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There should be nothing peculiar or out of the ordinary at the sight of your staff.
It's a family heirloom, after all. You've had it as long as you can remember — even despite the gaps in your memories that have only gotten worse as you grew older, as your mind has aged and worn away from a constant stream of stress. It's merely a catalyst, needing a mind and body to hone its power, and you know for a fact that the worst case scenario is mild arson. Whatever it can do, it requires you to wield it. That alone should render it harmless.
Yet you can't help the sinking feeling in your chest that something is very, very wrong.
You can't take your eyes off the damn thing; watching it stand there silently, motionless, as if you were on the prowl and it was your prey. Ironic, really, given that the skull adorned at the top was anything but a prey animal. You really shouldn't have such a sense of calm looking at it most of the time, knowing what a Compecado does to its victims. But you digress. You're entirely convinced something's going to happen any minute now, but you don't know what. All you can do is wait and see.
And wait you do. The world around the staff no longer matters to you in the moment, and thus, everything else begins to go dark. Your vision is a vignette of this ancient weapon resting dormant before you. You do not blink. You do not break your focus. You sit there with all the patience you can muster, knowing that nothing will catch you off guard.
It doesn't occur to you at all that this behavior potentially looks very creepy and trance-like from an outsider's perspective. For all you know, the staff could very well be said outsider, and you're engaged in a staring contest that you refuse to back down on. The odds may be against you, but you don't care.
(You've always wondered who exactly gazed through those eyes. What did they want? Were they even a person, or something more abstract? What did they think when they saw you? Most importantly, could you trust them?
There's a reason you've always draped cloth over the sockets before you went to bed. There's no such thing as being too cautious when you live the life that you live, especially when so much ancient history is laid upon your shoulders.)
And, as inexplicably sudden as your worry began, the anticipation lets loose.
You were expecting the eyes to light up and stare back at you, but they do no such thing. Instead, it opts to whisper. If you had less control over yourself, you'd be leaping out of your focused stance and shrieking in surprise — but you manage to stay collected and silent. You simply listen to the best of your ability, hoping to catch a sentence in your hands and understand its meaning.
The whispers feel close, yet far away, their hushed mumbling voices blending their words into each other. Nothing resembling recognizable language can be made out despite the sound filling every corner of your mind. You're beginning to think they aren't saying words at all, purposefully being unintelligible. To throw you off. Scare you, even.
They haven't succeeded just yet. You lean forward, trying even harder to pick apart the dialogue.
It gets louder, your ears ringing as the volume quickly exceeds the point it had started at. You squeeze your eyes shut on instinct, jaw clenched and muscles tensed, pushing against the fear.
The voices are a cacophony of violent noise, shrieking to the heavens at their heart’s content. You grit your teeth and bear it despite how painful the sensation is to hear. There is nothing coherent to be picked apart in their cries. There never was. It all coalesces into a hurricane of overwhelming sound, and as much as you try to cover your ears to mitigate the pain, it only gets louder. It's all contained inside your head.
They are in so much agony . You can feel their pain, their anguish. Their desire to be brought to destruction once and for all, to give an end to suffering. It's the feeling of your lowest lows resurfacing and being forced back into you all at once without a moment's hesitation.
You peek one eye open, just for a brief second. Around you is a sea of darkness on all sides, pitch black like you’ve never seen black before. For a second, you think maybe you didn’t open your eyes at all. How could your tent possibly be this dark? ...How could anything be this dark?
And then hundreds of thousands of eyes blink awake from within the dark sea, staring back at you. Looking directly into your soul. You are surrounded, and you are seen, and —
Not a second goes by before you rip yourself awake out of shock. All you can feel is the burn of a throat screamed raw and the warm salt of tears coating your face, and the rest of your body fizzling in and out of your awareness. But then there is a presence beside you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and a gentle hand wiping the tears from your cheeks. In the struggle to catch your breath and re-acquaint yourself with your surroundings, you forgot he was even here with you.
Occeus pulls you closer, and you curl up into his arms instinctively. He hushes you gently, as if you are fresh and new in this world, fragile as a cracked sheet of ice on the brink of the warm season.
You tremble like a leaf in the wind. Whatever you saw must've done something to your head; you don't think you've ever been this utterly terrified before. Your mind is a mess trying to process it and cope with it in any way you're able to. It's inexplicably maddening to even think about. You don't doubt that you'd be driven to complete insanity if you saw that thing more than once.
But eventually, you manage to settle down, hiccupping between breaths that have become much less frantic.
In the softest tone of voice he can muster, Occeus asks, "What's wrong, dear?"
You sniffle and rub your eyes dry. "It was nothing. I promise."
Truthfully, you would like the comfort he provides, which makes it a good thing that you're a dreadfully bad liar. You expect him to prod further, if anything.
