Ok, So, There's Kind Of A Premise That Humans Want To Imposereason Onto A World That Resists Our Minds

Ok, so, there's kind of a premise that humans want to impose reason onto a world that resists our minds and opposes reason. The world is absurd, essentially.

The Storian (regrettably from Rafal's viewpoint) takes care of everything out of Rafal's power.

Rafal probably thinks that the Woods turn to the Pen for the impossible. (Miracles like resurrection can only really happen within the bounds of a fairy tale, probably, and not under the conditions of ordinary, day-to-day living.)

The other side of the coin is that they, Man, can take care of the possible. I think that Rafal recognizes that, as a human, he must rely on the Pen, but he resents the fact that he's dependent on it. That he can't exist apart from it.

The only thing he needs from the Storian is immortality/his status. Otherwise, would he really care? I think not. He serves it in order to serve himself.

He'd rather not deal with it, but he requires it to cover the impossible, which he tragically cannot manufacture on his own.

Also, there's a more unsympathetic, abhorrent view of God here, which fits Rafal's view of the Pen.

And, when Rafal is finally even further disillusioned by the Pen, the moment that he finds out that he's Good, that could be a moment where he sees the sheer absurdity of life and existence and the Woods run by the Pen.

Even if he can't (rationally) comprehend or make meaning out of the Storian, he still must obey it. And the more hideous the outlook concerning the future fate of the Woods appears, under the tyranny of Pen, the more the Storian is seen to have interfered—every time we see it withhold or reveal information, strategically, when it writes.

Rafal doesn't understand why it does what it does or its own motives, and we can only speculate. But, he does see that it wreaks havoc, and, in doing so, it becomes more and more abhorrent to him, despite his contradictory reliance and subservience in relation to it. He has to sacrifice principles for pragmatism/his own gain.

As much as he hates it, he tries, part of the time, late in Fall, to not display that hatred of his. Because, as much as he hates to admit it, he needs it and will never not need it.

So, he has to kind of parley with it, figuratively, I mean. He has a truce of sorts with it, for functional, Utilitarian purposes, and that's all.

And the final, several lines about God's inhumanness and incoherence (unresponsiveness to reason, in a way) relate to Rafal's conceptualization of what the Storian stands for. Its will, not Man's will.

The Storian's "greatness" stems from how it can wield its power without a logical explanation, unlike every other human character, who must have clearly defined reasons/motives for their every action. The Storian is allowed to be unknowable. It has that strange privilege. It can, if it so chooses, remain "motiveless" in humans' eyes. Often to the narrative's advantage.

(Which, this clearly frustrates Rafal, and that could potentially send him over the edge into embracing the absurd above all else like this philosopher's view reflects. To me, the question here is: when control and rationality are out of Rafal's hands and no longer options, when he's downtrodden and bested by all the world, who/what is he most likely to become?)

In canon, he went in one direction, yielding to the Pen. But, what if he went in the other direction? (which I originally saw as more likely, given his Rise characterization (...not Fall) and "Rafal"'s TLEA characterization. I was wrong, of course.) What if he became an actual disbeliever, an "atheist" of his world, or worse of all, partially nihilistic/apathetic, inured to everything and all life, apart from his worldly desires, like dominance over the Woods, etc.?

This passage from a philosophy book I’m reading for a class happened to remind me of Rafal’s attitude toward the Storian. Thoughts?

(I could elaborate when I have time, if anyone wants me to.)

Hmm...what if Sophie was somehow nominated by the Storian as the new School Master? Imagine her friends and everyone's reaction...

I decided to interpret this from a more comedic angle, so hopefully you won't mind.

⸻

Hark and gird your loins, Woods!

Subscribe to follow the ascension of the (in)famous Witch of Woods Beyond, newly appointed School Master by the Pen.

Upon being named, nay, crowned, (She insisted on holding the coronation of the century, with grandeur that would dwell in the minds of the Woods' citizens for an epoch or longer!) the School Master seemed euphoric.

The Royal Rot was said to have gotten wind of a rather candid, positively scandalous moment however. They say: anonymous sources tell us that the lady of the hour hoisted up an urn which apparently held the previous School Master's ashes, and tossed it whole into the Savage Sea, crying out: "Take that, Rafal! I won and I can rule these Schools perfectly well without you!"

