Chapter Text
Blood, a substance that the Yaksha had grown familiar with after gods know how much innocent souls fall prey to his hands.
It was never his intention to take the lives of others that never do him wrong, but he had no other choice. He was forced to, ever since he met the God of Dreams.
He was forced to devour the dreams of others, the voices of hope they held tightly like a lifeline were taken away in mere seconds had they been unfortunate enough to encounter the Yaksha.
He didn't want to hurt anyone, he yearned for a world of peace, but perhaps for a Yaksha, he was asking for way too much. Because the life of a Yaksha was never peaceful, especially during a war.
The God of Dreams refers to him as Alatus, a name that was not his own, nor does he have any desire to speak of. Ever since Alatus existed, he had forgotten his own name, a name he knew for so long, and yet was thrown away like it was nothing the moment Alatus was born.
Alatus was not a name he appreciated, because it reminded him of the countless slaughters he committed unwillingly. Alatus was not him, but rather a different person. An alter ego of sorts, that yearned for blood. A different personality of the Yaksha, the polar opposite.
Alatus was his name, yet at the same time it wasn't.
But what else does anyone call him with, if not with Alatus?
For while the Yaksha was conscious, Alatus lay dormant in his mind. The moment he sleeps was when everything went downhill. The moment the Yaksha let his guard down was when and how the God of Dreams manipulated him.
Unlike the Yaksha, Alatus enjoyed bloodshed. Unlike him, he didn't hesitate to take the lives of others. The God of Dreams trapped the Yaksha in a dream, or rather at the back of his own mind as he watched the people Alatus slaughter with his own hand, not a single sign of regret or guilt.
And he screamed.
"Stop!" he yelled, but the words fell on deaf ears, as if there's anyone there who would be willing to hear his cries, when he himself didn't hear the cries of others.
And as he watched the massacre happen before his eyes, he could only drop to his knees and cried, pleading to let this end, asking for a freedom that seemed to be within his reach, yet so far away. A freedom that doesn't exist in his life.
The Yaksha tried to prevent the bloodshed from happening himself, by preventing himself from succumbing to sleep, but it was all done in vain. His body would only force him to rest, and the whispers of the God of Dreams were only the stronger in that condition, and he had no way to resist in that state.
Not even trying to kill himself worked, as the two would only do whatever it takes to keep him alive.
The Yaksha was powerless against the two forces opposing his own ideals, and he hated himself for his powerlessness.
But who would be there to help him?
No one, he believed for a long time.
When mortals eat warm dishes with their family and friends, the Yaksha eats snow in the cold winds of a blizzard, hiding in a cave as the only means to keep himself warm, his spear beside him. He never knew what mortal food tasted like, he never had the chance to.
Though he wouldn't outright admit it, he wanted to taste them. Instead of the dreams and blood of others, he wanted to know what mortal food tastes like. He wanted to live alongside mortals, not as a threat or an enemy, but as their companion.
As someone they can trust, someone that can protect their fragile yet meaningful lives. A guardian, something he could never hope to become while bound with a forced contract with the God of Dreams.
A guardian, a title of his own wishful thinking. As long as he's still "Alatus", he's no guardian. He's only a monster, as long as he's still known as Alatus.
"You know what to do, Alatus," the God of Dreams spoke with a sinister smile, Alatus smirked. "As you wish, my Lady."
"No, dont! Stop!" The Yaksha cried out, he had grown familiar with violence and bloodshed, and yet, it all felt like he witnessed it all for the first time. He sees the fear in the eyes of the innocent, and yet he could do nothing about it. He's useless. And he hates it.
He cried as the victims' bodies fell on the ground, lifeless. "Please…stop…" he pleaded quietly, but to who? Who's there to listen?
He realized he was pulled back to his body once more, but Alatus still has the control over his body, his consciousness is there, but with no control over his own body.
It was only until he looked down on his hands did he realize what Alatus was trying to do. And he shook in fear.
"No…" the dream of one of the victims, it's blue and warm, it's a sweet dream.
Alatus pulled the strings and his hands moved closer and closer to his mouth, he tried to retaliate, but to no avail. "Please don't…"
He was forced to eat their dreams, it tasted sweet, and he hated it. He felt like he wanted to throw up.
He never wanted to do any of these things, but he's too powerless to prevent them from happening. He hated being so weak.
Alatus went back to the back of his mind, satisfied with his actions towards his alter ego. The Yaksha was left in the snow as he cried, overwhelmed with guilt.
"Leave me alone…" the Yaksha whispered, his words carried by the wind. He wasn't expecting anyone to listen nor care. Although, he wished he could be freed from all of this, even if it cost his life.
What kind of value does his life hold with anyone else anyway? 'Why am I still alive?' he kept asking himself. But no answer, nor is he really expecting any answer.
For several years, it's how things had been for the Yaksha, forced bloodshed and the agony that came after that.
The burden of his actions already bind him like red strings tied to his wrists and neck, increasing in number and their grip tighter with the more lives lost to his hands.
He yearned for a peaceful life, but that will always be his own wishful thinking.
Is it really that wrong to at least hold onto a sliver of hope though? Even if the chances are nigh on impossible, he still wanted to hope.
His life was a cold and ruthless one, yet he yearned to watch the butterflies and crystal flies on a clear sunny day. He yearned to play with the mortals and laugh together with them, he yearned to be able to see the wonders of the world as time marches on.
He was ready to throw away that sliver of hope he held onto for some time, seeing as there's not a chance of that happening to him. Fate has been cruel to him since the start, why would fate change its mind now?
But perhaps, fate decided to take pity on the Yaksha.
Just this once, something good happened to the Yaksha.
Just this once, he met someone who cared for his well being, despite him being who he is.
It all changed when the Yaksha met the God of Geo.
He met someone he could trust, for the first time in his life.