If The Third-to-last Fall Countdown Photo Isn't Another Major Side Character, Then I Guess Rhian And

If the third-to-last Fall countdown photo isn't another major side character, then I guess Rhian and Rafal could be the third-to-last and second-to-last photos, or the final two. But, what could the final day's photo be if not one of the brothers? I would guess the Storian, or some personification of the Storian. Also, it could be Soman himself, like in the QFG countdown, but we already know that Soman said he wouldn't be in this countdown. What other possibilities are there though if not another minor character or the Storian? The other question I have is whether the May 1st photo will be the last countdown day, or if there will be a photo for the day of release also.

Egads, looking at Google docs, I bet I have over 50 pages worth of posts, mostly observations, praise, and critique, from rereading Rise and reading Fall alone.

Announcement

I will be taking a long hiatus, and will probably resume posting old leftover Rise thoughts and Fall thoughts during the later summer months. I have plans to work on writing projects, and don’t yet want to be exposed to anything in Fall that could contradict my own ideas either. I also plan to reread Rise before I read Fall. Nor do I want to be exposed to spoilers. Also, I don’t plan to read Fall for a while even though I pre-ordered it because I like to postpone my emotional ruin, so it can occur at a convenient time, haha. Preferably, when I don’t have to worry about exams.

Also, I will start tagging posts with "fall of the school for good and evil," "fotsge," and "fotsfgae" once I return, if the posts are about Fall.

Headcanon: As a child, Rhian was loose-lipped. He eventually "grew out" of the habit. But, he used to be an open book, and was not entirely aware that others told him things in confidence. And, having no secrets to his own name, he sometimes accidentally revealed others'.

He was also a terrible gossip until Rafal practically bludgeoned the habit out of him, in a verbally intense lecture one day. When he was younger, he picked up the habit from the quibbling Good faculty whom he hung around with the majority of the time. And they say people who live in glass houses can't keep secrets.

During TLEA in the School Master's tower:

Sophie: Rafal?

Rafal: [appears perched on the window ledge] Yes?

Sophie: [points at the plate of food before her] Is this made of bone?

Rafal: [shrugs casually and tips backward out the window]

Sophie: [calling after him, leaning out the window as he takes off] That's not an answer!

When Lightning Falls

This will be my last hurrah before the fall. So, happy reading! If it can be called that.

Summary:

A travesty and a tragedy, told in two parts. A flashback from Rhian and Rafal’s past as it ties to their present. From how they began and where they started to where they are now. From School grounds to the Great War in Neverland, suspicion and chaos abound. By the Storian’s reasoning and the Storian’s reasoning alone, where they began brought them to where their luck ran dry.

Context:

This, in a way, serves as both a prequel and a prediction fic. It’s sort of a two-shot, two-scene fic. Part 1 takes place when the brothers are around seven years old. And, the first part is largely based on my theory about the brothers’ origins. That theory is essentially about how the brothers could have been an exceptional case, born from magic, like Agatha and Sophie were, to be the souls that they are. And, not only that, they may have been created, not born, with a certain intent, so they could be used by a certain villainous pen.

Warning:

This fic is probably a bit less sympathetic toward Rafal by its conclusion than my usual writing is.

Important Note:

I have not yet read Fall. Please do not post spoilers in the comments, or send me any through PMs. I am trying to avoid all spoilers until I have the time to read Fall.

⸻

Rhian ran toward Rafal when he landed with a soft thud. His brother had been teaching himself how to fly lately.

Lightning cracked overhead, lighting up the sky and the manor, almost as if it were day.

“Fala, I’m scared.” Rhian pressed against his brother hard, and Rafal didn’t shove him away. Rhian continued hyperventilating, one breath after another, like the treads of soldiers, constant and quickening.

Rafal held Rhian in his arms like a vise, and squeezed him with a comforting pressure. Rhian’s shallow, rapid breaths receded, and his shoulders stopped shaking.

Rhian lifted his head from where his chin had been resting on Rafal’s shoulders. “Why do you think the Storian won’t let us leave?”

Rafal let go, and brushed his sopping, white hair out of eyes. He remained silent.

Rhian continued on. “School Master says It will let us explore the Woods when we come of age. How old do you think we’ll be by then? Not as old as School Master, right?”

“Not as old as School Master. Maybe, as old as the students.” The growing brothers almost reached the School Master’s waist, but Rafal didn’t think it meant much. The School Master was stooping more by the day. Hunched more and more drastically, like he was withering.

