Leander's oldest brother made it, and his second brother didn't, and his sister extra didn't, and his third brother is at least theoretically still in the Scholomance but Leander isn't particularly optimistic.

He's has a ludicrous number of languages - fluent in English and spell-competent in Mandarin, Hindi, Japanese, and pretty much everything descended from Latin (Esperanto and Catalan were a side project, a word which here means an indulgence carefully indulged in, because Lot Marsh does not suffer his children to half-learn a language if they won't be able to learn it correctly, nevermind that Leander has most of the romance languages and adores words above all else and the Catalan was never not going to be fine and the Esperanto practically came free with all the other European languages.)

His father pronounces him weak and going to die. Leander can't even find it in him to argue, because his father isn't wrong. Leander's known he was probably going to die since before he knew what that meant.

The hour before pickup Lot spends berating Leander's every flaw (too sentimental too honest too hopeful too helpful too weak, you can't get a good alliance if you try to help everyone you see, it's a vulnerability and it's going to kill Leander and Lot can't say he'll be disappointed because he isn't expecting any better but he also won't be sorry) and then as soon as they're anywhere that anyone else might hear he's all clannish familial pride; Leander tunes him out with the kind of skill that comes from years of practice and wonders, vaguely, how long he'll stay the youngest of his siblings.

It's cold, even in July. Leander tilts his head upward to look up at the stars, which don't care if he's weak and never have and never will, they're too far away, and he doesn't think about his parents or his brother who might or might not be dead or his siblings who definitely are; he sets his eyes above the horizon and thinks about anything at all except for here, and now, and this.

And then there's a lurch, like a hook in his stomach, and the stars and the horizon and the chill of night are gone.