#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble.

[rafent]

✦ 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 ✧

A knock, followed by the roll of wheels upon a janitor cart. “Cleaning!”

Both the knock and the call went entirely unheard by the room's single resident, echoing only in the abyss as the blanketed form continued to breathe evenly. A peaceful rise and fall of chest denoted they were still asleep, chin-length locks fanned out on the pillow, and long lashes fluttering with the invisible running motions of a dream or a nightmare. From certain angles of observation they might have been an angel. The staff tried again.

"I'm coming in!"

They - or rather, he - awoke. A naked sternum rose above the swell of a satin blanket, hair mussed in a flyaway nest of white around the face. Dandelion-headed, Rafal looked at the uniformed figure standing in his doorway dazedly, the perpetual furrow in his brow yet to make its return. 

“Apologies, er, Professor. Your door was unlocked.”

Professor? Silence. Confusion.

Then recognition—

. . .then killing intent.

His eyes hardened. Not an angel, but a devil.

“Get. Out.”

A dangerous instant that even a stroke of lightning could be hard pressed to outspeed, the high-pitched sonar of an activated dragonstone shattered eardrums. The dragon himself to shatter everything else. Windows against the walls and cracks around a door brimmed with sharp magenta light - then exploded outwards with the seismic wallop of a clawed tail that sent the servant flying.

And the rest was history.

…

“Professor Rafal, you can’t just attack everyone who comes into your room unannounced. A simple no would suffice. You’re lucky no lasting injuries were accrued.”

“Do not step foot into places you do not belong.” Rafal sniffed and examined a frayed piece of thread on his shoulder, markedly unapologetic. His glance upward was accusatory. Scathing. “The last time your minions came they deigned to throw out a handful of my treasures.”

“It was a misunderstanding. We already apologized for that.”

“Hmph.”

What were said treasures? Well, since Rafal’s arrival one could say he’d accumulated quite the miscellany:

The dirtied trowel utilized over the course of a slow and steady recovery

A used fork furtively swiped from a plate during the Ethereal Ball

Long strand of bi-colored hair procured from the ground during a snowy patrol

One half of a shattered wine bottle still dangerously sharp but regarded as if it were softer than anything

A missing quill used by one who nested in the same office as Rafal and fulfilled his paperwork, deemed all but her second home as of late

Unassuming debris in scant quantity, plucked from Pasithee's realm and - even more specifically - the companionable struggles of cleanup waged alongside three others

Unwashed teacup retained from a picnic with two people which, though contentious, had nevertheless secretly been an instance worth recalling

These were the 'treasures' in question obtained over the course of a year. Mistaken easily for clutter at that, and utterly worthless, the staff had naturally assumed to throw them away. Though to Rafal the judgment and the decision to do so had not been natural - it had been an insult of the highest order. These were things he valued; memoirs that meant something to him, in one stead or another. They were his. And now they were gone.

He would have to start all over again.

“In any case. Minions? We’re not villains, sir. We’re only here to clea—”

The dragon rose stiffly from his chair, pushing out of the office without tolerance for further argument. Started with Rafal and ended with him too. “I've said all I have to say. I will not be saying it again. Invade my territory a third time and I shall put all trespassers to death as they ask for.”

Faces looked at each other in the wake of his menacing departure. The aftermath of an uncertain silence which dissolved only on one mutual understanding.

“. . .Take him off the list then?”

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #i wanted to acknowledge rafal's one year growth and toa anniversary in a clever ic way :) #and also simultaneously showcase how uhh #the whole ‘possessive over loved ones’ profile card trait sure does cover a lot of prospectively interesting ground #Is it socially acceptable to secretly hoard things that belong to friends and acquaintances without permission. No. but this is rafal

[rafent]

✦ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 ✧

There is a cottage in the woods.

Nil watches it through tiny breaches in the briars, like the peepholes of a starving white wolf. A nuclear family nests inside consisting of father, mother, and child; picture-perfect, as quaint as the humblest aspirations can hope to be. The hardworking father descends the mountain to peddle cut lumber. The diligent mother rises early and fills the forest with smells of plain but revitalizing cooking. The lone child plays all by her lonesome, quietly and causing no trouble, asking after no toys her parents cannot afford.

Each is hard at work in their painted-on roles, but the mother especially. She dabs away her sweat with the bone of her wrist, tidies her spilling bun and adjusts the straps of her apron when they fall loose amid midday labors. Her chemises and linens air on the clothing line, brought in before the preparations for supper.

These pristine appearances are what throw him off, of course, the singular child that induces pause. Is it not all too mundane? Should there not be a second wretch to frolic in the garden beside the first? Over the course of several days, Nil gleans what he can for the simple act of confirmation. On the fourth, he approaches. He learns there are many allowances the littlest ones will make for a kind and studied smile.

“Do you know my mama, mister?”

“I do. I am friends with her, from long, long ago, but it is very cold outside. Can I wait for her in there with you?”

“Okay.”

It is the most innocent that let the devil into their home. It is the most innocent that is the devil, after all. Kindly Nil sits and waits, his fingers drum thoughtfully against the naperon, studying the stains of spilled, ill-dried broth. The smell of washed millet and dank wood. It is a pleasant home, a proper home; that is the reality; the truth, in the same way that Nil does not really know who this child’s mother is, her face, her age, or even her name. He knows only that they have the same eyes.

She arrives eventually. She sees his eyes, too. How? her chalk-white expression asks. At this distance there is no mistake for either of them. After a moment he rises from the chair with a severe set of his mouth, there is nothing of Nil in it anymore.