Allegedly, an errant bolt of black lightning tore through the clouds and nearly struck the newly crowned School Master where she stood. Whether it should've been taken as an asassination attempt or a warning... no one can say.

Then, she spun on her dyed, glass stilettos, and without acknowledging the masses gathered, she flounced away from shore, numerous skirts and a sand-speckled, ermine-lined, coronation train in tow, claiming that "Rafal would pay for the dry cleaning from his grave," and that her next order of business was to "claim to be his widow and extort riches from his Putsi accounts." So, it's safe to say, she's landed herself a prime spot in Vulture Vale's next issue of Extortionists Extraordinaire, a magazine exclusively marketed toward Nevers.

⸻

Everyone else was flabbergasted by the outburst, however cathartic it seemed to be for her.

⸻

The King and Queen of Camelot are abstaining from commenting at this time, but eyewitnesses say the King was rather shaken, and that Her Majesty was equally bewildered by the news. The head of their staff purports that the two gaped like goldfish and appeared to be at a loss for words.

⸻

Later on, a reporter documented a chance encounter with His Majesty alone:

Tedros swivels his head around to make sure he’s in the clear and away from Agatha.

“Knowing my queen, I’d say that we’re probably bound to visit the Schools in a few days’ time. She—we just need time to... process. And, don’t tell either of the girls I said this, but I think neuroticism runs in the blood... Can’t complain like a git though since Agatha’s saved my life several times over."

"A trip to the Schools is in order, Tedros! Pack before the maids invade our chambers!" Agatha shouts from another room.

Tedros grinned smugly at the reporter. "I told you so. She's predictable, like clockwork by this point."

⸻

The School Master's classmates were especially eager to commentate on her appointment:

Hester: The uniforms had better stay black.

Anadil: Agreed.

Dot: I wouldn't mind a change, actually.

[The other two witches glare at her.]

⸻

If you want to hear any other characters' reactions, feel free to comment below.

⸻

Also, I’m currently in the process of writing a fic called The One True School Master of Vault 41, in which Rafal is resurrected and Sophie is a candidate for his old position, and so, she's a bit like a usurper to him.

The other usurper, Japeth, has also ruffled Rafal's feathers since Rafal's been back because Rafal thinks some Snake isn't worthy of the figurative #1 Villain trophy. Japeth doesn't care about the figurative "trophy" though, so that competition is technically nonexistent.

Thanks! First, I will say: I had no plans to write this (though I'm tempted to now), and I do not have much of a plot, so this AU will most likely not become an actual story at all, as of now. I was simply playing with the concept.

Just realized I should’ve tagged you: @maraneedscoffee

It's partly inspired by Greco-Roman mythology, I would say, given how... mercurial in temperament Rafal is here.

I don't have an exact explanation as to who made Rafal into a god, aside from the idea of worship leading to the attainment of godhood, the rule being: no believers, no god. And yet, I'm contemplating using Rhian or Marialena as potential murderers or desecrators of some kind?

I did come up with another vignette though. It explains why they're in the positions they're in:

⸻

"I could’ve pledged myself to a first-rate god, like Nimue or Merlin, but instead, I chose you."

Might I remind you whose bidding you’re supposed to be doing now, and whose will you’re supposed to execute to the letter?

"I don’t see why it couldn’t go both ways,” Sophie objected.

I could smite you.

“You wouldn’t. I’m your favorite, prettiest, and sole worshipper, of which you have next to none,” she simpered.

You’re not my equal.

"No, you’re unequivocally right—I’m your better. Without me, you’d cease to exist since you have no other followers to your name."

Just complete your rites.

"And would you like to know why you have no followers except for me?"

Enlighten me.

"You’re obscenely fastidious about how you are to be worshipped."

Well, I’m a god. What of that is so absurdly difficult to comprehend?

“Yes, though you’ve denied mortals sanctuary because the coins they left weren't 'the right currency.'"

That’s reasonable.

"You’ve refused burnt offerings because there were no cucumbers to be found."

What else am I meant to put in my sandwiches?

"Anything else!"

I shouldn't have to settle for anything less than ideal.

"It wasn't exactly ideal of you to blow that naval fleet out to sea and trap them in a whirlpool."

It was amusing.

"And the plague?"

