Chapter Text
Hunter stands in the middle of his entirely destroyed room, tears of stress beading in his exhausted, strained eyes.
A self-imposed hurricane caused it in his search. Now, the chaos surrounds him—sheets hanging off the bed, papers falling off his desk, shoes from the closet littering his floor. As the raging storm within his mind subsides, the stress finally collapses upon him.
He falls to his knees and allows those frustrated tears to turn into agitated and confused sobs.
"Why won't you come back?" he whines, strained through gritted teeth, as if questioning the bringer of his stress would relieve the situation at all. "I was only gone a few hours—please, where did you go?"
He couldn't dare ask anyone to help him. Nobody else knew she even existed . But when he returned home only a few hours ago to the window cracked open, his mind conjured the worst as his heart sunk through the pit of his stomach.
At first, he tried to stay calm despite the panic that simmered. He whistled a call for her as he gently searched his room, looking in her most favorite areas—the cozy corners of his bed underneath the sheets, the homely drawers of his desk, and the hidden little nook in his closet. Surely, his cardinal was just somewhere in his room napping in her wooden form, wasn't she?
Finally, when the search proved her absence, he refused to believe it. The gentle game of hide-and-seek of a sleeping pet quickly spiraled into a panicked hunt as he scoured the room for her remains, his energy only fueled by his adrenaline.
And now, after finally allowing himself a moment's rest from the hunt, he caves under the anxiety. Those tears pacified him like a discomforting lullaby as an exhausted, broken sleep overcame him. Out of breath, heavy-lidded, and face flushed from distress, he falls asleep on the floor, enclosed by the upheaval of his room.
Hunter wakes to the sound of curious trilling.
His mind doesn't register it, at first. Upon seeing the small cardinal, a soft smile escapes his lips as it did every morning. Gazing at the ruby feathers of her delicate form and the loving glint of her eye calms him, until he realizes that the absence of that comforting songbird was the entire reason for his mental hurricane.
"Rascal!" Hunter gasps out, grabbing her as if she'll slip out of his sight forever if he delays for a second. He's met with a frenzied chirp and a nip on the finger, making him retreat his hands.
When Hunter drops her, she huffs out a small tweet and turns her tail towards him. She expresses her disapproval with her maltreatment by lifting her chin up the air with a shut eye. Instantly, Hunter's heart skips a beat at the little display of rejection, and he craves to make up for it.
In a quiet voice as if his mere volume would hurt her further, he coos, "O-oh, I'm sorry—...I'm sorry, honey, I-I didn't mean to grab you like that. Forgive me?"
He receives only a curt chirp to his apology, the cardinal still refusing to turn around. His tapered ears slowly lower like a guilty dog as he presses further.
"I-I'm sorry," he repeats. He leans down to her height— laying stomach down as he rested his chin in folded arms. "I was just really, really worried about you. I love you."
She trills again. This time, her little talons tap against the hard floor as she turns around. Her eye opens to gaze at him with soft forgiveness previously withheld.
Hunter sighs as he stretches his hand out from under his head, a request for the cardinal to comfort him. Without any hesitation, she gingerly steps onto his palm as if her talons would hurt him .
He breathes out slowly as he brushes his thumb down her feathers, his features softening when she grooms her head against his skin. As her cheek rests against the base of his thumb, all Hunter can think is just how tiny she really is, no bigger than his heart. How easy it would be for her to get lost or taken while he's away. He couldn't leave her here by herself anymore.
As he looks at her, he eyes a piece of paper tied to her tiny leg, folded so many times into a perfect square that it was hardly even noticeable. Gently, he points at it and whispers, "Is it alright if I see that, honey?"
She lifts her tiny leg up, giving him permission to delicately unwrap the paper from her. The string is just loose enough that when he pulls on it, the knot unfastens without any struggle.
He unfolds it with an aloof curiosity, expecting it to have been a letter from a stranger. But, when he recognizes the neat and rounded print and the language style, he lets out a soft gasp.
