The information settles into my understanding with implications I'm still processing.
She uses Lucifer as an example with Cerberus, she continues, naming entities that carry mythological weight I've only encountered in stories until this moment. "All such beings—the hounds, the guardians, the infernal creatures that serve higher powers—they require ownership. A master whose authority they recognize and obey."
Like dogs.
The comparison surfaces with the particular simplicity of understanding finally clicking into place.
Supernatural, terrifying, three-headed dogs that breathe fire and could easily kill everyone present...
But still dogs.
Still creatures that need someone to tell them what to do.
"So..." I begin, pieces assembling into conclusion I'm not entirely comfortable with. "I need to be his master?"
Professor Eternalis inclines her head in confirmation.
"If I tell him to sit, he'll sit?"
The question emerges with skepticism that I can't quite hide. The creature currently tearing through Academy grounds doesn't look like anything that would respond to commands, regardless of who gave them.
"Yes," Professor Eternalis confirms. "But I suspect your current form won't suffice for establishing that authority."
I frown at the caveat.
"So I'm in 'Fae' form right now?"
The question seeks confirmation of something I've been suspecting since waking in Nikolai's cocoon with golden hair and pink eyes and skin that won't stop shimmering.
She nods.
Koishii chuckles from his inverted position, the sound carrying the particular amusement of someone who finds my ignorance entertaining.
"Your Fae magic feels neglected," he observes, finally rotating himself to proper orientation with casual disregard for whatever effort that might require. "It's been suppressed for your entire existence. Now that it's awakened, it wants to stretch its wings. Establish dominance. Claim the attention it's been denied."
The explanation makes a certain kind of sense—explains why the transformation happened without my consent, why maintaining this form seems to require no effort on my part, why returning to my previous state feels impossible despite how desperately I want my old face back.
"That's fine and all," I acknowledge, accepting the reality even if I don't appreciate it. "But we can't be standing here waiting for Damien to try and kill one of the others."
The concern is genuine—every second we spend discussing magical theory is a second where one of my bond mates might make a mistake that proves fatal. Damien's hellhound form shows no signs of recognizing friend from enemy, no evidence that the bonds connecting us mean anything while he's trapped in this monstrous state.
Koishii shrugs with the particular insouciance of someone who doesn't share my concern.
"It wouldn't be a big deal," he observes, tone carrying casualness that makes my teeth grind. "Just proves they weren't worthy of life."
Not worthy of?—
"Koishii."
His name emerges from my lips with sternness that I didn't know I was capable of producing—authority that comes from somewhere deep, from the awakened heritage that apparently carries expectations about how certain people should be addressed by certain other people.
He pouts.
The expression is almost childlike in its petulance, shifted features arranging themselves into displeasure that suggests my tone has wounded him more than my words.
"Hmph," he huffs, the sound carrying sulking quality that contradicts his centuries of existence. "This only started when you were in that cocoon."
The statement makes me frown with new confusion.
