A WARNING, a bit of violence and bloodshed ahead, though I doubt that will deter any of you.

"So, did you find out what was bothering him?"

Rose shook her head as she held onto her brother's hand. Frost sighed. "You're too good for your own good, you know that-" His eyes widened. A world of white flickered into his vision, and he saw dark silhouettes leap from the trees on their left. "LOOK OUT!"

But Clement was already ducking and swinging the sack of gems, hitting a man in the chest and knocking him down. Scarlett sidestepped and pulled her husband out of the way before a knife could stab him. She brought her elbow down on her husband's assailant to knock him out, then spun around. "RUN!"

Frost turned a one-eighty and dragged his sister along, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the darkness of the forest.

"What are you doing?!" she cried. "Mom and Dad-"

"Can take care of themselves!" he shouted back. "They want us to run, so run!"

Rose stopped looking behind her and tried to focus. What just happened? They were walking, then those men jumped out. Their faces were covered in dirt and they were wearing black, as if they had been trying to hide. . . She remembered Mr. Deauville's face as he said that he was about to do something terrible. He wasn't following them anymore either. Rose swallowed the lump in her throat and ran as fast as she could. Now was not the time to cry over betrayal. Now was not to time to cry over what might be happening to their parents. Now was not the time to cry. . .

"Rose, when we're far enough, we have to fly, understand?"

Rose blinked away the tears and nodded. Frost gritted his teeth at the sight. He should've listened to the sense of mournful resignation the librarian had been giving off earlier. Now his family was suffer-

"STOP!"

The thundering of hooves followed the order behind them. Frost resisted the urge to glance back and focused. A brilliant light shone from his back, causing the pursuers to shield their eyes and their horses to rear up. Frost's wings rushed, sending him up into the sky with his sister in tow.

Rose tried not to scream even though she felt her arm being dislocated by the sudden pull. Frost didn't mean it, and there were worse things to be worried about. That didn't stop it from hurting though, and it took a while until she could summon her own wings with the pain and the panicky feeling of dangling in the air. When she flew high enough and let go of her brother, she hissed at the sharp pain.

Frost turned to her with worried eyes, but she shouted, "I'm fine!" before he could say anything.

The two of them flew side by side, neither knowing what to do. Their parents were likely captured if not killed by the villagers, they knew of no places they could flee to, and they were alone. Their only comfort was that they were far from the danger.

Or so they thought.

They had flown for some time when they saw the glow of a village in the distance. They went faster. Maybe they could get help, maybe someone would listen. But their hope for aid disappeared moments later. The town was the same size as the village they had left, and it had the same crooked tower, and church, and town square. With horror they realized that it was Gavaldon.

"But we've been flying straight!" Rose cried. She turned back ready to flee once more-

"Rose." The girl glanced back. Frost was still facing the village, hovering. "Mom and Dad told me they to leave tried before," he said quietly. "They didn't succeed. No matter how far they'd get, they'd keep returning to Gavaldon."

Realization sank in and Rose neared her brother. "So what do we do now?"

Escape was impossible, and staying where they were wouldn't solve anything. There was only one thing left to do, wasn't there?

~~~

"WHAT?!"

The man, the leader of those who pursued the children on horseback, flinched. "I'm only stating what we saw," he said slowly, as if it might somehow calm down the man before him. "The children flew away! There was some flash of light, then they just disappeared into the sky."

"Do you have any proof of this?" he demanded.

The leader pulled out some white feathers from his pocket and laid them on the table. The elder picked one up and twirled it slowly. It was like a dove feather, but much larger. Almost as big as his hand even. It was also blindingly white despite the little specks of dirt on it.

"Sir," said the leader. "we should just let them - and their parents - go. Doing this was a bad idea. Even if they aren't angels, they are being protected. If we keep hunting them, bad things are sure to follow."

The elder slammed his fist down. "I will be the one to tell you if something bad is to come! You fool! Don't you see? It's a trick! They're using witchcraft to make you think they're good and holy. They're not, I tell you, they're not! Go to your men and tell them that!"

"My men are praying for forgiveness in the church, and I soon will be as well. I refuse to harm the Gracehills any further."

"Then you surely do need to pray," spat the elder.

The leader silently left the room, fingers grasping the single feather that he hadn't shown to the elder still in his pocket. Perhaps it would keep his daughter safe if she had it.

As soon as he was sure that the leader was gone, the elder snatched the rest of the feathers. They were tricks. Of course they were tricks. Some sort of magic must have been used to make them bigger, to shine brighter. He wasn't violating anything, he never was. His free hand brought one of the candles lighting up the room closer to him. He took a single feather by its quill and placed its vane in the flame. But The little barbs didn't catch the flame. The elder's breath hitched as the fire sputtered. All the other lights seemed to dim as well. The shadows were reaching out for him-

Leave them alone, a voice seemed to say.

He wasn't doing anything wrong. He wasn't sinning. He was in the right. He was in the right, he was in theright hewasintherighthewasintherighthewasintheright-

The feather caught fire.

The elder blinked. The other candles still shone brightly, the shadows only moved because of how the candlelight was flickering. Witchcraft, it truly was witchcraft, he thought. The spell keeping it together must have finally broken. He watched the feather burn, ignoring how cleanly it crumbled into ash as if it was melting, how the ashes were whiter than they should be, how the room smelled like burning paper and flesh.

He was in the right.

