Bare Your Teeth, Wicked Ones

21. Different, Not Wrong

Nicholas

Monsters laid dead at his feet. Fire burst from broken windows and entryways. Blood stained his arms up to the elbows. His clothes hung on his shoulders, heavy with crimson. The battle had ended, won without much effort. Since Fearworn and most of his forces vacated the lab, not enough remained to guard the citadel. They were overcome and now the lab belonged to them. And the Scar.

Nicholas stepped over corpse after corpse to approach the Scar shimmering like the tears of a falling star. It hovered at the center of the citadel. Barely as thick as a quill, though the air around the Scar bristled with corrosive life. Violent shocks and strikes of lightning hit the ground, burning the earth black. As others closed in to inspect the Scar, Nicholas stood motionless, peering at the darkness swirling within, feeling it twist beneath his skin. A clawing. A gnawing bite. His fingers twitched and neck cracked. That Scar spoke of corruption, misshapen and condemned. He retreated for perhaps his father made a point that, sometimes, a fae had to know when to stop meddling. This Scar spoke of horrors even Nicholas didn't want.

His suspicions were proven correct when one of the mortal soldiers dared to touch the Scar. They screeched like the damned, veins set ablaze by violet flames beneath their skin. The soldier flailed, then shattered into ash. Fae chortled and the mortal soldiers cursed them. No one else stepped near the Scar. They attended to the lab, ensuring every monster lay dead and tossed their corpses into a deep ditch nearby. Rooms were cleared out and made ready for a good night's rest. A handful of their troops would return to the rest of the military in the morning. The others would keep to the lab, ensuring no one returned.

That night, the fae celebrated around bonfires. The mortal soldiers drank on the adjacent side of the lab. Their voices were nothing compared to the booming songs and tales by fae. Mortals were so humdrum. William would probably be the same among them, staring into a pint of ale, lost in somber thoughts. Nicholas would poke fun at him, watch once dim eyes light with an eternal flame that could smother the world in smoke. He smiled, pondering over what they would bicker over; the battlefield, Nicholas' discern for the horror, or William's inability to enjoy a moment. Out here, at least, for in the shadows Nicholas could get William to enjoy quite a lot. The evening would fair better if William were here to annoy and devour.

"As much as the war has entertained me, I will be glad not to work alongside mortals a moment longer," a fae spoke. Nicholas sat across from them at the fire. Arden leaned against his arm, one hand resting on his thigh. From time to time, Arden's thumb rubbed soft circles or his lips touched Nicholas' neck. He knew what Arden would ask for as the night went on. For once, he didn't know how to respond.

"Is it true then, the rumors, that the war is coming to an end?" another fae asked with their attention on Nicholas.

"We are closer than we have ever been," he admitted.

"There shall be a revel like none have ever seen afterwards," Arden declared and all whispered their excitement.

"I do so miss our revels," they said. "Month long affairs, dancing days and nights away, and drinking until our blood rang with wine. The revel our lands shall throw after this will be so grand that it will pass a century, I am certain."

"Do not speak so dreamily of it. You're making my skin crawl," another teased.

"Shall I add to your discomfort then?" Arden chuckled. "I miss Faerie more than I thought I could. The lands here are too silent sometimes."

The others nodded, as did Nicholas. He hadn't realized how loud Faerie was until he stepped upon Terra land. Sludge filled lakes, silencing their voices, and timber laid upon charred ground that forgot its songs. The mountains didn't whisper through the winds and all had been so eerily still. Nicholas awoke in the night, wondering where he would wake, then see nothing had changed. Disappointment settled, and a pinch of sorrow for the home that he adored.