“Outside.” On his demand they go together. As one might estimate the age of an oak tree by its quantity of rings, the length of existence for a Fell Child can be judged by different visual parameters; the cocked alertness of her spine, the clenched fingers down at her side, the primordial readiness of fight and flight. But it is futile, Rafal has made sure of his advantages from the moment they stepped out, the defective Child leading and Rafal at her back. It does not stop her from trying.

“I’ve left Gradlon behind. My ambitions, my dragonstone—everything. I have a family. You don't have to do this.”

His lips twist, amused, bitter, disbelieving, everything at once. He laughs with all his chest and says to the pleading red eyes that have damned her, neither gleeful nor triumphal, merely factual: “But I will. Did you think laying with a human and birthing his pups would absolve you of this struggle? Never.”

Those born of Gradlon cannot run even from the enemies they have never made. The dice their blood has cast for them from the moment each drew breath, hissing in the viper pit hundreds and thousands strong, wanting with all their wicked hearts to be the last and only one. Revanche, a conferred axe from Divine Dragons, points at her like a wielded guillotine, like Rafal is judge, jury, and executioner. The reality is only that he is rightful heir over it all.

And ultimately, like it has been for countless others, it is easy. She is nothing like Nel. Her atrophied strength does not compare, not the pitiful tooth she straps to her thigh - a single knife batted away - or the futile scrabble of her nails down his arm in her final throes. Her face is not remotely alike, too plain without the dragonkin's trappings of gold, that it evokes nothing when he stares into it, rips into it. So it is easy. 

“Mama! Mommy! Momm—”

Hair topples fully from the struggling bun, the apron like Rafal is white now freckled and stained. Rafal looks down at a homely brown-haired niece; a nameless, wretched, sorry inheritor of Fell Dragon legacy and sees nothing of her mother in her; there is everything of her human father about her. That does not leave him satisfied. He is the one that will not take chances.

...

Too soon, the truant father returns home from cutting wood, catching a young man in his home with an axe in his hand, his two greatest treasures shattered on the floor. His mouth opens to yell, to scream, to say anything at all. This noise stirs the wolf, startles him, provokes him, and for that there is movement—

. . .and then there is silence.

There is a cottage in the woods and no family inside.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #how far do the alt!gradlon fell children go. how deep is the well. #the answer: This Deep #there is so much to unpack for rafal's pre-canon especially in the 'i killed all my siblings' department #thrown out in xenologue 5 then never mentioned again. but i Do feel like the [audible gasp] reaction from fx cast was appropriate

[rafent]

✦ 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑 ✧

* dancer mastery drabble ( fell xenologue spoilers )

Because Rafal hadn’t the shoes, because Rafal hadn’t the lessons, because Rafal wasn't like them, he was not desired at the sides of the other children, unneeded to join their vainglorious black forms on the front lines. When it was learned that he could not transform, that his greatest talents sat only in raising a few nasty spells, his role was decided. Grouped with all the other nobody-sons and nobody-daughters of Sombron per expectation.

"There's a survivor here, failure. Clean it up."

". . .I was getting to him. You don't have to tell me."

Rafal stuck his stiletto into a gurgling throat, abhorrently practiced.

There was no satisfaction in picking up after the clutter of older, stronger siblings and their war paths imperfectly paved. Bodies half-ended, half-sundered, or crushed below the waist and not around the head, vitals and organs missed. Still breathing. In all such ways, Failures performed as expected, hunched to the thankless grunt work of ending foes that were mortally wounded. Snipping threads and draining veins on the battlefield in order to avail quicker of their Corrupted transformations.

Humans, Divine Dragons, and even other Fell Dragons. The distinction of the reaping act didn't matter. Even if Rafal should die he would be reanimated, too. As beasts did not squander the nutrients of their prey from brain to bone, for the Fell kind there was no waste in this either. His dagger moved again, vertical, sometimes horizontal from ear-to-ear. The skin yielding, his dreams flowering in the spilled red.

Imperishable labor for the brood it was, but Rafal wanted for more. Rafal was destined for more. He believed this, even as his unmoving feet and stationary hands turned blue from indolence where backlights failed to reach. Unable to taste combat, action, stage, applause though he yearned endlessly for that spotlight too. That connection, that praise, that dragonstone of his wildest dreams.

That dance.

...

“The sight of your form burns my eyes.” . . .what do you mean you can’t transform?

“You’d step all over my toes!” —the way that you are, it isn’t like the rest of us.

“You’re off-rhythm.” failure. failure. failure. 

For centuries, Rafal watched and watched only. A danseur in unending reserve seated behind the tape of action - a wanting fell son, a lacking failed son. None would make allowances for a creature of dearth; of such freakish, loathsome eccentricity as a Fell Dragon more human than dragon, more weak than strong. Born different than the rest of them and made for different things, too.

I can’t with you, he traced his lament over the mound that marked another child who had succeeded only in his failure. Not with Nil, gone too soon,

. . .but perhaps, just perhaps, with her.

So it was. So it could not help but be. Engraved by his inadequacy felt as old as primeval time, his want so equally measured, the least of Sombron's children wanted it the greatest. To move as all sons and daughters of Fell Dragons did dauntlessly, born and killed and made and unmade to do. When the time came, he knew the steps of the routine like he'd learned them himself. Those cues of the symphony for every day he’d listened through the walls, the chest-rattling breath and wingbeats that had what was - should have been - his. The mortal duel between halves, consoled only by one spelled superior over the other.

