A House Filled With Night

There were those among the Sons of Midnight who thought it best to spend their breakfast discussing how to defeat Celemine. Then, there were those who would much prefer to try and engineer the world’s largest pancake. Breakfast that morning had everyone falling into one of these two camps. Whilst the oldest brothers sat in the dining room deliberating over their remaining defenses against Celemine, Niko and Fiske were pouring a gallon of milk into a barrel they had filled with flour.

Torin, however, seemed uninterested in either of these fascinating endeavors. He sat with the oldest brothers around the table, but seemed to be in a world entirely on his own: leaning forward on his elbows, eyes practically sparkling as he stared across the table at Runa.

Although she was doing her best to feign ignorance, he was making it difficult for her. Every now and then he would shift his position, then then he would lean in closer, or puff his cheeks out, or fold his arms down on the table and rest his chin atop them like a puppy completely content with life. Whenever she made the mistake of glancing at him, he would smile at her, a smile so warm and soft it felt like sunlight trickling through a window late in the afternoon. Then she would forget to look away, and his smile would grow so big that his eyes formed little crescents, and she would blush and finally avert her gaze. He would only chuckle at this, and return to lean his head against one palm.

“And why hasn’t she attacked yet?”

“That’s the real question. If only we knew something more about her. She’s like a ghost. Have you found any more valuable information, Runa?”

Sylvain nudged Runa with his elbow.

“Oh! Sorry, I—”

She fumbled with her napkin, dropped it on the floor, bent down to pick it up, bumped her head, and finally popped up again, flushing.

“Sorry. What…what did you say, again?”

Torin couldn’t help but let out another chuckle. Runa’s blush deepened from pink to red. What’s wrong with him this morning? What’s wrong with me this morning?

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I am. I’m fine.”

She wrenched her eyes from Torin and back to Sylvain. Sylvain glanced in the direction she had been staring only moments before. His brother was already looking away, pretending to be very occupied with watching Fiske and Niko as they tried to flip the massive lump of batter they fit into the skillet.

“Did Torin do something?” asked Casimir bluntly.

“Torin?” squeaked Runa.

“Me?” frowned Torin, his face as solemn as if it hadn’t been glowing a moment before.

“You’re being obvious.”

“Obvious?”

Sylvain waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway—”

Triumphant cheers echoed from the kitchen. Fiske and Niko had successfully landed their fat, oblong pancake on a massive platter and were now dousing it with syrup. They brought it out with much pomp and ceremony, proudly presenting their trophy to their older brothers.

“Ta-da!” sung Fiske.

“Get that thing out of my face,” barked Casimir.

“The adults are talking,” said Torin, who, regardless, couldn’t help but sneak in a curious little sniff.

“You know how much I enjoy baked goods,” Sylvain said, “But really—we just ate.”

Fiske pouted. “Fine. We’ll go share with Lala. She’ll appreciate this triumph we worked so hard to create.”

Niko and Fiske disappeared down a corridor toting their massive pancake between them, whistling for Lala as they went.

“It’s just their way of distracting themselves, I suppose,” murmured Runa, almost to herself.

Sylvain smiled. “You picked up on that, did you?”

Runa looked up, realizing she’d been overheard. “Sorry, it just…makes me sad when I see people prepend like that. I used to do it, too.”

She glanced at Torin. You do that, she thought. His eyes softened.

“What were we discussing before this?” Sylvain asked.

“Celemine, probably,” offered Casimir.

“You were going to ask me something, I think,” said Runa.

“Ah, yes.” Sylvain nodded. “I was wondering if you found any information in our father’s books which might explain why Celemine hasn’t simply destroyed us already.

Runa pondered this question for a moment. “Actually…I think I do.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“It was something your father wrote in his notes. He said she was afraid of you. He seemed to have some plan to defeat her by using you.”

“Maybe she’s not strong enough yet,” suggested Torin.

“Or maybe,” Casimir said slowly, “We’re not weak enough yet.”

Sylvain frowned, nodding. “That could be it. Yes. It’s quite possible she knew the House would begin to collapse one day, and that’s why she’s reappeared. Perhaps now she’s just biding her time.”

“It makes sense,” nodded Torin. “It all seemed so bizarre when she first showed up. Maybe she came to see whether the House really had begun to fall. But are we too late now? Did we miss our chance?”

Casimir grunted. Sylvain sighed.

“If only I knew,” Sylvain groaned, covering his face with his hands. “If only I knew. In truth, I’ve begun to feel like I don’t know anything these days. If this continues, I’ll grow completely useless and—”

“No need to start that,” interrupted Casimir. “Not helpful.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Sylvain smiled, if not a little bitterly. “For now, all we can do is carry on until we stumble upon a good enough plan.”

