Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darius wasn’t used to seeing so many people in the throne room. Usually, it was just the coven heads, the Emperor, and occasionally Kikimora. Today, though, it was filled with rows of other witches, peering shrewdly toward the grand, arched doors, where the new head of the Emperor’s Coven was due to soon emerge. 

The throne room, though often empty, was made for audiences like these. High, vaulted ceilings, a wide aisle, and regal architecture. Made to show off to the best of the best; the wealthiest and most innovative witches of the Boiling Isles; the most esteemed and most loyal. 

Darius wasn’t there the last time it had been used like this. For a Golden Guard. He could imagine it, though. Practically the same. 

Something in his chest ached. 

The whispering died swiftly as the doors opened. Any heads that weren’t already turned whipped around to get a glimpse of the figure entering. 

He wore a spotless white cloak that flapped lazily behind him, revealing dark pants and lightweight, metallic armor. A gold mask hid his face under his hood. 

The boy, Darius thought. Hunter. Under the mask, the Golden Guard was just a boy. 

He marched coolly through the stares, towards where Belos stood, before the throne, stopped before the emperor. He dropped to a knee and bowed his head. 

Belos surveyed the Golden Guard from under his own mask, and then the crowd. 

“Since the Savage Ages,” he began, “we have grown as a society. The coven system has provided order in chaos, a light in the darkness. However, make no mistake, these are still dark times. The betrayal of the last head of the Emperor’s Coven serves as a reminder of the dangers of wild magic. 

“It has been several months since that position was filled. It has taken several months to find someone suitable to fulfill this task; several months to find someone with the devotion, skill, excellence, and fortitude needed to lead the Emperor’s Coven and to help me rid this world of wild magic. But now, the search is over.”

Darius could imagine the look on the boy’s face under the mask. Pride. Purpose. It was all too easy to imagine; Hunter looked uncannily like his predecessor. Like Regulus. Darius hadn’t known Regulus at sixteen, but he would bet that that was what he had looked like, though perhaps with a more sensible haircut. 

Titan, they looked so alike. 

It’s not a coincidence, Darius remembered Regulus saying to him one day, urgent. I look just like the past Guard. The next Guard will look just like me. Promise me you’ll look after him. Keep him safe. This life… it’s not….

There’s not going to be a next guard, Darius had said, rolling his eyes. Unfortunately, the Boiling Isles is stuck with you, Prince.  

Reg had quirked a smile, but he was right. A month later, there was no Golden Guard. Half a decade later, there was another one who looked just like him. 

Darius wondered morbidly if Hunter would meet the same end. A swift death in a dark room, at the hand of his maker. 

Not if he could help it. 

He’d known what the position of Golden Guard meant; he’d seen what it did to people. It was a burden no one, much less a child should have to bear. He’d hoped that by the time Belos decided to involve Hunter, his reign would have been in ruins and Hunter might have been spared, but it was too late. 

Belos waved his hand in an arc, summoning a staff to his hand. “The honor of leading a coven is not an easy one,” he declared. “You will be tested. Despite this, do you swear to protect the Boiling Isles and serve our cause? To help rid this world of wild magic, and to serve me?”

Darius couldn’t save him from that, but he could help him survive. 

“I do,” Hunter said, raising his face. “I swear.” 

Belos tapped each shoulder with the staff, a golden, regal thing, then held it out to the boy. 

The boy took it. 

“Rise,” Belos said. 

Darius watched as Hunter turned around, staff in hand, and Belos announced, “I present to you, our new head of the Emperor’s Coven, the Golden Guard!” 

As the applause echoed around him, Darius steeled himself. 

Part of him wanted to resent this boy. Reg had fought tooth and nail to his dying day to do the right thing, fought tooth and nail for the truth, for a future. Now, Hunter gazed up reverently into the eyes of a tyrant and pledged his undying fidelity, wholeheartedly. They may have had the same eyes, the same nose, but they were not the same. 

More than that, though, Darius wanted to be sick. To break something. To break him. To demand someone— Belos, the Titan, the child— give him answers. 

But he didn’t. He’d made Reg a promise, and so help him, he was going to keep it. 

I’ll do what I can to protect you. 

Little Prince. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Hunter was aware of was that his face was pressed against something that wasn’t his pillow. The next thing he was aware of was that it was really uncomfortable. 

He forced himself to sit up, blinking groggily a few times. He’d fallen asleep over his books again. A quick glance showed that page two hundred and three from From Bones to Earth: A Study of Wild Magic was only slightly wrinkled, and most fortunately, drool-free. The ink he’d written on the page with hadn’t smeared, so hopefully that meant his face wasn’t covered in black splotches. 

Hunter bent the corner of the right page before shutting the tome and setting it to the side. Standing made joints pop, and his neck wasn’t feeling so great after how he’d slept, but he ignored it, instead moving across the small room to the simple, wooden wardrobe. It was a Saturday, and Saturdays meant new missions, which meant leaving the castle. 

It wasn’t that Hunter didn’t like to be at the castle. The castle was… well, the castle, with its high ceilings and endless maze of hallways and chambers. It had a large library, and the courtyard was nice during the warm season. But it was isolated. Hunter would much rather explore the Isles and see all the different people and places that existed outside. It was just as fascinating to him as his books. And, of course, missions served the Titan and helped his uncle. They made everyone happy.  

Fastening his cape, Hunter looked to the window, where the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, which meant that he had to be downstairs soon, to find out what his task would be today. 

Heading out the door, he grabbed his staff from where it leaned against the wall. 

Where would he be sent? Last week he had been at the Knee, which was always a fascinating place. The week before that, the Toes. He’d never been to the Palm; perhaps he would get to see it today. 

The corridors were practically empty, save the odd pair of guards every so often. There were always people in the castle, but far fewer so early. The most activity came in the hall just outside Belos’ personal chamber. 

One of the grand wooden doors was part of the way open, and a group of guards stood dutifully outside. The tallest of them nodded respectfully as Hunter approaches. “Sir,” they said. 

“Good morning, Captain,” Hunter said briskly. He opened his mouth to ask if he was clear to go in when the door opened further and a familiar figure stepped out. 

“Darius,” Hunter said. 

“Little Prince,” Darius said, coolly surveying him. “It looks like you had a good night’s sleep.” His eyes shone in an unmistakably amused way. 

Hunter stiffened. Was it the eyebags again? Or had he gotten ink on his face? He caught a glimpse of his reflection off one of the helmets the guards wore. There was a cluster of what were clearly letters on his right cheek. Dammit. Unconsciously, raised a hand to scrub at them. It did nothing, though, and when he realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand back to his side. 

“I slept fine,” Hunter said stiffly. 

Darius raised his eyebrows. “I suppose, if you say so,” he said, not looking as though he particularly cared. “The emperor is waiting for you.” With that, he strode past him, cape billowing. 

Hunter blinked after him for a moment, then recentered himself. Annoying as he was, Darius was right. Hunter had a job to do, and it wouldn’t do to keep his uncle waiting. Fighting the urge to rub at his face further, he turned on his heel and entered the room. 

In the dim lighting, he could make out his uncle standing before the large structure that had been adorning the room for months; Belos’ attempt at creating a working portal to the Human Realm stood out, stark against the dark backdrop of the stone walls. It was surrounded by scaffolding that stretched up to the tips of the wing-like frame. In its center, a peculiar yellow eye stared toward the door, unseeing. 

Hunter passed through the rows of pillars before coming to a stop a few feet before his uncle. “You asked to see me?” he said. 

Belos turned, scarred lips quirking up in a small smile. “Hunter. I did.” He looked back to the incomplete portal. “Did you know,” he asked, “that the seas don’t boil in the Human Realm?” 

“No,” Hunter said, filing that away. “I didn’t.” 

“Actually,” his uncle continued, “the seas are quite cold. Not so cold, though, that you can’t swim in them.” 

Hunter’s eyes widened. Humans swam in their seas? 

Since his uncle had begun building the portal, every so often, he would mention an offhand fact about the Human Realm. Where he’d learned it, Hunter didn’t know, but the human world sounded fascinating. And it was unusual for his uncle to go off script and depart from his role as emperor; Hunter treasured that as much as the knowledge. 

Does that mean the rain doesn’t boil either? he wondered. He would have to ask. 

His uncle, however, seemed to have finished. He turned back to Hunter, smile gone. “I have a job for you.” 

Hunter knew that, but nonetheless, stood up a little straighter. 

“There’s a selkidomus that has been causing issues in the Simmering Shoals. I need you to slay it.” 

“Of course.” Hunter bowed his head. Part of him wished his uncle had chosen to give him a harder mission— slaying a selkidomus, really? He’d done far harder things; did Belos still think him incapable? He was the Golden Guard, he led the Emperor’s Coven, for Titan’s sake— but he pushed it down. 

“However,” his uncle said, “I would rather avoid sending out coven scouts. Best to keep them in the cities, helping keep order in preparation for the Day of Unity. If you need assistance, you will find outside help discreetly.” 

“I understand.” 

“Excellent. That is all,” Belos said, flicking a hand dismissively. 

Hunter nodded one last time and began to head for the door. He was just raising his hand to push it open when—

“I have complete and utter faith in you, Hunter,” his uncle said. 

A wave of pride washed over him. “Thank you, Uncle. I won’t let you down,” he promised. After all, this mission would hardly be a challenge compared to some of the ones he’d done in the past. It would go just fine. 

The first place Hunter went was to the kitchens, where he grabbed an apple. Then it was back to his room, to plan. Taking a bite, he sat on his bed and opened one of his books to a map of the Isles. 

The Simmering Shoals were by the right forearm, where the water was acidic enough to give third degree burns. It was a rocky area, full of caverns, and nearly impossible to reach by land, but looked accessible from the sea. He would have to hire someone to sail Belos’ ship down the coast. And as for the selkiedomus…. 

He hopped up to snatch a beast-keeping book off his shelf. He thumbed through it rapidly, landing on a page somewhere in the middle. It bore a collection of sketches of the creature, each labeled accordingly and paired with a few paragraphs of fine text. 

They lived in the boiling seas, resistant to the water because of their scales. They ate up to sixty pounds of boiled plankton a day (which was fascinating. Because I can lure it out with food, Hunter reasoned. Not for any other reasons), and… 

… Were peaceful? 

Hunter frowned. That couldn’t be right. Why would his uncle want him to go after something peaceful?

There has been no recorded unprovoked selkidomus attack since before the Deadwardian Era, the page clearly said. The selkidomus prefers solitude and will avoid witches when able. 

 The book must have been wrong, Hunter decided. Or maybe it wasn’t— perhaps this selkidomus was an exception that had gone rogue. Either way, they couldn’t truly be peaceful creatures if they were causing problems. 

His gaze wandered down, to a diagram in which the beast had enlarged its chest, exposing rows of sharp quills. 

“See?” Hunter said to himself. “Explanation. Why would it need— that, if it wasn’t in its nature to attack?” Of course. Of course his uncle was right. Something twisted at the thought of doubting him, especially after that morning. I have complete and utter faith in you, Hunter. 

He snatched up a piece of paper and began scribbling away, plan beginning to form. 

Hunter would not let him down. 

The one downside to the castle being in the center of the Isles, at the Heart, was that it had no direct water access. Sea missions meant a long trek to port cities like Bonesborough. 

Bonesborough itself was an interesting place. Though he’d been there many times, it never ceased to intrigue him. Something about all the odd buildings and different witches, none of them quite like the others. A cacophony of sights. Not wholly pleasant, but still curious. 

Walking down an alley, Hunter thought vaguely about exploring the city. His day off was coming up. Usually, he spent it at the castle, reading, but maybe this year, he could look around the Isles. Seeing a place during missions was one thing, but exploring, he imagined, was different. 

He pushed the idea aside. There was no time for distractions. He had a job to do. 

The scenery changed as he drew near the harbor. Because the founders of Bonesborough started their settlement near the water, his brain supplied. Before it became so acidic it boiled. The architecture grew older, though no less bizarre and wonderous, and the smell of the sea grew stronger. 

The harbor itself was a dingy place. The buildings were weathered from the sea spray, and walking down the dock to the Revenge, Hunter was half convinced it would crumble beneath him, plunging him into the Boiling Sea. Ever the good soldier, he ignored his fear, coming to stand before the Emperor's ship. 

It was a vast vessel, made for a sizable crew. Like everything else around him, it was worn. Sturdy looking, though. The perfect vessel for a monster hunt. 

With a flash of red light, Hunter reappeared on the ship’s deck. It was far more stable than the dock, despite the faint rocking of the boat. Satisfied, he slipped into the captain’s cabin. 

The place was covered in a thin layer of dust; nothing a quick cleaning spell couldn’t fix. Beneath it, the room was adorned with golden engravings of the Emperor’s Coven. Grand bookshelves on the back wall stretched up to the ceiling, covered in leather tomes. Behind the heavy wooden desk, a wide window showed a view of Bonesborough, and on either side of the room, small stained glass portholes shone brightly. 

Out of curiosity, Hunter moved to inspect the books. The majority were about creatures of the Boiling Seas, weather patterns, and currents. One in particular caught Hunter’s attention; a peeling spine declared The Evolution of Pirates of the Boiling Isles. By no means was it a short trip to and from the Shoals. Perhaps he could read some of it while they were sailing. With a last glance around the room, he slipped outside. 

Yeah, Hunter thought, teleporting back off the ship, this was gonna go just fine. 

Now, all he needed was a captain and a crew. 

“Cart you? To the Simmering Shoals?” the pirate laughed. “Maybe try fighting something closer to your own size. Like voice cracks.” Still chuckling, the demon walked off. 

Hunter scowled. “My voice does not crack!” he insisted to no one. 

Because his uncle had wanted to keep this mission a secret, Hunter had decided the best way to do that was to prevent anyone from knowing the Empire’s Coven was involved. So, he’d ditched the prestigious mask and cape for some more common-looking clothing. The good thing was that as his uncle had requested, no one knew he was involved in Hunter’s quest. The bad thing was that Hunter, being sixteen and not distinguishably an authority figure, was not being taken seriously. 

He grumbled under his breath, scanning the pier. There had to be someone who would take him. 

Down a few docks, a large, roguish-looking demon was admiring the Revenge.

Hunter lit up. Perfect. He hurried down the pier and onto the dock. “Nice ship, eh?” he said. 

 “Aye,” the demon agreed. “I’ve always wanted one of them scream-powered ones myself. Nice and fast.” 

“What if I told you you could captain it?” Hunter asked enticingly. “To and from the Simmering Shoals? And all you have to do is take me with you so I can slay the selkiedomus that’s been plaguing the seas!” 

The demon laughed heartily. “A pipsqueak like you? Slay a selkiedomus?” 

Hunter bristled. “I’m more capable than you think,” he bristled. “And anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you could be sailing this beauty. What do you say?” 

“Not my business if some teen wants to die a hero,” the demon shrugged, still looking quite amused. “But I don’t work for free. You’d have to pay me a pretty snail. Does your allowance cover that much, pipsqueak?” 

 And Hunter was done. He whipped his staff out from under his cloak. The next moment, he was in full golden garb. Across from him, the demon’s jaw went slack. 

“I assure you,” Hunter said coldly, “that I can pay. Three quarters of a million snails, for you to assemble a crew and sail to and from the Simmering Shoals. And, since you seem so concerned as to my ability to do my job, I’ll make it a full million if your crew can slay the beast for me.” 

The demon’s eyes widened. Once it sunk in, he smiled, a wry, twisted thing. “I like you,” he said. “We have a deal, Golden Guard.”  

“Excellent,” Hunter said. “Be prepared to leave by tomorrow morning.” He turned, leaving the demon standing after him. After a moment he paused, then glanced back. “And,” he said, “it would be wise to keep my involvement in this to yourself. If you can that, I’ll even sweeten the deal.” 

The demon’s eyes practically glowed with greed. 

“I’ll let you live,” Hunter said, and he walked off. 

The pirate— Salty, Hunter had found out his name was— had a crew of bounty hunters assembled within hours. A million dollar reward was quite the motivator, Hunter supposed. True to his word, none of them seemed to know who they were truly working for. Standing in the captain’s cabin, he watched them file on board. 

Most of them seemed to be seasoned sailors, donning practical gear and looking quite at home. Tailing the rear, though, was a young witch— younger than Hunter, he guessed— who looked far too excited at the prospect of boarding. She was wearing a tasteless bandana and had a— Bird? Rat? —a thing on her shoulder. 

Oh, yeah. She’s a goner. Welp, not my problem. 

Down back on the dock, Salty nodded to him. 

Hunter closed the window. So far, so good. 

It would be a five hour trip to the arm. Five hours back. Plus however long slaying the beast would take. All in all, ten plus hours that he was stuck in this cabin. 

Ten hours to read about the history of pirates. Sometimes, the job had its perks. 

The book crackled as he pulled it off the shelf. He couldn’t say that he particularly trusted the spine, but nonetheless, he opened it, turning the delicate pages with care. Chapter One, he read. Setting the Stage for Piracy. Without looking up, he sank into his chair. 

“Can you believe that?” Hunter asked the empty cabin. “Before wild magic, they covered their boats in selkidomus scales to keep their boats from disintegrating. How cool is that?” He stuck his hand into the box of cereal he’d bought for himself before leaving. 

He’d gone the past two and a half hours or so without stopping, fully immersed in his reading. This was a great mission. He’d make his uncle proud and please the Titan and all he really had to do was sit around and read. Salty seemed to be a capable captain, and if the heave-ho-ing from outside was anything to go by, the crew was hard at work. 

“And they used sigil cannons? The possibilities….”  

Ha. Losers. Hunter was having the time of his life in here. 

He stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth. 

He was barely a quarter of the way through the thick tome. Perhaps he’d take it with him to finish at the castle. His uncle certainly wouldn’t mind; it belonged to the Emperor’s Coven, and so long as he got his work done, Belos didn’t seem to care what he got up to in his limited free time, provided it was becoming of his position and not terribly dangerous. Not many of the Coven Heads had that much freedom, and it made Hunter quite proud of his uncle’s faith in him. 

Hunter dove back into his book, content. 

Within the half hour before they were set to hit the Shoals, Hunter slipped his mask back on. Sure, he was going to let the crew try and slay the beast, but if they proved incompetent, he needed to be able to intercede, and he was not going to deal with any more witches refusing to take him seriously. Sure, it meant they’d see the Golden Guard was involved, but they could be bribed, just like Salty. Or marooned, to jazz things up. 

He’d put the book to the side, but hadn’t bothered to clean up the cereal (where was he supposed to put it in the cabin?), so it continued to sit on the desk. Beside it, there was also a sealed envelope he’d been using as a bookmark, until he’d found an actual bookmark. 

The boat continued to rock side to side as it traversed the waves, and Hunter watched out one of the side windows, taking in the passing landscape. 

The terrain had gotten rockier, and as the cliffs rose, Hunter had lost sight of the head. The sea became choppier and the sky swirled with clouds. He caught a glimpse of a cluster of buildings carved into the side of one of the larger cliffs. He pressed his mask against the glass. Was that a town? So close to the Boiling Sea? How did they keep from being burned by the fumes? Did they wear protective gear? Or maybe the people living there had adapted to be more resistant to the steam. 

Before he could contemplate it very far, a particularly large wave rocked the boat, nearly throwing Hunter off balance. There was a loud crash. 

He whirled around, and— was that the kid’s thing from earlier? It had an odd, bone-looking head out of which two horns, one of them chipped, protruded. The rest of it was covered in black fur, not unlike an animal. Tiny, clawed paws pounded at the cabin’s door. It hadn’t noticed Hunter yet. 

“Hey! King want a cracker!” the rat-thing whined. It tried pushing the door open, its efforts fruitless. 

Hunter gripped his staff in one hand. It couldn’t know he was here. He only wanted to reveal himself if it was necessary, and so far, it hadn’t been. The… rat would have to be dealt with. 

As he slowly crept away from the corner he’d been in, the creature’s eyes focused on the box of cereal. “Ooh!” It scampered over, scrambling atop the desk. 

Hunter was behind it now, scowling. Those were his! He’d paid for those!

It munched on its snack, stepping on the letter-turned-bookmark. It looked down. “Huh?” Food forgotten, it moved to pick it up. “Is that… the Emperor’s sigil?” 

Well. Now Hunter didn’t have a choice. 

For the first time, the creature seemed to take in the rest of the room and its adornments. Its brow furrowed uneasily. “This ship belongs to the Emperor?” 

Hunter crept up behind it, staff raised, though not entirely sure what he was planning on doing. Dropping it into the sea? Locking it in a cage? Maybe locking it in a cage. The idea of throwing the little thing to its death made Hunter’s stomach squirm. 

“Oh, boy. I gotta tell Luz,” the thing said. 

“Unfortunately,” Hunter said coolly, “you won’t have the chance.”

It turned, eyes grew wide with fear. “Stay back!” it warned, stepping back itself. “Stay— hey! Luz! Lu—“ 

 A wave of his staff and the creature slumped over, out cold. Another flick and a metal cage and purple cover materialized, just the right size for the rat (bird? the kid had been carrying it around like a bird and it had a thing for crackers. Maybe it was a bird) thing. 

Hunter poked at it once, just to make sure it wasn’t about to try and take a bite out of him in its sleep. It sighed, but made no other movements. He picked it up and laid it in the cage. 

“That was for my cereal,” Hunter said as he locked the door. “And the Emperor,” he added as a second thought.

The bird-thing snored in response. 

Now, what was he supposed to do with this? For the time being, he supposed, it was locked up. What happened to it later was a problem for future him. 

The problem for the present was the kid who’d come with the creature. Luce? Luz? It had called out for them, and Hunter was hoping that they wouldn’t notice their pet was massing. He rubbed at his mask. Why did this have to be so difficult? Things had been fine an hour ago— why couldn’t the Titan just have left him to keep enjoying his book and the scenery? 

He didn’t have an answer. Only a sleeping rat-thing and the sea shanties the crew had broken out in on the deck. He let his head fall back and he groaned. 

It wasn’t terribly long before they hit the Shoals and found the selkidomus. Or rather, it found them, striking its flat tail against the sideboards. 

Outside, a flurry of activity erupted, sailors shouting and Salty barking orders. 

Hunter hurried to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the action. For a moment, a dorsal fin emerged from the water, then vanished again. A jet of vines shot past the glass panes, and Hunter cranked his neck to figure out what was happening, to no avail. 

“Put your backs into it!” came the call from outside. What happened? Were they trying to pull the beast aboard? 

Giving up on the back window, Hunter rushed to the side one; still, nothing. 

“Dammit,” he swore. It was incredibly difficult to assess the state of your mission when you couldn’t see anything. Maybe he should risk heading out on deck…? 

The ship jolted, accompanied by a large boom. Hunter tensed. He knew that sound. Explosives. 

“The money! We’re being robbed!” someone cried. 

They were being what now? That money belonged to the Emperor! It was illegal, not to mention treason, to steal it. Hunter needed that money to pay the crew. 

He banged his head against the window frame a couple times. “You’ve. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.” 

Running a hand over his mask to make sure it hadn’t dented, he composed himself. This was literally his job. Yes, a thief was a major inconvenience, but Hunter was the frickin’ Golden Guard. He could handle this. 

Maybe once he caught up with them, he could dangle the thief above the Boiling Sea. Ooh, that did sound fun. He gripped his staff strode out of the cabin. 

The crew turned to look at him, eyes widening and faces slackening. 

“We’ve had a wee bit of a problem,” Salty said gruffly. “The money—“ 

“I’m on it,” Hunter said coolly. 

“Luz is chasing the specter,” Salty said. “But we lost the selkiedomus.” 

Luz. The kid the creature had been calling out for. 

Hunter waved his staff, summoning the cage. “I have it under control.” With that, he mounted his staff and took off. 

In the distance, a small shape was speeding across the water. Whoever this Luz kid was. Further ahead, he could make out a tiny vessel, making a break for land. The thief. 

You chose the wrong ship, criminal, he thought, speeding up. 

Ahead, the kid— Luz— and the thief went flying onto the banks, the bag of snails disappearing under a wave. 

Hunter sighed deeply. There went almost a million snails. Something clenched in his chest. 

His uncle would not be happy. 

But maybe, if he could salvage the rest of his mission….

He took in the scene on the beach. The thief had lost their red hat and cowl and was affixing their feet back onto their— wait, was that the Owl Lady? Figures. 

Across from her, the Luz was gesturing widely. 

So they knew each other, he realized. He glanced at the cage in his hand. They probably knew the bird-creature, too. An idea began to formulate. They could deal with the selkidomus, which Hunter would convince them to do by threatening the bird. When they did, he’d give them back their pet. Monster: slayed. Rat-bird: not his problem anymore. 

Hunter was pretty sure he was a genius. 

Now, to carry out his flawless plan….

The way he saw it, he had two options. He could land normally and threaten them. Or he could make a dramatic entrance and threaten them. 

It was a no-brainer, really. What was the point in being intimidating if he didn’t make a dramatic entrance? 

Lucky him, the Emperor had assured him his uniform could withstand the Boiling Seas, as could his staff. (Had he ever tested it? No. But now was good a time as any to try!) A quick shield would protect the cage in his hand, so long as he was fast. 

With that, he dove into the water. 

It was warm. Or, hot, rather— almost unpleasantly so, but manageable. Beneath his armor, Hunter could feel himself start to sweat. 

“Ew,” he said. That was gross. He’d have to wash the uniform as soon as he got back to the castle. 

As he got closer to the shore, he could sort of pick up the conversation between Luz and the Owl Lady. 

“—happened to your legs?” Luz (he thought) demanded. 

“It’s called ‘disguising your tracks,’” the Owl Lady snarked. “Now— why were you on that ship to begin with? You coulda gotten killed!”

Ooh, perfect opening! Hunter’s staff let out a flash of light and he careened out of the sea, landing dramatically on the beach with a torrent of water. 

“That can still be arranged,” he said. 

The looks on their faces were priceless. Nailed it. 

He took them in. 

The Owl Lady didn’t look like the wanted posters he’d been used to seeing around the Isles. Less like the bad-girl delinquent and more like just a hot-mess delinquent. She’d glanced at the girl beside her for barely a moment, clearly worried, then her face hardened as she turned back to Hunter. 

Interesting. 

The girl— Luz— he knew less about. Her hand strayed towards her pocket, face wary. Abruptly, Hunter realized that her ears were rounded. The human. His uncle had told him about her. How she’d tried to sabotage his plans by delaying the Day of Unity and destroying the portal Belos had spent years trying to acquire. How she could do magic— real magic— even though she wasn’t a real witch. 

Hunter wondered, very suddenly, how she did it. Then he told himself to shut up. The answer was wild magic, which was dangerous, and anyway, he had his staff. And a job to do. He refocused. 

“Hello, criminals. What’s about to happen should be relatively painless,” he said, “if you just do what I say.”

“And why would we do that?” Luz demanded. 

“Because none of you can use real magic,” he shrugged. As though he could. 

“You don’t know that!” the Owl Lady said defensively. 

“Maybe not,” Hunter said conversationally, “but I do know you’re standing on a plant that eats flesh.” 

They both looked down, and upon seeing the steam rising off the foliage, screeched and leaped off, jumping up and down ridiculously. 

Hunter laughed. Classic. “Okay,” he said, back to business, “the human will remain a sailor to repay all the money she lost, while the Owl Lady will be arrested, again, for attacking one of the Emperor's ships.” 

“‘Emperor’s ship?’ ” Luz said incredulously. 

The Owl Lady was unphased. “They’re the only ones worth robbing.” She turned back to Hunter, glowering. “Why are you guys hunting the selkidomus? It's a peaceful creature, and you're provoking it!”

There has been no recorded unprovoked selkidomus attack since before the Deadwardian Era, his brain repeated unhelpfully. The selkidomus prefers solitude and will avoid witches when able. 

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. The stupid book and stupid Owl Lady are wrong. 

“The Emperor ordered me to slay one. I’m just following orders,” he said. 

The Owl Lady seemed to consider that for a minute before declaring, “Well, I’m just gonna smack you around a bit!” And without any other warning, ripped off her arm— what the actual heck? —and charged forward. 

Now, Hunter had seen some things. But an old lady trying to attack him with her arm as a weapon? That was a new one. 

His training had done him well, though, and he didn’t stand gawking at her absurdity. Instead, he flew into action, dodging the attack and kicking her back. While he was distracted by the Owl Lady, the human appeared behind him, holding a scrap of paper. 

“Leave Eda alone!” 

 Hunter didn’t have time to marvel or appreciate the blast of fire she shot at him (she was a not-a-witch doing magic, not-a-witch doing magic). Instead, he ducked around her charge and sent her flying. 

The criminals landed beside each other, in a heap on the beach, looking dazed but a peculiar sheen to Luz’s eyes made it clear she wasn’t ready to quit. Alright. Time to shorten this up. He didn’t have all day. 

“How about—“ his staff lit up with a red glow as he aimed it at the two of them. “—I leave you dangling about the Boiling Sea?” That should do the trick. 

They went flying, out over the water, protected by a thin strip of land. They couldn’t deal with the selkidomus if they were dead, after all. 

“Around these parts, just the steam is enough to cause third-degree burns,” he continued. 

They were probably scared enough now. He flicked his staff, bringing them back to the beach. “But I don’t have to be that mean. No one will have to be a sailor or get arrested, if one of you follows those selkidomus tracks and slays the beast.” He nodded toward the wide path that led towards a cave in between the cliffs.

The Owl Lady and the human glowered at him. 

“Here! I’ll help!” Hunter said cheerfully. He summoned a gold sword, which fell before him into the sand. 

Luz glared even harder. It wasn’t even that intimidating. Actually, it was… kind of… endearing? She didn’t look scary, just grumpy. It almost made him feel bad. 

Wait. He didn’t feel bad, this was his job. And she was absolutely not endearing— annoying was a better word. This human was annoying and impeding the work of the Emperor’s Coven.

“Ugh. You’re making this difficult.” He rubbed at his mask, exasperated. Stage Two of the plan, he supposed. “Go, or I drown the bird.”  He pulled the cover off of the cage. 

“Weh?” The thing’s eyes opened abruptly. 

At the looks of horror and revulsion on Luz and the Owl Lady’s faces, Hunter dropped the curtain. 

“Ah, it’s dark now,” the bird-rat said sleepily. It let out a snore. 

Hunter waited. There was a beat, and—

“Fine,” the human said. “I’ll do it.” She grabbed the sword off the beach and with a last, venomous glare at Hunter, turned and began following the trail. 

“Luz, wait,” the Owl Lady said, sounding panicked. “Luz!” She ran after her, leaving Hunter on his own. 

“Huh,” he mused. “That went well.” Guess dangling people over certain death and threatening their pets worked wonders. Could he say he particularly wanted to resort to those measures again? Nah. But good to know they worked! 

Now… he just… waited here, he supposed. He looked around the barren beach. Yeah. Just wait here, for whenever they finished. 

A roar echoed out of the cave. 

 “They’ve probably got this under control,” Hunter said to himself. Sure, the Owl Lady didn’t have magic and the human couldn’t even do normal magic, but Hunter was far above making the mistake of thinking they were powerless. One of the first lessons he had learned in training: never underestimate your enemies. 