Revanche tethered to one hand, the other raised for balance like an empty chalice filled only by Nel’s hand, her blood, his heart, his jealousy, he sought to imitate what he had seen even as one question surfaced. Was it the dance he wanted for or the partner he dreamed would make him whole?

He knew the answer but still his feet dragged to position; unquestioning of the motions. Hovered aloft the ground on crossed strings too tangled, unable to undo, left only to deepen, and only to do.

Because Rafal had the shoes now. Scales white and pink and brimming - pearlescent fangs like batons shaved from moonlight, wings to guide the devil's spins, lightning breath spilling operatic from fortified jaws. Stronger, better, bigger than anyone who would ever come before and after him.

Because Rafal had the lessons now. A twin at last to perfect his rhythm, beat, and pirouette. Emblems, seven in their array, used, tapped into, and cast aside like the husks of soft treats to feed this final masquerade. Brothers and sisters all graduated from a bloodstained stage he'd curated now only for two.

Because Rafal would dance now.

“At last, Father. . .I have finally succeeded.”

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #to no one's surprise the xenologue pre-canon is REALLY something else :'^) #rafal's unique experiences (also: nil) as a marginalized failure of gradlon society is a vast part of why he is the way he is #i had the vaguest outline of how i wanted this drabble to go #all i knew is that i wanted to incorporate 'shoes and lessons' no matter what. Absolutely Non Negotiable imagery

[rafent]

✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇 ✧

* warrior mastery drabble ( fell xenologue spoilers )

Crumbling remnants of bygone emblems encircled the bracelet altar. Missing eyes, missing limbs, missing heads - statues all found in varying states of missing just like one twin sundered from another.

Just like Rafal.

𝐈 ;

Those aged limestone warriors with their cracked faces and crawling hairline fractures often judged him, seven against one. Across the first half of a hundred years he thought them unsettling, broken effigies whose misery he had never been forced to truly measure until he was and truly alone.

Long, long ago - Nel's placid attention backed by the noisiness of their Winds - Rafal hadn't needed to take in the sad, sunken measure of Lythos Castle to its most profound depths. At least not in any way he thought to matter. Lythos hadn't been his home, after all. Not in Nil's eyes. Only a straw roof he borrowed, easily caved in on his lies. Something transient, deeply impermanent, beyond both the reach and right of the imposter he'd been.

But now; now, in greater truth, it was. It was home. A belated home, just as all concepts and things came to Rafal belated. The love for his sister. The regret for his Winds.

The knowledge that nothing he'd done for power had been the everything he hoped it would be.

" . . . "

𝐈𝐈 ;

Nel would wake in a thousand years.

Upon her awakening Rafal would beg her forgiveness, if forgiven, they would make the passage to another world together; there where life awaited them as a pair. If not, he would stay. And Nel would go. Regardless of one outcome or another, in that time he could not neglect his health. That vehicle which would make either of these true.

When he was hungry, he foraged outside the castle and returned. More monk than dragon in the consumption of mushrooms, berries, and taproots. When hopelessness settled, he patched the tearing walls of his mind with the Divine One’s promise. When grown tired, he curled up next to his sister and slept with fraught lines.

Each and every one of that sister’s cellular functions had stopped, perfectly equivalent to a corpse, but Rafal’s power placed her putrefaction in a state of stasis, with the abject sterility of a doll lacking need for food or water or waste. Still he wiped Nel’s face clean, once every morning and night, as filial son might do unto sickly mother. He held her hand in just the same dutiful way.

All such fractions and more composed the whole of his memories. The chalk-white etchings he tallied onto the walls, painting significance onto the annals no-one else could know. The daily prayers spun from his greatest wishes. His life saved extending to be shared, seeping from hot to cold - brother unto sister. Rafal's cyclical existence in the manner of a serpent engorged on its own tail, a life without seams and an endless passage of days that bled one into the next-

into the next, into the next, into the next.

...

𝐈𝐈𝐈 ;

Between his episodes of madness, of those periods abounding with quiet, not quiet, loud, too-loud swirling darkness and doubt, it was one beacon alone which anchored him while stranded out at the loneliest sea.

it took a thousand years for another Lumera to revive another Divine One. Rafal remembered that. Rafal thought he could be able to do it; far more than could, he would. If Nel did not wake up today then tomorrow. Or the one after that. He clung to his tomorrows in that way, greedy and never satisfied, like the priceless metals that had at one point proven their world's currency. Even as each and every one passed him overhead and turned into yesterday.

"Today, sister. It will be today," he would whisper to her, to Nel, on a scratchy voice calloused by atrophy and disuse. An insistence to him that wasn't meaningless.

Rafal who feared that without practice he would forget to speak entirely, that if - when - his older sister awoke, he might not even be able to say his name. Rafal who trimmed his nails and strained the dirt from his hair not for the way he looked, but for how Nel might one day look upon him. Because when sullied by the elements he showed those signs clearer than anyone, white all over, any hint of muck or soot turned him grey.

So he kept clean; kept as sharp of his senses as Revanche and Represailles did - polished, oiled, propped aright neatly in the corner for a future where they could be used together. Unwavering in those habits as the years passed.

As so many of them did.

...

...

...

? ? ? ;

Five hundred years. Five hundred summers.

As estival heat waned to autumnal ambivalence, as winter settled into the nooks of the skeleton castle and clawed its way toward the heart where Rafal sat beating, he banked the fire - the hundred, thousandth, hundredth-thousandth fire - and watched its smoke. His blood-colored eyes an aged vacuum that sucked in the sight of the guttering flames and reflected back a strange resilience of their own.

