(TW: Violence, partial nudity)
Someone's heartbeat pounded loud in Callidus's ears.
With a trembling hand, Callidus reached up to touch his left shoulder, his fingers coming away slick with blood.
His gaze flicked upward, struggling to focus on the figure looming over him. Foster. The name flashed in his mind like a warning, but the significance eluded him in his dazed state.
He tried to find Cressida, but his vision swam with darkness at the edges. He forced himself upright, but his strength failed him, and with a lurch, he tumbled down another step, pain exploding as he landed.
Someone's throat clenched, vocal cords strained, unable to vibrate. There was a sound of scrambling on the staircase far above him, fabric and dress heels clacking against the stone.
With a grunt of effort, Callidus once again tried to push himself up. His muscles trembled until he managed to rise to one knee, his gaze fixed on Foster, who stood above him like an executioner.
Callidus tried to summon the intimidating presence he usually exuded, but his gaze fell onto the blade in Foster's hand and all he could manage was a hoarse whisper, "...that is my knife."
Having only heard the man speak a handful of times, Foster's voice was that of a stranger. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing it. Your guards at the gate took mine."
Callidus growled out a warning, "You... dare..."
But Foster stepped closer, hovering directly above him so that all Callidus could see was a pair of dark brown boots. "Yes, I dare," Foster replied coolly. "Sorry if you're not used to people fighting back against you, Your Highness."
As the pale man drew closer, Callidus's instincts screamed at him to defend himself, but his body refused to obey. And the only air he could sense was several steps above him, deeply embedded in the lungs he loved most.
Rapidly beating in her heart.
Descending the stairs at breakneck pace.
As the sound of approaching heels grew louder, Foster's attention momentarily shifted, providing Callidus with an opening. Fueled by adrenaline, Callidus lunged forward, grabbing the inside of Foster's knee, and yanking.
With a surprised yelp, Foster's knee gave way, sending him toppling backwards, the knife clattering to the ground. As Foster scrambled to regain his footing, Callidus reached out for the fallen weapon, but before he could seize it, Foster's elbow crashed down onto Callidus's bloodied shoulder. Agonizing pain shot through him, his vision blurring white.
Foster made a grab for the knife, but before he could reach it, a flurry of skirts collided with him, causing him to stagger backwards and grasp the handrail for support. Cressida's shoe slipped on the blade, sending it spiraling down several steps below. She stumbled, tilting forward, until Foster's arms shot out to catch her.
"Careful, Cress," Foster gasped, clutching her tight to him, his arms around her chest.
A low, guttural snarl escaped Callidus's lips. His fingers desperately clawed at the ground, trying to reach Cressida, his mind fixed on one thought: Foster needed to die.
The air violently surged.
Then, Cressida's hoarse gasp pierced the stairwell, her body collapsing against the railing, hand clutching at her chest. "Cress!" Foster called in alarm, "What's wrong?"
Callidus's heart seized in terror.
His senses were overwhelmed by the frantic rhythm of her breathing, the pulse of her life force, making it impossible to focus on anything else. It felt suffocating, drowning out all other sounds around him. Her gaze, wide with panic and accusation, locked on Callidus, and a sickening realization washed over him.
He was still in control of the air within her.
He needed to calm down.
(He hurt her!)
He needed to release control.
(He hurt her!)
But with each passing moment, it became increasingly difficult, his mind engulfed in terror.
A searing agony shot through him as Foster's boot kicked into his wound. "You monster! What are you doing to her?" he spat.
Callidus allowed the pain to rip through him, hoping it would distract him enough to release control. With another forceful kick, Callidus found himself rolling down the stairs, the pain excruciating as he collapsed several steps below, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
And then, through the haze, he heard Cressida's voice, cutting in like a memory crystal, half-spoken, "-top! Foster, stop! How could you?!"
Callidus craned his neck to look up at her, relieved, impossibly relieved, to hear her scream. If she could scream, she could breathe. If she could breathe, he was no longer in control of her lungs. (But he had hurt her!)