And he delivers on your expectations. "That did not seem like nothing to me. I heard you screaming."
A heavy sigh escapes you and lifts a weight off of your chest. "I don't know. I..." You think. What do you tell him? Do you even bother trying to explain it? Would he understand the cosmically horrific sights you witnessed?
You decide not to go into detail for now.
"I saw something. That's all."
"In your dream?"
"Yeah. It wasn't real, so... it's nothing."
He strokes your hair as you pull into his side, your ear up against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
"I do not think the same as you," he tries to reassure you. "Even if it were merely a product of imagination, being upset by it is only natural. It is not nothing. Especially not to me."
You bite your lip, trying to reassess what you saw. There is still fear rattling your bones as much as you'd like to pretend otherwise. Occeus notices the shaking of your hand and takes it in his own. His fingers are cold as ice against you, but you don't think you mind it. It's rather grounding, actually.
He breathes out. "Do you need to talk about it?"
"I don't want to upset you somehow."
"I would gladly share any burden with you if it came to it."
You make eye contact with him for a brief moment. You both seem to be equally worried about something. Maybe he does understand.
You gaze back down at nothing as you speak. "Well... it was..." you struggle with your words. "I was in my tent, at home all alone. I felt... the presence of something. A burning anticipation for its arrival. But I didn't know what I was waiting for."
"Fear of the unknown," Occeus mumbles under his breath.
"My staff... there was something in there. Like... hundreds of people contained in one space. They were whispering, trying to reach out to me or... something. I couldn't make anything out no matter how hard I tried. It all just sounded like complete nonsense and screams of pain. The whole time, I just wanted to know what they were here for. What their intentions were."
"Were the voices anyone you recognize?" He asks.
You shake your head. "No. I wouldn't be able to tell much, anyways. It was too distorted."
"That sounds frightening."
"I wasn't really scared then. It was only the aftermath that... woke me up like this."
"Aftermath?" He asks you to elaborate silently.
"I... I just don't know what I was looking at. I opened my eyes for one split second and everything went just utterly pitch black — like, so dark it didn't even look real , and my ears were ringing and there were all these like... Weird glowing eyes that started blinking at me and..."
Occeus's grip on your hand tightens suddenly, his expression going cold seemingly out of nowhere. He doesn't seem to have a response in him.
Worriedly, you touch his cheek. His stubble grazes the back of your hand. "Did I say something wrong?"
"N- no, you did not. I simply recalled something. A similar dream."
"Well then, do you have any idea what it means? What did it mean for you?"
The way he speaks makes it sound as if he were choking on his words. "Ah, hm... Internalized stressors coming to light, perhaps... and a fear of being watched. That of which I am sure we can both empathize with."
You start to worry more and more for him — there is definitely something he isn't telling you. Though you aren't quite sure you want to push it, out of fear he'll become even more stressed. Bringing up his tendency to push people away is more unnecessary now than it ever has been. So you don't. You pocket it in the back of your mind, on the off-chance you're able to talk to him about it in the future.
A moment passes. You hear his heart rate decline from the speed of mild panic back down to relaxation, as you both breathe in the space you share together. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt just for the sake of holding onto something.
His voice returns to its soothing manner as well, as if nothing had happened. "Is there something you have been worried over in recent memory?"
Other than wishing you could be here with him every night... You sigh. "I guess there's a lot I'm scared about."
"Are you safe?"
"It's not... about that," you mumble.
"Oh." He breathes. "Then what might it be?"
You don't even have to think for the dam to start breaking.
There's always been stress in your life. You've got a future ahead of you, and you've been told time and time again that your purpose is much greater than you'd like it to be. The idea of having a purpose at all, in the grand universal scheme of things, is too much pressure for you to live comfortably with. You're unable to thrive knowing that terrible things will happen to you and the people you love just because you happened to have been born special. So special, in fact, that there is practically zero benefit to any of it. Your duty to save existence itself carry on a legacy larger than life has rested on your shoulders for as long as you can remember. You didn't choose this.
Could that nightmare have been a premonition of things to come? A vision of what you must confront?
The uncertainty alone makes you start to cry again, wordlessly, snowballing into a chorus of sobs that wrack your entire body. You bury yourself into him. For a moment, he is stunned, but he quickly embraces you as fully as he is able. And for the rest of the night, not another word is spoken.
He knows he can't truly help you in your battle. You know it just as well. But there is some small relief in your helplessness, at least for now. You can rest knowing it was never your fault that you were born, or that you and your loved ones are locked into an inescapable cycle of torment and rebirth.
Despite it all, you hold onto your hope, as it's the only thing you have control over. The world will not end with you. You will make damn sure that Occeus will be there to see it.
If he can't be, what would you have been fighting for?