Chapter Text
Hunter remembered the first time he saw them.
Well, one of them. For all he knew, he saw the first one way back when, before any memory could reasonably be recalled. But the point was that his memory went back far enough that he could determine something close to a first.
Somewhere, in the jumbled mess that was his mind, he thought he was three or so, maybe two. Which was pretty damn impressive, considering his memory up until the age of about nine was so fuzzy and distorted it might not have existed at all. As everyone else’s was.
He couldn’t remember the scene leading up to it, nor the context. But he knew he was descending down into the lower bellies of the castle, where he was pretty sure Belos kept him until he got his own room. Not like he had any desire to ask and find out.
But he knew that he was heading down, and he thought Belos was carrying him. He knew he was being carried by someone, at least. Whoever was carrying him didn’t matter, because above all, he had a decent enough memory of turning his head away.
He remembered looking to the side of the stairs, off towards the darker, shadowed hallways, where no lights dared reach. Not very far, at least.
This part, funnily enough, was so vivid in his mind he might as well have seen it just a few weeks ago. In fact, most of his memories of them (because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, call them anything else) were strikingly clear. For his own sake, he chose not to look into it.
There, down the hallway, was a person. They were walking down the hallway, towards them, in a slow, drifting movement. He’d call it akin to a lamp in an attic, had he the desire to be poetic.
He remembered they had a long, pale yellow cloak. Remembered there was a hood pulled far over their head, face hidden completely from how low it was ducked. Remembered they didn’t make a single sound.
He remembered that he pointed to them, probably babbling some nonsense. Likely just asking who the weird person was. After all, in the dark emptiness of the hallway around them, they were glaringly obvious.
Whoever was holding him looked in the direction of the figure, pausing on the steps. The figure, similarly, also turned their head, though it was towards the both of them.
Something circular and golden-brown covered their face, though they were too far away to make out any details. He recalled that they froze then, one foot hanging out midstep. He could’ve mistaken them for a petrified victim for how still they were.
Whoever was holding Hunter only stayed still for a few seconds. They simply shrugged after a moment, continuing down the stairs at the same pace as before, unbothered. He remembered thinking that was a little odd. His uncle didn’t like anyone other than a few specific people being around him, and this wasn’t one of those people.
The figure, however, was quick to take a good few quick steps back, cape swishing. He believed he pointed and babbled some more, but they were already turning right on their heel before he could form a mildly coherent word. He remembered being surprised at just how fast they sprinted right back down the way they came.
They swung to a harsh left when they reached the opposite end of the hallway, and Hunter watched as they nearly stumbled right into the wall before running out of sight without a moment’s hesitation.
They didn’t come back.
The second time was when he was four. More or less.
Same premise, not a lot of context. But he knew that he was in Belos’s throne room. More specifically, he knew that he was on one side of the room and Belos was on the other, ascending the stairs to his throne.
Maybe Belos was telling him to follow. Maybe he’d been dropped off by the select few who were permitted to watch him. Maybe he’d been wandering again.
But he knew that he looked to the other end of the room, to Belos turning around at the top of the stairs, standing right before his throne and looking directly towards Hunter. Whatever words he was saying had long-signed blurred together in his mind.
He remembered seeing something curled around the back of Belos’s throne. He squinted at it, and only when it started to move did he realize it was a hand.
He remembered being alarmingly calm, if confused, to see someone creeping out from behind his uncle’s throne. Remembered that they had a pale cloak and a circular, golden mask with a million cracks in it. Remembered that when they stepped free of their hiding place, they were looking directly at his uncle.
That they were holding something curved, shining, and sharp.
Like before, he pointed. He probably said something like “who’s that?” or whatever was similar enough to it. He remembered, vividly, that the hand holding the sharp object had been raised high over the person’s head when he spoke.
The figure froze.
He remembered their head tilted in his direction, a slow, deliberate movement, and he got the distinct impression of eyes piercing straight through him. It unnerved him enough to shiver, hand lowering.
His uncle jerked his head around, evidently ready and prepared to fight whatever intruder had come for him. As soon as he did, the figure scrambled back in a frantic haste, nearly tripping over their own feet.
His uncle, however, didn’t react. He just kept moving his head back and forth, scanning and searching for who Hunter was still staring at, who now stood many meters away from his uncle. Their hands shook around what he would later know was a kris dagger.
His uncle still didn’t move. He just kept looking around, tightly gripping his staff. His gaze passed right over the shaking figure as though they were nothing more than any old piece of tile.
“Right there, Uncle!” He thought he said. His voice may have cracked, or he may have imagined it.