(Now Foster could die.)
But in his pain, all Callidus could manage was a feeble wisp, brushing back the brown strands around Foster's face. Foster seemed oblivious, his attention fixed on Cressida, his arms curling protectively around her.
"Cress, it's alright. You're safe now. Let me help yo-"
Cressida shoved him away, struggling to her feet.
Foster reached out, his arms hovering, "Careful Cress-"
"Foster! What have you done!?"
Foster sighed, cutting through the faint wisps of air. "What needed to be done. He's dangerous."
"You think I don't know that?"
"It's thanks to you, Cress," Foster's voice dropped to a murmur of gratitude, his hands reaching out to steady her. "You distracted him so well."
Burning jealousy flared to life as Foster rubbed his hands down Cressida's shoulders, the mindless action familiar in a way that made Callidus's blood boil.
"I was distracting him so you could escape down the staircase!" she shrieked. "Not so you could stab him!"
A cold sweat broke out, cutting through the pain.
Betrayal.
How much of their intimate moment had been a distraction? A performance for Foster?
Callidus fought to stay alert, his vision swimming. He could feel warm blood seeping into his shirt, pooling beneath him. He knew he needed immediate medical attention, or he would bleed out right there on the stairs.
But his muscles refused to obey.
And his heart ached.
His head flopped back on to the cold, familiar stone.
Memories flooded his mind. The last time he lay on Windridge's stairs, he had been playing hide and seek with his mother. But why hadn't she played with him?
(Callidus played so many games today.)
"You don't understand! He's changing! He's trying...!"
"He's manipulating you. Manipulating your mind like the freak manipulated your breath."
Cressida's voice suddenly took on a melodic quality, a stark contrast to her hoarse screams from seconds ago. Sweet like honey tarts, soothing and persuasive. "Foster...you're better than this. Please. Let me just check his wound. You're too kind to-"
"Really, Cress?"
Cressida's voice returned to her panicked cries, "Foster, please!"
Callidus's consciousness flickered in and out as the conversation continued above him, the words blending into an unintelligible murmur. It could have been minutes; it could have been seconds. Amidst the haze, he heard a struggle.
"Cress, stop it. I refuse to fight you."
"Then let me help him!"
"Damn it, Cress, I just saw your-" Foster's voice faltered. "Your...your dress is slipping off you."
Cressida's voice emerged slightly timid, embarrassed. "Lady's mantle, I...I hadn't realized. Can I...could you lend me your...."
"Of course. One sec-"
There was the rustle of fabric and then the rapid descent of heels. Cressida let out a cry, followed by a light thud against stone.
"Nice try," Foster said calmly. "You want my shirt or not?"
"I don't want your damn shirt!"
"Cress, come on. You're indecent-"
"And here I thought you said I made a great distraction?"
"Trust me. You do," Foster muttered. "Jazz would kill me if he knew I saw you like this."
"Good! Why don't you tell my mother while you're at it?"
There was scramble and then another thud against the stone wall.
"Don't tempt me," Foster firmly warned, "Queen Adelaide would make me marry you for seeing you with an unlaced corset."
"By that logic, Cilla and I should have married ages ago," Cressida hissed, before grunting with exertion.
"Cilla," Foster panted, "told me that you're brainwashed. Told me that our princess is gone."
"Foster, that's not true."
"I know, Cress." His tone softened. "Feels like Springtide, doesn't it? Holding your arms like this. Remember when you saved your last dance for me?"
"I...do," Cressida murmured, her words infused with a subtle nostalgic warmth, "Do you remember that time you offered to help me steal that rabbit from the hunt?"
"...did I 'offer' or did you beg me?"
"You offered after I begged you."
Foster let out a breath of laughter. "That's right. You were always good at getting your way, Cress."
"And you've always been dependable. Way too kind to me, even when I was just your friend's little sister."
"...Cress, you're more than that. You're my princess."
