A/N: I'm really glad you guys liked the last chapter. We're getting to the point now where things that I've been planning and steadily building up to for months are finally happening, and as always, the fear is always there that the scenes themselves won't measure up to the way they looked in my head. It makes me really happy to hear that you guys are enjoying this story. Not much farther now!

Review Responses:

pokelover01, thanks, I'm glad you liked the chapter! And glad you didn't think the struggle scene was too cliché. It's hard to strike the right balance between emotional and trite with those, so glad to hear it worked out! Enjoy the chapter.

cherrishish, Morgan's three syllables were whatever you want them to be. I left them ambiguous on purpose, because 'I love you', 'I'm sorry', and 'Promise me' would all fit the theme and would all be acceptable. Thanks for the review and glad you liked the fight scene!

Diana Raven, thanks for the review!

Arcane Student, they will definitely not be happy campers. I'm glad you think the pace is good, considering we should be ramping up to the finale right about now (one more major arc to go and then you'll see where I've been going with all this). Enjoy the chapter!

karma88, thank you! I was going for the emotions, so glad it worked. Questions about the twins should be answered soon. Enjoy the chapter!

pokemon73, thanks! Soul Eater laid the ground work for Arthurian legends (thanks to our *cough*least*cough* favorite Holy Sword), and it just seemed like the perfect setting for some Poe references. Glad you liked the chapter, and thanks for the noodles!

fanficlove2014, glad you liked the chapter~ It was meant to be emotionally hard-hitting, so I'm glad it did its job. Enjoy the new chapter and thanks for the review!

Em-Wing, that's alright. A lot of people aren't sure how they feel about Morgan, lol. Thanks for the review and enjoy!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Right Amount of Foolishness

"I truly am…very sorry…"

The words echoed in his mind, the memory of her playing over and over again, of Morgan walking past him, heading to the window, of his sisters' faces disappearing from sight, of Ayame falling to the ground. Time became elastic, stretched between two points, a series of disjointed images and sounds that flitted through his memory. He heard murmurs above him, felt a touch on his back, voices speaking in increasing urgency as footsteps hammered the floorboards around him.

"Your DWMA is nothing but a training ground, your ideals less than nothing…"

Voices. Sounds. His mother's voice, her hand on his head, calling for him, telling him to wake up. His father's voice, the sound of somebody punching the wall.

"You're nothing more than an assassin, aren't you?"

Arms clasping him carefully, lifting him up. The sound of a siren. Cool metal at his back, the wind in his hair. Footsteps keeping pace with him as he moved faster and faster, colored lights blinking in the darkness behind his eyelids.

"Decide what you would live for and what you would die for…"

The smell of antiseptic, a low, measured voice. Hands prodding at him, the sound of a curtain being drawn. The sharp jab of a needle, pressing into his skin. Ice in his veins, a sharp pain, then darkness.

Then light.

Rei's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. The ceiling above him came into focus all at once, the sudden influx of images so jarring that he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, disappearing back into the darkness he had come from as he tried to get his bearings. He was lying in a bed of crisp, white linen sheets, the sunlight filtering in through a window to his left. It was the bright light of day, and the tang of antiseptic hung in the air.

The dispensary.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he opened his eyes again, casting them around the room. Ayame lay in the bed next to his, still asleep, her chest rising and falling slowly with her breathing. The scene was familiar, reminding him of the day he had woken up in the dispensary after the tournament his first year, but the mood was all wrong. There were no cards or chocolates on the nightstand between their beds, no friends drifting in and out of the room to tell them how bravely they had fought or how awesome the battle had been. Instead, there was nothing but the sound of hurried footfalls coming from the corridor outside, the distant cadence of barked orders.

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. A small boy was curled up on the bed next to his sister, his arm wrapped around her waist and his head pillowed on her chest. Like Ayame, he was also asleep. Bright Star, Rei remembered, and the name brought back the remainder of his memories. He curled a hand over his chest, feeling his heart sink, failure stinging him more than any of his injuries.

Annie. Cori.

Morgan.

His eyes turned away from Ayame, landing on the armchair beside the window. His mother was curled up in it, her head pressed into her knees as if she had fallen asleep crying. Maka Albarn-Evans had never been a big person, but this was the first time that she had ever looked small to him, waifish almost, strands of her blond hair caught around her face.

