ah no quilin what did they do to my boy ah

Quilin woke up in the same cold dungeon he remembered getting knocked out in. Remembered bitterly. Even if it had all been a bad dream, he would have been miffed that his tears dislodged and ruined the accessories he put in so much effort to pick. The little pearls glued to his face fell off and scattered on the floor somewhere. It was too dark for him to see where they got caught in the grout and where they were freely rolling around. Nothing protecting his treasures from being carelessly crushed under the boot of some coarse guard. 

He whimpered after trying to sit up. The chains wrapped taut around his body clinked and the two sounds made a couple guards glance his way. They were trying to bruise him! He already suffered the humiliation of his poor fledgling wings getting mangled by the chains' weight every time he shifted- How much more did they need to put him through?! In this position his legs were going to go numb, and his neck already hurt… It was an indecent way to treat any prisoner! What were they thinking, treating him like this?! 

"Hey! Don't you all know who I am!?! Do you really think anyone's gonna bother protecting you when I'm free? You're all going to be executed for this!" 

Kneeling on the floor and forcibly bent over his lap, he didn't have enough air in his lungs to bark out his threat to quite the effect he wanted. The ones that didn't outright ignore him had the audacity to laugh- 

Just as the heat was rising in his cheeks, the heavy door keeping the prison block dark cracked open a bit. For a moment Quilin was relieved to see someone so elaborately decorated, someone who wasn't wearing one of those ugly guard uniforms. Surely they were important enough to tell them all that there was some mistake and to release him immediately! But once he recognized the man, his face wiped back to the same irritable scowl. 

"Rowen! What's all this?! Explain what's going on right now-" Rowen stuck a key in the door to Quilin's cell and it opened in one, and that was enough to stop Quilin's stream of complaints for now. Just a loud clank, then the man moved to unfasten the chains from the wall, letting Quilin's shackles hang loose. 

Quilin perhaps felt a little conscious of the fact he was barking commands at a knight with thirty years of experience on him. But Rowen was always testing his patience and telling him what to do- Even though as a royal mage, they were technically the same rank! He was always making a fool of Quilin at every chance he got, so suffice it to say that this was the very first time he was… a little bit happy to see him. 

Before the last chain released and his arms finally got to relax, a dark cloth wrapped around to cover Quilin's eyes. Rowen hoisted up the frail bird and the weight of the chains hanging down choked him. 

"Ah- hh- ! H-ey! It's-" 

Quilin's heart rate started to pick up as Rowen ignored him and left him to guess which chain to drag up and carry to get his breath back. Rowen didn't stop him, and the young prince wasn't suffocating, per se, but Quilin still didn't like it. Something was wrong. 

Quilin hesitated a moment, then gave Rowen's shoulder a hard shove. "Let me down. I know I must have looked pretty bad in there, but I no longer require your help. I can walk on my own." Quilin pointed to the blindfold over his eyes. "As a gesture of goodwill, I'll keep this on and allow you to keep the location of wherever you're taking me a secret! …But I will need you to help me remove these chains so I may walk unimpeded." 

When it didn't look like Rowen had any plans of delicately setting Quilin down and politely escorting him by the hand… Quilin squirmed in the knight's arms to no success. 

Rowen grimaced and looked down as Quilin displayed such a pathetic lack of strength. The brat wasn't making any headway, but this wasn't going to happen again. He took a firm grip of the shackle around Quilin's neck and yanked him off his own robes. Dangling in the air, his clean buckled shoes stretched for the floor and his fingers clawed uselessly at the metal choking him. 

"How did you become a mage when you're this stupid. Everything is done for you, until you're handed the final blow on a silver platter. Didn't ever occur to you that your betters would get sick of having to babysit you, and having to let you take the credit-?" 