He tapped his fingers against his staff. Was this going to take very long? Time went a lot faster when there was stuff he could do on missions, or people he could watch. A middle of nowhere beach was decidedly much more boring. 

A snore punctuated his point. 

Hunter glanced down at the cage he held. How did that thing fall asleep so quickly? Without thinking, he lifted the cage to peer inside. 

The animal hopped up, spinning around to orient itself. “Weh!” 

Hunter dropped the cover. 

It let out a content sigh. 

He peeled the cover back again. 

“Weh!” It whirled around again. 

Again, Hunter dropped the cover. 

“Heh,” it sighed, settling back down. 

Hunter did it again, eliciting the same reaction. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re actually... weirdly endearing.” 

“No, ‘m not,” the thing said, dozing off again. 

Something twisted in his chest. This… whatever it was was harmless, and clearly was important to Luz and the Owl Lady. Hunter shouldn’t have been threatening it, or—

There was another roar. 

He cut off that train of thought. He was doing what he had to for the mission. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by goofy pets or disloyal emotions. 

There was a flash of movement on the cliffs. The human and the selkidomus were caught in a deadly battle. Hunter couldn’t see them, but their shadows danced over the cliff side as the creature shot a wave of quills and the human ducked. Another few moments of battle, and—

With a cry, Luz drove her sword into the selkidomus. It let out a wrenching cry as it collapsed. And then—

Hunter balked at the smell that assaulted him as the human began dragging it towards the mouth of the cage. 

“Oh, that thing smells awful. Why are you touching it with your hands?” He made a face under his mask. “Gross.” 

Luz dropped the corpse, leaving it obscured behind a cluster of rocks. Her face was hard. “You’re gross. Now give me King.” 

Was that the thing’s name? Now that she mentioned it…. 

“Actually, he smells pretty bad, too. Take him.” Hunter tossed the cage towards her. 

She caught it, clutching it to her chest. 

Well, his work was done. “Thank you for your service. You can find your own way home.” He started towards the ocean, then stopped, turning back towards her. “And, try to stay out of trouble. The Emperor is not a merciful man,” he warned. Then, he hopped onto his staff and raised a hand. “Byeee!” With a burst of magic, he was rocketing over the Boiling Sea. 

Well, that was dealt with. Selkidomus, check. Bird-rat-thing, check. Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do about the crew. 

The money was long-corroded by the sea, and Hunter was loath to get more, in case his uncle got word of it. For a moment he considered just leaving the crew; let it be their problem their money was gone, but if he didn’t pay them, they’d talk. It wouldn’t do to have them complaining about the Emperor’s Coven. As much as Hunter dreaded the idea of his uncle learning he had spent two million snails on this excursion, he dreaded the idea of him finding out Hunter had tarnished the coven more so. 

Stupid human, he thought. Stupid Owl Lady. 

The boat reappeared in his line of sight. Time to face the music. 

It was far later than he’d intended to be back by the time he made it to the castle. The boat had taken several hours to return to Bonesborough’s docks, another hour to get the money for the crew, and then and only then did Hunter get to head back to the castle. When he at last trudged over the drawbridge, he was ready to crash. 

Not yet, though. He still had work to do. 

He marched through the halls, coming to a stop before his uncle’s private room. 

The ever-present coven guards startled at his footsteps, straightening up. A set of snores cut off. 

“Is the Emperor still working?” Hunter demanded. 

“Oh, yeah,” one of the guards said. “Isn’t he always?” 

Hunter brushed past them, rapping at the door once before pushing it open and stepping inside. 

Belos stood off to the side of the door, scrutinizing something in his hand. At Hunter’s entrance, though, he looked up. “Hunter,” he said. 

Hunter drew closer, bowing his head. “Uncle. The selkidomus has been dealt with, as you asked.” 

“Excellent,” his uncle said, gliding closer. “No trouble? Hiccups?” 

Hunter hesitated a moment too long. 

“Yes?” Belos prompted. 

“The Owl Lady was there,” Hunter admitted. “And the human.” I saw her do magic. Without a bilesac or an artificial staff. She did real magic. 

His uncle’s face darkened. He sighed. “Of course she was,” he said. “She’s been quite the thorn in my side lately.” 

Hunter waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. 

“At any rate,” his uncle said, “I’m glad that however much I can trust her to be a nuisance, I can doubly trust you to do the right thing. I’m quite impressed by you, Hunter.” 

Hunter swelled with pride. “I’m honored,” he said. 

“Thank you for the report, Golden Guard.” Belos quirked a brow, a rare show of emotion. “Unless I’m mistaken, you have to be up in a few hours. It would be wise to retire.”

He nodded. “Yes, Uncle.” 

“Goodnight, Hunter.” With that, Belos turned back to the portal door. 

Hunter left him there, beginning the trek back to his room. Several floors up and through a maze of corridors, he finally collapsed on his bed, only bothering to pull off his mask, cape, and chest plate. Despite all his plans of showering and washing his gear upon returning, he couldn’t care less about the smell. 

Staring up at the ceiling, waiting for his limited sleep to come, he replayed the scenes of the human, Luz, doing magic. What must that feel like? How incredible was it, that she could just do that? 

Of course, Hunter had examined every book he could get his hands on that referenced using magic without natural ability. He’d hoped that maybe he could figure it out, but it was all wild magic— unruly, unpredictable, and dangerous. How did the human use it without hurting herself, or others? 

… Could Hunter do that? 

He shut the idea down. No, not an option. Like he’d reminded himself earlier, wild magic was dangerous. It hurt people; if it didn’t, his uncle wouldn’t have tried to exterminate it. 

His thoughts drifted from the girl to his uncle. His words. And that was just it, wasn’t it? What did being able to do real magic matter when his uncle believed in him? I’m quite impressed by you, Hunter. 

Hunter’s face softened. His mask glittered in the moonlight where it sat on his desk. 

All was right in the world. 

Chapter Text

Coven meetings were one of Hunter’s least favorite parts of the week. 

They were more a formality than anything; seldom did real problems get brought to the table (Hunter had a sneaking suspicion that it was due to the heads’ pride), and when his uncle was preoccupied, the meetings were run by Kikimora. 

Kikimora was not, in fact, the head of any coven. Funnily enough, she was actually Hunter’s subordinate, though Belos seemed to think she had promise. He went out of his way to put up with her, but Hunter couldn’t stand the demon. Kikimora was pleasant as she was tall. So, not very pleasant. Like, at all.

Like the majority of the coven heads, she viewed him as a child, which he was not— he ran a Coven, for Titan’s sake— and went out of her way to create problems for him. 

When he saw her standing around the table with the other heads, he held in a groan. Lucky him. 

“Golden Guard,” she said, sickly sweet, “cutting it a little close, are we?” 

“Kikimora,” Hunter said, mimicking her tone, “shunted to babysitting duty again?” 

Her jaw clenched and he smiled smugly beneath his mask, moving to stand beside Raine Whispers, the head of the Bard Coven, and Darius. 

Unlike Kikimora, Whispers was never particularly interested in getting on Hunter’s nerves. They didn’t make digs about his age or the favoritism his uncle (just Belos to them) showed towards him. By no means did Hunter trust them, but they had developed a mutual understanding. You don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with you. 

Darius, on the other hand, was not above trying to get under Hunter’s skin for the fun of it. However, with the amount of time the head of the Abomination Coven spent harassing him, it was far easier for Hunter to anticipate Darius’ actions and reactions, compared to Eberwolf of the Beastkeeper’s Coven, who said little and seemed to have a penchant for summoning all manner of creatures to make their point, or Terra Snapdragon from the Plant Coven, who was just downright scary. 

The only downside of standing between Whispers and Darius was that it left Hunter facing Kikimora directly. Still— Hunter shuddered at the thought— better than standing next to her. 

The head of the Healing Coven, Hettie Cutburn, was the last to appear. With little fanfare beyond Kikimora clearing her throat and Darius’ subsequent eye roll, the meeting started. 

“Emperor Belos himself has asked me to remind you that the Day of Unity is quickly approaching, and that if we truly desire paradise, all of-age witches must be in a coven by the day of unity. He is rather displeased by your efforts; the number of witches joining covens is down by six percent this month despite the recent public media….” 

There were literally so many things Hunter could be doing right now. He could be training. Running a mission. Patrolling. Reading. Literally anything but listening to Kikimora drone on. Still, he forced himself to listen. 

Everything she covered over the hour could have been sent to him in a stack of paper, without the various digs she made at him or the way she seemed to think she was so much better than the rest of them. When the meeting ended an hour later, Hunter was itching to get out. It would have been unseemly to rush for the door, though, so he held back, waiting for someone else to walk away first. 

Darius and Whispers had no such qualms, and Hunter was more than happy to follow them out. 

“Well, Raine, I’m sure you’re excited to be making more public appearances,” Darius remarked. “Will you save me a front row seat at your concert?” 

“You know I hate performing for people and— people,” Whispers said, sounding revolted. 

“Yet you chose a job that required publicity,” Darius said dryly. “I can see that brains are important to the Bard Coven.” 

“So I take it you’re excited to be engaging with the public,” Raine said, “which will likely contain children, with sticky, dirty fingers, who like touching things like the cloaks of coven officials?” 

Darius visibly shuddered. 

Raine smirked. “Clearly,” they said, “intelligence and planning are essential to the Abomination Coven.” 

Under his mask, Hunter grinned. It was a treat to see Darius put in his place, and was especially rewarding after the mind-numbing hour he’d just had. 

“Laugh all you want, Whispers, but you’ve never had to clean out bloodberry stains,” Darius said haughtily. 

“A grave undertaking, I’m sure,” Whispers said. “What do you think, Golden Guard?” 

Hunter floundered for a moment at being included, but quickly regained his footing. “I think Darius needs to grow some thicker skin.” 

“It’s called having taste, Little Prince,” Darius said. “Not that you’d know anything about that. Perhaps you can read a fashion magazine for your bedtime story tonight.” 

Hunter bristled. “Well, perhaps you can—“ 

“This was fun,” Darius said. “Let’s not do it again.” And because he was an annoying little shit, he waved a hand and disappeared into a flash of abomination goo. 

“I hate it when he does that,” Whispers muttered. They glanced towards Hunter. 

Hunter nodded sharply. “Good day, Headwitch Whispers,” he said. 

“You’re going out on patrol, right?” Whispers asked. 

Where they had gotten Hunter’s schedule he wasn’t sure, but he answered anyway. “Yes.” 

“Have a good shift,” Whispers said, offering him a small smile, then turned down the corridor. Hunter watched them go. 

How Raine Whispers had managed to become a Coven Head was beyond Hunter. They were far too nice. The rest of the heads were all ambitious and cutthroat. Whispers was just as powerful as the rest of them, just… helpful, and less likely to engage in double crossing. 

Hunter set off in the opposite direction as them, towards the castle gate. He had instructed a couple scouts to wait for him there, where they would take an aircraft to Latissa, and keep the peace there for a few hours. Initially, his uncle had tried to keep patrol duties to only the scouts, but recently he had been convinced that citizens seeing the Golden Guard helping the general public would be good for recruitment. Hunter was glad he was able to help, and just the tiniest bit thrilled at the prospect of getting to see the city every time he went out. 

Mostly, though, because it made his uncle happy and would please the Titan. 

He stepped out the doors and onto the drawbridge. Standing on the other side were the two scouts, who snapped to attention when they caught sight of him. 

“At ease,” Hunter instructed, and the guards relaxed. “We’ll be in the Northwest quadrant today.” 

“Aw, I love it there,” the first guard— Steve, Hunter remembered— said. “Especially when it’s all lit up at night with frightening bugs.”

“Kinda sucks when they eat people, though,” the other one, Roul, said. He winced just thinking about it. “The screams—“ 

“—are totally the best part!” Hunter said. “Is there a more relaxing sound than people being eaten alive?” 

The scouts glanced at each other. 

“Are you gonna fire me if I say yes?” Steve said. 

“Maybe,” Hunter said. 

 “Steve is shutting up,” Steve decided. 

“Alright!” Hunter started towards the aircraft waiting for them. “Let’s move out.” 

Northern Latissa was home to a bustling market, for the majority of the year. It was no surprise that it was crowded today, almost packed to the brim with witches and demons alike. Vendors peddling their wares shouted above the din. 

“Appleblood! Fresh, butchered apple blood!” 

“Would the lady like an anti-possession charm? A pretty amulet for a pretty lady!” 

“Get your witches’ wool here! Thirty snails for a yard!” 

“Goreberries! Goreberries!” 

Hunter kept to the outskirts, watching vigilantly. At the first sign of trouble, he’d be ready. 

At its start, it was a rather uneventful patrol. Hunter wasn’t so naive to believe Latissa was free of crime, but it at least seemed that it somewhat ceased while he was on the streets, as though the very presence of the Golden Guard was enough to deter criminals. 

No sooner had the thought wow, my presence is a blessing! crossed his mind, there was a commotion. 

“— you don’t understand!” a witch cried. “He’s not trying to help you— Belos didn’t create the coven system to help anyone! It’s a way for him to control you!” 

Hunter’s face hardened. That was blasphemy! How could anyone think that? 

“Are you implying that I’m stupid?” someone else hissed, raising their voice. 

“No! Just that you’ve been played,” the witch said. 

Hunter began to move towards the voices. The crowd parted as he dove into it, whispers following him. 

“Oh, shit—“ 

“That’s the Golden Guard!” 

“The Golden Guard—!” 

“Belos has been lying to all of you,” the witch continued, addressing the crowd. “Wild magic isn’t dangerous— before we get coven sigils, while we’re still in school, isn’t that wild magic? If it was so dangerous, why would they let pubescent teens use it?” 

Hunter finally caught sight of the witch. He hadn’t noticed him yet. 

“I bet,” the witch said, “that if you really thought about it—“ 

Hunter sent him flying with a flick of his staff. 

The crowd scrambled out of the way, screams erupting. 

The witch flew into the wooden stand behind him, sending fruit rolling across the square. He looked up, dazed, then realized that the Golden Guard was standing over him. He scooted back, further into the rubble. 

“Really thought about what? Treason?” Hunter’s staff glowed red and despite the man’s attempts to flee, he rose into the air, powerless. “Tell me, wild witch, would you say everything you just said to the Emperor’s face?” 

“I— I—“ the witch stammered, still twisting about madly in the air, though escape was futile. “I just—“ 

“How about you really think about it during a stay in the Conformitorium?” Hunter’s staff lit up again. 

“No! No, no, no, you can’t!” the witch pleaded, “Please, I’ll mmph—!” A gag appeared on his face, and golden chains wrapped themselves around his hunts and feet. He dropped back to the ground. 

“Scouts,” Hunter said, not even bothering to glance back at the scouts, “escort our… friend to Warden Wrath. He’ll be pleased to have more company.” 

“On it,” Steve said, grabbing one of the witch’s arms. The witch fought pathetically against him, no match for one, much less two coven scouts. He was hauled away, disappearing beneath a stone archway. 

The small crowd that remained tittered anxiously, eyes darting between the street the scouts had taken the witch and Hunter. 

“Let that be a lesson,” Hunter said, surveying the square. “The Emperor gives what he can to help the Isles; his knowledge, his coven magic, his protection. He wants nothing but to help. But there is little he can do for those who stray too far from the path. They have to be dealt with to protect the rest of society— all of you— from their danger, and the danger of wild magic.” 

With that, Hunter waved his staff, repairing the shattered remains of the wooden stand beside him. There was nothing to be done for the fruit, but at least the demon wouldn’t have to buy lumber to make a new place to sell it. With that, he moved to follow the scouts. 

The whispers erupted again. 

“The way he just threw him—“ 

“—do you think will happen to him?” 

“Serves him right, wild magic is dangerous.” 

“The Golden Guard—!” 

They watched him leave with a mixture of fear and awe. Hunter smirked under his mask. They were right to fear him, right to be in awe of him. They were right to respond that way. Hunter had risen through the ranks faster than any Golden Guard or Coven Head before him; he was powerful. He deserved that response. 

He caught up with the scouts and prisoner near the precinct. The witch had given up struggling, which was immensely satisfying. 

Wrath was, as expected, more than happy to take him, and after loading the witch into a prison transport, Hunter, Steve, and Roul were left to return to their patrol. 

Returning to the Northwestern quadrant of the city, it was quiet again. Shoppers had tentatively gone about their business again, and slowly but surely the market filled back out. The witch’s arrest had served as an example, it seemed. With the exception of having to return stolen candy to a baby, Hunter and the scouts were left to wander the city at their leisure. 

Though he didn’t express it and would never admit to it, Hunter delighted in gazing at the wares that sat in shop windows and watching the ever-changing crowds of witches and demons. Most of the people he interacted at the castle with kept themselves masked, and it was fascinating to him, watching as people responded to each other with unfiltered expressions— and to him and the scouts. It was strange but not unwelcome to see people’s curiosity, wariness, or awe. 

So, it was in a good mood that Hunter returned from patrol. He’d done good work and gotten his ego boosted. His uncle would be pleased, not that Hunter was going to brag about it. 

His good mood was somewhat soured when he found Kikimora waiting by the entrance, looking suspiciously gleeful. 

“The Emperor has been looking for you,” she said. “He wants to speak with you.” 

“Of course,” Hunter said, walking past her briskly. 

“Directly,” she elaborated. She trotted along behind him, following him down the hall until he turned. 

“Noted. You’re dismissed,” Hunter said, waving her off. “I know the way there.” 

“ Hmph.” Kikimora scowled, beady eyes narrowing, but there was little she could do. He was her superior. 

Somewhat smugly, Hunter left her behind, turning the corner. 

It wasn’t frequently that Belos asked to see him out of the blue, but it certainly wasn’t unheard of. Hunter had been doing well lately— maybe he had been entrusted with another mission? The thought lightened his steps. Finally, he was proving himself. Just like he’d always wanted. Just like his uncle had always wanted. 

When Hunter strode into the room, he was surprised to see Vitimir, the Potions head, there. And his uncle…. 

Mask on. Back straight. That was the uncle Hunter had come to associate with anger. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“Emperor Belos.” Hunter dropped to a knee. “You asked to see me?” 

“I did,” his uncle said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you claimed the selkiedomus was slain on your last mission.” 

“It was,” Hunter said, brow furrowing. That had been days ago. Why was his uncle asking about that?

“Then perhaps you can explain as to why when Vitimir sought it out it was nowhere to be seen,” Belos said. His tone was inviting, but it put Hunter on edge. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have known. Kikimora had been so delighted. Why had he thought that this could be a good thing? 

Vitimir glared down at him from beneath the brim of his hat. 

“And,” Belos continued, “why in its place was a clump of seaweed that looked remarkably similar to said selkidomus?” 

“That doesn’t make any—“ Hunter cut off abruptly. The memory of the selkidomus’ death flashed through his mind. He hadn’t seen the actual beast, just its shadow. He’d never checked himself to see if it was dead, never questioned the human. The selkidomus never died. He’d been played. 

His uncle seemed to take his sudden silence as a confirmation. He didn’t bother so much as glancing at Vitimir when he barked, “You are dismissed.” In turn, Vitimir didn’t spare so much as a glance at Hunter when he passed him, headed towards the door. 

The moment Hunter heard it close behind him, he jumped to his feet. “Uncle, I can explain,” he implored. “The human— she used some sort of spell—“ 

“She used,” Belos said dangerously, “a spell?” Something rippled under his skin. 

Hunter stilled. “It was my mistake,” he said, reigning himself back in. “I underestimated her and allowed her to deceive me. But—“

“So what I’m hearing… is that my failure to obtain these priceless spell and potion components is your fault?”     

It’s not my fault, part of Hunter wanted to say. She tricked me. 

It is your fault, though , he retorted. You should have checked. You shouldn’t have fallen for it. You should have just done it yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

The curse, another part of him whispered hurriedly. He’s upset he’s upset the curse—

“I’ll do better,” Hunter swore, fighting to keep the pleading out of his voice. 

In the blink of an eye, the bubbling beneath Belos’ skin consumed him, his form disappearing beneath a thick film of deteriorating sludge; a limb lashed out towards Hunter, catching him on his right arm, slicing through fabric and skin with razor sharp precision before retreating. Another flew towards his face, knocking away his mask and splitting open the skin above his left eyebrow. 

Hunter automatically clasped the wound on his arm with his other hand, suppressing a wince. There was little he could do for the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Vision blurring, he watched as Belos’ curse thrashed, limbs flailing in all directions. Ignoring his pain, he carefully moved towards the side of the room. He had to do something to help his uncle. 

For instances like this, his uncle kept a store of palismen, tucked away past the pillars that stretched towards the ceiling. Keeping one eye on Belos, Hunter grabbed one, then another. A lizard of some sort and a turtle. Then, he squared his shoulders to the best of his ability and started towards Belos. 

At some point, Belos seemed to have gained enough control over the curse that the myriad of limbs condensed into four, into something more humanoid. He reared his antlered head as Hunter approached, screeching. 

Hunter thrust the lizard towards him. 

Belos snatched it up, a talon slicing Hunter’s palm, cutting through his glove. He crushed it, greedily inhaling the magic that escaped the dying palisman’s form. He took the turtle with the same vigor, only then growing more humanoid, ooz retreating from around his face and torso, though his arms and everything below his chest was still made of pure decay. “ More,” he rasped. 

Hunter hurried back to the chest of palismen and grabbed another at random. 

Belos crushed the bird in his fist, and with a last great inhale of the magic, the warped rot finally subsided. 

It had never taken three palisment before. One was usually sufficient. That could only mean one thing. 

“My apologies, Hunter,” his uncle said, reaching out to grasp Hunter’s shoulder. 

Hunter forced himself not to flinch at the touch. It wasn’t the curse, he told himself. Just his uncle. He was okay now. 

“These outbursts have been getting worse, and it upsets me that you must be caught in the middle of them,” his uncle said. “It also upsets me that you must instigate them like this. You know the curse feeds off of strong emotions.” 

“I know, Uncle. I’m sorry. I can do better,” Hunter said. “I will do better.” 

“See that you do,” his uncle said. 

Hunter left with a jumble of emotions that he wasn’t even sure how to unpack. 

Disappointment, first and foremost. He’d messed up, and he’d messed up bad. Not only had he failed his mission, but he upset his uncle and caused his curse to flare. He could do better. He needed to do better. His uncle had given him so much— Hunter couldn’t repay him like this.  

Worry, next. The curse was getting worse, and it was clear it was wearing on his uncle. How much worse would it become? Would his uncle be alright? How long did they have before it was unsustainable to keep giving him palismen, before it became impossible to counter?

And of course, guilt. He’d set off the curse, again. And the more it happened, the faster it seemed to worsen. The fact that his uncle had needed not one, but three palismen to counter it was his fault. 

Oh. And pain. His arm hurt like hell, his palm stung horribly, and blood had dripped into his eye, which was far from a pleasant sensation. 

There were a thousand other things bouncing around in his head, but he shoved them aside. He could be emotional later (read: never). Right now, he had to get his wounds cleaned and bandaged. 

When he got to his room, he dug the first aid kit out from under the bed. A short examination in the mirror showed that he’d been lucky enough to avoid stitches, but there was no doubt in his mind that another scar would be joining the ranks. 

Cleaning the gash on his arm was the worst. It stung horrifically as he dabbed at it with disinfectant, still bleeding sluggishly, and continued to throb even after it had been bandaged. From there, he moved to take care of his hand. Belos had sliced clean through his glove— he would need another pair. He discarded it for another wrap. Finally, his forehead, which was small enough to be fixed by a bandaid. 

Hunter swapped his torn and bloodstained uniform for soft pants and a tunic, kicking off his boots. Then, he collapsed onto his bed. 

He laid there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling blankly, then reached back behind his head, pulling a pink frog plush out from beneath his pillow. He hugged it to his chest. 

“It’s okay,” he said to himself, rubbing one of the frog’s webbed feet between his fingers. “It’s okay. You can fix this. He knows you can do better.” He glanced down at the stuffie. “Right?” 

There was no response from the frog, but Hunter didn’t need one. He already had one. 

He knows you can do better. You have to.  

Hunter was eight and should’ve known better. 

It was such a stupid thing. He’d run out of new books to read in the castle’s library. He knew, though, that there were more books there— his uncle’s books that he kept locked away for whatever reason, and Hunter’s stupid, eight year old brain decided to ask his uncle if he could read any of them. 

So, he’d gone looking for his uncle. The scouts directed him in the direction of his uncle’s personal chamber. 

Uncle always came into Hunter’s room without knocking. So, it stood to reason that that was okay. Hunter hadn’t known better than to intrude upon his uncle’s quarters without permission. He just… went in. 

The great stone room was empty, no uncle to be seen, but something caught Hunter’s eye. A great leather bound book, sitting on a flight of cracking stone steps further into the room. 

Hunter ignored everything else about the room; the towering pillars, the strange metal frame at the top of the stairs. He didn’t think. It took him twelve steps to get there and flip open the book. 

He landed on a page somewhere in the middle, the title Grimwalkers emblazoned on the top. His eyes found the first paragraph, and— 

There was a roar from behind him. Hunter whirled around and came face to face with a monster. It lashed out and there was a sudden sting on his cheek; a hand lifted from the pages of the book to his face and drew back with blood. The book fell and he began to shake. Tears pooled, ready to release.

As quickly as the monster appeared, it vanished. In its place was his uncle. 

Through the tears and the pain, it very abruptly hit him that his uncle was the monster, that this was the curse people whispered about when they thought he wasn’t listening. 

“Hunter,” Uncle said, “I’m so very sorry.” 

Hunter didn’t respond. Couldn’t. 

His uncle drew closer, tilting his chin up to examine the cut. “This curse is… difficult… to manage. I had hoped to protect you from it. But,” he dropped his hand, “that’s quite hard to do when you go around where you aren’t supposed to be. I thought you were an intruder. You caused an outburst.”  

“No,” Hunter said, hating how his voice wobbled. “I was looking for you. ‘M sorry, Uncle. I didn’t mean to.” 

“Might I ask why you were looking for me?” his uncle asked. 

“I ran out of books,” Hunter said. “I wanted to ask if I could read some of yours.” He suddenly remembered the book he’d been holding, now at his feet. He stooped forward to pick it up. 

A hand stopped him, gripping his shoulder almost painfully tightly. “We’ll find something else for you,” his uncle said sharply. “Something more suitable than reading about wild magic. Wild magic did this to me, you know. It destroyed our family.” And then, softer, gentler, “I won’t let it destroy you, too.” 

Hunter couldn’t meet his uncle’s eyes. He nodded. 

“Go back to your room,” Uncle instructed. “I’ll send a member of the Healing Coven to help with your cheek.” 

Hunter nodded again. “Yes, Uncle.” He took a step towards the door. 

“Let this be a lesson, Hunter,” his uncle said. “Playing with things you don’t understand, be it books or wild magic, is dangerous. Pain is one of our most effective teachers.” 

Face throbbing and hand covered in blood, Hunter retreated. 

And very abruptly, woke up with a jolt. 

He shot up, heart pumping painfully fast even though he was fine. No, there wasn’t blood in his eyes, he couldn't see clearly because it was dark. No, his cheek wasn’t bleeding, it had scarred years ago. No, there was no monster— that was a stupid, childish fear. He was fine. 

Visions of dagger-like sludge flying towards him danced across his mind. He dug hands into his hair, pulling on it almost painfully. Fine fine fine he was fine there were no monsters just his uncle his uncle tried to protect him his uncle did his best to protect him and Hunter fucked it up but he was fine—

Vaguely, Hunter hated this. Hated that it was so hard to suck in air, hated that he was so distressed by a memory, hated that he wasn’t in control. It was weak. He was a Golden Guard, a Coven Head, so why couldn’t he breathe? 

He drew his knees up under the covers and tucked his head between them. His hands clenched into fists, digging nails into his palms as he tried desperately to focus on the ache. It grounded him. It was real. Slowly, slowly, his breathing eased. He stopped sucking useless gasps of air into his lungs. Eventually, he uncurled, arms moving to hug his chest and legs flattening out. 

“See?” he said. “You’re fine.” 

He unclenched his fists, the injured one throbbing. In the darkness, he could make out a stain on the bandage. During his lapse of control it must’ve started bleeding again. 

It’s a lesson, he reminded himself. Pain is one of our most effective teachers. Pain meant he was learning. Pain meant he was getting closer to being the nephew and the soldier his uncle needed. Pain was good. 

His hand kept throbbing and Hunter reassured himself. 

This is how it should be. 

Hunter got less sleep that night than he should have. 

Granted, he rarely (aka never) got enough sleep, but that night had been particularly spectacular in how little sleep he’d gotten. First and foremost, he was in pain. Secondly, he was a side sleeper; with the wound on his shoulder he’d been forced to lay on his back, which had done him no favors. (Third was his nightmare, but as far as he was concerned, it had never happened.) Last, he had to be up early the next morning for training. 

Was he injured? Yes. Should he be exerting himself the way training would? No. Was he going to do it anyway? Yes. What if he was injured on a mission— he couldn’t just stop. He had to be able to finish, injury or no. 

There was also beneath all that, a fierce need to be good enough. To prove himself. Not that his uncle would be watching or even necessarily aware of his training that morning, but it was the principle of the thing. 

Getting ready, Hunter’s wounds throbbed. He only managed to get one glove on; the other didn’t fit over the bandage he’d fixed on his right hand. He scowled at it, but supposed there was little he could do about it, and anyhow, the wrap covered the worst of the scars on said hand. 

He didn’t bother with his mask. It was early, most of the scouts wouldn’t be here anyway, and it wasn’t unlikely that the ones who were were half asleep at their posts. 

With the sun barely peeking over the horizon, Hunter headed out. 

His training center was relatively private. A repurposed courtyard in the same wing of the castle he stayed in. It had been transformed into an obstacle course of sorts, complete with several semi-deadly traps (woohoo!). Since next to no one lived at the castle beyond his uncle, himself, and a handful of servants and high-ranking members of the Emperor’s Coven, it was rare that anyone used it besides Hunter. 

He stepped inside, closing the large arched doors behind him, then turned to the courtyard. 

Most of it was booby trapped and rose above the cracked stone ground. Only in the center of the old courtyard was it simply a decently sized flat, clear surface. He started there. 

His staff was set to the side as he began. Push-ups, sit ups. His shoulder throbbed through it all but it was okay. Problems only started once he began the obstacle course. He activated it with a wave of his staff, and the thing roared to life. 

The first part of it was a ropes course of sorts that dangled above a tank of water from the boiling sea. After crossing that was a section he had to cross in an awkward army crawl to the start of a series of platforms that he would speed across whilst avoiding booby traps, followed by a drop onto a slightly deadly plain, where he’d sprint and try to finally scale the wall, a fifty foot stone thing that sloped towards the sky. 

This was all very manageable when he was the picture of health, eye bags notwithstanding. He was determined it would be manageable today. 

Hunter left his staff leaning against a column near the start. He set his shoulders, ignoring the way it made his arm throb vaguely, and threw himself at the course. 