The weight of his misery doubled, and he almost didn't speak. He managed, somehow, despite the knot in his throat.

"Mom…?"

She lifted her head suddenly, her eyes snapping open. Maka looked around the room sharply, as if awakening from a nightmare, before her eyes finally fixed on him.

"Rei!" She was on her feet in an instant, her hands taking hold of one of his. Her eyes were rimmed with red. Rei looked away at the touch, swallowing through the knot in his own throat. Tears stung at his eyes, and he squeezed them shut to ward them away.

"How are you feeling?" Maka asked, smoothing his hair away from his face. "Is there any pain?"

He wanted to laugh. He could feel the laugh bubble up inside of him, a mad, raving thing that wanted nothing more than to escape. He bit back on it for her sake, clenching his jaw tightly to stop it from breaking through. When he thought he was calm enough, he lifted his head, looking back at her.

He didn't want to know the answer to his question, but he had to know. "The twins…?"

The misery in Maka's eyes was answer enough. Rei sucked in a sharp breath, looking away again. The hand that she wasn't holding clenched tightly into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. "I'm sorry…" he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I couldn't save them. I—."

Moisture trailed down the side of his cheek, a droplet landing on the back of his hand. He felt Maka's hand move to the side of his face, her thumb carefully brushing one of the tears away. The gesture only made the tears harder to hold back. But tears wouldn't help anyone now. He mastered them somehow, jerking back from her. Maka pulled her hands back as if she had been burned, and Rei felt another shard of guilt stab at his chest as he raised his hand to his eyes, wiping away the tears furiously. He sniffed, looking up at her.

"Morgan?" he asked.

Maka shook her head sadly, and that was all the answer he needed.

"She didn't want to go with him," he said. "She—."

She saved my life.

The words died in his throat, and he looked away, shamed. Maka stepped back and away from the bed, smoothing out her skirt and blouse as if she were also trying to compose herself. "I can't decide what's going to happen to her," she said. "It'll come down to Kid, in the end…" But the way she said that sounded almost as though she wasn't entirely happy about it.

"So, what happens now?" Rei asked, his voice thick with misery.

Maka hesitated a moment before she answered, stepping away from him and folding her arms over herself, her eyes moving to the window, to the sky that stretched over their heads, across Death City. She drew in a breath and when she let it out, she seemed transformed, as though she had found a way to take her own pain and bury it deep down inside of herself, so that only the clear path of purpose remained.

"Now?" she asked. "Now we're going to find them, Rei, and we're going to bring them back. But you don't have to worry about that right now. Focus on getting better. You fought so well, and so hard…" A quaver in her voice at those words, swiftly mastered, but Rei heard the meaning in her voice without her having to say it, and it hit him with all the force of a battering ram.

I almost lost all three of you…

"I want to help," he said.

She shook her head sadly, a thin smile appearing on her face. "Later, maybe," she said. "For now, what you need to do is rest. I have a meeting today. We're going to discuss everything, decide what our next steps will be."

"Will you tell me what they are?" Rei said.

There it was again, that sad smile, those sad eyes directed at him. "If you want to hear it," Maka said. "But try not to worry about it just yet." She walked back over to him, looking into his eyes, and Rei heard her breath hitch again. This time, when she reached out to touch him, placing a hand on his shoulder, he didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft, but whether she was apologizing to Rei or to some others that he couldn't see, he didn't know. "I had a bad feeling about this mission from the start. If we had acted sooner…"

"It's not your fault," Rei said, because it was the only thing he could say. But he could tell from the pained look in her eye that she was going to blame herself for it anyway, just as he was going to blame himself for not being strong enough to stop the kidnapping, no matter what anyone else said. That in that regard, they were one and the same.

From the sad smile that she gave him as she stepped back, he could tell that she saw it too.

"I have to get to that meeting," she said, checking her watch. "Someone will be in to look after you in a few minutes. Are you going to be alright here?"

"I…" Rei hesitated, looking around the room. Through the second sight afforded by his Soul Perception, he could see two souls outside the door that led to the dispensary. Guards? "I'll be fine," he said, trying to will some confidence into his voice. "You'll tell them, won't you? About what I said about Morgan."

Maka nodded, her expression growing solemn. "I'll tell them," she said. "This might be hard for you to believe, Rei, but no one here wishes Morgan any harm. No matter what happens, just believe that."