He sits up immediately and retreats his hand from Rascal, giving her just enough time to hop off his palm before she was flung off. He cautiously moves to his desk, avoiding the mess of the room that made his heart sting every time he saw it.
When both of them have taken a seat, him hunched over in his chair and the cardinal perched on the rim of his pencilholder, he begins to read.
Your cardinal showed up at my house this morning and followed me around school. I'm sure you were worried about her, but I promise I took great care of her even if I don't really know why she was here. She's definitely as much of a hassle as you say she is.
While I'm writing this letter, I also thought I'd say I loved the time we spent together when you last came here. Sure, it was raining, and it was the middle of the night, and maybe we definitely weren't feeling great, but you were nice company.
Like I've said before, my home is always welcome for you at any time of the day, any time of the week, no matter the reason. I know things are rough for you even if you don't want to admit it. And you can use the front door, by the way. Everyone can hear you coming in through my window. You aren't as secretive as you think.
Speaking of failing to hide things, you aren't secret about how you feel, either. I know you think you're burdening me when you come over late, but I promise you you're not. I enjoy when you come over, even if it's because something bad happened.
Because I really like hanging out with you.
Hunter's heart flutters.
Because I really like hanging out with you, the voice in his head softly repeats, astonished. Someone likes hanging out with him? Someone likes being around him? Me..?
A delighted chirp interrupts his train of thought. He looks toward his palisman, who gazes back at him with a small glint in her eye, as if poised and proud of herself.
"You knew what you were doing this whole time, didn't you?" he whispers, a gentle smile curling on his lips as he strokes her cheek. She whistles and presses herself against his fingers. "You thought I couldn't make friends on my own?"
As she indulges further into her pampering, the bird leans too far into his palm. A high-pitched squawk escapes her as the cup of pencils and pens she was resting on knocks over, sending stationary scattering across the desk. After flying away to readjust on Hunter’s shoulder, she continues to rub herself against the warmth of his skin, ignoring the clutter she just made. Or maybe she's attempting to make up for it.
Hunter lets out an endearing chuckle as he shakes his head. "Little demon," he mumbles as he scoops up the cup's contents, leaving all but a red pen on his desk. He looks at it, pondering, before he decides to pick it up along with a blank sheet of white paper from an accumulating mess of them on the end of his desk. "Maybe I should write a response, anyway."
Thanks for taking care of my bird, he writes at the top in a quick and loose handwriting similar to a doctor's. Much unlike the neat, careful, and planned print of the original letter.
He sets the original letter next to the current one he's writing and lines them up to use as reference in order to answer every part of the letter.
I was worried about her a lot. And it's kind of funny, because in the beginning, I used to ask her to leave because I just couldn't bear the idea of my uncle seeing her. But, then she's gone for an afternoon, and I tear my room up looking for her until she comes in through my window with your letter tied to her. She's the worst.
He chuckles at the comment he made about Rascal, with the bird still unsuspectingly rubbing her head against his cheek. Though, his humor's quickly dissipated by that feeling of unworthiness as he looks back to the original letter.
He stares at the simplicity of it, how...natural it was to his. It was so beautiful and gentle as he read it, with so much thought and care put into each word. And his own letter, his own emotions, was nothing of the sort.
I had fun that night, too.
His face heats up as he stares at the sentence. His ears twitch at the vulnerability, even if it was barely there. It's the most he can give right now, but he wonders if that's enough.
Thanks for the offer. I'll keep that in mind.
He ignores the comment about the window, but his entire face and the tips of his ears flush with embarrassment.
I know I can be a hassle. You don't have to hide that. But, thank you for letting me come over.
When he compares the two letters, his heart sinks. His was nothing compared to the other, but he's unsure of how to improve it hardly at all. He's just presenting himself, but how does he make that worth it?