He couldn't see much of his face, but the tears starting to soak through the blindfold said enough. Just rough him up a tiny bit and out would come the waterworks before he bails on leading from the front. Rowen wanted to say it was pure nepotism, but ever the thorn in his side, Quilin wasn't a half bad mage. But he was far from the only one with these grievances. The mix of memories made his brow furrow. 

He let his hand brush by one of Quilin's silky black feathers. Already bent out of shape, but the wing twitched like it wanted to escape this situation just as desperately. The feather fluttered in and out of his palm on every pass. Quilin's rasping breaths were probably some sort of protest, but he didn't want to hear it.

…

"Sir Beaumont, quit that and bring him in already." 

The knight's jaw tightened, but he tossed the mage at his new superior's feet. Quilin couldn't catch his breath quick enough and his hitching coughs didn't steady before transitioning to hiccuping sobs. 

"What- what did I do t-to-... Steal- your credit-? I didn't! Do that! I-" Quilin sniffled loudly and curled up to hide his gross face. He wanted to make it sound regal- because Sir Beaumont was just making crazy accusations! And- Quilin was right! The best he could muster right now though was to shout through it as he cried. 

"I- I-... I HATE YOU ROWEN! STOP- Making up lies about me! I'm the best mage captain IN THE WHOLE- Empire! SHUT UP! GET OUT-" 

"Maybe try a gag sir." 

There was a glance between the knight and the third person in the room that Quilin missed because of the blindfold. Beaumont clicked his tongue and left once he got permission to skip out on the rest of Quilin's tantrum. The hot wet tears getting all over the fabric were already irritating his eyes, on top of his throat shrieked raw. And Beaumont already choked the air out of him, but with the way Quilin was, who knew how long the wailing would last. 

A softer hand eased under the blindfold and removed it, but no sooner had Quilin seen the kinder face, he jerked away and stumbled to his feet. His face was fixed in a growl, but the tears were still streaming down out of his puffy red eyes. It didn't matter how much Quilin preened and jingled the chains to wipe it clean. 

"I don't think I'll need to gag you, is that right Quil?" 

Still busy getting his heart to settle down, Quil shook his head no. 

"Good. Beaumont works for me, so I can understand why you'd be wary, but there's no need for us to shout at each other. Do you know who I am?" 

Another head shake, because Quilin didn't trust that he wouldn't just start crying again if he tried to speak. 

"I'm Irian Jasperic. While you were out with the fifth mage company defending our border from outside threats, I was culling a threat in the heart of our country. The twelfth emperor is dead, and I am going to take his place." 

That was when Quilin froze. Dead? There was no way- 

"-No he isn't- There's- it’s completely impossible-...! That old man is basically invincible, I've never even heard of 'Jasperic'-" Quil couldn't quite level his glare at the man that claimed to have killed the most powerful mage in their country. Was that why Quilin couldn't sense his mana at all?

Quil sniffed. "...is that why I got thrown in jail? Cause I wasn't on your team when you-" killed him… In many ways, the emperor was even worse than Rowen! But even when Quil got angry, or one of his jokes got a little out of hand, he still invited him back to the palace every once in a while to just have snacks and let Quil sew his dolls in the sprawling imperial gardens.

Irian smiled. "Yes, that's all it was. It takes time for word to travel, so I won't hold it against you. We had to detain all the powerful mages temporarily, just to ensure everyone's safety." 

Quilin frowned. He tried to puff out his chest and assert himself as the son of a noble house, but who else had to be dead for it to come to this. It didn't help that the metal shackles and legs he spent two days kneeling on were already threatening to make him crumple to the floor. 

"A temporary detainment? Your men forced me to seal my magic then chained me to the floor. I couldn't even move without breaking my wings-" Quil glanced up at Irian but his eyes skirted away again. 

"-You should've- greeted our entourage properly once we made it back to the capital-! I'm no traitor. You could've explained the situation from the beginning!" 

The new emperor stepped close enough for Quilin to flinch, but only offered a deep bow. "I apologize for mishandling the situation, and especially not keeping a closer eye on my men. They'll be disciplined harshly for what they've done." 

