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He runs, and he runs, and he runs, because he doesn’t know what else he can do.
The back of his throat tastes like blood and lies. He’s not used to running like this; running away from something, from someone, instead of the heat of the chase. He much prefers that - prefers the quiet thrill when he catches up to them, the satisfying burn in his legs afterwards.
Then again. If he thinks about who he was chasing, and why he was chasing them, it all starts to spiral again. Because then he gets to thinking where those he caught may have ended up, wonders what became of their treasured palismen.
(Then he remembers some spindly, haunted looking creature, remembers the way his uncle took the soul of some poor, lost palismen from it, remembers what it did to his arm-
Remembers his uncle isn’t even his uncle, remembers it’s all lies, lies, lies-)
He swallows. He can’t afford to think about that right now. No. All he can do is run, and run, and not look back.
Flapjack soars in the sky above him, elegant. It’s a quiet relief to see the palisman, to be reminded that he isn’t completely alone in the world.
He wonders, vaguely, through the sharp pain in his chest (he doesn’t know if it’s from running, or from everything else that has happened) if Luz will follow after him, Owl-Lady in tow. She’d seemed- concerned. Worried. Worried for him, worried for the human.
Though he doesn’t know if he can trust her. Doesn’t know who he can trust, especially after that. Because he can’t trust Belos, he knows that now, knows that he can’t go back ( he’ll kill him, he tried to kill him-) and he doesn’t know if there’s anyone else. He would have said Darius, a few days ago, but now- now he doesn’t know. Because Darius could know about all of it. Know about all of the lies. Know about everything, and still remain stony, stoic, silent.
Which leaves him with-
Well.
He doesn’t know.
Luz, he supposes. Purely because they’ve been through all of that , together, and she didn’t let him die.
( Her hands, reaching out for him, holding fast, not letting go, not letting go-)
She didn’t let him die, and she’d offered him a home. And while the idea of wild magic, and living among it still seems somewhat daunting - it’s against everything he’s ever been taught, against everything he’s ever known - upon reflection, it’s better than - well. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know where he’s running to.
He almost wants to turn around, then. But something like pride keeps his feet on the path he’s been following for the past half-hour. He’s made a stance, afterall. Disappeared out into the bleakness of the night for a reason.
But maybe in the morning, he’ll turn around. Maybe.
But it’s a hell of a way to run back. And he’s starting to tire, now, limbs becoming sluggish, movements foggy.
And then he also has Willow. And the rest of the team, he hopes. They were… they were kind to him. Without him even having to threaten them or anything to win that kindness. They just…
He supposes the word he’s looking for is acceptance. They made him feel like he belonged. Just for a moment. And he’d been looking forward to seeing them again, even if he could only grasp it for a few days a year. Only feel like he fit in, like he belonged for a couple of hours in the sun.
Even if now he knows he doesn’t belong, knows he never belonged.
He doesn’t even know what he is.
“Grimwalker,” he whispers, and it tastes like soot on his tongue. He doesn’t… he doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t think that it offers much of an explanation for anything - not who he is, not why he’s here.
He just knows that he’s not what he thought he was. He knows that he’s not important to the Titan. Knows that he isn’t Belos’ nephew.
His lungs strain, now. He’s been running without stopping for a while. He has a stitch in his side; he heaves a choked breath to relieve the faint tinge of pain. He thinks he can probably stop running now, but the sheer, blind panic doesn’t allow him to stop.
Eventually, he has to. He stumbles to a halted stop, and staggers over to a tree, leaning against it like a lifeline. He stops, and breaths, fumbling over something that was once second nature. Does he even need to breathe? Is that something - is that something that a Grimwalker needs?
He doesn’t know many things. He knows that his name is Hunter. He knows that he… no. He doesn’t know that. He’s surely not the Golden Guard, not anymore. The moment Belos found him, the moment he heard that-
You make these things just to destroy them - you have fun with it. Admit it-
It hurts every time he chooses to betray me-
Out of all the Grimwalkers, you look the most like him-
That part of him was gone. He didn’t want it. He’d thrown it away the second he’d yanked his cloak off, loathing to feel the soft material of it pressing up tight against him, choking him, shedding it like a snake would with its skin. Once, the cloak had been comforting, something that he knew would always be there. He’d known his place, known he was the Golden Guard, known who he was and what he needed to do.
