YUVEN

A rustic taste stuck to the back of his throat, akin to himself sticking a coin on his tongue and sucking on the metal. It left his lips in a wet cough. Weak. Mutinous. Unable to run away from the shadows haunting the corner of his room. Numb pinpricks swept through his limbs when he tried to force them into movement, to not be so helpless. In the corner by his bed, eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall. It was his only chance. Fists clenched, he tried to will his magick to come to life, but it remained mutinous to his one desire. Flames bit at his skin, and he whimpered at the discomfort.

I don't even feel better. I'll feel better if I can go to the attic. Yuven went to climb out of bed.

Strong arms wrapped around him and stopped his escape. "I want to move," Yuven complained at the annoying, pale-haired Naveeran who had no reason to take care of him. "Let me move. I want to go to the attic, I left my books up there."

"You need to stay in bed for a few days." Neven held on tight. "I'll bring your lunch up to you."

Don't leave me again.

Eels swam in his head when he burrowed into Neven's grip. A steady hand patted the top of his head, and then pinched his cheek. "Get some more sleep."

Tears swam up to the surface, but he lacked the strength to cry and let himself get placed back down on the bed. Shadows locked him further and prevented him from movement. The smallest flicker of fiery determination burned at his chest, stifled when Neven wrapped blankets around him in slow motion. Heaviness sat upon the older Naveeran's brow, but he waited for Neven to disappear out of his room. It was time to think of a quick plan so neither shadows or pale-haired beasts could keep him caged.

It's above me. Hand outstretched, fingers wide, he clung onto the air. If I could just reach...

Hungry jaws lifted from the shadows to latch onto his arm, but the fear had long ebbed away as he clung on tighter, concentrating on the space upstairs. Warm. Close. Full of books, a vantage point to watch from; to observe Fenrer sit in the backyard alone, behold Neven and the ways he perceived him; the monster, the ghost forevermore. Yuven narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip though the rust built up in his throat. Heatwaves unending. Fingers dug in when space contorted, a soft sigh echoed through the floorboards and escaped through his nose. Stars filled the edge of his dark vision, rippling with waves with every attempt he made to tear open to reality, out of the ghostly plane.

In his peripheral, the door opened to reveal Neven, who slowed to a stop.

Distorted tendrils slipped out of his fingers and he expected calm dissonance, horror, but not awe, not amazement at his abilities which had never been enough to stop the shadows. Neven's eyes widened, but Yuven let go of his escape. Neven shook out his feathers, then said, "I do believe I told you any of your antics will have to go through me." Over to his side, he held out the bowl. "Want a hand?"

Yuven reached his hands out for it instead of the attic. Ignoring the trembles of his own body, he sipped at the soup. Rust slipped away, replaced by the taste of fluffy Navei poundcakes.

"I want to read."

"I know."

"You ran out of books."

"I didn't run out of books."

"Where are they then?" Yuven interrogated as he ate his warm soup. "Are we going to read today?"

"If you stay in bed." Neven smiled. "You need rest. I don't want Yuo on my case." His brow crinkled, and Yuven paused with the spoon in his mouth at the hesitance — the dangerous pause, outlined in red around his eyes. Neven's throat bobbed, and he cleared his throat. "I'll get you more books after."

"Fine... but they better be high-shelf books."

Neven twisted around to grab a pile of books from off the ground underneath his chair. Information. Everything he could ever learn about anything. He frowned at the Navei letters on the cover, an ice-carved crown below them. Pearls upon the peaks. He lifted his head to the pale-haired Warden.

"I thought that since you read all of my high shelf books I'll get you something new until I can get more!" Neven beamed a wide, stupid smile. As if the book he held was beyond all other books.

Except he was wrong. Storybooks only provided lies, sweet little lies to unknowing little ones. The best books provided practicality, usefulness — and there was nothing of substance in a storybook. Storybooks failed to save him from the cage. Yuven curled up in his blankets. "It's not a book from the high shelves. It's a story."

"It's an anthology of Naveeran mythos," Neven corrected, not that it mattered. "It was also on one of the highest shelves on the Annex, so clearly it's important."

Yuven stuck out his pale tongue, but a cough slipped past his lips. Hand raised, he prepared himself, but Neven lowered it to ruffle his hair.

"Are you sure you don't want to hear it?" he asked. "You complained you read all my high shelf books, so what's the point in reading them to you again?" Neven held the storybook out to him. "These are stories, holding all sorts of lessons. If you give them a chance, you might enjoy them. I've read these over and over when I was a child." Hand pressed against the cover, Neven's smile made the shadows flee, a shield against the abyss of his own soul. "Ice Knights like Ser Atoran and Ser Zahira, the Snow Prince and his forgotten name. Epic battles against the old, mythical creatures of Naveera. Quests.

