️Content warning: Suicide by poisoning (no actual desire to die; no attempt)

This is a bit out of context, but I'll leave you to your speculation. Because I'm an evil person.

A BIG THANK YOU to Mena and Wally for the great feedback! ❤️💕 Also, cheers to New Era for inspiring me a whole lot with this!

The margin of error is slim.

Corona's royal alchemist and head engineer unrolls his sleeves, a pencil clamped in his teeth, and steps back, content with his newest creation.

Thankfully, isolating the acid from apple juice isn't much of a challenge when your father owns an orchard and your raccoon friend would only eat fruit if he could. Varian always has a generous supply of the best Old Coronan apples.

Now, to oxidize, thereby increase the valence…

Varian ignores the slight tremor that runs through his hand as he reaches for a beaker filled with a clear agent that could be easily mistaken for water if it weren't for its pale blueness, only noticeable when he squints.

Never had he expected to be that kind of alchemist, to figure out a poison.

To his credit, its desired effects are pretty nice—well, as far as poisons go. He had providently calculated everything to guarantee an inevitable, peaceful passing. No pain, no ugly side effects.

Because Varian wants to go as easy as he can—if not for his own sake, then for his family's.

He finds the work interesting, especially since he hadn't messed with living organisms for years, unsure of the moral implications of... creating a truth serum or animal experimentation. Maybe it's silly, but ever since his compound had been painfully used on Varian himself, he mostly stays away from influencing people's bodies.

Besides, obtaining organic compounds artificially is more fun and far less disgusting, despite being a pain sometimes. Plus, as far as Varian knows, he's the first alchemist to ever have done so.

This one is simple, really—treat that grayish powder with that crystalline salt, boom, you get the same stuff you'd normally have to isolate from urine. Well, okay, it isn't that simple, but nevertheless, it'd only taken one hundred and fifty-eight tries and Varian can say he's almost proud of himself.

His back aches. He'd expected synthesizing apple acid with this freshly obtained solid compound to do the job, but no, that didn't make sense, did it? He'd had to abandon his recipe and start over a million times before he'd finally figured it out.

But there it sits—one hundred millilitres of nameless poison, secured with a cork, its concentrated liquid form playfully shifting in the small bottle on the unusually empty, unsteady table. Alright. The tenth of this dose will be enough for one adult.

What now?

He looks around the laboratory; the barrels in the corner, the pipes, the shelves where various compounds lay neatly stacked like bottles above the bar in the Snuggly Duckling, the massive desk bending under the weight of all the books, the complicated maze of glass flasks and burners, the same old goggles hanging on the wall. It's weird to see everything in such order, but he'd sort of had to clean up.

He appreciates the royals' respect for alchemy—he's still getting used to that—and damn, does he love this lab. It feels good to have Rapunzel's and Eugene's trust, to be allowed to carry out his experiments on the castle grounds… to be needed, and close to all he cherishes.

Varian doesn't want to die—not in the slightest. Or he wouldn't, if he didn't have to.

But the situation undeniably calls for it.

He looks at his notes, the only thing occupying the work table aside from the bottle. There, under the deadly recipe, there lay a clear chain of reasoning, written out in neat little lines, the conclusion not at all something he'd aimed at.

Premise one: Some part of the Moon resides in me Varian of Corona.

Premise two: As long as Varian of Corona exists, the part will exist along with him.

Premise three: As long as part of the Moon is hosted by any object or being, the black rocks and who knows what else will plague the world.

Premise four: If black rocks plague the world, the people of Corona of the world will suffer.

Conclusion: As long as Varian of Corona exists, people will suffer.

Varian of Corona must cease to exist.

One could argue that the second premise doesn't come from a very reliable source, but he trusts King Edmund's scrolls and he trusts Demanitus' work on them.

Clearly, "the Moon's gift" is mentioned several times, said to be possessed by the first child born to the Dark Kingdom if the Sundrop moves to a human host. Who could've known it had meant any person with the Dark Kingdom heritage and not just a person born there. If anyone would ask Varian, he'd tell them that whoever had written the message down did a lousy job, making it all seem as if sending King Edmund's family and subjects away would've solved the problem.