I figured fewer worthless humans would mean fewer to irritate me. I could've separated the wheat from the chaff of that kingdom if it hadn't developed new medicinal practices just to spite me.

"I'm sure finding a cure wasn't intentional," Sophie lampooned. "And you burnt an innocent man for playing the flute by your temple."

I had a migraine that day.

"So did I, but I could’ve driven him away without resorting to abject barbarism like you did. I’ve told you time and time again: you’re uncivilized."

I've existed long before any great civilizations rose. What did you expect? A domesticated deity? Restrained divinity? Mercy toward the undeserving?

"How do you explain ordering the slaughter of that hunter the other day?"

He killed one of my sacred swans.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "It was one bird."

Haven’t you ever heard the axiom: an eye for an eye?

"With you, when haven't I heard it?"

If you were a god, you would be the same way.

Sophie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "True…" she mused.

And that’s why I deign to keep you alive, despite my better judgment. No one else understands the nature of my demands. No one except you.

"Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that."

Right. So?

"All right. I'll deliver the false prophecy, depose the emperor for you, and consecrate his lands in your name."

I am sharing the funniest dnd character idea I’ve ever had bc I know I’ll never get to play them and I refuse to keep a joke to myself

Today, I just learned of the element Antimony, a metal from Earth's crust, and it struck me as the material that would form the School for Evil, possibly paired with some of the blueish aesthetics associated with Evelyn Sader.

THE ONE AND HIS BROTHER

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

⸻

Summary:

Rafal had lived to complete his oath and rule as the One (the one true School Master), and Rhian, reduced to mortal, was redeemed. Now, both brothers come to terms with their tale’s ending, an uncertain, prophecy-less future, and the two begin anew since the Great War, without the constraints of a fairy tale.

And, even Rafal must learn to accept his true nature, his supposed, newly-surfaced Goodness and the guilt it carries.

Context:

The "anticlimax" of Fall was narrowly subverted, and both brothers are alive, contending with the aftermath of the Great War.

⸻

Rafal stepped through the window of the silver tower that housed the Storian on a newly-healed leg, catching sight of Rhian huddled in the dark, afternoon shade.

Rhian flipped a page and looked up from THE TWO TROLLS, red-faced and bleary-eyed, his back against the stone cell’s wall. Restless souls indeed. A euphemism for Evil. An underplaying of his life and acts. “Did you return Midas to that book-gobbler village? What's it called?”

“Gavaldon—and, yes, I did. He deserves a peaceful life, for all that he’s done to serve our tale,” Rafal said sedately.

Rhian could no longer hold back as his mental dam broke. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, tracing trails on his sun-kissed cheeks. “I'm sorry."

“I know…” Rafal began, but he had other loads on his mind. “And, I can't believe I—I don't know why I revived that pastry prat, Rufius. He always got on my last nerve, the coward.”

And yet—Rafal appeared subdued, lacking in his usual contempt, Rhian noted.

Then, Rafal finally surrendered, posture sagging. He dropped down to the stone floor heavily, back sliding against the wall, settling beside Rhian, utterly drained by the Great War and his flight to Gavaldon.

His cape crumpled, crushed beneath him where he sat on it, and he drew his arms tight to his side, scraping his wrist on the wall without realizing it.

Rafal had drawn pinpricks of blood, the shallowest of scrapes, before his pale skin repaired itself flawlessly, proof the Storian kept its word, when he’d made his second vow. Alone. When he was named the One.

Rhian observed this, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Rafal turned to him.

Rhian stared back passively, his eyes leaden, chastened, finding nothing substantial to say in return. "At least his pastries were better than Gavaldon's."

"Mmm," Rafal mused unresponsively. He did not listen, buried in his own haze of thought. Then, he spoke once more. “I mean, I'm Good, but I'm not a weak-willed Ever. And, yet—I felt guilt. I still do,” Rafal admitted somberly. “What's wrong with me?” The pit of his stomach lurched at the thought again. “We’ve—I’ve cost lives.” He stared through Rhian, conscience-stricken, oddly troubled.

Rhian sighed defeatedly. “You're Good and... I'm not.” Guilt-ridden, his voice broke. "It was never you. I cost lives. My own foolishness and sin and hollow, bottomless greed. At every turn, I was cowed and tried to save my own skin. Every time. And you valiantly put your own life at risk. Repeatedly, for near-strangers, and for me, most of all."