“We haven’t even had our poison yet,” Casimir noted.

“True…where have Fiske and Niko gotten to?”

“I’ll go get them,” offered Sylvain offered. “I need a walk.”

The glasses of fountain water were ushered out a moment later by Casimir, who set them out one by one for each brother.

“I’ll be going then,” said Runa softly, pushing back in her chair.

“You should stay,” said Torin.

Casimir raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you been so calm about Runa seeing this sort of thing?”

“She should,” he continued, firmly. “If she’s going to stay with us, shouldn’t she see every side of us?”

“Okay. You and I are going to need have a little talk about this later on. You scoundrel, you—”

“I’ll stay,” Runa interrupted quickly, plopping back down into her seat. “I won’t drink anything.”

“Drink anything?” Torin exclaimed. “Of course not—”

“You need to calm down,” said Casimir. “You’re about to drive me out of my mind.”

“I was just clarifying. There’s nothing wrong with careful, is there? And what on earth were you talking about earlier…”

At some point amidst the bickering, it all blurred into background noise in Runa’s mind. She was staring intently at the liquid in their glasses. Before now, she had never gotten a chance to stare at it so closely, or for so long. It was mesmerizing. It seemed clear, but then it turned fluorescent. It was watery, but somehow thicker than water. What did it do once it disappeared down their throats? She watched it splash around in the glass and fall again. Something in her brain clicked, and Runa’s head snapped up with a loud exclamation of “Oh!”

The boys, who had been chattering nonstop, suddenly went silent.

“What is it?” asked Torin.

“Do you remember what the priest said about Celemine pouring water over the grave?” she asked.

“Well…”

“Yes…”

“I think…”

Realization began to dawn on Casimir’s face.

“You mean…you think that water was…?” He lifted up his glass.

“No way…” said Torin. “But why would she pour it on her grave?”

“I don’t know,” said Runa. “But the priest says she comes frequently. Why would she throw normal water over a grave? Just feeding flowers?”

“She must have been stealing from the fountain somehow,” mused Torin.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” Casimir added. “Not for Celemine.”

“I wonder why, though?” Asked Torin.

“Who knows,” said Casimir, “But I think what’s more important here is the fact that she’s clearly hiding something in that graveyard.”

“And whatever that thing is, it could be a weakness.”

“And if we—”

The doors burst open, slamming against the walls as Sylvain ran up to the table, panting.

“Fiske…Fiske and…Niko…”

Torin immediately jumped from his seat. “What happened?”

“I can’t…” Sylvain swallowed and stood up straight. “I can’t get them out myself. I need—I need your help—”

“What—”

Sylvain was already turning around again, beckoning for them to follow.

They arrived at the gallery, where they found two of the main columns had crumbled, lying in pieces against the wall and along the floors. When they first arrived, all they saw was the destruction. Then they saw what it had caused: Fiske, laying crumpled across some of the rubble, barely able to move, but nonetheless twisted to the left, desperately pawing at the rubble which had landed on Niko’s legs. Niko was lying motionless.

At the sight of their youngest brother, all the Sons of Midnight seemed to lose a piece of their collective sanity for a moment. They ran toward the site of the accident and began madly digging through the rubble covering Niko’s limp body. Fiske was trying to twist himself around to dig better, completely ignoring the tearing of his own wounds.

Runa was the only one who noticed. She managed to wrap her arms around him and drag him away from the disaster area, but not without having to fight against his flailing attempts to ward her off.

“Lemme go…Niko…Niko needs me!”

“Calm down, Fiske,” Runa pleaded, setting him down gently. “Your brothers are helping him. Sit so I can look at you.”

“Niko is hurt more.” He couldn’t help but groan when Runa gently pressed against his shoulder.

“That’s the same shoulder you got shot in.”

“I…but…Niko…”

“It’s okay, Fiske. The others will get him out. You know it. They’ll take care of him. Niko wouldn’t want you getting more hurt. Stay here while I go get some medicine, okay?”

Runa returned with medicine and bandages in her arms, running as quickly as she could without dropping anything. By now, the brothers had managed to pull Niko out from under the fallen column and were examining his wounded leg. She dropped her load nearby and rushed to get a closer look.

Niko’s eyes cracked open, just barely. He was mumbling something.

“The Heart…” he began.

“What?”

“Just rest!”

“Your heart, Niko?”

“Why…” Niko tried again. “Sylvain…why…why didn’t you tell us?”

Sylvain took hold of Niko’s hand. “What are you talking about, Niko?”

“Why didn’t you…tell us? About…the Heart. That it’s…breaking. That it…shattered.”

Sylvain’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean—shattered?”

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~ A/N ~

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