Diamente

"Follow the rules. Don't get in trouble. I know, Mother."

status: serves as the captain of the guards for sera noire and the order.

dignified serious inquisitive young valiant loyal secretive

---

"Diamente." Script's greeting usually elicited a smile in the Nocturne. He kept his expression neutral as she swept him up in a hug. "Welcome home. Was your travel pleasant? The flight smooth?"

Diamente nodded. "Naturally. You needn't worry, Mother." he said. The Captain did not let suspicion creep into his voice. He kept his gait paced, purposely dragging out the time the two spent trailing the back halls of the Order's Keep.

"Did Moonflower enjoy her time there? Did... Miss Miriam?" Script's questions came one after another. Diamente made a mental note that his mother began fidgeting with the collar of her vestments. He decided to smile, offering her the delicate expression in favor of keeping her at ease.

"Yes. Moonflower made new friends and saw old ones. Miss Miriam attended my grandfather's lecture on teleportation." Diamente gave her sparse details, withholding much for himself.

"I am glad you went, truly. It sounds like everyone benefited from the experience." Script said.

Diamente stopped in front of her door and fished keys from his vestment pockets. Her chamber was on a separate level from his initially, but the Nocturne put up a fuss with Prometheus to have a room nearby, approximately five doors down. The lock clicked and the door popped open; Diamente stepped aside as he spoke, "I also...met my sister."

There it was.

"And my father... you did not mention he lived at Brightwing." Diamente added, as the color drained from Script's face. Her countenance fell apart, eyes wide and mouth quaking.

"I did not... mention him. Not at all. No." Script murmured. "My father told you. Or my mother. One of them."

"Let's talk inside." Diamente insisted, and he shut the door behind his mother, locking it and turning around.

His mother's room was a disaster. Normally some order remained to the chaos but here and now it looked like the snake had gone through the room and culled books, clothes, and precious items, ripping apart and shredding what could not be crushed. Script's armoires splayed open, drawers hanging like a fileted fish, and her bed in ruins, dotted with dark droplets the way stars pricked the sky.

Blood from the puncture wounds. The snake fed on his mother in his time away; Diamente was sure of it now.

No wonder she looked so tired. The bags under her eyes, her ghoulish complexion, it was all because of the snake. He fed when Diamente left, which posed a problem: Diamente knew he would be called for duty eventually. He could not turn down the requests from the General or Noire, lest he rouse suspicion something was amiss. Too many eyes on the duo would lead to the 'pact' being discovered, and Noire demanding the snake's head.

He needed help. Moonflower was a potential ally, potentially Sigil, and no one else, not in the Order. No, he would need help from Brightwing. More specifically: from his family there, from Script's family, and from Diamente's father.

"You met Sonnet and Romance." Script knelt to pick up items: books, pens, inkwells, and stationery. She spoke as she worked.

Diamente stood to the side and watched her. The Nocturne replied, "I did. It was very confusing. I wish you told me what they looked like; I had to figure it out on my own."

"But you did." Script said.

"I did, eventually." Diamente grit his teeth. "It caused a lot of confusion, Mother. Chaos. I don't know why you weren't straightforward from the start."

"Some things must be discovered on their own." Script stood with her arms full of clutter and junk. Diamente's eyes softened; he fetched an upturned bin for her to dump the items into, then joined her in picking up what was left on the ground. Script hesitated as her hand reached for the tattered remains of a shawl.

He saw why: the four puncture marks, the points of feeding, once tiny wounds, became inflamed in his time away. What was normally obfuscated by a thick band of metal lay exposed; vulnerable. Nausea churned in Diamente's stomach; the snake fed right before his group returned home.

"We should have a healer look at that." Diamente caught his mother's hand and turned it over.

Script's eyes widened. "No."

"Mother." The Nocturne frowned.

"They cannot help me-It will heal on its own." Script paused. Diamente did not let go. He narrowed his gaze on her as she tried and failed to pull back.

"Dia. Diamente!" Script exclaimed, gasping when her son stood, pulling her up with him.

"What will happen to you if I bring Angel here?" Diamente demanded.

He didn't enjoy the panic lacing Script's countenance. Her ragged breathing and pained wince told him an unsettling story.

"It... it will upset him. Dia." Script whispered.

"The snake. You are protecting the snake. Eleven help me." Diamente said. He released her and crossed his arms. "What did you hope to accomplish by sending me to Brightwing, Mother? What did you put in those letters?"

"Truth. About me. About... him." A mouse's whisper.