The burn that accompanied his movements as he swung through the ropes course was welcomed. He grit his teeth against the sting in his hand as he gripped the coarse ropes. It kept him tethered, focused. It got him past the steam rising from the water and onto solid ground again. 

He dropped to his elbows immediately, hugging the ground as a burst of flames rocketed over his head. The heat was awful, all the more reason to get through it faster. His hand throbbed, his shoulder ached, but no matter. Hunter pushed on. 

On the platforms, he dodged the flying weapons and spells. Jumping to the ground, he landed soundly on his feet, sprinting just fast enough to escape the clusters of spikes that burst from the ground behind him. And then, the wall—

He tackled it head on, refusing to slow down as he reached it. He was climbing it, it had arked to being nearly parallel, he scrambled to get further just a little further—

Hunter’s feet scrambled for purchase and arms flailing, grasping at handholds that weren’t there, he fell. He hit the ground with a thud, catching himself on his injured hand. It smarted, worse than before, but no matter. He stood up. A couple paces back and he tried again. 

This time he landed on his back. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he laid there gasping for breath, staring up at the sky, up at the wall. He turned his head, glancing at his staff. It would be so much easier to just fly up there, or to teleport. 

But no, Hunter couldn’t depend on his staff. What if it was taken from him, or destroyed in a fight? He didn’t have any magic of his own. He had to be able to do this himself. He stood up again, wincing at all his new aches, cataloging all the places he would have bruises tomorrow. 

Hunter ran at the wall again. And again. And again and again and again until he at last fell onto his arm and collapsed, giving a rather undignified yelp. Then he stayed down. A quick survey of his bandages showed that he’d bled through both the one on his hand and arm. He would have to deal with that sooner rather than later. Hunter glanced back at the wall, defeated. 

Inexplicably his throat tightened. Titan, this was so stupid. Why couldn’t he climb the stupid thing? Why couldn’t he do the course without further breaking himself? Why couldn’t he keep himself from getting hurt? Why did he keep failing! 

Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and he blinked them away furiously. No. No, Coven Heads didn’t do something childish as cry. The Golden Guard didn’t cry. 

The Golden Guard didn’t fail, either. The Golden Guard could do his job and complete a stupid obstacle course. 

Hunter was the Golden Guard. Therefore, he shouldn’t cry. He shouldn’t fail, his missions or the course. Yet here he was. It only made the frustration in his chest burn hotter. 

He repeated it in his head like a mantra. The Golden Guard doesn’t cry. The Golden Guard doesn’t fail. The Golden Guard is professional. I am the Golden Guard. The Golden Guard doesn’t cry. The Golden Guard doesn’t fail. The Golden Guard—

“I thought I’d find you here,” an annoying voice said from behind him. 

Hunter forced himself to his feet and turned around, face quickly slipping into a mask of indifference. “Kikimora. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” 

“The Emperor has personally asked me to inform you that you’ll be staying near the Heart until further notice,” Kikimora said, clearly enjoying herself. 

“What?” Hunter blurted. He abruptly schooled his features and scrambled to recover his outburst. “I only mean. The Emperor knows that I’m capable of better. I can help more than just locally.”

“Does he?” Kikimora smirked. “You’ll be staying on patrol, maybe handling little bits of official coven business if you’re lucky.” 

“And you’ll be here to make sure I don’t screw up?” Hunter scowled. “I don’t need a babysitter—“ 

“As a matter of fact,” Kikimora said, lifting her chin, “Emperor Belos has a mission for me in Marrowstone. He specifically told me he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it.” 

Hunter inhaled sharply. The Titan has big plans for you, Hunter. I have complete and utter faith in you. I’m quite impressed by you. 

Was he being replaced? Did his uncle think he was useless? Nothing but a failure? 

Not good enough not good enough why hadn’t he tried harder why couldn’t he do better—

And by Kikimora? Why was she good enough but he wasn’t? What do I have to do to be good enough? For him to trust me again? To be proud of me? 

Something in Hunter snapped. 

“Why you? What have you ever done for him?” Hunter demanded. 

“What have you ever done for him?” Kikimora’s voice rose shrilly until she was seething. “You just— waltz in a couple of years ago and suddenly he hands you a promotion? Makes you the Golden Guard, then a Coven Head? You? While I’ve been here for years! I’m his most loyal supporter! Do you know what I’ve given up for him? I have sacrificed far too much to be overlooked for some bratty, entitled teenager!” 

Hunter had earned those titles. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, to tell her everything he’d sacrificed and demand again why Belos trusted her more, what he had to do to be trusted himself, but she was talking again, hands curled into fists. 

“I suggest, Golden Guard,” she spat, “that you stick to what you can handle instead of encroaching on what the rest of us deserve. Clearly, the Emperor thought too highly of you.” Kikimora turned on her heel and flounced to the door before stopping. “Enjoy the castle,” she said, sickeningly sweet, then was gone. 

He stood there, unmoving. Then stiffly moved towards his staff, leaving the wall unfinished behind him. (Just like the selkidomus hunt, he thought bitterly.) 

Hunter felt like complete and absolute shit. 

Trudging back to his room, everything aching-and-or-bleeding, the same few thoughts cycled through his mind. 

His uncle didn’t trust him. He’d failed him, and now even Kikimora was deemed more fit than him, which was a blow to the gut. He should be the one going to Marrowstone and carrying out the Emperor’s will. 

And he would, Hunter assured himself. He just had to win his uncle’s favor again and prove his dedication. If Hunter could do something to help him, something mature and useful, his uncle would forgive him. He’d be happy, Hunter would be happy, and Kikimora would be pissed. Perfect! 

“But how am I supposed to prove myself if he won’t let me go on missions?” he asked the empty corridor. There was no answer. 

His uncle was strict about when he was allowed to leave for his safety. Outside of missions and patrols, he rarely left the Heart, so it wasn’t as though he could go off on his own during his limited free time to try and capture the Empire’s enemies or slay a selkidomus for real. He needed something that could be done here. But if there was anything here the Emperor needed, he would have taken it already. 

There’s still crime, he thought blandly, slipping inside his room. You could always lock a couple wild witches in the Conformitorium. 

He set about dealing with his injuries. The one on his arm had only bled through, it didn’t seem to be any worse. The one on his hand was another story; the skin had torn further during his run through the obstacle course, and much to his frustration, needed stitches now. Joy. Now he had to figure out where he’d left his needle and thread. 

Hunter was far from a seamstress, but had some basic skills. He’d been sewing up his own wounds for a couple years, and had repaired a handful of ripped socks, blankets, and pillowcases in his time, most recently the ragged pillowcase that sat at the head of his bed. He had probably left the needle somewhere on his desk, which was a disaster. Curse you, past Hunter. 

“You suck,” he said, beginning to shuffle things around, “so much.” 

A pile of notes shifted to his bed, a stack of books to the floor, his mask to the bed, a stack of official papers into a drawer. He found the thread hidden beneath a scrap of the brown fabric he used to patch the pillowcase. The needle was sitting on a book, a thick, leather thing titled Wilde Magik and Its Effekts On the Bodie. Hunter had meant to read it weeks ago, but it had gotten buried and he had gotten busier. When he picked it, it was vaguely wondering if it had any information about curses. He itched to open it and read. 

Instead, he took the needle and thread and— 

Hunter paused. Looked at the book again. Curses. 

His uncle’s curse was getting worse. Here, at the castle, Hunter had an entire library of books to work from. What could prove his loyalty and effectiveness better than curing his uncle’s curse? 

And he knew exactly where to start. He was eight years old, half scared to death because he’d (thought he’d) seen a monster and there was blood on his face and his hands, and his uncle had just given him the key. Wild magic did this to me, you know.  

If wild magic had cursed him, it must be the way to undo it. 

A smile was spreading across his face. This could work. It would work! Clearly, Kikimora was wrong— there was a reason the Emperor had picked him out as a genius prodigy: because he was one. Seriously, who else would have come up with such a foolproof and genius idea as this? 

There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that whispered that his uncle would be furious if he found out Hunter was considering dabbling in wild magic. He barely tolerated him reading about it. 

“But if I fix his curse, it won’t matter,” he said aloud, confident. “He’ll be happy.” They both would be. 

Without his curse, his uncle would be able to focus more on running the Empire. Maybe without Belos’ attention split between his curse and the Titan’s plans, he’d finally finish the portal to the Human Realm; maybe he would take Hunter with him and he could see the non-boiling seas and find out if the rain was safe. 

There would be no more needing to forage for palismen, no more Hunter getting hurt and his uncle feeling guilty. Hunter would be trusted again. 

A new sort of determination set in, accompanied by a feeling of triumph. He could do this. No problem. 

Abruptly, he realized he was stupidly grinning at the needle and thread in his hands. Right. Before he could start figuring out his uncle’s curse, he should really fix his hand and rebandage everything else. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Golden Guard?” someone said. “I’ve got a message from the Emperor for you.” 

Hunter moved to open the door. On the other end, a scout held out a sealed letter. 

He grabbed it. “Thank you.” 

The scout nodded formally, and Hunter closed the door. He opened the letter. 

Blight Industries has made a concerning number of sales of their latest Abomiton products. Inform them that the Empire will be purchasing all of their stock. Nothing will be sold to private citizens. Afterwards, return immediately.

It didn’t even hurt that his uncle hadn’t bothered to sign it, or that he’d been designated to do a scout’s work. Hunter would fix this. 

He looked to his mask. 

On his first night of researching, Hunter learned two things. 

Wild magic was fascinating . There were so many ways to cast spells, and so many spells that could be cast. Initially, before the Savage Ages, before witches and demons had developed their bile sacs, they used a natural object inscribed with some sort of power sigil to channel magic from the Isles. That was how palismen had come about— after they acquired bile sacs, someone had discovered it was still easiest to channel their magic with something of the Isles. They made a deal with a wise, feared demon known as the Bat Queen, and she taught them the magic of palismen. 

Not that Hunter would ever admit to anyone that he found wild magic so fascinating, because it was dangerous. There was a reason his uncle kept it from the public. Belos had personal experience as to how dangerous it was, he knew that regardless of how incredible it may seem on the page it was still malicious. And that brought Hunter to the second thing he’d learned: 

Finding a cure for the curse was going to be a lot harder than he’d initially intended. 

The first book, on how wild magic affected a witch, had only a small chapter on curses. Not that that meant the rest of the book was useless, but before Hunter started looking for obscure information, he needed to narrow down his lead a little more. The book had been returned to his desk, the start of a read later pile, and he’d snuck off to the castle’s library. 

He came back levitating a high stack of books that he put down next to his bed, most of which were focused on either curses or palismen. 

Hunter had poured through the first two books on curses, captivated. There were so many types of maladies, all of which could be classified into three main categories— constant, emotional, and chronic. From there, curses were classified again as demonic, beastial, noncorporeal, verbal, or somatic. 

 It was with a morbid fascination that Hunter read about the types of curses that fit into each category, and with a frown as he realized his uncle’s curse didn’t fit neatly into any of the boxes. 

His uncle’s curse was clearly emotional— he’d told Hunter time and time again that it was often triggered by strong emotions— but it also had a chronic element; sometimes he had to excuse himself from meetings when it flared up. It was even harder to tell if it was beastial or noncorporeal. Beastial curses were incredibly similar to demonic curses; they both required a full physical transformation, and their only real difference was that beastial curses resulted in the person losing their mind whilst transformed. But beastial curses required a set form, and Belos’ curse form was never quite the same. Its matter wasn’t fixed and didn’t stay in the same shape, elements of a noncorporeal curse. And, to complicate things further, neither book said anything about curses that could be held at bay with palismen magic. 

Eventually, Hunter gave up on trying to classify his uncle’s curse, for the time being. Either he needed to know a little more about it to classify it, or it was incredibly complex, more so than he’d initially assumed. So, he had turned to his next lead, the palismen, and here he was. 

He’d scribbled a couple pages of notes, anything that might be useful. The history of palismen, where palistrom trees grew best. Hunter even found a guide to carving palismen. It was old and outdated, but gave him another idea— what if instead of taking palismen from people, they carved their own palismen? Or what if instead of consuming the magic from palismen, his uncle used the palistrom wood to channel the magic he needed to subdue his curse, like the sigils wild witches used? 

Though it wasn’t as easy as expected, his first day of research was actually going okay. He had a suspicion, though, that it would be faster if he knew what exactly his uncle’s curse was and how he’d gotten it. 

Hunter would figure it out, though. Maybe it would take a little time, but he was confident. He’d curse his uncle’s curse and earn his trust again, and everything would be as it should be. 

His days passed in a blur of tedious coven duties, training, patrols, and research. He woke up early, trained, went on patrol or ran simple errands on behalf of the Emperor, and after his duties, he would hole up in his room and research late into the night. Slowly but surely his injuries began to heal, and he learned more and more about wild magic. He checked more books out from the library, the stacks of notes scattered around his room grew, and his eyebags became more pronounced. 

Hunter heard next to nothing from his uncle, beyond a few impersonal notes with instructions and once or twice in coven meetings. He got used to nothing beyond direct letters, and while it stung, he used the lack of contact to delve into his reading. He’d make something good out of it, and maybe the leash his uncle gave him, which once felt like a show of trust and now a cold shoulder, would feel like something to be proud of again. 

Eventually, though, his uncle did call him. 

Hunter was nervous. After what had happened last time, he was far from looking forward to being summoned. But he wanted this, wanted his uncle to talk to him. Maybe this was another chance. Perhaps his uncle had taken note of his exemplary performance doing patrols and coven duties, unlikely as it sounded. 

This would be fine. Hunter just had to keep from fucking up again. Nice and simple. If he didn’t fuck up, Uncle wouldn’t get upset, and the curse wouldn’t lash out. He could do that. 

With that in mind, Hunter fastened his cape, pulled up his hood, and affixed his mask. He slipped out of his room and began the walk to the throne room. 

The castle was oddly occupied today. A good number of scouts passed him as he walked, even more standing guard to various rooms. Though, he supposed the castle had been becoming more populated as the time went by. In preparation for the Day of Unity, he assumed. 

Finally, he came to a stop outside the great doors. 

“Golden Guard,” one of the scouts guarding it said, bowing their head. “He’s waiting for you.” 

“Oh,” Hunter said. “Excellent.” And then, chin up, he pushed the doors open and went inside. 

His uncle sat on the throne, down a long stretch of carpet, clearly watching Hunter approach from behind his mask. 

Hunter didn’t let it deter him; instead he marched on, dropping to a knee when he was close enough. “Emperor. You sent for me.” 

“Rise,” his uncle said. “There’s no need for formalities, Hunter. I simply had some questions for you.” 

Hunter pushed himself back to his feet. “Of course,” he said. 

“Our lovely librarian, Sidella, has reported that you’ve checked out an impressive assortment of books on wild magic. I was simply… curious as to why,” his uncle said.

“Oh.” Hunter fought to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, I can explain,” he said elaboratively. 

His uncle waited. 

Hunter did not want to answer. His uncle was… volatile about his curse, not matter what mood he was in, and Hunter didn’t want to risk upsetting him. But he couldn’t lie. Not to him. 

He took a breath. 

“I just… had a thought,” Hunter said awkwardly, “that if wild magic cursed you—“ 

His uncle inhaled sharply, and Hunter plunged on. 

“—maybe it could helpfindacuretoo,” he said in a rush. 

“Help find a cure?” his uncle repeated. 

“Yes!” Hunter said. “I know it’s banned for a reason, but I’m being careful, and if I just knew a little bit more about your curse, and I think I could help—“ 

“You think you can help?” 

The coldness in his uncle’s voice made Hunter falter. “I— just thought,” he stammered, then ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Uncle.” 

“This curse,” his uncle snapped, “will not be cured, and wild magic will not be trifled with.” 

“I understand,” Hunter said, shutting down. “I was out of line. It won’t happen again.” 

“Ensure that it doesn’t,” his uncle said. 

“Of course.” Something in Hunter’s chest shriveled. If he couldn’t curse his uncle’s curse, how was he supposed to fix things? 

“Oh, and Hunter,” his uncle said lightly, “if you have enough time to meddle with wild magic, you must have enough time to pick up additional coven duties. With Kimimora gone, there’s someone needed to pick up the extra work.” 

That stung. “It will be taken care of.” 

His uncle waved a hand. “Dismissed.” 

Hunter left, numb. 

Uncle didn’t care that he’d been looking for a cure. Or, rather, he did care, but for all the wrong reasons. He wanted Hunter to stop, even if it could fix him. 

Hunter didn’t want to stop. He wanted to help Belos, he wanted to earn his place again, wanted to be worthy of his title. 

(He wanted to keep reading about wild magic. The research, trying to fix his uncle’s curse and reading about all sorts of incredible, wild things, wasn’t the penance it had been meant to be. He didn’t think about that. He didn’t want to read about wild magic. He didn’t.) 

He doesn’t think his curse can be cured, though, he thought. If he knew I could fix it… if he trusted me… would he still be so angry? Would he let me keep trying? 

Stopping his research was a direct order. His uncle had told him, wild magic will not be trifled with. Yet…. 

Disobedience was a slippery slope, Hunter knew. But he could control himself. This would be the only time he intentionally disregarded one of his uncle’s commands. 

And, he told himself, by the time Belos found out— after Hunter had healed him, after the curse was gone— he wouldn’t care. 

Chapter Text

Hunter was getting incredibly tired of Kikimora’s digs. If it isn’t the Golden Guard, the Emperor’s most— excuse me, once most trusted employee. Enjoying the castle? The Emperor told me personally that….

His patience for Kikimora was always minimal, but in the past three weeks it had grown incredibly thin. He was about ready to strangle her. 

At least, he thought grimly, with Uncle here she won’t try anything. She hadn’t been so bold to badmouth him in front of the Emperor. Yet. 

He watched as the other coven heads filed into the room. This meeting was important enough that Belos had found time to attend it, standing beside Hunter and before the throne. He’d heard whispers from the other heads that his uncle was going to show them something, a prophecy or a vision of the future, something the Titan had shown him. Hunter would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, but right now, he was mostly just tired. He’d been getting even less sleep than usual, staying up into the early hours of the morning to pour through books. 

“The Day of Unity approaches, where we'll celebrate the purification of magic under the coven system, just as the Titan intended,” Kikimora said, jolting Hunter from his thoughts. “As heads of the nine covens, we celebrate your efforts to complete this plan. For this, you have earned a glimpse of the reward that awaits.” 

“Step forward,” his uncle instructed. 

The heads approached a round, basin-like fire pit. They each slid a token into its rim, and a multi-chromatic fire erupted. As the magic took hold their eyes widened. 

From his place, Hunter watched as a series of blurry but unmistakable images danced in the flames. The Titan’s eyes glowing a brilliant green as the moon overtook the sun, painting the sky crimson. Beneath, a series of buildings rose, square and far unlike anything Hunter had seen before, trees the most peculiar green, unlike anything he had seen on the Isles. 

Is that… the human world? They live in those squares?  

“The larger your covens grow, the more power we have to unite our realms, where the worthy shall inherit a utopia free of wild magic,” his uncle said. “Fr—“ He broke off. Hands shaking, one grasped at his chest and the other reached backwards to steady himself on the ornate arm of his chair. The curse. 

Immediately Hunter was beside him. He held out his hand, which his uncle clasped, abandoning the chair’s support. There was a door placed discreetly off to the side that led to the throne room, likely for times like these, when his uncle needed palismen. They started moving in that direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kikimora following. 

“No. Stay here,” Hunter instructed. “I can handle this alone.” He had to. Anything to help. Anything for his uncle. (Anything to prove himself.) His recent failures were no way to repay Belos, but there was this. 

The door had barely closed behind them when his uncle fell forward. The mask slipped off his face and his form rippled. The monster— no, Uncle, that’s Uncle— let out a horrific cry as it lashed out. 

Hunter took a step back, watching as it— he, as he slammed a fist into the wall again and again, and at the sound of stone shattering, turned his head. It was basic training not to turn your back on something dangerous, but his uncle wasn’t upset with him, he wouldn’t hurt Hunter, and he couldn’t watch. It made his stomach roll nauseatingly and he clenched his jaw. How would his uncle feel, if he knew what Hunter was thinking? He had a job to do and didn’t have time to be distracted by a weak stomach. 

Somewhere behind him, the snarling and heavy breathing receded, and the stone stopped cracking. He collected himself, turning to the palismen. 

There was only one left. A small, brown critter. Hunter’s heart seized. What if it wasn’t enough? 

He stepped forward to offer it up. 

His uncle seized it, snapping it and inhaling its magic greedily. He let out a relieved sigh as its broken form crumbled to dust in his hands.

Hunter watched its remains fall to the ground, fighting off the potent desire to throw up. 

“I need more.” Belos held out a hand. 

Hunter tensed, eyes flying back up to his uncle. “That was the last from our reserves. The palistrom wood has been overharvested.” 

His uncle pivoted sharply, striding towards the throne. 

If you could fix this, a little voice in Hunter’s head whispered, If he told you more….

“Uncle, let me help!” he pleaded recklessly, following. “We can make more palismen! Actually, I read about this technique, harnessing wild magic to—“

His uncle turned his head and Hunter broke off abruptly. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you know better than to talk to him about that, especially when the curse is acting up. Remember last time? 

Hunter lowered his eyes. “Sorry.” 

His uncle strode forward. Titan, now he’d done it. 

Hunter fought to keep from tensing. Belos got closer, closer, his hand came up—

It rested on his shoulder. “Please,” he said, “Be careful. Our family is gone because of wild magic. I can't let the same happen to you.” His fingers gripped Hunter almost painfully. 

Despite the twinge in his shoulder, Hunter felt better than he had in weeks. Despite his fuck ups, his uncle still cared. Maybe he felt that Hunter wasn’t capable enough to find a cure using wild magic, but it was because he cared that he told him so. To keep him safe. To encourage him to improve. 

The fingers tightened. “Find me more palismen. I can depend on you. Right?” His uncle looked him dead in the eye. 

It took Hunter a moment to realize what had been said. 

He’d been given another chance.

“Of course!” he said earnestly. “I won’t let you down.” 

“Excellent.” His uncle let go. “Now, we have a meeting to finish.”

They made their way back into the throne room, where the heads were murmuring around the basin and Kikimora stood off to the side, looking oddly pleased. Hunter didn’t particularly care to know why. All he wanted was to get out of this meeting. 

He’d been given another chance. Sure, it was an almost painfully simple assignment, but it was still something. 

After weeks and weeks of silent disappointment, his uncle had told him that he cared, then offered him an opportunity. Hunter was practically giddy, brimming with energy. Get more palismen and prove himself. Regain his uncle’s trust, show he was capable, and he’d get his missions back. Maybe after Uncle knew he was capable he would let Hunter keep working to relieve his curse. 

It all hinged on this, and Hunter could do it, he could. He just had to get through this meeting and figure out where to find a bunch of palismen. 

Coven meetings always dragged, but of course, the moment he had something important to do, they dragged even further. Graye wanted to pester the Oracle Coven’s head, Osran, about the magic that had been used to create the future illusion and his uncle had more to say, and then Terra wouldn’t shut up, and naturally, Darius had to make dry comments. It was an utter relief when Kikimora called the meeting to close. Today, he didn’t bother to wait for any of the other heads to leave first. He had a job to do. 

Hunter pushed open the doors and strode out of the room, nearly plowing over a scout. 

“Sorry, man,” the scout said, then backtracked hurriedly. “I mean, my mistake, Mr. Golden Guard sir—“ 

But Hunter was already gone. He had palismen to find. 

The Boiling Isles was breathtaking from the air. Hunter remembered the first mission where he had to use an airlift and how he’d simply stood and gaped as he stared at the horizon, suddenly truly comprehending that they lived on the grotesque, enchanting corpse of a titan. Tonight, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. 

In the distance he could see Bonesborough. Just beyond it would be Hexide, and that would be where he’d find the palismen. 

A little digging and he’d found out that to deal with the wood shortages, the school was teaming up with the Bat Queen to rehouse palismen whose past witches had died or abandoned. 

It was certainly preferable to having to forage for them or steal from witches, Hunter thought. Actually, he was doing everyone a favor— if he took the palismen before they bonded with other witches, no one would miss them! Really, he was saving everyone a whole bunch of pain. They couldn’t be upset about Belos leeching the life out of their palismen if they never had a palisman in the first place! 

Hunter winced. That had come out wrong. Not that there was necessarily a right way to say that, but saying it like that made it sound a lot worse than it actually was. 

(Did it really, though? That was exactly what he did.) 

As the aircraft flew over Bonesborough, Hunter pushed the thought from his mind. Instead, he focused, peering over the railing briefly to survey the streets. The town was quieter at night, certainly, but below, he could see clusters of people, illuminated by the street lights. The Night Market was in full swing. 

Yet, that many people below who could have seen the aircraft didn’t worry him; it was dark enough and he was high enough up that it shouldn’t be a problem. He sailed on. 

Soon enough, Hexside School of Magic and Demonics appeared through the trees. Hunter’s hands, which had been tapping idly on the wheel, stilled. 

He’d known about Hexside— of course he had, it had in part been founded by the Emperor’s Coven, after all— but had never seen it. Unsurprisingly, his tasks had never taken him to the school. What would the Emperor want with a bunch of school children? Now, he took it in, a large, prestigious building with all manner of towers and domes. And behind it, the grudgby field. Exactly where he needed to be. 

Hunter lowered the airship as he neared. In the center of the field, an out of place, seed-like structure sat. There. He slowed to a stop, fiddling with the control panel. 

Its mechanical talons hooked around the nest’s stem precisely, the arm straining with a squeal as he guided the ship back up. A quick glance showed that the structure was secure. 

Hunter’s position was secure. 

He exhaled a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. His position was secure. His uncle could trust him again! He had the palismen! He beamed under his mask. 

It was incredibly childish, but he felt like jumping up and down with his elation, making some sort of undignified, excited sound. He didn’t, because it was unbecoming of a Coven Head, and also because steering a ship while frolicking around was incredibly impractical. Instead, he began whistling, a relaxed, random thing. 

Now, Uncle would have his palismen. Hunter wasn’t sure how many were in there, but hopefully enough to last for some time. They probably would have to be replenished a few times before he could find a true cure, but hopefully, this was the beginning of the end of his uncle’s need for their magic. 

Maybe after this, since he’d have shown he was capable, his uncle would be more willing to let him— 

“Hi-yah!” Someone slapped him on the back. 

“Huh?” Out of instinct, he grabbed his staff, turning to face— the human? 

When the fuck did she get here? he wondered, and before his brain could elaborate on that, found himself being flung haphazardly around the ship, slamming into the deck, the mast, then thrown off his own fucking ship what the hell—

He did not scream. That would be even more embarrassing. 

After he was done not screaming, he swung himself atop his staff, slowing his plummet towards the ground, and in one fluid movement, jetted upwards. 

On board, Luz was frowning at the control panel. “Okay. Now how do I land this thing?” She ducked to look beneath it. 

Now, Hunter was a lot of things. Brilliant. Effective. Strategic. 

He was also really petty when he wanted to be. 

And boy, he wanted to be. 

While the human was poking around and paying absolutely no attention to her surroundings, he draped himself over the dashboard. 

“Oh,” he said casually, “you just pull that cord above your head.”

 Luz’s eyes found the cord and she reached for it, brightening. “Thank y—eh?” She stared at him, wide eyed. 

Hunter smirked beneath his mask. “Hiiii.” He lifted his staff. 

“Wha— hey!” Luz cried out as he sent her flying backwards, conjuring a set of tight ropes to bind her.

Sometimes, this was a really rewarding job. Like when he got to apprehend people who tricked him and tried throwing him off his own aircraft. He hopped back onto the ship, readjusting his uniform. 

“Good to see you too, human.”

“Why are you stealing palismen, Golden Guard?” Luz demanded, glaring at him from across the ship. 

“Frankly—“ Hunter disappeared in a flash of red light, rematerializing directly in front of Luz. “—you should be more concerned about yourself. For the crime of— of rocketing me off my own ship, you'll be locked in the dingiest cell in the Conformatorium for the rest of your sad little life.” He was going to enjoy that just as much as he was being all dramatic and threatening her. Maybe more. 

Luz scoffed. “Whatever. I already broke out of there, like, twice.” 

Hunter scowled. “Then we'll just zap you to dust and throw you into the sea. That better?”

Luz pouted, and Hunter felt a bit of satisfaction at that. “Good.” 

He went back to piloting the ship, berating himself. Of course she would show up. She’d already led to the failure that led him here, so desperate to get palismen. Why not ruin another one of his missions? But how had she gotten aboard? Or a better question, how hadn’t he noticed? His uncle would be… disappointed when he found out. Maybe, Hunter thought, he’d be more forgiving if he could deliver the human to him alongside the palismen. She’d been a thorn in his side for ages, perhaps that would be appreciated. 

“Say,” Luz said, “how’d you get back on the ship so fast?” 

“Staff,” Hunter said, gesturing to where he’d laid it, beside him. Duh. What, did she think he had wings?

“Cool,” she said, and then Hunter’s staff was in midair. 

“No!” He lunged for it, but it was long gone, knocked off the ship by a blast of ice. 

Luz snickered behind him. 

You don’t have magic, Hunter’s brain pointed out unhelpfully. She has magic and you don’t. You’re powerless without your staff. 

Hunter told himself to shut up. He’d trained for this. Despite the way his heart beat faster with vague, unsettling panic, he kept up the facade. Another rule of training: never let your enemy know you aren't in control. 

He laughed, turning back towards her annoyingly smug face. “Ohoho, human. It'll take more than that to thwart my mission!” 

He still had the palismen, he could still kick her ass, he could still finish this, even if he didn’t have his staff. Hunter was in control. 

Something cast a large shadow over the ship, then disappeared just as quickly. Hunter turned, and— 

The something barreled into the aircraft, shaking it wildly. A green tail whipped around onto the deck and the creature attached to it roared. 

“What is that?” The human was cranking her neck trying to see the thing attacking them. 

So. Hunter had no magic, a prisoner to keep track of, and a beast to figure out how to fend off. This could maybe thwart his mission, but only if—

Something tore above them and there was the unmistakable whistle of escaping air. 

Oh shit. Mission thwarted. 

They plummeted. 

Somewhere next to him, the human and someone else were screaming— 

Wait a minute. That was him. He was the other person. Because he was powerless and quite literally falling to his death. Hooray! 

As the tree line grew closer and closer, he found himself thinking, well, that could have gone better. 

The ship hit the first tree, splintering, and Hunter blacked out. 

Hunter was used to waking up abruptly. He was a light sleeper, if he could even be called a sleeper. It had been part of his scout training— if he ever was attacked in his sleep, he had to be ready to respond at a moment’s notice. He was so good at it that poor Steve still had a scar from that one time they’d been stationed at the Thumb together as scouts. 

This time, he didn’t wake up so quickly. 

It felt as though he was both weightless and infinitely heavy, a strange contradiction. In the back of his mind he knew he should have felt worried about that, about the powerlessness of his limbs, but for some strange reason, he was too at peace to care. This place between sleep and wakefulness was strange. 

He was vaguely aware of something hurting, of the hard ground beneath him. It scarcely seemed important, though, as he laid there. There were better things to do, like to drift about in this strange expanse of nothingness. 

