Chapter Text
The darkness swirled around him.
Almost mocking as they whispered to him as they flitted and curled over his ears.
His hands shook at his side.
All that repeated in his mind were two things.
His best friend’s cry of his name, a plead for help—the boy never begged for help, it was always him who did.
And the three words that would forever haunt his mind.
“I just killed someone.”
His friend sat, motionless in the pile of dark grey ashes, his eyes—oh how he hated the look of terror in them—were stuck staring up at him.
“Hey,” they boy whispered, slowly standing up. “I’m—I’m okay.”
He could now feel the hot tears as they rolled down his face. Hot and itchy and horrible.
“I—I killed her.”
The other swallowed, glancing between the dust and ash on the floor—the ash that now coated his hands and pants and shirt and everything—and his best friend.
“I know,” He said gently, taking another step forward. “I know, and it’s okay.”
The boy—murderer—lurched backwards. “Don’t touch me!”
The other boy recoiled, a flinch. They stood there for a moment, silence and tension thick in the air. It could almost be cut with a knife.
“It’s okay.” The younger boy whispered, voice steady, “You can’t hurt me. We’re best friends, remember?”
The older boy took his eyes off of the floor for long enough to see the desperation clouding the discolored eyes he knew so well—one a leafy green, like when the sun would beat down on the crown of a tree; the other a golden hazel, like honey and caramel melded together with the barest hints of grey stone and verdant green.
He nodded stiffly, but fear still spiked his heart. He was so cold.
“I’m scared—” he said suddenly, “Fruit, I’m so scared—” more and more tears rushed down his face. The other’s face morphed into one of hurt and before the other could react, he was wrapped in a hug.
He gasped, trying to shove his best friend away. “Stop! I don’t wanna hurt you!”
“Shh, you can’t hurt me. You can never hurt me.” The older choked on the tears in his throat, breaking down into sobs; loud gasping sobs that shook his body.
“Please,” he didn’t quite know what he was pleading for, “please…”
As he was held, his shadows stopped their whispers, instead choosing to travel and roam over his best friend’s shoulders and back, tracing shapes over and across them in comforting motions. Just as the boy’s hands rubbed soothing circles on his back.
“I killed her…”
The world was murky and muffled when he came-to. Green and brown and blue blended together in a confusing splash of color.
He brought a gloved hand up to rub at his eyes, pointedly ignoring the slight dampness that clung to his cheeks. Shadows swirled beside his ear, whispering in a language that only he could understand.
“Fruit is up.”
“Fruit.”
“He’s looking at you.”
“Fruit knows you’re up.”
“Don’t fall off the branch.”
He opened his eyes blearily once again, now able to make out the figure sitting on the branch before him.
Green cropped jacket with many embroidered patches—made by both his friend and him— laid over a black shirt and charcoal sweats. His usual mask—a boxy, full-head covering painted a vibrant green with a blocky smile—was off right now, leaving his sage-colored hair out to flutter in the slight breeze.
The roots of his hair was the only part that was his natural color, a dark caramel brown. It was quite fitting honestly, Fruit being a Nature Mage and all.
His companion sat with his feet swaying in the air, prized dagger scraping away at a stick, sharpening it. He was beginning to think that it was a nervous habit of Fruit’s.
“Good morning.” The younger spoke, looking up from the dagger in his hand while continuing to sharpen it. The older boy’s heart twisted at the action, but he didn’t speak on it. Fruit’s voice was steady and cool, telling the other that he had been up for quite some time.
“Morning.” He said back, voice croaky from sleep.
It wasn’t unusual for Fruit to be up before him. In fact, it was rare for him to wake up before Fruit. The boy not falling asleep until the early morning hours and waking up only a few hours later. A night owl and an early bird all in one. Maybe that is why there was almost constant bruises under his eyes.
(He once tried to force Fruit to sleep by slipping a few drops of sleeping a potion into his canteen. Fruit took many sips of the water, but no matter how long he waited, Fruit didn’t fall asleep. Eventually, he took the loss and fell asleep, disappointed…
He woke up hanging upside down from a rope and covered in chicken feathers.
He didn’t try to make Fruit fall asleep again.)
Later, Fruit told him that he had built up a tolerance to most potions during those three years being locked away.
“Illumina.” He blinked, looking into his friend’s eyes. Something in his stomach churned for a moment, being brought back to that small cellar when those eyes had been full of complete terror.