"Everyone there worries for you. Archmage Hieroglyph, Sonnet, Catalyst," Diamente rambled off the names, clenching his teeth against the telltale throb in his temples, "I couldn't give them answers. I don't understand myself. You and this... snake. What is going on?"

Script moved to the edge of her bed. It had been luxurious once, plush and cozy with deep sanguine sheets and fuchsia pillows. She sat there, hands in lap, cloak hugging her tight like a mourner's pall.

Diamente waited for an answer, but none came.

"Do you fear death, Diamente?" His mother asked.

"No." Diamente replied, tone sharper than intended.

"You never wondered why that is. My sweet, precious boy. You don't fear Death; you are a requiem of youth." Script wiped her eyes.

"I am not a hapless, naive hatchling anymore, Mother." Diamente was midway through defending himself when he heard her sob.

Diamente hesitated. His chest tightened. No, his mother was not well. The Nocturne regretted raising his voice.

"I don't know why I am like... this." Diamente went on, "I want to know the truth. I tried finding Truth on my own, Mother, but there are too many gaps."

"Dia..."

"Can't you be straightforward with one of us? Even if not me. Please. So many dragons worry about you. I'm worried about you. So is Sonnet." Diamente noted his mother's flinch. He extended both hands, splaying them open, not unlike a certain Conduit of a particular magical academy. "Archmage Hieroglyph worries. I mean, my grandfather. Your father. And your mother, too. Moonflower worries. Aunt Sigil worries. Catalyst-I mean, erm, Father worries about you and I."

"He won't when he learns." Script whispered.

"Learns what?" Diamente jerked upright.

Words hung on her lips. Diamente tried to read the syllables, but he was never good at reading lips, and the drake gave up after a short while, waiting in hopes his mother rescinded her stubbornness.

"Dia, your mother loves you so much. So much." Script cried. "But she-I cannot undo what was done. I cannot...!"

The pain exploded in Diamente's skull. This time he was prepared, anticipating something similar to the likes of what occurred in Brightwing. He sent Moonflower to fetch a number of brews before the trek back,and now he grabbed one of the potions from a pouch on his vestments, uncorking it and downing it before the pain overwhelmed all senses. It helped, numbing his mind, distorting perception but leaving his cognitions intact enough to make sense of the scene.

"Tell me. Hurry," Diamente begged, hissing at the burn in his throat and the fire creeping up his spine. The potion would wear off quickly. He suspected this too, envisioning whatever force comprised the 'snake' to have power beyond tangible means. He soon downed a second potion, gasping for breath and wiping his face. "Mother!"

"I can't. I can't. I'm sorry, Diamente." Script's voice echoed. "I can't fail you twice. I won't. Even if I can't help you-"

"Help me? Help with... what?" The Nocturne' vision spun. He fell to his knees. Script screamed his name, but the long, monstrous apparition of a tail slammed the ground between Diamente and his mother. Diamente clutched his head and wailed at the sensation of red hot coals ablaze in his eyes.

"Terms and conditions apply," A low voice crooned into the room. "Have you violated our pact, Script?"

"No, I... he... no, no," the words became shouts, but the shouts sounded far away, removed from himself. "Stop this madness! Sickle, whatever you ask of me... Whatever you require. Take my blood. Take my life, my soul, spare my son, please. Please!"

"Domitable, weak, worthless being."

The screams end, cut off by a loud crash.

"Offerings do not refute damnation."

Choking, until the soft protests faded.

"All trades are final."

Silence fell.

Useless, bloody silence.

---

Diamente's eyes fluttered open.

Cold sweats caked his body. The bed, likewise, was damp beneath him, soaking in his fear. He lay there still as stone for a time, incapable of movement or words, a blank slate in a sunlit room. .

"Sonnet? ...Moonflower?" The young Captain calls. He sits upright and looks over, blanching when the face looking back stretches taut across the jaw, vibrant fuchsia eyes aglow despite the light.

"Remember your savior, Diamente."

---

He woke up from a dream within a dream, crying.

The snake's laugh echoed in his head: Sickle, Sickle, Sickle.

---

Slowly reconnecting with the rest of his family over in Clan BrightWing. Sonnet and Diamente are once more inseparable, though only time will tell what the future holds for the duo.

Luckily for the two siblings, they have a very enthusiastic father, doting grandparents, aunt, and cousin looking out for them.

---

he/him. young adult.
magic involves arcane summons and manifestations surrounding his emotions.