His form, his gaze, all of it unyielding; like a pale warrior made of stone. As if among the ruins of the seven statues that once stood tall around him, Rafal could be their eighth. A monument belying idealistic inner strength, not the power of a dragonstone he once elevated above all else.

The burning wood crackled. Plumes of chilled air parted from him on a quiet, chapped laugh. On a thought of retrospects.

Didn't that sound like something the Divine One would say?

「 RAFAL 」 has mastered Warrior

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #i've wanted to detail rafal's thousand year timeskip for a while #and thought this sort of strength/warrior motif drabble would be perfectly appropriate to do it #1000 years of total isolation in a world devoid of all other life WHILE retaining his sanity? #if that's not the makings of (internal) strength what is really

[rafent]

✧ keep: an important part of your personality that others seldom see, that remains a vital part of who you are even if nobody knows it's there

Keep: an important part of your personality that others seldom see, that remains a vital part of who you are even if nobody knows it's there

Whatever things that Nel wore, Nil wore too.

He vested himself in the very same finery, the very same pieces in the very same places, two gold spun spades pressed into his hair on either side. His identical sickle-shaped pendant on the tail of a polished chain, suspended from a choker and not a cord for one rare expression of individuality; garbed in the same prickly hood, black to her white like two sets of chess crafted for the same board. Their appearances fixed to match, everything of their edges carefully shaved down to meet and complement the other. Even if one must contort and bend himself to do so.

Whatever things that Nel liked, Nil liked too.

Like the repulsive taste of her very favorite spices. Flames that were not flames but in reality pestled condiments, pepper, ginger, lemon grass, thyme, clove in isolation or concoction. A uniformly wretched flavor that sparked disagreement wherever it landed on his tongue, bringing with it a desire to retch up such volcanic sludge at once, but also an over all greater possession of his acceptance. Abstinence. Law.

"Take all the time you need, young man."

Mulling over his role on an invisible stage, Nil's hand hovered over the stuffed buns. Sweet on the left, spicy on the right, just as the owner of the food stall explained; speaking in turn the poles of falsity and truth. Two momentous ticks located at north and south upon the compass of his desire.

She did not understand it, of course - why such a strange customer hesitated for as long as he did, why he lingered on the left, then on the right, and back again. Something as simple as sweet or spicy entered deeply into his consideration, sowed its roots there, and decided the outcome behind his uncertain eyes, reflecting the compass which always pointed north, in the end, even if it longed to swerve south.

". . .Two of your spiciest buns," he said at last, decided always upon his destination no matter how long it took to get there. Two spice-filled buns clenched between his hands and the sweet ones forgotten; one for sister, one for brother; a taste for the innocent, another for the liar.

Because whatever things that Nel liked, "Nil" must like too,

—isn't that right, Rafal?

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #princepsumbra #Sickening : ) #if you know you know

[rafent]

falesia: the disquieting awareness that someone's importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match

falesia: the disquieting awareness that someone's importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match ╱ also sent by @twistedisciple & @resalire

Nel's smile. Nel's laugh.

Nel said—

Nel did—

Nel. Nel. Nel.

He tired of that name, the sound of it, the frequency of it, the immense power it wielded over Nil and ergo Rafal. Today's Nel could not be that different from yesterday's Nel, he snapped at him, do you always have to speak of your sister? But the truth was that no topic he offered in her place could have replaced the immaterial spark she inspired, that thread of animation which connected eyes to lips to heart and brimmed in his brother as life.

"I'm sorry, Rafal. Did I anger you? I'll stop if you tell me." Nil's attention landed upon him with helpful innocence, eager to remedy the issue, but unknowing of the solution, the crux, the problem itself - when he were not speaking of his talented twin already he appeared dimmer. He could not help that. And Rafal could not abate his foreboding.

More aching than jealousy was apology, the other's inability to laugh and look and speak of him in just the same way. It hadn't been 'sorry' that he wanted, it had been equivalence, it had been reassurance; in contests of choice, you would be the one I choose, but Nil would not ever, and he felt this void keenly. Push further and perhaps he would see a ripple in the fabric of their bond. Nil would spook at this strange brother's possessive desire. At worst Rafal would not be able to keep him.

"It's nothing," he amended. "I haven't been sleeping well as of late, is all."

What excuses Nil accepted Rafal did too. He acknowledged the scraps of his allowance. The unfortunate fortune he was given, the emptied honeycomb and dormant wax where another creature had reached first. And it was futile, he knew. He could not compete with a stronger child of Sombron, stronger not merely for her strength but also for her invisibility. Because whatever this undying notion was, the one known as Nel could be named the source; the love in Nil's voice for a name and a face out of sight but never out of mind.

Someone else resided where he wished to be, possessed all that he wished to have, and he arranged himself where sparsity remained. For Nil was his whole.

Even if Rafal was not even his half.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #thelightofcreation #twistedisciple #resalire #thanks all for sending !! and also thank you to ren for bringing these awesome prompts onto the dash #falesia is such a perfect emotional term for rafal #and even in spite of it he goes to countless lengths to honor nil which says .... so much #rafal being a selfish (i.e. possessive) lover with capacity for selfless love that survives hundreds of years hahahaha

[rafent]

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 — 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐄, #svrigel2023

Death is the peace that comes after pain. Your senses dull to a whisper, leaving you with nothing but your memories, your sense of self, for however long that lasts until you too fade away...