But a brown brow quirked upwards towards him. “Did you hear what I said?”
Illumina let a sheepish smile onto his face and answered honestly, “No.” Fruit snorted, shaking his head and then turning back to the blade in his hand. He flipped it over his knuckles a few times before speaking.
“There is a village about 12 miles north. Not magic friendly.” He slipped his dagger back into the leather holster in his belt. “But I’ve been scouting it for a few days now and there are a few kids that travel through there who reek of magic, though they are good at hiding it. Village hasn’t caught on yet, probably for good reason.” He picked his head up again.
“They go West after they leave, around 12 different kids I’ve counted so far. I wouldn’t doubt that there are scouts around the area if they are hostages. Especially with that number of kids.” Fruit mumbled, more to himself than Illumina as he stared off. Illumina nodded all the same.
“So we mask and then follow them?” he asked. Fruit was quiet for a moment.
“No. You go in the shadows, and I act as a decoy while you scout it out. You’re better at masking than I am.” Illumina pursed his lips, his eyebrows pinching in the slightest. Anxiety gnawed at his chest.
“What if…” he trailed off. Fruit turned back to him; eyes half lidded but full of sincerity.
“I’ll get close enough for us to be alright. Worst comes to worst, you sneak into my shadow and pull us both out.”
Illumina stared into Fruit’s eyes long enough for all of the ways that this plan could go wrong to filter through his head, but they were quickly shut out by a soft smile that bloomed on Fruit’s face. “I promise we’ll be okay.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. Fruit never broke a promise. He nodded silently, the complaints pushing on the cage of his teeth never to be spoken.
“We’ll head over there in a bit, once you wake up a bit more.” Illumina frowned.
“I’m perfectly awake.” He rebutted, shadows spreading out to dance along Fruit’s knuckles. They whispered that Fruit didn’t believe him, though he didn’t need his shadows to tell him that with the doubtful look on Fruit’s face.
Illumina rolled his eyes affectionately and slid off of the side of the tall branch they were sitting on.
He felt the rush of air for all of three seconds before soft leaves and white petals caught his fall. The branches of a nearby bush stretching from the ground to wrap around his body and lower him gently to the ground.
His feet planted on the brown leaves, no crunch sounding under cat-like steps. Then an arm wrapped around his shoulder and Fruit was next to him. Painted mask over his head and dagger flipping over his knuckles.
His shadows took the time to slide along Fruit’s arm and side, caressing his cheek once as a ‘thank you’ for not letting their master die a quick death on the forest floor.
They reached the village twenty minutes later. Twenty minutes full of racing at full speed. Illumina spent it dodging roots and branches that tried to dart out and block his path. Fruit spent it trying to see through the shadows that would block his line of sight and jump out to try and startle him.
Fruit won the race—it was rare that Illumina won, he blamed it on Fruit’s side of the curse that they spent most of their time, their lives, living with.
She had stormed in, heavy footsteps echoing into the empty concrete room.
The grip Fruit had on him tightened and a snarl left the younger boy’s mouth. Illumina cowered, his fingers fisting in Fruit’s rag of a shirt.
She glared at the boy. A glare that could diminish a mountain to pebbles, Illumina thought.
Then Illumina was left to watch and scream as Fruit was ripped away from him by his two-toned hair.
He tried to go after his friend, his other half, but the chain wrapped around his ankle only allowed him a few feet of leeway until it snapped him back.
His shadows tried to shoot out, tried to wrap around Fruit’s too-thin wrists and pull him back, but they were deflected by the Dark magic of the wench that ripped Fruit away.
He screamed louder as Fruit struggled, thrashing in her too-tight grip. His eyes were full of rage—never fear, he never showed fear in those beautiful eyes—as he grit his teeth. The last thing he saw before the steel door of the cell was slammed shut was Fruit spitting in her face.
Illumina let himself curl into a ball, sobbing his eyes out with all of the energy he had left. He knew he shouldn’t have wasted the water in his body like that, not with the limited water they were granted every other day.
He knew that Fruit wouldn’t’ve cried but tried to claw the chains off of his feet and fought to get back to him. But right now, it was all the young boy could manage.
After all, he should be used to this by now, this had happened almost every week, every week of these three years—he didn’t allow himself to add the ‘and counting’ part. After the witch had found another experiment to run on either of them. He hated it.