"And you're a good man, Foster. Seeing you brings back so many memories. Playing in the garden, rolling down our hill, trying to train your dad's three-legged dog to sit. You would never hurt me. Never harm anyone intentionally."
Callidus felt a sweet numbness spreading through his body from her soothing, honeyed tone, each syllable a gentle caress against his troubled mind, momentarily easing his pain.
"Callidus isn't what you think," Cressida continued, her voice like the chirp of songbirds at the Queen's Pond, a melody that seeped into his skull, "He can be good. He can be reasoned with. He can change."
But then, Foster's voice shattered the spell.
"Stop using your magic on me, Cress. You can't persuade me out of this. I heard everything. I heard how he wanted to slaughter all our people. I heard what he said he would do if you betrayed him. How he would massacre everyone in the hall and declare war on Orlop."
"...Foster, I..." Cressida's voice emerged, all traces of compulsion gone. "I know it sounds bad...but-"
"He's not that rabbit with an arrow wound. He's not some dog to train. He's a dangerous, powerful tyrant. I know you want to save him, but-"
"I know he's dangerous! Trust me, I'm well aware!"
"Then you should know why he needs to die."
The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered in Callidus's ears, drowned out by Cressida's desperate pleas for mercy.
Callidus's eyelids fluttered, his vision unfocused as he strained to see through the haze of dizziness. He could make out Foster coming down the stairs, with Cressida trying in vain to hold him back. Through the blur, he caught sight of a glint of steel on the ground beside him.
He reached for the forgotten knife, but before he could grasp it, Foster's boot slammed down, crushing his hand. As Callidus writhed in agony, he saw Cressida attempting to pull Foster away, her curses ringing in his ears, her dress slipping dangerously from her shoulders in her struggle.
"Cress...!" Foster warned, "Damn it, have some modesty!"
"Who cares about modesty in a situation like this?"
"Your parents would be horrified-"
"What's it matter?" she snapped. "They can't abandon me twice!"
Callidus could barely make out the exchange through the fog of pain and blood loss. Amidst the gust of chaos, he saw Cressida stumble, falling to the stairs with a pained grunt.
"Cress! Shit!" Foster cursed, his tone softening. "Sorry. I didn't mean to push you so hard."
"Then come help me up," she pleaded. "I...I...can't stand."
Alarm surged through Callidus, the urge to help her overwhelming. But Foster just dismissively sighed, "Yeah, you're not that hurt, Cress. Just go upstairs. This isn't something you need to see."
"Foster, he's my fiancé!"
"Fiancé?" Foster repeated, and Callidus hissed as the pressure increased on his hand. "Cress, you're his captive. I understand your confusion, but please, trust me a little. You've known me all your life."
"Callidus has known me all his life!" Cressida swiftly defended. "And with what you're doing, I don't recognize you anymore!"
"Cress, you can't expect me to be the same kid you and Jazz played lions with. But if you no longer trust me, then at least trust your brother."
"...Jasper?"
"Jazz told me if anything happened to him, to get you out. In any way possible."
The revelation pierced through Callidus's foggy mind.
And he seethed.
"Jasper told you to take me home...?" Cressida echoed, her hopeful tone sparking panic in Callidus.
"He did," Foster confirmed gently. "Don't you want to go home?"
"Of course, I do...but. Foster, stop. I can't... I can't even think when you're stepping on him. Please, it's cruel...It's monstrous."
The pressure on Callidus's hand suddenly lifted, and he snarled, his fingers closing around the knife. With a swift motion, he plunged the blade deep into Foster's thigh.
"Callidus, no!"
Foster stumbled back, one arm shooting out to grab on to the railings, and his other clutching his wounded leg. Through gritted teeth, he uttered, "...thanks for returning the knife."
Callidus's chest heaved with exertion as his right arm reached for the railing on the opposite side, fingers curling around the cold metal for support. He managed to force himself onto his knees, lips curling in satisfaction as he watched blood seep through Foster's fingers, staining his trousers crimson.