“Thanks,” Rafal muttered, regaining a shade of his old self. “Now isn’t that reassuring to hear from the one who caused all our problems?” he sniped.

Rhian sunk his face into his hands, elbows propped up on the storybook settled in his lap.

Rafal rushed to set his mistake right. That had been unforgiving. The Good Forgive rang and reared in his head like a phantom presence. “Don't sell yourself short. You can still do Good with the life you have.” He prodded Rhian’s arm with his elbow, nodding at the storybook in Rhian’s lap. “At least you're not a cannibalistic face-thief of a monster.”

Rhian lifted his blotchy, red face from his hands and flushed deeper with shame as he looked up again to meet Rafal’s eyes. “I almost killed you, but I held my rogue, restless soul back. It was about to consume me again, but I never want to feel like that again.”

“It was like you were possessed,” Rafal reflected.

“But I wasn't. I possessed myself. It was all me, my soul.” Rhian paused. “How—how did you live with the Evil you once committed?”

“I… don't know. It just came naturally to me, as effortlessly as breathing back then. It wasn't as foreign as yours. My Evil was… controlled, for lack of a better word. It wasn't an out-of-body experience or like a parasite. I could command it, use it, use others, bend all to my will.” Rafal looked down, white, spiked sheaves of hair sweeping forward across his eyes, catching in his lashes.

Then, Rafal reddened with a realization that jolted up his spine.

“How will I lead the School, now that I've lost it, my Evil? Will anyone respect or even listen to me—Midas. Midas already opposed me, not that he was so wrong in the end. I wasn't fair to him. Who knows what else could happen? I could soon have a revolt on my hands, brewing under the surface without even knowing it!”

“Your students seemed ready to lay down their lives for you on the warfront, without question, without fear, without doubt. I think you'll have no trouble. In truth, I think you already convinced them, when you got them to follow you. You’ve probably secured their loyalty to you, and to the Woods you’ll shape, the future you’ll bring.” Rhian inhaled as if it pained him. “Your School seemed ready to die for you when I stood at the front. They trust you. You just have to learn to trust them.”

Rafal nodded slowly, his breath turning ragged. “But, how… did you live with a conscience weighing you down? How did you never feel ashamed and self-conscious all the time, every last minute of your existence? The guilt. The guilt that comes with Good—it's suffocating!”

“I was. Self-conscious.” Rhian brushed a stray curl back from his brow. “I… never entirely rid myself of that reflexive shame. But, there are other ways to lead. You've been and done both: Good and Evil. Just, use your judgment. It'll never fail you. Storian knows it's infinitely better than mine.”

“That, I'll do. I don't suppose you're willing to help me appeal to your… the Ever students though?”

“Always,” Rhian vowed. “I'll remain at your side for as long as my life allows. You'll forget about me one day though.”

“Never. That could never happen,” Rafal averred. “Besides, we can't know what's ahead now. I've sent a missive to Monrovia, in order to arrest Marialena and sentence her to life under the sea.”

Rhian smirked, mildly cheered by the prospect of the wayward wretch being locked up for good.

Of course—Rafal had neglected to mention to his brother that he'd publicly threatened the old king of Ravenbow with lethal, dark magic, before his entire retinue as eyewitnesses at Four Point, at a recent audience he’d sought without even a scruple of advance notice.

Everyone, most of all the king himself, had surpassed terrified, but Rafal hadn’t yielded his sorcery’s chokehold on the man, not until the old, quivering king had vindicated Rhian, in a rather quavering voice, for the act of malice against one of own, a loyal subject, the young soldier Rhian had killed in cold blood.

The king had proclaimed that Rhian would be formally deemed “not guilty by reason of insanity, on account of ‘possession by supreme, magical entity,’ henceforth not to be named in this aforementioned, binding document, nor in all subsequent documentation by the royal court or common scribes of Ravenbow, in accordance with rational forethought and the reasonable and necessary fear of condemnation by the manifestly blameless and divine law aboven, which all Men and other mortal beings doth and willen observe forevermore.”

Accordingly, the rulers of Bloodbrook, Kingdom Kyrgios, and Jaunt Jolie had swiftly fallen into line shortly thereafter, and had also very conveniently agreed not to press charges against Rhian after Rafal’s display of power.

