Chapter Text
All great folktales and myths, at one point, had a storm involved in them, from great home-faring soldiers being caught its wrath, or protecting certain lands from invaders, or the god's making crops grow after months of harsh droughts, or the same gods using the storms to cause near irreparable damage. Either way, when a storm came knocking on the coastline of Heraklion, well...the inhabitants knew to gear up for the worst.
Grian was one of these inhabitants and was one of the sole reasons why Heraklion had even learned to survive the brutal storms that came their way. He had spent years building seawalls along the coastline and digging out drainage systems where any excess water could flow out long before it reached the village. Grian wasn’t alone in his endeavors on protecting his home, as his oldest and closest friend Scar was the mastermind behind reinforcing all the small homes and huts in the village, together the two could face down any storm no matter how large.
Except for the storm that changed everything, it seemed that the gods had decided to be particularly cruel that dreadful night. Granted, it had been during the beginning of their combined effort of storm-proofing the island so there were only a few drainage tunnels and some measly levees that made been hastily dug up.
“Grian!” yelled Scar over the pounding rain and crackling lighting, “It’s not holding! They’re breaking apart!”
Grian looked over at the earthen levees being washed up from the vicious waves, Scar was standing over the crumbling dirt with rain and mud soaking his clothes. He looked to be trying to pack the dirt back in but it only turned into slush as it was continuously washed away, there were some of the village folk trying their best to throw the water back out into the sea with buckets only for it to rush back in.
“Get some of the sandbags!” yelled Grian, “And get off the levee! It won’t hold for much longer!”
“Okay!” called back Scar as he gathered some of the men to run back to the village to retrieve the sandbags, Grian continued his task of digging more drainage tunnels. He internally thanked all those years digging war trenches for increasing his stamina and endurance in such tumultuous conditions.
“Shit!” cursed one of the village folks who was also helping with the digging. Grian looked up at him, the baby-faced boy bringing back haunting familiarity, who was pointing to something behind him. “Look! It’s a ship! Heading straight for the levees!”
Grian looked back over to the dirt mounds to see a frigate barreling straight for Scar and his group, who were in the process of trying to block up the flooding hole. His brown eyes widened as water dripped from his messy wet hair, “SCAR! Get out of there!! There’s a ship heading straight for you!!”
Thankfully, Scar’s self-preservation skills decided to kick in and the man pushed one of the men helping out of the frigate’s way as the rest of the sandbag group rushed away. Grain dropped his shovel and spirited towards his friend, “Are you okay?!”
“Yeah, I’m f-fine. Oof, that’s startled me a bit, but hey! We have the hole plugged up now!” smiled the scarred-faced man as he pointed to the frigate that was now embedded in the dirt levee.
Grian couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s never-ending optimism and helped him up to his feet, “And the rain’s stopped!” continued Scar. Grian looked up at the sky with the dark grey clouds parting into lighter grey ones with bits of the blue sky showing through, “I suppose the gods decided that we had enough” mumbled Grian.
“Hey, look up there! On the ship, someone’s on it!” called out one of the villagers.
The two men looked up to see that someone was indeed on the bow of the ship leaning up with their torso hanging off the ledge and a sword gripped lightly in his hand, “I think he’s gonna fall” said someone in the crowd.
And the man did indeed fall off the ship after those words had been uttered, thankfully it wasn’t a long drop as the dirt mounds that the ship had pushed up against served as a sort of cushion as the man tumbled down towards the ground. Scar let out a surprised noise and got up to check on the man, as Grian followed close behind.
On closer inspection, they could see that the man was absolutely covered in blood (and now mud from his fall) with wide tears in his dark blue uniform, the color and design looked familiar to Grian but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen it, his hair was a matted mess along with his face that was littered with deep cuts and bruises. He looked over at the sword that was also covered in blood but Grian had a feeling it wasn’t all this mysterious man’s.
“He’s hurt...badly” said Scar as he checked over the body turning the man on his side with a wince forming on his face but his eyes didn’t open, “Some of these injures look infected”
Grian looked closer at the bloody wounds across the torse and saw that some of them had ugly looking pus and very dark red blood leaking out, “A few of these are weeks old and clearly haven’t been cleaned out”
Scar nodded and checked over at the man’s back when his mismatched eyes widened, “Grian....”
“What?” asked Grain as he saw some of the villagers climb onto the ship to check for any other survivors.