Rei nodded. "I'll try," he promised.

She gave him one last long look before she turned, disappearing through the door.

Cori looked up as the door to the bedroom opened, her eyes hardening into a glare. A woman—the Morrigan—stepped daintily into the room, pausing only to sweep her eyes over it before they landed on Cori. Mordred filed into the room behind her, quietly shutting the door. She fought back a surge of anger, clenching one of her hands into a fist where it was hidden by the skirt of her dress, from her seat in the plush chair next to the room's large bed.

The Morrigan's eyes drifted towards her, red lips curving in a semblance of a smile. "I trust your accommodations are satisfactory, dear?" she asked.

Cori scowled. The room that Mordred had placed them in didn't look like a prison. It was a spacious bedroom, a child's room, filled with shelves stocked with books and a chest of toys at the foot of the bed. A wardrobe was stocked with several dresses and nightgowns their size, and a door in one corner of the room led to a bathroom that was twice the size of the one she used at home. A large window occupied one corner of the room, letting in air and light and offering a spectacular view of the landscape, miles below.

But the room locked from the outside, and the window didn't open more than a crack. It was a prison, and she hated it.

"I want to go home," she said, meeting the Morrigan's eyes.

"I'm sure you do," said the Morrigan, stepping closer to her. "It must be so hard for you, Corpore. Bear with it for just a little while longer."

The crow witch bent down, so that she was almost at Cori's eye level—almost, but not quite. Cori didn't flinch from that gaze, keeping her head tilted up defiantly. She felt a hint of fear course through her but quickly squashed it back down, clenching her fists tight and keeping her voice to a whisper so as not to wake Annie, who had finally, finally managed to fall asleep.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered, her voice soft.

The Morrigan's smile widened in delight, a gleam appearing in her eyes as she drew back. "Ah," she said, sounding amused. "The innocence of youth. But yes, you've always been the brave one, haven't you, Corpore? The fighter?" Her eyes drifted over to Annie for a moment, to the girl who was lying on her side on the bed, chest rising and falling slowly with sleep. They didn't remain long, but lingered there long enough for Cori to notice the significance. Slowly, the Morrigan's eyes drifted back towards her. "I wanted to talk to you, actually, because of that."

"I'm not going to do anything for you," Cori said, scowling.

"All I ask, dear, is that you listen," said the Morrigan, looking back to her. "I do hope you understand that remaining in this room is a privilege, not a right. It really makes no difference to me whether you remain here or in a cell in the dungeons, as long as you're contained. Your being here is contingent on your…good behavior, so I'm hoping, Corpore, that you'll remain on your very best behavior for me."

"I'm not afraid of a cell," Cori said, the words coming out half as a growl.

"You may not be," the Morrigan said. "But we both know that you're the strong one." She gave Annie another meaningful glance, then turned around, pausing only to flash Cori a smile. "Think on it. I have many important matters to attend to, and I hope I won't be troubled to come visit you again."

Cori said nothing, fists tightly clenched as she watched the Morrigan leave the room, watched Mordred open the door for her and close it behind her. Only when she was gone did she exhale, did she allow herself to sag back into her seat, letting out a long breath of air. She glanced at Annie, eyes wide, and felt the fear that she had been holding back for herself come to her twice as strongly now that she was considering her twin. She felt anger begin to mix with the fear—anger and helplessness and shame. She lifted her gaze, turning them towards Mordred.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, vehemence in her tone. "You have us here. Are you happy now?"

He didn't respond, meeting her gaze coolly before turning around and leaving the room. Cori waited until the door clicked behind him, waited until she heard the sound of the bolt falling back into place before she slumped forward, her hands coming up to grip the arms of the chair. Her shoulders started to shake, the color draining from her face.

She remained there for a while, trembling, gripping onto the chair tightly and feeling the constant sway of the flying castle as it picked its way through the breeze, before Annie let out a soft groan and Cori looked up.

"Cori…?" Annie asked, bleary green eyes blinking open and focusing on her.

"I'm here," Cori said, forcing all the tension out of her with a breath. She stood up and moved so that she was sitting on the bed, reaching for her twin's hand. Annie's skin was warm to the touch, and it took Cori a moment to realize that her own hands were just cold. "I'm here," she told Annie again, soothingly. "I'll protect you, Annie. I won't let anything happen to you."

