Work Text:
-
When I was a child, I heard voices
Some would sing and some would scream
You soon find you have few choices
I learned the voices died with me
-
Bren stood there staring blankly out his window from the fifth floor of the academy. He was fifteen. A baby. A Boy . Tears stung his eyes. Tears that he had forced to stay in their place only moments prior. They clung to his lashes, the cold liquid just barely present in his vision. His lips were tightly pressed together. It was almost as if he was just a ghost possessing a human body, using them to see the world. He felt so distant and yet so present at the exact same time. His cheeks burned of embarrassment, a dark flush covering his pale skin. His hands shook as his palm reached up to rest on the frosted glass. His heavy breathing fuzzing his vision.
His eyes were locked on the three figures walking across the courtyard. The aggressive meeting of their mentor catching them up so late at night was something that still had his ears ringing. Fear had found its way into his memory. Maybe if he’d locked the door after opening it for the girl. Maybe closing the curtains and keeping the lights off while they sat on the floor together would have changed their outcome. Perhaps speaking in hushed voices, as their friend had suggested, would have prevented that assault. Bren’s eyes drifted between the three. The taller one in the middle was dragging the two, obviously younger, people with him. It seemed as if the taller child was being dragged by their ear, the shorter one being dragged by their wrist.
He turned slowly from the window, staring down at the books that now littered the room. His chest ached. His cheek stung, almost burning. He reached up and touched it carefully. His skin was bright red and raw. It was almost like it was mimicking the fire that burned only a foot away from him. The fireplace cast a glow across the floor. The shadows swayed across his bed, the carpet so bright it was almost ablaze. Their books lay scattered across the ground, open. Ink seeped into the carpet, hiding the mix of terror and fear the room currently held. He felt his stomach turn.
I need to clean this up.
He turned back to the window, reaching up to untie the curtains from their jail cells, watching them flutter into place. A smile pulled at his lips at the sight. He pulled the back again, releasing them to watch them fall once more. He turned, wiping his eyes, and kneeling down to scoop up some of the loose pieces of parchment spread down with that night's studies. The laughter that had once filled the room was now painfully, and apparently, gone. It had long since ended since the door swung open and slammed into the wall. There was now a door knob sized dent in his fancily decorated wall.
He stood back up and looked to the fire. Moving towards it, he tossed the parchments in. They were covered in ink blotches and ruined smeers. They were no good to him anymore. He got to work in picking up his books, setting them on their spot on his night stand. Bren moved towards his wardrobe and pulled it open. His eyes landed on the photo of his family, his hand reaching up once more to wipe away his tears. He quickly changed into his pajamas and he turned, climbing into his bed. He pulled the blankets tight around him. The fire was his only source of light in the small room. The walls groaned around him, wind pushing up against the academy, as he laid there trying to will himself to sleep.
This time, he made sure he locked the door.
-
When I was a child, I'd sit for hours
Staring into open flame
Something in it had a power
Could barely tear my eyes away
-
“One day, you three.”
His eyes tore away from his notebook, his pencil clutched tightly in his hand. His gaze landed on their mentor. The man was starting out the window, staring into the darkness. The moon glared down to them, drifting through the window. The fire crackled, the wood snapping angrily. The girl sitting across from him didn’t dare look up. He was 16, then. He was 16 when he had to watch his friend burn her for asking a stupid question. He refused to speak after that.
“One day you will all stop questioning me. You will all realize that I’m not here to be your enemy. I’m here to help you. I’m here to be your guide. You are all my apprentices.”
Brens eyes slowly looked towards the girl, watching the tears stream down her face. She was 16 too, as was the other boy sitting adjacent to her. A deep, scorching red scar was bandaged over her left eye. He could just barely see the tip of the wound peek over. A grim reminder of their daily training, daily love and care.
“One day, you two, will be more like Bren. One day you two will sit silently and work. You will learn when it is and isn’t appropriate to ask questions.”
His eyes finally planted themselves on the fire in the corner of the room. It cast an eerie glow just over the furniture. The room was too dark to work, too dark to write. He could barely see the pencil. Though, he refused to ask for more light. He refused to make the same mistake. That soft ‘can we have a lantern?’ would be permanently etched into his brain forever.
“God help me that day is soon.”
