Yellow Jacket

Warren shouted, "Oh shit!" as Deic tackled him to the ground with the fury of someone who'd been holding back a storm for far too long. The air was knocked from his lungs as his back slammed into the dirt, his limbs pinned beneath her weight. Her knee dug into his ribs like she meant to leave a mark, while her forearm pressed down against his throat, cutting off most of his air. Her face hovered inches from his, eyes burning with accusation, suspicion, and the kind of righteous anger that left no room for doubt.

"Who are you and why are you on Legion grounds?" she snarled. Her voice was raw and sharp-edged, like a blade that had been honed against resentment. Her free hand hovered near her side, fingers twitching above the hilt of a blade like she was daring him to make a wrong move.

Warren gagged out a response, voice strangled by the pressure. "Wait, Deic, it's me. It's Vaeliyan. This is just my body mod!"

She hesitated. Blinked. Recognition didn't come immediately. Her gaze crawled over his features like she was comparing him to a memory she didn't want to admit she still carried. Then it clicked.

And she looked pissed.

With a grunt, she shoved off him and took a few steps back. "You absolute moron. Take it off before someone else sees it. What the hells were you thinking, walking around like that on Citadel soil?"

Vaeliyan coughed and sat up, rubbing the sore spot on his throat. "Didn't think it'd be an issue. It's late. I figured everyone would be inside by now."

"Well, you figured wrong. Dumbass," she muttered. "What if a patrol had seen you? You want to get jumped again? Or maybe dragged in front of a sub-instructors and questioned for espionage? Gods, Vaeliyan, think."

He brushed dirt from his uniform and stood, slow and careful. "Why are you even here, Deic?"

She paused. Her expression shifted. She didn't snap back with sarcasm. Didn't deflect. Instead, she just looked at him. And in that look, there was something heavier. Slower. Uneasy.

Regret.

"Alex told me to apologize," she said, almost like it physically hurt. "For how I've been acting. Said I was blaming you for something that was mine. Said you didn't need to try and fix my mistake, and that I was just pushing my own guilt on you."

She scowled, glancing off to the side. "And of course, he didn't stop there. He broke it down. Made a full debrief out of it. Flow charts. Diagrams. Color-coded graphs. I'm not even joking. He showed me, step by step, every single point where I walked into that trap like a blind idiot."

She crossed her arms, clearly reliving the humiliation. "He said, and I quote, 'If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at your own timeline.' Prick."

Vaeliyan waited. Let her sit with it. Let her words hang.

"So yeah," she muttered. "Sorry. You didn't deserve that. That was on me."

He blinked. "That's... not what I expected."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," she snapped quickly, her usual armor snapping back into place. "Because just when I thought maybe I could stop wanting to strangle you, Imujin calls a full meeting. Says your class is being given a by-year. That all the instructors are focusing on you. That the other years are on their own."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "So yeah. Now I want to punch your stupid face in all over again."

Vaeliyan groaned. "I had nothing to do with that. I didn't ask for it. I didn't even know until just now."

He tilted his head. "Also, how long have you been waiting at my gate?"

She stepped closer. "Nothing to do with that? NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT!?"

Her fury reignited, all the frustration roaring back to the surface like dry tinder catching flame.

"Calm the fuck down, Deic."

She swung.

And Vaeliyan didn't move.

He could see it.

Branching projections of possible futures, calculated probabilities drawn from the tension in her stance, the weight in her voice, the emotions she tried, and failed, to bury. His mind flicked through them in the space between heartbeats.

If he caught her wrist: she'd recoil. Call him smug. Defensive pride would twist the moment.

If he dodged: she'd think he was mocking her. She'd lash out again. Louder.

If he said the perfect line: it wouldn't land. She'd take it as condescension.

But if he let her hit him?

That thread ran smoother. Shorter. A direct, painful release. It would hurt. But it would end it.

So he stayed still.

Her fist connected with his jaw, hard enough to stagger him. Not enough to knock him out. Not enough to break bone. But she didn't know his face was new. His nerves raw. His bones still settling.

It felt like being kicked by a steel boot. Stars exploded behind his eyes. Pain seared through his skull.

He stumbled, caught himself, blinked.

Deic stared.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away. Not slowly. Not peacefully. But not with the same rage either.

Her steps were still heavy. But the fire had dulled. The edge was gone.

She stormed off.

With a bit less rage.

And that, Vaeliyan thought, was enough.

For now.

Vaeliyan walked into his house and muttered, "So... she still hates me."