Irian raised his head again. His eye raked over the young mage captain, eliciting another skeptical glare for his scrutiny. Quilin was still wearing shambled pieces of the mages' uniform. There were just enough remnants of the intricate designs and royal symbolism to call the complete image to mind. 

"Quilin. I'm sorry this is so sudden after you've been mistreated by my men, but I need you to do something for me. To prove you're loyal to the empire. I want to trust you, but we discovered the source of the corruption was spread among the high ranked mages of the court. Will you do it?" 

Irian offered a hand this time, but Quil wasn't too keen on taking it. Quil's worn and dirty glove framed by the metal cuff drifted up towards Irian's clean one, then dropped back to his side. 

"What do you want me to do…? All this is sudden, like you said, and I want some time to think about it…" 

Quil stepped back, but every time he did, Irian just took another step forward. Quil was certain Rowen carried him outside, but this room looked a lot like another dungeon. Quil was bracing for magic, but instead he just got a vice grip on his upper arm dragging him away. 

"Sorry Quil, I don't have the extra time to give you. Isn't it better to clear your name now? I promise not to test your loyalty any more after this." 

Quil didn't have the guts to try squirming away again. Irian pulled him down another hall, past prisoners utterly uninterested in them, then others hurling every profanity on the name of this new emperor. Quilin didn't think he liked him either, but it was still a bit much to say to a noble. 

…

"Quil-?!"

"Run- NOW." 

"What did you do to him!?!"

A heavy door ground shut behind them as they passed into the next room. Quil whirled around to see several of his fellow mage captains locked up. Some shouting for him to run, when he clearly couldn't, and some saying even nastier things to Irian…

With a wave of the emperor's hand, the chains still dangling off Quil extended and shot off into the walls, locking him into place. 

Quil trembled as Irian leaned closer to his ear and whispered. 

"This is how you can show your loyalty and guarantee yourself a comfortable spot in my court. Things can't go back to normal until your old brothers-in-arms give up the traitors in hiding. Understand?" Irian ran a hand through Quil's messy hair and pulled away again. 

Irian smiled at his furious prisoners, flaunting a 'soothing' hand down Quil's back between the sets of wings. "I get why you all bothered now. Just how many of you pulled strings to send him away to avoid this situation? Give up the rest of the mages' order loyalists, or it'll all have been a waste."

The silence was staggering, and Irian's expression became more somber as he turned back to Quilin. Quilin’s eyes were already glistening with tears again, but he really didn't understand Rowen's complaint. He couldn't see how the other wasn't sick of stone-faced soldiers yet. Sometimes he didn't want a drawn out push and pull. Quilin gave up before Irian even laid a finger on him, and it was refreshing. 

A loud scraping sound echoed through the room as their captor pushed a large table over to where Quilin was suspended. Irian chuckled when his gaze happened to meet Quil's pure terror. 

Quil had been focused on calming down, but there was no way that would work now. The voices of his old… friends? Swarmed his head. Cloud his view, but those were just his own tears. His body jerked against the chains as the bloodstained surface was positioned beneath him. He wasn't an idiot, he never trusted 'Irian Jasperic' for a second! Just because he was crying, no one would ever take him seriously. Two days straight stuck in a nightmare, he was entitled to the same privacy he had in his head! 

"STOP- NO! LET GO-!"

The self-proclaimed emperor allowed the chains to extend again and roughly pulled his prisoner's torso down to the table. The cold stone seeped through the tattered front of his uniform and almost soothed the bruise on his cheek. The impression of warmth left by the pair of hands on his ribcage and back lingered. Quil shivered, and sobbed, but he wanted to vomit. And scream?

The energy around Quilin shifted as his body drew mana to cast. Innocuous to the layman, but the cell full of mages looked on in horror. Even Irian's easygoing veneer faltered to surprise. 