The figure looked at him again. They tilted their head, much like an inquisitive bird. Hunter almost ducked his head, as if that would save him from their unwanted stare.
Belos spoke again, he remembered. Growling something like this is no time for games or where, Hunter? even as he kept looking right past them.
The figure stayed still for a moment, still staring. Then, with a sharp twist of their body, they turned and darted back behind the Emperor’s throne.
They didn’t come out the other side.
The first time he talked to them, when he truly counted it, was when he was five or so.
Once again, he didn’t remember what happened before it. But he knew that he was alone, and he was in one of the long, dark hallways of the upper levels. Maybe he ran off. Or maybe he was lost. Or maybe there was someone just out of sight. He sure as hell didn’t know.
But he knew that he was peeking down one of those hallways, and he was afraid. Because toddlers are scared of the dumbest things, and he was reminded of this all throughout his childhood. Frequently.
But he knew not to show fear to childish things, now. So it worked out.
He remembered shaking as he peered down that hallway, holding his arms. And he knew that as he looked, he realized it wasn’t as dark and empty as he thought it was. Which was a surprise, because they almost always were.
There was someone standing in the hallway. This time, he had enough memory (or was just close enough) to remember the finer details of their appearance.
They bore a white capelet with golden-brown trims, though he believed that the caplet was torn and frayed at the ends, so it might’ve once been a regular cape. Underneath it was a dark gray tunic tucked into black pants and big, black and gold boots with broken soles. Their heavy-duty gloves were similar in color, stopping halfway up their forearm when he saw them trail a hand over the stone wall next to them. He believed there had been small, silver chains wrapped around their wrists.
They were facing away from him, white hood drawn over their head. Even at that age, he knew there was something downright haunting about them, as there had been for the others. Like a bright splash of yellow in a mansion that had long-since begun to gather dust and cobwebs. Which made no sense, since aside from the white, their color scheme actually fit rather well. If anything, they looked like they belonged a lot better than the last two.
But, in the mind of five-year-old Hunter, they still seemed like a better alternative than being alone. Somehow, they were less scary than the Coven Guards with their pointed, smoothed masks and visible eyes. He never liked when he could see their eyes.
Then, the figure began to move. It was slow, deliberate, and they clearly weren’t in a rush. But their walking was away from Hunter, rather than towards him.
And so, with all the wisdom a toddler can have, Hunter panicked, thinking the one not-scary thing in the whole castle was leaving him. So, in a very sensible manner, he rushed off from the corner he’d been clinging to on not-very-quiet-feet towards the stalking figure.
He didn’t think he was crying, but it was close, and he thought he hiccuped a quick, quiet “wait!” as he ran.
The figure paused, still casual as ever, slowing to a stop as they leisurely looked over their shoulder—
And Hunter had thrown himself at their legs before he could even see what their face looked like.
He remembered it feeling wrong. Like moving through thick sludge and tar. Because when he collided with their legs, his hands and body went through it, if much slower than it would through normal air.
He remembered it was only then that he realized they weren’t completely solid. Because if he squinted close enough, he could see the floor through their legs.
“What the fuck?”
Hunter stumbled, on his hands and knees as he blinked and processed that he had not, in fact, hit the solid wall that was a comforting leg. He blinked a few moments more, staring at the floor, before turning his head up and back, fear replaced with plain confusion.
The tunic apparently had loops all along the front, each with a silver chain connecting across it, despite the fact it wasn’t even a button-up. There was a similar, thicker chain clasping the capelet together, though it connected to a small, silver sword in the middle.
Like all the others, there was a brown and gold mask over their face.
It was only at that age he could recall that it didn’t look like any of the other masks he’d seen in the castle. It was round, reminding him of an owl, with a line down the middle and two thinner holes stretching out where eyes would be, hiding them from view.
It was broken, though. The mask had a huge chunk taken out of the lower left side, exposing blemished, light pink scar tissue all along what was visible of their cheek. There was another smaller piece missing from the same side, a bit higher up than the other, with paler, unmarked skin beyond it. Cracks spread out from both missing pieces, and two more weaved upwards from the right eye. Where one of the cracks ended on the right side of the mask, a small chip was missing.
And they were looking directly down at him, tense and poised.
Hunter stared up at them. They stared back.
Confused (and dangerously curious), Hunter pushed himself up onto his feet again, swaying a little. The figure’s head turned slightly to show they were tracking his movements as he stood, which Hunter took as a win.
He took one, small, step towards them, still staring.