“And not as wrinkly, either” said Rhian.

“No, not as wrinkly either. He’s probably due to die a couple years down the line.”

“How do you come up with these things?”

“Everyone dies. You know that,” Rafal averred.

“I know, but I don’t talk about dying all the time,” insisted Rhian.

Rafal frowned.

“So, why do you think we have to stay?” Rhian asked again.

Rafal glanced around as if he were afraid someone would look over his shoulder, but all the faculty and students were inside the warm glow of the manor. He peered into the nearby windows on his tiptoes, gripping the ledge. Just to be safe, he told himself. Then, he ducked down lower.

Rhian observed him, and furrowed his brow at his brother’s classic paranoia. “No one’s out here, Fala.” Nonetheless, Rhian followed him, and sat on the wet grass, leaning against the wall beside Rafal.

“I’m just making sure,” Rafal explained. “I haven’t got all the facts yet. But, the last time I was with School Master for a lesson, he looked nauseous. He said that we were growing like weeds, and might replace him one day. His voice croaked, his bones creaked, and his hands shook. But he continued on with that lesson, and it gave me an idea.”

“What about? I was with the Dean for Etiquette that day. He says ‘Etiquette is what separates Good from boorish Never thugs,’” Rhian recited.

Rafal’s expression soured and he rolled his eyes. “Ok, at some point, we have to have a talk about not believing everything you hear.” He got back on track. “He told me that once, all Ever kingdoms were more closed off than they are now. The common people were called serfs, and they were bound to the land of their kings.”

“Are we serfs, Fala?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe, one day, we’ll solve it. Find out what It wants. Leave the School grounds.”

“But, the Pen is Good, right? Doesn’t It want us to be safe? Can’t we trust It? Shouldn’t we stay?”

Rafal didn’t respond, grimly clutching the soaked knees of his pants.

A clap of thunder resounded, followed by lightning riving the sky apart.

Rhian raised his voice over the roaring storm, to reassure his brother. “Then, we won’t be a bother or a burden anymore! Maybe, It’ll give us an important task someday. We won’t be worthless anymore! Maybe, we’ll be useful.”

“Maybe,” Rafal said pensively, too wary to agree, narrowing his eyes in thought.

⸻

Rhian awoke in the night with a jolt and stood. He had repeatedly fallen in and out of a dreamless, jarring, electric sleep. But, unlike his sleep, this place was far from colorless. No, the entire alien island of Neverland brimmed with power and electricity. It was enough to electrocute a full-grown Stymph.

The greens were electrifying. Vivid, electric greens. Deep emeralds. Wintry radium greens. Salty, metallic, phosphoric greens. Vibrant patina. Phantasmagorical greens permeated every vine and leaf. It was like a Man-made world. The first he’d ever known. The humid, acidic atmosphere clung, stinging eyes, and biting at exposed skin. His hair drooped lifelessly, and he moped at its sorry state, trying to arrange his curls so he’d look marginally presentable. The oppressive moisture did no good. His every attempt fell limp, and he gave up.

Although unseen insects hummed incessantly, Rhian knew he must have been the only human presence for miles. He was alone, for now. Yet, he didn’t feel alone. The jungle thrummed with life.

The sky on the other hand was bleak, overcast, a deep, iron grey. Its distortions reminded Rhian of a warped mirror, like he was under a dome, to be examined by some cosmic forces above. Only, he couldn’t see without. Others could only look within. And, oddly, he couldn’t see his own reflection in the broken sky.

His and Rafal’s bond had fractured like the shattered sky above them, and Rafal had taken off in the night, in a fit. They were divided as the broken firmaments above were, lightning criss-crossing, momentarily scarring the sky. Rhian wished he had been able to string together words in some way to force Rafal to understand. They’d uncovered cracks and flaws, but there was something, maybe, several things Rafal wasn’t telling him. And, it was infuriating not to be trusted. Afterall, the Storian was to blame. It alone with its tales had bred a competitive spirit within them. Lost in his thoughts, Rhian decided to keep walking, find civilization, if there was any in this hellscape.

Instead, he trod upon a war zone.

Rhian shook his head. He couldn’t tell which side was which. It was complete and pure chaos. Worse than any chess-like, storybook-sanctioned maneuvers. Was anything fair? Whose turn was it? There were no turns he soon realized. Real war wasn’t founded on turn-based gameplay. Then, what qualified as an Attack or a Defense? Anything and everything, he expected.