Now he knows nothing. Knows nothing but the rough bark pressing up against his back, the cold and the chill that seeps through the air. Flapjack lands on his shoulder, nestles right up against his neck, his hair tickling the palisman’s head, and that’s… that’s somewhat of a comfort, in a way. It’s not just him, out here in the woods, at the least.
He feels so fucking stupid. So naive he could scream. He swallowed Belos' lies, and didn't ever stop to question them for a moment.
He’s spiralling. He’s falling, falling, falling, and he’s only brought out of it by a quiet cough.
Instinctively, he raises his hands, protecting his face. (He already has too many visible scars, he doesn’t want anymore.) It’s Belos, he’s sure of it, he’s been caught, and now he’s- he’s going to get sucked back into the ground, see what he saw before, back to a landscape of endless shattered masks and discarded splintered sections of uniform.
Instead, a hand lands on his shoulder. It’s not a gentle touch - it’s firm, if anything, but it isn’t… it doesn’t hurt him.
“You okay, kid?” The leader of the Abomination Coven says, and Hunter backs away from him, back snug against the tree. He’s shaking. Shaking like the last leaf on a windswept tree.
“No, no, no, no-” he whispers, “No, get- get away, I didn’t- I’m sorry, I’m-”
He opens one eye. Darius doesn’t look exactly angry. Concerned, if anything, but that doesn’t make any sense.
“You’re fine,” the man murmurs. He’s kneeling down, trying to meet Hunter’s gaze, “I’m not angry. You gave us quite the scare, though.”
Hunter doesn’t know what he means. He knows Darius must be lying, though. Belos must have put him up to this - lying, as he’s quickly learned, is Belos’ style.
“You’re- don’t, don’t- get away from me, I’m not- not going back, don’t make me go back, I’m not doing anything again, I’m not-” he splutters, frantic, and so fucking scared. He’s tearing up, forcing back tears. He knows that if he starts crying he won’t be able to stop - he’s so pent up, and tense, and- and-
And then he looks at him, and looks a bit longer, and something clicks together suddenly. That cloak seems awfully familiar.
“You’re the- I was supposed to-“ he splutters, and realises that the idea of a ‘traitor’, too, could be a test. A trap. Some other lie from Belos, something else he enjoyed. Another twist of a fly in a spider’s web.
Darius’ lip curls. “I’m the what?” he asks. Hunter flinches.
“You’re the traitor-“ he whispers, “And I was supposed to… to catch you. But then the- the…” and he trails off, because what happened after he was supposed to catch the traitors is far too painful. And then he realises that Darius must know, surely, where he was, and what happened to him. He’d found him, found the group of them preparing to invade the Emperor’s mind.
“Breathe, kid,” Darius murmurs, and Hunter pushes himself away from him.
“You’re with him, aren’t you,” he whispers, low and shaky, “You’re - it was a test. It was a trick! It was a t-trick, and you’re gonna - don’t take me back. Don’t- don’t take me back, I don’t wanna go-”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Darius says quickly, “Slow down. Deep breaths in and out, c’mon,” Hunter doesn’t listen to him, he’s spluttering and coughing, because it’s a trick, it’s all a trick, and Darius is going to haul him back, and he’s going to die, just like all the others, all of the ones that came before.
The head witch sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “It wasn’t a test. Or a trick,” he cracks a smile, “You figured it out, Hunter. You were right. I’m a rebel.”
The slight validation barely makes Hunter look up. “I… I did?” he asks in a whisper, because- well. He doesn’t know why anyone on the Emperor’s side would be trying to sneak into his mind. It does all seem to line up, now that he pauses, and breathes, and thinks about it.
“Yeah,” Darius nods, “And I won’t turn you into Belos. You’re safe with me.”
And Hunter wants to believe him, wants to believe him so badly, but the adults in his life have a tendency of lying to him. He doesn’t voice that, though. Just relaxes his shoulders, and untenses himself, watching and waiting.
“You and the Owl Lady’s kid…” he draws out ‘Owl Lady’ with a sigh on his breath, a sound of sheer irritation mixed in with begrudging respect, “You were in his mind, right?”
Hunter’s gaze flickers from side to side, and he manages a stilted nod. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I- I messed it up. The spell.”