Some humans spoke of flames. Judgment given form. An infernally hot land boasting of every bodily torment imaginable, shaped to fit as eternal punishment for the damned. Those unforgivable, obsidian souls weighted by their sins and turned utterly black by them. For those like Rafal. Others painted a far kinder picture; a kingdom suspended high in heaven forged by light, where anything one wished for, one could have. He clung to none of their beliefs.

Death was hollow, Rafal thought. There existed nothing and no-one. Not even himself. After the passing of his life he would merely be forgotten per the natural order. His power and his pride and his beauty- all of it deemed meaningless amidst the seamless circulation of a world that coursed over every hitch and stone. Moving past him just as it had moved past Nil. As it had moved past Father.

In short, Rafal had expected a void. He hadn't expected this.

No matter whether his head craned or lowered, all his sights were the same. An endless expanse of space neither warm nor cold, simply filled with stars and clouds of dust. Luminous and beautiful. Without boundaries in any direction. Taking in its measure with wonder, in the middle of it all was—

"Nil. . .I never thought we would see each other again so soon."

Nil. To think a thousand years had passed since he'd last heard the name. The sound of it bore down strangely upon his ears, but Rafal's reaction was undoubtedly stranger; he smiled at the dead with a strange sort of relief. Only a second of appraisal corrected the fear that he had failed to protect the other world's one- the male he'd now just as equally call his Divine Dragon.

Standing now before his original, the thoroughly blue hair that once sparked within him indignation and hatred nurtured different feelings. Regret. Nostalgia. In no small part due to the fact that it was the first he'd ever stood before her without a curse wedged between them. He closed his eyes.

"Nor I, Divine One. Given your appearance before me, it seems I am well and truly dead. Then I was careless." A pale cheek turned forlornly to one side. "No; more rather, powerless."

Powerless to protect himself, to protect his dreams and to keep his promises. To hold his head high with pride. In the last moments of his life Rafal had reeked of fear; defined by it even as he vowed that he would never again be. He had not changed from his days as a failure in distant Gradlon. Pathetic as it were, but he forced his dark expression to relinquish its hold.

Existing even in death presented the question of intent. What now? Something must be made of nothing; of this limitless sky shared between two dragons even if it were not with his twin.

"My true name is Rafal, but my nature is the same as if I were Nil; a failure."

That answered simmered with darkness all its own behind a clenched jaw, as if holding back a deluge of spite and dread. Like something in Rafal had changed. Or simply returned. His eyes flicked open on an old fire, a reopened wound. "I was weak and so died for it. I am not devoid of harsh regrets. However, if I am to spend an eternity with you, then allow me to do so making amends."

The stance of his floating feet shifted. He stepped forward next, wishing to ask if Nil was here, but before he could her mouth opened. Whether she would accept or reject him, the olive branch he had extended was answered with the sound of. . .

It's a peace disrupted with a... splash?

"What!?"

Rafal wavered. Not merely his thoughts but his waning form. A frosting of white at the quandaries of his existence that spread toward the center like a creeping winter chill. He glanced to the Divine Dragon's face for explanation and found there a mouthful of parting words. His gaze widened in disbelief. Then understanding. His time had not come.

"Take good care of yourself and Nel, please. And next time we meet I hope its after you have enjoyed a beautiful life. I—"

You hear the shouts of men as you take in your second first breath, snorting and coughing past the water that's made it into your windpipe. Daniel's hands carefully wipe water off of your face.

—I love you.

Water filled his ears- blanketing everything that he was. Spine arching, the Fell Dragon started with a sharp gasp. He latched hard onto the wrist that dared to touch him and in this homecoming to pride- sight, hearing, touch- knew he had come alive.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #svrigel2023 #toasabbamvitatham2023 #this is as much an event drabble as several steps back for rafal's character once he gets back to the monastery #you put a prideful fell dragon with self agency issues who likes to be in control of his own fate through death (something he can't control #and there's going to be a Violent chemical reaction #fell xenologue 2.0 /j #alear dialogue added with aster's approval :)

[rafent]

(o・・o)/

Nil, Naturally you alone are my truest brother, but as of late there is someone else that I have also come to call 'brother'. The reason for that belongs to a truly outrageous story; who could believe that a human and a dragon would get along by training together? By doing that which I hate? Frankly, we are not even a single bit alike in personality. It is our reasons for such activity that bind us together. Alfred, as he is called, shares a past rooted deeply in weakness. He understands me as few others do. Burdened with an illness beyond his control that will likely spell his early death, he suffers from greater frailty than most others of his kind, just as we could not transform likewise to our siblings and worried of survival. Powerless failures such as you and I who feared for our lives everyday would no doubt empathize with such a human. His admirable spirit, however, could not be further from mine. The path of his ambition had not led him to harm others. Through training and willpower alone he seeks to better himself. Through his noble example I understand that honing the body is not enough. The intentions and the heart must match. — Rafal

( the letter of no date and no intended recipient enters a drawer. )

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #floreix #engage spoilers #rafal has like a whopping 2 friends and alfred is one of them HAHAHA #opinion wise what stands out as notable to me is that rafal esp in their support also expresses admiration for alfred's nobility #and also straight up condemnation of his own nature #what alfred has is impossible for rafal that sorta thing #but he's not jealous just quietly in awe

[rafent]