He could see the other boy jump at the sound of the fire snapping once more just out of the corner of his eyes. Bren didn’t dare look at him. He was too afraid to. He didn’t wish to be burned as well, so he refused to anger the boy. His eyes never once displaced from the brick work. His hand continued to write away on the paper, the soft scratching echoing into his ears. His arms hurt, stung. Another sign of affection from their mentor.
Bren finally looked down to his forearms, bandaged and bruised. The feeling of that night caused a chill to run up his spine. His chest ached, a feeling of pain settling in his stomach. He wanted to make that feeling go away. He decided then that he wouldn’t ask for anymore private tutoring from their mentor.
He shot a weary glance to the man in the window. He could see the reflection of the old, worn down face staring off into the distance. A sad look was apparent in his eyes. They were glossed over in thought. He looked as if he was going to say something, his mouth opening every so often and his lips quivering much as the girls across from him did. Bren frowned. He felt sadness fill him as well. His chest felt as if it contracted at the thought their mentor felt sorry for them.
Bren decided he felt sorry for them too.
-
All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep 'em on a leash
-
“Bren?”
He jumped slightly, looking towards the figure in the door. It was the girl. He was 17 now. He had found himself hiding away in the small library down the hall from his room when he wasn’t in classes or when he was training.
“Ja?”
Bren watched her. She was different than last year, stronger, more sure of herself. He happened to like this version of her. She was friendly and welcoming, everything their mentor hadn’t been to them in the last weeks. They’d spent time outside of the academy, the three of them choosing to be together in their free time away from the things they were forced to see. It was comforting getting time away.
He wouldn’t call what they had a “relationship.” He loved them, sure, and he cared deeply for their well being however he couldn’t love them. Their mentor had informed them that anyone they grew close with could turn on them in a moment's notice. So, relationships were off limits outside of class.
“It’s late.”
“It’s-” He turned, looking towards the large window. It was pitch black outside, the faint lights lining the courtyard was the only thing he could see. “Oh.”
A soft laugh caught his attention as he turned back towards her. A smile played with her lips as she watched him. She stood out against the darkened hallway as she stood there, hands clasped behind her back. She was everything he wasn’t. Confident in herself… talented and strong willed. She wasn’t afraid to stand out.
He was terrified to.
Standing outs what got him in this situation in the first place.
“It’s around eleven. You should head to bed, we have something to do tomorrow morning.”
“We do?”
“Eodwulf wants to head to that small tavern just off school property.”
“Oh, right.” He nodded, shutting the book he held. “Let me clean up.”
“Let me help you.”
He felt her presence move towards him quickly, suddenly against his side. He looked at her, smiling as he nodded. The two worked in silence as they stood, elbows bumping against the other as they closed books, stacking them up to return to their places on the giant shelves.
He was also, only, 17 when he got his first kiss, standing in the library.
Bren decided he liked the library.
-
When I was 16, my senses fooled me
Thought gasoline was on my clothes
I knew that something would always rule me
I knew the scent was mine alone
-
Bren stared, almost blankly, at the man in front of him. His chest heaved. His throat hurt from having spoken so much. He could feel the girls eyes on him too from her spot about a meter away to his left. Flames danced in front of him, a sickening feeling settling in his stomach, bubbling. It couldn’t have been more than a month from the moment in the tower. He could feel bile rising and falling in his throat, eyes glossed over. The child in front of him lay, curled in a ball, ash ridden and dead.
Dead.
It was as if he had to confirm with himself he had done something like this, that he had killed the boy. He straightened himself up slowly, allowing his hands to fall at his sides.
“Very good Bren.”
His eyes snapped to their mentor, watching over them. The old, cold voice had startled him, bringing him back to this plane of existence. This was practice. His arms burned, sore from such an aggressive use of his powers. Sparks played around his finger tips. They brushed up against his nails and flew, spattering against the cold, lifeless body that lay in front of him.
“Astrid, Eodwulf, clean up.”
A cold hand found it’s way to Bren’s shoulder, pulling him back carefully. His eyes never once left the body infront of him, however. Something about this hadn't felt okay. Sure he’d killed before…. on animals… small birds… cats… never on another human being.
He was only a kid. You killed a child.
He shifted towards the body now leading him away. The smell of burning flesh finally reached his nose. He felt his eyes tear up at the scent. It was putrid… awful just awful.
“I-”
“What was that?”