Darius chuckles, and it’s oddly out of place. “Don’t worry about that, kid. We can try it again. Though I daresay we’ve learnt enough from you two poking around in there,” and Hunter freezes, eyes going wide, because no, no, he doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet, he can’t-
The older man clears his throat. “Some other time,” he adds quickly, “For now, we’re just gonna make sure you’re okay. You ran away from… well. Everyone.”
The position he’s sprawled in is beginning to get uncomfortable, and Hunter goes to sit upright, propping himself up right. Darius is still giving him space, regarding him with the same glint in his eye that Hunter would reserve for one cornering a trapped, wild beast.
(Which he is. He’s a Grimwalker, Grimwalker, Grimwalker- what is it, what does it mean-)
He swallows. “Sorry,” he whispers again, and it’s so, so unlike him that he wants to scream. He doesn’t say sorry. He doesn’t apologise. He’s the Golden Guard, and those rules don’t apply for him.
Except for the fact that he isn’t the Golden Guard. He isn’t anything but an imitation, a fake, a thing.
You look the most like him-
“I just.” he holds his hands out in front of him, brings them into tight little fists, chipped nails digging into the meat of his palm, “I couldn’t be there anymore. They were… they were going to ask questions, and I didn’t want to answer them, and…” he looks helpless, hopeless, “And it was just stuffy, and I needed to. Needed to get away.”
He finishes lamely, glances away, ashamed. It’s stupid. He knows he was stupid. Knows he was probably safest at the Owl House, with Luz, and Eda, and their strange little pet, and that- he doesn’t know what it is. The Owl-Tube-Rope thing.
Instead of out in the woods, and with someone he knows is a traitor to the Emperor, still not knowing exactly what side he himself lands on.
“Well,” Darius stretches, and there’s a second figure emerging out of the clumps of trees, the shine of the moon reflecting on their glasses. They seem relieved to see him, though Hunter shrinks away from them all the same. He hasn’t spoken to Raine half as much as he’s spoken to Darius, and whilst they aren’t exactly intimidating, he’s still cautious. “Ah. There you are,” he greets Raine with a lazy flick of his hand, and turns his attention back to Hunter, “I think we’re just going to take you back.”
“Back…back where?” Hunter asks, heart in his mouth. He can’t be talking about - surely, he wouldn’t make him go to the castle. Hunter knew exactly what would happen if he was forced back there, if he faced Belos again.
“Well,” Darius looks back at Raine. The head witch of the Bard Coven hangs back, still wearing the same cloak they had been earlier. (So it had been them and Darius, then. Hunter absentmindedly wonders who the third traitor had been, before deciding it doesn’t really matter.) “I was thinking we’d drop you off at the Owl House. Just for the night.”
He sounds like he hates the idea of it. But Hunter doesn’t really know where else he would go - the Emperor has eyes everywhere, and the Owl House must surely be the best option.
“No.” Raine says, suddenly, “Isn’t there somewhere else?”
Darius raises a brow. “There’s a few other places,” he murmurs, “But the Owl House is the closest safe place for him. And Belos won’t look there-”
Raine cuts him off. “Yes. Yes, he will. If he-” they pause to gesture towards Hunter; he cowers beneath their gaze, “If Belos even catches wind that Hunter is there, he’ll find him. You know he doesn’t like to leave a trace.”
“He’ll be safe for a while, though.” Darius points out, and Raine shakes their head.
“No. No, sorry. I won’t… the inhabitants of the House would be in danger. We just can’t risk it, not for a while. He needs to lay low.”
Darius fixes them with a look. “You’re still protecting her, then.” he says, and it isn’t a question. Raine raises their chin, and Hunter wonders who, exactly, Darius is talking about. His gaze flickers between the both of them, rapid and frantic. He doesn’t… he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like the fact he’s been talked about like he’s not even there, like he’s some clueless child.
“Of course not,” Raine says softly, “There’s a… a house. It’ll do better as a safe space. That’s all.”
“Sure,” Darius says, “And that potion really needed to come in that form? Really. Flowers. You could be more subtle-“
“Could-” Hunter draws himself up to a standing position, but he still leans heavily against the tree. He can’t quite manage without the vague support of the wood against his back, without the slightly painful scrape of it against the gooseflesh skin of his arms. “Could someone just- just let me know what’s going on?”