Annie squeezed Cori's hand tightly before her grip relaxed, her eyes slowly starting to slide closed again.

"I'm here…" Cori whispered. "I'll protect you. Go back to sleep. I'm here…"

The woman lying on the bed had Clark's features, visible in the curve of her jaw, the gentle rise and fall of her nose, in the blond hair that fanned out around her head and her slender build. Looking down at her, Morgan wondered whether she would have suspected the relationship between them, had she not known what she had known.

Hey, Clark. I found your mother. I know you probably hate me for leaving, but at least that's something…

The words sounded ridiculous, even in the depths of her mind. She snorted softly in response to them, the fingers of one hand curling inward ever so gently. It joined the litany of apologies, platitudes, and absurd observations that had been running through her mind ever since she woke up this morning in her familiar tower room again.

Hey, Rei. I'm sorry for using magic on you. I was trying to save your life. On the bright side, at least I know where your sisters are…

Hey, Ayame. I'm sorry about my uncle. He can be a little extreme. Never truly learned to control his temper. How's your jaw doing today?

Hey, Cassie. I'm sorry for leaving. I know you have abandonment issues. I really hope that you're coping well with my sudden departure. Please don't suck our flat into an alternate reality in your inevitable descent into utter despair. I was rather fond of the place.

Hey, Vayne.

Hey, Vayne…

She squeezed her eyes shut, fingernails digging into her palm as she took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions and keep her expression smooth. She had known, had known when she left that her friends would resent her for it. That they would hate her for it. That the DWMA might even take action against her because of it.

It didn't matter, as long as they survived. If they lived long enough to confront Morgan about her sins, she would be happy.

She would be…

"You'll come back, right? Promise me you'll come back!"

Her shoulders slumped, her composure breaking for an instant. From his perch on her shoulder, Quoth turned his head, cawing softly into her ear. She exhaled, letting out a breath, and raised her hand, fingers gently scratching at the back of his head. The raven leaned into the touch, pressing his head against her fingers happily.

"We've gotten ourselves into a fine mess this time, haven't we?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Quoth let out another caw, louder this time, and turned his head to nip at her fingers lightly, as if telling her that she had gotten into this mess all on her own.

The door opened behind her. Morgan tensed, looking over her shoulder, but it was only her uncle, slipping into the room like a shadow and closing the door. His eyes moved towards Morgan for a moment, then back to the woman lying on the bed, her brow furrowed from her dreams.

"She'll wake soon," Mordred said. "Likely."

"A sleeping spell?" Morgan asked, more to fill the silence than anything. She stepped back as her uncle approached the bed, widening the distance between them. Mordred didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on Elaine.

"Only the impetus for her slumber," said Mordred. "The spell wore off days ago, but it's clear that her mind still needs to recover."

"What's…wrong with her?" Morgan asked. "It's hard to believe that the woman Clark described would…" Kill Ophelia. Decimate multiple DWMA bases. Sneak into buildings in the dead of night. Mordred gave her a sharp glance and she quickly recognized her error, glancing away. She should have known better, should have been more careful. Her grandmother still did not know that she had ever been at the DWMA.

If she wasn't careful, her mouth was going to get her into a lot more trouble than she was already in.

Surprisingly, instead of reprimanding her, Mordred simply answered. "Her mind is gone, I suppose," he said, looking back at Elaine. "There's a shard of her that remains, but the power's almost consumed it by now. What's left may already be gone."

There was something that might almost have been pity in his eyes, his expression softening somewhat as he watched her. There were moments like this with him when the layers pulled back, offering a glimpse at something else beneath the surface, a heart that allowed for pity every once in a while, but also a maelstrom of guilt and pain. As always, when looking at him like this, a question leaped to the forefront of her mind, a question she had been wanting to ask since she was first cognizant that it was a question she could ask.

What really happened to my mother?

As always, she knew better than to ask it. As always, she realized she didn't truly want to know.

But Mordred looked up at her, and the softness was gone from his expression. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over her posture. "Don't look so guilty," he suggested. "You look as if you've been caught doing something you shouldn't."

"Have I?" she asked in challenge, but she did relax her guard somewhat, letting her hand fall away from its protective grip on Quoth and forcing the tension out of her shoulders.