When he puts the pen to paper again, the doorknob clicks and twists violently.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
His chest pounds along with the banging on the door as he scrambles to hide everything he can. He shoves both letters underneath a small pile of other papers, racing to fruitlessly organize himself in the disorder of his room.
"Just one second, please," Hunter breathes out, but the knocker ignores his request after an impatient beat of silence. Hunter glances around the room, at the remains of his hurricane. Completely unpresentable and unprofessional, especially for someone of his rank and relations. Red returns to his face, this time from shame.
As if his panic hasn't already been reignited enough, he finds that Rascal's disappeared off his shoulder. He frantically glances around the room as thoughts of where she went fly through his mind, but he finally calms when he spots the little ball of red wiggling herself inside a spare boot near the front door. When he's assured of her safety, he opens the door to let the visitor inside his chambers.
The emperor steps inside without a word to Hunter. With his mask off today, Hunter can watch as the cold slate of his eyes flicker around the room, taking interest and lingering on bookshelves, posters, and papers. Whether it was out of curiosity or suspicion, Hunter wasn't sure.
Hunter stands next to the front door, silent as he tries to rid himself of any uneasiness. Yet, the pounding in his ribcage and the soft, uneven gasps rising in his throat had to be heard throughout the castle.
When Hunter slowly clicks the door shut, Belos finally speaks.
"Didn't I tell you something about the lock awhile ago, Hunter?"
Belos’s voice is calm and level. Not quite accusatory or upset, or even bothered by the complete atrocity of his room. Hunter is thankful.
"'M sorry, sir," Hunter mumbles as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt, averting his eyes from the emperor standing with his back toward him. "I've forgotten because of habit. It won't happen again."
"Ought to have it removed. I'll get to work on that," Belos replies indifferently before dropping the subject. Hunter sighs in relief, finally letting his posture relax even if the anxiety still fought his entire core. He's grateful that Belos let him off so easily, even when he knows he's not forgiven. He's never truly forgiven.
"Thank you," he whispers.
Belos moves about his room like it's his own, and Hunter reminds himself that it technically is. Everything in here belongs to his uncle, even if he wasn't the one to gift every item. Some things Hunter bought on his own. Some things were given to him by...friends? Some things Belos didn't even know he possessed at all. But the unspoken law of ownership never changed. If it entered Hunter's chambers, or even the entire castle at that, it was the property of the emperor.
Hunter wouldn't dare ever ask what Belos's motive was for each visit. Sometimes Belos would just wander around and converse of everyday normalities before leaving, and Hunter never truly understood the goal of that. And if Belos did come in for a topic of importance, he never brought it up immediately or even alluded to it at all. He always made himself comfortable, first.
But it's not like Hunter minds. He enjoys his uncle's company.
As Belos messes with ordinary items on Hunter's bookshelf, the boy allows himself to carefully move about the room in a somewhat casual manner. Just as he feels comfortable enough to rest his hip against the edge of his desk, an inquisitive grumble from Belos catches his attention.
In a second, Hunter's by his side. Belos turns to face him, holding the object of interest in cupped palms. It's a soft, baby pink spiral-like shape, with unusual folds at the top and curved holes at the bottom. Belos took it from a display stand on his shelf.
"What is this?" Belos asks as he slides his thumbs into the bottom of the paper holes. He attempts to open it, causing the creation to ever-so-slightly tear.
Hunter gasps, frantically whispering, "no, no, no, no," as he reaches his hand out to Belos. But, he never touches it, instead allowing the distance between them to be his soft plea. Belos accepts it, ceasing his movements to hold the creation out to him. With hesitance, Hunter dips his hands into Belos's palms, silently given permission to lift the craft off his thumbs. He's careful not to hover for too long.
"I've never seen anything like it," Belos comments, "How does it work?"
"Oh, um...it's paper origami," Hunter hastily replies as he inspects for any further damage. He sighs out when he sees nothing more than a tear, thankful that the craft gifted to him was still intact. It's one of the few presents he owns, treasured and untouched on his display shelf every single day. "You, uh...you do it like this..."
