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The interior of the Owl House is a little disappointing.
Alador didn't expect it to be a den of horrors like the rumors claim—this is Edalyn's house, after all—but the emptiness is crushing his expectations slightly. He's reminded quickly that he didn't come here for that, however, as he hears Amity's happy exclamation at seeing her siblings by his side and her consequent joyous laughter as they promptly leave him to sweep her into a hug.
He's not offended by their eagerness to leave him. There's a lot he has to make up for and at the moment he's content watching his children all together and safe.
Although it's slightly unfortunate that such a nice reunion leaves him alone in a house filled with old friends and classmates, and nothing to distract him from the realization that everyone seems more familiar with each other than they ought to be if they had only communicated via snarky comments on Penstagram. It’s clear he’s missed a lot.
He squints a little, seeing Edalyn leaning on Raine's side with one arm around their neck and the other…
… Ah. Perhaps he has some catching up to do in more than one aspect.
"Hey."
Alador blinks slowly, too out of energy to startle, and turns his head slowly toward Lilith.
“Hi.” He’s not sure what else to say, taking in the changes in the woman slowly. It’s been a long time since he’s seen her in person, but he identifies the regret on her face easily.
He doesn’t take it to heart. Despite knowing most of the people in the room, he’s not sure about what he could even say to them either, though she must be regretting talking to him specifically.
“How are you holding up?” The awkwardness of the interaction doesn’t deter from the gentleness in her voice, which is a surprise.
Alador scratches the back of his neck.
“As well as everyone else, I suppose.” He’s never been good at this kind of casual talk, and the years spent bent over new projects rather than talking to even his children didn’t do anything to make that better.
“Right,” Lilith squints a little, and it occurs to him that she’s missing her glasses. However, without them, there are more noticeable details.
“Were your eyes always that color?” Maybe he really should have kept up better with his old friends’ lives.
“Oh,” she brings a hand to her face as if she could see by touching it, before letting it drop back to her side. “No, it’s a side effect. From the curse.”
“The… you were cursed?” He frowns. When did this all happen?
Lilith looks more uncomfortable by the minute.
“Ah, not exactly. I merely shared Edalyn’s curse when… when it got too hard to contain.”
She doesn’t seem keen on elaborating on that statement, and he takes the chance to mull over the new information.
“So… can you turn into a harpy, too?”
Lilith lets out a surprised laugh. “Wouldn’t that be so convenient to have now?” She sighs. “Just as I was truly starting the glyph combinations too.”
He stares at her, a question in his eyes.
“I don’t know the details of it,” she admits. It’s not making a lot of sense to him but perhaps she just wants someone to talk about this with. “But being a powerless witch is certainly not an easy task these days. I wish I had realized earlier, maybe I could have done something as the Head of the Coven or… I suppose not.”
Alador feels shame wash over him. It’s not that he didn’t realize how bad things were before, no, but when he recalls his past thoughts on the matter, he remembers a little girl running out of Blight Manor in tears after his daughter had done exactly what he had asked her to. Moreover, he remembers having been pleased, the family reputation mattering to him at the time for reasons that he can’t even make sense of now.
Before he can think of something to say, a man dressed in the Emperor’s Coven uniform spots them and waves enthusiastically, his eyes predictably settled on Lilith rather than him.
“Lilith!”
“Steve.” There’s warmth in her voice that wasn’t present when it was just Alador. “Are you taking a break?”
“Only for now. Derwin said they’d tell me if something urgent came up.”
They’re talking, evidently, about something he’s not aware of. It feels strangely as if he had just woken up, and not only because of the time he spent as a puppet.
“But so far, everyone has been pretty receptive,” Steve sounds proud and by the way Lilith is smiling, it seems she’s too.
“I’m glad. It’s… hard, knowing what to do after you leave,” She looks thoughtful. “All of us gave our lives for the coven and now… well, at least everyone is in the same situation.” It’s an attempt at humor, judging by her curt chuckle and by Steve’s soft snort, but it doesn’t hold up with the softness that follows: “Besides, they’ll have an easier time with you helping.”