(o・・o)/

Nil, You would feel unsettled by the strange man in my acquaintance. I imagine this is where our tastes would differ. Griss is his name. Found by one who wishes to enter into a Fell Dragon's service, I accepted his offer and spoke of our common natures as the meaning. Two black existences drenched in many sins. Strangely enough, he feels more alike to me than the skittish Wind whose appearance he shares. He has Gregory's face and this would not be the extent of his many oddities. In truth, he is more than strange. He prowls around half-naked without a care; his body is covered with unfashionable tattoos and perforated by foul metal knickknacks; for him pain is no deterrent but a means to ecstasy; his provocative words are ill-suited to knighthood. Humans come in many kinds and I am keenly aware toward that fact whenever we should share the same space. . . .But even so, whatever kind he might be we are of the same. In spite of my criticisms I suppose he is my knight. Above all, I dare say it is comforting. To hold a purpose. Value in the eyes of another. — Rafal

( the letter of no date and no intended recipient enters a drawer. )

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #twistedisciple #engage spoilers #rafal absolutely roasting griss JSNGSBGHSGBH #but he likes him beneath all of (hand wave) That #you know how it is with the tsun tsun anime boys #and honestly this is so funny to say about griss knowing his character but griss is good for rafal

[rafent]

(o・・o)/ hehe

Nil, Our sister is well. Though I suppose there is little meaning to such a disclosure. Wherever you are, there exists nothing too far or too hidden for your eyes. Even so, I am ever glad to be by Nel's side once more and even gladder to be able to express it. We are two halves of a whole, after all. One cannot be without the other. Together is how two twins ought to remain. I understand that now and knowing such is a blissful understanding like none other. So much as she shares my sentiments, so much as I am aware, there were moments I feared that she wouldn't. After her awakening we were separated at the crossroad between two worlds. At that time, I dreaded that Nel had decided to go elsewhere per intention. I to Elyos, and Nel to Fódlan. I would have found no fault in any lack of an accident, to be sure. I am her brother and yet not the one she has known. After our journey, there are still many words that continue to go unsaid between us. Questions that have yet to be answered. Here, in a different land, I keep from her my reasons; that was it not merely Nel that I had come seeking for, but a righteous death worthy of fulfilling my penitence. There is much I have yet to atone for. — Rafal

( the letter of no date and no intended recipient enters a drawer. )

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #nelithic #engage spoilers #after our discussion i was thinking about how rafal would potentially react to their separation after the dlc #and my conclusion is just Pure Anxiety(tm) #you do terrible things and then after your sister awakens she seemingly dips. rafal be like i Expected That. tho ofc he knows now #oh and that lattermost tidbit. Haha. rafal still holds his secrets nel some things haven't changed :'^)

[rafent]

27!

27. a memory of something they’re proud of ( also asked by @freedomarrow )

The tireless hewing of Revanche and his occasional grunt occupied the silence in place of any words. Scattered around Rafal's feet were glittering red flakes that slept in the dust, broken off from a larger body. The slightest hint of wind roused and gusted them away. Thankful for the cool breeze, he paused to wipe the sweat collecting above his brow then continued his dutiful work, stopping neither for exhaustion nor for thirst. Only to assess the angle of his cuts and neatly envision the four quandaries he'd mapped out by sight.

His work had to be precise; it needed to be close to perfect.

For this there would only be a single try.

Their gift only came once. Seven emblems who had given substance to his deepest wish in the form of a dragonstone, larger and more potent than any other. With it he could transform into the strongest of them all; a diamond hard hide unable to be pierced, blistering breath that could shave mountains down to hills. Just like Father, a Great Fell Dragon. A paragon of strength so unfair it would have made all the Fell Children in history weep with envy. . .and it wasn't what he wanted anymore.

It was Nel he thought of. Nel's future he wanted to preserve. Refuge in the Somniel of another world would not be enough. That was merely the minimum. A dragon who could not transform was no dragon at all, Rafal knew that- he had known that, lamented that, and his world paid the price. To him, these actions were clearer and more justified than anything. A return, even, for what Nel surrendered to save a brother who didn't deserve it.

And one more hack of the axe did the deed.

He stepped back proudly as the pieces fell into place. Or fell apart. The mother of all dragonstones fashioned into four smaller variants to the best of his ability. Rife with gritty edges here and there, a need for bandaging in order to support the shape- but otherwise serviceable. He smirked at his handiwork- a thing of creation- and dusted off his sore hands.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #gentlenekomata #the last drabble i intend to do for rafal #thank you for both for sending and neffi for sending twice sjngsh #rafal is kind of an asshole (“kind of” lol) but he's a chad in some respects #engage spoilers

[rafent]

7. A memory they want to forget

7. a memory they want to forget

Humans would be humans wherever Rafal went. Loud. Delusional. Over-friendly. Over-sharing. Every period of his independent travel peeled back another layer to the sweet-sour rind that was humanity. Always killing and bickering amongst themselves, always loving and multiplying in the same continuous way. Rafal witnessed their flaws and virtues alike and he was thankful to return to Lythos at the terminus of every year where his siblings waited. Dragons, not humans.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"A shame. You helped to defend our village. That means you've earned a place in it."

He stiffened at the remark, the buildup ever familiar- you helped us, how kind you are, how heroic, you're not as scary as you look. No matter how many times he explained that his helpful actions were whim or coincidence they never learned. He adjusted the rest of his knapsack across his shoulder and prepared to leave.