Then something hit him. Hard. 

He jolted upward, eyes snapping open, his fogginess gone. That was the wake-up he was accustomed to. “Wha—“ He caught sight of Luz kneeling in front of him, her arm raised. “ You!” Had she slapped him? 

She clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shh!” she hissed. “Listen. You are a bad person, and I do not like you. But, Kikimora is trying to kill you and unfortunately, I'm too nice to let that happen!” 

Hunter did the only thing he could do in this situation. 

Luz jerked her hand back in disgust. “Eugh! Are you licking my hand? ” She shoved it back in his face. “I'm trying to help you!”

Hunter shoved her back. “Why should I believe you?” All she’d done was cause him and his uncle problems, and she’d literally just slapped him. That was not a ringing endorsement that she cared for his well-being. 

Luz kept fighting. “Because—“

There was a growl and they froze. 

Hunter knew that sound. 

The creature from the airship came into view, and Hunter got a good look at it for the first time. 

It was a large thing, covered in hands that acted as its mouth and wings. Two sets of thumbs helped it scuttle around, drawing closer towards him. Its tongue, a pink, barbed thing, flicked out a few times. 

“We should go,” Luz whispered. “Like, now.” 

Hunter nodded, moving slowly as not to attract the creature’s attention. He tried to stand but his cloak stayed stubbornly in place, caught on something. 

The creature was getting closer. He didn’t have time for this. 

He unclasped the cloak, letting it drop in a pile at his feet, and moved. 

The landscape was unique; he’d recognize it anywhere. The tall, warped trees surrounded by round, bright golden rocks were only found near Latissa. In the distance, he could see the dim glow of the city. 

The creature went suddenly quiet. 

Hunter ducked behind one of the boulders, yanking Luz beside him. They couldn’t be seen. If that thing found them again—

It roared and launched itself forward, but from the sound of it, not at them. He and Luz peered out from their hiding spot to find the creature viciously tearing into his cloak, devouring it. 

It had tracked him by scent, to the cloak. After that, it would come right to them. They had to move while it was distracted, then go somewhere where Hunter’s scent could be lost. 

Luz seemed to have a similar idea, darting out from their hiding place and starting down the path, towards the glow of the city. 

Hunter followed, glancing warily at the creature one last time before it disappeared from his view. Then, he focused himself on figuring out a plan. 

Clearly, the hand-thing was an issue, but a simple enough one to solve. Once he got into Latissa, the hustle and bustle of the city should mask his scent well enough, and if it didn’t, animal control would certainly take notice of a monster like that terrorizing citizens. Then, he had to get the palismen back— 

Wait a minute. Where were the palismen? 

He refocused his attention back on the human, and since when did she have his staff? “Human,” he demanded. 

Luz glanced back at him, unimpressed. “It’s Luz, but continue.” 

“Where are the palismen?” 

“Kikimora has them,” Luz said. The bird— when had she gotten a bird? — on her shoulder twittered.  

How had he missed that? It was bright red, for Titan’s sake. And he’d missed the staff, too, which was far from concealed. He must’ve hit his head pretty hard. Any other time, he would have taken the opportunity to berate himself, but right now, there were better things for him to do. 

“And what about Kikimora?” he questioned. “You said something about her… trying to kill me?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Luz said casually, as though wanting to kill him was completely normal. “There were a bunch of scouts back there and she was all like—“ She made her voice go squeaky and formal, “— I’m afraid the Golden Guard is all the way dead, even though I have no proof. They totally bought it. After they left she was talking with Hands and was all, Find the rest of him and have yourself a snack, my pretty. Mwhahahahaha!”

“Hm.” Interesting. Kikimora had never liked him, but he hadn’t thought it extended to the point of attempted murder. And anyway, trying to kill him would be treason— Kikimora, insolent and annoying as she was, was at least faithful to the Emperor’s Coven. She wouldn’t stoop so low, would she? 

Then again, it wasn’t usual for people to resort to underhanded, cowardly methods to get what they wanted. And why would the human lie about where the palismen were? If she could have gotten to them, she would have taken them already. 

He still had to make a plan. That was easier said than done, though, thanks to the human’s incessant talking. 

“So, why does she want to kill you anyway?” Luz asked. “Do you owe her money? Did you answer one of her questions with your mom? Ooh, wait, do you know her deepest, darkest secret and plan to sell it to the highest bidder?” 

As the trees broke, Latissa appeared. It was a dense, walled, grimy city, and under any other circumstances, Hunter may have been happy to be here. He strode ahead of Luz, who was still listing theories that were growing more and more outlandish. 

“I’ve got it. You stole her—“ 

“She just doesn’t like me,” he said. 

“Doesn’t like you?” Luz repeated. “That sounds like an under-exaggeration. Man, Kikimora must hate you.” 

Hunter ignored her. Primary objective: get back the palismen. In order to do that, he had to catch up to Kikimora, which would require some sort of transportation, and perhaps backup. He knew exactly where to get that. 

This mission wasn’t over. He could still do this. 

“Whoa! I haven't been outside Bonesborough that much,” the human mused behind him. “Latissa is so cool!”

Her voice got farther and farther back but he didn’t stop. He didn’t have time for sightseeing, and he wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t left him yet. 

“Wait! Where are you going?” Luz hurried to catch up with him. Her voice took on a sharper edge. “Hey man, I just saved your life. The least you could do is tell me your name.” 

Hunter scowled, picking up his pace. He would’ve saved his own life if she hadn’t interfered. Also, why was she still here? They’d gotten away from “Hands” as she’d called the beast, and there was nothing else putting him in imminent danger. Didn’t she realize her (unnecessary) duty of keeping him alive was over? 

Before them, the narrow street spit out into a wide open square, and there, on its far side, was exactly what Hunter was looking for. 

Behind him, Luz gasped. Good. Maybe the knowledge of where he was going would get her to leave. 

She didn’t, but at least she shut up as Hunter led the way to the blocky building before them, the words police precinct 206 were emblazoned on its front. 

Outside it, there were several clusters of scouts, all chatting casually. Hunter marched up to one of them. “Scouts!” he ordered, “Direct me to your communications room. I need to contact the castle immediately.” He pulled back the cuff of his glove, exposing his wrist to show his coven sigil. 

“Cute,” one of the scouts said. “I didn't know kids your age were still into temporary tattoos.” 

“Yeah, show us your badge number,” another mocked. 

Hunter scowled. How dare they treat him like this? “I am your superior, and I can prove it!“ He turned expectantly to Luz, holding out his hand. “Staff.”

Luz looked between him and the guards before stuffing it behind her back. 

He looked at her incredulously. What was she doing? He needed that! 

“Isn't it a little late for you kids to be outside?” the second scout said. 

Hunter bristled. He wasn’t a kid! He was a very mature, very responsible Coven Head! 

“Yeah, go home before we call your parents,” the first scout said. 

Hunter watched them walk away incredulously. He was the Golden Guard, for Titan’s sake, not some— some child! How dare they just— walk away like that! He hated being out of uniform. This always happened. He could have dealt with the scouts’ original misconceptions— it wasn’t as though they knew what the Golden Guard looked like— but— 

He whirled around to face Luz, scowling. This was her fault. Now, he had to find another way to get the palismen back from Kikimora. 

He needed his staff. 

Hunter launched himself at her. 

Luz squeaked and took off.  

Latissa was infamous for its convoluted, maze-like streets. Hunter, having been patrolling the city for years, knew said streets. Luz, a human who spent most of her time in Bonesborough, did not. 

She darted down an alleyway, shoving a trashcan over, as if that would slow Hunter down, then threw herself down another side street, then another. 

If she thought she could lose him, she was sorely mistaken. 

Hunter wasn’t even phased when she vaulted off the roof of a building, onto another street a story below. He kept chasing, skidding to avoid citizens. 

Luz rounded another corner, disappearing from his view. 

Hunter followed, running beneath the archway to find her crouched in the dirt, staff in one hand. The palisman hovered beside her. 

He had her. 

He threw himself forward as the human cried, “Ice glyph!” A platform of ice rose from the dirt, throwing her upwards. She landed on the roof of a nearby building, leaving Hunter stuck below her. 

“Come on, Golden Guard,” she said, leering at him from above. “Don't you know any, like, levitation spells?” She waved her fingers. 

Yeah, Hunter. Use a fucking levitation spell, why don’t you? Oh, wait. You’re powerless. Useless. 

Hunter dropped his gaze, staring daggers at the building beside him instead. He hated his lack of magical ability enough without people rubbing it in. Why did they have to—

“Are you… powerless without this?” Luz’s tone had shifted from something taunting to curiosity.

Hunter fiercely wanted to prove her wrong. Let him have his staff and she’d see how powerless he was. He turned on his heel, walking back a few paces, then pivoted, and sprinted at the wall. He leaped atop a stone, then onto the building’s windowsill. He threw himself onto the roof of an adjacent building, then at last, jumped to pull himself up onto the building Luz was standing on, nearly falling in the process. 

Hunter wasn’t even able to appreciate that he hadn’t fallen to his almost-death twice in a day before he had more problems to deal with, like the blasts of energy the human was sending at him. He ducked out of the way, moving closer. 

Luz brandished his staff at him. “Back up, or—or else!” 

“Or else what?” She’d stopped trying to launch magic at him, so he took a few steps forward. “Gonna blast me to bits?” He laughed. “Nah, you're too nice for that. Fly away? Nuh-uh, you know you can't do that either, 'cause then you'll be leaving behind your precious palismen. You don't tend to think things through, do you, human?”

Luz made a face, knowing he was right. 

Hunter’s smugness was quickly forgotten in favor of the shadow that passed overhead, landing in front of the precinct. It seemed that in all their running, they’d worked their way in a circle of sorts, ending up where they’d started. He drew closer to the edge of the roof, staring at the scene before him. 

 Below, Kikimora patted the muzzle of the hand creature. The palismen nest sat behind them. 

“So Kikimora was after my catch,” Hunter mused. Her admission, weeks ago about her dedication to the Emperor came back to him. She thought he didn’t deserve his title or his uncle’s respect. When she’d been given them instead she was thrilled, and clearly she wanted to keep it that way. By stealing his palismen and giving them to Belos, she would earn even more of his favor, and with Hunter out of the picture…. 

Hunter was almost offended. Did she really think he was that easy to kill? 

“Seems like neither of us want her to win right now.” Luz broke the silence, coming up behind him. “So,” she said, “let's work together to take back those palismen!” 

Hunter snorted. “Then what? You think I'll just let you walk away with them?”

“Maybe,” Luz said, spinning the staff around, “you won't have a choice! I'm more formidable than you think.” It whacked her on the head and she fumbled it. 

Hunter’s heart almost stopped. It struck him as a real possibility that he might never get his staff back because the human was stupid and uncoordinated enough to drop it off a building. 

He glanced down at the square, at Kikimora and the palismen. There were at least a dozen coven scouts around them who thought he was some bratty teen, and her strange pet who would happily eat him. Without his staff, he didn’t stand much of a chance against them. Essentially, he concluded, his options were tag team with the human, or get arrested. Those were both horrible options. 

Titan. He’d thought this would be an easy mission. 

“I doubt that, but fine,” Hunter said coolly. “A truce till then.”

Luz held out her hand. “Truce!”

Hunter hesitated, looking for any sign of a trick. When there was none, he moved to shake her hand. 

At the last moment, Luz yanked her hand away, running it through her hair. “Too slow,” she said, then ran off, cackling. 

Hunter hated this option. So much. He grunted. “Let's just get this over with.”

Luz stopped in the center of the building, stooping to pick something up. She glanced at the wall in front of her, then back towards Kikimora’s pet. “Alright. We need a plan,” she said as Hunter approached. There was a determined glint to her eye. “And I think I have an idea.” 

Hunter crossed his arms. “Is it a legal idea?” 

“Maybe,” Luz said. “Can you find sleeping nettles?” 

“Sure,” he said. “Why?” 

“Because I, Luz Noceda, have the greatest plan ever conceived! When Kikimora takes off, we’ll follow her on your staff. Then, once she’s away from the scouts, we’ll force her to land and that’s when we rescue the palismen,” Luz said, turning her attention to the wall. She waved a hand at him. “Now shoo, I have a glyph to make.” 

“What are you—“ 

“Not talking to you. I’m focused. So focused.” 

“Human—“ 

There was a blur of red as the bird took off from Luz’s shoulder, moving to flap around Hunter’s head. It tugged at his hair, almost chiding. 

Hunter swatted at it. “Fine! Fine, I’m going!” He parkoured his way back down to the ground, wondering where he was going to find sleeping nettles, and relatively quickly, at that. 

Maybe the market would have some. Not that he had the money to buy sleeping nettles with him, but it was for the Emperor. Surely it wasn’t stealing if it was for such a cause. 

He made his way back around the twisted path he’d followed Luz, keeping an eye open. It was when he got to the square that he paused. Kikimora was in plain sight, as was the creature. It was imperative that neither of them saw him. Judging by the unmistakably smug look on Kikimora’s face, she thought she’d won and that Hunter was being digested. He would prefer to keep it that way, at least until he was actively stealing the palismen back. 

Hunter scanned the area, looking for a way to cross the square without risking being seen when he caught sight of the pink potted flowers sitting on a nearby window sill. Sleeping nettles. Jackpot. 

They were only a few yards away. He could do that. 

With a last glance at Kikimora, he darted out of the side street, ducking behind a heaping mound of trash. Hunter reached up and grabbed the pot, frowning. How was he supposed to climb a building with this? He scanned the trash pile and, wrinkling his nose, picked up a coarse burlap bag. He shook it out quickly before stuffing the plant inside, made sure the coast was clear, and slipped back under the archway and away from the square. 

When Hunter got back up to the roof, he found Luz finishing drawing something on the building’s face. It was an odd design made of circles with strange geometric shapes on their insides; two of the smaller circles sat directly across from each other, connected by a larger circle. At the bottom, another was drawn around a hole in the wall, connected to the larger circle as well. 

Though he’d never seen anything quite like it before, it didn’t take much for Hunter to figure out that this was magic. Wild magic. Was this how the human did it? He was fascinated. 

“Huh. I've never seen magic like this. What will it do?” Hunter stared at it, looking for some sort of clue. 

“Well, we don't want to spook Kikimora's steed, because it might drop the nest and hurt the palismen! So,” Luz said proudly, waving her hands, “using these fire and ice spells, I can command the glyphs to produce a thick mist!”

“And the sleeping nettles?” Hunter asked. How did they fit into this? He had an idea, but maybe Luz would do it differently. He pulled the pot, nettles fortunately still intact, and handed it over.

“They're essential!” Luz took them, kneeling down to tuck them into the encircled hole. “Combined with the magic mist, it'll create—“

“A sleep-inducing smoke, forcing Kikimora to land!” Hunter finished. 

Luz stared at him. 

Hunter shifted. “Oh, um, I— I— I read a similar spell in Bones to Earth—“

“—A Study of Wild Magic!” Luz beamed. “Eda once pickpocketed the guy who wrote it.” 

“I've never seen glyphs before,” Hunter said, turning his attention back to the wall, “but it seems very similar to the elemental magic practiced in the Savage Ages.”

“Really?” Luz leaned forward. 

“Actually, not many people know this, but—“ Hunter broke off. He remembered his uncle’s stares, the disapproval that radiated off of him whenever Hunter mentioned wild magic. The curse. “No. No, no, no, no. This stuff is restricted for a reason,” he said, looking away. “You should forget about it before you're hurt.” 

“Uh huh.…” Luz didn’t look like she believed him. “Other than Lilith, I've never spoken to someone inside the Emperor's Coven. What made you want to join?” 

Hunter… hadn’t been expecting that response. He’d thought she would tell him that no, wild magic is soooo cool, actually! So much better than coven magic! What makes you think it’s dangerous? Belos sucks! He hadn’t expected her to ask… that. 

There were so many ways he could have answered that. It’s the best coven, duh. Who doesn’t want to joint the Emperor’s Coven? Wouldn’t you like to know?

Instead, he slumped against the wall. 

“You were right before.” Hunter fidgeted with his gloves. “I'm a powerless witch. A lot of my ancestors were. I never thought I'd have a future in a world like this. But then, Belos found me and gave me a staff with artificial magic. He said the Titan had big plans for me.”

More than that, his uncle had taken him in when he’d had nowhere else to go. He could picture the fire, the chaos that unfolded as wild witches ravished his home, the destruction left in their wake; his uncle appearing, walking him through the ashes that were left of his village, a guiding hand on his shoulder; being given his own room, then an education, endless opportunity. Hunter hadn’t given his uncle anything— he had just done it, because he was a good person, because they were family. After all that, didn’t Hunter owe it to him to be the best witch he could? To carry out his and the Titan’s plans? To help however he could? 

“At least you have your future figured out now,” Luz said, sounding glum. 

“At least you can figure out your own,” Hunter replied without thinking. He loved his uncle, he truly did, and the chances he’d been given— but sometimes he wondered if maybe there could have been another path he could’ve taken. 

What was he thinking? That was stupid. He was literally the second most powerful person on the Boiling Isles, right hand man to the Emperor, the youngest Golden Guard yet, and the head of the best coven. Why would he want anything else?

Hunter was pulled from his thoughts by a new weight on his arm, the bird that had been following Luz faithfully all night. It was a small, red thing with an odd scar over one eye. Not like any bird he had ever seen. 

His heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t a bird. It was a palisman. Wild magic incarnate. 

He flinched violently, swatting at the thing as it flew from its perch on his elbow to the ground. “Hey!” It pecked at his boot and he scooted away. “Stop! Get away from me!” 

The stupid thing didn’t listen, following him. 

For some reason, Luz found it funny. She laughed. “He's just being friendly,” she said, as though it wasn’t a palisman. 

“I don't care.” Hunter pushed the thing away with his foot. “These things are made from wild magic. It's dangerous!”

“And does he look dangerous to you?” Luz asked. 

The palisman looked up at him. 

It didn’t. Look dangerous. Actually, with the way it was tilting its head, it was kind of cute. But that was part of its trap. They probably lured witches in with their adorable little hopping and tiny little beaks and then corrupted them with wild magic. 

It chirped, shuffling in place. It met Hunter’s eyes. 

There was a roar in the distance and his head snapped up. The moment was gone, whatever this weird openness with the human was. Now, he had a mission to do. He stood, moving to the side of the building, where Kikimora’s steed was taking off. 

“Masks on,” Luz instructed. She held out a scrap of grey fabric. Where she’d gotten it, Hunter didn’t know. He vaguely hoped it was sanitary and he wasn’t going to contract anything from breathing it in. 

When they’d both tied their masks, Luz continued. 

“Once they're surrounded by the smoke, we'll need to stay close to see where they land.”

Okay. Hunter could do that. He nodded, then glanced towards the sky. Hopefully the mist wouldn’t obscure too much of the light from the stars— it would be incredibly hard to follow Kikimora otherwise. 

Off to his side, something moved. He turned his head. 

Luz was holding out his staff. 

Hunter stared at her. She was just— giving him that? She knew he was powerless without it, knew that he would fight her for the palismen, knew that he couldn’t be trusted. Yet for some unfathomable reason, here she was, offering him his weapon.

“Are you… sure?”

Luz thrust it at him. “Just take it!”

He took it. He almost wished he hadn’t. 

There was no time to reflect; the creature was already flying overhead and with a grunt Luz slammed her hands into the glyphs. From them, a dull mist began to fill the air, reaching up towards the sky. 

Hunter made sure his mask was secure, then mounted his staff. Luz hopped on behind him and they were off. 

They trailed a ways behind Kikimora, rising above the mist that enveloped her. Any moment, Hunter thought, watching. 

Sure enough, the creature began to sway, losing its altitude as it tried moving sluggishly through the air. Kikimora could be heard cursing, though not as vehemently as usual. 

“I think it’s working,” he said. 

Something lit up behind him— a quick glance back showed that it was something the human’s magic had conjured. 

Whether she had meant it as simply a way to see as they descended back through the fog or to attract the creature’s attention, Hunter didn’t know. He assumed it was the second option. Narrowing his concentration, he put on a burst of speed, moving ahead of the beast, scanning the ground for somewhere to land where the palismen nest wouldn’t be snagged on any trees or damaged. A clearing appeared before him and he steered towards it. 

The creature took the bait, following as it careened towards the ground. It crashed with a loud thud, dead asleep. The palismen nest tumbled away from it, landing on its side. 

Hunter landed beside it. 

Luz was off the staff in a heartbeat, opening the hatch to reveal a cluster of palismen. The one on her shoulder hopped inside, twittering. 

“Aw, you guys must be so cold and scared. Here.” She took off her cloak, tucking it around the bundle of palismen. 

Hunter got off the staff, watching. His eyes were drawn back to the bird that had been trying to befriend him earlier. It looked… innocent. They all did. Just like the snow scares that he saw on a mission at the Knee once, or the wisps at the Toes. 

For a brief moment, he imagined his uncle’s gloved hand, closing around the creature, squeezing and— 

No. No, he wasn’t going to feel bad for them. They were dangerous, made of wild magic, and at least this way, they wouldn’t hurt anyone. This way, they would help. 

The splintering of wood, the magic oozing out from the destroyed little thing, the powerful gleam to Uncle’s eyes—

Titan, he hated being put in this situation. Since when had he questioned his uncle’s orders? Since when had he felt bad for a hunk of wood?

His hands grasped his staff a little tighter. 

You shouldn’t have given it back, he thought. You shouldn’t have let me do this. 

“Make sure you share. Now, stay in here, okay? We'll get you home safe and—“ 

Hunter summoned the magic to the tip of his staff. 

He had a job to do. 

Luz glanced back at him, face hardening as she closed the nest’s door and turned to face him. “So you're really gonna do this?” she said, sounding upset. “You're just gonna hand all these innocent little guys over to Belos? I know what he does with them.”

She doesn’t understand, Hunter told himself. She doesn’t know about the curse. It’s for the greater good. 

(He thought about the palismen, their little broken bodies. He tried not to feel sick.)

“I thought you might've been a good guy. But I guess that was just wishful thinking. You're not my friend. You're just the Golden Guard.”

You’re just the Golden Guard. That was all he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be the Golden Guard, to live up to that title. 

So why did it make him feel so awful now?

But no— no, he wasn’t just the Golden Guard. The Golden Guard wouldn’t hesitate, the Golden Guard wouldn’t feel bad about doing his job, feel bad about serving the Emperor. Inexplicably, though, Hunter did. 

And that was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? Everyone thought he was just the Golden Guard. Just another soldier, just another mask, just another one of the Emperor's lackeys. But he wasn’t. No matter how much he wanted to be, he wasn’t.

It hit him, very abruptly, how much he hated it. How much he despised it. The whispers that followed him though the streets (That’s the Golden Guard! The Golden Guard—!). The neverending pressure from the castle (I can depend on you. Right?). The way he tried, Titan did he try to be the Golden Guard, cold and unfeeling and effective, but as much as he wished it, he wasn’t— that. Beneath the mask, he was just a person trying his best to help— his uncle, the Titan, the Isles— why couldn’t anyone see that? 

In that moment, he so pathetically, so desperately, just wanted to see him as Hunter. Hunter who just wanted what was best for everyone, Hunter who just wanted to help his uncle, Hunter who just wanted to be enough. Hunter who couldn’t live up to the Guard’s mantle. He didn’t think he could explain it beyond that. 

He lowered his mask. Deactivated his staff. 

“My name,” he said, “is Hunter.” 

Luz’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something. 

Something slammed into the side of Hunter’s face, hard. He staggered, raising his staff as he whirled around. 

Of course Kikimora would choose now to recontinue being a pain in Hunter’s ass. Of course. 

“I can’t tell who’s there,” she said, drawing another shaky spell circle, “but I know I’ve got you!” 

The bolt of magic went straight for Luz. Hunter batted it out of the way with his staff. 

As Kikimora struggled to her feet, shooting another blast at them, he pulled back up his mask and changed forward. 

He dodged the next spell, then teleported away from another, landing behind Kikimora. A well placed strike of his staff sent her flying across the clearing. 

Beneath the mask, Hunter grinned. He’d been wanting to do that for ages. 

Kikimora landed in a heap in front of Luz. She raised her head, then her arm. 

Oh, shit. 

In a flash of red Hunter was there, blocking the spell and striking Kikimora again. Apparently, this wasn’t over. 

Stubbornly, she persisted. “This is treason against a coven official!” 

Why, yes, Kiki, it is, Hunter wanted to say. Against me! 

“I will have your head!” Kikimora howled, firing off another spell. 

Hunter jumped out of the way but not fast enough; it singed his stray lock of hair and he raised a hand to quell the spark. 

Okay. Now it was really on. 

He met Kikimora’s attacks with a new determination, striking harder, deflecting faster. He was so focused that he scarcely heard the shrill whistle behind him, or the creature taking flight. 

He deflected a last one of her attacks, sending the magic right back at her, and Kikimora fell, battered and bruised and finally unconscious and no longer Hunter’s problem.  

He turned around and glanced skyward, watching as the creature flew off, palismen in tow. The human looked down at him from atop the saddle. 

Hunter pulled down his mask as they disappeared out of sight. 

The palismen were gone. He’d failed his mission. Now, he was going to have to go back to the castle, empty handed, and tell his uncle he had no palismen for him (no cure for him), that his uncle had been wrong (he had failed him), he couldn’t depend on Hunter. 

The palismen were gone, and Hunter shuddered to think what that would mean for him. For Belos. 

He could go after them. He could chase the human down and—

Hunter stopped. No, he couldn’t do that. He— 

“ Fuck!” He kicked a stray pebble near his foot. Fuck Kikimora, fuck that stupid human, the stupid queasy feeling he got when he thought about taking those stupid palismen to his uncle. 

He was going back empty handed. 

Again. 

His meeting with his uncle had gone better than expected. His uncle’s curse had barely lashed out compared to times past. There was no punishment beyond his disappointment. 

“These outbursts are painful,” Uncle had said scathingly, “and so is watching you fail.” Then, more gently, “I know you can do better, Hunter.”  

Hunter, quite frankly, was utterly relieved. His uncle knew that he was capable of more— he’d at least proven something today. He was also almost equally frustrated. If his uncle knew Hunter was capable, why wouldn’t he trust him with trying to cure his curse? Why wouldn’t he tell him more? 

Hunter thought that maybe it was to protect him— Belos had had nothing, no one to protect him from wild magic, after all, he was just trying to keep Hunter from getting hurt. But Hunter wasn’t a child. He didn’t need protecting. He could do more! 

His research was going slowly, and it was growing more and more clear to him by the paragraph that he needed to know more, not about wild magic, but about how his uncle had become cursed. 

He dropped onto his bed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. 

“I can help,” he said to the empty room. “If I just knew a little more.…” 

There was a chirp from his side. 

Huh? 

Hunter uncovered his eyes and sat up, turning his head towards the noise. 

There, on his windowsill, was the red palisman from before. It hopped a little closer, twittering again. 

He reached out. “Palisman!” 

It looked up at him with round eyes, warm in his grasp. Considering Hunter had tried to kidnap it earlier, it looked oddly content. 

He could turn it into Belos. The mission wouldn’t have been a complete failure, then. All he would have to do is walk across the castle— his uncle would see him in a minute and there was no doubt he would be pleased. 

Hands closing around the bird’s warm body, the sound of it splintering into a dozen shards, its magic— its lifeforce— drifting lazily upward, into the holes of Belos’ mask, its vibrant red color turning to ash as it disintegrated—

The bird chirped. 

Hunter realized he had been squeezing it. He let go. “Oh! Sorry.” He frowned as he sat down, absently stroking the thing’s feathers. “You shouldn't be here. It'd be bad if Belos saw you.”

The bird kept looking up at him, still content. It chirped, fluttering above Hunter’s lap, and then—

It glowed a faint yellow as from its clawed feet extended a beautiful, wooden staff, growing still as it fell into Hunter’s hands. 

Hunter stared at it. 

Was that— did the bird just— 

The palisman had very clearly just transformed itself into a witch’s staff. There were two things Hunter knew for certain about that from his research. 

One, palismen could only be used by magic-wielding witches. 

And two, they only did— that— for their witches. 

Hunter had been claimed by a palisman. 

“Oh,” he said, struggling to process. “I was… not expecting that.” 

The staff sat in his hands as though it had been made for him. Lightweight and perfectly balanced, even more so than his artificial one. 

Why had it done that? Hunter couldn’t even perform magic on his own— he was barely a witch, not to mention, had not twenty four hours earlier attempted to take this same palisman to be devoured by his uncle. Why claim him? Of all the witches out there— all the better witches with which it had a better chance of survival— why him? 

Something pressed up against the edge of his mind; a fuzzy impression of happiness, determination— 

That wasn’t him. Why was there someone else in his head who wasn’t him? He whipped his head around trying to find the culprit, then dropped his gaze to the (his?) palisman. 

The not-his feeling on the fringes of his consciousness grew distinctly pleased and Hunter jerked, throwing the staff away from him. “What the fuck.” 

The palisman morphed back into its non-staff form, flapping back towards Hunter. 

Hunter threw himself backwards onto the bed, scrambling until he hit the headboard. “Holy Titan. Oh, motherfucking son of a— stay back!” he yelped. “Stay back, you— tree thing!” 

Something like confusion passed through their— was it a bond? Hunter wasn’t sure he was ready to think about that quite yet. 

“And stay out of my head!” He grabbed the object nearest to him, a worn pillow that he brandished as he would his staff. 

The bird landed on the edge of the bed. It chirped once, hopping around on the rumpled blankets. 

Hunter watched it anxiously. 

It moved a little closer and he tensed up. As though sensing his discomfort, it moved back, kneading the blankets with its little feet before settling down with a last peep. And then stayed there, blinking up at him. 

Slowly, Hunter uncurled. He set down the pillow tentatively. 

It’s wild magic, he reminded himself, even as he let his guard down a little more. Just because it looks cute doesn’t mean it’s good. It was in your HEAD. That’s not natural. It’s DANGEROUS. 

The bird, seemingly satisfied, chirped. It hopped back up, and with a few flaps of its wings, came to rest on Hunter’s knee. 

Hunter looked down at it. Slowly, slowly, he raised a hand to pet it. 

It leaned into the touch, clearly triumphant. And Hunter…. 

“There’s a palisman in my bedroom,” he said blankly. Then again, with more feeling, “There’s a palisman in my bedroom.”  

The bird twittered as though in agreement. 

“And—“ He swallowed. “And you’re here for me?” 

Hunter hadn’t known birds could have expressions, but the look on its face was pretty self evident. Duh. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Chapter Text

Eventually, the bird— his palisman— moved from his knee back to the little nest it had made before in his blankets. It settled down, eyes closing. 

Outside, the sky had gone dark. The bird certainly had the right idea. By now, most people would be sleeping. 

Not Hunter. Instead, he leaned up against his headboard, head spinning. 

Hunter had never thought he’d be a true witch. He supposed that once, a long time ago, he must have twirled his hands in the air trying to create a spell, before Belos had taken him in, though he didn’t remember it. He’d been powerless as long as he could remember, watching scouts craft the most fantastical of spells while knowing he could never do the same. That was why when he’d come to the castle and been told he had a future, it had seemed like some sort of miracle. Powerless witches had no place in a magicless society. Until him. 

