed like the workings of his own mind, Io felt the urgency of a crisis. He got out of bed and into his bedroom slippers before making his way over to Luka's side and blinding him with a flash of the strongest beam of moonlight he could muster. The full length window Luka faced was filled with an instance of the moon before dimming to reveal Luna's eye, peering through the glass. Still asleep.

"Secret weapon," he nodded to himself, proceeding to lift the covers and occupy the little amount of space between Luka and the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his long-sleeve shirt against the former's nose. It worked.

The eagle stirred and the crease of his brows slackened to reveal a pair of burning, heated embers of a flame. "Io?" He didn't recall sleeping with his friend in his arms. The scent of fresh linen lingering in his thoughts.

"You're awake!" The moon phoenix peered up at him, eyes wide with concern. "I was worried. What happened?"

Luka sat up, arms supporting his attempt. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt the imminence of an awful migraine. "I can't remember... it was a dream." The creature in his cage had a beat so erratic, he could hear it in his head.

"Well I'll go put some oatmilk in the microwave for you, okay?" Io slipped out of the covers but the soothing scent remained in every breath the eagle could take. "You could stay here if you want but it's near midnight and we haven't had lunch or dinner so I'm guessing you're hungry too."

The eagle paused. "A little, yeah." His companion laughed, heading to the kitchen while turning on a couple of dimmed lights along the way.

"Mashed potatoes?"

Luka nodded, bare feet stinging against the cold surface of the floor as he collected a towel on the drying rack before realizing he hadn't checked if it was his. He held it under his nose. Wrong one.

"You're taking a shower?" Io called from the next room, head popping out from the doorway. His eagle friend nodded again. "Alright. It should be done once you're out."

Curious, the moon phoenix watched him switch the towels before stepping into the bathroom, hearing the door close behind him and then got to peeling the potatoes. While Luka himself seemed unable to recall the contents of the dream he was having, Io could vaguely piece them together and form an impression of what it was about.

It was as Lord Falrir had said; the entire family—Knights, children and all—perished. Was the person he heard in Luka's dream his mother? And the egg and the other voice. A man's... were these Luka's memories from before? Long before the time he could remember?

And then there was the finale. The end in which Luka had seen belonged not to him but closed windows. How many times was Luka forced to relive Slayne at his close? Was the heart he swallowed still, somehow, living inside?

Io placed the potatoes in a pot of boiling water and salted it before stepping up on the kitchen stool to retrieve the mug of oatmilk he'd microwaved. He could hear the shower running.

He could think of many ways to soothe the eagle's struggle for control, lost to a darkness in his mind that he couldn't even identify. It wasn't as though he could ask Luka about it—the latter wasn't hiding a thing from Io. He simply couldn't remember.

And that was when Io had an idea. Or at least, recalled the very one he'd raised months ago back in the treehouse they shared.

It was the list.

Oddly enough, the pair had spent most of their time in the treehouse doing things that, well, seemed to put the minor task of filling up a list of the things that Luka Sullivan was fond of. An attempt to activate memories of his own, tucked away and kept in a box under his bed.

One was company. Two was a scent he liked. Three was the moon and four... did they ever do four? Io vaguely recalled the drawing of an astronaut in The Book Without a Name that he'd borrowed and showed his eagle friend. While it could have meant something, Io wasn't too sure and they never really got to visit the treehouse since the Season that changed everything on the island. The night was almost dangerous; and it seemed to Io, who watched his friend struggle with a body that was adapting to an additional Avian that wasn't his own and the taste of flesh... they hadn't seen the treehouse for the longest time.

But if they can't bring themselves to the treehouse, then. Then he'd have to bring the treehouse to him.

The kerosene lamp. The sleeping bag. The telescope. The diary; the list. Boiled potatoes crumbled under his fork, mashing into soft and fluffy portions as he added a bit of salt and butter to taste. Oh, and fake bacon bits that was really made out of say.

"Luka?" Io knocked on the bathroom door after he was done with the mashed potatoes. "Luka, can I come in?"

He heard his friend turn off the shower. "It's not locked."

"So the potatoes are done," Io was hit by a wave of steam and what seemed like the scent of incoming rain upon opening the door. He left it slightly ajar, enough for Luka to hear him. "I'm going to fly over to the treehouse now and fetch some stuff back since we slept for nine hours and it's going to be hard to sleep again.