A few more minutes of crying—what felt like hours, days—and the cell door was slammed open once again. Illumina lifted his head and his heart dropped through his stomach, his shadows recoiling with what was most likely anger and surprise. They had always felt more rage than him, anyways.
She didn’t have Fruit. Where was Fruit? What the hell did She do? Was Fruit okay?
“Stop crying, stupid child.” She hissed, unclasping his ankle and picking him up by the back of his shirt. He tried to claw at her hand, tried to fight the iron grip, but her next threat made his stomach clench.
“If you keep that up, your little friend won’t live to see you or the sun ever again.” She spat in his face, her words of venom sinking a spear of fear through his too-big heart. He stopped fighting.
He didn’t even lift his head to see the room he was brought into. Only did his head snap up is when he was shoved onto a medical chair and his hands clasped down with the leather bindings. It was then that he heard the raggedy and short breaths that he could’ve recognized through howling wind.
Fruit sat next to him, held to a chair of his own with a bloody nose and bruised face. But the thing that made him start screaming—raw and horrified screams—was the needle stuck into the inner crevice of his elbow. A black liquid was sitting in the glass tube, waiting to be injected into his vein.
“Shut up you worthless brat.” She demanded, clasping his wrists to the armrests.
He almost landed a good kick to her stomach, but she caught his foot and began to twist. And twist and twist and twist. His screams became those of pain until a resounding snap was heard and his ankle was stuck at an angle that he knew, he felt, wasn’t normal.
She still tied him down to the medical chair though, ignoring his screams and tears of pure agony. Then a sharp pain in his elbow made him gasp out, his eyes flicking down to see an identical needle sticking out of his flesh.
Fruit was staring at her with eyes full of icy rage. So much rage that Illumina thought that she would burn to a crisp right there. Then he turned to Illumina, a look on his face that Illumina had almost never seen before, it was foreign to him.
“Illu—Illu, look at me.” He called out, voice trembling in the slightest. A deadly smirk grew on her face. “We’ll be okay, we’ll be just fine, don’t worry—”
“Fruit! Please!” Illumina cried out, his limited shadows doing their best to stay hidden as they reached for the other.
“Funny you say that boy,” she said, “Because I don’t think either of you will be okay after this fun little game.”
Fruit bared his teeth and Illumina began full body shaking. Pain rippling through his arm and shoulder and leg.
“Don’t you dare hurt him you—” Fruit was cut off by a slap to his face, blood from his busted nose spraying to the right. But instead of backing down, he faced her and spit, hitting her straight in the face once again.
“You little brat." She hissed, wiping the spit from her face.
Then, before they could get another word in, she reached for the syringes and pushed down on the pump.
Both boys immediately started screaming, their cries overlapping each other in agony and rage and something foreign to even them.
It was something new. Something different. Something wrong, wrong, wrong—
Then something new. Unwelcome, but forcing itself into him. Into his very being. The ties of his soul. He wondered if Fruit felt the same.
He pleaded for it to stop. For the pain to go away. For them to be let free. For safety.
The world went black after that.
He remembered waking shortly after that. Feeling wholly different and wrong. His heart was beating out of his chest as he tried to shake Fruit awake—the boy was still passed out cold—and he began crying all over again.
He prayed that the pulse beating out of the vein in Fruit’s neck wasn’t just a figment of imagination. Even his shadows were unsure in that moment, distraught from having their master ripped away from them against their will.
Fingers snapped in front of his face and instantly he was back to the present. Fruit’s boxy mask—helmet?—was tilted to the side as he looked at him.
“Where’d you go?” He asked, voice smooth and gentle, calmer than usual.
“Nowhere.” He responded automatically, sending Fruit a quick, forced smile before tugging up his black mask and moving the heavy hood of his cloak over his head.
Fruit hummed, disbelieving, but left the subject alone. “You might want to tell your shadows to disperse. We’re almost within the range of the outer village.” Said shadows were circling over his shoulders and mask, some darting out to roam over Fruit’s arms and knuckles. One even took the form of a dagger, flipping over the back of his hand like Fruit had done so many times before.
But Illumina nodded, looking into the darkness at the back of his mind and expelling his shadows to go into hiding—learned after years and years of practice and hard-ships and slip-ups—and then it was just him. A few of them hidden under the folds of his clothes, only sending the barest amounts of black mist across already-black clothes.