They scrambled back so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet, yelping and cursing as they stumbled. He could see their jaw moving with their words through the holes in their mask, quick flashes of the corner of their mouth through the big hole in the left side.
“What magic is that?” He asked curiously, deciding to stay right where he was.
Hunter thought he meant the ‘magic’ that made the figure semi-translucent. and why he could run right through them. But he was, tragically, still incredibly young, and didn’t know he had to clarify these things.
The figure probably didn’t care, anyway.
“What the fuck.” They repeated, more in a hoarse whisper now, stepping until their back hit the side of the hallway, hands raised as though Hunter, in all his tiny glory, was a threat. “What the—hi? Hello?” They greeted, sounding panicked and shrill as they did.
“Hi,” Hunter greeted back, because he wasn’t rude, “I like your clothes.”
“Holy shit.” They said, very eloquently, and maybe a bit in awe. “Holy—hi. Titan below—yeah, hi.”
Hunter tilted his head, frowning. “You already said hi.”
“Yeah,” the figure breathed, slouching a bit, “hi.”
“Hi,” Hunter repeated, a little annoyed, “you don’t gotta keep saying it.”
“Uh huh,” The figure said, slowly easing themself back against the wall and to the ground, “yeah, my bad.”
“It’s okay,” He said, deciding he could move closer again in a ‘subtle’ shuffle, “why are you wearing that?”
“Huh?” The figure wheezed, still stunned as they finally reached the ground, legs bent and bunched in case of a need to run.
“The mask.” Hunter simplified, because he could be patient, stopping before he was in between their feet, wringing his far too-crooked and misshapen hands in front of him. “Uncle doesn’t have that mask.”
“My mask?” The figure echoed, shaking their head a moment later, one hand coming up to press against the side of it. “Titan—what the hell, okay—aren’t you…” They paused, swallowing, “aren’t you the…the Emperor’s new guy?”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to tell people that?” Hunter frowned, tilting his head.
“Oh Titan,” The figure breathed, “yeah, okay. That is…alright. That’s cool.”
“It is?” Hunter blinked.
“Yeah,” The figure nodded, dazed, “very cool. Do you have a name?”
“M’not supposed to tell people that.” He mumbled, wary as he ducked his head.
“Oh, well—that-that’s okay,” The figure stuttered, hesitantly leaning forward a bit, “I won’t tell, I promise. No one will know.”
“...not even Uncle?” Hunter narrowed his eyes.
“No, no, not even him.” The figure shook their head. They paused, then reached out a hand. “Can you see all of me?”
“Yeah?” Hunter frowned. “Course I can. I’m not blind.”
“Just checkin.” The figure hummed, still a bit shrill, and he could see the edge of a mildly panicked smile through the hole in their mask. It made him feel weird when he saw it. “Haven’t talked to someone like you in a while.”
“Like me?” Hunter pricked his ears.
“Like you.” They confirmed, hand halfway outstretched. “Can…can you come here?”
“Why?” Hunter asked quickly, defensively.
“You kinda fell through me.” They said, chuckling a bit. They had a scratchy voice, much older-sounding. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that. You…I wanna see if you fall through again. I don’t want you to fall through.”
Their voice sounded a little heavy. Some emotion he couldn’t pick out. It wasn’t as threatening as when he couldn’t determine his uncle’s, even if only just.
He inched closer.
But Hunter was a smart kid, if you couldn’t tell, so instead of touching their gloved hand, hesitantly reached for their knee.
With a featherlight touch, he felt something solid. Not completely, about as much as a soggy cake would be, but solid all the same. He heard the figure suck in a quick breath.
“Oh,” They croaked, “maybe that oracle was shitty.”
“An oracle?” Hunter echoed, still in wonderment of how weird they felt, but he didn’t think they heard him.
“‘You have nothing but hauntings for company,’ sure I do.” They laughed, a hollow sound as they pressed their hand over their masks eyes, hanging their head a bit. “Yeah, yeah, sure I do, but betcha didn’t see what came after that, huh? Titan below. ’Oh, yeah, he’s gonna have a tiny look-alike kid staring at him’ wasn’t even on the radar? Not even a little bit?”
He seemed to be talking to himself, so Hunter wasn’t sure if he should bother him. His uncle talked to himself sometimes, too, and he didn’t like to be bothered. So he just experimentally kept pressing his hand against his knee, noting that with enough force, his hand started to sink in.
“This is what I get,” He bemoaned quietly, inhaling shakily, “this is what I get. A fuckin’ baby talking to me.”
“I’m not a baby!” Hunter bristled, ears lowering.