Jurpat was waiting just inside, leaning against the counter with a half-empty plate and a glass of something flat and sweet. He barked out a laugh, nearly choking on the bite he'd just taken. "Of course she does. A lot of people hate you right now. You've got that effect on people. You're like a magnet for resentment right now."

Vaeliyan groaned, dragging a hand down his face and pacing across the entryway. His boots left faint streaks of grit on the polished floor. "You're not wrong. Speaking of which... do you have any idea where the others might be? I think I gotta go... well, I gotta go get this over with, right?" He gestured vaguely at the air, like the weight of the conversation pressed down on him even before it began. His shoulders sagged, as though the house itself carried judgment.

Jurpat smirked, chewing with exaggerated care before swallowing. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, you're actually thinking about fixing it now. Maybe I finally got through to you. Took long enough."

"Don't push it," Vaeliyan said, rolling his eyes. He sank into one of the chairs, elbows braced on his knees, rubbing his temples. The silence between them was heavy, filled only by the sound of Jurpat crunching through his food. "But you might be right. Maybe I should just call them up. Starting with Elian, he's probably the least likely to try and smash my teeth in when he sees me."

Jurpat tilted his head, pretending to weigh the odds with exaggerated seriousness. "Good idea," he said through a mouthful of bread, crumbs spilling onto the counter. "But don't fool yourself. He'll still give you shit for this most likely. Probably just in a quieter, scarier way. You'll probably still get an earful, though."

Vaeliyan sighed heavily, running a hand over his jaw like he was trying to brace himself for another blow. "Yeah... that's probably true. Maybe I'll just... fuck, do I really have to do this now? Can't I give it a day? Maybe never?"

Jurpat pointed his sandwich at him like it was a weapon, eyebrows raised in mock severity. "Yes, you do, Vaeliyan. Yes, you do. You don't want to let this rot any longer. Believe me, it'll just stink worse tomorrow. By the next day, it'll be unbearable. Don't think you can dodge this."

Vaeliyan groaned again. "Dammit. Alright." He leaned back in the chair, then raised his voice toward the ceiling. "House, can you call Elian?"

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House's voice responded instantly. "Calling Elian."

The wall in front of Vaeliyan flickered to life, shifting into a broad, high-definition screen. Elian's face appeared, sharp and unreadable, as if carved from stone. His expression betrayed nothing, no anger, no humor, just that cool aristocratic neutrality that made it impossible to know what he was thinking. The silence around him only sharpened the image. Behind him, Vaeliyan caught glimpses of the others, his entire class gathered in one place, sitting and standing in the background. Some leaned forward, others crossed their arms, but all of them were watching. The air on their end looked thick with tension, like a room ready to break into open argument the moment the call ended.

Vaeliyan forced a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I guess you guys are all there. Elian, is it... a good idea if I come over? Or do you think they'll try to, I don't know. I mean, I don't think they can murder me now, but... are they less pissed off? Do you all know what's going on?"

Elian didn't answer. His stare was steady, clinical, like a judge considering a sentence. The silence stretched too long, pulling taut, making Vaeliyan's throat feel dry. Finally, Elian gave a single nod. No words. Just the barest acknowledgment. Then the screen went dark as the call cut off, leaving the room colder than before.

Vaeliyan sat back, exhaling through his nose like the air itself tasted bitter. His hand went to his jaw, rubbing it absentmindedly. "Alright, I guess I'm off to Elian's. You coming? They're all there."

Jurpat licked sauce from his thumb, smirk widening as if he'd been waiting for this moment all night. "Honestly, I wouldn't miss it for all the sandwiches in Kyrrabad. You're probably going to get a verbal ass kicking, and I want front-row seats."

Vaeliyan shook his head. "You're not wrong. Not wrong at all. This is going to be fun... like in the way getting kicked in the junk is fun." He muttered the last part to himself, but Jurpat's laugh followed him all the way to the door, echoing against the empty halls as though even the house wanted to laugh at him.

Inside, the lights were off. The air smelled faintly sweet, but the house itself was silent. Too silent. No voices, no footsteps. Just the pressing dark, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

"Guys? You there? What's going on?" Vaeliyan called, his voice echoing too sharply in the empty hall.

Then the floor gave way.

He plummeted, arms flailing, before slamming into something sticky and dense. The substance clung instantly, trapping his limbs, pinning his arms to his sides until he was stuck up to his neck. His first thought was acid, glue, something engineered to dissolve him alive. He tensed, bracing for pain. But it wasn't burning. It just held him like amber swallowing an insect.