Fruit hummed approvingly before beginning their trek through the outskirts of the village.
The dirt path soon turned cobbled, and the smell of sizzling steak and meats hung in the air. The sounds of commotion and conversation grew louder and more distinct. Illumina ignored most of it. Then, under his hood, a hidden shadow curled around his ear.
“They are looking at you.”
“We sense magic.”
“Strong magic, yes.”
“To the left.”
“Little girl and boy.”
“They look our way.”
“They see us.”
His dark eyes glanced to the left, and true to their word, two children—looking around the age of 8 or so—stared at him and Fruit, though the look in their eyes were still indescribable.
He took a step closer to his companion, removing his eyes from the two quickly.
“Two to the left?” Illumina asked quietly. Fruit hummed, his only affirmation that he, too, had sensed the kids’ magic—though hidden very well.
“We stay here for a day, then head West.” Illumina said. The other teen nodded soundlessly.
They walked together for another 10 minutes before Fruit tensed.
“Go into that store and disappear.” Illumina was about to remark, but Fruit hissed, “Now.”
Illumina did not fight that tone, only looking up for a split second before peeling off into the nearest store. Only for a split-second did he see the porcelain mask, but it was enough for a block of icy fear to climb over his heart.
Fruit watched from his peripherals as his best friend stepped away, not too quickly to be suspicious—he was already suspicious enough, they both were—but with a little pep in his step.
Through the mesh eyeholes in his mask he watched as the taller teen with the porcelain mask followed his every movement. Inwardly he could feel as his powers felt like they were throbbing, searching for his other half. But he kept walking, head forward and back only slightly hunched. The dagger at his belt practically burned with need.
The stranger was standing in the middle of a crowded walkway, staring straight at him. That was, until an older woman bumped into him, and he was swept into the flowing river of village people.
But he knew that he still had eyes on the back of his head as he passed. Multiple sets of eyes.
He let himself be melded into the flow of people going away from the three who reeked of magic.
He stopped a ways down from where Illumina had peeled off, waiting in a dark alley. He told those threads of his mind that it was okay, and then a body formed beside him.
“The two kids followed me into the store,” Illumina reported, voice flat. Fruit looked towards him.
“I bought some overpriced leather belts and walked into the next alley.”
“No one saw you?” he asked, Illumina nodded.
“Not that I’m aware of.” He replied steadily. Fruit hummed.
“White Mask. He knows. Probably the kids too.”
“But White Mask doesn’t have magic, does he?” Fruit shook his head.
“But he’s around those who are.” His expression turned grim; he’s pretty sure Illumina could feel it as they both came to the same realization.
“Captor.” They both mumbled.
Fruit grit his teeth, Illumina wrung his fingers together.
“Should we have a change of plans? They are aware that we’re here. Should we do it tonight?” Illumina asked, ever the worrywart. Fruit debated the options.
“Either we go today, we aren’t waiting like sitting ducks in a hotel or something, or we sit on the outskirts for a few more nights, make them think we are just passing by.” He said, Illumina weighed the options nervously in his head if his creased brow was anything to go by. A few shadows reached out of the folds of his clothes to mist across his hands and shoulders and neck and swirled in comforting circles.
“I think we should go later this evening. When the sun starts setting.”
Fruit hummed, about to speak, but Illumina flinched and said suddenly, “Someone’s coming—"
“Hey! What’re you kids doin’ back ‘ere?” A portly man said, pointing a butcher knife at them both.
Fruit sighed exasperatedly and Illumina tensed, his shadows disappearing in a second. Then, Fruit slipped a hand on the small of Illumina’s back, rubbing a comforting motion with his thumb, a silent way of saying ‘I’ve got this, don’t worry.’
“My friend here is blind, I found him wondering down here. Sorry to disturb you, sir.” Fruit said, Illumina took the hint and made some random signs with his hands and then bowed deeply.
The man’s face scrunched into one of discontent. “Well, you found ‘em. Now gon ‘n git. Don’t want no trashy kids in my back alley, you ‘ere?” Fruit bit his tongue, obviously trying to hold back from saying a sarcastic quip that would definitely have gotten them in trouble.
Illumina bowed deeply once again, grabbing Fruit’s hand and squeezing it tightly.