But his triumph was short-lived as a far more welcome sight blocked his view.
Cressida's storm cloud eyes hovered inches from his face, her bare shoulders illuminated like the moon in the dim light. She wore the most beautiful expression, the one he cherished the most.
"Callidus. We need to get you help. Who do you trust to see you like this?"
"...don't you want to go home?" Callidus muttered, his feelings a complicated blend of resentment and longing.
"Callidus, focus! Who do you trust?"
Callidus's head swayed, his gaze drifting downward. His eyes widened. Her dress had slipped dangerously low, revealing more of her skin than he had ever seen.
"You're...not properly dressed," he croaked. He attempted to adjust her attire, but all he managed to do was stir the air around her, gently brushing back her fiery hair with a weak gust.
"Arden?" Cressida continued. "Or...Mint...! She's in the kitchen at this time, right?"
Arden, Mint...They were familiar, friendly names. But he could hardly make sense of anything.
"...my mother is upstairs," Callidus offered helpfully. "...she won't come down. But I know she'd like to see you in person."
Cressida's expression shifted into shocked pity, "Oh Callidus, no..."
"You say my name so pretty," he murmured, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he struggled to maintain his balance. But one thing remained crystal clear in his delirium: Cressida was finally here, beside him. He reached out to touch her, to ensure she was real, but his left arm refused to obey, and the railing was the only thing keeping him upright.
"You've betrayed me," he accused, his voice thick. "You were supposed to love me...you...you promised to..."
"Callidus, hush," she breathed, her hands moving to inspect the wound on his back.
"You can't marry Ferox," he insisted. "My father promised me...he promised me!"
Cressida's hands pressed down directly on his wound, causing a surge of pain to shoot through him. But even as his body convulsed with the intensity of it, his eyes locked onto hers like a drowning man.
"Why won't you look at me?" he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "I love you so much. I'd rip the world open for you. I'd...I'd..." His words trailed off as his body swayed, and Cressida instinctively caught him. Callidus found himself staring directly down at her exposed chest.
His eyes popped open.
"...oh wow."
Cressida's hands, occupied with applying pressure to his wound, couldn't spare a moment to adjust her fallen dress. She tried to shift her shoulders, but the bodice only slipped down even more.
"You're...sexy," he blurted out, the word foreign and awkward on his tongue. It was a term he had overheard Ferox use to describe the girls he liked; a vulgar word Callidus never dared utter before. Especially not to Cressida. His Cressida.
She let out a muffled gasp, "Callidus, please, now is not the time."
But Callidus couldn't tear his gaze away, his mind a tangled mess of confusion and desire. "You're so beautiful, so lovely, p-perfect," he gushed. "I've never seen you like this before...not like this...not...not...so..."
"...I guess this confirms that you really did keep your eyes closed when helping me dress," she muttered.
"S-sorry, Cressida. I...I didn't mean to...to see...but...oh wow."
Before Callidus could ramble any further, a voice cut through the moment.
"Cress."
Callidus's eyes shot towards the sound. His gaze blearily focused on the pale figure on the floor only a few steps above them.
"It's time to get away from him," the voice stated, as he steadily rose from the ground. "He seems content enough, let him die happy."
Callidus could feel the weight of Cressida against him, her hands trembling against his back, her breath warm against his cheek. "...please don't do this. he's hurt," she pleaded. "He can't even stand."
The man's shirt showed the absence of a large strip that had been precisely cut away to form a makeshift bandage neatly tied around his thigh. The gardening knife, wiped clean, was firmly gripped in his hand.
"If you hold him still, I'll make sure there's no pain," he said evenly. "Better yet, use your magic."
"Foster, that's sick."
Foster.
Callidus's mind snapped back to the present, his gaze dipping down to see Cressida's exposed form. A protective rage surged within him at the thought of Foster seeing her in such a vulnerable state.