“Well,” Darius crosses his arms, looking down at Hunter, who wilts, “You can’t go back, right?”
Hunter nods. Swallows.
“Thought so,” he hums thoughtfully, “That… the human told us,” and Hunter must have started shaking, must have gone pale, because Darius quickly backtracks, “Nothing about what happened! C’mon, kid, breathe. She told us that you couldn’t go back to the Emperor. That he’d tried to kill you, and you’ll explain everything else when you’re ready. Said some other, ah, choice things about Belos as well.”
“She…” Hunter heaves in a choked breath, “She’s rather o-opinionated,” he manages to force out, and the sound of his own voice, however weak, gives him the strength to go on, “And no. No. I can’t…can’t go back.”
“We won’t make you,” Raine says, quickly, quietly. They’ve sensed Hunter’s cloying need for reassurance, “You can stay in a safe house until this has all died down. And then…” They look almost pained, but determined, “Then you can stay with the Owl Lady. She’ll look after you.”
“Okay,” Hunter swallows, “I’ll… I’ll think about that. Better than…” he shudders, and trails off. Every time he closes his eyes, just for a flicker of a second, all he can see is - is what became of the others. Of his predecessors. Of the man that Darius had said he’d known, so surely- surely -
He sucks in a breath. Why did he - why did he trust Darius? He must be on Belos’ side, because he must have known about what happened to the others, must have known about how the others had all ended up standing against the Emperor, must have known what would have become of Hunter had he done the same.
He scrambles away, eyes wild, wide, becoming paralysed with fear when one of Darius’ hands lands squarely on his shoulder.
“You okay?” The man asks, Raine hanging behind him like a shadow. “We don’t have to head to the safe house straight away. We can just… stay here.” He doesn’t look pleased about the idea of that, though. “Did you really have to run so far into the woods, though?”
Hunter thinks it’s perhaps some form of a joke - the kind of joke he’s known Darius to favour, of the judgemental, sly kind - but he doesn’t laugh. He shakes, and shakes, and pushes a hand feebly, forcing Darius away from him. It doesn’t work.
“You knew.” He whispers. “About. About the rest. You said you knew my predecessor, you said- you said it would do me good to be more like him, you must have known what he does with us.”
Darius looks like he’s been slapped.
He opens his mouth, closes it again. He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t shake his head.
“I did know,” he admits, and Hunter swallows back a gasp, “And Titan, it…it hurts every time. I never wanted to see what happened to them,” he glances up, “And I never wanted to see it happen to you. Or any of them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asks Hunter, blinking back heated tears.
“Because if Belos had found out I had, well…you’d be dead,” Darius says, unconcerned for himself, “And I’ve grown rather fond of you.”
“Softie,” murmurs Raine from an indeterminable point behind him. Hunter wonders why Raine seems so familiar with Darius - familiar to the point that they can tease him like that. He guesses it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to presume they were in the same school year, they look roughly the same age to him.
(He’s suddenly hit with a darting question - would he ever get that old? - and finds that he severely doubts it. He feels like he’s doomed to die young, die soon, feels like he’s running on borrowed time that wasn’t ever really his.)
“Shut it, Whispers,” Darius grumbles, “But- Hunter.”
Hunter glances up. “Yeah?”
“You’re going to be okay, kid,” the man murmurs, “You’re with us now, yeah? You’re going to be fine.”
Hunter blinks up at him. He knows he looks like a mess - hair tousled wildly by the wind, eyes red-rimmed, he’s still sniffling - but he puts that to the back of his mind. “You…” he swallows, he knows it’s a hard ask, “You promise?”
Darius nods. Raine also gives a slight nod, before turning their back, arms crossed as they look in the direction Hunter ran from.
“I promise,” Darius murmurs, and Hunter sags against him, barely coming up to his shoulder. As the Golden Guard, he felt like an adult, like someone capable of brilliant, terrible things.
Now, he just feels like a child, and when Darius wraps a firm arm around him in a rough approximation of a hug, he cries like one too.
He hugs Darius back. Clinging to him like a lifeline. He’s got- he’s got things to think through. Things to learn. Things to research.
But for now, he can stay here. Stay here, and pray he’s going to be fine.