A long shadow glided toward Rhian, as if it were clawing and reaching for him, and he looked up. His shadow touched Rafal’s.

Rafal approached, all decked in black, eyes cold, face hardened like a mask, chiseled and sharp. He now stood a few yard lengths away from Rhian on the crest of a low outcropping of cracked, old stone. Lightning flashed behind him, as if it were at his command. A cruel, psychological trick of sorcery.

Rhian shuddered, intimidated.

Rafal looked like a living ice sculpture in the dying light of the moon. Neverland’s forest was drenched in a frosty blue.

Clenching his fists, Rafal stuffed down his traitorous thoughts. Yet, in the heat of the battle, months of pent-up stress and frustration and rage and guilt and Storian knows what were boiling over, irradiated emotion he couldn’t contain. Fear and unfounded suspicion. Mistrust and deceit all swirling in a cauldron. Those Seers! He'd kill those Seers, every last one! Look what they'd caused. They'd made a madman out of him. But, what if he were fated to do so? They would laugh at him in their dying breaths.

It was the Pen's fault, a voice said. It was the Pen's fault then! Mistrust of himself, of Rhian, that was unfounded, and irrational, and ridiculous. It mortified him. Thinking this way.

He was shaking now, and for the first time, he felt cold. And completely numb. And then, he felt nothing at all. His senses deadened, like he'd been drugged, sedated, his body leaden, like he was no longer in control of his own mind. A passive observer. The Evil, his inclination, the stirrings were taking over. Consuming him. His own soul betraying him. No, he shook his head. It was the Pan. It was Neverland. It was the air. Nothing more. A shadow. Facing his brother would be light enough to clear the shadows away. Clear the fog of war away.

Rhian was sure something was going on within Rafal, but he couldn’t tell what. His self-destruction?

Rafal told himself, this was his only choice, his only option now, the only solution. He was the School Master, who alive, could maintain the Schools, who wouldn't create one mess after another. He was the Pen’s only option. The Storian would favor him. It had to. He’d preserve order, nevermind Balance or love. He’d use the Rules because the Rules had never betrayed him. Rhian had betrayed the Rules. Following them was the only viable end. Ending his brother and his reign was the only viable end. When he tried to love his brother, he was only betrayed, by the only love he had ever relied on, by the person who was his match.

He needed someone who could love while in pain, shared pain, to fuel the darkness pumping in his heart, someone who’d been denied their victories, their End by all the world. He’d give someone else an Ending. Another True Love. Someone who’d been repressed, never free, like himself, always living in Good’s shadow. Someone else due credit like him. Who deserved to be acknowledged, appreciated for who they truly were. Someone who wouldn’t hide, who could be their true self with him and he with them. Someone who could never be good enough, no matter how hard they tried. Never pure. Never Good enough. Evil’s love. For sides, not Balance. None of the grey, the doubting, the blood ties, the torn loyalties, the competitive priorities. Someone on his side. For once, someone who’d support him. See eye to eye with him. Offer him a perspective his brother couldn’t.

If he couldn’t find another equal, he didn’t even need love. He would much rather prefer to be feared, obeyed. At least those were constants, reliable. Yes, that was his decision. His plan. Find a replacement. Find a True Love of his own. Succeed where Rhian failed. Overtake Good, prove Evil could love. That Evil could replace Good, have everything Evers had. Lead by example. Overtake his brother in what he couldn't do.

Rhian shuffled anxiously. Rafal had a faraway look in his eyes, and Rhian wouldn’t hesitate to call the psychotic gleam in his eyes crazed. “Rafal?”

Rafal jerked to attention, straightening rigidly. It was as if he’d moved to consciousness. “Rhian,” he said inscrutably. “I know how to free us from the Storian’s grasp, Rhian!” Rafal shouted across the battlefield, his voice echoing. He steepled his hands. “We have to break the Balance. Again. But this time, on purpose. The Pen can’t condemn us as failures if we prove we have the free will to choose to break the Balance and our connection to it. We can be human.”

Rhian’s head swam. Here Rafal was, spewing nonsense and contradictions. This Rafal didn’t sound like the brother he knew. The one who worried about his well being and preserving the Balance. His eyes looked wrong. Like he was fully unfettered, and had no loyalties. To nothing and no one. Like he had floated away, and couldn’t breathe the thin air of the stratosphere. Neverland had taken a toll on him, and Rhian had been suspecting a tropical fever or some other cause of madness for days. But he had been too afraid to broach the subject. He should have.