He scoffs. "The Moon's gift". Yeah, what a charming gift—pointy rocks he can't even control following him and ruining everything around, corrupting crops, invading homes and shedding blood. And of course, there's also the lovely thought that his mere conception might've been a really really bad move.

He hates that part of himself—he hates that it had always been there, lodged somewhere rotting inside of his brain. A life sentence, a sickness in his heart, a disgusting pulsating intruder settled inside his cranium. He can feel it laughing at his struggle to apply the cold scientific method to damned magic, so infuriating, defying every law and his own will.

Varian despises these rocks, always has, a force of pain and destruction. And now, there's a huge possibility that he'd been cursed with it from birth.

He can't stand the idea itself, the thought that he had been carrying darkness within him all this time. He'd hurt so many, far too many for a lifetime—is this the reason? For the umpteenth time, he finds himself asking if he's just a bad man.

What if the rocks continue to grow as long as Varian is in Corona? What if they stay as long as Varian is? How long does he have before he can't trust himself anymore? Could he ever? What if he… corrupts... and falls back into senseless rage, just like he had all those years ago?

He glances over to the blue ribbon, still pinned to the wall—first prize in the annual Science Expo.

Oh, how he wishes he could speak to Cassandra. They understand one another in that regard—betrayal, guilt, forgiveness—and now, the Moon. Maybe she could explain how he's supposed to feel.

But Cass is miles away.

Varian's gaze falls back onto the bottle. Should he just… go home and drink it? Just like that? And when? On one hand, there isn't anything he should wait for, but on the other… maybe he should just carry it around and go through with it once he's ready, gathers the courage or maybe says some goodbyes.

He's terrified—it's a simple truth he tries to avoid.

For now, he should get rid of the recipe. He doesn't want to be one to bring more poison to the world. As for his notes, all they could do was upset people more—they'd seemed to upset Eugene really badly, not that Varian blames him for it. He dislikes them as well.

He gathers the papers, intending to fetch a torch from the wall and burn them.

But, before he has the chance to, the door creaks, stopping him in his tracks. Alarmed, he snatches the poison back.

"Varian."

"Yeah?" he turns around. And ridiculously, despite the circumstances, he's pleased to see his father's face, just like he always is. "Oh hey, dad! I didn't know you were on the island."

Quirin's gaze immediately lands on the bottle in Varian's hand, and he feels his heart drop a bit. He watches the man looking around as if searching for some other compound in a bigger flask, a project that Varian could be working on. But, as the alchemist realizes with a small sense of dread, the tiny bottle he's holding is the only substance that hadn't been put away on the shelves.

"Yes, I was just stopping by," Quirin says slowly, eyes drilling into the substance again.

He seems nervous, color draining from his face and feet glued to the spot.

He knows.

"Well, we could… why don't you stay, I'm—I've finished for today, so..."

What now?

"Varian." Dad is very serious. He finally steps further into the room and one good look at his face confirms that damn it, he absolutely knows. "Son, I've heard—"

"Yeah, let's go!" What was he going to say? "I just need to change and, uh..." His voice trailing away, Varian quickly sweeps his notes off the table and crumples them in his free hand.

Dad's having none of it. He shakes his head, looking troubled, looking hurt. "Stop," he says lowly, an edge of dismay breaking the word, sounding so unlike him.

Varian's heart cries out, the ache apparent on his dad's face resonating through it. Maybe it's selfish, but it hurts to lie, even for the greater good. He almost moves, wanting nothing more than to get closer, even though he really should keep a distance from now on.

So, Eugene had told him. Probably asked him to come and told him everything. Very smart, that's lovely, let's add that to his father's worries, as if Varian hadn't caused him enough fret already.

The poison feels like it's heating and bubbling when Quirin points at it. "Is that what I think it is?"

Silence falls between them, the atmosphere so tense that the air seems to somehow thicken. Varian hadn't seen his dad look at him so harshly, angrily even—frightened—in a long time. For a moment, he considers lying, acting stupid. But then, he'd sworn respect and honesty, he'd sworn to live better—no secrets, manipulation, not even the slightest of fibs—and he doesn't break such resolutions.

"Yes," he answers quietly.

