Keter-kan - ♡peep♡

hello sir/madam. your son is so transmasc . can i kiss him with tongue

Minecraft movie trailer was just a bad dream.

The way (and I love her so much) my therapist is LITERATE?!?! I sit down with an I Feel statement and this warm and kindhearted woman smiles at me and READS ME FRONT, BACK, UPSIDE DOWN, AND FUCKING BACKWARDS like I know it's her job to Explain the Things to Me but she has just read, reread, annotated, and written an analytical essay on my emotional intelligence and mental health. When she hits me with the "I think we should unpack that :)" i KNOW I'm about to get the spark notes on the last three chapters fed to me like a baby bird.

Chapter 8 is here mwahaha 😈

The siege has been going longer than expected as May tries to come up with something to save her men from the impending doom of being locked behind the courtyard walls for too long, still not sure of where the attack came from.

P L E A S E give me feedback and critiques 😌 only partially edited as well so keep that in mind lol

tw: mentions of death, war, bodily harm, blood, food shortages

Tag list (dm me if you want to be a part of the club lol): @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 8

They started calling it “the Bitches Siege.” It enraged May’s men in a way that made her proud, no matter how twisted the circumstances.

The makeshift barricade lasted longer than anticipated, especially after the local masons and carpenters took to work reinforcing it on their own volition. Food and certain other supplies were growing scarce, though that was to be expected from a siege. It wasn’t going to end in a matter of days; they’d be lucky if it were over in a matter of weeks, if not months.

May was a studied Duchess, understanding more than others the ramification of what this attack could mean. It’d been months since Giardin’s men were at her gates; they had settled their three-generation long debacle after May had all but killed him in hand-to-hand. She knew him as a coward, but never expected him to yield. The truce was signed within the day. And, considering the lengths at which they were at odds, she had never seen him possess such tactics.

But what would he know about Oryn?

There were no secrets among her men. At least, none that May couldn’t control. Oryn was a secret that was spread wide throughout the manor and surrounding encampment, the stories of a man who can become a beast saving the day.

Little did they know that the entire attempt at this siege was one made on Oryn’s life.

It was obvious who they were searching for; they distracted as many of May’s men as they could with the hopes that Oryn would be tucked away into the saferoom that they must have known about long before May herself had discovered it.

How was it all related to the summons she received from the King? The call to war?

She had yet to call a meeting to discuss anything more than battle tactics with her men. The looks of desperation and curiosity grew in numbers with each passing day, more and more of them needing answers to feel satiated. But May didn’t have any.

Someone is leagues and leagues ahead of me, calculating every step I take and making sure I fall into place like the pawn they want me to be. Whether it’s one of my own men, someone from the church, some imposter hiding amongst the chaos—

“You’re brooding,” Demetrius’s heavy hands clapped together as he stood at attention next to may, staring ahead.

“Planning,” May interjected, sighing as she changed her own stance to match his. They stood atop the barricade as the sun set, the small flames of invader campfires glowing softly in the distance.

“We need to ask for further assistance,” he mumbled, his brows setting deeper. “Look at them all out there. A few thousand, at least.”

“We can hold,” she said, her own confidence wavering in her voice, “I’m not concerned about the barricade. You know it comes down to supplies, which we’re steadily running out of.” She sighed. “Any word yet?”

He shook his head, not daring to make eye contact. “I doubt there will be,” he scoffed.

May’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to disagree with you, Demetrius, but what proof do we have?”

“Who else knew?”

She took a moment to respond, wishing she could ignore the obvious signs. “You know what that would mean, Demetrius! That’s treason. I can’t risk that yet.”

“Then when?” He finally looked right at her, the anger flaring in his eyes. “When our men are starving? When we’ve eaten all the mounts and burned the last of our fuel?”

She glared at him the way one does when you’ve disrespected your superiors. “I’ve sent my ravens. Until we get a response, the only thing we can do is wait.”

Demetrius shook his head, turning to face straight ahead again. “You know,” he started, “I don’t know much about politics; never cared to. But playing their games can only end one way. Your father knew that.”

May’s jaw tensed as the taste of acid coated her tongue. “My father…” she fought against the lump forming in her throat. “I’m standing firm, General. Tend to your men. I doubt a raid tonight, but be prepared nonetheless.”

She felt his eyes on her back as she descended.

“It has to be about him,” he called after her.

“I know.”

-

There was no brooding after this kill, just a constant worry nagging in the back of Oryn’s head about Alec; the young boy reminded them so much of… some warm and tingly feeling. May’s men quickly turned the dining hall of her manor into a makeshift infirmary; there weren’t enough structures that would properly hold out all the elements within the barricades wall. This was the safest they could get, dying amongst one another.