“...I think he’s an avian. Or at least he used to be”
“What? That’s impossible, you and I both know that the only avians in existence are far, far away from here”
“That’s why I said used to be, look at his back”
Grian shuffled closer and nearly gagged when he saw its state. The wings or he should say what was left of them, were somehow even bloodier than the rest of his body with them looking like someone had taken shears and cut them like an unruly bush. There was practically nothing left of them with the secondary converts and scapulars being the only visible part that even looked remotely avian, but even that was being generous. The only way they could be saved was if they had someone on the island that knew avian biology...which no one did and even then, it would be a miracle if they could be salvaged.
“Grian! Scar! There are a lot of dead bodies up here! I think...I think he killed them!” yelled one of the men from the ship.
“There’s also a lot of cages here as well! And...well, it ain’t pretty what’s inside them” added another.
Grian’s eyes widened in realization and Scar’s darkened with a wave of anger that rarely ever came out, “It was a hybrid trade ship...” whispered Grian.
“You mean a slave vessel” growled Scar. His scarred hands balling up into fists, his pointed ears falling back flat against his head.
Grian rested a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, “It’s okay, they can’t hurt you. We have our friend here to thank for that”
Scar tried to smile but only ended up nodding in response. “Now, let’s get him cleaned up” said Grian as he wrapped the man’s arm around his neck and hoisted him up along with Scar’s help.
Neither of the men heard their bloodied friend mumble the name, “....Toms....”
Once the trio had set up a makeshift hospital in Scar’s carpentry shop and spent hours cleaning up the man...only to find out that the man looked much, much younger.
“Gods, he can’t be any older than seventeen. Look at that baby face...” cooed Scar.
“That just leaves the question, how did he end up on that ship?” wondered Grian as he got to work on cleaning the deep cuts that would most defiantly scar once they healed.
“Then we know the answer to that question” said Scar with a hint of something dark in his tone.
“That’s not what I meant”
Scar gave him a questioning glance.
Grian sighed and pointed to the tattered mess of the stained dark blue uniform laid out on one of their chairs, “Look at his uniform”
“So?”
“Do you know where that uniform is from?”
Scar shook his head but uncertainty etched itself onto his face. Deep down, he knew exactly where that uniform had come from.
“The same place where the only three avians in the entire world exist”
“You don’t mean...”
“I do”
“So let me ask this again, how in the world did a prince of the Antarctic Empire end up here?”
The two men gave each other a look that spoke a thousand words, each one more complicated than the last, and in the end, they never did end up answering their question. Grian decided to hide the uniform and its contents in a chest underground, he couldn’t tell you why he did it. Maybe it was out of pettiness. Maybe it was out of old revenge for events that had been out of his control then and now. Maybe it was out of fear...for what? He didn’t really want to think about it.
If Scar had any objections to it then he didn’t say anything. The side-eyed glances Grian would get in the coming years would be words enough.
The man, or boy, eventually did wake up, a few weeks later (and after his wings had already been cut down to the bone) with no memory of who he was or where he came from.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything?” asked Scar softly.
The boy nodded, “Well, I do remember one thing”
“What would that be?” wondered Grian. Fear bubbling up in his aching bones.
“I...I think it’s my name....I think, no I know, my name is Wil”
.
.
.
“WIL!” called out a loud voice from downstairs, “It’s time to get up! You’re sleeping the whole day away!”
A soft voice mumbled something and the first voice laughed, “He doesn’t know that! Plus, it’s nine o’clock! That’s halfway through the workday!”
The voices then went into unintelligible noises as Wil brought the pillow up to his head with a low groan, cursing his stupidly good hearing, he just wanted to sleep in for one day! Of course, Grian (or maybe Scar. Fuck, it was probably both of them) wanted to get some weird complicated project started at an ungodly hour, an ungodly hour for Wil anyways, but he pushed himself off of the bed and shuffled into the small bathroom.
Wil flicked on the light and looked in the mirror with a slight smile. He had gotten better about looking at his reflection, he didn’t really know why he had been so averse to looking at mirrors but there was some deep primal fear within him that just prevented him from doing so. Thankfully, Grian and Scar had been understanding about taking them all down until Wil was comfortable with it. Wil touched the cool glass with his scarred, calloused fingertips and took a deep breath in and out the longer he gazed at himself, the dark brown curls just barely falling in front of his eyes, chocolate-colored eyes that gazed back with warmth, the few scars on his face severed as a reminder of darker times with deep cuts on his left eyebrow that looked like zigzag lines running through the eyebrow, and the longer one that started on the right corner of his lips to his lower cheek and down into his shoulder.