"No," said Mordred, looking back at Elaine. "You have the freedom of the castle. I trust you won't do anything foolish with it."

Foolish being trying to break Rei's sisters out of their prison. Foolish being trying to run away again. She had already run both scenarios through her mind and discarded them. At this critical time, she would never make it out of the castle. Her grandmother was too vigilant, too wary. She had her eyes on the twins constantly. There was no opening that Morgan could exploit, no lapse in her attention that would allow her to spirit the twins away in the night.

And despite everything that she had already done, despite all the wrongs that she had committed at the DWMA, Morgan knew one thing. Even if the opportunity presented itself, even if it was possible, she was not leaving this castle without the twins.

"Don't worry, Uncle," she said, looking away. "I know my bounds."

"I hope that that's true," said Mordred, frowning at her. "I won't be around to cover up your mistakes."

Something in the way he said that gave her pause, made her look up. "You're going back?" she asked.

"For a little while," Mordred said. "This…venture of Mother's has put a slight strain on our treasury. I should return in a week."

A week.

Fear coiled in her belly, the fear that she had been carrying around with her since childhood waking up again. A week alone with her grandmother, without Mordred to deflect the Morrigan's attention away from her. A week without a shield, after so long at the DWMA, with the taste of freedom still fresh in her mouth.

She was older now, she told herself. She wasn't a child. She didn't need Mordred to protect her anymore.

"Safe travels, then," she said, looking away.

Mordred nodded, and for a moment she thought he might say more, but he withdrew instead, the door opening and closing again as he left the room. Morgan waited until his footsteps had disappeared, until her heart had calmed somewhat and she had mastered the fear, her expression settling back into smoothness. Then, she carefully stepped around the bed, walking towards the window. She looked out at the endless horizon, at the world far below them, at the dome of the sky, and her hand reached up, scratching at Quoth's head again.

Foolish…

There were many foolish things she couldn't do, many plans that would never succeed. But there was a little bit of foolishness left to her, one last thing she could indulge in.

She calmed her breathing and her heart, listening to the silence of the room, to the faint hush that was all that was left of the roar of the wind outside. She breathed slow and deep, letting out the faintest trickle of magic.

She listened.

Mordred left Elaine's room and moved steadily down the hallway, at a pace that was carefully calculated to make him look neither leisurely nor hurried. Behind him, he heard the sound of a faint caw, either one of his niece's ravens or one of his mother's crows. Either way, he didn't look over his shoulder. The castle was filled with blackbirds now, after Morgan's arrival, crows and ravens. His mind moved, as it always did, to his sister, to the goshawk that perched sometimes on a gloved arm, wings beating the air behind her.

No blackbirds for Morgana, no carrion-eaters. In a family of shadows, Morgana was a hunting hawk. Proud, headstrong, free.

The weight of his sins pressed down on him, threatening to slow his step, but Mordred had experience in pushing them away. He kept walking.

Near the foyer, he heard the sound of training, and paused to look in one of the large open ballrooms that had been repurposed as training chambers. Micah stood in the room with a sword in his hands, standing over their newest recruit. Grayson Knight knelt on the ground, propping himself up on his armored fist, breathing heavily. The marks from the Morrigan's displeasure were already beginning to fade. If he was angry at his treatment by the crow witch, he seemed determined to translate that into his training; he charged at Micah with a yell of rage, swinging his fist.

Micah sidestepped the blow with ease, the flat of his sword striking Grayson in the small of his back. The blow didn't cut, but it did knock the boy over. He sprawled out pathetically on the marble tiles. Micah looked down at him, sword in hand, a frown on his face.

"You're dead," he said, dispassionately. Grayson struggled to push himself up, unwilling to accept that, but Micah's expression was already far off, the sword in his hand dissolving away as he walked past Grayson, staring into the middle distance for a few moments before he noticed Mordred.

A lovesick researcher-turned-philosopher, a madwoman who pines for her child, and a teenager with anger management issues…Mordred couldn't help but think. Behold the horsemen of the apocalypse.

Perhaps that was unfair. But he couldn't help but feel slightly…less than confident as Micah walked up to him and Grayson continued to struggle to rise. Morgan had avoided the boy, with good reason, Mordred thought. He didn't quite trust Grayson Knight's capacity to keep secrets secret.