He remembered his uncle showing him the artificial staff he had created, remembered him saying you’ll have to earn it. Hunter had thrown himself into his studies and his training until at last, Uncle had presented it to him. After that, he looked after the staff perhaps even more attentively that he’d observed other witches taking care of their palismen. It was his lifeline. He remembered vividly the first mission he had been on when he lost it in a fight and how powerless he felt. Still just half a witch. 

Hunter had fought, tooth and nail in this magic-based society, thinking he would always be the odd one out. And yet, here, in front of him, was a palisman that had claimed him. 

Palismen only claimed witches. Real witches. Did that mean—? 

Hunter spun his index finger in a circle. Nothing. Of course. The palisman did look awfully beat up, after all, with its scarred eye; perhaps it had made a mistake. 

Still, the implications of being claimed by a palisman rotated in his mind. And, alongside them, a far more grave issue. 

Hunter was in possession of a palisman. His uncle needed palisman. Watching the little bird’s chest rise and fall, the thought of turning it in to him made Hunter feel nauseous, and he resolved not to. There was another way to help Belos, he only needed to find it. But in the meantime, what was he supposed to do with a palisman? If his uncle found it…. 

It’ll just have to leave, Hunter decided. It was better for everyone that way. The palisman would survive, his uncle wouldn’t feel as though Hunter had let him down, and Hunter wouldn’t have to lie to his uncle about anything else. 

That settled it. As soon as it woke up, Hunter would convince it to go. But until then…. 

He eyed one of the books at his bedside. 

Hunter startled awake, hunched over One Hundred and One Magical Properties of Palismen Throughout the Ages. There was a crick in his neck that hadn’t been there before and a dull pain in his back. He sat up, something moving around on his head. 

Wait. 

He reached up, hand coming back down with the red bird in tow. 

“Were you in my hair?” He stared at it, incredulous. 

The bird chirped in confirmation. 

“That’s not a nest, bird,” he said. 

The bird shifted around in his hand. Automatically, he loosened his grip, and the thing wriggled free, flapping its wings a few times, then coming to land back on top of his head. 

“Hey!” Hunter tried swatting at it. “That isn’t yours, doofus—“ 

There was a rap at the door. 

Hunter froze for a moment, then snatched the bird up. He scrambled off the bed, knocking the book from his lap to the floor, and yanked open a somewhat empty drawer of his desk. He shoved the palisman inside unceremoniously, shutting it with a snap. Then, he gathered himself, phutzing with his hair, and moved to open the door. 

“Uh,” the scout in front of him said. “Captain sent me. I have this for you. From the Emperor. Uh, Mr. Guard Sir. It’s for you. So, uh….” He held out an envelope awkwardly. 

Hunter grabbed it. “Thanks.” He shut the door. 

Dropping the envelope on his desk, he opened the drawer. 

Inside, the bird was unphased. It twittered, blinking up at him. 

Hunter scooped it up with both hands. “That was a close call. And exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” He moved over to the open window. “If you stay here, you’re not safe. And… let’s be honest: I’m barely a witch, and definitely not worth getting into that much trouble over. You should go.” 

The bird flapped its wings, taking off. Hunter felt something akin to relief; it was going to go, it was going to be okay— and then it yanked the stray strand of hair dangling in front of his face. 

“Ow! What was that for?” he demanded. 

There was a flash of not-his exasperation on the edge of his mind and he startled. 

“I don’t speak palisman,” he said, scowling. “Go on. Shoo. Get outta here.” 

The bird planted itself on the windowsill. 

Clearly, palismen weren’t as intelligent as he’d read, or this one was just stupid, because it didn’t seem to be getting the memo. 

“Look,” Hunter said, gesturing sharply with his hands. “If you stay here, you will die. You’ll be eaten by my uncle so he doesn’t turn into a goop monster. It will be very painful, and very not fun.” 

The bird blinked at him. 

Hunter groaned. “What part of that is so hard to understand? You need to leave!” 

The bird sat down, preening its feathers. Though the feeling that brushed against Hunter’s consciousness had no words, he understood it perfectly. Make me.  

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. Maybe I will.” He snatched his cloak from off his desk chair and fastened it; then his mask. He flipped up the hood and grabbed his staff from where it leaned against the desk. 

The bird observed him, cocking its head. 

Hunter held out a hand. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.” 

The bird flew over to the perch he provided happily. It twittered as Hunter tucked it into his cloak. 

“ Not a word,” he warned once the bird was out of sight. Then, heart hammering, he slipped out of his room. 

You’re fine, Hunter told himself. Just act like you’re supposed to be here. Which you are. You literally live here. 

The sun was up by now, which meant there were far more guards in the corridors than by night. Fine. That was fine. They saluted him and Hunter tried to act like everything was Perfectly Normal. Which it totally was. 

Had an Oracle told him a week ago that he’d be halfway to a panic attack while sneaking a palisman out of the castle to prevent his uncle, who desperately needed palismen to stave off his curse, from obtaining said palisman, Hunter would have laughed in their face. 

Then again, Hunter wasn’t sure the Oracle Coven could have predicted this. 

He stepped out onto the drawbridge with no one any the wiser of what he was carrying. He reached the end of it, beginning to mount his staff. He was home free, he just had to take off— 

“Uh, sir?” 

Hunter whirled around, coming face to face with the captain. 

She glanced between him and the clipboard she was carrying. “I don’t see you on the list of departures for this morning. Your patrol isn’t until this afternoon, and you’ll be taking an airship.” 

“I am well aware of that, Captain,” he said, summoning his confident, I-am-your-superior tone. “This is a last minute task. I didn’t have time to register it.” 

“Oh,” the captain said, “Well, if you could just tell me what y—“ 

“Official Coven business,” Hunter said haughtily. “It’s on a need to know basis. You understand.” 

 “Well, yes,” she said, flustered, “but protocol—“ 

“Byeeee!” Hunter said, and launched himself into their air. 

Only when the castle had faded into the distance behind him did he exhale. “Whew. That was close.” 

Beneath his cloak, the bird chirped. 

Hunter laughed, almost giddily. He’d done it! Finally, a task he’d done successfully. The palisman would be fine, as per the plan, and Belos— 

Hunter’s stomach rolled. Uncle would be furious if he found out. Is this the thanks I get for taking you in? he’d asked when Hunter came back empty handed. 

Of course not! Hunter had sworn. And now… and now…. 

It suddenly hit him that he was well and truly disobeying his uncle. Hurting his uncle. He thought of the curse, the way it pained him. How it made his body contort and writhe and transform. 

He should take the palisman back. Bring it to his uncle. Uncle would be pleased, it would help him, it would— 

He thought of the palismen. Luz’s conviction when she’d said I know what he does with them. Imagined the bird, splintered beyond repair, its magic leached out of it. 

The bird twittered, shuffling around. Alive. 

“You’re not helping,” Hunter grumbled. When had this gotten so complicated? 

He kept flying. 

Just this one palisman, he told himself. Just this one. He’d find others for his uncle. 

It was okay, so long as it was just this one. 

Right? 

Hunter steered towards the ground somewhere above one of the lower Rib forests. He landed in a clearing and got off his staff. After a quick glance around, he pulled off his mask. 

The bird flapped out from beneath his cape, landing back on his outstretched hand. It tilted its head at him, chirping. 

“You’re a bird,” Hunter said. “You must like trees, right? Here you go. Lots of trees.” 

The bird sat there. 

“Just go,” Hunter said. He looked away from it. Why did he care so much? “Please.” 

A beat, then the bird twittered, and took off. Hunter watched it disappear into the foliage. 

There. All done. The bird was gone and Hunter didn’t have to feel sick when he thought about giving it to his uncle. And he couldn’t feel guilty about keeping palismen from his uncle if he had no palismen. Case closed, end of story. 

Something in his chest ached, but he ignored it. The stupid bird was gone, and with it, hopefully all these feelings. Eugh. Now, he could get back to his job. 

He put his mask back on and got back on his staff. Without a word, he took off. 

Upon returning to the castle, Hunter set off scrambling to catch up on his work. He’d missed the time he usually devoted to training, so he skipped that, instead racing to get to a meeting he had to be at, about planning the annual Coven Day Parade. It was still a month out, but as one of the biggest festivals of the year, it required quite a bit of maintenance.

It was yet another meeting run by Kikimora. And she was pissed. 

Hunter was almost proud of himself. If this was what surviving assasination attempts did to her, he should do it more often. She spent most of the meeting scowling at him, speaking tersely every time he asked her a question. So, naturally, he made a valiant effort to pull her into conversation. 

“How do we plan on dealing with crowd control?” he asked. “With the rates of witches joining Covens rising, it’s not a stretch to say that attendance will be up this year. Any suggestions? Kiki?” 

Kikimora went bright red. “Plenty, Golden Guard,” she said, livid. “As one of the Emperor’s most trusted confidants, I’ve been overseeing this ceremony for years.” 

“Well, then?” Darius prompted, unimpressed. “Do enlighten us, Kiki.”

Kikimora grew even more flushed, which was impressive. Hunter grinned beneath his mask. 

Needless to say, it was one of the most pleasant meeting’s he’d attended. 

From there, he went straight to patrol, this time with Severine and Karl. The airship landed in front of Latissa’s police precinct, and Hunter glanced across the square, his eyes easily finding the rooftop he and Luz had stood on. Had that only been last night? 

He disembarked the ship to come face to face with a couple of scouts. One of them scribbled something on their clipboard. 

“Heya, Mr. Guard, sir,” the scout said. “On patrol?” 

“You know,” the other scout said, “the other night, we had some kid claiming to be you. We handled it.” He crossed his arms. 

“Did you,” Hunter said flatly. 

The scout with the clipboard froze. “Uh—“ 

“Oh, yeah,” the other scout went on. “He was super scrawny. Kinda a brat. There’s no way he would ever be in the Emperor’s Coven.” 

“Chris!” the clipboard scout hissed. 

“Probably, like, twelve,” Chris continued, oblivious. 

“I see,” Hunter said. 

“Yeah, and he had this super annoying voice,” Chris said.

And hold up. Hunter’s voice was not annoying! 

“Totally—“ Chris broke off. If Hunter had to guess, he was making some sort of oh-shit-I-just-fucked-up-big-time face. “I mean— a totally not annoying voice, and uh—“ 

“Show me your badge numbers,” Hunter said. Oh, how the tables had turned. He was enjoying this. 

The scouts fumbled for their IDs. 

“I’ll be informing your superior about this,” Hunter said. “Oh, wait. That’s me.” 

They waited, frozen. 

Hunter waved them off. “Have a good rest of your shift,” he said dismissively. With that, he walked off.      

“Dude, what the heck?” Clipboard demanded. “Why the fuck did you just call the Golden Guard scrawny and annoying to his face?”

“I didn’t say he was annoying, just that his voice was,” Chris insisted. “And how was I supposed to know he was just some kid? The last guy was totally legal!” 

“I don’t know! Listened to his annoying voice when he started talking? Now we’re done for. He’s gonna kick us out of the Emperor’s Coven. I’m gonna have to go back to the pointy hat coven.” 

“Better than the tiny cat coven.”

They continued bickering back and forth as Hunter strolled out of hearing range. Let them be paranoid for a couple days, then get them transferred to something horrendous, like castle cleaning duty. Oh, yeah, he would have a blast doing that. 

Latissa was different in the light of day, different with a mask on, when he wasn’t trying to avoid being eaten by a hand thing. Walking out of the square, he filed away a note in his head to figure out what those things were the next time he stopped at the library, then forced himself to focus on his present mission. 

He wandered through an urban residential street, taking in the buildings, the residents. A group of kids raced between him and Severine, chasing a miniature grudgby ball down the road. Further down, a witch watered her potted flowers on a windowsill, and two demons chatted amicably. All was well here. The same was true for the rest of the neighborhood. 

In the busier district, the streets were far more populated. People weaved through the crowds, slipped in and out of shops. Still, it seemed relatively under control. When Hunter left, he’d made no arrests. That was a nice change. 

As the airship left Latissa behind, Hunter watched it go. Just twenty four hours ago…. 

He turned to the darkening sky. 

The journey back was quiet. Karl took the wheel, leaving Hunter and Severine to stand at the rail or sit. By the time they touched down again, the sky had gone black, the stars covered by a thick layer of clouds. It was starting to smell vaguely of rain; a damp, acidic scent that had Hunter walking just a little faster across the drawbridge and into the castle. 

With the rain, his uncle wouldn’t expect anything of him but to be productive. No training in the courtyard, no other missions, no scheduled Coven meetings. Hunter had an open night. Perfect for research. 

He took a quick detour to the kitchens and snagged a water and a serving of beast keeper’s pie before retiring to his room, hands full. Once inside, he awkwardly maneuvered to lean his staff against the wall, then made to set the plate atop his desk. He caught sight of the letter sitting there; with everything that had happened today, he’d completely forgotten about it. 

Hunter set the plate and water aside, pulled off his mask, and grabbed the letter. He slit the seal and pulled it out. 

 Hunter, 

Please come see me tomorrow morning. Constructing a portal to the Human Realm has been far more difficult than expected, and I would greatly appreciate your assistance. 

— Belos 

There was a flutter of excitement in his stomach. Still holding the letter, he sat down on his bed, food forgotten. His uncle wanted him to help build his portal. Hunter. Help build the portal. 

Uncle had been working on it for weeks, and as far as Hunter knew, hadn’t let another soul so much as touch it. It was precise, tedious work that couldn’t go wrong, and the only person his uncle had trusted to not mess it up was himself. And now Hunter. 

Hunter grinned. 

Maybe he would get to hear more about the Human Realm. Where his uncle had gotten so many stories he didn’t know, but they were always fascinating. Maybe— 

Something chirped from his window. 

Hunter whipped his head around. “Huh?” 

In his rush that morning, he had never closed the window. Now, the bird was sitting there, twittering happily once it realized it had been spotted. 

“You!” Hunter stared at it. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “I told you you had to go! You can’t—“ 

There was a loud crack of thunder that made him flinch, and with that, the rain began pouring down. 

Without thinking, Hunter launched himself at the window, snatching the bird up and slamming the glass pane shut. A quick glance at his arms showed that he wasn’t burned, and the bird seemed to look okay. 

“Fucking—“ He looked back at the window and sighed. He couldn’t just send it out into the rain. “Alright,” he said. “You can stay. For now. But no shenanigans.”

It chirped. A not-his feeling of contentment pressed against his mind. 

He dropped the bird on instinct. 

It flapped its wings, coming to rest on the bed, giving him a look. 

“That’s— weird,” Hunter said. “Don’t give me that look.” 

Hunter got a feeling that he guessed translated to something along the lines of I’ll give you that look if I want to, pal. 

“I’m just saying!” He threw his hands up. “If people were supposed to have other people or animals or whatever in their heads, everyone would be able to mind meld or something. It’s not normal! That’s all.” 

The bird was still unimpressed. Well, that was its problem. 

Hunter walked around to his desk, grabbing his no longer steaming food and the tome he was currently in the middle of. He dropped the book on the bed and made a shooing motion to the palisman. “Budge up. I’ve got work to do.” 

The bird considered him, and after a moment’s debate, took off. 

Hunter had about two seconds of relief and satisfaction before he realized where the bird was going. “No— no, not my hair!”

It dodged his flailing arms, landing on his head with a satisfied cheap and a vague air smugness. 

“I’ll turn you into kindling,” Hunter threatened. 

The bird just nestled further into its nest, kneading his hair with its little feet, which felt… weirdly good. Still, he fought. 

“I’ll let Kikimora’s hand… thing…  use you as a chew toy!” 

The bird didn’t respond. 

He groaned. It was up there to stay, he supposed. For now. He flipped open the book to the page he’d left off at. Shoveling a forkful of pie into his mouth, he scanned through a chapter on the filtering of wild magic. Every so often, he ditched his fork to scribble something down. The bird stayed on his head the whole while. And then—

And then. 

Towards the end of the chapter, there was a set of illustrations of a palisman. A colorful palisman, a large, flamboyant bird of some sort. In one, it was in staff form, a large but ornamental carving. In the next, a majestic creature, captured with its wings spread in flight. 

The bird on his head twittered. 

An idea started to formulate in Hunter’s mind. 

“You’re a palisman,” he said. 

The bird chirped as though to say, well, duh. 

“Which means you’re made from wild magic,” Hunter continued, gaining steam. “Wild magic cursed Uncle— maybe the best way to cure him isn’t just by reading about wild magic. If I studied you....” 

The bird glided down from his hair, landing beside the illustration. It quirked its head. 

Belos wouldn’t take well to Hunter hiding a palisman from him, especially not if it was with the intent of learning firsthand about wild magic. It would have to be a closely guarded secret. No one could know, or even suspect. He would tell his uncle, of course, after he had cured him, but until then….

“Okay, bird,” Hunter said. “Welcome to the castle.” 

The next morning, after giving the bird strict instructions to stay in his room for the love of  theTitan, Hunter set out for his uncle’s private chambers. Was he confident the palisman would follow his instructions? No. Though he’d known it for such a short time, it seemed very unlikely to do anything it didn’t want to, and clearly, it’s safety wasn’t much of a factor in its reasoning, seeing as it had quite literally come back to the castle after Hunter had deliberately released it and explained that it was dangerous there. But, it was out of his hands now. 

He came to a stop outside the oaken doors and straightened the clasp of his cloak before knocking and slipping inside. 

At the end of the grand room was the portal, sleek as always. His uncle stood before it, mask off, gazing at it. He turned around, catching sight of Hunter. 

“Hunter,” he said, smiling ever so slightly. “I’m glad you received my summons. You needn’t bother with the mask, it’s just us.” 

Hunter pulled off his mask, placing it on the small work table his uncle gestured to. “What do you need my help with?” 

His uncle turned back to the portal. “You’re a smart boy,” he said, not answering the question. “Tell me, Hunter, how do you think this works?” 

Hunter looked it over carefully, taking a few steps closer. “The wings have a similar structure to the one on my staff— the perfect shape for generating artificial magic. Since it’s so large, it probably was made to generate a larger amount than a staff,” he suggested. His eyes wandered to the tubing coming out of it. “But that’s not a big enough power source to activate it on its own. So the tubes distribute some kind of power to activate the magic. And the door must combine them somehow, and that reaction is what creates the portal.” 

“Impressive.” His uncle gave him another one of those rare, almost smiles. “Yes. A vast amount of artificial magic is generated by the wings. The tubes, however, don’t carry power. They direct a flow of unfiltered magic to the door, where, like you said, the magics mix and in theory, create a reaction that should open the door.” 

Hunter’s brow furrowed. Unfiltered magic? “But that’s… wild magic.”

“I suppose so,” his uncle said. “I’m very glad that you’re wary of it. But so long as we’re careful, so long as it doesn’t become public knowledge, it’s acceptable.” 

“Oh,” Hunter said lamely. 

“Now,” his uncle said briskly, “the issue I’m having is that despite the reaction between the magics, it’s utterly useless. It won’t form the portal. I was wondering, perhaps, if you had any suggestions? I know you’re quite adept with the mechanics of your staff. Perhaps there’s something that I missed, or something you’ve noticed while tinkering.” 

It was true; Hunter was excellent with disassembling and fixing his staff after having it broken on a mission once. It was never something he had advertised, and it warmed him to know his uncle had noticed. This, however, was far larger and far more complex than his staff. 

Still, his uncle had entrusted it to him, and Hunter refused to let him down. 

He set to work, inspecting the wiring within the wings, more warily (but also a little more curiously) the system through which the wild magic was brought in. Both were fine. Combined, they generated an almost incomprehensible amount of power. Hunter couldn’t say he knew much about portal magic— it was a lost art, after all— but shouldn’t that have been enough magic to power the door? It wasn’t leaking out anywhere, or they would know. The effects would be catastrophic. 

Hunter was suddenly struck by a thought. There were no books in the castle’s library about portals that details how to make one. His uncle must have come into contact with one, or been showed how to make one, and— Hunter glanced at the tubing for the wild magic— must have done it wrong. Maybe that was how he’d gotten cursed! 

He knew better than to ask, though, so stowed away the thought. Instead, he refocused his attention to where things must have been going wrong: the door. 

The door itself was an old, brown thing, a beaten up relic that contrasted starkly with the sleek metals that made up the rest of the portal. In its center was a bright, unsettling yellow eye. It stared out at him with a slitted gaze that made him want to back away. He ignored the urge, instead moving closer to it. He was vaguely aware of Belos watching from behind him. 

A little ways below the eye sat an intricately designed keyhole that piqued Hunter’s attention, and a small chip in the door. 

“It looks like there’s a piece missing.” He pointed. “And is there a key to this?” 

Belos stepped forward to examine the crack. “It seems we missed something. And yes, there certainly is a key,” his uncle said. “The human has it. I’ve tried making my own, but….” He stepped beside Hunter, slipping a winged key into the lock. As soon as he turned it, it disintegrated. “It’s useless. The door won’t open.”

The gears in Hunter’s head were spinning. “Maybe it’s not about unlocking the door,” he mused. “Maybe it’s some kind of identifier, or activator that helps harness the reaction to create a tunnel to the Human Realm. Was it made of anything unique?” 

“It was old.” His uncle shrugged. “Corroded metal and—“ He stopped. “Titan’s blood.” 

“That’s probably it,” Hunter said. “The blood in the key must create the connection directly to the Human Realm.” 

“So I need more Titan’s blood,” Belos murmured. 

“It’s incredibly rare,” Hunter said, looking up at him. “Where are we going to find that?” 

“I may know a place,” his uncle said, “at the Knee. It’s been many years since I’ve visited it, but perhaps it still has some blood.” He frowned at the door. “Shame. I had hoped this would be a small oversight or a quick fix.” 

“What’s… what’s it like there?” Hunter asked curiously. 

His uncle thought about it for a few moments. “It’s… quaint,” he settled on. “The cities are merely small towns, nothing like Latissa or Palm Stings. The wildlife is far less deadly. There aren’t carnivorous plants, the birds sing instead of scream.” 

Hunter hung onto his every word, enraptured as he continued. 

“You know,” his uncle said, somewhat fondly, “I knew someone there who liked to birdwatch. When he wasn’t working or getting into mischief, he would sit in the forest and watch the birds. Cardinals were his favorite,” he remembered, frowning. “I never understood why. Red is a beautiful color, of course, but they seemed far more showy than practical. Decorative instead of useful.” 

Hunter thought of the red bird sitting in his room. Was that what it was? A… cardinal? 

“But, alas,” his uncle said, “I digress. Surely you’re not that interested in the Human Realm.” 

“No! It sounds fascinating,” Hunter said. “I… I think maybe I’d like to see it someday.” He wasn’t bold enough to voice his maybe you could show me.  

“Perhaps you will,” his uncle said. “But for now, I thank you for your help, Hunter. I appreciate it immensely. I’ll send you instructions on the retrieval of the Titan’s blood later.”

“Of course. I’m glad I could help, Uncle,” Hunter said. He retreated, grabbing his mask off the workbench, and once it was fastened, left his uncle pondering over the portal. 

His head was going a mile a minute. At the forefront, there was a strong sense of pride. He’d done well! His uncle was happy, and Hunter had been able to help. He’d earned a mission, earned his uncle’s respect and appreciation. Finally it seemed he was able to do something important right. 

Beyond that, his theory about how his uncle had gotten cursed. He didn’t have enough data to be sure— he had more of a chance of being wrong that of being right, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to read a little more into portal making. Maybe he had been wasting his time on the palismen, and should have been focusing on other avenues of wild magic. 

And, circling back to palismen, the bird in his room, and Uncle’s stories of the Human Realm. Though he’d never said it, Hunter suspected that he had been there, his anecdote about the man he’d known who liked birds confirmed it. 

He wondered vaguely why palismen didn’t look like creatures from the Isles, and why, if his suspicions were correct, they looked like animals from the Human Realm. Maybe the bird would know, not that it could really tell him. 

Hunter turned down one last corridor, stopping before his bedroom door. Briskly, he glanced both ways to ensure no one was there, then slipped inside. 

No sooner had the door closed was there a flash of red as the bird greeted him, landing thankfully on his shoulder instead of his head. Hunter dropped his mask on the desk. “Hi,” he said. “You stayed.” 

It chirped. There was a reassurance pressed against his mind. 

Hunter repressed the urge to jump at that, wrinkling his nose instead. “I told you, bird. That’s not normal.”

The bird twittered in disagreement. 

Hunter rolled his eyes, moving toward the window. He had about fifteen minutes before he had to leave to oversee scout training. 

They sat in amicable silence for a few moments. Then—

“Are you a cardinal?” Hunter asked. 

The bird flapped its wings excitedly, twittering again. 

“Huh,” Hunter said, “Cool.” 

“Woah!” Hunter looked up at the bird on his shoulder, eyes wide. Lately, it had taken to “reading” with him at night, joining him while he researched. “Is it true that there’s no recorded natural death of a palisman?” 

The bird chirped affirmatively. 

“Neat.” Hunter grinned at it, then went back to reading. 

The palisman drew a little closer, pressing into the side of his neck, and they lapsed into an amicable silence. 

Over the next few days, he and the bird developed a system. 

Hunter would wake up (with the bird in his hair, much to his chagrin) and get ready for his duties. The bird would perch on his headboard and preen, only moving to flit around Hunter as he tried to leave. Hunter would warn the bird again to stay inside, and once it had landed, he snuck outside. What the bird got up to while Hunter was working he wasn’t sure, but whenever he returned, usually late at night, he’d pull out his latest research and the bird would nest in his blankets beside him, or rest on his knee when it was feeling particularly bold. He took to telling it “‘Night, bird,” before he turned off his light, assuming he didn’t nod off over his books. 

It was strange and Hunter couldn’t say how it had developed, but it had, and the routine was oddly comforting. 

Today was no different. He woke up with the palisman on his head, which relocated to the headboard after some grumbling and flailing hands. As soon as he had his cloak fastened, it dove, flying circles around him and tugging at his clothes with its beak. 

“No, you’re not coming with,” Hunter said. “That would get us both in trouble. You’re staying here.” 

The bird peeped. 

“Foolish bird. Your cute little face won’t work on me.” He fixed his mask. “You know the rules. Stay here.”

Eventually, it gave up, perching on the windowsill. 

Hunter grabbed his staff. “Byeee!” 

The hall was empty when he went outside, as it often was. Perks of being one of a handful who lived at the castle. He forewent breakfast, instead heading straight to his meeting. 

Yay. Coven meetings. 

Darius and Eberwolf were the only ones there when he arrived. 

“I know, you told me that already.” Darius rolled his eyes. “If this is going to work….” He trailed off, catching sight of Hunter. “Little Prince. Quite the early bird this morning, aren’t we?” 

Hunter’s blood went cold. Surely Darius couldn’t— ?

“Does that make you the worm?” he retorted. 

Darius raised an eyebrow. “How flattering.”

Eberwolf snorted. 

“Don’t you start,” Darius warned them. He turned back to Hunter, opening his mouth. 

“Is Eber eating bugs again?” Adrian Graye strode in. “Remind them that that’s unhygienic.” 

The most pained, it’s-too-early-for-this-shit look passed over Darius’ face. “Probably more hygienic than your skin routine,” he said. “What was it today? Selkie Gris? You know they vomit that, right?” 

Graye went pink. “Well, just because some of us put an effort in our appearance—“ he began tartly. 

“Bitch, please,” Darius said. “We all know I have more style in my bile sac than ten of your illusions do.” 

The other heads had begun trailing in throughout the exchange, followed by the Emperor. A scout closed the doors behind them. 

Hunter glanced around the room, ignoring the argument. “Where’s Headwitch Whispers?” 

“I’m afraid our little sprout strayed from the path,” Snapdragon said, sugar sweet. “They’ll be right as rain in no time, though.” She chuckled at her own joke. 

“Raine-Dearest tried to kill me, ruined my cloak, tried to kill Eber, and started an uprising against the Emperor,” Darius said, lip curled. “Those are serious crimes.” 

“I don’t doubt,” Uncle broke in, “that Headwitch Whispers will come around.” 

“Are you just going to let them get away with this?” Cutburn spoke up, sounding disgusted. 

“Certainly not,” his uncle said. “They will be dealt with accordingly. And make no mistake, I have learned from this. Clearly, I need to be more selective with those to whom I extend my trust.” 

Hunter shifted. That wasn’t good. Belos would be far more critical, far more suspicious. He had to be careful, even more careful than he had already been being; with the palisman, with his research of wild magic. Oh, Titan, what if he knew? What if Darius knew and told him, what if, what if—

No. No, he wasn’t going to do this here. He had a job to do, he had to focus. Focus. Act like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Beneath his cloak, he dug his fingers into his palms. Why was it so hard to breathe?

Don’t do this. Not here. Come on, Hunter. Pull yourself together. 

If he’d been ungloved, Hunter was almost positive he would have broken skin with how hard he clenched his palms. 

Somewhere through the panic clouding his mind, he heard the Emperor begin the meeting, unaware of or choosing to ignore his nephew’s weakness. 

Hunter hoped he was oblivious. 

He was glad he’d blocked off time for training after the meeting. Sure, he felt awful, and definitely didn’t want to train with his shaking hands, but at least he could feel awful away from everyone else. He had an hour and a half to himself, and then he was stuck in another meeting (with Kikimora, of all people. Ew) about Coven Day preparations, and then had a mandated inspection of the Conformitorium to conduct. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t roped into any other things. 

Titan, all he wanted to do was just curl up on his bed with his worn plush frog and have that stupid bird in his hair. 

But he didn’t, because that was unbecoming of a Coven Head, and unbecoming of the Golden Guard. 

And no, he didn’t want the bird in his hair! Where had that come from? 

By the end of training, it wasn’t just his hands that trembled. His every step was unstable, but at least his mind was a little more clear, and a little more clear after the subsequent shower. 

He was a little more composed when he made it to his meeting, in which he was blissfully able to sit down. Kikimora started it with an unpleasant, “Let’s just get this over with,” much to Hunter's relief. It was an excruciating two hours, and despite the challenge of planning security details, a task which Hunter usually found enjoyable, Kikimora found a way to make it mind numbing and tedious. 

The Conformitorium was, as per usual, dingy and claustrophobic. Walking through its dimly lit corridors, it made him glad he had forgone lunch. He could remember the first time he came here, nine, he thought, with his uncle. Passing between the remains of petrified witches, mouths open in agony, and his uncle saying, “This is what happens to wild witches. The Titan is not a merciful being.” There had been a woman in one of the cells, sobbing, cursing the Titan and Belos and him, and his uncle had put a firm hand on his back and guided him away. He remembered the next time he’d gone, the woman’s cell was empty, and there was a rusty stain on the floor that made his stomach churn. Now, he passed it again. Cell empty. New stains.

Wrath was more than happy to show him around, gossiping about who had done what to get locked up and lusting (what the actual fuck) over the Owl Lady. 

“Like, the one time I managed to capture her,” he waxed, “she escaped. So attractive. We would be the ultimate power couple. Imagine it. Her alluring roguishness and my—“

“Can we just finish this?” Hunter interrupted, utterly exhausted. 