Shouting and pleading to stop, but Quilin couldn't hear them. He wailed and writhed on the table as the shackles' glow grew more intense. Every couple seconds, there was a brief moment when the sheer force of Quilin's mana threatened to break through the enchantment, but the spell had contained and quelled mages far more powerful than him…

Irian stood idly by as Quilin practically did the whole job for him. He nodded at Quil's seniors in the cell. He gestured between his ready chains and their youngest mage unconsciously pressing the limits of the enchanted bonds. 

"Last chance! At this rate, he'll die before any of us get what we want!" 

Irian didn't wait long for an answer. He only got more pleading anyway, no one willing to actually put anything on the line. 

Irian stepped up to the table and pinned Quil's twitching body with one thrust of his palm. Quil thrashed harder but it didn't make much of a difference. 

"Sorry about what I have to do, but you did this to yourself Quil."

The little wing was barely bigger than the fist that closed around it. The feathers were crumpled and crushed and Quil yelped through a sob. Then Irian braced his other arm on Quil's back and jerked the wing against the joint. 

The flow of mana abruptly cut off. Quilin shrieked. Pain overwhelmed every other thought and sensation. He didn't stop screaming, until the air burning his throat forced him to. 

Why me?

Pressed flat on his stomach, Quil couldn’t draw enough of the stale air to do it again. Anytime he thought the pressure in his chest and the pain that went up his entire spine might subside enough to calm down, another wave of tears poured out to crush those illusions. His consciousness was already beginning to wane… Maybe if he was lucky, he’d be out cold by the time his blood was being added to the table- Or-! They wouldn’t be able to wake him back up, and they’d have to postpone the torture until later, and a newly appointed emperor in all likelihood did not have- so much time in his schedule for Quil…

… 

“-we have to give him something, do you really think the Freinachts are going to support us if we stand idly by as the only heir to their house’s emblem is stripped of their magic? We have to cut some of our losses-”

Quilin did pass out, but he was still here… The shackles binding his hands and feet were still blocking his magic, and the emperor’s chain magic still had him tightly bound to the table. Lying face down on his stomach, all he could lift was his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was still in pain, practically head to toe, and he just wanted to fall back under again.

“-if Quil dies, we still have other options,”

What?

“-but if we give up the eighth tower, mages even outside this damned ‘empire’ could be in danger.”

The… eighth tower? Is that what that man is looking for…?

Quil could still clearly remember when he was baptized into the mages' order around his twelfth birthday. An ultra-exclusive secret cult for only the most talented mages- If you were accepted in, you could stand shoulder to shoulder with cool mages like the emperor-! That was how Quilin heard it while he was learning magic as a child. Plenty of mages dreaded that day; it was a harsh and difficult test where the highest ranked mages of the order judged whether or not to induct a mage into their ranks. But Quil rose to the challenge, and even enjoyed it, then passed the qualification on his first try. And that was the last time he visited the eighth tower…

“Are you even hearing yourselves?! How could you act like Quil is an acceptable sacrifice? If they humiliate the mages in the capital by parading around the body of a kid that they accepted, and we abandoned, they could disavow our branch all together!”

The dull pain now couldn’t compare to the searing agony before, but for some reason Quil couldn’t explain, he wanted to cry again. He needed to stay quiet though. He didn’t-... want to talk to the other mages right now. And who knew what else they would do- what would be done to him - when Irian learned he was awake.

"-Quil-? Are you awake?" 

Quil tried not to squeeze his eyes shut tighter but it didn't work. 

"No…" Quil's voice sounded ugly and hoarse, like he was only half awake and going to go back to sleep soon. 

"Oh? Good morning Quil. How are you feeling?" 

Quil felt the magic chains revitalize as Irian walked into the room. He thrashed away, with the burning feeling he might've been better off if he didn't try. 