"Something you need?" Micah asked.

Mordred tore his eyes away from the struggling child, looking back at Micah. "I'm leaving for a few days," he said.

Micah frowned, staring at Mordred for a moment as he tried to work out the meaning of that statement. Mordred let him parse it out. For all of his flaws, Micah had a…modicum of intelligence. He would have understood that if Mordred was in the habit of coming and going without alerting anyone to his movements, the fact that he was specifically mentioning that he was leaving had significance.

Mordred knew that he understood when he saw Micah's eyes widen, just a fraction. The other man stepped back, his expression of vague confusion falling away as he rearranged his features into the flippant smile and posture that Mordred hated so much. That Micah adopted so naturally.

"I suppose you'll want me to check in on your niece?" he asked, saying the words as if he were only poking fun.

Mordred snorted softly, as if he found the idea ridiculous. "Hardly," he said. "I don't quite trust you to look after anyone."

"Oh don't be so modest," Micah said. "The little princess is safe with me." A slight rearranging of his expression, a slight change in the look of his eye. It was as good as a wink.

"Stay out of trouble," Mordred said, his tone sharp, and it was the equivalent of a nod.

With the matter settled, he turned around, leaving the room.

Vayne lay on his bed in the deepening twilight, watching shadows spread their way across his bedroom ceiling. There had been class today, despite everything that had happened, but for the first time in a long time, he had decided to skip it. He had hardly left his room. In his mind, he was still standing on the rooftop the night before, watching as Morgan floated across the gap between two houses, watching as she disappeared from sight. He remembered the sight of Rei and Ayame, lying on the ground in the twins' ruined room, remembered Cassie's face as he told her what Morgan had said, remembered the look in Maka-sensei's eye when she finally arrived, but for some reason, his mind was stuck on that image of Morgan floating away, of the look in her eyes as she turned back towards him. Her words rang in his head, echoing and resounding until he didn't think they would leave.

It was just so unfair.

To Morgan. To him. To Cassie. To everyone. After everything they had all been through, every pain that they had struggled through in their lives, why weren't they allowed to be happy? Why did things like this have to happen? Things like Ophelia's death, like Clark's mother. Things like Morgan being taken away.

Unbidden, a memory flashed into his mind, one that he hadn't dwelled on in years. A dark shed, a cold winter night, light visible from the windows of an old house, so close and yet so far away. A hand on the back of his head, a harsh voice in his ear.

Freak! Demon child!

He clenched his fists tightly against the voice, gritting his teeth. Vayne closed his eyes, breathing deep until the memory was gone, until his fingers slowly loosened, his fists unclenching.

Those days were gone, he reminded himself. Dead and gone.

The one thing he could be certain of was that they were never coming back.

Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

The sound, like something tapping on glass made him sit up, his eyes moving around his bedroom. Night had well and truly fallen now, and the lights in his room were off, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside. The tapping sound continued as his eyes moved, first drifting towards the bedroom door, which was closed, a sliver of light from the hallway outside shining beneath it. His eyes moved away from the door, coming all the way around until they settled on his room's window.

The tapping sound grew louder. Vayne stood up, feeling a chill in spite of himself as he padded over to the window, peering outside.

A raven was perched on the windowsill, tapping insistently at the glass. He exhaled, letting out a sigh of relief as he stared at the bird, his mind torn between two thoughts at once:

Good, just a raven.

And…

Ravens. Morgan.

The raven flicked beady black eyes up at him before continuing its tapping. Vayne rolled his eyes, but slid his fingers beneath the window pane, pushing it upward and letting in the cold night air. The raven hopped inside almost immediately, unfurling its wings and catching a gust as it floated over to Vayne's desk, landing on the corner and beginning to preen its feathers. Vayne let the window fall back into place.

"You squawk 'nevermore' at me and you're back out," he said, giving it a sidelong glance.

"Caw!" said the raven, rather loudly.

"As long as we understand each other." Vayne eyed the bird, but the raven seemed supremely unconcerned by his presence, continuing to preen. He hadn't seen a raven in Death City since yesterday, not since Morgan's departure.

"She left you behind too, huh?" he asked, after a moment of silence.

The raven looked up at him, tilting its head to the side to regard him curiously. It opened its beak, letting out another cawing sound.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Vayne, holding out his hand.