Thus, on that fateful day, Rhian Mistral was absolved, granted total immunity from the rule of Woods law, and held in tremendously high esteem by all the kingdoms, that is, unless Rafal received further notice in any remote futurity which conflicted with the leaders’ decrees. Yet, he didn’t expect to see a single quarrel from the chastened Woods leaders. They would bow if he had to sidestep civil, Ever diplomacy in the name of a greater Good, and break their spines and their wills in the process.

The rest of the proceedings of the first-ever Great War Reparations Summit went on as usual, with the One silent as a stone statue yet still conspicuously in attendance in his midnight blue robes.

Since the final decision, to establish a Woods-wide railroad complex that would be titled the Flowerground, and the closing banquet of the summit, the other Woods leaders noted to themselves that they needn’t call in any bygone, originally agreed-upon favors of the last few decades from the School, ever. They feared dealing with the One, and felt their precious, social standings were satisfactory, left as they were.

Rafal also omitted the fact that he’d paid the Kingdom Council a staggering sum of leftover-rubble-turned-Midas-gold, which hadn’t yet reverted to worthless debris, in the School's name, to pardon Rhian for high crimes against humanity and the Woods as a whole.

The exorbitant lump sum was marked in a black, leather checkbook he’d stamped with a moth to dissuade Rhian from ever peeking in it. It was covertly labeled: 'Miscellaneous Outlying Expenses & Future Expenditures for the Enlightenment of Evers and the Propagation of Sin.’

A second, crimson checkbook, the decoy, or rather, the real one, depending on what Rhian would be searching for, was designated: ‘Immediate Repairs and Renovations.’ Eventually, Rafal told Rhian he'd accounted for collateral damage: the Pan’s and the Midas-gold’s devastation, and the overall destruction wreaked by the war.

Finally, the young Ravenbow soldier’s family had been presented with a vast, fruitful tract of land at the edge of School grounds, to recompense the pay the lad’s lost decades of mercenary service to the Ravenbow throne would have resulted in.

All was in order. Rafal had worked tirelessly in the name of Good. Rhian need not know of his brother’s more… objectionable methods.

Lie of omission still intact, Rafal instead opted to tell Rhian, “The rest of the Saders have assured me that they and the rest of their line won't interfere or involve themselves with the School again. Her word may not have been final. So, you could still be appointed, if the Storian views you as ‘worthy.’”

Rhian shook his head, dismissing Rafal’s attempts to raise his spirits.

“I know it'll never be equal to the crime, but you did atone and stand vigil for the Ravenbow soldier and all those taken by the war; it’s more than I’ve done. The king of Ravenbow doesn't hold it against you. You're forgiven. You're free to a fresh start. And I won't leave you to it,” Rafal declared in a brazen lie. “I won't ever leave you, full-stop. You'll never be alone again. We can learn to be human, together—until we can comprehend and piece together these broken souls of ours.”

(Rafal had decided to leave out the fact that he would briefly leave Rhian and the School in the near future, to free the Demimagus from its lamp and fulfill his promise to it. He’d leave in the night and return before Rhian awoke. Such news would require too much explanation and probably prove itself too much for Rhian to hear in this state.)

“Thank you.” Rhian leaned his head on Rafal's shoulder.

“For what?” Rafal breathed.

Head bowed, Rhian spoke. “For my redemption. For a second chance. For never giving up on me. For believing in me, in my ability to change. For not yielding. For forcing me to see the error of my ways. For being enough—even if I once couldn't see it, what I had right by me, all along.”

“I'll never stop being your brother,” Rafal promised. “And, we know well enough, better than anyone, souls aren't static. They never were. This strife has only sown an age of balance and peace.

“We can't spare a glance back, except to educate those that'll come after, so they don't fall into the same conflicts, so they know this tale will never repeat itself, as long as we've set the necessary safeguards in place.

“The Pirate Captain was installed in Neverland, the Mermaids’ throne was stabilized, and I reestablished Gavaldon as forbidden, barred from the Woods and safely tucked away, upon returning Midas. All sides now have moral purpose, and that, not me, will uphold balance for as long as we both shall live,” Rafal affirmed.

“Yes,” Rhian agreed, “We can only look ahead.”