May’s boots made a crisp sound as they clicked across the stone, walking amongst the rows of beds. It couldn’t be more than maybe a hundred of them—if that—but every single one of them was a devastating blow when your entire retinue only consisted of maybe 600 men total.

There was no doubt that she continued to inspire them just by being in their presence, allowing them to gaze upon the person they thought was wiser and more deserving than themselves. In the recent weeks, however, she could tell that the light behind their eyes was slowly fading. They didn’t see an end coming soon to the carnage, no matter how slowly it was reaped.

She looked from one patient to the next, smiling and shaking hands and bowing as was expected of her. It took longer than she would have liked, but she finally approached Alec’s bed, where Oryn was perched by his feet hunched over a massive tome.

His injuries weren’t as severe as May had assumed. The burns were the worst of it, taking the longest to heal and the only reason he was still being kept in bed.

“How are you holding up?” May smiled, meeting his gaze. He couldn’t help but smile back at her, his eyes still full of hope.

“You could’ve let me up days ago,” he said, nudging Oryn with his foot under the blanket. “But at least now you’re letting me be useful.”

Oryn nodded, shuffling where they sat and waving their hand at whatever it was Alec said, too absorbed by the book in their lap to have heard anything.

“He’d do really well with proper tutors,” Alec said, all but beaming with pride. “I never thought Clergy History was too fun, but we have to cover that first before we start with the real stuff. Look at this,” he said, immediately changing the subject as he slowly peeled back one of the bandages wrapped around his arm.

May peered into the healing wound, still leaking a bit here and there with the skin having faded from a vicious red into a more tender pink. “You seem more anxious than excited to get out of bed,” she said, eyeing him with suspicion. “I don’t want you fighting yet. Besides,” she gestured towards Oryn who had all but stuck their face right up against the aging parchment, “it’s too important to teach him about the world. I can’t risk you,” she tousled his hair, not realizing the care in the gesture until her hand was back at her side.

He laughed before pouting as he fixed his hair. He really was just a boy.

“Alright,” May sighed, “I’m sorry to have to pull you away from your studies,” she waved a hand in between Oryn’s face and the pages of their book, finally pulling them away from whatever they were reading, “But you and I have some planning to discuss.”

The moment Tigris tells Snow he looks like his father, my heart broke.

That's her Prim.

That's the child she took care of while being a child herself, stuck with an adult who couldn't care for them all that well. She tried so hard and sacrificed so much for the boy that despite all her love still turns into a monster.

Katniss's Prim dies, but Tigris' Prim destroys every part of the boy she raised, to the point she wants him dead and has nothing in her heart for him except absolute loathing.

I think broken Legends has died 😭😭 i think she's going to get completley rewritten. What parts should I keep??

Chapter 9 😌

Since college has started back up, I've taken a step back from writing *more* of the story and have been really focused on editing what I have, both for grammatical errors but also lots of worldbuilding, plot heavy stuff. Alluding to different events, setting up later plot lines, etc. I'll be going back and editing previous posts for the chapters as I go through them, but haven't yet! Stay tuned for that lol.

tw: mentions of restrains, bondage, bodily gore and harm, knives, blood, war, grief, death

tag list: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 9

“Is it too tight?” Starla mumbled as she gave a tug to the thick rope binding Oryn’s wrists together. They shook their head, eyelids drooping as a yawn escaped their lips.

The three witches worked in tandem as they set everything out of the room one at a time, slowly taking care not to break anything. As Maureen cast a soft yet powerful protective ward on the hard floor, Starla and Elisa continued with securing Oryn to the wooden bedpost atop the extra mattress.

The tears brimming in Starla’s eyes were in stock contrast to the anger in Maureen’s and the fear in Elisa’s. As the three of them woke together every morning, they wondered if they would survive the following night.

“It won’t work forever,” Elisa mumbled.

“I know,” Starla said, hiccupping a soft cry. “What happens then?”

“Fuck them all,” Maureen chided, finishing the transcription on the floor before lighting the lone candle on the windowsill. “Fuck that old man on that stupid throne, fuck the clergy, fuck every high councilor who had any hand in this… this ridiculous plan!” she grabbed at the windowsill with her bony fingers,

“Maureen—”

“No!” She screamed, ripping off a part of the ornately carved wooden piece, splinters falling to the ground as she crumbled the wood in her fist. “Fuck them all! Especially that good for nothing, washed up, old geezer who thought he had any right to lay a hand on her! To bring her into this! To bring us into this!”

She stormed to Oryn in her rage, her hands twitching as she looked down at the small child. It hadn’t even been a year since they found their way into the Witches care. The concoction given to them to help them sleep had already taken affect, their head lolling to the side as their chest moved with even breaths.

“It would be so easy to kill it,” she muttered, watching. Waiting.