There were more scars all across his torso and back, especially the area where the ruined remains of his wings had once been. Wil made a point to never look back there; he still wasn’t ready for it. Eventually, he took a quick shower and threw on his normal attire of a soft yellow turtleneck, blue cargo pants, and a red-colored beanie. He walked down the stairs to be greeted with the heavenly smell of fresh bread and Scar’s trademark mushroom soup.
Said man was standing by the table putting out some silverware and napkins. He was wearing his normal maroon-colored three-piece suit with a green tie, his brown dress shoes clicked on the hard wooden floor, he always kept his short brown hair slicked back which highlighted his pointed ears (they look a bit like a mix between wolf and elf ears) and the long scar that ran from his eyebrow to his chin, causing his right eye to have milky white instead of the icy blue of his left. While Grian who already sitting at the table munching on some bread wore his trademark long-sleeved red sweater with khaki pants that held his tool belt that always held some sort of hammer or odd screw, his almost black eyes seemed to hold more wisdom than Wil could imagine looked up at him.
“About time you woke up!” smiled Grian, “We have a busy day today!”
“Yeah, yeah” laughed Wil as he took a seat across from the dusty blonde-haired man. “What are we doing today?”
“You and me are going to check up on the sea walls to make sure they’re still holding up and enforced the drainage systems. I’m getting that achy feeling in my bones again; I feel like a storm is coming soon” answered Grian.
“Are we gonna be digging a lot?” mumbled Wil.
“Of course!” grinned Grian. Wil groaned, he hated it when they had to dig up new trenches. He’ll never understand why Grian likes it so damn much.
“And I get to relax in my little shop while you do all that digging!” added Scar with a smile.
“I’m pretty sure Pearl wanted you to reenforce some of older huts and rebuild some of the docks that got damaged when that group of rascals ran into it with their ship” said Grian with a smirk.
Scar hung his head, “There goes my relaxation...”
Wil laughed, “Come on Scar, you're a workaholic just like Grian. I wouldn’t be surprised if you decided to build a brand-new four-story house just for the fun of it”
“That was one time!” interjected Scar.
“It was multiple times” said both Grian and Wil deadpanned.
Scar shook his head in amusement, he knew better than to argue against his own hobbies. Soon enough the trio finished up their breakfast and headed out to their respective jobs.
Thankfully, Heraklion was a fairly small island with most of its population of seventy living on the southernmost side with the multicolored (ranging from dark navy blue to bright pink) houses and huts littering the coastline by a few miles at most. Wil, along with Grain and Scar, lived on the outskirts of the village in their humble but spacious two-story red-colored home with the walk to the shoreline being twenty minutes at best, however, the walk could be longer if the weather was being a bitch. The village itself was nestled in a snow-capped mountain range that seemed to circle around it as it molded downwards into the flat grassy hills making up most of the landscape, most of the coastline apart from the small docks in the village was littered with sharp jagged rocks that would tear up any ship that dared come near, which might be the reason why the island sees few visitors, along with the fact that the island is nearly three months away from the nearest kingdom or empire.
But Wil didn’t complain about the isolation, it was nice to get lost in watching the sea expanding out into nothingness. Even if there was a part of him deep down that longed for something more...Wil pushed those thoughts down as he had for the past seven years. He had everything that he needed here from Grian and Scar’s warm atmosphere to lazing around with Seleukos’s sheep on the grassy hills.
There was nothing out there for Wil and he was fine with that. (Even if the begging voice of the sun-haired boy in his dreams said otherwise).
“Wil?” said Grian taking him out of his thoughts.
Wil perked up and realized that they were standing on the gravel roads of the village, “Yeah?”
“I said that I need to stop in the blacksmith to pick up the shovels”
Wil looked across the man at the open-air blacksmith with the large stoves and steel roof on wooden pools serving as the only major structures. The cooling station and various tools as scattered about as the burly man and his apprentice hammered away at their new projects, “Why do you need to do that?”
Grian gave him a look, “I just told you that they had needed some repairs. Where you lost in your head again?”
Wil scratched the back of his head, “Maybe, you always talk about buildings or boring stuff. So, it’s easy to get lost up there”
The man rolled his eyes, “Glad to know you’re still tuning me out all the time”
Wil just chuckled in response as Grian went over to the blacksmith and pulled out some iron ingots with his shaking hands (Wil doesn’t remember a time where those hands had ever stopped shaking), “Has the shaking gotten worse?” asked Wil when Grian came back with the new shovels.