He stumbled as the figure halted abruptly, now facing him though Bren could not see his face. His back was turned to the man. He knew their mentor would be disappointed in him for feeling wronged by this moment. His chest began to tighten more, words fumbling over themselves in his lungs, his brain a hard crash of an ocean wave banging against his skull. He could feel a chill looming over him.
“Did I-”
“Yes. Bren. You killed him. What’s the matter with you? This is out of character for you.”
Bren felt the cold hand leave his shoulder. He could see his two friends staring at him, confused, concerned. He stared at the body as he shifted away from it.
“Bren?”
He looked over to the girl, studying her face. Her eyes were soft, welcoming. She looked worried…. Worried for him. He could see the way her eyebrows knitted together as she waited for a response, though none ever came.
“Bren is everything alrig-”
“Enough, Astird.” Their mentor moved towards him again. “This won’t be a one time thing, Bren, so I suggest you get used to it.”
He was only 17 the first time he’d been forced to kill another living, breathing, human being. He felt the blood rush out from his body, feeling himself sway only briefly before he collapsed.
“Bren!”
“Jesus Christ-”
He was, coincidentally, only 17 when he passed out for the first time in his life. It was almost silly to him, how the cold floor that he once despised setting foot on every day was so welcoming as he slammed into it.
For an hour, that day, Bren Aldric Ermendrud was at peace.
-
All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep 'em on a leash
-
Bren stood there, hands slack at his side. His arms burned, skin fuzzy. His heart raced in his chest, almost as if it was trying to force its way out of his chest. His anxiety was starting to build as he watched the wooden building in front of him begin to spread his fire. His eyes barely caught the woman stepping through the kitchen doorway. He could just barely see the way she dropped the plates in her hands as a scream made its way through the walling. A man ran in behind her, eyes widening with fear.
His brain was fuzzy now, a ringing in his ears growing ever so annoying. His gaze shifted to the girl next to him. He was 17. He was only 17 when he’d been coerced into killing his family by their mentor. This came one year after the same mentor had him murder four teenagers by burning them. This came one year after he was strapped down to a chair, arms being slashed with a green jewel. His eyes never once left her scarred face. His eyes never once strayed from her terrified gaze. But now it was a strong one, a sure one. He had just watched her poison her parents… no… guardians as she’d called them as they approached the house for dinner.
Something in her tore his eyes away from her profile and found their way up to the boy next to him. The fire reflected off his pale skin. He was about to go let a bear loose into their family home. Their mentor had wanted it to be that way. It was a sign of respect to their mentor, their ally. It was a sign of affection.
Bren finally looked back to the house. The fire spread into the kitchen, curtains falling to the ground in ash ridden states. The small round table was ablaze now, as were the counters that lined the room. The sitting room was on fire as well, the small cushioned sofa orange as the flames licked its side. The distant screams grew louder in his ears. A feeling settled it’s way into his stomach.
What have you done, Bren?
His eyes began to widen, legs growing weak under him. The grass crunched as his friends turned, walking away from him. The wind howled, allowing the fire to spread more. He collapsed then, tears beginning to fill his eyes. The screams only grew more painfully strong and the ringing in his ears began to echo that same screaming sound. His hands covered his ears as if he could prevent that wretched sound. His nails clawed at the fragile skin, digging in like he could rip the memory from his brain. He curled into himself. Tears dripped off the tip of his nose, dampening the ground. He began shaking. The tension in him suddenly snapping. A sob escaped his chest. One that had been built over the process of three years. His hands found their way to the front of his shirt, beginning to tear at it. A deep, stabbing, pain flooded from his lungs at each cry for help. His pleas only finding empty air that surrounded him and drifted off into the night sky.
The man's screams became faint before dropping out of existence. His eyes shot towards the building. He watched the woman run back to the kitchen, charred skin and smoke following her. He watched her breathe in the gray air. She began pounding on the side window, hands caked in deep, crimson burns. Tears streamed down her face, washing white lines over her grayed skin. Her fists caused a deafening sound to fall over the area. Her screams grew louder as Bren watched her clothing catch fire. He watched her plead to nobody. His eyes tore away as he let out an equally deafening scream. He had just watched her burn to death.
A soft “mom” ghosted his lips.
-
When I was a man I thought it ended
When I knew love's perfect ache
But my peace has always depended
On all the ashes in my wake
-
“Very sorry to bother you. Are you… Bren?”
