The Elder's Grandson - from Steph

“It’s almost time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The dreams won’t stop, I’ve been waking up with night sweats constantly. I’m so pathetic, being like this over something I’ve known my whole life to be my destiny...

I can’t help it, though. It’s terrifying. All I can do is panic, or use some stupid journal as my fear’s only outlet. No offence, it’d just be nice to have an actual person to talk to about this… But there’s nobody, not one living in this dusty old place, who would actually help me. They're all brainwashed morons. The only person who ever would is R—”

“Young Mister Cyrus,” said the old voice of a servant woman, interrupting the boy’s writing, “Elder Dulcie wishes to speak with you.”

Steph’s fingers tightened around the quill as he gulped a hard swallow. She was back already, his wish for her to be lost at sea left unanswered. It was an odd confliction inside him – the estate felt uncomfortably vacant without her presence, yet she was a curse to him all at once.

Steadying his breath, he stood and took small steps towards the door, wanting to delay their meeting as much as he could. The servant bowed her head in respect as he walked past, though he moved not with the manner of someone in such position, but an excessively awkward lower-class. Even the smallest wind could disrupt his barely-maintained poise.

In the mansion, that was the only fitting way to behave regardless of his last name. Unless – one wasn’t a favorite of Dulcie’s. Then they could be one of the many attendees gleefully laughing and partying in the east wing’s ballroom, right across from the poorly named “Pantry.” Their liveliness bounced off the walls and echoed down the corridor, where Steph could hear them.

A single line of tears ran from each of his eyes, not because he was saddened by it. That’s what always happened to Reapers whenever their senses were alerted to such a degree. Still, he hated that portion of the home, and dared not enter.

Sunlight cascaded from the stained-glass windows, painting the hall in an array of colors. Made the way to her study seem warm and inviting, when he felt anything but. His footsteps grew heavier the closer he came, and when his fingertips grazed the knob, he could almost pass out.

“Get it together,” he whispered. “You already knew this was coming. Just get it over with.”

With that, he pushed open the door – and there she was, sitting with her legs crossed over and tapping her long nails on a desk. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, glaring at the floor lost in thought. But as he tried to take advantage and sneak away…

“Stephy, darling, where are you going?”

“Nowhere, Grandmother…”

“Mmm, as I thought. Have a seat.”

He obeyed, sitting on an ottoman and setting his hands between his knees. His body became taut all over.

“Hmm… You know, I can’t stand it when you do that. Haven’t I told you already?

Steph poked up his head. “When I do… What, exactly?”

“Refuse to look me in the eye,” she huffed, dramatically touching her heart. “It just crushes my soul, to see my own grandson so timid in front of me. Have I done something wrong, Stephy? Hurt you in any way?”

“No, Grandmother. You’ve done nothing.”

A sadistic smile played on her features, lighting up her eyes in a way the lanterns of the room couldn’t. “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why don’t you ever look at me?”

He withheld a sigh and sat up straight. His dim hazel eyes made contact with hers, chilling his bones. It was impossible to view her as some precious “grandma” – and not just because she was mistaken for his older sister, during the rare times she actually did leave the estate.

The reason was far deeper. Intertwined with his “destiny.”

“There, that’s much better. Now, darling, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Darn it, that could be anything,” he thought. “Could be about my training – I’d hate to answer that… I haven’t eaten much either. She’ll be livid.”

But on the outside, Steph faked nonchalance as he simply nodded.

“Who will be first? You or Roe?”

And then his composure, already thin enough, was cracked – perceived effortlessly by Dulcie, whose smile only turned bigger. Of all things, he never expected her to ask that. He was left unprepared, the pre-created script in his mind turning useless. Stranded from thought, Steph blurted out,

“Neither, because… It can’t be. I’m not, uh, feeling my best right now. Could barely get the threads from some dead bird earlier… And Roe? She’s probably busy.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘busy’ when it comes to my wants,” Dulcie got up, her heels clicking against the marbled floor as she strolled to the window. “As for your skills, prove it,” she flicked a finger, and a thud was heard on the sill, “Here you go, another bird. If you can’t do anything with it, then I’ll believe you.”

Steph resisted the senseless urge to run and joined Dulcie’s side. There was the sparrow, dead on the stone slab. The task was simple – absorb the bird’s wandering threads. Weavers might’ve had the ability to move threads and sense changes in the Nexus, but Reapers were tuned with the world in a very unique way – able to connect with Limbo, just by a simple touch.

For small animals like the sparrow, it was elementary. He knew it, so did Dulcie. It would be impossible for someone of his lineage to fail at something so basic, as the status of Highs passed on genetically if not acquired by the gifted.

“Idiot. Why couldn’t I come up with literally anything else?”

There was no point in even trying to fool her. Ready to surrender, he parted his lips to confess – but with a frown, Dulcie lifted the dark bangs from his forehead, revealing a bruise. Received from banging his head against the wall. She gave a tch, then dropped it with disgust.

“Is there a Mender around?” she asked.

“Uh, nope! Haven’t seen one anywhere!” he lied.

“Of course there isn’t… It appears the world is against me these days.”

She returned to her seat, roughly sitting with a look of irritation. “Very well, Stephy. You are dismissed,” she said, the typical “toying” melody of her voice instead a deepened mutter.

He didn’t need to hear it twice, right at the doorway before either of them could blink – but just as he passed the threshold, Dulcie said to him again,

“One more thing,” she pulled out a rolled-up letter from her dress pocket, “Run to a post and have a Flier send this to Roe. I need her suitable, unlike you, as soon as possible.”

Remorse weighed in his chest like a rock, but not as much as the worry of disobedience. He took the letter, handling it as if it was a malignant contract from an underworld being – and in a sense, that wouldn’t be far from the truth.

But how could he do it to Roe?

They weren’t friends, hardly acquaintances, even though he clung to her whenever she was about. Yet she offered something that was, to him, more valuable than any bond, even the finest gold…

Hope.

“Grandmother… Is this really necessary? I mean, with that fire coming and all, doesn’t this become pretty… Pointless?”

“Hm. That’s very strange.”

“Huh?”

“I’m hearing things… You’ll probably think I’m ‘crazy,’ but it sounded like you had the audacity to question me… Surely not, though. It must finally be my old age catching up.”

“Oh… Yes, you’re right. That really is strange.”

He scurried out the door like a mouse from a cat, briskly walking back down the hall.

“Geez, what was I thinking!?”

About Roe – to his later discovery, his fall from grace.