Chapter Text
Bonesbourgh, The Boiling Isles
Seven Years Ago…
It was a dark and stormy night.
It seemed that was the only thing the weather knew how to do lately. The dark clouds covered the sky, choking out the sunlight. It was like a warning.
Witches and demons hurried inside, scooping pets and plants along with them. Others, the ones who had to stay out, just summoned a simple shield spell.
A tiny boy with light brown hair walked in the crowd at the start of the Night Market. It was dusk, and merchants were starting to set up their stands.
People were starting to gather around, waiting for the market to officially open. Most of them wore hoods to hide their identities. Most of them were afraid or ashamed to be here. They talked in groups or lurked in dark and vacant alleyways, probably doing something illegal.
He stuck to the shadows under the awnings of buildings and the occasional tree. The dark red cloak a kind lady who claimed she was a part of some rebellion had given him last week was draped over his shoulders.
It was too loose on his scrawny frame and part of it dragged on the ground behind him. The tip of it was crusted in dark, dried mud and some tread was hanging off the seam.
But it was all he had. And he should be grateful got what he got. No matter what. He only got what he deserved.
That’s what his uncle said anyway.
He should be grateful that he was still alive. He should be grateful he has escaped from the castle and the ghosts of his old life. He should be grateful that he was standing in the dirtiest part of the city, surrounded by low life pickpockets and other criminals, huddled in the shadows like some beggar.
He watched from the shadows as a man staggered out down the street. A younger girl with copper skin and slick-backed hair tailed him, one of her dress straps dangling scandalously from her shoulder.
The boy shook his head. She was young, full of promise, but life was hard. The streets drained the life out of you the minute you drained your bank account. Some people would resort to selling their own body to get money.
The girl talked to the man in a hushed tone. She ran her hand up his arm, stroking his nonexistent muscles, seducing him. His tone was slurred when he replied. He was drunk.
The girl smiled and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. He widened his eyes and the girl turned on her heel. She started to walk away, slowly dropping his arm.
At the last moment, while the man was still shocked at whatever she had said, the girl’s hands slipped under his arm and into his coat pocket, skillfully fishing out his wallet.
The boy watched with intent as she hid the wallet behind her back and backed away. She said her goodbye in a sweet, innocent voice. The man nodded and stumbled away, clueless as a newborn Witchling.
The girl watched him go with a knowing smile and then turned. She paused, feeling the young boy’s eyes boring into her back. She met his eyes, and he nearly stepped back.
She just held one of her fingers to her mouth in a shushing motion and sent him a wink. Then, she was gone, slipping away into the shadows as if she was a part of them.
The boy gave a small nod to no one in particular. It passed as code for them, those who were unfortunate to be out living on the streets, the run aways, the criminals, the orphans.
If you don’t tell, I won’t tell.
He had only been out here for a few weeks, but he knew it. Making alliances was crucial. They all had to look out for each other.
Another low rumble of thunder split the air. He looked up, drawing his cloak tighter around himself. The sky was dark, the clouds knitting closer together.
He let out a sigh as the rain started to fall, first little droplets, but soon it was falling quickly in long and fat drops. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and covered his messy hair.
He had to hope the cloak would do for now, at least until he found some sort of shelter. He stuck to running from building to building to stay under the edge of the roofs.
He was getting closer to the heart of the Night Market. Stands painted with dark paint and mysterious messages lined the wet stone streets of downtown Bonesbourgh. Streams of people trickled in and out of closed tents. Merchants yelled the largest deals at passing people and customers haggled with owners over a high price.
Some people talked in hushed voices, making secret deals. Others were out with friends, laughing and talking loudly, not caring who heard it. The air smelled thickly of alcohol and brewing potions. Smoke oozed out of one of the alleyways as a group of smug looking demons smoked.
The boy was concentrating on getting out of the crowds of people when he was suddenly herded out into the middle of the street as a group of loud women walked past. He tried to push his way back, but he was small.
The rest of the crowd was grown adults. They towered over him like they were in their own world. They barely spared him a glance as he scampered in between them.
A big raindrop fell right on the top of his head. There was a sizzling sound and he felt a white, hot pain. The water instantly burned through his hood, making it onto his sensitive scalp.