He just shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not getting any younger. I’m fine, Wil. It’s nothing to worry about”
Wil began to open his mouth but closed it again, he knew better than to push the older man. Grian never talked about why his hands shook, or why he had given up on building despite the fact that he loved talking about it, or why the mere mention of empires made his eyes grow dark like the man was thinking back on something terrifying, or why he woke up screaming in the night with Scar barely able to calm him down. Scar had his own fair share of things he didn’t talk about either like the mark that gave him his namesake, or how his fingernails looked like they should be much longer almost like claws yet they never reach that level, or how his arms tended to be covered in what looked like fur whenever he rolled up his sleeves or that thousand-yard stare he sometimes gave Wil when he thought the other wasn’t looking.
But that didn’t bother Wil either as he had his own things that he kept hidden like how he had dreams of a boy with bright sky-blue eyes and golden fluffy hair, of a cold yet at times warm place that he could never make out the details of, or how he felt like his hands weren’t made for digging or carpentry but rather something more artistic, or how he could talk to the birds around the island. Granted it was hard for him to understand them like a broken language that seemed so familiar yet foreign. Sometimes the birds would mumble that Wil should be able to understand them better as he was like them, but he ignored their mumbles. Wil hadn’t been an avian for a long, long time and he had grown to accept that fact.
There were times that Wil wished he could go up and talk to his...friends? Housemates? He supposed that Uncles was a more fitting term for Scar and Grian, they were closer than most roommates but not enough to be considered family. That was another thing that they never talked about just that Wil showed up one day and the two decided to take him under their wing, Wil frowned a bit to himself of course he loved and cared about the two men. They had gone out of their way to care for an amnesic seventeen-year-old and asked for nothing to return, but just couldn’t help but feel that they would never feel like his family. Did Wil even have a family? He felt like he did but why weren’t they here with him?
“Wil!” called out Grian which made Wil look over at him with dirt covering his red sweater. The shovel lightly shook in his hands as he gave Wil a concerned look, when had they gotten to the drainage systems?
“You’re spacing out again, are you sure that you’re okay?” asked Grian.
“Yeah! I’m sorry, I’m....I’m just thinking about stuff”
“Don’t apologize, Wil. Are you thinking about your memories?”
“You mean my lack of them?” laughed Wil but stopped when he saw that the joke didn’t land and scratched the back of his head, “Sort of, it’s just those phantom feelings again”
“The anniversary is tomorrow, maybe it’s you’re subconscious being all strange. It happens to me when important dates come up”
“I know...” mumbled Wil. They had talked a bit about how he felt like there was something out there for him. But Grian and Scar just gave each other a wordless look and tried their best to soothe Wil saying that those feelings would come and go, maybe even get more manageable with time. They had in the past seven years but that still didn’t stop Wil’s mind from wandering about it.
“Can I ask what it was about? I know that you’ve mentioned those feelings when it comes to your...win-...back.” asked Grian trying to find the right words.
Wil looked out at the blue seascape with the seagulls flying in the air looking for their next meal, the ache in his muscles to stretch out appendages that didn’t exist growing the longer he looked, “No...not this time. I was...was just thinking about where my family may be...”
Grian made a thoughtful noise as Wil quickly backtracked, “Not to say that I’m ungrateful for you or Scar! You two have helped me in so many ways and I’ll never be able to repay you but it’s just...just I don’t know...”
“Wil, it’s okay” smiled Grian as he stepped forward to place a gentle hand on the curly-haired man’s shoulder. The former had to stretch his arm a bit to reach as Wil had always been freakishly tall, the old grannies of the village loved to ask Wil to reach for their cats that got stuck in trees or to sweep up cobwebs in corners too high to reach.
“I know what you mean and you know that neither me nor Scar want you to feel like you have to repay us or anything like that. We decided to take care of you because we wanted to, I-I know that we’ve never really given ourselves any familial labels but I love you like you’re my family and I know Scar feels the same way” continued Grian.
Wil wrung his hands together, “I know...”
“And it’s okay to miss people even if you don’t remember them. I never knew my parents growing up and even I still miss them. I wonder where they may be in this vast world of ours or why they never came back for me or if they even wanted to. It’s perfectly okay to have those thoughts, you have every right to have those questions. I just wish that I had the answers” said Grian. Wil missed how something undecipherable flashed in the older man’s eyes as he spoke.
