The night seemed to drag on for days. The silence in the Engelbrecht home was oppressive and heavy with the whispers of What If. What if Mollie had never left? What if Roy had really died today? Was this a glimpse of his future? A wide, silent apartment with too many rooms and not enough life? The servants had left for the evening, and there was no glow of candlelight under the door to his son's room. There was no soft tinkle of Rune's collar in the darkness. The reality weighed heavy on him like a coat of mud and he found himself wandering the halls when he should be sleeping.

Again and again he found himself standing outside the door to his son’s room, staring at the carved wood. At the worn brass knob, twisted to look like a stylized feather. At the notches in the doorframe that marked the boy’s growth over the years that had passed. Elias stood, straining, as if he could convince his ears that he could hear the soft snoring on the other side. Or the scratch of a quill on parchment. He closed his eyes and imagined he could see the warmth of a candle flickering from behind his lids. But no matter how close he was to convincing himself, when he opened his eyes there was only the cool, silent blackness. Again the reality washed over him. This emptiness could be permanent. Maya’s words rattled him. You almost lost your child today. Act like it.

Shaking his head, he closed his fingers around the cool brass and tried the door. It was unlocked, as was typical. He leaned against it, letting his weight push it open. The bedroom was a bit cluttered, but otherwise clean. On the desk was a pile of shed feathers and a small knife, waiting their turn to be fashioned into quills. A jar of ink stood neatly capped next to a stack of leather-bound books. Half-spent candles sat cold and silent. And the marble soarwhale figurine sat proudly in the center of it all.

Elias narrowed his eyes, then threw his head back, shattering the silence with a deep laugh that bordered on hysterical. Of course. Of course that Imodai-forsaken bauble that that set all this off in the first place was right there, as if in a place of honor. The ridiculousness of it all, of the situation, of the contrast, of its stupid exaggerated smile! He laughed, riding the surge of relief, feeling the twinge of something akin to insanity and as he moved to sit down on the edge of the curved, nest-like bed, he felt hot tears streaming down his face. His hands were shaking, his chest heaving but no longer with mirth. The harder Elias struggled to collect himself, the more confused and twisted his emotions became. Fear. Joy. Panic. Rage. All muddled together, all twisted and wrapped up in the other until they were all one sensation.

He pushed himself to his feet and stomped from the room, batting the wetness angrily from his cheeks as if his own eyes had betrayed him. “This is all your fault,” he snarled to his unseen phantoms. Out of the bedroom, into the hall, down, a hard left, throwing the door open noisily as if to burst in on the target of his ire. The room was dark and empty though. In his home office the heavy desk was prominent, covered in scrolls and books with important looking covers. But he ignored it, going instead past his high-backed chair, past his cellarette and the exotic potted trees that the servants somehow managed to keep alive. He strode past them all, ripping a curtain off of the wall. Behind it was a beautiful portrait, done years ago when he was young and didn’t know any better.

When he was happy.

He stared at the painting, the image of himself standing beside and slightly behind the beautiful woman in his very own high-backed chair. Even in the dark gloom of the office the blue of her wings seemed to glimmer. Her hair flowed like golden ripples down her shoulders in a thick mane, her eyes the color of the sea at noon. The hand of his younger self was held gently in both of hers, the flush of youth in his cheeks and a vibrant smile that reflected in his eyes.

The angry glare locked onto her unblinking one for a long moment, before he turned back and stomped to his cellarette, roughly pulling open the lovely stained glass lid and slamming out a cut crystal glass and a matching decanter of whiskey. His hands were steady as he filled the glass, considered the level, then filled it higher. Picking up both vessels, he moved heavily to his chair, banged the decanter on the side table and threw himself down heavily. For a moment he could feel her residual warmth on it. He thought he felt a tickle of one of her shed feathers.

Furiously he gulped down the contents of the snifter, banged it back onto the table again and refilled it. “This is all your fault,” he snarled at the portrait. “You weren’t happy just giving him your looks, were you?” The woman in the painting smiled at him with her serene joy. She was peaceful and warm, giddy with young love. He took a long drink from his glass and snarled loudly. There was no one to hear his rage. No one to respond. Only the memories and the image of what once was.

“Answer me!” He yelled. Only his own dim echo called back. Elias scowled at the painting, the flush of alcohol rising in his cheeks and the slickness of his wings against the upholstery causing him to slide lower in the chair. “He almost died. And I would have lost you both. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? He’s just like you…” He growled again, draining the last of his glass and pouring another. His hands were less steady now, the whiskey missed and splashed onto the floor. The second try was more successful, and he was more careful with his sips.

There would be no answer, he knew. And as therapeutic as it felt to yell at ghosts, it was never something he could sustain for long. Soon, like tonight, the dark thoughts took over, swirling around endlessly, cannibalizing each other and turning into beasts that snarled and roared from every dark corner. Tonight, as any other night, he picked up his weapon of choice, and eyes locked defiantly with the eyes of his lost wife, he set out to drown them.

Elias didn’t hear the front door open the next morning, nor did he hear his servants enter to begin their daily tasks. He did not notice when the young maid cleaned up the spilled alcohol from the floor and from the side table. He put up no resistance when she rescued the glass that was dangling precariously from his fingertips as he slumped in the chair, snoring. The smell of cooking meat filled the apartment, but he still did not stir.