“Everyone should have a second chance to decide what they want to do with their lives,” The man says with conviction. “But we got lucky. The sigils will be a problem.”
“Doesn’t the Emperor’s Coven allow you to use all types of magic?” Alador asks, almost in reflex.
Steve doesn’t look offended, even if the question could be interpreted as some kind of reproach.
“It does,” He stares at his gloved hand with a contemplative expression before facing Alador again. “But not everyone is that lucky. It would be nice if we could change that but the spell didn’t seem to diminish the binding on the sigils.”
“Perhaps we can get some healers to take a look at them, see what can be done,” Lilith sounds doubtful, but the other man seems to be quite the optimistic one because his features relax.
“As soon as we get a chance, we should do that,” He pauses. “If anyone knows how the branding gloves work, that would be an advantage as well. Maybe there’s a way to reverse the process.”
It all sounds terribly idealistic, and Alador wonders for a moment if they truly believe it or if they’re trying to console themselves with the possibilities. He finds himself wanting to believe it, not as much for himself—he’s very comfortable dealing with abominations, after all—as for others. He heard about the incident at Hexside prior to the Day of Unity, and although he noted that all three of his children’s wrists were bare from any forced marks, the image of Edric being forced to partake in only one kind of magic when he seemed so passionate about multiple makes something heavy sit on his chest.
“I can help,” He surprises them and himself by saying it, but he means it. If there’s a single thing he can do to undo a portion of the damage he unknowingly did… “It’ll take time,” He admits. “And multiple trials. But I’m sure I can help.”
Or so he hopes. And more than that, he hopes they allow him to. They both exchange glances, remaining in silence as they consider it. Alador is grateful for it; that means they’re taking his offer seriously.
“We’ll talk more about this another time,” Lilith nods in his direction, and it’s both a signal of tentative acceptance and a well-known cue that the conversation is over. He nods back and watches them join Edalyn’s house demon’s recount of something or the other.
No one approaches him after they leave, something Alador is frankly relieved about. He’s conversed with more people in the past day than he has in months, time spent as a puppet notwithstanding, and his energy is starting to dwindle. Not to mention he’s quite taken with ideas to help people for once. Are they even possible? He can’t say, but while his body is almost screaming at him to take a rest for once, his mind is swirling with all the tests he could get started on already; he has a sigil, after all.
After several minutes spent watching the people gathered without really seeing them, he’s thinking of leaving the house and waiting for his children outside when he sees the all too recognizable abomination hair of a former friend and, against his better judgment, steps in his direction.
“Darius?”
As strange as the idea of finding the other man here is, when he turns around, there’s no mistaking the turn of that eyebrow.
“Alador. Surprising to see you here.”
Judging by the tone of his voice, he doesn’t mean a happy surprise.
“I thought you were on Belos’ side,” He says, instead of returning the sentiment.
The other huffs haughtily.
“And you thought wrong. You were the one selling him weapons.”
Alador looks over Darius’ shoulder, the weight of his gaze becoming too heavy, and notices the demon Coven Head that always accompanies him is in another part of the room, conversing with Raine. The feeling of being out of the loop increases.
“I changed my mind.”
“How rich,” He hears Darius snort. He could defend himself, argue that he was mostly in charge of the production and not the details of each contract, which was always Odalia’s strength… but there would be no point in it.
His eyes settle easily on Darius’ current shadow: the former Golden Guard. He has far more scars than Alador remembers but that’s not what tickles his mind first, and at lack of something better to break the uncomfortable silence, he blurts out:
“Where’s your palisman?”
A sharp intake of breath comes from not only the kid, but Darius as well, and the eyes of his childhood friend shine with what definitely has to be some murderous intent.
“Could you not —?” The other man starts in an irritated tone, only to be interrupted by a soft voice.
“He’s… not here anymore.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry.”
The boy shrugs, and Alador doesn’t know him well enough to know if he’s faking the nonchalance or not.
“No need to,” He sees him clench and unclench his hands around nothing. “Almost makes me miss my artificial staff though. Almost.”
