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Caleb .
The name had been echoing in Hunter’s mind for days. Late at night, whenever he was hunched over piles of history books spread across the Noceda home’s kitchen table, he repeated it to himself under his breath like a forbidden prayer. It was unfamiliar and meaningful at the same time; he remembered it being the immediate suggestion from Flapjack when he needed an alias for Hexside’s Flyer Derby team. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but he began to reconsider it after hearing it get spat out of his uncle’s mouth with an absolutely venomous level of hatred and malice.
He had gone through many traumatic experiences on the Day of Unity, but a few moments in particular kept creeping into his nightmares. One of the most frequent was the real version of something he had anxiously ruminated over countless times in the past. His secret palisman being discovered by the person he feared the most had always been mortifying to imagine, but he had never pictured such a confusing addition to Belos’s predictably hostile reaction.
Caleb.
It felt wrong. It felt right. It felt like a name that he definitely wasn’t supposed to know.
The worst part was how much Flapjack withdrew into himself whenever he heard it. Hunter was used to telling him everything; they were best friends, and he could trust this bird with his private thoughts much more than any witch. But whenever Hunter quietly said it aloud, testing how the word felt on his tongue, it made Flapjack shake in a way that was rare to see. It clearly meant something to him, but Hunter had no idea what.
Flapjack’s past was a mystery to him. He knew that he wasn’t his first owner. That much was obvious from the other thing Flapjack refused to explain to him: his scars. Many possibilities for their origins had gone through Hunter’s mind over the time they had known each other, but nothing had ever stuck. Besides that, however, there was little he didn’t know about Flapjack. He had been alive for a very long time, far longer than Hunter, and he had watched the Boiling Isles become corrupted under Belos’s leadership just like everyone else had. He was a sweet little thing who always guided Hunter into the right choices, whether his owner wanted to make them or not, but he also wasn’t afraid of attempting to fight back against injustices that were far bigger than his small size.
It was completely unexpected that, upon their first face-to-face encounter, Belos already hated Flapjack as much as Flapjack hated him.
Combing through pages and pages of conspiracy-filled Human Realm books about magic had been utterly futile and a total waste of effort. They were nearly entirely made up of misinformation, and they did little more for Hunter besides remind him of uncomfortable old biases this world had against people like him. The genre that caught his eye more was genuine nonfiction. Luz had lent him some of her old textbooks from school, surreal objects of her past that felt so far away now, and he had greatly enjoyed learning about Human Realm history. The wider landscape of changing human politics was fascinating to learn about, but the real gems were the tinier reference books and pamphlets about her specific town.
Gravesfield was much more remarkable than Luz had ever led it on to be. Its population was small, but it was able to produce someone as incredible as Luz — and apparently, she wasn’t the only one of her kind from this place. A few of the articles Luz had given him, dusty old things that she had never properly read through herself before, indicated something quite interesting. Luz wasn’t the first human to visit the Boiling Isles from this specific town. She wasn’t even the second one. She had been preceded centuries prior by a pair of brothers.
They were a bit of an ancient old rumor more than anything else, folklore passed down through generations in the form of vague unsourced references in books and a cracked statue in the middle of town. Their names were rarely even included in anything — they were simply referred to as “the brothers who visited a world of witches and demons.”
Frankly, it all seemed like more of the usual inaccurate garbage. He was no stranger to false historical heroes; he had been raised by one. But the way Flapjack’s claws tensed enough to dig uncomfortably into his shoulder whenever they passed the Gravesfield statue told him that there was more truth to this story than most other urban legends.
His suspicions were confirmed when, after a few nights of nonstop research, he finally found something that actually included names for the brothers. They were located deep in the back of the book, buried under a long list of page numbers about unrelated topics.
Philip Wittebane and Caleb Wittebane.
He had recently found out Philip was Belos’s real name, although it still felt wrong to say it. He had been told just about everything Luz knew about his uncle. Him potentially being a former resident of this town would certainly be logical, considering how much its seal resembled the Golden Guard symbol. But he had rarely considered the identities of the supposed deceased relatives that would make Belos his uncle in the first place. If Belos had a brother, Hunter's father being Caleb would make a lot of sense. The main issue with that concept, though, was that Hunter was pretty sure the Human Realm’s 1600s were too long ago for it to be possible. The secondary problem was that Grimwalkers were created by a collection of ingredients rather than actual parents — but he preferred to avoid thinking about this particular fact.
“Flapjack,” he said, his voice quiet. He pointed at the name in the references list of the book. “Is this…the ‘Caleb’ Belos was talking about when he saw you? Did you know this guy?”
The Noceda home kitchen was dimly lit by a lamp on the table, a subtle light source that hopefully wouldn’t be too disruptive to anyone else who may be awake. He had a habit of staying up late at night, until hours rivaled by only the eternally exhausted Luz. But tonight, he was alone except for the palisman sitting against one of the piles of books he had out. Hunter and Flapjack were never seen without each other, especially after the stressful events of the Day of Unity.