“Of course,” Warden Wrath said. “Hey, Brady, you think Eda the Owl Lady and I would be a great couple, right?” 

The guard shot him a thumbs up. “Wreda all the way!” 

Hunter was. So done. 

They got back to the tour eventually. There was no sign of Raine Whispers. 

When he at last got back to the castle, the sky had already darkened. He trudged back to his room, pulled off his mask and cloak, and flopped face down onto his bed. 

There was a rapid series of chirps and a flash of concern as the bird landed by his side, pecking lightly at his ear. 

Hunter made an incoherent noise that went something like merp. Titan, all he wanted to do was stay here. He forced himself to roll over, though. 

The bird started at his movement, flapping its wings, then coming to land on his chest. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hunter said, for the who-knew-how-many-ith time. “You shouldn’t.” 

The bird took off, landing— you guessed it— on his head. It burrowed down, sending a clear message. 

I’m not going anywhere. 

Hunter’s eyes slipped shut. 

He was a little more himself the next morning. Yesterday was a struggle. He’d allowed himself to be weak, to crumble, but today, he would make no such mistakes, allow no such indulgence. 

With practiced motions, he donned his uniform. Put on his mask. Grabbed his staff. 

The bird was clingier than usual today, which made Hunter go pink. Clearly, after last night, it didn’t think he could handle himself. He waved it off, forcing it to retreat to the windowsill. 

“I’m fine!” he insisted. “Just— you know the drill. Stay here.” 

It challenged him with a look and an impression that was distinctly unimpressed and a little concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Hunter repeated. And he left. 

Today’s schedule was fairly light, including training, a patrol, and some time he had set aside to scour the library for texts on portal magic. Training flew by, after which he grabbed a muffin from the kitchens, and made his way to the airship that would take him to Bonesborough. Steve and Severine were with him again today, along with two new recruits who would be shadowing them. 

Hunter spent much of the flight trying to ignore the new scouts’ awed stares and exchanging the occasional word with Steve. It was a relief when they landed and he was able to disembark. 

“Okay. Steve and Severine, why don’t you two take the rookies to the square. Show them how it’s done,” Hunter said. 

“Alright, boss,” Steve said. “What about you?” 

“I’ll check out the market before joining you.” With any luck, a, he would be able to escape the recruits, and b, maybe he would catch a glimpse of Lu— the human, or the Owl Lady, and find a chance to get the portal key. 

“Cool. Alright, scouts, Steve is leading the way,” Steve said, turning in the direction of the square. “When you patrol places, it’s always important to know the layout. Keratown is set up in a huge box shape, whereas Latissa is all side streets and mazes. Bonesborough is in between those….”

They faded from sound and from sight. Hunter turned his back on them. 

Both the square and the market were on the upper part of town, though the market was closer to city limits. They were a straight shot away, though, just in opposite directions. 

Today, the market was bustling. Witches and demons perused the various stands selling jewelry, food, you name it, and then stopped to whisper when they noticed the presence of the Golden Guard. It was a cacophony of color and motion, an extraordinarily mundane thing to witness. He kept his eyes peeled, squinting through the crowds for any sight of the Owl Lady’s mane of hair, any exclamations misplaced optimism that might belong to Luz— the human, just the human, or demands for crackers that might lead him to the bird. Rat? King. Luz had called him King, hadn’t she? 

Regardless of the thing’s name, Hunter didn’t find it. He scanned the crowds for any familiar face, with no such luck. Eventually, he conceded that they weren’t here. It would be best for him to move on. 

He began the trek to the square, still keeping an eye out for the owl fugitives. He took in the grand buildings, the street side vendors, the little red bird perched on the steps of the library—

Wait, what? 

Hunter whirled back around and did a double take. There, perched comfortably on the ornate railing up the library’s steps, was the bird. His bird. (When did he start thinking of the bird as his? Hunter refused to acknowledge it.) 

“Bird,” he said dumbly. “You— what?” 

The bird twittered, sending a wave of happiness to brush against his mind. 

And Hunter panicked. 

Not because there was someone— something else in his mind, like any logical, wild magic-fearing witch would. No, he panicked because what if someone saw it? What if it got turned in to a scout or to the Emperor, what if what if what if

Hunter launched himself across the street, landing on the stairs in a leap, the palisman clasped in one hand. 

Residents stopped to stare, blinking at the scene before them. And what a scene it was, the Golden Guard clutching a small bird, tangled in his own cape, on the steps of the Bonesborough library. 

The bird chirped. 

Hunter fought to stand back up and reclaim what was left of his dignity. It was times like these he was relieved to have a mask; at least his audience couldn’t see how red he’d gone. 

“Uh,” he said. “That was… um. A wanted criminal.” 

For a moment the crowd was motionless, then there were a few shrugs, and people went on with their lives. As inconspicuously as he could, Hunter darted into the closest alleyway he could find.

“You!” he hissed, “What are you doing here? I told you, it’s not safe.”  

A thought crossed his mind: why should he care? It seemed to be a habit, the bird knowingly putting itself in danger; coming to the castle, returning to the castle, staying at the castle, and now this. Why did Hunter care what happened to it? It was just some silly piece of wood. Why should it matter to him if it was suicidal? 

You disobeyed Uncle, he replied. If the bird gets caught, he’ll know you didn’t listen. That you lied to him. 

Or, a little voice suggested, maybe because you care about it. Because it’s your palisman. 

You know what? Hunter was not ready to unpack that. Like, ever. So, simple version, Hunter cared about the bird for unknown reasons. He just did. 

“You can’t do that,” Hunter said, a little less heated. “Someone could have seen you.” The bird chirped, conveying a strong sense of I know what I’m doing. 

“I… I understand if you needed to get out of the castle,” Hunter said. He knew all too well how claustrophobic it could feel, for all its vaulted ceilings. There was a reason he enjoyed missions so much. “Really. But why did you come here? You could’ve gone anywhere else, like the middle of nowhere, where you’re at far less of a risk.” 

He was met with a feeling— the strongest one yet— of concern. Then the relief that came when it had seen Hunter was alright. The sense of a purpose, the need to take care of him. 

“I’m not weak!” Hunter insisted. “I can take care of myself.”

Then, a pure, bright impression, one that sang of—

Hunter floundered, mouth opening and closing a few times. “Oh.” 

The bird twittered, looking up at him. 

He stared right back. This palisman had known him for a little over a week. A little over a week and it already— 

“You’re crazy,” he said, laughing a little hysterically. “You can't actually care about me. You can’t. You’re just an over glorified piece of woodwork.” 

It chirped indigently, and Hunter— 

“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to head back out there to do my job. You’re going to either fly far away, or you’re going to stay in my pocket until my shift is up.” 

The bird shuffled around on his palm, then spread its wings. 

Hunter watched it take flight, watched it disappear as it flew over the top of the building they were crammed beside. Good. It had finally made a smart choice. 

He set his shoulders and with that, re-emerged onto the main street, pushing everything that had just happened aside. He had a job to do, and thoughts to avoid. That seemed to be the story of his life, lately. 

That thought, too, was shoved aside as he put Hunter away and brought back the Golden Guard. 

When he walked into his room that night, the bird was there, waiting on his bed. 

(Why did it stick around?)

The castle’s library was known for its wide selection of hard to find books. Half of the titles in there were restricted to the public, only for Coven Heads and officials of the Emperor. So, it was incredibly frustrating that the few books Hunter could scrounge up on the lost art of portals were of little use. Half a week of scouring the shelves and he’d come up with next to nothing. 

He sat in the library, scowling at the book in his hands. 

“There’s got to be more than just this,” he said to himself. “Maybe not here, but at the Night Market—“ He cut off. That was it! Someone at the Night Market was bound to know something. He could go tonight. It would mean forgoing the routine he’d built with the bird, but it was only one night, and this was important. 

Hunter stood quickly, turning to stuff the volume back onto its shelf before practically bolting for the door. Very abruptly he hit something, stumbling. 

“What do you think you’re— Golden Guard?” Kikimora looked up at him from the floor, outrage melting into resignation. 

“Kikimora. Didn’t see you down there,” Hunter said nonchalantly. 

Kikimora’s eyes narrowed. “Your wit never ceases to amaze me.” 

“I know. Perks of being a genius teen prodigy,” Hunter said. “What brings you to the library? Reading lessons?” 

“I’ll have you know,” Kikimora said, bristling as she stood, “that I’m fluent in three languages and two different dialects of Gremlin. And I’m here for research for my latest mission to the Knee.” She brushed off invisible flecks of dust on her uniform importantly. 

Hunter made a face under his mask. He hadn’t heard from his uncle about that mission yet, but he’d said Hunter would be on it. Did he have to go with Kikimora? 

“Finally, the Emperor has given me a chance to prove myself,” Kikimora went on, conviction growing. “Retrieving Titan’s blood, and at last leading a command of my own.” 

Hunter couldn’t help the “What?” that left his mouth. 

“Surprised?” Kikimora cackled. “The Emperor has finally come to his senses. He’s realizing that perhaps his genius teen prodigy is only an insufferable brat who’s undeserving of the honors bestowed on him. He’s finally realizing that I can be of much more use to him— that I’m his most faithful and effective employee! Then, nothing will stop me! Nothing!” 

Hunter stiffened. “Are you implying that you know better than the Emperor?” he demanded. “You’d better watch yourself, Kiki.” 

“I’m implying nothing about the Emperor. Simply that your uncle was blinded by his love for his darling nephew,” Kikimora said. “Have a good day, Golden Guard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mission to prepare for.” She turned on her heel and flounced off, leaving Hunter fuming behind her. What did she mean, she was leading the mission? Uncle surely couldn’t expect him to follow her command. 

And how did she know Belos was his uncle? No one knew that. 

He hurried from the library, back towards his room. Perhaps there was an explanation; perhaps his uncle had sent him a note with instructions or an explanation. 

As though in response to his thoughts, he was flagged down by a scout as he turned into the hall his room was down. 

“Golden Guard!” the scout said, waving an envelope. “I’ve got a message for you from Emperor Belos.” 

Hunter snatched it from their hand. “Thank you, scout.” He said nothing more, instead making a beeline for his room. 

The bird twittered excitedly when he burst inside. He barely noticed it flitting around his head and finally landing in his hair, too busy breaking the wax seal and pulling out the letter. 

“‘Dear nephew,” he read aloud, “I am pulling you from the operation at the Knee. Kikimora will be taking your place. It is my desire that you remain here at the castle for the time being.’ What?” 

Hunter stared at it, willing it to make sense. He had been sure that he would be on the expedition to the Knee, if not leading it. His uncle had certainly implied, if not outright said it. What had changed? Kikimora hadn’t had any successful missions recently that Hunter heard about. He himself hadn’t failed any missions since the palismen— what if his uncle was still upset about that? 

Hunter stood there, letter clenched in his hands for another moment before he dropped it and moved for the door. He waved a hand by his head, getting the bird to take off. “I’ll be back,” he said, and strode outside. 

Planning for the Night Market would have to wait. Right now, he wanted answers. 

Chapter Text

Uncle was with the portal. 

In the heat of the moment, Hunter hadn’t considered how he planned on broaching the subject. His uncle wouldn’t take kindly to a petulant, demanding, why the fuck are you replacing me with Kikimora? The man hadn’t seemed to notice his entrance, though, too preoccupied with the door. So, he ducked behind a large pipe, watching the scene unfold and trying to create some sort of plan. 

Thoughts of a plan were quickly derailed when a green, bioluminescent substance— wild magic— began filling the tubing near the door. It began to glow with a warm golden light. 

Hunter watched transfixed. It hit him suddenly that he had never seen the portal in action; always dark and dull, even when his uncle had requested his help. 

Then, with a shudder, the thing darkened, glow disappearing. 

He leaned a little closer. What went wrong? His uncle was blocking half the door, making it difficult to see. If he could just move a little to the left…. 

There was a flap of wings, then a familiar chirping beside his ear. 

He turned to see the bird on his shoulder. Why was it here? It couldn't be here. It couldn’t. Belos was right there he was right there—

“Shoo!” he whispered, swatting at it. 

It relocated to his other side. 

A voice spoke up from the front of the room. “Would you like to see how it works, Hunter?” 

Hunter stiffened. On his shoulder, the bird’s feathers hardened, and it quickly came to resemble a wooden carving. He stuffed it beneath his cloak, into a concealed pocket, before stepping out from the shadows. “I didn't mean to hide, Emperor Belos,” he said. 

His uncle turned. He didn’t look terribly upset, Hunter noted, relieved, but the odd, plantlike scar across his face looked worse than usual, and his stomach clenched at the thought of the curse. 

“We found every piece of the door,” his uncle said, facing the door again. “But you were right; without the power of the real key, it refuses to open.”

“Is it true that rain doesn't boil in the Human Realm?” He had been wondering that since he’d heard the oceans didn’t boil, and now seemed good a time as any to ask. Uncle was always in a better mood when he told stories about the Human Realm. 

“It is,” his uncle said, turning back toward him. “You know, I've been there before. Did I ever tell you that?”

Hunter shook his head. He had suspected, but it had never been confirmed. 

“The trees there are green. Nights are quiet. I look forward to seeing it again.” His uncle smiled, almost whisfully. He drew closer to Hunter, amused. “Were you spying on me just to hear these boring stories?”

Hunter hesitated, then looked away. “The operation at the Knee,” he said at last. “Why did you switch me out with Kikimora?”

His uncle put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and he looked up. 

“Everyone has a use, Hunter. Kikimora has her intricate little plans. The scouts carry out orders. And you, well,” his uncle said, guiding him towards the door, “the Titan has big plans for you, and it would be such a hassle to find a replacement. So, right now, you can be useful by staying safe in the castle.” 

Find a replacement? What did that mean?

“If this is punishment for failing my last mission, I swear I can do better,” Hunter said with conviction. He could. 

They reached the door. 

Uncle’s eyes shone. “Goodnight, Hunter,” he said, and closed it, leaving Hunter standing, staring at the wooden paneling. 

Find a replacement. Was his uncle replacing him? Was he expendable now? 

No, he couldn’t be— Uncle had said it would be a hassle to find a replacement. For now, Hunter was okay. But being taken off the mission, his recent failures, Kikimora’s words….

Perhaps his genius teen prodigy is only an insufferable brat who’s undeserving of the honors bestowed on him. 

Hunter had to prove he could be useful. Prove he wasn’t expendable, assure his uncle that there was no reason to go through such a hassle. 

He thought he knew exactly how. 

Was it a little childish to try and steal the Titan blood from Kikimora? Absolutely. But she’d done it to him first with the palismen, and not only would it prove that he was capable, it would prove Kikimora, perhaps the greatest threat to his position, incapable. Two griffins with one stone. 

Hunter took off. Now, he just had to figure out where on the Knee she was going and make a plan. 

In his pocket, he felt the bird soften and start to move. 

“Knock it off,” he scolded. “It’s your fault that you’re in there. Stay.” 

Okay. Kimimora’s transport information would be with the scouts guarding the entrance to the castle. Hunter couldn’t give anyone any reason to suspect he was going to the Knee— if it got back to his uncle before he had the blood to give him, Hunter would be toast. So, instead of simply demanding to see the castle as the Golden Guard, he would have to create a distraction. 

Before that, though, it was imperative that he take care of all possible problems, including someone seeing him sneaking off. 

Disguise time. 

This mask reeked of hard apple blood. 

It was disgusting. 

The putrid, tangy scent made him want to gag, and he deeply regretted stealing it from a pile of dirty laundry. Titan, whose was this? 

Hunter contemplated breathing through his mouth, but that was even less sanitary. The thought made him shudder. He’d just have to take it off as soon as possible. 

He poked his head through one of the castle windows, looking at the gate below. Only two scouts… both neglecting their duties to play cards? He frowned. As much as it worked in his favor right now, that was lazy and unprofessional. He’d have to do something about that later. Anyway. They should be easy to distract. 

Hunter reached towards his belt for his staff before remembering. He was the only person in the whole Coven with an artificial staff. That would be a dead giveaway, so he left it in his room. And, of course, Belos could track it, which would further impede his plan. Now, Hunter had no magic. Shit. 

The bird chirped on his shoulder. 

Hunter shrugged it off. “No.” 

Alright. Looked like he was doing this the hard way. 

The cards he recognized as Hexes Hold ‘Em. He remembered some of the scouts playing on missions in the past, and then having to use the cards as a fire starter up in the mountains. 

The scouts didn’t notice him until he was right next to them. 

“Oh, hey, man,” one said. “How’s it going?” 

“Excellent. So, uh,” Hunter said awkwardly, “Hexes Hold ‘Em, huh?” 

“Yup,” the scout said. “I’m so kicking Lee’s ass.” 

“Are not!” the other scout insisted. 

“I see,” Hunter said. His eyes roamed around the area wildly as he searched for something else to say. They landed on a clipboard— that was what he needed— sitting beside the first scout. 

“You want us to draw you in next round?” first scout asked. She offered, “I can kick your ass, too.” 

“Uh… I have… stuff,” Hunter said. “Work. You know.” 

“What job? Are you on that aircraft with Kikimora? Man, I do not envy you.” 

“What’s that over there?” Hunter said suddenly, pointing somewhere behind them. 

The scouts leapt to their feet, heads snapping to look out across the worn path before them. 

Hunter ducked down, scanning the clipboard. Ship 32. Landing Bay 6, Southern Knee. Perfect. He sprung back up. 

The scouts turned back around. 

“I don’t see anything,” the second one said. 

“Oh. Huh. Funny,” Hunter said. “Thought there was a— a ratworm there. My bad. Bye!” he bolted away. 

“Huh,” the first scout said, watching him go. “Well, he was weird.”

The Knee was the highest point in the Boiling Isles. At roughly twenty eight thousand feet above sea level, it towered over everything around it, its peak brushing against the clouds. It was beautiful, covered in picturesque snow, but also deadly. The airship Hunter snuck on to get here had passed over a slitherbeast, one of the more dangerous creatures of the isles. The temperatures were frigid and the air was thin, which made Kikimora’s ability to keep yelling at various scouts almost impressive. 

Hunter watched from a distance, hidden behind the tree line. Before him, Kikimora berated a large group of scouts working on clearing out an entrance to an old mine, a grand, rectangular structure that stood out starkly against the white backdrop. 

It should be fairly easy to sneak in at the tail end of them. As far as anyone knew, Hunter was back at the castle. He’d get in, sneak away from the group, and get the blood for himself. Nice and simple. 

“Hey, Steve!” Kikimora thundered. “Jump over that chasm before I throw you in it!” 

Hunter tucked himself back behind the tree he was half hidden behind and pulled off his mask. Ah, glorious fresh air! He turned his head to the side and yelped. 

The bird was there, sitting on the tree root beside him. 

“Why do you keep following me?” Hunter demanded. 

The bird twittered. 

“I don’t speak palisman,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Here’s the plan. I slip in with this disguise. I find the Titan blood before Kiki. I give it to Belos.” The bird nodded along as he spoke. “Boom! I'm useful again!”

Why was Hunter detailing his entire plan to some palisman? 

The question had barely crossed his mind when there was a loud explosion. He ducked automatically, the splintered remains of the tree flying over his head. 

“Ma'am, is everything alright?” someone— Hunter thought he recognized the voice as the Captain’s— asked. 

“I just thought I heard an annoying voice,” Kikimora said viciously. 

 A glance backwards showed that she had turned around and Hunter took off, the bird flying alongside him. “Another way in,” he said, out of breath. “We'll find another way in.” 

The bird chirped, pulling ahead and landing on a branch. 

Hunter slowed to a stop beside it. 

Below him, there was a group walking towards the mine. One of them was consulting a map of some sort. 

He knew those people. 

“The Owl Lady and her dog. And— is that the youngest Blight?” He squinted. The Owl Lady and her pet were unmistakable. The Blight, though…. When he’d gone to buy off the stock of Blight Industries, he’d profiled the family. He didn’t remember the youngest having purple hair, or being acquainted with the Owl Lady, though. Still, he was positive it was her. 

They must have been here for the Titan’s blood, too. 

“All right, new plan. They can lead us to—“ 

The bird yanked on a stray strand of hair, sending Hunter flailing.

“What? Hey! Hey!” He overbalanced, toppling down the slope and landing face-first in the snow. 

Blight and the Owl Lady raised their staffs as Hunter scrambled into an upright position. Aw, Titan, there was snow down his back. Seriously? 

Oh, that bird was going to get it. 

“A Coven scout!” Blight summoned a ball of magenta fire, eyes hardening. 

That was right! At some point during his fall, the mask had fallen back into place. There was nothing that could give him away from being anything besides a scout. 

He raised his hands. “Uh, yes! I am but a humble scout, and I surrender!”

“Well, that was easy,” the rat (King, his brain supplied) said. 

The Owl Lady didn’t lower her staff. “Not so fast, King. Don't you recognize that annoying voice?”

Hunter’s hands dropped. “Why does everyone say that?” Like, seriously. Was his voice really that annoying?

Oh, wait. He should be running, shouldn’t he. Yeah. He should, like, escape while they were still staring at him. 

He bolted.

“Don't let him get away!” the Owl Lady said from somewhere behind him. 

Something closed around his arms, binding them to his torso. He pitched forward over his head, landing on his back. The mask tumbled off his face, and he found himself glaring up at the group. 

“This,” the Owl Lady said, frowning, “is none other than Belos' right-hand man.”

Blight gasped. “The Golden Guard?” At least someone respected him here. “He is… a lot scrawnier than I imagined.”

Or not. 

King laughed as Hunter glared at the trio as viciously as he could. “I’m not scrawny,” he insisted. 

The Owl Lady snorted. “Tell that to a mirror. And look at his eyebags! Damn, those are impressive.” 

“I’m going to arrest you so hard,” he threatened.

“While tied up? I’d like to see you try, Golden Boy.” 

“What are we supposed to do with him?” Blight asked. 

“Well,” the Owl Lady considered, “we can’t let him go. Don’t want him tattling to the Emperor’s other lackeys that we’re here. Guess we’ve got ourselves a prisoner.” 

“I’ve always wanted a prisoner!” King said happily. “Can I torture him?”

“Listening to you three is torture enough,” Hunter interjected. 

“You will feel the sting of my wrath!” the creature cried. He turned back to the Owl Lady. “Eda, please?” 

“Later,” the Owl Lady said. “Right now, we’ve got Titan’s blood to find.”

So Hunter was right. They were looking for the Titan’s blood. If he could free himself from whatever ropes they’d conjured and pretend to be their prisoner, he could double cross them at the last minute and take the blood for himself. 

Titan, he hoped this worked. If it didn’t—

Well. 

He wasn’t going to think about that. 

“Alright, blondie,” the Owl Lady said, moving ahead. “On your feet.” 

Petulantly, Hunter stayed put. “You think I’m going to make this easier for you? Witch, please.” 

Blight scowled and flicked her finger. “Up.” 

The binding around his torso dragged him abruptly upwards. Aw, crap. Abomination magic would be a little more difficult to break out of without any magic of his own. 

Blight pointed her staff at him. “Move it,” she said sharply. 

“Get it, Bossy Boots,” the Owl Lady said. 

Hunter stuck his tongue out at her. 

“Cute. Now move,” Blight said. 

He moved, following the Owl Lady towards the mines. 

“If he’s here—“ the Owl Lady gestured at him with her staff, “— the main entrance is probably crawling with scouts. We’ll have to find another way in.” 

“There’s got to be some sort of emergency exit,” Blight said. “A back entrance for minecarts.” 

“Maybe I could use my harpy powers to blast through a wall,” the Owl Lady mused. 

“Ooh, no let me do it with my powers!” King said. 

Weren’t they powerless? Hunter must have missed something. 

The idea of the rat with some sort of magical ability was tolerable. He was what, six? Annoying, sure, but not much of a threat. The Owl Lady, though…. Hunter remembered standing at his bedroom window, watching her and Lilith fight while she had still been the head of the Coven. The Owl Lady was certainly formidable, and the idea of her having that much power at her disposal made him nervous, especially since he didn’t have any way to do magic of his own right now. 

“Let’s try to avoid breaking any walls,” Blight said, dragging him from his thoughts. “It could start a cave-in.” 

“Aw, farts. Well, when you put it like that,” the Owl Lady said. She turned, walking backwards. “So, Golden Guard, you know any secret entrances that we could use?” 

“No,” Hunter said shortly. 

“Double farts. Whatcha doing here?” 

“Take a wild guess.” 

“Somebody’s friendly. I bet you’re a hoot at parties,” the Owl Lady said. She turned back around. “So, why are you dressed in that uniform, anyway?” 

“It’s part of the mission,” Hunter said. 

“Hm. And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re not supposed to be here?” the Owl Lady asked casually. 

Hunter’s eyes widened. She knew? 

She smirked. “Oh, so you’re not. Ha! Disobeying orders from the Emperor?” 

“I never said—!” 

“You’re a terrible actor,” Blight interrupted. 

Hunter sputtered. “I— you— I am not disobeying Emperor Belos’s orders,” he protested. He had wanted Titan’s blood after all, even if Hunter hadn’t been the one asked to retrieve it. “It’s for his own good!” 

“Interesting. I bet—“ The Owl Lady stopped. “Hot dang, I think I found it. Everybody in.” At some point, they’d reached a steep cliff, where a tunnel had been carved out. The uneven ground beneath Hunter’s feet was reminiscent of tracks, probably for minecarts. The Owl Lady strode inside without a second thought, leaving King, Blight, and Hunter no choice but to follow. 

It didn’t take long for the tunnel to dim. No one bothered to create a light, leaving Hunter’s eyes to adjust. 

Stalagmites rose up from the floor, and stalagmites bore down on him from the ceiling. There was a bluish tinge to the rocks, though not as deep or vibrant as Titan’s blood. Blight kept her staff aimed at him. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. 

The tunnel wound downward, gently sloping until—

“Rats,” the Owl Lady cursed. “Dead end.” 

Through the darkness, Hunter could just make out the end of the caved-in tunnel, coated with a sheen of ice. 

“What if,” King said, “we used him to break it down?” He pointed at Hunter. 

“Too much blood,” the Owl Lady said, waving him off. “Besides, I don’t think Blondie there is up for it.” 

Hunter scowled, unsure if he should be offended that the Owl Lady thought him incapable or relieved that they weren’t going to use him as a battering ram. 

“Actually,” the Owl Lady said, a crooked smile spreading across her face, “I have a better idea. I’m going to turn into Harpy Eda!” 

“I thought you were a powerless witch,” Hunter interrupted. 

“You thought wrong,” the Owl Lady said. “Watch this!” She took a few steps back, then ran towards the wall with a cry that sounded vaguely like “ HOOT!”

The wall crumbled, sending shards of ice and stone flying. What kind of weirdos were these people? 

“Did I do it?” She landed in a crouch. “Did I go into Harpy Mode?” 

“No, you just screamed ‘hoot’ and ran headfirst into a wall of ice,” King said, walking ahead. “Pretty funny, actually.” 

Blight jabbed him in the back with her staff, forcing Hunter forward. 

“You can put down your staff. I won’t run,” he said. 

“Too bad,” Blight said, narrowing her eyes, “because I don’t trust you.” 

Well. It was worth a shot.

Hunter looked around the chamber they had come out in. It had a vaulted ceiling, where a handful of lanterns had been strung up and glowed dimly. He was standing again on a set of tracks leading down another tunnel, and on either side of them were various types of old mining equipment that he recognized from diagrams in his books. 

“Huh. This stuff is old.” The Owl Lady took the cavern in alongside him, kicking a pebble. 

“Ancient witches used to mine the veins for Titan blood,” Hunter said. “They—“ 

“They’re not paying attention,” Blight said bluntly. 

King scrambled atop an old drill, the point of which was aimed at the Owl Lady, much to her delight. 

“Go on, fire it. Maybe the adrenaline will kick in, and bam! Harpy Eda,” she said. 

“Sounds perfectly safe!” King winked at her, then leaned to the side, looking for some way to activate it. 

It was then that Hunter remembered exactly why the wild witches had stopped using drills to mine the veins. 

“Wait, don’t—!”

The drill shifted, lighting up with a blue magic, then shot at the Owl Lady. It barely missed her, instead bouncing off the cavern wall, then ricocheting again. It gained speed as it bounced around the mine, then, at a breakneck speed, came straight for Hunter. 

He stepped back automatically, trying to raise his hands, but the restraints got in the way. There was no room to move to either side. 

Blight spurred to action. With a fluid spell circle, she guided her abomination magic to create a sphere around the beam, trapping it. 

That could have ended up much worse. 

King and the Owl Lady stared at them, King still atop the drill, which thankfully, was powered down again, though still smoking. Their expressions were dumbfounded, which filled Hunter with perhaps an irrational amount of anger. Their stupidity had almost killed him! 

“This isn't a normal cave! These walls are made from the veins of the Titan,” he said. “Any magic you shoot will bounce right back at you!” 

“Huh. Like I said, fun at parties,” the Owl Lady said. She turned to King, going back to ignoring him. “Hey, King, how about you use your new powers to echolocate the lake?”

King giggled giddily, and why did Hunter not trust him? Oh, right, because he was a small rat child who had been raised by a wild witch and apparently now had powers. Oh, Titan. If he survived this day it would be a miracle. Either he’d be killed unintentionally by the Owl Lady and her companions, intentionally by the Owl Lady and her companions, or they would create so much chaos it would be impossible for Kikimora not to notice and she would either kill him herself or drag him back to Belos, who he would have no Titan blood to give. 

“Okay!” King said. He hopped off the drill, wandering a little further into the cave until he stood before the tunnel leaving the cavern. After a deep breath, he let out a loud “weh!” that sent some sort of… sonic waves?  … careening down the passage and out of sight. After a moment, he turned back, shrugging. 

“Those two are definitely going to get us caught,” Hunter decided. He was. So done. The done-est. The most—

“‘Us?’” Blight repeated, scowling. “There is no us.” She poked at him with her staff again. “Now keep walking.”

Hunter shrugged, letting her move him forward. The odds of this mission being salvaged seemed to be decreasing the longer he was in the company of the Owl Lady and her crones. He needed to escape before his mission was completely a failure. He just needed an opportunity. 

There was a dull flash of red above him, right at the edge of his peripheral vision. 

His head snapped up and his eyes darted around, catching on— 

“Did you see something?” Blight asked. 

“Nothing to see here except for rocks and you criminals,” Hunter said loftily. 

“The only criminal here is Eda,” Blight said coolly, “and she’s a better person than you.” 

“Hell yes I am!” the Owl Lady called from up ahead. 

That had been the bird, his palisman, flying overhead, Hunter was sure of it. If it had stuck with him so far, maybe it would be willing to help him escape. But he couldn’t let the others know about it— he could imagine the Blight trying to trap it in one of her abomination spheres, and the thought made something in him feel sick. 

“All three of you are complicit in the illegal abduction and imprisonment of the Emperor’s right hand man,” Hunter listed, “not to mention the one trillion snail bounty on your head, Owl Lady, due to crimes including but not limited to operating a stand without a license, improper use of magic, use of wild magic, evading custody, starting a prison riot— need I go on?” 