The overhead lights snapped on with a blinding glare. Vaeliyan squinted, looking up to see a perfect square cut out of the floor above, the edges clean and deliberate. He shifted, trying to move, but the substance only clung tighter.

He stuck out his tongue. The taste was unmistakable. "Wait. Is this... honey? Holy shit, this is honey. This stuff's expensive! Why the fuck am I covered in honey?"

From above, Elian's voice came calm and cold: "For the ants."

Vaeliyan's eyes went wide. "What ants? No. No, no, don't you dare, don't you fucking dare, Elian, please don't. Please, please don't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, guys, I'm sorry!"

Chime's voice floated down, dry and biting. "I don't think he's serious. I think he's just trying to get out of punishment."

Vaeliyan thrashed weakly, honey splashing around him in slow ripples. "I'm serious! This is torture!"

Tormen's voice cut through, flat and unwavering. "So what? We're supposed to be learning how to torture people. This is definitely a form of torture. The ants eat you alive. It's slow. Cruel. It works."

Lessa chuckled. "Yeah, we get it. You won't die quickly. We'll pull you out when you're only half-eaten."

Vaeliyan whipped his head sideways and froze. Jurpat was in a second pit, chest-deep in honey, sandwich balanced in one hand. He looked entirely too comfortable.

Jurpat shrugged. "I'm taller than you. It's not that bad for me. I can get out. Honestly."

Elian's voice followed, cutting and precise. "We weren't sure which side he'd walk in on. I'll help you out later. You weren't the target."

Jurpat took another bite, chewing contentedly. "I'm good here. I can kill the ants if they show up. You're fucked by the way. But this is funny. I don't mind. Also, honey's delicious."

"Floor honey, not so much," Roan muttered from above.

Vaeliyan craned his neck. "How would you even know that?"

Roan shrugged like it was obvious. "Don't ask."

"I just did," Vaeliyan snapped back, honey dripping from his chin.

The room fell quiet for a moment before Sylen said, almost casually, "We have to test it on somebody. Again, it's surprisingly delicious. Don't know where Elian got this much honey, though."

Jurpat scooped up a sticky handful and stuffed it in his mouth. "Roan's wrong. It's good."

Elian's reply was sharp. "I ordered it in."

Someone asked, incredulous, "Why do you even have this much honey?"

Elian's tone hardened. "You don't need to know that. You're here to be punished."

Vaeliyan groaned, his voice breaking. "Gods dammit, it's in my pants now. And I need to fart. I don't know what's going to happen if..."

A single bubble blooped to the surface. Thick. Awful.

"Oh, that's gross," Rokhan muttered, recoiling.

"I'm going to release the ants now," Elian said, voice cool and detached.

Vaeliyan shouted, straining against the honey. "I will hurt you! I will hurt you so bad if you do this, Elian! And you know I can. All of you, I swear, pain. Pain. Pain."

Fenn burst out laughing. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Just imagine it," Vaeliyan snarled. "All pain. And I will cause it. All of it."

Jurpat leaned back against the honey like it was a recliner, still chewing his sandwich. "He probably will. Honestly, I don't know why he's still down there. He could get out. But it's funnier to watch him stuck."

The twins spoke in eerie unison, voices flat. "Because he doesn't think."

Vaeliyan scowled, glaring up at them. "That's fair. Actually, I came to talk to you all. To say I'm sorry. For not thinking. For not asking. For binding you without..."

Elian cut him off, stepping closer to the pit's edge. "I've got a better idea. I'll stand over him, turn on my Soul Skill, and even if he tries, he won't be able to climb out."

Vaeliyan's eyes narrowed. "If I turn into Warren, I could probably make a honey storm. That's an idea I'll save for later." He forced a laugh that didn't reach his eyes.

The honey shifted as he pressed upward, body straining. He poured his will into it, his muscles locking tight as he forced himself free. With a wet pop he burst out like a cork from a bottle, sticky strings snapping against his armor. Gross. But he was out.

Honey dripped down his jaw. He pretended not to lick it, but the others saw.

"Did you just lick your fart honey?" Ramis demanded.

"No! Leave me alone. It's honey. Do you know how rare this is? How expensive? Did you hear about Grix stealing honey from Florence? Nearly caused a war. You don't waste honey."

He wiped his face, still dripping, still fuming. "You idiots covered me in the most expensive substance I knew of before coming to Kyrrabad just to make a point? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The class laughed, voices overlapping. The room rang with their mockery, the sweet smell of honey clinging to his skin as Vaeliyan realized this was only the beginning of the punishment.