He puts his fingers in the folds to open the device the correct way, allowing the paper spiral to blossom into a rose. The furrow of confusion on the emperor’s face relaxes into one of wonder as he watches it unfold. When Belos seems pleased, Hunter gives his belonging back to him.
Belos repeats Hunter's movements with the device with careful precision, making the rose blossom and close a few times while analyzing its formation.
Hunter smiles softly at the scene before Belos, after having understood the object's purpose, rests it back on the bookshelf in the exact place he took it from.
"Do...do you like it?"
Belos glides a finger across one of the closed folds before turning his attention away from it. "Are there more of these?"
The smile on Hunter's face curls a little wider, and the long-residing ache in his heart begins to alleviate.
"Not with me, no, but there's more stuff like that," he answers. "There's ones like this one, but instead of a rose, it's folding pyramids and cubes. But, you can also make other things like animals or weapons, too. I've actually seen paper boomerangs and knives, it’s- it's really cool. I think the most popular thing to make is the cr-"
Belos slowly raises a hand in a halting motion, forcing Hunter's words to instinctively die on his tongue as shame flushes his face. Belos curls his hand and rubs the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by Hunter's rambling.
"I didn't mean to speak for so long," he apologizes, small and ashamed. The ache returns.
Belos doesn't reply. Instead, he takes a seat at the edge of Hunter's bed on the side facing the window. After a beat of silence, he speaks. "I should tell you why I'm here. It's a matter of importance."
Hunter lets out a shallow breath in an attempt to relieve himself of the forming knot in his throat and the churning in his stomach. As he takes a seat next to Belos, their knees almost touching, Hunter feels as if he already knows what the emperor is going to say.
"Regarding the work ethic of your missions."
Hunter winces. There it is.
"I-I'm so sorry, sir." His voice is so dry and shaky. Quick and immediate, not daring to hesitate his apology for a second. "I-I know I've...I know I-I've failed to meet your expectations lately."
"You have," is all Belos says as he stares out the window. Hunter knows he has more to say, but he's not saying it. Hunter has to pull it out of him, because according to his uncle, he should already know. Belos shouldn't have to tell him what he's thinking all the time.
"I'm so sorry," Hunter repeats, his shriveled voice fighting with each word as guilt wrenches in his gut. His palms press harshly into his exposed thighs, bitten down nails digging violet crescents into his skin below his shorts. He takes a shallow, ragged breath, fighting with his heart like it's about to leap out of his throat to hide with his cardinal. Hunter hates letting him down. "I'm—I'm really trying. I know you deserve better. I just want to help you."
He only wants to help his uncle.
A large, cold palm rests on top of Hunter's. He melts from the touch, eyes squeezing shut as his own nails anxiously pierce soft, scarred skin. He lets out a slow, unsteady exhale, the shaky breath rattling through his quivering lips.
"You know I only want you to succeed, Hunter," Belos gently reminds him, "I only want you to be good enough for me."
"I know," Hunter whimpers.
He only wants the same.
Belos carefully unlatches Hunter’s hand from clawing into his thigh and replaces it with his own, his icy touch relieving the burning of Hunter's scratched legs.
But, with nothing else to latch onto, his nails dig into Belos's old skin in an attempt to ground himself. When he hears a discomforted grumble from the older man, he forces relaxation on his grip. Belos rewards it by stroking his thumb over the back of Hunter's hand.
I don't deserve this , is all Hunter can think as Belos silently soothes him back into a state of ease. He doesn't deserve any of it. Belos's kindness. His forgiveness. Belos is so nice to him, but what has Hunter done in return? Repeatedly fail to give his uncle the one thing keeping him from collapsing into nothing more than a pile of lifeless sludge? The one thing he ever asks for?
