(Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm only playing with their heads for a bit.) Note that while these three chapters do work together as a series they are technically three different stories, from three different points of view, and are only loosely connected by time and circumstance.
The first is a short piece from Flea's point of view. After Magus' defeat, the world needs a bit of reevaluating.
The night wind was making a mess of his hair. Flea raised one hand to push it back out of his face. He was sick of watching, and even more sick of waiting.
The humans swarmed over the castle below him. Though he could pick out the lights of each of their torches there were far too many to count. Flea didn't try.
Slowly Flea turned his eyes away, rolling over to gaze up at the night sky instead. There were hundreds more stars than there had been torch lights. They were all the light anyone was going to get tonight. The moon had covered herself in darkness. She was no more than a patch of blackness on blackness, and it was possible that even that was imagined.
Flea had watched her cycles long enough to expect the black shroud that now covered her, but he still liked to think of it as a special consideration. The moon, the icy and beautiful Queen of darkness, was mourning for Magus.
They had never found his body, though even the most badly wounded had searched. Even Flea, who considered himself the most loyal of Magus' followers, had been forced to accept that he was gone. If Magus still had any power left he would not have put up with the Mystics turning to a new leader.
Perhaps Flea did not go so far as to accept it. He submitted to the fact that Magus was gone. He would have liked to grieve, but had no way to do so without summoning unwanted attention. He had been fond of Magus in his own way. Flea was the first to owe his allegiance to Magus alone, the first true recruit into what would become his army. In return Magus had been there as Flea took his last steps out of childhood and into adulthood. He had been the one to help Flea through the first pains of mastering his transformations, even if he did it just because he knew they would be useful to him.
Now that Magus was gone Flea decided he was probably the most powerful among the Mystics. That was the most consolation he thought he would be able to find. Magus had put so much of his power into pure force, ignoring the subtleties of illusion and transformation. It had been interesting to Flea to have a rival who used different methods than his own.
At least Magus pursued the noble arts of sorcery, unlike a particular Mystic Flea had to put up with. Flea's thoughts turned, as the often did when he was upset, to Slash. No matter how frustrated he might be with his own troubles, he could always console himself with the thought that he would never be as weak as that swordsman.
Only, his physical training seemed to be having some useful side effects. He had recovered from his wounds almost twice as fast as everyone else. While he was ready and able to fight again, Flea was still confined to scouting and spying on humans.
At least his transformations were completely under his control again. Flea had spent a few weeks struggling not to show how painful they were when he was so completely drained. Those who knew he could transform were all convinced that it was an innate ability, and he would not allow them to discover otherwise. Magus was the only one who had shared that secret, and Flea had trusted that nothing could make Magus reveal anything he didn't want to.
That was something that had bothered Flea constantly. How could anyone have dared to storm their fortress to attack Magus? Flea would not forget those faces. He would get revenge someday. It had been a crime he could never forgive.
Beauty is Power, and Magus had more power than anyone. That was as good a way as any of explaining what he saw in Magus. That was what made him beautiful. It was that power that endeared him to Magus.
Only now that power was gone. Now the Queen of Darkness was in mourning.