He groaned and moved to cover his head. That left his hands left to be burned. Within a minute, his arms were red and covered in blistering burns. He let out another whimper.
In an instant, he was a little boy. No longer how long he made it by himself out here, he was still just a kid, only seven years of age.
He fought his way towards the front of the market when he was aware he was being tailed by a tall figure. He turned into the small space between a wall and a stand.
A Scout dressed in the usual uniform stopped too. A mask covered his face, but a satin blue pin shone on his chest, showing he was loyal to the new president and government.
He paused in front of the boy’s terrible hiding spot. He squinted into the partial darkness. “Hello? Kid?”
The boy tried to shuffle deeper into the gap, but was squeezed out.
“You can come out. I’m not gonna bite you”.
“Uh,”the boy stuttered. He had been told his whole life to trust Scouts, but now he was technically a run away. They would turn him in. “No one is here”.
The Scout snorted. “Just come out”.
The boy didn’t reply. He bit his lip.
“Look, I’m a Scout. It’s my job to keep people safe. I just wanna help”.
“I don’t need help”.
“You’re alone at the Night Market, kid. It speaks for itself”.
“So?”
“Let me-“.
The boy bristled. “You will just turn me in!”
The Scout raised a brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“I know what Scouts like you do. You’ll turn me in to the government and I’ll never be free again-“.
The Scout looked around, concerned. “Kid, where are your parents?”
The boy swallowed, and suddenly he was five again, with wide magenta eyes with his hands pressed over his pounding cheek, his uncle standing over him.
“ You shouldn’t have done that, Philip”.
He still remembered the terror that ran through his body as fresh as always. He remembered the blueprints, the books, the photos, the workshop his uncle never let him see, the unanswered questions and the weird looks and gawks he got from complete strangers.
He closed his eyes, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t have any parents. He was made, not born. He knew that much.
“I… they’re gone”, he managed. “They’re gone. And they’re not coming back”.
The Scout nodded sympathetically. “Why don’t you come with me?”
The boy looked up at him. “How do I know I can trust you?”
The Scout watched as another drop fell into the boy’s head and he flinched. He let out a soft sigh. “It’s me or you can be boiled alive in the rain storm”, he held out his hand. “Your choice”.
The boy let his mouth fall open. But he found himself taking the older man’s hand and letting him lead him out of the darkness of the side of the tent.
When he was out, the Scout kneeled down and pulled off his mask. Underneath was a middle-aged man with slanted dark brown eyes and dark hair speckled with light gray. He took the mask and placed it on the boy’s head, shielding his head from the hot rain drops.
The boy looked up at him in wonder. He still wasn’t sure why this man was helping him. Most Scouts thought of those on the streets as invaluable. “Are you really a Scout?”
“No, I’m the fucking tooth fairy”, he grumbled under his breath, adjusting the mask on the top of the boy’s head. “Of course I’m a Scout? What else do you think I am?”
“A con man?” The boy tried. “You use the Scout thing as a cover to lure people in and then you murder them. Or turn them into sleeper agents for the Human Realm”.
“Damn”, he snorted. “Someone really messed you up”.
He just looked down. The Scout gave him a light pat on the back. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. My shift is ending soon. We’ll get you back to my place and get you cleaned up”.
The boy looked back up, eyes glistening. “Really?”
The Scout nodded. “Really. My name is Mathias. What is your name?”
The boy opened his mouth to answer almost instinctively. “It’s H-“.
He stopped, swallowing back the name his uncle called him, the name he used as a cover in front of everyone he knew, the name his uncle told him to use. But it was fake. A lie.
It was time he used the truth. He had a real name, and he knew it.
“It’s Philip”, the boy finished, holding his chin up high. “My name is Philip”.
—
Lilith sat in one of the many offices of City Hall. With the castle still being destroyed, she was using it as a temporary base for the Council.
It was getting late. The sky outside the tiny window above her messy desk was dark and littered with splatters of stars.
When Lilith was younger, the stars had been one of her many interests. She had known fun facts and all the constellations. But now, she was too busy trying to fix the world to stare at the night sky.