The crack in the boy’s voice almost seems to echo in the silence that follows. Alador knows better than to add anything else, his words hardly ever comforting for anyone, but as he mulls over the words, letting the pair slip off in what Darius must think it’s either a subtle or a dramatic manner, an idea starts taking form in his mind.
The meeting couldn’t be more awkward if they tried.
Both Lilith and Hunter keep looking at the tools on the walls and squinting at the plans on his workbench with a sparkle in their eye before accidentally making eye contact with each other or with Alador and quickly looking away while clearing their throats.
They’ve all been silent for too long.
“So,” Lilith clears her throat. “You want to make artificial staves.”
Leave it to her to not lose time before getting to the bottom of the matter.
He nods, grateful for the opening. “I know the Emperor used one,” The boy in front of him stiffens ever so slightly, which is a perfect reminder for Alador’s following point. “And the Golden Guard. I could try to make one from scratch but I thought if someone would have some insight into the inner workings of an artificial staff, it would be you.”
Hunter shifts, straightening his posture over the stool he’s sitting on and locking eyes with Alador for a moment before averting his gaze toward the papers scattered with theories and designs.
“You would be right,” He says curtly, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I don’t know all the details, but you’re not trying to make an exact replica, are you?” Barely waiting until Alador has shaken his head, he adds, “Then I’ll do whatever I can.”
Lilith hums, looking at the kid with inquisitive eyes that suit her much better than the detached superiority she showed on the Emperor’s Coven posters.
“Well, that answers why you needed him, but what about me?” She doesn’t sound demanding, or even judgmental, merely curious.
“You’ve always been good at history.”
Lilith snorts.
“Understatement of the century.” Despite the ironic tone, her lips curve into a small, appreciative smile. “But go on.”
“We are aware of the existence of two artificial staves only, resources weren’t an issue. If this will help anyone at all, it has to be fabricated with more accessible materials, and what Belos used to power his staff wouldn’t be that,” he pauses. “It might not even be something we’d want to use.”
Hunter nods slowly.
“Good call.”
“Given what Edalyn and her kid accomplished, I figured our best shot was Wild Magic,” He squints at the papers and books precariously balanced on top of each other in any available space of his workshop, trying to remember what book he was reading last time. He picks up one with a red cover that looks so old that the title is unintelligible. Was it this one? “I found some records of elemental magic that was used—”
“—in the Savage Ages!” Lilith and Hunter finish for him, their sudden wide smiles becoming sheepish once they realize what they did and look at each other. This time they do not look away, the earlier discomfort replaced by excitement.
Alador chuckles.
“... Precisely.”
“And that’s where you need me,” Lilith concludes proudly. “To dig out all the historic records of ancient magical artifacts that others might not know how to access, right? You can count on me.”
As the pair in front of him start, against all odds, to chat in exhilarated voices with one another about their theories in contrast with their current knowledge, Alador exhales softly. It wasn’t a certainty that they would accept; in a way, they all can relate to each other, their allegiances staying close to the imperial reign until it was almost too late, but he knows his delayed realization does not make for a well-polished reputation. He wouldn’t have blamed them if they didn’t accept.
He wonders if they accepted so easily because they too feel they have something to make up for.
The first problem they run into is that no matter how complex the mechanism he builds is or how much abomination matter he infuses it with, the core of the staff refuses to produce spells that aren’t just pale imitations created of sludge. Either that or…
“A warning would be nice next time,” Lilith grumbles, trying to remove the chunks of abomination from her hair with a disgusted expression.
“I was just turning it on,” He says patiently, touching the remains of purple light emanating from the gears.
“And with how well this is going, that requires a warning.”
“I don’t think we’re going about this the right way,” Hunter says, nonchalantly shaking his right arm to get rid of the muck while he frowns down at the notes he’s clutching in his left hand. “These rituals were meant to be helpful to entire communities, weren't they? It doesn't make sense for one person to create the power source if they all wanted to help each other."
He sounds wistful in a way Alador both understands and doesn't, so instead he focuses on what he can make sense of.
“We need more help.” All of their magical limitations are already implied.
