[BL] Shadowhunters; Where the silence sings

II. Prague (1944)

The warlock followed the bent back of the Nephilim that was dragging his feet forward a few steps in front of him. He was fairly confident he would be able to find his room without any trouble, but the shabby shadowhunter insisted on leading the way. "The Institute is rather vast. It is easy to lose one's way," he explained, so the warlock lazily snailed behind him in a nonchalant manner with palms stuck in his pockets. The only source of light was the flat stone in the palm of the Shadowhunter's hand. "Better not to attract attention from outside at this hour."

Aigipan beamed. "So, the glamour is still not being used?"

"Not in Prague, no."

As for Bärtholomaus Fux, Aigipan suspected he was not originally from Czechoslovakia at all. His accent was... sharp, but in a brutish way, and his consonants were not as acute as those of a native speaker. The stress on his syllables was occasionally placed in a funny place as well. He must have been raised somewhere else and then move into the Prague Institute, but he could not place him anywhere. The accent, however, sounded very familiar to his ears.

"How many of you live here?" The downworlder asked, his eyes sneaking glances at the walls hidden behind a series of painted portraits along the staircase. The wood under his shoes was groaning in dissatisfaction, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the silent building. A lot seemed to change from his childhood days here. The walls used to be of dark wood, but wherever he looked now, the walls were white, covered from halfway through with green panels. It was unsettling, to say at least.

"Currently four. Including me," Fux answered grimly and stopped at the top of the staircase to catch a breath. "Excluding you. My parabatai, his distant relative, and her nephew are the others."

"Is that manageable?" The warlock used this as an opportunity to hurry up and assume the place next to the older-looking man in a few long steps.

"It would hardly be, I suppose. But the mundane war repelled most of the downworlders to the west, and the shadowhunters that are not helping out civilians withdrew back to Idris. I guess it is better this way. Safer. It is not our war, so in many institutes, only the necessary staff remained to take care of things."

The mundane war. He noticed that. The city was hiding behind the gray blanket of fear, and the sound of his steps on the street echoed ominously. The warlock barely met anyone on his way here. The world he reentered was not the one he left behind. If Izri comes – and he believed he would – he will surely explain things clearly, just as he did in the old days. "Including you," Aigipan said jokingly. "Excluding me."

"From now on including you, it seems. Congratulations," said Fux, grunting as he reluctantly decided to continue walking. "You just became the necessary staff. Make yourself as necessary as possible."

The warlock laughed and bowed slightly, his eyes closed. "My value has finally been recognized. But since your parabatai is indisposed, are three Nephilim enough for the investigation?"

"Actually, my parabatai's relative chose not to carry runes – for one reason or another – and her nephew is still a child. Talented child, but still. For this reason, there will be more Nephilim joining us in a few days. "

This was his chance. "Is the Silent City also sending someone?" The warlock enquired curiously. He blinked and shifted his gaze on the shadowhunter's profile like a hungry cat eyeing a mouse. The rays of witchlight etched themselves into the wrinkled skin of the tired man, his hooded eyelids squirming in the dark, lips firmly pressed together. The warlock felt as if his mind alone was pulling the answer out of the shadowhunter.

"Indeed," responded the shadowhunter finally. "One of the Silent Ones was also present during the Edward Kelly incident if I am correct. Furthermore, he actually takes care of the child's education here, so he is more than familiar with the Prague institute. We believe he is going to be an invaluable asset. He should be arriving in a few days or so," he announced. "Well, gives you plenty of time to get used to this place before we start."

"I already got used to it a long time ago," the warlock grinned and passed a human-sized statue. He stopped after a few paces and stretched his body back to glance into the face of the decoration, frowning. It was a snowy gypsum sculpture of a fine young man in the spring of his youth leaning against what the warlock assumed to be a water fountain. "Except this was not here when I left," he said, pretending to be suspicious, and arched his eyebrows in the direction of the shadowhunter.

Fux stopped next to the warlock, facing the statue. "Well, it was here when I first arrived," he told Aigipan, expressionless. "You might find things are not as you left them, Warlock. "

"You know what they say," Aigipan straightened his back and shrugged. "It would be a pity to dwell on the past. We must face the future and aim forward," exclaimed the warlock light-heartedly and bent slightly with his hand pointing to the dark hall. "After you, Mr. Fux."

The Nephilim nodded and continued, leading the way. Aigipan's eyes lingered for a second longer on the statue of the beautiful man before turning to follow his host.

"This must be a mistake," the warlock said when the shadowhunter in front of him halted to a stop by a door on their left. Puzzled, Aigipan entered and looked around his assigned room. There was not much to see. The room was rectangular, with an additional area the warlock presumed to be the bathroom. The walls reminded him of the personality of Mr. Fux, bare and uninteresting. The dark wooden furniture was covered with dust in such a thick layer it resembled moss or worse, mold. The only thing he could say about the closet was that it was, in fact, a closet. The same went for the table and the bed that was pushed to the wall right next to the room entrance.

"A mistake?" The weary shadowhunter repeated and stepped into the bedroom after him. "It seems in order to me. There are no bigger rooms if that's the problem."

He felt his own brows frowning. "But this is not my room."

Bartholomäus Fux looked utterly unexcited. There was a silence for a moment, heavy and stifling. "None of these rooms is. And they are all the same."

"I was previously accommodated in a different one. If you go down this hall, the one at the end. Right side."

"When was that?"

This time, it was the warlock that was led into a trap. "By the end of the 16th century. It could be around 1588 or so. I grew up there,"

If there was any personality left in the man, Aigipan imagined he would answer victoriously. The response that came, however, was as dry as Mr. Fux himself. "It is 1944 now."

There was nothing he could reply to such a statement, and so he stood in the middle of the bedroom watching the other man. The middle-aged shadowhunter sighed deeply. His fingers dived into thinning hair in an exhausted gesture as he replied: "That room, the one at the end of the hall on right, is currently occupied. Therefore, I must ask you to refrain from strolling in."

"If it is decency and chaste reputation of your parabatai's relative you are worried about, wouldn't it be easier – for the peace of the mind of all of us, you see – to just move her into a different room? You know, in case I accidentally stray to my old bedroom?"

"My parabatai occupies the room at the moment. And although I am not worried about his chastity, I must urge you to leave him to his rest. Anyway, you know what they say," the shadowhunter turned as to take his leave. "It would be a pity to dwell on the past," he said over the shoulder and closed the door behind him. Aigipan could hear the slow, irregular steps vibrating through the hall until it was silent again.

He has always found it rather difficult to understand the shadowhunters' sense of unity. Their lives passed like autumn leaves taken away by the wind, forgotten and replaced by another when the time came. The only proof they existed was the lonely and dusty tombs bearing letters of their names in the Silent City, hidden away in the dark and filling the blanks in the family trees. Nothing more. He went through the whole room, slowly. There were no clues, no evidence that someone fulfilled their life here. And yet he knew it to be true. Now, it was just a regular room speaking of the same tale as the one next to it and the one next to that. Tale of duty, self-sacrifice, and service to humanity. For him, being a warlock, this tale was just as dull and repetitive as the suit Mr. Fux had on. He sat on the bed and stared at the wall. The tale that will devour Izri into its hollow void one day as well.