“I can free you, Rhian! The only way we can be free is by trusting Death. Death is the one constant other than the damned Pen!”

The Ever-Never Army roared in the background, and Rhian was forced to shout. “There must be a more sensible path, Rafal! Rafal?”

Rhian’s brother had materialized in front of him, closer, and looked at him wide-eyed, hands twisting around, almost beckoning, with stiff movements. Like a puppet on a string.

“I'll rule the Woods, so the Pen doesn’t have to. No one will meddle with the tales. Only I will be the tales’ one Master.” Rafal shot a burst of black magic at Rhian.

Rhian managed to deflect Rafal’s magic at the last second with his gold fingerglow, an intense flare so light it was almost white.

Back and forth. Thrust and parry. Attack. Defend.

Black. White.

Black. White.

Black. White.

Their magic lit up the skies in the first and last fireworks display Neverland would ever witness. Any direct onlookers would have been blinded. When their glows made contact, all the figures in the forest were drenched in silver, like the pallor of the moon magnified. Oddly, the battlefield, the site of a war, became beautiful for an instant. The horror, gore, and radiance coexisted as one.

A shaft of lightning emanated from Rafal’s positioned fingers, piercing Rhian square in the chest as it crackled, and Rhian went deaf, crumpling to the ground, his chest turning concave as he leaned into himself.

Now, Rhian was splayed on the ground, streaked with his own blood, soaking into the soil. Rhian twitched a last time, and fell still.

Rafal grinned demonically, a visceral euphoria flooding his senses. They were no longer enthralled! This was it. His Ending and Its End.

He conjured a glossy, black crown, dark as pitch, with spikes that could lance through flesh, and crowned himself ruler of all the Woods. The metal sat cold at his brow. He shivered in anticipation, but got no response. The war raged on. What he didn’t realize was that the crown immediately rusted as he slid it on.

He felt his fingertips burn then, and watched as his hand shriveled. His long fingers distorted into misshapen claws.

Then, pain wracked his entire body as it contorted to match. His eternal punishment, if anything lasted forever.

He wasn’t free from the Pen. He was only bound to it more. So be it. Someday, he’d unchain himself. He felt nothing now. Had nothing to lose. Had infinite time. Nothing in his way. No one to hurt.

With the last vestiges of his magic, he conjured a silver mask, melded with the shadows, transformed, and fled Neverland at last.

⸻

Note:

Songs I was inspired by:

“Different songs” - Set It Off

What changed? What changed?

It's more than just our age

“Who’s In Control” - Set It Off

So tell me who's in control

Is it you? I don't know

This song is hypnotic and very much fits Rafal’s canonical interactions with the villainous Pen.

“Killer in the Mirror” - Set it off

As seen in the imagery about the Neverland sky.

“The Good, the Bad and the Dirty” - Panic! At The Disco

If you wanna start a fight

You better throw the first punch

Make it a good one

And if ya wanna make it through the night

You better say my name like

The good, the bad, and the dirty

[...] I know what it's like to have to trade

The ones that you love for the ones you hate

Don't think I've ever used a day of my education

There's only two ways that these things can go

Good or bad and how was I to know

That all your friends won't hold any grudges

I got the final judgment

“In The Dark of the Night” - Jonathan Young

Alternate titles I considered: “When Lightning Breaks” and “When Lightning Rives Us Apart.” Neither of these had as striking a link as the actual title has to Fall.

Also, I find childhood to murder and its aftermath to be a fun contrast.

Although I wrote Neverland in hues of green, it’s actually a bioluminescent blue island as I found out yesterday from more Fall promotional content. I find it interesting that Neverland is blue, actually. I wonder if a section of that landscape was lifted or squared off, and if the roots of all the trees were re-interred near the Schools to form the Blue Forest we know in the present. Or, could seeds from Neverland have been planted to grow the Blue Forest from the ground up?

Yes, I used the lightning motif. Love it. I used the duology trailers and cover reveals as inspiration. That division, that split, the fractures in the sky, in the Schools, in the systems, in the existing structures, in the relationships. It implies a lot I think, assuming the execution in this fic turned out all right. Just, the Ending is like tracing over broken glass, I’d say. It can never be repaired.

Again: I haven’t read Fall yet. I will post a notice when I have finished it. Please do not comment any spoilers, or send me any through PMs.

Also, I will write happier fics in the future. This was just a prediction fic, and I’m well aware I could be completely wrong on several accounts.