“Yeah, sure,” He said weakly, loosely dropping his hand from his eyes, “you sure look like it.”
“Babies can’t do anything!” He protested, crossing his little arms across his chest. “I can do lots of things!”
“Course,” He hummed, shifting so his legs were drawn back, “yeah, course. Cause babies don’t have names.”
“I have a name!” Hunter snapped, turning his nose up and before he could think about it; “it’s Hunter.”
“Hunter,” The figure repeated reverently, sitting on his knees, “Hunter. Of course he called you that.”
“I—well I like my name.” Hunter grumbled, glowering. “My Uncle said it—“
He didn’t get to know what he was planning on saying next. Because in one scarily fast movement, the person had reached out and snagged an arm around his side, making him stumble. This made Hunter squeak, and the figure bark out a shocked, wet laugh.
He pulled him closer, held him tighter. His arm nearly went right through Hunter until he realized the problem. He was much lighter after that, with just enough force to almost send Hunter into his chest.
“Holy shit,” He giggled, sounding a bit delirious, “you’re tiny.”
“I am not!” Hunter protested, pushing at his stomach and trying to pull back, movements feeling like swimming. “I’m really big!”
“You’re tiny.” He cooed, dropping his head. “Oh, Titan, you’re so small.”
Hunter spooked when their masked forehead dropped to the top of his head.
Really, he froze up, heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t dare move, let alone breathe. His uncle used to hold him something like this when he was younger, though he stopped as he got older.
He didn’t like it when Hunter moved while he was being held, way too close for comfort. The sharp points on his gloves would hold so tight it made him bleed. He never said a word.
“Oh, Titan,” The figure choked, sounding close to tears, “was I that small?”
The hold on his side grew heavier.
Hunter, in a moment of panic, shoved at his chest. It startled him enough that the hold lessened, and Hunter stumbled away till he fell onto his back, a soft spitting noise escaping him before he could smother it. His uncle hated it when he made those noises, he said it was for feral beasts.
The figure gave a half-assed reach as Hunter scurried further away, backwards on his hands with his feet kicking out at the stone floor.
“Don’t touch me!” He hissed, pleaded, really, because this wasn’t his Uncle, and his Uncle didn’t like it when other people touched him.
The figure stared at him silently for a moment, seeming bewildered. He looked like even more of a disheveled mess than before, and Hunter thought he could see blond hair poking free of his hood. He still had his arm halfway outstretched.
“Oh, kid…” He murmured, sorrowful and, from the downwards curve of the side of his mouth, horrified, “what is he going to do to you?”
Somehow, it sounded worse than the hands around him had felt.
“Whoa, is that a kid?”
Hunter jerked his head around, hissing like a cat.
Two scouts stood at the other end of the hallway, halted in their tracks, confused. Hunter stared at them for a few seconds, hiss dying in his throat.
They glanced at each other as one of them pushed up their mask, revealing a red scaled demon underneath. He remembered she looked worried.
“The—he just—“ Hunter started, pointing to the figure—
Who wasn’t there anymore.
Hunter paused. Then jolted, looking around frantically, hallway blurring together. Nothing. No hide nor hair of the person that had been right across from him.
“Should we take him to the captain?” He heard one of the scouts ask hesitantly as he ran over to where the figure had been, patting at the wall and ground.
“Probably, I mean—I assume he’s someone’s kid?”
“Maybe they couldn’t find a babysitter?”
“Yeesh, you’d think this place would at least give enough money to hire one of those. Must be a trainee.”
“Where is he?” Hunter demanded, a bit desperately, still sitting on his knees where the figure had been, looking to the scouts.
“Who, kid?” The scaled demon hushed soothingly, slowly approaching with hands outstretched. “You looking for your dad?”
“The guy!” Hunter insisted, patting at the wall again. “The-the weird mask!”
“What mask, little guy?” The demon asked gently, still moving closer, slightly crouched.
“Owl! The-the owl mask!” Hunter huffed, frustrated as he glared at them. “The guy with the weird mask! Where is he?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, kid.” The demon said, hands reaching over him. “C’mon, let’s go find your—“
“Don’t touch me!” He barked for a second time, jerking away. “Don’t touch—where is he?” He demanded again, looking around. “He was here!”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, kid.” The demon said, holding her palms up, her friend hovering over her back, nervously looking down both ends of the hallway. “It’s okay, I won’t touch you. I’ll help you find whoever you're looking for, okay? It’s gonna be alright.”
“But he was right here!” Hunter repeated, weaker. “He…he was right here.”
Hunter may not remember a lot about his younger years. But he remembered that moment very potently for two reasons, neither of which he liked.