Starla looked at her, whispering, “But he’s just a child.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“He killed her!” Maureen roared, turning on her two lovers with more rage than they had thought she could hold. “That bastard…. That monster… all I see when I look at him is her blood. I can’t…”

She stalks from the room, hands soft and laden at her sides, closing the door behind her.

Elisa looked at Oryn. Starla looked towards the window with the broken sill.

“It won’t ever be the same,” she muttered as she made her way towards Oryn, still lost to slumber.

“No,” Starla said, “it won’t.” She put a hand on Elisa’s back, leaning her head against her shoulder as Elisa continued to tie Oryn down. “But it’s not our place to choose these things.”

Elisa scoffed, wiping away a tear. “How do you still believe? After all this?”

She shrugged, pulling away from the bed and looking upon Oryn again. Elisa stood again next to her. “I don’t.” She pulled her tight into her chest, holding her close, letting her sob into her. “The Waters and Winds… it’s all a lie, Elisa. But with him… with that child here, it’s impossible for me to believe in nothing. Not with all he can do.”

~

“You’ve been reading about the clergy?” May set down the hot mug on the table between the two chairs, sitting in the empty one next to Oryn.

Oryn nodded, crossing their legs in the chair and leaning against the cushioned back, holding the warm mug to their chest. “It’s interesting. I didn’t know people could be so… structured.”

May laughed softly, only bringing more comfort into the room with them. The soft fire blazed lazily in the mantle before them. “That’s something you’ll keep finding as you keep learning. People like to control things. You can’t control things unless you make rules and make sure people follow them.”

“And to make them follow the rules you, what, reward them with titles? With the right to… do what they want?”

May sighed, looking towards Oryn. The differences in their features didn’t disturb May as much as they used to; she had grown to expect them every now and again. It was the calm look in their eyes that she found jarring. The way they were suddenly so calm in the midst of the first siege Ilucia had seen since before her father’s time; most don’t take their first battle well, let alone their first intentional kill. And Oryn was so…

“You’re staring.” They said, sitting straighter in their chair.

May shrugged, looking towards the fire and taking a sip from their mug. “Do you know how you got to be with them? Out in the cabin?” She knew it’d be a hard conversation to have.

Oryn let out a deep breath and set down their cup, closing theri eyes and leaning back again in the chair. There was a soft drone creeping its way towards May’s brain, starting from the base of her neck. She shivered as she realized it was comforting her.

“My mother died in childbirth,” they started, “I don’t know much about her. The Witches never told me; they said to never ask.” They opened their eyes and looked towards May as the skin around their jaw started to shift. First, she thought it must have been a trick of the dancing firelight, the shadows playing across their face. But the longer she watched, the more she could truly see the change.

Pain painted Oryn’s face as they continued, May unable to look away. “There was a man named Jonas. He was so old back then; I doubt he’s still alive. I met him once and he said he was there when she died, when I was born. He was the one who took me to them, out at the cabin.”

As they hissed softly between their teeth and gripped the arms of the chair, Oryn’s skin seemed to become a shimmering blanket of thin silk, bubbling and molding itself to the bones that had started to shift from one angle to another.

May shook her head. “You have to know more than that, even if they didn’t tell you.” It was a sight to behold.

As they slowly writhed in their seat while the rest of their body contorted, Oryn continued to talk through the pains. “Not much,” they stuttered, hunching over themselves. Their spine protruded from their skin, the vertebrae contorting with every small move they made. Their skin tore and regrew, the sinew stretching over the fresh wounds like an artist painting something anew. Oryn heaved, sucking in a breath between the agony, meeting eyes with May as their face was lost to the mass overtaking them; no, becoming them.

“They never told you what you are?” May whispered, brows furrowed as she studied them changing, the pounding in her head begging her to do something—anything—as she fought to resist it.

Oryn’s maw sat agape, brown teeth like daggers dripping opaque saliva as the eyes sitting behind their snout rolled back to the front of their head, the lids opening ever so slowly.

“I don’t think,” they huffed, voice no longer human, “they ever knew.”

They could only hold that form for a moment before crumpling in on themselves, the ravenous SNAP of realigning bone making May jump in her seat. Their skin was gray, sagging along their joints as it slowly rippled itself back to where it was meant to sit. But even then, the place where it was meant to sit was something different now.

Oryn’s head hung low, chin on their chest as their jaw ground itself down, chest heaving erratic breaths. “I don’t think anybody does.”

The heat building in May’s chest was abruptly extinguished, the thrumming in the back of her head ceasing. “We can find out,” she said, determination cascading through the room with her voice.

“Do you think there was a book they didn’t read?” Oryn laughed, sighing to themselves. “A spell they didn’t try?” They looked up towards May, their body shaking. “There’s never been any reason to it; never any explanation. I’ve never had control. Not until—”

“The fire. The start of the siege.”