Ice Knights... Yuven ripped through the ash made from his memories; pale-haired warriors riding atop wyverns, their feathers catching the wind, a silent hunter. They aren't real! None of it is real! "What's so special about Ice Knights? They're fake."

"You're not going anywhere anyway."

Trapped, no way out. It would take multiple avenues of attacks and plans to get out of the situation the pale-haired Storm Warden put him in. Energy spent, he huffed. "Fine." He sat up when Neven adjusted himself and turned to the first page. One of the first passages; a simple love poem. He squicked, stuck his tongue out at every soft spoken word about a Queen of the Sun.

"How about the poem of the Snow Prince's flight against the Great Crimson Dusk?"

"It's stupid. I already read it."

"You didn't read it out loud," Neven teased.

"I don't want to."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's stupid. I just said."

Neven pinched his cheek. "You skimmed over it."

"What is there to read? It just said he would fight the Crimson Dusk for 'Her'. Who is Her? It's not the same poem as the Ice Knight and the Sun Queen." Nothing to gain. Nothing to learn.

"It's not so different from the Storm Wardens," Neven pointed out. "We swore to fight against the Derelicts; for those who cannot, or will not do so, even if it means our lives."

"You can't fight the dusk, though."

Neven smiled at him. "But maybe you can," he whispered. "Kemal told me a Hanekan legend — of a man who split the sky to reveal the dawn." His expression softened. "You're thinking like fighting is always crossing blades, sometimes it's grandiose acts such as tearing the heavens asunder for a breath of light, and sometimes it's as simple as..." Neven faltered, then lifted his hand out. "Holding your hand out to someone who needs it the most, to save entire worlds." Shadows in his room expanded, but the smallest light flickered in the hand in front of him. Neven drew his hand away when he failed to take it over and over again, turning to another page. Longer passages. Continued tales of the Snow Prince and his Knights of the Round's exploits, the hero of all Naveeran legends. Blessed by Evyriaz himself. Graceful as a snowrose, sharper than thorns, who rode a wyvern into battle. Every falseness, Yuven upturned his nose at a vague description of the legend; snow-white hair.

"You two supposedly share the same hair color," Neven offered, before turning to the next page, Excalizere, the sword stuck in ice, only to be pulled by the pure of heart; a champion of the light.

"If it's stuck in it, I don't think anyone could pull it out." It was further proof the storybook held falsehoods. He shut his eyes, but found himself drifting off as Neven continued his recounts. Winter's warmth held him close. Wyvern's took flight with pale-blonde Ice Knights on their backs. False, but he imagined them all the same. Hatred dug burrs into his crimson-stained throat, not wanting the stupid fairytales to overtake his mind. He buried deeper into the warmth to get away from the cold. Darkness distorted.

It always did. It always would.

Dark mist blurred at the edges of his dream, where a figure held a tiny stuffed toy woven into the shape of a wyvern. Wind made the wings move and flap.

Yuven tossed and turned to flee, and snapped his eyes open with a lurch. Moonlight peeked through his blinds. Tiny strips of stars sprinkled across the expanse. Neven wasn't in his napping chair, but he left the books. Out of bed, his legs complained as he knelt down to grab one of the books, heading to his wall. Facefirst into the woodwork, and fell onto his hindquarters when his magick refused to bend his obstacles. Jaw agape, he stood up again. He stomped his foot before heading to his door. Surely it would bend to his will.

It did not, and he was on his hindquarters again.

Much to his frustration, he opened the door and walked his way to Neven's room instead. Adjusted to the dark environment, he ignored the house creaks. In safety, he closed the bedroom door behind him. Neven's shape was slumped in the bed, fast asleep. Book against his chest, his woozy steps brought him closer to the older Naveeran. He would be heard, seen, and most of all, perceived.

Yuven crawled onto the bed, causing Neven to stir.

"You should be in bed," Neven grumbled.

"I'm about to be." Yuven grabbed Neven's arm and dragged himself over. He coughed from the strain, flinching when Neven steadied him. He placed the book against the wall, and stole any extra blankets.

Another cough escaped his lips. Awfulness ripped ribbons out of his stomach, and he squeaked when a shadow rumbled in his ear. Until Neven's voice disrupted it from his side of the bed, "There's nothing in this house that can or will harm you, Yuven."

The monster within, eating him bit by bit.

"Ice Knights are lies."

"If that's what you wish to believe."

"You believe they're real," Yuven accused.

"Well, my ancestor was one." Into silence, Neven had fallen asleep again after a few minutes of Yuven's attempted erratic movements.

"That's not fair." Yuven huffed and slammed himself down. "Falling asleep and not explaining. Stupid Storm Warden."

Stories spoke of better days; and better days never came to monsters, and those corrupted by monsters.