“Ah, that was a fun day,” the Owl Lady said. “Luz’s first heist, remember?” 

“And my crown!” King said. 

“Go ahead, keep going, kid,” she said. “Mama’s got quite the resume. Tell me about all my great exploits.” 

Hunter glowered at the back of her head. 

She turned and winked at him. 

They walked in silence. Every so often, Hunter caught a glimpse of the bird flying overhead. He could definitely use it in his escape, which would be soon. 

Not, unfortunately, soon enough that he missed the Owl Lady beginning to talk again. 

“You know, Luz told me about a trip to Latissa where she met someone very interesting,” she said, nonchalant.

Hunter knew exactly where this was going. But oh, if the Owl Lady thought she could get him to talk, she was sorely mistaken. He kept his jaw clenched shut as she continued. 

“A beat-up blonde with no magical powers,” the Owl Lady said. “She called him—and these are her words— a ‘bad but sad boy.’” She snorted. 

King joined in, snickering from her shoulder. 

Hunter felt his face and the tips of his ears go pink. He snarled, “If I ever see that human again—“

“Watch it,” Blight said dangerously. 

Hm. Interesting. She cared about Luz. Maybe he could use that to his advantage later. Until then, though….

“At least I'm not delusional enough to think I can turn into a harpy,” Hunter said. 

The Owl Lady turned, hissing at him. Wow. And she had once been one of the strongest witches on the Boiling Isles? 

“Hey. Come on. Give it a rest, you two,” King said. 

“Yeah, listen to your rat,” Hunter said. 

With a cry, King launched himself off of the Owl Lady, landing in Hunter’s hair (okay, what was it about his hair that seemed to attract weird creatures? Seriously) and yanking on it sharply. 

Hunter jolted, trying to shake it off, wishing desperately he could use his hands. “Hey— watch it—!”

Someone hissed for quiet and King stopped trying to rip out Hunter’s hair. The sound of footsteps echoed in the cave, alongside an odd, metallic clanking. 

Automatically, Hunter moved closer to where the sound was coming from, peering out from behind a cluster of rocks across the cavern. 

From another tunnel, further down, a handful of coven scouts emerged, led by the Captain and Kikimora. They were flanked by Abomitons that towered over them. 

The Captain held up a hand. 

Immediately, Kikimora was looking around wildly. “Why are we stopping? Is it the Golden Guard?”

“No, ma'am. This is a dangerous area. We need to move carefully,” Captain said. 

“Careful takes too long,” Kikimora snarled. “My butt is on the line, and so help me Titan, if you ruin this, I will throw you off the tallest peak of the knee with a smile! I’ll—“

“Oh, that poor girl is going through something,” the Owl Lady said, deadpan. 

Hunter didn’t particularly care what she was going through. Right now, she was giving a bad name to the Emperor’s Coven— her behavior was downright embarrassing. Also, he didn’t like her. Let her suffer, for all he cared. 

“She's also blocking the path to Eclipse Lake,” Amity said. She gestured at her map. 

Hunter leaned over, peering at it. Miraculously, there was no comment from Blight about his snooping. It was certainly an unorthodox map, drawn in vibrant crayon, Eclipse Lake itself labeled with a descriptive blood and a drawing of the human. But strange map or not, it looked like Blight was right. Just beyond Kikimora was another tunnel, one that should lead directly to the blood. 

Kikimora continued raving below, as Hunter’s mind whirred. He could take advantage of this. This was an opportunity. He just had to play his cards right.

“We should create a distraction,” he said. 

“We should create a distraction!” the Owl Lady cried, jumping up. “You kids wait for my signal!” With that, she ran off, King in tow. 

Alright. First part of the plan, remove the Owl Lady from the equation: done. Now, part two: get the Blight to let him go. 

He leaned against the rocks, sitting. “Huh. That was easy,” he said. “When they're caught, you and me can take the Titan blood for ourselves.”

Blight’s reaction was immediate. She whirled around, face hardening. “Stop talking like we're a team.”

“We might as well be.” Hunter shrugged. “The Owl Lady and her pet have nothing at stake, unlike us.” It was a little bit of a leap, but Blight had made it clear that she wasn’t letting anything get in her way, and judging by the hand drawn map she had, he could guess why.  

His uncle had gotten the portal from the human. This map probably was drawn by her. She must be looking for Titan’s blood to make another, and Blight was willing to do anything to help. 

It was almost… sweet. It made Hunter wish there was someone who would do that for him. But it was also a weakness, and one he wasn’t above using. (He wished there was another way. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and Hunter was on his last chance.)

“You have no idea what you're talking—“ There was an odd buzzing sound. Blight frowned and tried again. “I was gonna say you have no—“ Again, there was a buzz, coming from her pocket. 

Hunter raised an eyebrow. 

Blight scowled, pulling a yellow object from her pocket. She turned away from him. 

Hunter stood, drawing a little closer. The device was shaped like a cat, with a grey, square box in the center. Small, fuzzy pictures flashed across it, some sort of pictograph. A couple of graphs with arrows, a bat (?), and a yellow crying face. 

Blight was frowning over them, clearly confused, and oh— this was it. She just needed one more little push….

“Oof. That doesn't look good.”

Blight jabbed a finger at him. “Stay back!” 

Hunter took a couple steps backwards. For a moment, he wondered if he’d failed. Then— 

“But what doesn't look good?” Blight said. 

“Seems clear to me,” Hunter said. “Come back with results or else… You can figure out the rest.”

“No, Luz wouldn't make that kind of threat,” Blight said. “I'm an awesome girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? Huh. “Has she told you that?” Hunter asked. 

Blight didn’t have a response. 

“We have a lot in common, Blight,” Hunter said. “We're both trying to show what we can bring to the table. And we can't fail, 'cause—“ He thought about his uncle, his rare smiles, the words of encouragement and his kindness, the promises of the Titans plans, “— there's nothing worse than disappointing someone who thinks you're special.”

Blight bit her lip. 

I can’t afford to fail, Hunter thought. Take the bait. Come on, let me go—

Her face hardened. A quick glance down below, where Kikimora and her subordinates lingered, and she set her shoulders. 

“Get ready to run,” she said. 

Hunter wanted to grin. She was letting him go, this was going to work! Only she didn’t let him go. Instead, she drew a spell circle with her staff, sending a pink fireball towards their company. 

He stared. Well, that hadn’t been part of the plan.

It was chaos. 

The fire ricocheted, nearly striking Kikimora, then bouncing towards one of the Abomitons. The scouts stood there uselessly, hands raised as though to shield themselves. 

Blight shoved him roughly. “ Move.” 

They took off, flying down the ramp that led to the lower level. A glance at the coven members showed they hadn’t been seen yet; the group was too preoccupied cowering from the fire beneath an artificial shield created by an Abomiton. Halfway to the tunnel, they met up with King and the Owl Lady. 

“Why didn't you wait for our signal?” the Owl Lady demanded. 

“We don't have time to play around,” Blight replied. “We are getting that Titan’s blood.” 

As they ducked into the tunnel, Hunter caught another flash of red feathers. This time, it went straight for him, flitting around his head and eventually landing on his shoulder. 

It was nice to have the bird back. An oddly comforting weight. The others didn’t notice until they’d given up running, a way’s further into the passage. 

“Is that a palisman?” The Owl Lady looked at it curiously. “I didn’t think the Emperor’s Coven let many witches have those. Lilly almost didn’t get to keep hers.” 

“The Coven doesn’t allow them. They’re dangerous and promote wild magic,” Hunter recited. 

“But you have one,” the Owl Lady said. 

“Not mine.” Hunter tried to shrug it off, but the bird landed again. “Hey. Find a different perch, bird.” 

With a rather offended twitter, it took off, saying ahead. 

Hunter kinda (definitely) missed it. 

“Hm.” The Owl Lady looked like she wanted to comment, but then the tunnel widened and they stepped into another cavern. Then, Hunter was long forgotten. 

“Is this… Titan's Blood?”

Bubbling up from the ground and stretching down from the ceiling, a shiny blue substance coated the cave. It certainly looked like Titan’s blood. But—

“But Eclipse Lake is farther ahead.” Blight glanced between the blood and the map. 

There was a sinking feeling in Hunter’s stomach. This wasn’t blood. 

“Who cares? We did it.” King reached towards one of the orbs on the ground. 

“Stop!”

The others turned to look at Hunter. 

“That's Fool's Blood,” he said, deadly serious. “ Don't touch it.” Fool’s Blood was synonymous with decaying veins and cave-ins. He didn’t want to think what would happen if they did anything to mess with it. 

“Oh, so you can keep it all for yourself?” The Owl Lady scoffed. “Hard pass.” She lifted her staff and drove the end of it into the Fool’s Blood. 

There was a resounding crack. 

Hunter’s blood ran cold. 

“Huh?” the Owl Lady took a step back as the crack widened, cutting into the floor, and then—

Hunter watched as the ground split, sending both the Owl Lady and King plunging down, into the darkness. 

It wasn’t safe here. Hunter was hyper aware of everything around him, the rocks under his feet, the Fool’s Blood on either side of him, and the restraint around his arms and chest. 

Oh, Titan. Was this how he was going to die? Would the tunnel cave in and trap him beneath the rubble, unable to escape? Would Kikimora find his body when she came this way?

Oh, shit. He’d forgotten about Kikimora. 

Blight rushed to the edge of the rift, already halfway on her staff.

“Wait! Take me with you!” Hunter rushed after her. 

Blight looked back at him, hovering above the ground. Then, she opened her mouth, and—

“Yoo-hoo,” Kikimora’s voice echoed. “Golden Guard!” 

Hunter whipped around. There, from the tunnel they’d just emerged from, Kikimora’s shadow was dancing across the wall. She was here. She knew he was here. If she found him….

“At least untie me so I can escape,” Hunter said. Any other time, he would have been appalled by the desperation in his voice. 

He needed to go.  

More than that, he had to salvage the mission. What was the point in surviving this whole ordeal if he had nothing to show for it? Uncle wouldn’t be proud if he found out Hunter was captured by the Owl Lady while disobeying his direct orders. If Hunter failed, he was practically guaranteed to be replaced. Without his rank, without his job, without Belos’ trust, where would he be? If he went home with nothing…. 

No. He couldn’t go home with nothing. He couldn’t. 

Blight got off her staff, then hesitated.

“Please,” he begged. “I don't want to be replaced.”

Another beat, then—

“Ugh. Fine.” With a quick spell circle, his restraints liquefied, flying back into the bottle at Blight’s hip. “So, where will you go now?”

“Now…” He dropped to the ground, sweeping Blight’s feet out from beneath her with a swift kick. As she fell to the ground with a shout, he crossed the rest of the cave, hopping into a minecart. “...I get to Eclipse Lake before anyone. Byeeee!” 

The cart rolled down the tracks, leaving Blight behind. There was no sound of footsteps following him, no echo of another minecart. Just the furious flapping of wings and a familiar chirping. 

Hunter looked back. 

The bird was fighting to catch up, ducking around stalagtites and diving below lanterns as it neared the cart. Without thinking, Hunter reached out toward it, letting it land in his palms. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked. “Why haven’t you left?” 

The bird chirped. A very clear sense of wanting to be here brushed against Hunter’s mind. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Of course that was when the minecart crashed. 

One of the wheels struck something and he pitched forward, flying out of the cart. He gave a very undignified cry as he flew through the air, all too aware of the ravine below him. 

It’s fine, he told himself. You’ll probably land on the other side. Also, Kikimora probably can’t hear you screaming. As long as you get the blood, your dignity is still intact!  

He started to lose altitude. His stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to make it to the other side. 

Hunter imagined what his tombstone would say. Here Lies the Golden Guard. He fell out of a minecart and unheroically plunged to his death.

“No! nononono—!”

One of his flailing hands grabbed onto something and he jerked, his fall stopping. Hunter looked up. 

The palisman had transformed itself into a staff, hovering above him. It saved him, he realized. 

Hunter didn’t think about it; instead, he swung himself up onto it, then sat there. “Uh. You saved me. Thanks.” 

A wave of relief and appreciation washed over him. 

“Okay, so, uh, how do I…?”  

Without any other prompting, the bird shot forward. 

It wasn’t unlike flying on his artificial— on his staff. The motions were the same, but there was still something slightly different with the palisman. Hunter couldn’t put his finger on what it was. This felt more natural, almost, more like an extension of himself than just using a tool. 

He chided himself; he didn’t have time to ponder over that. There was no doubt in his mind that either Kikimora or Blight were close behind him, and he had to get to the blood first. 

They dove into a tunnel, walls whizzing by. He was so close, he could practically feel it. He’d get the blood, give it to Belos, fix the door, and earn his uncle’s trust and respect back. Finally, after failure after failure he would do something right, something worth being proud of. He’d—

The tunnel spit out in one last cavern. Barren trees stretched up towards a hole in the ceiling, and in the center of them, there sat a gaping crater. Eclipse Lake. 

It was empty. 

“What?” Hunter nearly threw himself off the staff, scrambling to the ground and dropping to his knees. The ground beneath him was bone-dry. “No, this can’t be right. It can’t— it’s supposed to be here!” 

He dug his hands into the ground, shoving aside dirt in a frenzy. Maybe it was just hidden. It had to be here. It had to. 

At some point, the bird had turned back. It landed before him, cocking its head with a chirp. 

“Why isn’t it here?” Hunter asked desperately. “I— I can’t go back! Not without—“ 

Find a replacement, his uncle’s voice whispered in the back of his head. Find a replacement. Find a replacement. 

Replacement. 

Hunter was going to be replaced. 

This had been his last chance and he blew it. He needed that blood— he came here against direct orders; when his uncle found out he disobeyed and didn’t have anything to show for it, there would be hell to pay. 

All he had wanted was to prove he could do good. That he was worth something; that it hadn’t been a mistake when his uncle took him in all those years ago, that he could help. 

He wanted to prove he could be the Golden Guard. 

Because the Golden Guard didn’t fail every mission that he was assigned. The Golden Guard didn’t let some stupid human get in his way, or let himself be tricked or get sentimental over palismen or come back empty handed. 

The Golden Guard wasn’t a disappointment. 

Titan, Hunter wished he could be the Golden Guard. Title or not, he was just Hunter. Half-a-witch screw up who couldn’t do his fucking job. Couldn’t be who he was supposed to be. 

He sat back on his heels. Beneath his gloves, his hands ached. 

No Titan’s blood. Just a hole in the ground. Useless, like him. 

Maybe it could be your grave, he thought, defeated. You think you can go back? It would be better if you just stayed here. 

Wow. Even that stupid hole had more of a use than him. 

He went back to digging, methodically shifting around the soil. 

The bird twittered, hopping a little closer. 

Hunter ignored it. Just kept digging. Six feet was the standard, right? He could do that. Then he’d just… lay there.

Seconds, hours later— he didn’t know— he heard two sets of footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn to look. 

“Don't worry. I won't pick a fight. There's no Titan’s blood.”

Blight stepped closer. “Then why are you digging?”

Hunter wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. Instead he turned towards Blight. “Oh, it's simple really. Belos needs Titan blood to make a new portal key. Can't get to the Human Realm without it!” He didn’t care that he sounded deranged or unprofessional. What did it matter now? He went back to digging. 

“There's blood in the key?” Blight said. 

“Since I failed my last mission,” Hunter continued, “I thought, ‘Hey, a chance to make up for it!’ But I can't go back empty-handed.” A desperate, hysterical laugh bubbled up. “Not again. Long story short, this is my grave.” He pointed towards his hole. “Want me to make you one too?”

“This is really bumming me out,” King said. 

“That's just life, rat,” Hunter said. “Everyone has a use, and if you don't… pft. Buh-bye! Your friend gets it.”

Blight and King kept talking, whispering amongst themselves. Any other time, Hunter would have eavesdropped, desperate for any insight into their plans. But now— 

His arms ached and he was useless. A measly bit of gossip wouldn’t be good enough. There was nothing that could help him now. 

Something tugged at his cloak, twittering. The bird. 

“Hey!” He swatted at it lethargically, then flopped facedown. “Go find a better witch to be with.” It should. Why it had ever chosen him— a powerless witch, a failure, Belos’ right hand man— was a mystery. It was a mistake, most likely. 

Hunter couldn't even dig his own grave, for fuck’s sake. 

He piled some dirt on his head, ignoring the bird’s calls. Maybe he could bury himself without the grave. Surely it wouldn’t stay with him after he’d suffocated, breathed the dirt into his lungs and finally croaked. 

Hunter vaguely registered footsteps coming towards him, but couldn’t find it in himself to care. Maybe Blight would put him out of his misery. 

She stopped, standing beside him. 

“You know, you were right,” she said. “We do have a lot in common.” 

He hadn’t expected that. 

The weight of the bird standing on him disappeared. 

“I grew up thinking everything was an opportunity to justify existing,” Blight continued, “but there are people out there who won't make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them.” 

She sounded so sincere. Like she actually thought Hunter wasn’t worthless. Like he could actually be enough for someone. Titan, it was a physical ache, how much he longed to be enough. 

Was that true? Was life not supposed to be a constant struggle, fighting to prove yourself day after day? 

Slowly, Hunter raised his head. 

At some point, Blight had kneeled beside him. Her hand was extended, and the bird perched on her shoulder. She was smiling at him. And—

His eyes caught on her necklace, dangling in front of her jacket. 

The portal key. 

The portal key that had blood in it. 

He sat up. 

“What are you—“ Blight stopped, looking between him and the key. She inhaled sharply. 

Without warning, Hunter lunged. He needed that key. 

Blight dove away, coming up on her feet. “Oh, come on! Being nice usually works for Luz!” she complained. 

With his purpose renewed, all his previous sense of hopelessness evaporated. He whirled back around, now on his feet. 

King threw himself in front of Blight with a scream, making the air ripple. 

In a flash, the bird was in staff form. Hunter grabbed it. 

The sonic blast bent around him, doing nothing. He felt a burst of appreciation for his palisman, then refocused.  An attempt to teleport had him stumbling, not moving more than a couple feet away. Unlike flying, this was nothing like using the artificial staff. 

“Real staffs are weird,” he muttered, trying to re-orient himself. He looked up to see a wave of abomination magic flying at him. With a yelp, he staggered back, the goo restraining his arms. 

There was little he could do without his arms— it would be ludicrous of him to try and fight without overbalancing, or without any ability to effectively block or strike offensively. He teleported again, growling in frustration. If he could just teleport out of his bonds— 

It worked the second time. Hunter reappeared, arms free, suspended for a moment over the crater. He sent a torrent of energy towards Blight down below. 

She grabbed King and threw them both atop her staff, swerving expertly around the magic that rebounded off the walls. A well-placed shield of abomination material blocked a bolt, and Hunter saw his chance. 

He dove while she was preoccupied, reaching for the key. A weight knocked him away at the last minute; King had leapt atop him with a surprising amount of force, sending him in the opposite direction. He teleported again, and made straight back for Blight. 

It was an intricate dance they had; Hunter darting in and out of her space on the offensive, while Blight favored the defensive, blocking his attacks with her makeshift shield. He might have been impressed if it wasn’t so infuriating how much she got in his way. 

Eventually, she seemed to get tired of their struggle. The next time Hunter appeared, she sent him flying with a well-placed strike. By the time he was getting to his feet, an abomination towered over him, arms extended, then enveloped him. 

He refused to be stopped by something so simple as an abomination. Not when he was so close. 

Hunter hammered against the sides of it with the butt of his staff, then chanced a blast of magic. The thing exploded. 

Blight was on the far side of the crater, clearly trying to escape. A wave of his staff had the ground beneath her rising up into a fist, sending her and King flying. 

A last flash of light and Hunter was beside her. It was getting harder and harder to inhale, but it was fine, it was fine, he was so close—

“You really wanna help? Then GIVE ME THAT KEY!”

He hooked his staff around her necklace. Just a little more pressure and—

The string broke, sending the key through the air. He lunged, and—

Blight’s fist closed around it, Hunter’s staff striking the top of her hand. In a split second, she had a sharp spike at his throat, looking like she wouldn’t mind impaling him with it in the slightest. 

Hunter glared right back, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Brute force wouldn’t get him out of this. He needed a different plan. 

He could remember being ten (?) and at the Conformitorium. Two wild witches had been apprehended, and his uncle took him with to see a live interrogation. When asked for information, they hadn’t spoken. When Uncle threatened to harm them, they’d spat in his face. It was only when he threatened to go after their children, enrolled at Hexside, did they cooperate. 

“Not every battle is won with swords,” Belos said afterwards to him, “Sometimes words can be just as effective. Know where to hit your opponent hardest, Hunter.” 

Hunter remembered feeling somewhat sick to his stomach during the interrogation. He felt somewhat sick now, but he ignored it. 

This had to be done, 

“Listen,” he said, “you're strong, and I'm tired. If this continues, you'll probably escape. But here's the thing: We know where to find you— and your human.”

Blight gasped, the scowl dropped from her face in an instant. It was quickly replaced by shock, fear, revulsion. 

Titan, why did Hunter feel like throwing up? 

Doesn’t matter. Just get the key. 

(It’s not like you’ll actually go after Lu— the human anyway.)

“So, just… hand over the key,” he said. 

Blight’s hand clenched. 

Hunter held his breath. Then— 

“Fine.” Blight looked down, defeated. “Just stay away from Luz.” After another moment of hesitation, the spike in her hand liquified once more, and she dropped the key into his hand. 

It was lighter than he’d expected. A yellow eye— identical to the one on the door— stared back at him. 

This was it. He could go back to the castle now. Not only did he have the Titan’s blood for Belos, but Kikimora wouldn’t get any. This was the best possible outcome— so why did he feel so awful? 

Hunter shoved the feeling aside, moving away. “Appreciate it.” 

Blight still hadn’t moved from her position on the ground. He could easily imagine the look on her face. 

He stopped. “I, uh, mean that, too,” he said awkwardly, glancing back. 

With nothing else left to say, he mounted his staff, and took off. 

Chapter Text

At some point the sun had set, leaving the moon to illuminate the snowy slopes of the Knee. The whistling wind filled the silence, shaking the trees and blowing snow about below. 

Hunter only flew far enough for the mines to be out of sight before he touched down. Landing sent a vague pain radiating up from his knees and he winced, dismounting the staff. He’d certainly taken a beating, and couldn’t wait to get back to his first aid kit at the castle. What he would give for one of the Healing Coven’s pain patches right now. 

He would get back far faster flying, he knew, but it was nighttime at the Knee— he was loath to risk air travel here in the dark when the vampire bats would be patrolling the skies. Walking would be slower, but so long as he didn’t run into any slitherbeasts, he should be alright. 

As he started down the mountain, something shifted in his pocket. Hunter pulled it out, holding up the portal key. It swung from its string like a pendulum, slow and steady. 

It was then that he noticed the jagged crack on its face. It must have broken during the fight; about half full, the blood from it dripped sluggishly into the snow. 

Hunter was ready to break something. Yet another setback; another impossible obstacle. Today had been problem after problem, being captured, Kikimora’s presence, not finding the blood, now losing the blood— why couldn’t things ever be easy for him? 

There was little he could do about it now, though, except return to the castle and hope that the blood the key still contained would be enough, both to activate the door and prove himself. It would be fine, though. He came out on top back at Eclipse Lake and now he’d do it again. 

His hand holding the staff closed around nothing and Hunter frowned, looking down at his suddenly empty hand. A weight settled atop the hand holding the key, and he looked back up.

The bird blinked down at him, looking distinctly pleased. It chirped. 

“Oh, hey.” Hunter couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face. Despite the fact that it was wild magic and he shouldn’t have trusted it, it had been a good ally (a good friend?) to have on his side. “You stuck with me the whole time, huh, bird?”

The bird twittered, and— 

What? Had he just—

“I— think I understood that,” Hunter said, slowly. “Is that your name? Can you say it again?” 

Flapjack, the bird chirped. 

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “Weird.” He’d never heard anything like that before. It was kind of cute, actually. “Can you say other things?”

Yes, the bir— Flapjack said, moving to Hunter’s shoulder. 

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Informative.” He started walking again. 

I know. Flapjack’s feathers rustled. And I’m a he, not an it. 

“Oh,” Hunter said. “Um. Sorry about that. I didn’t—“ He broke off. I didn’t think you were much more than a dangerous magical tree carving. 

He realized very abruptly that he was talking to said dangerous magic tree carving. This thing— a he or not— was made of wild magic. It was dangerous and— 

And it had stuck with Hunter since they’d met. It had braved the castle and fought to help him. 

Maybe… 

Maybe this one wasn’t so bad. 

Now you know. Flapjack didn’t seem particularly upset. 

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “I— I guess I do.” 

“Really? Because when I was reading up on the cultivation of palistrom trees, it said that no one had ever recorded them as a natural habitat for palismen.”

It hadn’t taken long before Hunter’s remaining reservations disappeared and he began questioning Flapjack in earnest— he could talk, after all, and what better way to get information about wild magic than from wild magic? 

Flapjack, for the most part, was happy to offer up information, and though perhaps a little snarky at times (Hunter had to say, he was unsurprised), a good companion. 

That’s because they would have had to get past the Bat Queen, Flapjack chirped. Most witches are no match for her. 

“I bet I could take her,” Hunter said. 

No, you couldn’t. Not big enough. Flapjack paused, then added, The human beat her once. 

“What?” Hunter’s voice cracked. “Lu— the human defeated her but you think I couldn’t?” 

The palisman’s twitters sounded suspiciously like laughter. 

“If you like her so much, you should’ve gone to find her after Latissa,” Hunter grumbled, more subdued. 

Flapjack nestled closer to his neck. No. She’s not my witch. 

If Hunter’s cheeks were pink, it was just because of the cold. Only because of the cold. 

Being the pro at feelings that he was, Hunter abruptly changed the subject. “So, how did you nest in the trees? Obviously, you’re a bird— you probably had a nest, right? What about the other palismen?” 

Flapjack didn’t answer. Instead, he said, My witch has much better hair for nesting. 

“My hair isn’t for— don’t change the subject!” Hunter sputtered. “I was asking about tree nests!” 

Flapjack considered. I built myself a nest. Some of the others stayed under the roots, or just roosted in the branches. It was a comfortable nest— He shifted— but not as comfortable as your hair nest. And, of course, in perfect Flapjack fashion, he took off, landing a few seconds later atop Hunter’s head. 

“Not a nest,” Hunter repeated. 

Very good nest. The feeling of satisfaction brushed up against his mind as Flapjack settled down. 

Titan, was this what Hunter was in for? Having an incorrigible bird use his hair as a nest? He would never understand why people actually wanted palismen. 

(It was weirdly nice, though. The reassuring presence of someone else with him. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.) 

Despite his protests, the bird stayed nestled around his locks, and Hunter didn’t make any attempts to swat him away. Instead, he kept moving down the mountain, going back to questioning Flapjack. 

“What other kinds of wildlife were you around?” Cultivated palistrom groves were the Isle’s main source of palistrom wood, and those used extensive wards to keep creatures not absolutely necessary to the development of the trees out. There weren’t any recent records of wild palistrom forests that he’d been able to find, and he was desperately curious, as always. 

Lots of bugs, Flapjack recalled. I liked the frightening bugs best. 

“You can talk to frightening bugs?” Hunter asked, wide eyed. 

No. Why would I be able to talk to them? The feeling Flapjack projected was clearly amusement. I ate them. 

It took a moment for that to sink in. Then— 

“You ate them?” Hunter made a face, revolted. “That’s disgusting!”

They’re a great source of protein, Flapjack supplied. 

Hunter had a sudden thought. “Do they crawl around in your stomach? Do their exoskeletons crunch? Eugh!” He shuddered. 

Silly boy. The crunch is the best part. 

“Titan, I can’t even— no. Just, no. That’s so gross. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?” They crawled around in the dirt all day with all their little legs and— eugh. “You know what?” Hunter declared, “No more eating bugs for you. I’ll buy you birdseed, like a normal person. Or bird. Whatever.” That meant a trip to the Night Market, he supposed. Good thing he’d been planning one before, anyway. 

Flapjack was still making fun of his completely reasonable dislike of injecting insects when they reached the bottom of the mountain. As they stepped out of the forest, the conversation had shifted to Hunter complaining about Kikimora. When the sun began to peek over the horizon, Flapjack was fast asleep, still nesting in Hunter’s hair. 

He smiled, just a little. 

When the castle at last came into sight and Hunter gently prodded the bird awake, he opened his cloak. It didn’t take anything more for Flapjack to get the memo and relocate to a pocket with little more than a lazy twitter. 

Approaching the castle gate, Hunter squared his shoulders. He’d looked at the key not terribly long ago, and while it still had blood, it had continued to drain away. He hoped desperately that it was enough. It had to be. If it wasn’t…. 

He steeled himself and strode across the bridge. He didn’t offer any of the scouts greetings. Instead, he made right for his uncle’s private chamber. 

There was a sense of urgency to his steps that he couldn’t quite mask. The weight of the palisman sat heavy in his pocket, his heart beat almost painfully in his chest, and he was hyper-aware of the fact that Kikimora had probably gotten back already and given Belos a full report, and who knew what she had said.

But you have the key, he told himself. You have the key. It’s okay. 

Hunter didn’t even stop outside the doors. Didn’t stop for the surprised, “Wait, are you the Golden Guard?” from the scouts, didn’t stop to hear the urgent, “Hold on, he’s busy,” that came after. He pushed the doors open, practically running. 

His uncle was standing before the portal, examining it. At the frantic patter of Hunter’s footsteps, he turned. 

Hunter slowed as he reached the steps. The look on his uncle’s face made him falter, but he pressed on. “I— I know you didn't want me going to Eclipse Lake. But if I hadn't—“ He slipped the key out of his pocket and held it out, “— I wouldn't have found this!”

There was a limb flying towards him, as fast and precise as the curse. Reflexively, Hunter flinched, but, no, no, it was just Belos, snatching the key out of his hand. No curse. 

He was fine. 

Fine. 

His uncle turned away, still radiating disapproval. 

Hunter had to fix it. 

“Some... of the Titan blood did spill,” he said, “but— but if you let me explain, then—“

“Leave. Now.” 

It was a short, terse command. Dangerous. 

As quickly as he could without running, Hunter retreated. 

He didn’t stop until he’d reached his room and pushed the door closed. He took of his mask. With unsteady legs, he sat on the edge of his bed. Why were they shaking? He’d been find until his u—

“It’s just been a long day,” he told himself. Just a long day. That was all. 

Hunter was ready to crash. He was utterly exhausted and ached all over. He’d been dreaming of his first aid kit and bed for hours, yet made no move to begin tending to his bruises or lay down. He stared blankly at the Golden Guard mask on his desk. 

“Why didn’t he—“ Hunter broke off. Disobedience. That was why he was dismissed. His disobedience had caused the curse to flare up, and Uncle had demanded he leave for his own protection. “I know I didn't listen!” he said. “But, I just— I thought he’d still appreciate it.” 

Flapjack found his way out of Hunter’s cloak. He stared up at him from his knee. 