"I refuse," comes the immediate response, as if Quirin had only been waiting for him to confirm. He overcomes the distance across the lab in a few steps. "You h-hear me?"

"Uh, I—I'm—"

Dad doesn't seem to even notice his stumbling. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Okay, calm down?" Varian tries. "Listen, I know that it's radi—"

"Give it to me."

He avoids the outstretched hand, fist closing tight around the bottle. "What? No!"

Suddenly, warm fingers appear on his wrist and his arm is jerked forward.

"What are you—Dad!"

He strains. Quirin seizes him in a tight grip, reaching for his clenched fist.

"Okay, let's just—stop! Dad!"

Almost on instinct, Varian struggles against the arm grasping his shoulders. His wrist twists painfully. He pushes the man away with his elbow, but the grip on his arm is strong. They grapple some more before dad forces his fist open.

"Hey!"

The air is suddenly rent by a clinking shatter and he falls straight into Quirin's chest, smashing his left ear into it, protectively yanked away just in time to avoid the poison pooling on the floor.

Varian's arms flop at his sides. "Great," he deadpans, staring at the smashed glass. For a moment, he forgets the seriousness of the matter, simply frustrated to see all his hard work go to waste. "You know how much time I've spent on this?"

"What were you thinking?!"

The flasks and tools on the shelves behind him clink as Varian bumps into them, startled by the yell.

"There!" Taking him by surprise, his dad snatches the papers from his other hand and throws them into the puddle. Varian's writing disappears almost immediately as the ink smudges on the paper absorbing the clear liquid.

The alchemist clenches his teeth. Now, that was unnecessary.

"I'm serious, Varian, why would you—!"

"I can explain it if you stop screaming at me for a second!" he finally shouts back.

At that, Dad finally quiets down and takes a step back. The room is only filled with light panting for a moment as Varian gathers his thoughts.

He tries his best to look collected. "This… thing has to be stopped. Okay?" he raises his hands, hoping to ease the tension. "People can get hurt."

"So what, this is what you've come up with?"

Varian snorts. "For the love of Corona, do you think I'm happy to do it or something?"

"How can I know? Apparently, you don't tell me anything!" Quirin bites back. He pauses, probably waiting for a response, but Varian decides it's best to let him calm down. "What do you think you're doing, exactly?" he resumes.

"Don't you see? The Moon's energy, it has to be freed, released to the heavens or whatever—"

"Don't you make fun of this." Dad's voice grows harsher again, and only then, Varian notices a higher pitch in it. Only then, he realizes what the glistening of the eyes before him really means. "Or whatever? Do you have any idea or have you just jumped onto the first thing that seemed like an easy solution and decided to try it out?"

"I—well, if there's a chance, then I—"

"That's what you do, Varian. You get this idea that you have to save everyone, preferably alone, and you take stupid risks just because there's a chance."

Hurt by the words, Varian tears his gaze away from the face in front of him. He opens one of the drawers, searching for a cloth to wipe the floor with.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you completely thought this through before coming up with poison." Dad's lip curls at the word.

Varian silently watches as the cloth absorbs the substance before gathering all the glass shards into it and straightening up.

"Did you?"

"Believe it or not, I did," he answers, almost whispering. "I don't know what else to do." After throwing the wet cloth away, he reaches under the table and pulls out a stool. "Sit down, you look tired as hell."

Glad to see Quirin comply, he sighs with relief and leans on the table himself. Maybe they can talk it out without being at each other's throats.

His dad grunts. "What will this accomplish? How do you know it'll solve anything?"

"It's in me, dad." Varian's voice shakes embarrassingly. "How else can we get rid of it?"

"Okay, but would you? Couldn't it get trapped, or lost along with you?"

"Maybe it should get lost! Dad, you should know better than anyone else what those rocks bring on people," he speaks around the lump in his throat. No matter how much time passes, it always seems to be there when he talks about the amber. "It's—it's death!"

"No," comes the firm reply. "I've watched the Moon's doings for years before I've come to Corona. I know how it all must seem to you, but believe me when I say, it is life. A part of the balance we all depend on."

"But the rocks—"

"The rocks had sought the Sundrop. The Moonstone called for Her Majesty Rapunzel and that had been the reason for the rocks to come here, you know that. Nothing else."