"I am thankful for your shelter, but know that I have no place here. I am not human." That was beyond important, it was fact, and where another Fell Dragon might have hesitated to say it- to unveil their ugly natures and risk persecution- Rafal said so with clarity, expectation even; acceptance of the causality before it even occurred. But—

His host reacted as if those words weren't worth a blink. "I knew that." He followed Rafal out, leaning against the door. Haloed in light with such harsh contrast against the darkness that it enveloped his face in shadow. Rafal was glad for that. He was never one for goodbyes, for meeting eyes when he said them. Especially with the short-lived humans who he knew would never be seen again in his lifetime.

"I knew that. And you're still welcome here."

Rafal looked at him strangely then like something had clicked. The perpetual kindness he wielded for a stranger, the mysterious brush of their hands on the passing of every plate at supper, the sideways-leaning posture against the door bordering on playful- all of these cues and signs that he'd labeled as mere kindness now whispered of deeper meaning. Rafal, however, would be Rafal; as timeless and eternal as the humans themselves, and humans were so—

". . .Foolish," he muttered brusquely, stepping out into the night. Ignoring that silent invitation, swearing to forget it though he knew he wouldn't. Another worthless and insignificant memory to dog the Fell Dragon who never forgot a thing.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #freedomarrow #engage spoilers #a nod to rafal's postgame :^) #rafal traveling the world and playing vigilante seems to be the most likely course for his ending #i like the idea of him gaining all sorts of worldly experiences and meeting all different kinds of people in the process #stories to talk about when he comes home to lythos for christmas every year

[rafent]

21. A memory of the first time they did an activity they love

21. a memory of the first time they did an activity they love

All that Rafal learned in Gradlon he brought with him to Lythos, but it was difficult nevertheless. More difficult than expected. His memorized readings of cakes, cookies, truffles, eclairs, and tarts over the centuries never found true application, stored only in his brain and never working their way down to his hands. Only reasonable, perhaps. No prince of Gradlon could ever mend the blow to his honor if he was sighted in a kitchen, failure or not.

However, that was soon forgotten. In Lythos no-one judged; neither the Divine One nor the Divine Dragon Monarch Lumera, and certainly not Nel. He asked if only for that reason alone. Access to the castle kitchen became granted on his request and a new world followed. Here was the flightless Rafal's territory- here was his sky.

And he buried himself in the kitchen until he got it right.

'Damn you.' He cursed at himself; at another holey batch of macaron shells chucked aside as refuse. Had the dough been undermixed? The filling too much in proportion? There was no immediate answer. Only another try.

Water. Milk. Eggs. Flour. Butter. Sugar. Salt. These rudimentary ingredients were the colors and paints of Rafal's artistry, whisked and kneaded into a bowl. The piped batter set to dry. The casks of their containment lied on the counters half-full, nearly expended. Pages of guiding tomes spattered with flour and hasty-wet finger marks, not that he needed them for anything more than quick measurements- the recipe books. Or so he thought at first. So proudly and confidently, though his first attempt wasn't remotely close to being the final one.

He didn't let that stop him. Instead of destruction this was creation. Instead of failure it was trajectory for success. Being good at something- being useful. It was worth doing. With fillings of buttercream and ganache Rafal could express the sweet flavors he'd always dreamed of tasting without dirt or soil to dilute them. With egg-whites and egg-yolks he could make something out of nothing. A day wasted away meant nothing at all.

By the end he'd found his victory. Centered on the plate he triumphantly offered to the Divine One and company were a dozen perfect macarons. Hidden away in the kitchen were the hundred tries it took to make them.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #twistedisciple #rafal being obsessed with dessert is still so ironic to me #the same realm of antithetical charm as someone cute and sweet drinking their coffee black #i know engage kinda throws it our way as a gag(?) or at least out of nowhere #but i like to think the creative aspect comes from some deep seated desire to be Good at Something

[rafent]

2. A memory of their father

2. a memory of their father

Father was strong. To Rafal he was stronger and better than anyone; a true dragon who could dye any set of black scales to green with the most potent envy. He was his ideal, a subject of filial idolatry paid homage to by his longing stare, and up until recently he had never known Rafal existed.

Only the closest confidants of Sombron, his generals and high-ranking mates, were allowed to enter the altar room where he frequently resided. Only the most accomplished of his sons and daughters were addressed or acknowledged by the Fell Dragon King in any way. Rafal who fit into neither category had become something else entirely; a tentative heir apparent of newly discovered power.

'The Emblem you have awakened is the Shepherd Exalt. Now dispel him—this one is the Emblem of Dragons. Both of them may be wielded to deadly effect against your fellow Fell Dragons.' Rouse and awaken. Dispel. Rinse and repeat. As his hands glowed with the magic of awakening, the mentor in his attendance straightened as if sensing his limits. The crimson form of Emblem Tiki retreated to her bracelet, dormant, but not fully aslumber.

"That is enough for today," Sombron spoke without room for argument, a statue of otherworldly authority that none could refute. None could oppose. "Memorize their strengths. One day you will use them against your brothers and sisters. That is how a weakling can deceive and overcome those who dare to think themselves better."

It was the soundest advice anyone had ever given him. Rafal trembled.

"What is it."

". . .It's nothing, Father."

But it wasn't nothing and his heart thundered at Nel's dragonstone witnessing all the moments of his secrecy as he formed them. Some fearful endeavor sat on his tongue- the search for a connection, a justification, with the great Fell Dragon himself, though doubting it might have been a death sentence. He dared to look at Father with two eyes filled with hope and guilt and— "This is our necessary secret, isn't it? So I can survive to become your heir. For the sake of your legacy."