Helena rapped quickly on the front door, waited a moment, then rapped again. It opened a crack, just enough for the maid to peek through. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but Master Engelbrecht is not accepting visitors at the moment.”

Helena smiled gently, but there was something sharp in her eyes. She was on a mission. “Oh nonsense, he’ll accept me,” she replied, pressing her hand against the door. The servant pressed back.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, truly, but the Master is ill—“

“I’m sure he is. Step aside now, child.” With a forceful push, the woman stepped inside, moving out of the way so that the door could be closed behind her. She scrutinized the interior hallway for a moment before continuing forward. “Well, I don’t see anything broken, so I suppose that’s progress.”

“Please, I must insist, he’s not well!” The girl begged in a whisper, following Lady Redquill deeper inside.

“Oh I’m sure he’s not, and he’s about to become a measure less well.”

“Ma’am please, you must keep your voice down. You must come back later!”

“No, darling, I don’t think I will.” Helena replied absently, opening the door to her brother’s bedroom and finding it empty. “To either notion,” she clarified before turning to glance at the girl. “Office?”

The maid’s brown wings drooped slightly with defeat. “Yes, ma’am. He’ll generally wake on his own in an hour or so…”

Helena gently pushed the door to the office open further, leaning against the frame as she watched her brother’s form, slumped sideways in his high-backed chair. Her eyes ran over the decanter on the cellarette and clicked her tongue. “Empty. That was a new bottle and you didn’t even savor it,” she scolded to the unconscious man. He responded with a snore.

“Well if that’s how you’re going to be about it…” She strode past him, her heeled boots clicking loudly against the stone as she crossed the room to the windows, throwing the curtains wide. The sunlight poured in, and while Elias winced, he did not rouse. Helena frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, disappointed at the lack of reaction.

“Elias, wake up.” She commanded. The man didn’t move. “Elias, you were supposed to be at the healer’s two hours ago, wake up.”

Nothing. Two faces watched her, peeking around the doorframe. The young Eagle girl from earlier, as well as a boy whose wings she couldn’t see. They stared at her in awe and concern, each with their bodies hidden in the hallway as if her brother were a bomb and they wished to dodge the shrapnel. The way they were staring at her, she half expected them to make the sign of Engraal.

“So dramatic,” she murmured. “Enough is enough. Wake UP!” Her hand darted out with a well-practiced grace, catching her brother by the ear. At first nothing happened, but with a sharp twist and a dig of her nails, his eyes shot open and he let out a panicked yowl of pain. His first instinct was to pull away, but her grip remained firm and he only managed to cause more discomfort for himself.

“Are you awake now?”

“Imodai slay you, woman! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Helena held fast, raising a brow at him as he tried to grip her wrist. She twisted a little more, immediately dropping him out of the chair and to his knees. “Invoking the name of Imodai, are we? You’d be better off calling to Allynera, with as big of a child as you’re being.” She smirked a little. It wasn’t often that her powerful brother was so humbled. “She’d probably make you her champion,” she teased.

His eyes were angry, bloodshot and squinting, but he seemed more focused on relieving the pressure on his ear than any sort of retaliation. The two youths watched from the door in unblinking amazement, as if she had subdued a manticore single handedly, instead of just an aging, hung over High Justice. Look well, children, she thought to herself. For he too, is only Aven.

Helena released him then and stepped away, Elias’ hand immediately going over his sore ear, squinting against an impressive headache. “What are you doing here?” He rasped. She couldn’t tell if the snarl was malice or simply residual effects of interrupted sleep and a rocky night.

“You were supposed to be at the healer’s two hours ago. Get yourself cleaned and let’s go.”

“You can’t just barge into my house and presume to tell me what to do. I am no fledgling child and you are certainly not our mother.”

“You are right on one count, I am not Mother. You will find that I am far less patient a woman. As for the intrusion, consider it payback for your bluster yesterday.”

“Leave now or I’ll call the guard. They’ll take you away for trespassing.”

Helena’s brows shot up. “Trespassing? Go ahead then. Call the guard. But you had best be prepared to add domestic violence to that charge,” She threatened. “And you’d better hope they get here quickly.”

Elias squinted at her through the throbbing pain, debating on the merits of continuing this battle. Though part of him wished nothing more than to force her to see the error of her ways and the righteousness of his own, there was a beast attempting to claw and thrash its way out of his skull. He let the matter drop.

Moving past her, he stepped towards the door, the two servants moving out of the way, but continuing to stare at him in awe. “How is the boy?” He asked, ignoring them.

“In good spirits, keeping them entertained. He asked me to bring some oil to repair the damage to his feathers.”

Elias turned to gesture to a door down the hall. “That’s the washroom he uses, he has more preening tools than I can even recognize, take what you need. I’m going to wash up.” He turned away again to head towards his room.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with him?”

“Well I plan to keep him on the City and not have him falling off any more spokes if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is he able to continue pursuing a position in the Skyguard?”

“Not likely, as I’m sure Jacob would be elated to hear. I’ll set him up with the Scholars in the library.”

“Or…?”

“There is no ‘or’,” Elias snarled, bristling, then wincing at the effort. “Do not finish that statement. Get what you need and I’ll be out momentarily.”

He could hear her beginning to speak again, and fearing another argument, quickly slipped into his room, closing the heavy door behind him. He leaned on the frame and let out a low sigh through his nose. His head ached viciously and it was becoming harder to concentrate, let alone defend his convictions. After a pause, he reached down and locked the door.