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news. Your house surrendered this to me to aid in my efforts to cut the corrupt mage's order out of my court…" 

A small ornate dagger was placed on the table for Quil to see. Jewels of only the finest quality and craftsmanship decorated the house crest. The Freinacht house crest. It slowly dawned on the other mages what significance this dagger had, but Quil understood immediately and it made his heart skip a beat.

What? How- They surrendered it to him?! Even as a political move, fully intending to claim it back… It was ordinarily an object suited exactly to his tastes; beautiful, refined, flawless, priceless. And in context, seeing this dagger up close was normally a high honor. But with him the one bound to the table, it could only mean one thing. 

There was still no point in him thrashing, but Quil did it anyway since the pressure in his chest was stopping him from employing the perfect words to express his displeasure. The firm hand on his back didn't serve to reassure him. 

"I take it you know what this is, but your seniors aren't all familiar with your family heirlooms Quil~" 

Irian gently eased the wing opposite the mangled one out from under the chains. The wing bat his hand, as if to smack him away, but the tiny wing was far too frail for that. 

"As I'm sure you all know, the Freinacht family cherishes their wings as a symbol of their magic power. The more wings they're born with, the more magic potential. Do I need to remind you how many eligible heirs were born with any wings at all in this generation~?" 

Irian finally pulled the wing up by the tip, splaying it open and holding the knife to the base. 

"Imagine what a relief it must have been to have a son with four. Practically three now, and soon to be none if all of you let this keep. Dragging. On."

A sense of panic rippled between them, but none of them dared speak up and be lynched by the rest. Quil was just one mage, from one of many noble houses with power… Quil was lucky his eyes were squeezed shut, and he didn't have to see the mixture of emotions on their faces failing to reach anything that would convince Quil they were genuinely worried for him. 

The tortured scream to terrified wail from Quil was expected, but there was also an annoyed shout from Irian. The deadly sharp edge sliced through feathers, skin, muscle, and even bone in a single motion. But Irian had grasped the wing tight like he would butcher an animal, and the mana purged from Quilin's body by the knife was enough to burn. Cutting a wing with the knife took a portion of the mage's mana with it. Irian tossed the scorching debris to the floor and assessed his own injury with a grimace. 

Quil couldn't see the gore lying flat on his stomach, but half his tears came from the realization he'd be terrified to ever see it. Not only was the spot on his back in excruciating pain, it was cold and empty. Something that was supposed to be a normal part of his body forever was just… ripped off. The distress bubbling over in him at how wrong he felt hadn't even brushed upon his greatly diminished magic. The pain peaked the brief moment the dagger was embedded in his flesh, so Quil hated that his crying was only getting worse and worse. 

He was already ruined again, but the wry show of an interrogation continued along. Irian haphazardly bandaged his hand and picked up a tough work glove on his way back to Quilin. Kicked the wing under the table so he wouldn't trip on his lazy walk back. 

Irian shook out the hand, recovered from the surprise and not seriously injured to begin with. 

"DON'T- DON'T COME ANY CLOSER-!"

Quil pushed through the rasp and cried out with all his might, but his demand was only met with mild amusement. Irian was getting closer. 

Why did he have to suffer, just because the jerk high court mage captains were working with the jerk mages’ order?! ‘Irian Jasperic’ was just some nameless thug, some orphaned unclaimed mage, that threw some crude magic around until fools followed him! Quil may have been affiliated with both parties…- but he barely had a thing to do with any of this! 

The hot wet anger was almost as dizzying as the pain, frustration wavering to sobs yet again. By contrast, the chill on his back was becoming more piercing. He wanted to go home. Take a warm bath then sleep in a soft bed.

Quil forced the words out before Irian could raise the knife again.

"I-... I can lead you to the eighth tower! You'll be able to track the order from there, so- Let me go right now!" 

There was a loud slam on the bars of the cell holding the mage captains. 

Quil's yelp was choked out. Irian snapped the chains tighter around him, snaking and winding more until Quil was completely covered from ankle to neck. Quil tried to say something more, but he was being squeezed so tightly, he was closer to passing out again than stealing another breath. The other man was carefully controlled with his next words. 

