Time : hell if he knows
Date : July 17, 2026 17 July, 2026
Location : Janus Gate - Esikkent, Turkey
Interactions :
Date : July 17, 2026 17 July, 2026
Location : Janus Gate - Esikkent, Turkey
Interactions :
Kasimir was not in Turkey against his own free will. Surprisingly. The only part of being here he objected to, really, was the part where they were staying underground the whole time in a magic city. That sucked. He was definitely going to sneak up to Istanbul to see the State Opera and Ballet - at the very least, lay eyes upon the venue.
As it stood, he was being monitored closely. Kas suspected his mother had something to do with that, but whether or not there was bribery involved he couldn't be quite certain. Behavior notwithstanding, the surveillance upon the Modron boy felt excessive. A step farther than stifling.
He stood near the back, his usual post. Being tall and rather antisocial and all. The ceremonial preparations of this refrain were nearly over by the time Penwick arrived - not that Kas could say he was particularly displeased with their tardiness, but he might've liked to witness the transformation of the Gate.
Despite being an absolute shipbag (a fun Navy term from his father, a word Kasimir found odd recalling at this moment), he had managed to learn something in five years of magical schooling. Non-wix being an intense focus at Ilvermorny and Penwick both meant Kasimir had been presented with this information a thousand times over, and really it was the only class he cared to pay attention to for news of the no-maj world. The Veela were a group often discussed. Alluring, wrathful, mysterious. The young man did not like to consider his heritage, but when it was brought up he could not quell curiosity. An insignificant, infantasemal part of him was quite invested in the proceedings about to take place.
A blue person appeared in front of the group. It began speaking in French. Kasimir physically recoiled.
As far as Kas and anyone else was concerned, English was his native language. Sure, French had been his first, and it had once been very dear to him. And yes, it had been the language in which is mother taught him to read and in which he spoke with her when they went to the theater or a gallery or the gardens, or when he simply had something to talk to her and her alone about. But he rejected it now. He had rejected it since this whole magical mess began, when Cassandre betrayed Kasimir's trust. And maybe he sometimes thought in French still, but he squashed those thoughts under English noise until his thoughts were English again.
The figure continued to speak, to speak in French despite Kas' mental efforts to tell whatever enchantment being used that his native language was English, that he wanted it in English. He would have to use the spell. Great.
"Muffaltus apparitio," he muttered, determined to get it right first try. He didn't care about the ceremony enough to have to listen to fucking French and think about his mom.
His eyes did not divert from the Janus Gate, even when there was a commotion near the professors. The flash nearly blinded the boy, but Kas recovered quickly.
The White Ember Court. Women, striking and bold and beautiful, with faces deeply familiar yet totally alien, stood before bursting forth. Song and dance accompanied them, a lilting voice leading while harmonies wove together.
If one were to spare a glance at Kasimir, they would find his gaze soft under the weight of awe. His jaw dropped open, he stood straighter, leaned forward just so, as if his soul could sense what was to come next.
Dance. Kasimir's pulse quickened, his breaths slowed - stopped for a minute, actually - as the Veela danced. A piqué from one, chaînés from another. Their ribbons told the story, their movements the vessel for the narrative.
Ballet.
They wove a tapestry of time - of birth, death, trouble, triumph, voyage, homecoming. Kasimir did not notice the tears until they had already fallen. The Veela danced - the language of the Veela was held in the body. He spoke the language of his ancestors. His inhuman ancestors.
Was the magic in his blood responsible for his greatest love, too?
It ended all too soon. Kasimir practically tripped over himself to get closer, to be closer. He wanted to ask, he needed to know if this fight he had fought for years had been for magic in the end. If all his striving to return to what he loved most - if all his talent and greatest joy was the result of the curse of the arcane. He nearly hung over the barrier between the viewing and the ceremony. He paid no attention to the mysterious figure stepping out from the Gate, instead calling out to an attendant, "Are they leaving? They can't, I need to speak with them, I need to speak with the Veela."