She was still going through a mound of paper Hunter had left on her desk that needed her signature when there was a knock at her office door. She stood up and withdrew herself, pushing her round-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “Come in”.
She was expecting to see Hunter, but he had gone home a while ago. Instead it was Darius. He had come from his own office which was just down the hall.
“Darius”, she said to her old friend. “Yes, come on”.
“How is it going?” He asked her, still standing in the doorway. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
She looked back down at the stack of paper and held back her sigh. “Oh, no, no. I was just about to take a break anyway”.
He nodded. “Good”.
“Is.. is anything alright?”
He just turned to shut the door. It shut with a soft click.
Lilith found herself smiling. “Did you forget how to use the copier again? I told you. You have to press the green button-“.
“No. It’s not that”, he shook his head. “It’s not that”.
Lilith stopped smiling. She saw the serious look on his face. “What is it then?”
He took a deep breath. “They found him”.
“What?”
“Philip”.
Lilith blinked harshly.
“The clone”.
Lilith felt her pen drop from the grasp of her finger tips. It hit the desk and rolled across the floor, coming to rest against her shoe. “Titan”, she finally said. “I thought he was dead”.
Darius was zoning out, staring straight in front of him at the all. “Me too…”.
“Well,” Lilith bit her lip. “Where is he? What happened?”
“One of the Scouts reported the incident about an hour ago”, Darius sighed. “He was found roaming the Night Market alone. The Scout approached him and got his trust. As far as I know, he is still with that Scout”.
Lilith shook her head. “He was just here this whole time? How have we not found him by now?”
“Like I said, he doesn’t want to be found. He knows what he’s doing”.
“Aren’t we being a little harsh..? I mean, he’s just a kid”.
“But he's also the clone of the man who wanted to kill us all”, Darius said fiercely. “He made Philip in his own image, to be just like him, to carry out his legacy. Who knows what sort of darkness lurks in the mind of that boy”.
“He’s only what, six?”
“Seven”, Darius replied sharply. “He’s seven”.
Lilith dipped her head. Darius knew better than anybody. He was one of the few Covenheads to know of the boy’s existence.
“But what about Hunter? He was a Grimwalker and he turned out just fine”.
“Hunter was also a clone of Caleb”, Daruis said quietly. “He is different”.
Lilith didn’t know what to say. The silence hung heavy between them.
Darius cleared his throat. “Lilith, you want to keep the Boiling Isles safe, don’t you?”
Lilith sat up. “Of course I do”.
“Our job as leaders is to keep our people safe. It is our number one priority.. and that thing running around causing trouble isn’t very safe, is it?”
Lilith’s throat tightened. “He’s just a boy”.
“A boy will become a man”, Darius shrugged. “A man who is the direct copy of a man who was willing to kill thousands for his own benefit”.
Darius hung his head. “A man we both once served.. we can’t let history repeat itself, Lilith. We have to keep our people safe. No matter what. We don’t know what that boy is capable of. He’s unpredictable”.
Lilith’s jaw was set. Her head was spinning. This was all so confusing. At first, Darius was enger to protect the boy from the world, and now he was eager to protect the world from this little boy.
“So,”she finally said. “What are you proposing?”
He looked around one last time. Then he leaned forward, one hand on the hard wood of the desk. “We should just keep this between us for now. No one else needs to know. It’s better this way, don’t you think?”
Lilith found her gaze going straight back to the window. She tore her gaze up and down at the stars many miles above them, sparkling in the night sky. She could still pinpoint every star, whisper every constellation and galaxy under her breath if she wanted to.
Her thoughts were racing. Her finger was picking at a hangnail nervously. The fate this boy rested on hers. And so did the fate of the rest of the residents of the Isles, her friends and family, her people.
One life for so many others. That seemed fair, didn’t it?
“Yes”, she whispered into the silent night air of the stuffy office. “It is better this way”.
Darius nodded and without another word turned to leave. He stared down at his feet as he walked away. Lilith only allowed herself to breathe when the door was shut and she was sure Darius was gone.
She sat back down at her desk, running her hand over the dozens of papers on her desk, feeling the cold metal of the pen as she rolled it in her sweaty palm.
No one will ever know.