~~~

The second elder finished preparing the pyre and the third returned from getting the villagers to gather. The three were like that. The first was wise, the second strong, the third charismatic. Together they kept Gavaldon peaceful. It was their job -no, duty to keep the village as peaceful as possible. They knew peace didn't always mean the job was clean. Peace would require getting rid of disturbances when they would become too great, and disposing of such disturbances could require the dirtying of hands. That night, for example, they would be getting rid of a particularly great disturbance, and they were likely to be covered with soot and ashes and perhaps even blood by the time the act would be finished.

"Are they coming?" asked the second, wiping his brow.

"All those that were willing to leave their children for the night," replied the third. He glanced at the crowd and gave a reassuring smile. Whatever nervousness the gathered had lessened at it. "Where is Solomon?"

"Talking with the hunting leader last I checked."

"Hmm," the third watched the door of the elder's building with a frown. What was taking so long? The hunting leader then left the building, but he hurried to the church before either of the elders could question him. Strange. It took five more minutes before the first elder exited. "Solomon," said the third elder. "What took you-"

The first elder's head swung around, and the third took a step back. His eyes were frightened, manic, unhinged.

The second elder had more courage. "Solomon," he said, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Solomon took a few breaths, then his posture relaxed. "I'm fine Osborn. Dan simply told me that they couldn't catch the children."

"Pity," said the second elder. "It would have been easier to rid of them all in one go."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet, my friend." The third elder had a smirk that matched the gleam in his eyes. "Who's to say they won't be attracted to the flame like moths?"

Osborn hummed. "In any case, Erving, we should get the fire going. I think the crowd's getting anxious to return to their children."