Feathers. Feathers came next. Vaeliyan was absolutely drenched in them. Honey, sticky and dripping, held the feathers to his skin until he looked like some grotesque parody of a bird. He glanced down at himself, feathers clumped around his arms, glued to his legs, sprouting absurdly from his shoulders. Ridiculous didn't even begin to cover it. It was classic humiliation. It was… tar and feathering. The ancient punishment made new again. What was he supposed to do but laugh? At least this proved they didn't absolutely want him dead. They just wanted him embarrassed, humbled, dragged down in front of everyone for being a dick. He could live with that. Maybe even, maybe even roll with it.

He could have shed it, burned it off, snapped free of it easily enough. But it was funny. And he let it happen. He had seen the feathers coming before they hit, his sense of possibilities showing them fluttering through the air. And still he hadn't moved. Just like with Deic, when he hadn't avoided the punch, here he didn't avoid the punch line. They needed this. Maybe he did too. Maybe they needed to watch him look ridiculous so they could forgive him, even if only a little.

Honey dripped down his cheek, sticky and sweet, pulling at his skin as he sighed. "So, there were never any ants, were there?"

"No," Elian said flatly, his voice carrying across the room like judgment. "We're not that evil. But the twins behind you… got you a present."

Lessa and Vexa emerged from the side of the room, grinning like mischievous sprites. They carried a small pillow, holding it aloft with ceremonial care as if presenting a crown. Resting atop was a ridiculous hat, bright cloth stitched with uneven letters. The words read: I am a dumb-dumb head.

Vaeliyan squinted, his feathers rustling as he tilted his head. "What the hells is that?"

"Exactly what it says. You're a dumb-dumb head," they said in unison, their voices sing-song and merciless.

"Are we children now? When did this happen?" He looked around at everyone, searching for some kind of sanity, but all he saw were smirks and grins, eyes lit with cruel amusement. It was nonsense, utterly beneath them. And yet… it was kind of funny. Against his will, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Kind of funny?" Jurpat asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the wall with a grin. "Whose idea was this?"

"Well," Ramis said, stepping forward with his arms crossed, "we heard the story about Grix and the honey, and I got an idea about a method of humiliation I read about in one of the old logs. I thought it was funny, and everyone else agreed. So here you are, sticky, feathery, and looking absolutely ridiculous in a hat that says I'm a dumb-dumb head."

Ramis stuck his tongue out at Vaeliyan like a child mocking a sibling. Vaeliyan blinked, feathers shifting as his expression hardened. "Vexa? Leron? You're dating that moron? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? This is… this is beyond childish."

"Cousin," Sylen cut in sharply, voice dripping with ice. "And yes, you're still my cousin. I decided." She whipped out her mirror from behind her back and shoved it in his face. The reflection stared back at him, honey-slick, feathered, and ridiculous. "Look at yourself. We're not the morons here."

The twins giggled from behind her, clutching the pillow now empty of its crown. "Also… we're posting this live to the whole Citadel. With Deck's help. Because, well, we thought he deserved a treat after saving the city."

The gathered cadets murmured approval, the energy in the room tightening into excitement. Wesley chimed in with a grin. "Him and the other instructors, sure, but he's the one who took down a cruiser. So, it felt right to get you back for him. And this was the least torturous way to do it. The least cruel. We only made you look like an idiot. That's practically mercy."

Xera stepped forward, her expression cool and amused as she gestured at the mirror. "And now it's live streaming to the entire Citadel. So, congratulations, Vaeliyan. You're officially the dumb-dumb head. That phrase is probably going to be plastered on posters, etched on walls, and whispered in the halls for the rest of eternity. Congratulations!"

The room erupted into laughter. Some doubled over, holding their sides. Others clapped mockingly, stomping their feet to punctuate the spectacle. The sound swelled and rolled through the estate, filling the halls like a tide. Vaeliyan stood there dripping honey and feathers, the hat perched like a crown of fools, staring at his own reflection. Humiliated. But alive. And maybe, just maybe, better for letting it happen. He could feel their laughter like a physical thing, pressing into his chest, almost cleansing in its cruelty.

For the first time all day, something inside him cracked, not with anger, but with release. He laughed, shaking his head, his voice carrying over theirs. "Okay… that is really funny."

The class roared louder, the tension they had carried between them fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, humiliation became something else: a bridge, however absurd, between Vaeliyan and the people who needed to see him fall.