He must've been exerting too much of his inner spiraling, because now Belos is whispering a soft, " shh" to him . Hunter takes another deep breath and quiets himself, but the gnawing anxiety inside him screams for release.
Belos continues to speak.
"I noticed you've been...distracted. By what, I'm not sure."
At the notion, Hunter's eyes glance at the stack of papers on his desk. Belos's precision doesn't let the action go unmissed.
"Hunter," he says. It's low and drawn out as his stroking slowly ceases, making Hunter's heart yearn and ache. He already knows. "Is something troubling you?"
Hunter doesn't reply.
"Is something in this room the cause of your poor performance?"
Hunter doesn't reply.
A pang in his chest dully sounds when Belos coldly pulls his hand away from him. Hunter's hand falls limp in his lap, as if it wasn't being cradled just a moment before as Belos spoke so, so softly to him.
"Bring it to me," he coaxes, "We can get it taken care of."
Hunter stands up robotically, that warmth and guilt in his chest being washed away with a stone cold... something.
He couldn't give the letter to Belos, could he? What would he think?
Part of Hunter imagines Belos would be understanding, maybe. Possibly even ask about it. It's just...a friend. Belos surely wouldn't mind him having a school friend, would he? As long as he stays on task with missions?
But, the letter— both letters—contain incriminating information. The explicit mention of Hunter owning a palisman.
And all Hunter can think of is the feeble little cardinal. The gentle shine of her eyes, the downy touch of her feathers, the fragility of her thin and light bones, how easy it'd be to...
No, no.
He can find something to bring. Belos won't have to know.
Hunter shuffles through the various papers on his desk, and...oh, Titan, there is nothing that would be good for him. That familiar foreboding knots in his entire core knowing that whatever he brings back, he will disappoint Belos again. And a disappointed Belos means...
He sighs as he balances out the best of the venoms like a child searching for a switch for their angry parent.
The letter. No, he couldn't turn in the letter. He'd endanger Rascal, and Belos would find out he's been sneaking off to other people's houses for aid. And—oh, Titan— he'd incriminate the sender, his best friend , and the idea of that was not an option that could even be considered . Which leads to...
His reply to the letter. With the first option out of the way, this one logically has to go with it. Titan's sake, he directly stated he didn't want Belos seeing his palisman. Hunter internally berates himself at his ignorance, debating if giving him his reply would be even worse than the original letter. With those two off the table...
His notes on his uncle's curse . He couldn't hand in that paper, either. It was too alluding to everything else he's been practicing; it referenced the use of wild magic and of Hunter's desire for Belos to no longer rely on palismen. Which meant Hunter has been studying wild magic. And that he cares about palismen to the extent he wants to protect them from his uncle. With that one out of the way, as well..
His notes on wild magic . He'd be stupid to hand in that one. He recalls the last time Belos heard of Hunter speaking about wild magic to him. How the wrath of his sludge slithered past his hair, trimming the growth back to his scalp. How Hunter's flinch just barely prevented Belos from etching a new scar into him.
He shudders. He can't give that one, either.
And, finally...
His notes on Rascal. Absolutely not.
"Hunter," Belos presses, growing impatience as Hunter hovered over his desk.
Hunter flinches, his voice breaking him from his spiraling.
He has to give something to him, no matter how horrible the outcome would be. If he didn't hand him anything, Belos would come and find it himself, and all would be revealed. Belos is trusting him to do the right thing.
He'll tell Belos about each of these topics eventually. He promises. But, he cannot know all of them now.
He cannot endanger either of them, no matter the punishment he'd face. Just as he felt a sliver of happiness, he feared the moment it would be ripped from him once more.
Without any hesitation, he will gladly suffer as the most tortured soul in his realm, if it meant they will be okay.
He quickly skims each paper again, running through the varying consequences in his head for each. Worst case scenarios, best case scenarios, absolute outcomes.
After he finally makes his decision, he pulls the sheet out from the pile, takes a deep breath, and hands it to Emperor Belos.