⸻

Days later, Rhian insisted to Rafal that he gather the students for a School-wide announcement in the Theater of Tales. “Your time has come. I guess we have an announcement to make then. To our—your School.” Rhian’s stomach had finally settled with the weight of the truth.

“Our,” Rafal corrected. “Are you sure that you want me to break the news?” he asked with the ghost of a devilishly sly grin darting across his chiseled features, pallid, jade eyes glinting mischievously.

“Sure,” Rhian ceded weakly, wearily. “Have your way. I know you live to watch the drama of others. Just don’t shock them to death. Some Evers are faint-hearted.”

“Lovely.” Rafal grinned wolfishly. It was a rather predatory grin.

Rhian blanched sheepishly for having enabled his brother. “Wait—”

“It’s well overdue that I got to enjoy a new source of entertainment for a change. This will hereby be the start of my well-deserved vacation. From you.”

“But—”

Rafal sneered incredulously. “You don't know the students like I do. Remember who was on their side during the war? Not Rhian! Regardless, whatever harm I inflict on them is for their own good. It’s never severe or permanently scarring.” He paused. “With the exception of physical maiming, I suppose,” he amended.

Rhian sighed. Rafal’s sadistic streak would never end, would it? “If you're truly Good, you're going to have to work on that unquenchable bloodthirst of yours. It's not becoming of a Ever. Also, don’t get too ahead of yourself. You still have to lead us all. There's a lot only you can set right.”

“Since when has your behavior been becoming of an Ever, dear brother?” Rafal could only grin wider, eyes alit. “You're just trying to foist off responsibilities onto me," he accused, his tone turning sardonic and grim. “That trick won't work anymore."

Rhian laughed, ill at ease as his stomach began to roil once again.

⸻

Rafal's eyes roved over his eager audience as the students flocked to their seats in befuddlement. This was it. The moment of truth. And if all went well, his monumental announcement would ideally lead to a Theater rife with chaos, tearful distress, and crises, all serving his own boundless personal amusement.

Rhian beamed falsely, and let out a short, strained laugh. Even while Good, Rafal’s indelible Never sensibilities still seemed to spring out of the ether. Rhian doubted they’d ever be free of them. And yet, he found that he’d miss this characteristic sharpness of his brother’s, if it were to fully disappear.

Rafal wouldn’t be Rafal without it.

The students peered up at the brothers. Curiously, Rafal stood on Good's side of the Theater while Rhian languished on Evil's.

The room tensed, and whispers died as Rafal lifted a hand with all the authority of a time-tested necromancer.

A sea of heads below turned to face him.

The entire School had been called together for a momentous assembly.

One for the ages.

For the storybooks.

The whole room sucked in a collective breath—when Rafal had said what he said.

When he had admitted that he was Good.

But what did that mean for—everyone’s eyes flicked frantically, feverishly to Rhian. Did that mean?

No, it couldn’t be, they told themselves. They had ample material to deny the truth with, to fuel their deeply-rooted denial. Decades of it. Tales recorded by the Storian itself. It was just too hard to believe.

Or was it?

Not after they’d all seen him be Good for years and years. Not after he'd led the Evers to victory after victory for a century.

Except, there had been the Trial. And the Circus.

Could it—could it be?

Was he Evil? Did he pull the wool over their eyes? All this time?

And did that mean—was what the Evil School Master said true?

And if that was true, did that make the Evil School Master Good? And the Good Evil, exactly like he'd said.

He didn't seem to have any reason to lie.

And if he hadn’t lied, they were indebted to him.

He had saved them all. And the Woods.

But did that mean the inverse was true?

That he’d saved the Woods… from his brother.

⸻

Amidst the stirring, hysterical crowd, James sat unmoved. “Imagine, after all that, being Evil and second to your brother. The poor chap,” he murmured sympathetically. “Least I can profit off his loss.” James thrust out a pale hand to collect his prize. He’d won the betting pool. Praise the Storian for Rhian’s power after all!

“Alright, alright already!” Aladdin yapped and threw his arms up in surrender. Who cared about Rafal's sore brother? He was a total priss! Grumpishly, Aladdin got to work, fishing through his pockets.

“Stuff it.” James beamed waggishly, about to retort with Once a pirate, always a pirate.

Aladdin wound up and slung a hefty pouch of coins at the pirate.