"They'd ruined our home in the process," Varian says grimly, avoiding his father's eyes, unable to bear another look of fearful sadness. "They destroy, it's in their nature."

All of a sudden, there's a comforting hand on his forearm. "Fire destroys too when it catches on wood." Dad lets his words echo around the lab before picking up, "Listen, son. I know you want to do what's best. But the Moon is a source of life as vital as the Sun, and we both know how it's needed, Varian. It's a force of nature—there's no evil in it. If you have a part of it, I don't know if it's supposed to go back up there or if you're destined to live with it, but we'll get to the bottom of it and sort something out."

Varian looks up to see Quirin's face soft, void of that frantic desperation that seemed etched to it moments before.

"I'm sorry I yelled," dad nearly whispers. "But please, let us help."

And something about that, about this warmness and care, makes Varian feel younger. Safer. "I don't want this, Dad. I don't want it so bad." Childish words slip out directly from his heart. "I wish it would go away, the rocks… everything."

Quirin's thumb gently strokes his arm. "So do we all, but it's not up to us." He gently squeezes Varian's shoulder as he voices this difficult truth. "All we can do… is rise up to the challenge."

The alchemist sighs. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

"I don't either. But this..." The man gestures toward the spilled compound. "Ironically, this is not a solution."

A surprised chuckle escapes Varian's throat, causing it to finally relax. "What a great moment to crack a dad joke."

"Thank you very much. Now, make your old man some tea and let's take some time to think. You don't have to do this alone. That sound good?"

He can feel his chest burst with a warm feeling. "Yeah," he agrees. "And I'll have you know, I'm less of a risk-taker now, so we'll drink from actual mugs."

"Last time the rocks had appeared, they'd formed a path from the, the source, the Moonstone, to Rapunzel." Varian drags his finger across the map. "But now, they're just… no matter where I go, rocks will be there. It's like I am the source, they're everywhere around me. But I've studied them for hours and I can't see any pattern or path like before, it's just… aimless."

His dad slowly sips the tea. "That doesn't mean they're not scouring for something again."

"But what could they be looking for? The Sundrop is gone!"

"Mhm, yes, along with the Moonstone. And yet, here you are, gifted by the Moon with another part of them."

Varian ponders these words. "I..."

He guesses it's possible that there might be a part of the Sun somewhere and the rocks are searching for it, but it doesn't explain why they're behaving so chaotic. "Maybe… maybe it's just not active, or it doesn't manifest itself," he thinks out loud. "Just like the Moon in me went undiscovered."

Maybe whatever force was driving these rocks, it didn't know where to find its counterpart.

And if he was carrying it…

"I… I think I should talk to Rapunzel."

Only then, Quirin's shoulders seem to relax, and he sighs with relief. A firm ball of guilt settles in Varian's stomach. He hadn't meant to upset him so much, he never means to—but it seems he always manages to.

If the rocks really have any other purpose than destroy, if they're looking for a flower or a person—then he has two hypotheses. One involves Rapunzel, his best friend aside from Ruddiger. Another one has to do with someone just like him, a half-blood child born to parents from Corona and the Dark Kingdom.

He shakes his head at his own enormous oversight, the golden streak of hair on a certain Princess' head vividly standing out in his imagination.

He takes off his gloves and quickly fastens the collar button of his uniform, turning to leave. "Yeah, let's go."

"Son."

"Yeah?"

And suddenly, safe arms are around him, hand cupping the back of Varian's neck. He can hear the older man's heartbeat, quick and thundering.

Letting out a long breath, he lowers his head and allows himself to sink into his father's shoulder for a moment.

He remembers how he'd clung to him ten years ago, desperately grasping his fur, kneeling in a puddle of molten resin. You're alive, he had shouted then. His head had spun from the sheer relief and his vision had blurred with tears as all the pain he'd felt in his father's absence poured out of him as if a dam had broken.

Dad! Oh, you're alive!

Alive. Oh, you're alive.

He's horrified to find his eyes stinging.

"Okay, dad," he mutters, pulling away, agreeing to an unspoken request. "Okay."

Thank you for reading! ❤️

One review = one hug for Varian