"You take your time alright? And if you're done before I come back, the potatoes are in the microwave on 'keep warm.'"

"Okay," the eagle's voice was unusually loud in an enclosed area. "Thanks."

Satisfied with the response he received, Io was about to close the door behind him when he heard Luka call his name and so, involuntarily peered through the gap. It was easy to understand by now that what Io really meant by 'can I come in' wasn't the exact meaning of those words. In fact, he hadn't intended to intrude on Luka's privacy at all.

The latter, however, had done something deliberate. "Come back soon."

One couldn't but wonder if he wanted Io to look.

______________________

There were six predator suites on the floor of Luka's room. Adjacent to his unit was Shri; right opposite was Dmitri and down a couple of doors was Slayne, Abigail and Aaqil respectively. Io, having practically lived half his school life so far in the quarters of his eagle friend, was perfectly aware that Slayne (or rather, Jiro) had always been twenty to thirty feet away down that corridor to the stairs.

He'd insisted on meeting Luna at the bottom of the stairs outside the predator's hall instead of having her park outside Luka's balcony since it had been some time since he navigated on his feet with a certain destination in mind. Having Luna's company was more than enough and hopping on her back for a free ride was almost nearly a luxury. That night, Io had figured: enough with the moon taxi.

And it was precisely due to this decision of his that a series of events followed suit, leaving the boy with more questions than answers and a whole new perspective of the issue at hand.

It all started with a trifling. He'd heard a muffled crash coming from behind a door he'd passed.

It was Slayne's. Turning around, he approached it—waiting and blinking in confusion as the prospect of it all being part of his imagination remained at the forefront of his mind. Anxious, he knocked twice, calling the name of his friend.

"Is everything alright?" His knuckles hovered over the wood, ready to knock again but it was then that he noticed—the door was slightly ajar.

Open.

Oddly enough, nothing struck Io as out of the ordinary so much as the darkness in the room did. The lights were off and clearly, Jiro was either outside, running his errands (at such an ungodly hour?) or fast asleep and had forgotten to lock his door. Naturally, the latter would slip even the best of minds at the best of times. The nightingale, having been questioned and interrogated by the members of the Order all night must have simply forgotten a part of his daily routine.

But no. Even then, it sounded to him ridiculous. Io simply could not fathom his ex-roommate, being the meticulous and careful person he was, forgetting to lock any door he needed to lock, let alone the front door of his predator's room. Especially not when he was a prime witness of the Hunters from before and doing so would mean compromising his safety in a time so unfortunately dangerous.

"Jiro?"

This was trespassing. That much, Io was aware as he slipped past the front door and found himself in the entranceway of Slayne's room. It was dark; very dark and not even the windows in his room were open or the curtains parted to allow the light of the moon to filter into the musty space. It concluded his reason for invading the territory of another: that it was now necessary to check on his nightingale friend.

"Jiro? You didn't lock the door and the—are you okay? Did you fall or something? I heard the crash." All Io could do was hope he wouldn't find him collapsed onto the floor from exhaustion or malnutrition.

Despite the absence of light in the room and his inability to grope in the darkness for a switch, Io was somehow able to identify the slim beam of moonlight coming from a gap between drawn curtains. After all, he could recognize the shade of his light from just about anywhere on the island.

The moon phoenix crossed the room, heading towards the curtains which he parted and was, at once, comforted by the sight of a tree against a starry night sky. He was about to open the windows and air the room that was just too stuffy for any living human being when he saw it—a reflection in the glass.

Standing behind him.

Umbra.

________________________

A/N: I'm sorry I have to leave it on a cliffhanger!! The next update will probably be 2 weeks later because I'm alternating between Vanilla and FS ;-; If you were reading Vanilla a couple of weeks before, I mentioned that Leroy and Vanilla have the most sexual tension out of all my characters but honestly though, looking back, no one can beat Io and Luka if Io was a little more playful and less innocent HAHAHAAH. But yes. Much tension. Much lovebirds.

It's action after action from this point onwards and I hope you'll stick around! ^0^/ 

Reminder: I'm not gonna pull a Slayne don't worry

-Cuppie