It whapped James in the face.

Kyma startled and shifted her attention to the boys, those oafs. “Shh,” she admonished them viciously, then noticed James’ pouch, his hard-won prize.

Like a righteous zealot, Kyma snatched his winnings away from him. “Proper Evers don't gamble for their own personal gain, James. Though I will let you use what you need to restore the Jolly Roger, we are going to channel this money into a Good Deed, and donate it to a worthwhile cause: saving Neverland’s banarans.”

Half-heartedly, James opened his mouth to protest when his mind flashed to the fluffy, white creatures that had once been hunted and skinned for the heinous Pan. Nevermind.

“Luckily, you aren't in Rhian’s position. You don’t need redemption. Isn't that right, James?” Kyma blandished sweetly.

"HEY!” Aladdin wailed. “How's that fair!"

Kyma jutted out her chin.“It’s not a matter of fair or not. It's a matter of right versus wrong.”

Aladdin stuck up for James. “Who says that's a rule?" he squabbled.

Kyma put a finger to her lips wordlessly, casting her gaze back onto the School Masters on stage.

"Every Ever that's ever lived, Laddie. That's who,” James answered for her.

Kyma smiled, pleased.

The Evers clustered around them hemmed Aladdin in rather claustrophobically. They followed Kyma’s lead, shushing him devotedly, so they could listen, in case the School Masters spoke once more.

Aladdin was sure he'd be trampled underfoot if he so much as let out a peep during the rest of the assembly, so he plopped down into his seat and sulked instead.

Vanquished by his choice of princess, James sighed and curled an arm around Kyma’s shoulders. “I knew it the whole time,” he lied suavely.

Kyma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and batted his arm away.

"Well, I knew it since I felt Rhian's magic in me and came to the conclusion. And found out that you're an incorruptible saint,” James added.

Kyma leaned into his chest. "Better."

"Better than Laddie?" he prompted hopefully.

Kyma sighed, feigning exasperation. "Don't try me, James. But yes."

Boys. They were so fragile and needed such reassurance every mulish second of their existence. One had to guard, and reaffirm, and care for their bruised egos, or they'd fall apart before long.

⸻

Meanwhile, Rhian's ego wasn't faring too well in the face of the multitudes before him.

A maelstrom of thoughts and doubts and revelations swirled above the crowd.

Subject to the heat of his former students’ stares, Rhian's hands shook tremulously, and he waited for the backlash, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself, trying to hold back tears. What to do, what to do? He'd never felt so exposed in his life.

Blood roared in his ears, infernal heat from deep within flaring and rising to the surface of his flushed skin.

Not the dragonfire, not the dragonfire, Rhian prayed with every fiber of his being.

A cool, glacial breeze grazed his hair.

Rafal laid a gelid hand on the back of Rhian’s neck to soothe him.

Rhian hadn’t realized that Rafal had glided over to attend to him after getting his fill of the so-called entertainment.

Rafal wouldn’t let them attack him. Instilled with trust, Rhian opened his eyes.

The outcry never came.

Rafal had sensed the impending swell, a potentially inexorable, unforgiving outburst, but what greeted the two brothers was far from the ire he too had been anticipating.

Instead, a cheer erupted from the Nevers' half of the crowd, a cry of pure, ebullient joy by the no-longer oppressed.

The hoity-toity, golden School Master was fallible! What a day!

The Nevers were exceedingly pleased as they still believed Rafal would be biased toward them. And they weren’t entirely wrong—Evers still irritated the formerly Evil School Master.

Once, they'd feared him, their School Master, but now they let out raucous cheers of triumph as they broke from their ranks. They revered him, the conqueror of Good, the new Master of Good, or so they thought.

Rafal chose to let them believe what they wanted, for the time being.

And so, they exulted in their victory. Celebrated him, their newly restored School Master. Theirs was the One.

At last! At last! At long last they'd get the endings they'd deserve. Live and die in glorious infamy with the spoils of the eternal war for Evil!

And naturally, if the winning School Master was on their side, they were bound to win. Their School Master was the One! He'd won the war! For them! For them all. And what pride they took in him. Or, at least, so went their logic. Flawed logic. Indeed.

Naturally, the rest of the Woods would be shaken if they hadn’t already figured out the truth. But the state of the Woods and the balance and the brothers would all be cleared up, given time.