“Even while I’m around people that I care about? Who’ve I’ve known longer than those feelings?” asked Wil.
Grian nodded, “Even then”
“You know I consider you my family too, I always have” smiled Wil.
Wil could see the watery look forming in Grian’s eyes, “H-Hey! Don’t cry!”
“I’m not! It’s just-Ah! You’re becoming so much stronger and confident every day!” sniffed Grian, “I’m just proud of you”
It was Wil’s turn to feel the tears forming in his eyes, “Don’t get me all emotional! We still have to finish digging and we can’t do that if fill it up with our tears!”
Grian just laughed as the two turned the digging into a competition to see who could dig the fastest, which in turn led to them completing their task and adding a few more trenches by the time the sun painted an orange hue across the sky.
“I’d say we did a pretty good job! I’d say we earned a sweet treat” said Grian as he wiped the sweat and dirt off his brow.
“Ooo, can we get one of those double chocolate cakes from Tryphon’s bakery?” asked Wil as he grabbed both shovels from the ground.
“What else would I get?” quipped Grian with a light laugh, “I’m sure Scar would want the same”
“I think that man has a bigger sweet tooth than the whole village combined” said Wil as the two walked to the bakery the sunset washing the village in warmth and the promise of a peaceful end to the day.
.
.
Wil pushed open the window that led out to the roof with pen and notebook held in his mouth, and a small plate of cake grasped in his left hand. He carefully climbed onto the black tiled roof and settled himself in the middle of it, the long-sleeved black shirt and grey shorts doing very little to protect him from the chilly night breeze. He had never minded the cold and even found himself taking ice-cold showers in an effort to chase the comfort that he got from the icy feeling, it always seemed to worry Scar as he thought the former would catch a cold in any moment from all his cold showers and late-night stargazing. But Wil had overheard Grian saying that it was just in his nature and not to worry about it...whatever that meant, Wil had always meant to question the man about it but like with some things...they just never talked about it.
Speaking of things that they never talked about, Wil flipped open his sketchbook that he had bought from one of the few trade ships that came through the island in the first few years he had lived here. There were various drawings in it ranging from the mountains and grassy hills of Heraklion to the maps of the starry night of the various constellations and galaxies, or the flags of traveling naval vessels. But then there were the other drawings ones of stone castles with a multi-shaded flag of blue with a white symbol that he could never get right, a clearing with a sword stuck in the middle of it, and the boy that always seemed to be in his dreams with the unruly hair that curled much like his own brown ones, the sharp jawline that was always in a bright smile, and the various nicks on his face that every growing boy had with the bandages on his cheek and nose behind the most notable.
Wil wished that he had colored pencils rather than the one black pen he had, so he could try to capture the bright blue eyes and golden hair. Maybe he could buy some from the next trading ship. He often wondered if this boy had been someone that he knew in his past life, it seemed obvious since he remembered his face so clearly. But what was his relation to Wil? A friend? A coworker? A brother?
(Deep down, Wil hoped it was the last option. He had always wanted a brother to hang out with. To share his ideas with, sometimes he felt like there was someone else that was supposed to be by his side, to tease him on his silly worries but at the same time bring him comfort)
Wil shook his head and looked up at the night sky taking a bite of his cake. The stars and wide band of the Milky Way glittering in his brown eyes, was another favorite of the island as on clear nights like this you could see the stars and galaxies of the universe for miles on end. At times it felt like the only things that existed were the sea and stars as the two met each other on the distant horizon.
“I wish I could fly up to the stars”
“Maybe one day you will”
“Really?! Will you be there to watch me, do it?”
“Of course”
“...I’ll bring you with me!”
“I might be a bit heavy to carry”
“I can do it! I’m the biggest man around! I’ll get you and me to the stars, I promise!”
“....Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear”
Wil blinked the vague memories away as he looked down at his pinky still holding his fork. He wished that his mind would let him remember things more clearly and that would come more frequently, rather than when the anniversary of his saving came around. He just wanted to remember his old life! To place faces and names on that phantom family that he could never seem to shake, to know why he liked the cold, to know why that boy appeared so often in his dreams, why Scar and Grian gave him such weird looks at times, to understand why his wings had been taken from him while his instincts screamed at him to stretch out the nonexistent limbs and soar higher than the clouds.
He looked back up at the Milky Way and smiled at the distant words of the past as he picked up his pen and flipped to a new page. He would wait for that person to come to take him to the stars, no matter how long they took.