“I could call Darius and—” Hunter starts, stopping when Lilith whips her head toward him with a raised eyebrow. “Or… Amity?”
“We could call your kids,” Lilith suggests softly.
He hesitates, his bond with his family is still tender and fragile, but it’s the more practical choice. They’re all together in the living room when he finds them, and once he explains they seem more excited about the experiment than about spending time with him. He doesn’t take offense to that.
The following hours are full of theories—led, surprisingly, by an excited Edric comparing the process to how concealing stones are fabricated—and dusty legs from kneeling and crouching on the floor to trace runes before those who can perform magic merge materials and forces in a kaleidoscope of color.
The crystal they end up creating doesn’t shatter, but the smile on everyone's faces does before they can even say anything as a torrent of water surges from it and leaves them all looking as if they braved the boiling rain.
Alador can’t keep the wince off his face as Hunter desperately extinguishes the flame trying to sneak to his head through the strand of hair in front of his face, murmuring something that sounds like ‘this feels familiar’ .
Perhaps starting with a fire staff was too bold.
“I don’t think glyphs will work to channel the spell, the Titan is no longer powering them.”
“And you didn’t mention that before because…?”
“You wanted to test it,” She says, not reproachfully but playfully, same as the eye roll she gets from the teen in response.
“Could runes work?” Hunter suggests once it seems his hair is as good as it will get. “The old ones, like we used to make the crystal.”
Alador hums. “We can try,” His eyes wander to the papers taped on the wall before they land on a clock. “Ah… but it’ll have to be tomorrow. The kids wanted to watch a movie today.”
His companion’s faces brighten in understanding and all of a sudden they seem eager to leave.
“Of course.”
“It’s getting late anyway. Eberwolf told me to text them before I got home.”
The next day, the runes carved on the wooden handle increase in glow just as much as the gleam from the tangerine crystal depletes softly. The stable flame produced by the fire spell feels almost as warm as Amity’s soft smile before hugging him the night before.
They soon discover that the crystals produced by the rituals are finite, only casting so many spells before their life tethers out and extinguishes. No amount of changing the rune patterns or bringing more people to help seems to make a difference, and all of them start getting discouraged.
But Alador has always been a problem solver, and as the lead of this project, he finds himself squinting in the middle of the night at Hunter’s schematics accompanied only by a lantern.
“Dad?”
He startles, turning toward the door and taking a second too long to identify the silhouette there.
“Emira?”
“It’s late, why are you still up?”
“I have a lot of work left,” He gestures dejectedly at the papers over his desk.
The girl frowns, crossing her arms.
“You don’t have to get this done now, it can wait.”
“But the staff—”
“Maybe it needs rest too.”
He sighs, rubbing at his eyes as he gets up; he knows a lost battle when he sees it. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”
He isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears her murmur ‘thank you’ after he bids her goodnight, which is only a little more astonishing than the crystal he finds in the morning looking as if it had never been used before. It seems like his daughter was right.
With a slight pang of guilt, he thinks he really ought to listen to his children more often.
The pallid color of the crystal doesn’t lack any vitality in appearance, and Alador wonders if that too is a result of the ritual performed to bring it to existence. Nestled as it is inside a fine lattice pattern of metal, it almost seems to thrum softly with the rhythm of a heart.
Or perhaps, he considers, those are his own nerves speaking.
“Are you sure I should be the one to do this?” Lilith bites her lip, clutching the base of the staff with firm hands that contradict the hesitation in her words.
“You were always so talented with ice spells. I couldn’t think of anyone better.”
She smiles, and for a moment she looks just like she did years and years ago, when they were both gangly teenagers with their heads buried in their books and projects. It’s fleeting, and soon her eyes are turning to the youngest of the trio, who’s watching with poorly masked anticipation.
So much has changed, but not in a bad way.
Lilith takes a deep breath, and raising the staff and pointing to the trees surrounding Blight Manor, she makes a well-practiced wrist motion looking more confident than he knows her to be.
Once the glare from the spell ends, a prism of sunlight reflects from the three perfectly formed blocks of ice a foot away from an old and new friend.
It looks like hope for the future.