Fruit leveled himself with a small smirk under the mask and nodded to the man. “Come on Jay, lets go find Mom.” Illumina nodded at the fake name and followed Fruit out of the alley and past the stout man.
“Where did you lot come from, ey? Look far from home don’cha?” The man questioned, leaning far too close to Illumina for his liking. The dark-haired boy’s eyes widened, and he leaned back, away from the man’s smelly breath.
The man’s eyes widened, and his brows pinched down. “This one ain’t blind! You dirty, lyin’ brats!” They both flinched back at the word, but Fruit recovered quickly, a smirk coming to his face—thankful for his mask in this moment.
“It was probably your nasty breath. Everyone can smell it from a mile away.”
The man’s face turned red with anger and embarrassment. “I ‘oughta get the sheriff on the both’s of ya’s!” he yelled, holding up the butcher knife once again, and a sick grin grew on his face. “But maybe only after I’m done wich ’a!”
They both took the queue: It was time to go.
With the blink of an eye, Fruit ripped Illumina away from the man, not even stumbling as they had done this far too many times before.
The man let out a yell and gave chase. Fruit couldn’t help but giggle as he immediately tripped over a uprooted vine that definitely wasn’t there before.
He felt, more than saw, the glare Illumina sent his way.
They weaved through crowds of people, clothes brushing theirs and moving so quick that people could only stare or glare after the path they left behind.
Once they were almost on the other side of town is when they stopped, Illumina pulling them into a broken-down cottage. Both of them looked at each other with grins on their faces, though the only hint that either of them were, in fact, smiling, was the slight crinkle of Illumina’s eyes. Then Fruit looked around for a second.
“You think White Mask was close enough to see us?” he asked. Illumina felt a shadow slither over his ears.
“He was far.”
“Too far for us to see or hear.”
“We saw him with the children.”
“With the children, yes.”
“He was with them before he disappe—”
“He could be watching.”
“What if he is waiting?”
“We will search—” Illumina shut his shadows down at that thought. You only search if I ask you to. Some of the shadows writhed in displeasure, but some were content to curl into small swirls on his shoulders.
“I’m pretty sure that he was far enough away; he was with the kids that last they saw.” Illumina responded. Fruit hummed and held out his hand, palm-up for the shadows to curl around and smooth over. Like living tattoos.
“So,” Fruit said, looking around the small cottage that Illumina had slipped them both into, “think we could stay here for a bit? Take turns scouting the area out more. Staying away from Butcher Belly.” Fruit laughed.
Illumina shook his head, laughing a bit as well, pulling his shadows back into his vicinity as Fruit moved to sit atop the counter in the center of the kitchen and pulling a small loaf of bread out of his satchel wrapped around his hips. He ripped it in half, tossing the other half to Illumina.
The other caught it with grace, taking a bite and relishing in the way it graced his stomach.
It was often they went long days without food, whether it was because they were camping out on Hunters or Bandits and didn’t have the ability to cook or make food without giving their position away, because winter had set in and they were left to scarce options for food in the forests they spent most of their time in, or even because they were running low on gold and silver after a long spell of not receiving any letters or locations of Hunters for them to take down.
They would receive large sums of money (most times from other Hybrids or Mages) to ‘disband’—their nice way of saying ‘slaughtering’—large groups of known enemies of hybrids and magic-users. With the exception of the Kingdoms’ national guard.
(Fruit sometimes joked that they could take down a Kingdom in less than a day if they combined their powers fully… Illumina ended the conversation by saying if one of them died, the other did too.)
Fruit watched as Illumina slumped down into a worn wooden chair, quietly munching on his piece of bread. He moved his hood down, letting his dark hair out for his shadows to card through. There was a distant look in his void-like eyes, his mind was far away. Fruit watched him carefully, slipping his mask off and taking a bite of his bread.
His best friend, his other half, his opposite in so many ways, always seeming to be trapped in the confines of his own mind. He knew first-hand what it was like. What long nights of opening up and trust-building had allowed him to be told.
He sighed and reclined on the counter, the cold wood pressing into his shoulder blades and head.
He was not looking forward to taking on White Mask. Not one bit. But, if it meant that a few more kids got a better life than he and Illumina were both cursed to, he would fight until the end—unfortunately with that mindset, he knew that he also threw his best friend into danger’s bloody talons.
Maybe one day they’d find a cure. One day Illumina would be safe. One day.