First, well, it was his first memory of ever talking to someone like that figure in the hallway. Every few months, he’d think about him again. Try and piece together all of his words in a puzzle that he knew would never be completed. He was always frustrated when he came up with a few pieces missing.
Secondly, he remembered it because it had to be his earliest, and may have even been his first, memory of feeling so entirely, so terrifyingly, utterly and completely helpless.
It was a feeling he’d get awfully used to.
He didn’t remember how, or when, the scouts got him back to Belos. But he remembered that Belos didn’t like people seeing him wandering about unless the captain assigned to look after him was there, or Belos himself.
So he knew that Belos would be upset before he even found him.
He didn’t want a lot of people to know about him, he said. As far as the Coven was concerned, he was just a kid that Belos took pity on. Nothing more.
Hunter didn’t remember how angry Belos had been when he was returned. Most things like that were blocked from his memory no matter his age. But he had a very, very faint recollection of a conversation not long after it.
Or maybe he imagined that it happened. Who knows, he may have a better overall memory past nine, but he didn’t have any trust for the bias his own mind had given him until the age of thirteen.
“What’s the owl mask for?” He asked. He thought he was standing beside Belos’s throne, hands gripping the armrest, up on his tippy toes.
“Owl mask?” Belos scoffed, head turning slightly towards him. He hastily dropped his hands from the armrest, moving back to the soles of his feet. His uncle’s mask was by far the scariest.
“Yeah, the…the circle one.” Hunter mumbled, shoulders hunched. “The golden one with-with the little eye holes.” He said, raising his hands to his face to mimic the circular lines where the figures had been.
His uncle went very, very still. He’d been still before, but there was something about how he was frozen now that turned Hunter’s blood cold and insides coiled. He was still staring.
“I-I was just wonderin.’” He said quickly, head ducked and hands behind his back. “It-it’s okay.” He didn’t need to know. He didn’t.
“Where did you see that mask, Hunter?” His uncle asked, far too evenly. He made a mistake.
“I’m-im sorry, Uncle—“
“Where did you see that mask?” Belos growled, voice sharper and Hunter flinched, head lowered further.
“N-nowhere.” He mumbled, then hastily corrected, because Belos didn’t like it when he said that, “I-I just—I saw it in the hallways. On-on the ground. Some…someone was messin’ with it, I think.”
He hated lying. His uncle hated it even more when he lied. But his uncle must not have liked that Hunter saw that mask, because he was really angry now. He must not have wanted Hunter to know about the Coven members who wore those masks. He didn’t want to ruin it any further.
“On the ground?” Belos repeated, voice low. “Who had the mask, Hunter?”
“I dunno.” He mumbled, eyes still on the floor.
“Was it a scout?” His uncle pressed. Still too evenly.
“Uh, y-yeah, I think so.” Hunter thought quickly, brain whirring. “It-it was the…the red scout. With the scales.” He said, gesturing to his face with one hand. “And…and the spikes on her head.”
“Was it?” Belos asked. “She had the mask?”
“Y-yeah, I just…I wanted to ask her about it.” Hunter scuffed his foot on the ground. “But she said we needed to find you…”
There were a few moments of silence. Then, the sound of a sigh, and Belos leaned back in his chair. Hunter dared raise his head slightly, glancing at his uncle out of the corner of his eye. He was looking out at the throne room again.
“Is that the truth, Hunter?”
“Y-yes, Uncle.” Hunter nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know it was bad.”
“That’s quite alright, nephew.” Belos said, reaching out. Hunter willed himself to remain very still as a hand cupped the side of his face, keeping it upright. “I was only surprised. I’ll take care of it. But if you ever see that mask again,” a harsh grip on his face, and Hunter bit back a whimper, face scrunching, “you are to not touch it, and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Uncle.” Hunter whispered.
“Good boy.” Belos released his face, and Hunter didn’t dare move. “I knew I could trust someone like you.”
Hunter just nodded in a tiny movement, heart pounding so loud he thought it might drown out the Titan’s.
It wouldn’t be till years later, when he thought back on such a memory, that he realized he never did see that scout again. It was a thought that haunted him on sleepless nights, squeezing his chest tight with jeers of your fault, your fault.
Which was especially stupid when he wasn’t even sure if that conversation had happened in the first place.
He never saw that figure in the hallway again, either. That one, however, he could live with much easier. At least he had chosen to disappear.
Or maybe he didn’t. But Hunter didn’t particularly feel like looking it into it more and find out.
Sometimes, never knowing was a better alternative.