There was no picture of the brother in question in the book, and it contained very little info about him in general, but the words still made Flapjack dodge his gaze and slightly shake. That was definitely a silent confirmation.
“Who was he? Was he your old owner or something? Is that why his name makes you act all nervous? You obviously are, so don’t lie and say you’re fine when you’re not.” He reached out a hand and stroked Flapjack’s feathers in an attempt to soothe the nervous animal. He hated seeing him so uneasy. This was definitely a reversal of their usual dynamic; normally, Flapjack was the one helping him through difficult emotions.
Flapjack leaned into his gentle touch and chirped. “Hunter only owner. It’s okay!” He was more relaxed now, but he still shook against Hunter’s ungloved hand.
“You’re sweet, but…that’s not what I asked.” Hunter sighed a little. “You knew him. I can tell. And you knew Belos too…or, I guess, Philip.”
“Caleb good boy, but Hunter is too. Hunter still here. Hunter most important now!”
Petting Flapjack’s feathers was turning into an attempt to comfort himself as well. “If he’s Belos’s brother, then…is he…” He could barely get the words out. “Well, Luz told me that flapjacks are something from the Human Realm. You must’ve been named by a human. Nobody in the Boiling Isles knew what they were whenever I asked anyone about them.”
Flapjack nodded and let out a satisfied chirp. “Very yummy food!”
“Yeah. They are. The ones her mom makes are really good.” Hunter’s smile was small and sad, and there was a new distance between him and his palisman that he hadn’t felt since their awkward first meeting. He was harshly struck by the realization that he didn’t know his best friend as well as he thought he did. “Flapjack, is Caleb the…original? The one I’m a copy of? You must know.”
A stern flurry of tweeting came from Flapjack in response. It was the same tone he used whenever Hunter was being mean to himself, or whenever they complained about Belos together. “Not a copy! Hunter is an original! Hunter is Hunter, not Caleb!” Flapjack’s wings flapped with a sense of urgency as he spoke.
Hunter leaned down to rest his head on his arms on top of the table. His vision became a blurry mixture of faded book pages and bright red feathers. His breaths were getting faster, and it was difficult to ignore his own body beginning to tremble. It was like the room was starting to spin around him. “That’s hard to believe when I probably look identical to him. Well…I guess he wouldn’t have had witch ears like mine, though.”
Soft feathers rubbed against his scarred cheek. “Not this either.”
“Jeez, way to rub it in.” But he knew there were kind intentions behind the statement. “There’s no pictures of him in here, but I’ve got his face, don’t I?”
Flapjack shook his head. “Hunter’s face is Hunter’s. Caleb’s was Caleb’s.”
With a voice full of despair, Hunter held back a frustrated groan. This was going nowhere. “You know what I mean. I was just a crappy imitation of his brother, and I’m a copy of your real owner. I’m just some creepy reminder of someone everyone wants back! I’m not supposed to exist!”
“Hunter his own person. Hunter my boy. My special, special boy.” Flapjack was an experienced master of detecting when his owner was beginning to spiral, and he lightly tugged on the longer part of Hunter’s hair to drag him back into reality. “Breathe, like Gus and Willow taught. Breathing necessary. You’re okay.”
He had heard that reminder dozens — or maybe even hundreds — of times. His anxiety problems had been devastatingly painful for as long as he could remember. He had never realized that there was a way to live without them taking over his life until he finally met the people who knew how to work him through his panic attacks. He still wasn’t used to it, even though Flapjack and his two closest witch friends regularly tried to help him.
But Hunter still decided to take this advice. He began to count out loud, and focused his energy on controlling his breathing. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”
After a few repetitions of the same string of numbers, his heartbeat slowed to a more normal rate. He exhaled again, took his face off of his arms, and sat up. He looked down at Flapjack and went back to petting him to ground his racing mind.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
The chirping coming from Flapjack was no longer as overwhelming; even if someone else had heard it in the past, it was meant solely for him now.
“Love you, Hunter. So, so much. Always and forever.”
That got a smile back onto Hunter’s face. He scratched the back of Flapjack’s head in gratitude. “I love you too. Even if I’m a copy of someone else, I guess I’m glad that I’m one you can still manage to care about.”
“Hunter not a copy! Not at all! Hunter an original. Don’t forget it. Never forget it.”
With a yawn, he pushed his chair back to stand up and closed the book he had been reading. Flapjack flew off of the table to rest on his shoulder, perched on his favorite spot that seemed like it was shaped to perfectly fit him. Hunter turned off the lamp and organized the messy pile of things he had brought with him to the kitchen. It was getting much too late to think about such heavy topics. Further research could wait until the morning, and so could confronting the demons of a past he was never supposed to learn about.
“...I’ll keep that in mind.”