The raven watched him for a moment before spreading its wings, landing on his shoulder. Its talons clutched the sleeve of his shirt, tight enough to pinch a little, but not tight enough to hurt. Vayne frowned at the bird out of the corner of his eye, considering this new development.

At length, he let out a sigh.

There really wasn't that much to consider.

"You want something to eat?" he asked, making his way towards the door for the first time in hours, since the last time Clark had checked on him. "We're fresh out of carrion, but I think we might have some pizza lying around somewhere…"

"In times like this, it's more important than ever that we all stand together…"

Clark drew in a deep breath, watching from the DWMA's balcony as the last few rays of the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky growing dark. Behind him, the darkened hallways of the DWMA waited, most of the students having already gone home.

It had been…a strange day. With Rei and Ayame out of commission, Vayne and Cassie absent and Morgan…gone, Clark had been the only member of their team in attendance. Even Maka-sensei hadn't come in to teach, leaving Marie to substitute for her again. The classroom had felt sparse, subdued, and Clark felt the absences keenly. Both the absences of his friends and another absence, one that still ached when he thought of it.

Golden hair, a white dress. A smile.

He exhaled, placing his hands on the railing in front of him as he looked out over the city, his mind going back to that time. He'd been a wreck for weeks after Ophelia's death, and for good reason. It had been Vayne and the others who had drawn him out of it, Vayne and the others who had been there for him, supported him.

Now it was Vayne and the others who needed time.

Now, he was the one that was going to have to do the best he could to support them.

He watched as the sky grew dark, twilight chasing away the last rays of day. Then, taking in a deep breath for courage, he pushed off of the railing and stepped back, checking his watch.

Five more minutes.

Time to get this show on the road.

He stepped back into the building, passing empty classrooms and dark corridors until he reached the doors that led to Class Moonless Night. The lights were still on inside, the murmur of conversation filling the hallway. His heart started to beat with nervousness. There were more voices than he thought. He hadn't honestly imagined that so many people would show up.

Clark breathed, forcing himself to calm down, and wiped his palms on his jeans. He stepped forward, approaching the hulking figure that stood sentry outside the door.

Yorick nodded at him as he drew up to the classroom, glancing meaningfully through the crack in the door at the students gathered inside. "Good crowd tonight," he said. "Pretty much everyone made it. I'll give it to Jonas; he's good at spreading the word. Think even some first years snuck in, maybe a couple of N.O.T. kids."

"Thanks," said Clark with a nod, absorbing that information. It did nothing to chase the butterflies away. Yorick glanced back at him, frowning.

"You alright?" he asked. "You look a little green."

"I'm fine," said Clark. He took off his glasses, mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Just…stage fright." He placed his glasses back on, forcing himself to calm down. "I'll be alright."

Yorick nodded sympathetically, pushing the door open. "Break a leg, iinchou," he said.

Clark nodded back, pausing only to adjust the red band tied around his sleeve, marked with the skull that was the symbol of the DWMA and with REP written on it in big block letters. Then, he straightened up, threw his shoulders back, and tried to project an aura of authority, tried to make it look like he knew what he was doing.

Maka-sensei had said it herself. In times like these, the most important thing was standing together.

It was time to start the first emergency meeting of Class Moonless Night.

Omake

Clark walked back into his apartment later that night to find the lights on in the kitchen. He approached it quietly, somewhat surprised to find Vayne out of his room, and paused at the sight in front of him.

Vayne was standing by the fridge, a slice of cold pizza in his hand. He was holding it up to a raven that was perched on his shoulder, the raven pecking steadily at the toppings.

Clark stared.

"Oh, hey," said Vayne, glancing over at him. "You're back."

"Uh…Vayne?" he said, almost afraid to ask. "Why—Why are you feeding pizza to a raven?"

Vayne shrugged. "He likes it," he said.

The raven on his shoulder let out several loud caws of protest, nipping at Vayne's ear.

"Ow!" Vayne said, flinching. "Wait—she? You're a 'she'?"

The raven's only response was to caw once more, snapping up a piece of pepperoni. Vayne nodded, rubbing at his ear, and looked back at Clark.

"She likes it," he said. To the raven, he muttered, "I'm going to call you Lenore. You alright with that?"

Clark stared at the sight in front of him for a moment more before slowly, wisely, deciding to withdraw.