Sombron gazed down at him, indecipherable, with nothing revealed in his void-black sclera or their piercing red irises. Silence flooded the space between them. His hand raised slowly in some inkling of motion as if he were preparing to strike Rafal, then laid on top of his head without dealing him harm.

His father's touch was neither warm nor cold or comforting, nothing like how Rafal imagined. Nel's hands were firmer, Nil's hands had been softer. This one was only a weight, no different from the detached perch of a shackle or a chain. Colorless; loveless; and to an emptied Fell Child, enough to fill.

"That is right, this is our secret. For my legacy is your legacy."

Rafal nodded like that were enough for him, fighting his smile. Seeing a father's love for everything it wasn't.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #thelightofcreation #a drabble about dad right on the heels of mom #don't we love fell dragon family dynamics #engage spoilers

[rafent]

— nineteen. a memory of someone they dont see anymore

19. a memory of someone they don't see anymore ( also asked by @lockpicnic & @revelale )

Mother was so beautiful. Rafal was her mirror and his twin would have been too if they'd survived past the womb. She always told him to thank her for that. Her hands were as pale and clean as her hair like they'd never seen a day of work because all the killing she did was in dragon form. Humans were beyond her, she said, even their forms, though she had no problem sleeping with them.

Mother was so ugly. She killed a thousand failures just like Rafal in her heyday and she made sure to say it. Any mate of Sombron she caught alone would be found in the company of their own pieces. Those pale, beautiful hands always had wicked intent; they raised to cup his face and center their eyes on the same level so Rafal couldn't look away.

"So cruel, Rafal. So cold. No love for mommy."

"The concubines of Sombron aren't allowed to take other mates," Rafal responded flatly to her sickly-sweet voice, clenching her wrists hard and prying them away.

Humans. Dragons. Lesser dragons. Greater dragons. None of them Father. All of them found in a bed they shouldn't be. To his criticisms her reply was eternally the same. 'Lord Sombron can take multiple mates. Why can't I?' He saw it in the hateful look of her eyes even now, but like always what came out was self-righteous, as if her lust and her jealousy and her possessiveness only adhered to Gradlon's most primordial laws- none of her flaws were flaws. Because power was—

"Power is purpose," she recited without missing a beat. A favorite saying. "With power, one has the right to do anything they want. A weakling like you could never understand." And the innocent facade dropped as she pushed her long hair to one side, running her fingers through it. Soft and smooth and white as a slipstream.

Then Mother looked at him, calculating, deadly; raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck with a single glance. Something in the air was different but it wasn't new.

"Will you report me to Lord Sombron? You—my son?"

Rafal knew this game. If he said he would she would kill him. If he said one thing but his eyes said another she would kill him. So he told the truth. "I won't because I don't have a care. You never show me any, either. When the other children call me a failure you pretend not to know me."

He stared back, unwavering. A younger and smaller microcosm of her cruelty. Her jealousy. Her coldness. Everything he knew of a mask he learned from her.

"When someone else does. When Father learns the truth and sends his Corrupted to tear you apart—I won't know you either."

The icy temperature of danger retreated from the air after that. Mother and son- predator and prey- no longer locked in contention. Distantly, the shifting of a lover in her sheets pulled her gaze away. She left him alone. Satisfied. Smiling. Like hearing those words and seeing his eyes pleased her like nothing else.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #justices-blade #thank you for the opportunity to dig my claws into someone even nastier than rafal #rafal to me has motherless And fatherless behavior #because his mother even if nonabsent can't possibly be functional considering her son turned out like That #for the record rafal had the gift of prophecy

[rafent]

( hey. hey. ) 4. A memory of a sibling

4. a memory of a sibling ( also asked by @rockroselazuli )

Nel was always so gentle. Her eyes, her attention, her reassurances- he could see how much Nil loved her. Why he never wanted to hurt her; the strongest hatchling of their brood who defied expectation, who couldn't be Father's true successor in cruelty because she wouldn't- couldn't- put her fangs on her twin.

Because in Nel's every act, he could see that Nil was loved, too.

Night fell and with it a sweep of wings, encompassing them both using only half-second adjustments to account for Rafal. How smooth and practiced the movement was, like the space between her body and her wings had always been for Nil to sleep in. But Rafal was no different from a cuckoo bird chick, kicking away the broken pieces of her most precious egg and replacing it with himself. A living piece of pyrite- fool's gold- who wasn't and couldn't be the truest, realest thing.

He was an imposter, but nevertheless this was Rafal's place now. He was Nil now. And Nil wouldn't have needed to ask.

Sensing his cue- his part to play in the expectant silence- he laid down to rest in the ring of her body. Fighting not to flinch at the chilly graze of her scales, or the harsh sounds of her breathing through a barrel chest, until eventually he didn't need to fight at all. What he thought had been cold faded to warmth the longer he waited, thawed by the heat of scaled surfaces that enclosed tighter around him. Those sharp scales themselves weren't dangers; they were protection.

Arranging himself in a fetal position for comfort, his eyes traveled in the dim light filtered through her blue patagium. Side to side, up and down, anywhere he looked was Nel. The sight that Nil had seen more than anyone; the sight that only he could see, like Nel was his entire world. Everything from four walls to a sky.

Overcome by a strange sense of peace, Rafal closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. In tune with the deeper breaths of a different twin. Another found half.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble. #venalier #engage spoilers #YOU!!!!! ( knife ) whether this was a nel related memory or a nil related memory #both were going to be absolutely Horrid #....and what did i do....obviously combine them both :^)