"I'll go allay their fears. In the meantime, prepare the Gracehills. Oh, and Solomon?" The elder turned to him. "I will speak. It won't do to have the town seeing you in that state."

~~~

The Gracehills weren't quite conscious when they were tied to the crosses, but perhaps it would have been better if they were.

In Gavaldon, it was rare for those to be executed to have a draught of sedative herbs to knock them unconscious before their deaths - the elders deemed the act too merciful. When the prisoners were very violent however, it was a necessary evil. This was why the Gracehills had the mixture poured down their throats after being knocked out. This made it easy for Osborn to haul them from the prison and outside to the crosses.

That didn't mean their healing failed completely.

Scarlett was first. Osborn just finished tying the woman to the cross of the pyre when she let loose a heartbreaking cry. The elder quickly jumped off the platform. The villagers near the pyre backed away, trembling in fear. Her eyes were wide but glazed, the irises glowing like hot coals. Her words were unintelligible, but the pain in it could be heard. Frost and Rose were said several times. Tears streamed down her face as the screams ceased and her head slumped against her chest.

Clement acted up soon after. He didn't shout, but trashed as if possessed. His violet eyes shone with rage and fear. The very ground seemed to shake. He fell back into unconsciousness faster than his wife, but not without several villagers stumbling and crossing themselves.

Despite Erving's attempts to calm them down, the villagers knew that the tremors had something to do with the Gracehills. The question was, was an act of God, or a sign of the devil?

The elders were quick to place dry wood and other fuel for the fire at the foot of the pyre. Whatever was happening, it would be best to get the Gracehills out of the way. As soon as everything was ready, Erving took center stage while the other elders flanked his sides, torches in hand.

"People of Gavaldon!" he began. "For years we have seen our children taken away. We prayed that it may end as it had before, but to no avail. Then, these two" -he gestured behind him to the couple tied to their respective pyres- "entered our village. We gave them shelter, oblivious of the evil they would bring. Despite our attempts at hospitality, they left the safety of Gavaldon to live in the Endless Woods. We wondered at how they could survive, but our answer came at the birth of their son. He protects them, for he is the School Master reborn! We offered to help them, but they refused, finding sanctuary by staying in those dreaded woods. We did not seek them, giving them the benefit of doubt and mercy. Yet when they had a daughter, they did not stop her from becoming a witch! I am certain that you all recall how the Woods is where we leave all witchcraft we find." The elder paused just long enough to let the villagers nod. "How difficult would it be for her to play with forces she does not know of? To slip a curse in the pages of the books of our library in jest? Well no longer! Tonight, we shall purge this town of evil! We shall burn them in the pyre!"

Gavaldon was in a frenzy. Adults shouted, "Burn in the pyre! Purify the town! Burn in the pyre! Purify the town!"  Street urchins crept out of their hiding places and curious children peeked out their windows before joining the crowd and the chant. Tonight they didn't fear the School Master, they only feared that they might miss his death.

Erving grinned triumphantly. "We shall begin with Clement and Scarlett! Their ignorance allowed evil that would have been so easily weeded out to flourish!" Another eruption of applause. Erving spun around and nodded to the other elders. They approached the pyre, torches tipped and ready to share the flame-

The torches sputtered, then went out. Before anyone could react, the ones that the villagers carried were extinguished as well. Those who carried lanterns were suddenly sprayed with the broken glass as something shattered them and put out the lights inside. Only the pitch black night remained, and the villagers huddled together, knives, pitchforks, and everything on their persons brandished in terrified hands.

A gust - no, two gusts of wind blew by the villagers and the elders, going with such force that they knocked the latter down. As they recovered, the sound of ropes falling to the platform could be heard. Erving drew a dagger from his robe and lunged towards the platform, burying the poison-tipped blade in the first thing he could. A cry of pain rang out. Somewhere behind a building, a villager who had been shamefully listening to the town's frenzy with a guilt-ridden heart raised his head. As soon as Osborn's eyes were able to make out the form of a matchbox in the fingers of a street child, he snatched it up and relit the torch. As he raised it towards the platform, the villagers gasped.

On it were Rose and Frost, angelic wings stretching out from their backs as they tried to free their parents. But what they were really staring at was Rose. The girl's feathery appendages were black, each one covered in inky feathers. Her left wing was bleeding heavily, dark blood streaming from the dagger still embedded in it.

Frost's eyes turned storm gray as the torchlight lit up the elder, hand still around the hilt that stabbed Rose. As he pulled it out to stab the boy, a blade of ice came down faster and slashed through his wrist.

The elder let out a great cry of agony as he cradled the blood-spewing stump. The villagers were frozen as they watched his severed hand holding the dagger drop to the platform and roll onto the grass, staining it red. "Fallen angels!" he wheezed. "Demons!"

Meanwhile, Rose heard the blood drip-drip-dripping down her wing and turned back to see the elder writhing on the ground. The metallic scent mingled with a faint bitterness that she assumed was from the poison filled her nose as the villagers stared at her and her brother. They pointed, they cursed, they hated, they feared. Tears filled her eyes from the pain in her chest and wing. What had they done to deserve this?

"Rose? Frost?"

The weak voice of her mother made her turn back.

"Mom," she breathed.

A wall of stone suddenly rose up between the family and Gavaldon. Rose turned to her side and saw their father also half-awake and slinging his arm over Frost in an attempt to stay up, hand outreached as his eyes and Mark of Nature glowed.

"Daddy. . . "

"You two shouldn't have come back," he groaned.

Scarlett glared as much as she could with the sedative still in her system. "What were you thinking?"

"We can't leave," Frost said, grimacing. "We'd only come back to Gavaldon if we try."

"So you try to save us specifically after we tell you to flee?" Despite her harsh tone, Scarlett's face softened when she saw her son looking down. "Frost, I don't want to scold you, especially if this is the last moments this family will be together, but coming here was suicide."

"What other choice do we have?" he demanded, "We can't get help and we couldn't just leave you here!"

Clement suddenly tensed and removed his arm from his son. "They're trying to get over the wall, or break it." He turned to his children. "There isn't much time."

"Just come with us!" Rose cried. "It's not too late!"

"I'm afraid it is," Scarlett sighed. She took a deep breath and managed to stand. "But only for us. The thing they put in us, it's still coursing through our veins. We'd only slow you two down."

"But Mom. . .!"

"Don't 'but' me," she said. "We want you two to run while we keep them busy."

"And if you can't leave," Clement wheezed through the strain of keeping the wall together. "Then live. We will not allow you to throw your lives away, is that understood?"

Rose and Frost remained silent, but bowed their heads. The parents wrapped their arms around their children a final time, and kissed them goodbye.

"Keep each other safe," Clement said.
"And please," Scarlett whispered. "be good."
"We love you."

They tore themselves away from their children and faced the crumbling wall. With bright flashes of light, wings appeared on their backs, their edges tinted with red and violet.

"We love you too," they heard their children say.

As the sound of their footsteps faded away, Scarlett squeezed her husband's hand.

"I never thought that it would end like this."

"Who does?" Clement replied. "I always thought that I would die surrounded by grandkids."

"I thought I'd have at least finished redecorating the house."

The man chuckled. "Well, you never were going to do it anyway."

Scarlett snorted. "I'm going to miss wiping that always-dirty face of yours."

"I'm going to miss making you anniversary rings."

"I'm going to miss cooking for you."

"And I'm going to miss drinking your coffee."

They looked at each other sadly and kissed a final time.

"Well," Scarlett said, a ball of red flame appearing in her hand as the villagers approached with their weapons aimed towards them. "Who's to say we can't do all that in heaven?"