A powerful gust of wind erupted from the depths of the stairwell, slamming Foster back against the railings, the sound of his body colliding with the metal reverberating through the narrow space.
As Cressida instinctively clutched onto Callidus, they both slipped down several steps, her hands leaving his wound to stop them from tumbling any further, smearing bright red blood on the wall. The gale continued its ferocious howling, and something rope-like flung into him, whipping around his body.
"Callidus!"
"...your corset strings," Callidus mumbled.
"Callidus, stop the wind!"
"No, no he'll see your..."
"Callidus, he already-" Her voice abruptly cut off, realization dawning. "Callidus, my corset strings! Can you lace my corset for me? Please?"
Callidus latched onto the request, a flicker of familiarity. He knew how much she hated being outside without her corset, and helping her lace it was a gesture of intimacy he craved and cherished.
Immediately, the wind died.
Cressida staggered, her weight falling heavily against Callidus who slumped against the wall, his back strangely numb. His right arm instinctively encircled her, while his left arm hung limp, devoid of sensation.
But the calm was short-lived.
Without warning, Foster collided with them, also thrown off balance by the sudden absence of the wind. The force of the impact sent all three of them tumbling down the stairs. Callidus clenched his teeth, muscles protesting as he fought to shield Cressida from the impact.
They landed in a tangled heap of limbs, crashing against the wall of the spiral staircase, disoriented and dizzy.
It was Foster who recovered first.
In a flash of movement, he forcefully tore Cressida from Callidus's arm, callously hurling her up the stairs with a harsh command.
"Out of the way, Cress!"
Cressida stumbled with a cry of pain, igniting a fiery rage within Callidus.
With a primal snarl, he lunged at Foster, their bodies colliding with savage intensity. Limbs flailed as they grappled for control, Foster's fist connecting with Callidus's bruised jaw. Callidus toppled down a step before retaliating with a vicious kick, his legs toned from years of ascending the very stairs they fought upon.
The knife gleamed in the dim light as Foster swung it towards him. Callidus attempted to dodge, but the blade slashed through his left arm. Fresh blood spilled out, but Callidus felt numb to the pain.
In an attempt to sweep away the knife, Callidus unleashed an uncontrollable gust that sent both men scrambling to maintain their balance. The turbulent air whipped around them, drowning out Cressida's cries for them to stop.
With one hand gripping the railing for support, Foster pressed the advantage, driving the knife towards Callidus with renewed aggression. Struggling to maintain his balance in the gale, Callidus tripped, narrowly avoiding Foster's strike.
Gasping for breath, Callidus found himself sprawled on the stairs.
And then, he saw them.
Cressida's corset strings wrapped around the railing, whipping around in the wind.
A weapon.
With a surge of adrenaline, Callidus lunged for them, his fingers closing tightly around the thick strings.
Foster's blade flashed towards him once more, but Callidus, driven by instinct, twisted his body to avoid the strike. As the knife crashed into the stone wall, Callidus seized the opportunity. In one swift motion, he looped the corset strings around Foster's neck, pulling hard against the resistance of the railing.
Foster's eyes widened in horror as the makeshift garrote tightened around his throat, cutting off his air supply, the knife clattering to the ground. He clawed at the strings, but Callidus held firm, his muscles straining with effort.
Foster's face turned red, then purple, veins bulging as he fought for breath, his thrashing becoming weaker until finally, he slumped against the railing, limp.
The wind died, leaving behind an eerie silence. With a shuddering breath, Callidus released his grip on the cord. Foster's body tumbled to the step below, the corset strings still tightly wrapped around his throat.
And then Callidus, too, collapsed.
"Callidus! Lady's mantle! Foster!"
Through the haze, he saw Cressida approaching. He tried to stretch out his arms to her, desperate for her comfort, her care, but she brushed past him to kneel beside Foster, urgently working to free the cord from his neck.
Callidus felt one final sting of pain and betrayal.
And then, there was nothing.