"Don't ever lie to me.”

A sharp cold stare kept Quil in place. Irian had to avoid smiling when the boy tried to shake his head.

“If I ever find out you lied to me, I promise you'll wish you stayed silent and bared through the torture instead.”

Quil’s chin was gently tipped up as he was forced to look at him head on. 

“With that in mind… Tell me more Quil." 

When the chains loosened ever so slightly, Quil coughed and cried and wretched. He was scared and hurting and angry, and he wasn't lying- He couldn't give up now. 

"It's- it's true! You know who I am! I'm the famous young prodigy mage and the son of a noble house! Of course the mages' order would invite me-! S-sso- LET ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!!" 

Irian couldn't help but laugh watching Quilin pant from the effort. Now, did that effort mean the boy was good for his word…? Remains to be seen. Maybe the brat didn't even understand the significance of his words, and in that case… He was perfectly content taking advantage of his naivete. All to further a worthy cause. 

The chains lowered Quil until his limp feet just brushed the ground, limbs still wholly immobile no matter how Quil tried. Irian stepped closer to release the collar, then worked on the other shackles one by one. 

The moment the last cuff clattered to the ground, Quil felt his magic rush back. As a wise skeptic, he still had the urge to fight back with all his might, but…the rest of his body was still bound… and he was probably too weak to run, much less fight. And… he didn't want to get tortured to death defending the stupid mages' order. It was too unfair. 

"Good. You're not trying to kill me. I don't need you to say anything, just try releasing your mana like you did before. You can still do that much, right?" 

Quil's vision was blocked by a magic scroll. Ah, so this is how he'll guarantee it. One mage couldn't lie, and the other couldn't force their way into the mind- Unless using other threats counted. 

Quil closed his eyes, forced his breath to stabilize, and focused on everything he knew about the eighth tower. The location, the method of revealing it, the way to enter. Along the way, a blend of faces and names popped up, dotting Quilin's memories of playing with the other mages. Friendly competition escalating to a passionate rivalry, senior mages gently scolding him when things got too passionate. The various magicks he learned, from the vividly potent to the mundane he used daily. The scroll glowed as Quil relinquished a copy of the relevant memories to the spell. It was over in the span of ten seconds. 

Irian's face split into a cold smile as the parchment filled itself with ink. It wasn't exactly what he had planned, but this worked just as well. If not better. 

"Perfect."

The chains holding Quil untangled and retreated in an instant. Quil's body slumped forward into Irian's arms. The boy was dazed from the spell, and likely bruised from head to toe. Irian could feel his muscles straining, expending what little strength he had to try and stand on his own, but it wasn't quite enough. Irian was all too glad to catch him. 

"You're a smart one Quil. No wonder those old dogs sent you away~" 

Behind Quil was the sound of snapping bones, metal ripping through flesh. Screams, albeit short-lived. The very edge of the splatter hit Quil's already thoroughly soiled clothes. The sight was, objectively speaking, unpleasant, but to finally be rid of them brought Irian a breath of relief. 

But of course, Quil had some idea of what just happened and he managed to squeeze one last cry in before they left the dungeon. There was no more sobbing, not even that many tears. Poor thing probably had a headache from clenching his jaw so much, running his eyes completely dry. It seemed like Quil had given up on trying to stand, instead just pulling mindlessly away. The limp tugs wouldn't work though. Irian scooped Quil up and cradled him to his chest, mindful not to stick a thumb in his open wound. Soothing him like he would a toddler wasn't working as well as he wished. 

"Shhhh, shh, quiet down. You're fine now, you're okay. It was you or them, they just didn't realize you had the same option~ Don't cry, they left you for dead first," 

Quil clung close to him, though only to muffle the overpowering smell of blood before he vomited. Irian smiled. 

"There, there… You're my first imperial mage now Quil, let's get you patched up."