~~~

A recently-hatched stymph silently perched the bough of a large tree, eye sockets trained on the pair stumbling through the woods.

It knew it was to capture them - felt it in the very marrow of its bones. It would snatch them up in its claws, then drop them into the proper lakes. It was clear and simple instinct. Yet the moon only rose higher since its hatching and it still couldn't bring itself to pluck them up and steal them away. Perhaps it was because one was nearly carrying the other, and that would make it difficult to separate them without damage. Perhaps it was the frantic look in the former's eyes, one that made the stymph fear being the one damaged with a fracture upon an attempt. Perhaps it was the aura radiating from the two of them, one that made its bones shiver from awe and fear. In any case, it followed them silently, biding its time for a good chance to act.

The opportunity came an hour later of tracing them with its vision and sense of smell. The children finally halted under the foot of a great tree. The larger one had cradled the other in his arms, and that child was soon unconscious. He then struggled to stay awake to keep watch over both of them, but his eyes soon flickered close as well. The stymph proceeded to alight on the ground before them. It turned its head to one, then the other, then rattled its bones the way a bird might ruffle its feathers.

These were the students, it was sure of that, but which one would be dropped into what school? Stymphs know where to put students by seeing the Never in one and defaulting the other child as Good in its mind, but neither of them could it distinguish as Evil. One was more violent, another more fearful, but that was no sure sign. Bloodlust could be tempered or strengthened by Good or Evil, and villains could fear just as much as heroes and princesses.

It was broken from its confusion when it remembered the heavy scent of blood they had on them. Blood usually meant injury, and injury could mean dead students. Bringing in a dead student would be a bad thing, probably leading to the shattering of its bones for coming too late. That little fact was very helpful in getting it to move.

It carefully picked the two children up in its knifelike claws to prevent further injuring them, feeling quite pleased with itself. It could bring them both to the School for Good (or as it knew it better, the clean shiny castle), and it wouldn't get in trouble because that was the School with a proper infirmary. Maybe someone would even rub its skull for its cleverness.

It was broken out of its reverie by the sound of men approaching. The stymph recalled seeing them chase the students with zeal. They even caught up once, and quite a few wounds were dealt by both sides before the two managed to flee.

The stymph quickly flapped its skeletal wings and shot into the night sky with its load, going as fast as it could to the Schools.