The smile flitting along Oryn’s lips was small, but noticed. “I’m learning,” they muttered, slowly standing on shaky legs and walking with a limp towards the fire, leaning into its light. Their jaw was softer, their eyelashes longer, their body still a recovering version of what it’ll be once it’s finished. “I’ve ruined so many things. Destroyed so much, ridden with so much guilt…”

May stood and joined them huddling by the fire. “It can’t be your fault if you were never taught how to control it.”

“I know,” Oryn turned to face her, “I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know; how much they kept from me.” They smiled, a soft look of reverence overcoming their face. “I think I understand war now, May.”

“Really?”

“If someone is trying to kill you,” they said, “and you don’t want to die, then you’ll have to kill them first. Not because you want to.”

May shuffled a bit where she stood, sighing. “Almost, but… Well, that’s self-defense, I guess. War is a lot more than merely protecting yourself. Hell, if that’s all it was, I could only imagine where I’d be now.” Her gaze was lost in the fire.

“What I did, then, up in the attic… I didn’t do war? I just protected myself?”

May stood back a bit and laughed. She couldn’t help it, no matter the circumstances. “No, no. Gods,” she shoved Oryn lightly. “You don’t do war; you partake in it. It’s too big to think about in terms as simple as that,” she grabbed their mugs from the table between the empty chairs, handing Oryn theirs as she took a sip of her own. “And I’d say you did more than just protect yourself up there. You protected us,” she motioned to the room around them.

Oryn nodded, holding their cup with confidence. “Demetrius, Alec, you…” they lost themselves in thought for a brief moment, then met May’s eyes again. “And without you, who would be running the place? Who would be protecting these people?” Oryn’s eyes went wide, finally realizing that there’s another side to the coin bearing guilt.

May smiled and finished her tea, sauntering towards the door of the office. “With the control you were just able to exhibit,” she said, opening the door and motioning for Oryn to follow, “I think it’d be best if we starting getting you into a more… structured routine.”

something something digital footprint

Cute matching profile pictures!!

Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.

The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.

tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood

Ch. 7

It took what remained of May’s men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manor—to Oryn.

Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under May’s command, any that couldn’t still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to May’s blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.

As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked again—which they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.

It’s obvious, she thought. They wouldn’t have gotten into the attic… they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.

Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.

“The barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,” he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.

May shook her head, worry plaguing her. “I can’t afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,” she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.

He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.

May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. “But that wasn’t you, either, I surmise.”

Word travels fast. It’d been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?

Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. “Do you think it was him?” he murmured.

May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “I do. But I don’t think he knows.”

Demetrius shook his head. “How can he not know?”

A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.

~

Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.

Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.

They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.

“When he arrives,” Maureen mumbled, “we need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic and—”

“He won’t,” Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. “It won’t come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.” Her hard eyes met Maureen’s, something unspoken being shared between them.

Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. “You’re both so cynical,” she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “He’s the one that left him with us. If anything, he’s the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.” She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.

“But what if—”

“You shouldn’t expect—”

Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. “We are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. He’ll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if he’s unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,” she said, turning to them. “Don’t ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.”

It was rare of Starla—of the three of them—to set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.

She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.

There was a knock at the door.

The forest was silent with anticipation.

Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.

The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.

“Hello, High Councilor,” Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.

“Please,” Jonas said, “No need for such formalities.” As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starla’s shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.

“It’s good to see you. You look well,” he said, pulling away to take a look at her.

Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. “As do you. Please, come sit,” she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.

They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didn’t notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.

“You look well, child,” Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.

Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. “But I don’t think I know you.”

Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. “How much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?”

Oryn’s brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.

They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Not enough,” they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldn’t be smart to ask.

Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.

“Your mother,” Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, “she died.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes. And that’s why the three of them take care of me,” they said, gesturing towards where they sat.

“That’s right,” he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. “I’m the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.”

Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?

“My mother,” Oryn’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “You knew her then?” their voice was innocent, yearning.

Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. “I did,” he said, a small frown creeping to his face. “I knew her well.”

“What was she like?”

The three witches’ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Oryn’s. It must have been one of the questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.

They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonas’s cheek. “She was wonderful,” he muttered more to himself, “and dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.”

The relief was palpable, everyone’s shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.

“Oryn,” Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. “Go outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.” Her eyes flicked to the door.

Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.

Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. “What is that?”

“He grows fast,” Maureen mumbled, “much faster than a human.”

“His appetite…” Elisa whispered.

Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonas’s gaze. “That’s a young boy,” she said, her voice firm and back straight. “A young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and… unethical.”

Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t even been a full five years,” he muttered to himself, “and he’s seemingly twice that age.” He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starla’s. “Don’t you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?” He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. “That boy… that thing… the things he’s capable of…” he trailed off.

“You think we don’t know that?” Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “You think we haven’t taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?” She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.

Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. “My good High Councilor, don’t you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, his…” she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. “The things we’ve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what he’s capable of.”