Caleb could see the way the people gathered around him opened their mouths, others covering it. His friends have long since known his history. He could see the blue haired woman next to him widen her eyes, looking towards him. He stared down at the boy in front of him, arms crossed protectively over his chest. The finger that pointed to him felt like a death sentence.
“Yeah.”
The boy pulled his hand back, pulling a pristinely white letter from his pocket. He extended it with two hands clasped tightly.
“Here.” His voice was quiet, tentative.
Caleb stood there momentarily before reaching out to take the letter from him. His hand drifted over the wax seal starting up at him. He looked down to it, beginning to pull open the seal without so much as a second glance to the inked name written on the front. He could feel all eyes were now locked on him. The boy scurried off into the night.
“What is it?” The fluffy man standing a distance away from him craned his neck, wanting to see.
“Who’s it from?” Caleb could feel the way the woman standing next to him began moving closer.
He reached in, pulling out the parchment slowly as not to ruin the writing along it. He could feel her growing closer and closer to his side as he read over the words that made his chest constrict. The breath escaping him.
Bren,
It has come to my attention that you are visiting the capital this day. I must say, word of your patriotic deads for the Empire bring my heart an old warmen glow. As I suspected it seems some pupils can only thrive when you let them go to find their own path. I’m quite impressed at your accomplishments. Thus tomorrow I would greatly appreciate the presence of you and your companions as dinner guests at my manor tomorrow evening. Astrid and Eodwulf will be joining us as well, so consider this a proper family reunion. I do hope you consider my invitation, Bren. I gather we both have much we would like to say.
Caleb reread the letter a few times, feeling his companions growing closer in anticipation. He began reading the words aloud, his stomach twisting itself in a tight knot. His skin crawled at the eerie feeling the letter posed. He could tell that people around him were talking around him, worried questions and comforting words. Though, Caleb couldn’t hear them.
He could only see the burning house.
And the smell of burning woods.
And the sounds of their screams.
-
All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep 'em on a leash
-
Caleb sighed to himself as he sat there, curled up into one of the small seats situated in the salon. Frumpkin was asleep on his lap, a book in his hands. The cat was purring quietly as he snuggled closer. The fire crackled in front of him, casting a glow around the dimly lit area. Walls and walls of books loomed over him. It felt like everything was collapsing into him and this was the only little corner of the world that wasn’t falling onto his head.
His eyes drifted over to the figure curled into the chair adjacent to them. A blanket was pulled tightly to their chin. Caleb smiled as he reached over to fix it, pulling one of the sides around their shoulders. He settled back down and sighed. Silence settled around him as he finally relaxed. Frumpkin shifted, stretching out. He watched the figures ears twitch every time the fire cracked, pink hair just barely standing out against the dark background. He stood out like a sore thumb but Caleb had learned to appreciate that difference. Sometimes, he’d decided, standing out could work well.
Caleb looked towards the fire. His eyes settled on the roaring flames and the splintering wood. He smiled fondly at the soft light it was providing. He shut his book and set it down on the small table next to him. The clock chimed from it’s spot in the corner.
Midnight.
He sighed again as he moved around. Frumpkin looked up at him, frustrated that his “bed” was moving around. Caleb laughed quietly.
“Tut mir leid.” He patted his head as he sat back once more. The cat jumped down, making his way over to the other figure and jumping up to snuggle. “I see how it is, Frumpkin.”
The cat purred as he curled up in the blanket. Caleb shook his head as he looked back towards the fire. Something about staring at it now was calming, therapeutic. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cushion.
I’m sorry had been a sentence he hadn’t been fond of, in Zemnian or Common. But now, sitting in his spot, with his longtime companion curled up with a figure such that was sitting next to him he’d learned the sentence wasn’t required to be used in any situation where he screwed up or stumbled over his words as his brain ran faster than his mouth did.
Maybe, once upon a time, Trent had been right and that the sentence should be used whenever he’d managed to rip a paper that he’d been writing on. Sure, Caleb was able to come to terms with that possibility. He’d lived that possibility.
But now, sitting here in the comfort of having people who mess up as much as you do who never apologize and laugh it off, thinking it was the best thing they’ve ever seen. Being surrounded by people who either act without thinking or think too much…
His eyes opened, settling on the flames once more. They were beginning to die out, the small fire not having enough power to continue on. He pushed himself up, reaching for more wood from the small pile to throw in, keeping it going.