He and Rhian would have to set the record straight with the Kingdom Council, possibly with a second, formal reparations summit, Rafal mused. He’d seize the opportunity to showcase the School’s newfound unity and his infinitely greater power. A fine political strategy.

It was never too early to keep watch for new enemies. You never knew who you could trust. And he'd gained a lifetime of paranoia since the war, yet it was a reasonable precaution, to pay close attention to his instincts surrounding others. The price of balance, the stress that would accompany the role, this burden he was laden with, it would all be worthwhile, if the Woods and Rhian would forevermore be safe and his.

Looking at his brother gratefully, then looking out at the crowd, Rhian appreciated the attention, the lauding, the adoration, the applause.

Though, he doubted the audience truly loved him, but at the least, he'd be safe because everyone feared Rafal enough to appease him and not deride Rhian for his wrongs.

He'd repent anyway, he decided right then and there. It was the least he could do after dragging Rafal through Hell and back.

But, they'd lived. They'd both lived, he thought to himself in disbelief. The Storian had granted them an ending, and he didn't intend to squander it. Not a chance. Not in this lifetime, not with a second chance, at life, at loving his brother, the students, and the Woods as he should.

He wrung his hands and hoped the Evers wouldn't riot when they found out he wasn’t their School Master, once they realized Rafal was Master of both Schools. Though they likely already knew—there wasn't any indication that anything was wrong. If anything, the Evers seemed… entirely accepting.

Later, Rafal filled in the gap in Rhian's knowledge and explained that all the students had known, to an extent. They’d had an emergent inkling as to the truth of the brothers’ souls. They'd seen Rafal revive Rufius and prove his soul Good firsthand.

Several students had exhaled in utter relief when they realized Rhian had been stripped of his status and immortality.

They no longer needed—or wanted—him, it seemed. Yet, it was probably fair penance given all that he’d done to Rafal. Perhaps, one day, he’d rise back into favor.

For now, he just glanced over at the One, and watched him lead.

⸻

Note:

Yes, this is finally a moderately happier, canon-divergent fic. It's a little melancholic, but not a complete tragedy. I suppose my hope is that this will fill even one person's void.

I ended one of the sections on “ahead.” Did anyone catch that? I had the opportunity and wanted to use it, partly because it felt right, and because I wanted to try to be “clever” and mimic Fall.

I think this fic idea came about a couple days after I first read Fall, so it's been sitting in my drafts for a long while.

Also, in its earlier stages, this one practically wrote itself. It just burst free from the dam weirdly enough and sloshed forth onto the page. Maybe, it had been simmering and developing in my brain since Fall’s ending only to overflow—since I wrote it in practically one late night, made minor edits over time, and added several scenes as they came to me in short spurts of inspiration.

Thank you for being a reader! I’m open to constructive criticism, and feel free to comment any of your thoughts, feelings, reactions, questions, concerns, etc. Don’t hold back—I’m willing to answer any unresolved questions you may have!

If you happen to catch any errors or inconsistencies, kindly let me know! Furthermore, if anything seems out of character, I’d love to know your opinion.

Lastly, I’m curious: what was your favorite line(s), scene, or part?

⸻

Songs I associate with this fic:

"Metamorphosis" - David Clavijo

Fits the beginning, kind of crescive tone, I’d like to think.

"To Be Human" - MARINA

I recommend listening to a sped-up version.

“If You’re Meant to Come Back” - Justin Jesso

I associate this one with the prequels and the brothers’ dynamic in general.

SGE Prequel Characters as Mythical Things:

Marialena: eye of newt from Macbeth

Vulcan: wool of bat from Macbeth

Pan: finger of birth-strangled babe from Macbeth

Rafal: the water of life from the fairy tale "The Water of Life"

Rise Rhian: unicorn horn (allegedly has healing properties, can purify water)

Fall Rhian: crocodile tears (symbol of hypocrisy)

Midas: pure spun gold from "Rumpelstiltskin"

Hook: snakeskin cloak

Aladdin: snake oil cure-all (a scam tonic or liniment)

Kyma: the diamonds from the fairy tale "Toads and Diamonds"

The Storian: monkey's paw (or in context, Wish Fish eggs)

⸻

Does anyone disagree or have other ideas?