“He doesn’t get it,” Hunter found himself saying. “He doesn’t understand— I just want to help! With his curse, his portal, his plans— why won’t he let me help? Why isn’t my help good enough?” 

Did you do everything you could? Flapjack cocked his head. 

“Yeah,” Hunter said. “I— yeah.” 

Then it should be good enough, Flapjack said. He’s lucky you care. He doesn’t deserve so much of your kindness.

There was a bitter edge to his tone, a sharp resentment that he projected. It pulled Hunter out of his thoughts. 

“Are you… mad at Belos?” Hunter said, curious. 

The feeling pressing up against Hunter’s mind vanished, quickly as it had come on. I just think that he should appreciate my witch more. 

The statement made him go pink, but he didn’t let himself be distracted. “My uncle is a great witch,” he said. “He’s trying to do the right thing. I just… get in the way sometimes.” 

The bird shifted carefully. Not as good a witch as my witch. 

Hunter opened his mouth to argue— after all, Belos had created the Coven System, perfected sigil magic, and united the whole Isles under the Empire, and Hunter had done what, exactly? — when the bird took off without warning. He startled, jerking back, and Flapjack— 

“No, nonono, don’t you dare—!” 

Flapjack landed on his head, twittering happily. 

When Hunter showed up at the drawbridge the next morning, the scouts stared. 

“Yes?” he snapped. 

The tallest of the scouts flinched and began stammering. “N— nothing, just that, uh, just that—“

“The Captain told us that Kikimora told her that the Emperor told her that you weren’t going on patrol this week,” a different scout cut in. 

Oh. Right. Hunter was supposed to stay at the castle. 

But this was his job! 

He tried to cover his incredulity. “That’s right! I was just checking in to make sure Bonesborough was in capable hands. Which it is!” 

“Yeah,” one of the scouts said. “Don’t worry. Us adults have it covered.” 

Beneath his mask, Hunter went red. “I’m sorry—“ 

“Alright! Move out!” the second scout called, and the unit marched off, leaving a fuming Hunter in their wake. 

Us adults have it covered. What, did they think him a child? Hunter was the Golden Guard, one of the most powerful people on the Boiling Isles, Head of the Emperor’s fucking Coven—

And essentially grounded. Great. That was definitely helping his image as a strong and competent Coven Head. 

It’s not undeserved, he told himself, walking back into the castle. You brought this upon yourself. Still, he seethed; it let the scout’s comment cut deeper than it should have, and made it seem like Hunter was so incompetent he couldn’t even manage a patrol, which was the easiest part of his job. 

No one stopped him in the halls; rather, they squeezed themselves into alcoves and looked to their feet to avoid risking eye contact. Perhaps his blatant rage was childish, but in the moment Hunter didn’t care. He felt justified in it, stalking through the corridors as his cape billowed behind him. 

He hardly registered his walk to the courtyard he used for training. He didn’t remember making any conscious decision to go there; one minute he wasn’t there and the next he was.

Hunter conjured a series of stone pillars in the center of the courtyard with a wave of his artificial staff. They were destroyed just as quickly, as he sent furious jets of magic barreling towards them, watching as they crumbled into thousands of pieces. He reconstructed them and shot at them again. And again and again and again— 

He was panting, the ground around him full of rubble. The anger was by no means gone, but there was no primal need to destroy. More of a simmering resentment paired with some mix of resignation and self-hatred. Fine. It was fine. 

He stood there, trying to force his frustration down. Being upset wouldn't do him any good. Being upset was succumbing to his emotions, to weakness. Hunter was above that. He just had to— to refocus and figure out how to fix this. 

Okay. This was fine. Hunter couldn’t leave the castle, but that didn’t mean he couldn't still be a productive and useful member of the Coven. This was fine. He just had to be useful from within the castle without breaking any more rules or disobeying any more orders. He could do that. 

Without a patrol, practically his whole day was open. He had another meeting with Kikimora about the Coven Day Parade, but seeing as he a) didn’t want anything to do with her, and b) wasn’t able to actually be in the parade since he was stuck here, he might just shunt that onto her to deal with alone. Beyond that, he had a Coven meeting tomorrow morning. 

It hit him, very suddenly, that he practically had a day off. 

Now that was quite the concept. 

Hunter wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. 

He was pretty sure that he didn’t like it. 

Since his uncle took him in, Hunter had spent almost every day working. You didn’t get to be a Coven Head by sitting back and kicking your feet up. The idea that days were for working was so ingrained into him that when his day off appeared, he had no idea how to spend it. More often than not, he’d take a group of scouts to some far-off city and patrol there, partly because Hunter loved seeing the Isles, but also because it felt wrong to not be working. The idea of spending today lazing about in bed almost made him recoil. 

No, he had to do something somewhat productive. He could train, he could join the scouts guarding the throne room or the gates, he could keep working on his research. 

Something in his pocket moved. Hunter found himself drawn from his thoughts as he opened his cloak and the bird flew out, perching on his outstretched hand. 

Flapjack twittered. 

“What are you doing?” Hunter hissed, glancing behind him automatically. “We’re in the castle— you can’t just sneak around—“

Watch me. Flapjack ruffled his feathers. 

“Cute. You can’t. We’ve talked about this. If you’re going to stay here, you have to stay in my room.”

Flapjack leveled him with a look. 

Hunter glared back just as intensely, though the bird couldn’t see it behind his mask. He sighed, turning towards the door. “C’mon. I was going to my room anyway.”

(His decision to keep researching had absolutely nothing to do with his inexplicable desire to spend time with Flapjack, or his weird fascination with wild magic. He was helping, that was all. Proving himself.) 

He opened his cloak to let Flapjack back in. The bird hid himself quickly, and Hunter began the trek back to his room. 

His research about curses and cures had taken a little bit of a backseat since his foray into portal making, but without any new materials on that, Hunter supposed he was back to speculating about his uncle’s curse. Uncle had been keeping an eye on what was checked out of the library recently, which meant Hunter had to resort to sneaking books from the archive, checking out tomes on mindscapes and wildlife indigenous to the Toes and sticking books on wild magic in between the other titles before he left. The Imperial Librarian hadn’t caught on so far, much to his luck. That meant that his room was practically covered in books now. The handful he’d found on portals were stacked beside his wardrobe; an impressive tower of them stood beside his bed, containing information on palismen; under his window a haphazard stack on curses and their origins sat; and strewn amongst them all were the random books he’d picked up while smuggling the others out. 

Upon entering his room, Hunter grabbed his notes and the book on top of his curse pile, a thin but wordy piece on curse physiology. As he settled on the bed, Flapjack emerged, perching on his knee. Absent-mindedly, Hunter stroked his feathers, already lost in the book. 

Reading and research, though fascinating, could quickly grow tedious. By the second day of sitting in his room, head buried in his texts, Hunter was almost thankful for the opportunity to go to a Coven Meeting. 

Almost. 

Though he was incredibly tired of reading Kassim Clare’s musings on curse physiology and evolution, he would much rather be in his room with Flapjack than dealing with the likes of the other Heads. 

Not to mention, the idea of facing his uncle again had his stomach flipping. Belos had said nothing since Hunter gave him the key. He was usually quite timely with his communications, and it was nerve-wracking that this was the exception. It made Hunter’s stomach flip unpleasantly. His uncle had something to say, but he was going to let him sweat it out first. 

He hoped it wasn’t in front of the other Heads, whatever it was. Hunter doubted it would be good, and he resented the idea of them having any more reason to view him as a child. 

Regardless, the change of scenery from bedroom to throne room was welcome. He stood with the others around a round table, across from Terra, much to his dislike. Whispers— they were actually here for this meeting— flanked him on one side, with Mason on the other. Beneath his cloak, Flapjack stayed wooden and dormant, despite all of Hunter’s earlier attempts to get the bird to stay in his room.

Next to Snapdragon stood stubby little Kikimora, who cleared her throat importantly once everyone had arrived. 

“The Emperor was unable to make it today, but sends his regards,” she said. “However, he personally told me that he’s impressed by your recruitment rates.” 

Alongside the fleeting euphoria of relief (he didn’t have to see the disappointed look on his uncle’s face, or hear the dissatisfaction in his voice, didn’t have to worry about the curse) was a sinking feeling, because his uncle couldn't be bothered to see him. He forced it aside and tried desperately to listen to what Kikimora was saying. 

“—spite recent growth, the Coven Day celebration is a fantastic time to market the coven system and procure even more recruits,” she said. “It is fully expected that these celebrations will be used to endorse the coven system and….”

Hunter listened intently, even though it was incredibly boring and most of it didn’t concern him seeing as he wouldn’t even be at the Coven Day celebrations anymore. This was the only part of his job he could do right now, though, so the least he could do was do it well. 

When the meeting ended, he filed out of the room with the rest of the Heads. They were all off to do some sort of service for Belos, no doubt, while Hunter went to go sit in his room like a child in time out. Nonetheless, he held his head high as he turned the corner, headed the opposite direction of the others, except… for Darius? 

“Little Prince.” Darius strode up beside him, matching his pace. “A little birdie told me that you’ve had some trouble as of late.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Hunter said shortly. 

Darius hummed, ignoring Hunter’s very clear desire for him to go away. “I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it,” he said lightly. “Belos must have made you a Coven Head for some reason, even if it baffles me.” 

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Hunter couldn’t tell. 

“Nonetheless,” Darius said, “I didn’t come to question your competence— Titan knows Kikimora does that enough for all of us. I wanted to offer some advice.” 

“That’s unnecessary,” Hunter said. 

“Make careful choices,” Darius said, oddly serious. “You know, perhaps better than anyone, that the Emperor is not a merciful man. I would be quite disappointed to see you… further indisposed.” 

Hunter scowled. Of course Darius had followed him to be an ass and make fun of him. 

“I know you’re an angsty teenager—“ Darius waved a hand, much more flippant now, “—with underdeveloped brain matter, but still. Think before you act. Just a little.” 

“I’m much more capable than you think, Deamonne,” Hunter said coldly. “You were right: there is a reason Belos made me a Coven Head; because I can handle it on my own.” With that, he pulled ahead, leaving Darius behind him muttering about “teenagers these days” and “fucking impossible promises.” 

Hunter would show him. He’d show all of them. And he knew exactly how. While they were out waving to people and working on recruitment, Hunter would finally cure his uncle’s curse. So what if he’d been trying unsuccessfully for weeks? Now he had time, and dammit, it was going to work! He’d do it. He swore. 

Flapjack observed the whole thing from atop the dresser. Below him, Hunter was paving like a madman. 

“He said it’s because of wild magic,” he listed. “It’s something organic, and can be classified as emotional, chronic, beastial, and noncorporeal, which shouldn’t be possible. The palismen keep it at bay— but how?” In all his reading, not once had he come across any indication that palismen could help a curse. Obviously, they did— why else would his uncle do— what he did? — but Hunter was missing something. Palismen were a way to channel wild magic. They were made from wild magic. Wouldn’t they just increase the amount of wild magic in Belos’ system and make the curse worse? 

He was missing something important, and it had to do with the palismen. He knew it. But what? 

Hunter looked up at the bird. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?” 

You should eat, Flapjack chirped. It’s harder to think on an empty stomach. 

“I don’t have time.” Hunter waved him off. “I need to figure this out.” 

You literally have all day. Flapjack was unimpressed. Take care of yourself.

“I’m fine,” Hunter said. Treacherously, his stomach growled.

Flapjack was far more smug than a bird had any right to be. 

Hunter sighed. “Fine.” He held out a hand. 

Flapjack glided down to it, letting Hunter stick him into a pocket. 

Hunter threw on his cloak to cover the lump where Flapjack was hidden, just in case. He forwent the mask, though, and slipped out into the corridor. 

What was he missing? 

He’d gone through all the castle’s books on curses— twice, just in case he’d missed something important the first time. He was nearly done with all the books on palismen— only four and a half more to go. He could spend hours talking about curse classification and transmission, hours discussing methods of carving and keeping of palismen. Flapjack, too, had given him information that hadn’t been in the books. Still…. 

By this point, it was clear that Belos’ curse was something unique. It wasn’t like the average lycanthrope curse, or even the curse of the Owl Lady. Hunter would bet that whatever it was, it was old, long forgotten. He would be hard-pressed to find any record of its origins, even in the castle. 

Logically, with that being a dead end, it made perfect sense for him to turn to the next most concrete thing he knew about the curse: palismen. But no, still nothing. All his research pointed away from the idea that consuming palismen could help with a curse, but they did. Belos was testament to that. 

Hunter’s only other tentative lead was portal magic, but his theory as to how his uncle had gotten the curse was more likely wrong than right. Not to mention, he’d already read all of the books the library had to offer on that subject. 

“If I just knew a little more,” he murmured. If his uncle would just tell him how— but no, Uncle hadn’t sent for him nor acknowledged him since his return from Eclipse lake three days ago, and Hunter wasn’t about to seek him out, especially for information regarding his curse. 

His curse, which, in all Hunter’s desperation, he had almost forgotten Belos didn’t want him meddling with. If he found out about Hunter’s foray into wild magic before he had a cure….

Belos’ words came back to him. So long as we’re careful, he had said, so long as it doesn’t become public knowledge, it’s acceptable. 

“It’s fine,” he told himself. “It’s fine. He said so himself.” As long as one was careful with wild magic and didn’t introduce it to people who would hurt themselves with it, it was fine. And besides, Hunter was only dabbling with wild magic in theory— it wasn’t as though he’d been blowing things up or sacrificing things to the Titan— or whatever witches in the Savage Ages did. 

With that moral crisis averted, his mind looped back to trying to puzzle out what he was missing. 

If the curse was old and forgotten, as expected, it made sense that it wouldn’t fit into the modern categories of classification. Maybe he should focus some attention on history; see if he could find any references to similar afflictions there. But more than that, something with the palismen didn’t add up. He still had no explanation as to how they kept the curse at bay, and that would be the first step to figuring out how to cure it, wouldn’t it? Understanding what part of the palismen was its weakness? 

Hunter pushed open the kitchen door, frowning. But where was he supposed to find that out? The palismen books he had left were about palisman caretaking. They probably wouldn’t have what he needed. He’d still read them anyway, but— 

Beneath his cape, Flapjack squirmed, giving a muffled chirp. 

“Shhh—!” Hunter looked around wildly, but there was no one there. 

Flapjack nipped at his pocket. Go get food.  

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m going.” He found a bin of fruit and grabbed a prickly pear, and sitting out on the counter was a basket of rolls, which he also took from. Then, it was back to his room, scolding Flapjack one last time for being reckless and loud. 

The information had to be somewhere. Hunter just had to find it. If not here, maybe in the forbidden stacks of another library, or in someone’s private collection. He couldn’t access either of those things, though, without his Golden Guard regalia, and if he did that, word might get back to Belos, something to be avoided at all costs. So then that begged the question, where? 

Hunter shut his door behind him, sitting on the bed and starting on one of the rolls. 

Flapjack was quick to emerge from beneath his cape. He looked up at the bread from Hunter’s knee, a clear feeling of want passing through their connection. 

“So you get upset with me for not eating, and then when I do eat, you take my food?” Hunter raised an eyebrow. 

Not all your food. Flapjack’s feathers rustled. Just your bread. 

Hunter was going soft. He ripped off a bit of the roll, holding it out in the palm of his hand. “Fine.” 

Bread! Flapjack pecked at it happily, an odd sensation that made Hunter laugh involuntarily. 

“This is so weird,” he said, ripping off and offering the bird a little more. 

Delicious, not weird, Flapjack corrected between bites. 

“And I would know that if I was able to eat my own food, but someone decided they wanted to eat it for me.” 

Then you should have eaten it faster. This is better than frightening bugs. 

The thought made Hunter shudder. “Eugh. We talked about this, Flapjack, anything is better than bugs. Anything. Please don’t ever eat those again. That’s gross.” 

I make no promises, Flapjack said. 

“What do I have to do?” Hunter asked. “Bring you more rolls? Buy you birdseed from the Night Market?” 

It struck him, very suddenly. 

“That’s it!” He laughed, almost giddily. “That’s it! The Night Market has all kinds of shady things— maybe there’ll be something there that can help me figure out the curse!” He had planned to go before Eclipse Lake— he could easily knock out two griffins with one spell. Get information on portal magic, more texts on palismen—

Only, he realized, he couldn’t leave the castle. Those were direct orders. And even if he wanted to break them, he couldn’t sneak out, either; his staff could be tracked, and it wasn’t as though he could walk to Bonesborough and back quickly enough to not be missed. 

As though reading his mind, Flapjack twittered. You have another staff. 

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. 

“You mean—“ Hunter blinked. “Ride you?”

Yes. 

“I— no. That’s not a good idea.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “If I got caught, you would be compromised and Uncle would— anyway, it’s wild magic. It’s dangerous.” 

What about Eclipse Lake? Flapjack looked up at him. Was that dangerous? 

“I almost died. Multiple times,” Hunter said, deadpan. “Yes, it was dangerous!” 

If you’d actually been about to die, I would have saved you. Flapjack was unconcerned. 

“Well, yeah, I mean, you’re okay, I know you wouldn’t try to hurt me, but— but wild magic— it’s unpredictable and—“

Hunter. Flapjack leveled him with a look. I love you, but you can be very silly sometimes. 

Hunter cut off, face burning. 

You used wild magic at Eclipse Lake and you’re fine. And you wouldn’t have to use wild magic if we flew to the Night Market. You would only be using it if you actively casted a spell. Flying doesn’t count. Flapjack waited for his response. Something reassuring but also distinctly I-am-done-with-your-bullshit-Hunter brushed against his mind. 

“I—“ Hunter hesitated. “I guess you’re right about flying. It’s not really me using magic, is it?” He shifted. “So if we did— do this, it would be okay. And I wouldn’t actually have to use wild magic unless we were under extreme circumstances, like at Eclipse Lake.” 

And— at Eclipse Lake, he’d barely thought about using wild magic. Actually, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he had used it. It was different to wield, yeah, but hardly as malevolent as his uncle had led him to believe. He hadn’t actually gotten hurt. And he’d seen the human use it dozens of times, and she was still alive and annoying as ever. So if he had to use it, just a little, it would be fine, wouldn’t it? It would be fine. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.” 

There was a rush of pleased triumph from Flapjack. Good. 

“We just have to figure out how to get out without being seen….” 

The guard changed across the castle at twelve o’clock, exactly. It would change again at four, and then again at eight. Cloud cover from the East would cover the skies around ten, and last until about one. This was all very much in Hunter’s favor. 

When the guards changed, there were usually about two or three minutes where the wall Hunter’s window was located on was left defenseless. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be at all— the guards were supposed to wait to be relieved instead of just leaving when the clock struck midnight, which they didn’t— but it was working in his favor, so he couldn’t complain. 

While the guard was gone, he would slip out of his window on Flapjack and conceal himself in the clouds. He’d try to return either at one, and hope the guards were asleep, as they too often were, or return at four and slip in as the guard changed again. The castle would be none the wiser, and he would get what he needed. 

It was almost foolproof, except for all the parts where it could go wrong. 

Two minutes to midnight, Hunter was ready. He was jittery, unable to sit still, instead pacing his room as he tried to avoid thinking about how he was disobeying direct orders (again). He gripped the satchel slung across his chest with one hand, and fiddled with the clasp of his dull, brown cloak with the other. Flapjack perched on his shoulder, nipping at his ear chidingly. 

It’s fine. We’ll be fine. Stop worrying. 

A minute to. Hunter peered over his windowsill. Below, the scouts were getting antsy, ready to leave. 

“Okay,” he said, setting his shoulders. He sounded much more confident than he felt. “Let’s get ready.”

Flapjack hopped off of his shoulder, lengthening into a staff. 

Hunter caught it, grasping it firmly. This was going to go fine. It was fine.

Another glance down, and the scouts were walking away. 

He waited until they were out of sight, glanced around furtively, and then, after a last moment of hesitation, mounted his staff and slipped out the window. He closed it almost all the way behind him, then shot upwards into the sky. 

Flying on a staff was an exhilarating feeling. It was a rush, a pleasant swooping in his stomach as the ground disappeared below him. There weren’t quite words to describe it— the sudden feeling of a weight lifted off his shoulders, the freedom of being so high up— just the exhilaration that built in his chest as he soared away from the castle. 

(Which was odd. Shouldn’t he want to stay?) 

(No, it wasn’t weird. He just liked flying. This wasn’t about escaping the castle, or the mantle of the Golden Guard, or anything like that. Just flying.) 

He couldn’t actually see with all the cloud cover, but Flapjack had ensured him that he had a good sense of direction. Palismen powers, or something. 

“Okay, Flap,” he said, “which way?” 

The staff turned, and they were on their way. 

Although Flapjack couldn’t speak to him in his staff form, he was still able to convey emotions and impressions. He returned Hunter’s jubilance and they continued onwards. 

Beneath the jubilation, though, there was an underlying layer of dread and apprehension. When— if his uncle found out, there would certainly be trouble. Whether it was for sneaking out, disobeying orders, or harboring a palisman, Hunter would be in deep shit, to put it lightly. The curse would flare up, and— 

And it wouldn’t, because Hunter wasn’t going to get caught. End of story. 

He redirected his thoughts, going through his list of things to procure. Books and information on portal magic and palismen, first and foremost. Maybe some birdseed, if he found any. (Definitely birdseed. He wasn’t going to let his palisman eat bugs. Flapjack deserved better than that.) Perhaps not the simplest of things to find, but hopefully manageable enough at a place like the Night Market. 

His only other objective was to avoid running into any scouts, the Owl Lady, Luz, Blight, or King. He’d forgone his uniform tonight to prevent word getting back to the castle, and though the scouts knew his face now, the public didn’t. So long as he avoided people who would recognize him, he shouldn’t have any problems. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts by his stomach dropping as Flapjack, without any more warning than a mischievous brush against his mind, dove into a loop in midair, sending Hunter scrambling to keep purchase. 

“Hey!” Hunter clutched the staff, certain that if Flapjack was capable of speech right now, he would be laughing. “We’re on a mission right now, we can’t afford to have—“ 

And they were swooping again. 

Hunter couldn’t quite help the laugh that had bubbled up. If he hadn’t been holding on for dear life, he might have clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Flapjack—“ He did not squeal as his palisman flipped them suddenly upside down, “—this is no time to fool around, we need to focus.” 

The impression that brushed against his mind he interpreted as something along the lines of when we get to the Night Market. Just a little fun?

Hunter wavered. He had been cooped up in his room for a majority of the past few days, and he did enjoy flying. So long as they were headed for Bonesborough and weren’t seen….

“Okay,” he conceded, “but I’m steering.” 

Flapjack was clearly pleased, readily sharing his excitement. 

Hunter couldn’t help but grin as he launched them into a series of dives and rolls, racing through the sky. 

Eventually, Flapjack took over again and began guiding them towards the ground. Hunter leaned forward as they emerged from the clouds, taking in the bustling streets below. The market was in full swing, a strange contrast of bright stands and dark streets. 

They landed down an alleyway, just off the main square. Hunter slipped off the staff and readjusted his cloak, pulling the hood up over his head. He double checked that his bag was still over one shoulder, grasping it with a gloved hand. 

At his side, Flapjack transformed, landing on his shoulder with a chirp. Ready? 

“Let’s go.” Hunter strode forward. “Keep an eye out for books.” 

At once, he was swallowed by the crowd. 

It was a strange feeling, the jostling of bodies, the anonymity of being alone and unimportant in a crowd. In uniform, no one dared bump into him and everyone stared, a sharp contrast to now. It was… different. Hunter wasn’t quite sure that he liked it. 

Fighting through the crowd, he refocused. He was here on a mission, and he only had so long before he was due back at the castle. Focus, Hunter. Trying to peer over the shoulders of the passing witches was useless, so he fought his way towards the edge of the torrent of people, closer to a long row of stands labeled with titles like Ernie’s Emporium of Fungus and Curses, Ailments, and Bad Luck.  

He passed a good ways down the row before coming to a stop before a rather decrepit and seedy wooden structure with a rotting sign that read Strange and Unusual Finds. On the shelves behind the gruff-looking demon manning the stand, a collection of books sat, bindings old and frail. 

Hunter drew closer, squinting to make out the titles. Wyvern Breeding of the Deadwardian Era. The Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles. Beginning of Wilde Magik. The Lost Art of Grimwalkers. Nothing. He kept walking. 

A little ways down the square, he got lucky, stopping in front of a rickety stand that advertised specializing in palismen. It had various knickknacks, staff polish, birdseed, dead vermin, and, most fortunately for him, a full shelf of books on palisman magic. 

Majority of the books he’d read, but one, an old, dusty blue thing, was unfamiliar. 

The demon at the stand followed his gaze. “That’s a pretty comprehensive volume,” she said. “Not in print anymore.” 

“How much?” Hunter asked. 

 The demon hummed. “Forty snails.” 

Expensive, but Hunter supposed he would just have to deal with it. He could spare the money. 

The demon watched him count out the coins before turning and pulling the book off the shelf. “Anything else?” 

He almost said no. But… “A bag of birdseed.” 

“Eight snails.” 

Flapjack twittered excitedly. For me? 

“Yes. So no more bugs,” Hunter said. 

No more bugs until the seed is gone, Flapjack promised. Probably. 

Well. That was an improvement, he supposed. 

The vendor cleared her throat. 

Hunter passed over the money, and tucked the book and birdseed into his bag. With a curt nod, he kept moving. He passed vendors selling curses and weapons and pixies and all sorts of illegal wares, peered at stands boasting candles and elixirs. It was a fantastical place, with all its crime and wonder. 

Less fantastical was the dirt, which he found out after tripping over something left in the middle of the road. He almost face planted, instead catching himself with his hands. 

Flapjack fluttered above him, displaced by the fall. Hunter? Are you okay?

“Fine,” Hunter grunted, pushing himself to his knees before standing up and brushing off his gloves. He turned to see what he’d tripped over, and— 

Was that the Owl Lady’s rat? 

He grabbed the book— the source of his fall— off the ground from where it had been discarded, examining the back cover. Sure enough, the author’s picture was that of King, accompanied by his name written in a professional font. What?

Hunter flipped the book over to its front cover. Ruler’s Reach, it read. Enter the Bad Boy. 

Had King written a book? Wasn’t he only, like, a small child? What?  

He was about to drop it and let it become someone else’s problem when he was struck by a thought. 

Know thine enemy was something Belos had said to him several times before. After the Shoals and Eclipse Lake and their continued decisions to break the law, the residents of the Owl House were certainly enemies of the Empire. Perhaps this book would have some insight into them. Something he could use. 

He tucked it into his bag alongside the book on palismen. 

Flapjack settled back onto his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Hunter said. “Let’s keep going.” 

The rest of the Night Market was not nearly so helpful. He found no more books on palismen, nothing on portal magic. (He did find a pair of cardinal socks that made Flapjack laugh at him when he bought them. Hunter ignored him as he finished the purchase, bright red.) At last, he gave up, ducking back into the alley he’d come from and taking off again, back towards the castle. 

He got back inside without any problems. No one was any the wiser that he’d even left. When the next rotation of scouts showed up for their shift, he was inside his room, staring out at the night. 

He didn’t want to be stuck here again. After days of being cooped up, getting to leave had been reinvigorating. These days, it was as though being in the castle was sapping him of his strength. 

Flapjack pecked happily at the seeds in his hand. By the way, he said, I liked the nickname you gave me. 

“Nickname?” Hunter said, tearing his eyes away from the horizon. “What nickname?” 

Flap. 

“I didn’t—“ Hunter started, but no, he had. 

Titan, had he given the bird a nickname? 

He was in too deep. He was— he was—

When did things become so complicated? 

He stared at the sky, and it didn’t have an answer. 

His uncle did not summon him. A few days passed, then a week. Then a few more days. 

Hunter had fucked up. Majorly. 

When his uncle was upset, he had two main responses. 

The first was to confront Hunter immediately. Give him scathing but deserved remarks, demand explanations. Sometimes, the curse flared, and he would send Hunter from the throne room bearing injuries. He would promise to atone, and perhaps get another chance. 

The second response was to ignore him. Hunter might as well have not existed. Belos wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t acknowledge him. There were no orders, no commands— nothing. Just stone cold silence. 

Of the two, Hunter much preferred the first response. With his uncle refusing to see him, he felt utterly useless, a sickening, anxious feeling that he could never quite shake. It was driving him insane. 

He knew, he knew it was deserved. With how much he’d messed up, Hunter didn’t deserve the time of day. Or maybe it was a kindness that his uncle didn’t call him for an audience— his actions must have contributed to making the curse even more volatile, and his uncle surely knew it would end poorly for both of them if Hunter was there. Neither of those explanations helped make the silence any more bearable. 

Even just a letter, telling him he was able to go on missions again, or expressing disappointment. Anything but the silence. 

To avoid thinking about the silence’s implications, he threw himself into his research. He poured through the remaining books on palismen, and when those ran out, started on Ruler’s Reach. He avoided the throne room and pretended he didn’t see the other Coven Heads leaving the castle for the Coven Day festivities. He got food when Flapjack reminded him, paced his room more times than he could count, and trained vigorously. Time crawled by at a maddening pace, and slowly but surely, Hunter was losing his mind. 

How long until his uncle decided Hunter had learned his lesson? 

Roughly nine days, six hours, and some odd number of minutes. 

Roughly nine days, six hours, and some odd number of minutes since everything had gone wrong, a scout at his door declared, “You’ve been summoned by the Emperor.” 

Hunter closed the door. 

He put on his mask. 

Chapter Text

Belos was sitting in his throne when Hunter arrived, cold and unmoving beneath his mask. Hunter, in stark contrast, was straight-backed and hovering somewhere between relief and terror. 

Despite his stiffness, Hunter forced himself to a knee, bowing before him. “Emperor.” 

“You disobeyed my orders, Hunter,” his uncle said, regarding him almost disdainfully. “I specifically told you to stay inside the castle, did I not?” 

“You did,” Hunter said. He bit back an excuse. An explanation. 

“Then, tell me, why did you leave?” His uncle waited expectantly. 

“I wanted to help,” Hunter said honestly. “To get the Titan’s blood for the door—“ 

“I specifically entrusted the task of finding Titan’s blood to Kikimora. Did you think her incompetent? Did you not trust my judgement?” 

“No— no, of course I do!” Hunter’s head snapped up. “I just— I know I’ve been failing a lot of my missions recently, and I wanted to prove you could depend on me!” 

“You’ve certainly proved yourself to be useful,” Belos mused. “Dedicated. The key you brought me is invaluable. But you’ve broken my trust. Perhaps you are capable, but that is worth nothing if you can’t follow orders.” 

Hunter looked away. “I understand. I’ll do better.” 

“See that you do.” His uncle rose. “The Day of Unity is swiftly approaching, and as I’m sure you’re aware, the Titan wants all witches in a coven by then. You will resume your patrols with the scouts and continue to help bolster recruitment.” 

“I won’t fail you again,” Hunter vowed. 

“See that you don’t,” his uncle said. A clear dismissal. 

This time, Hunter did what he was told. He left. 

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt. 

On one hand, he was utterly relieved to have gotten off so leniently. The curse hadn’t flared, his uncle hadn’t lashed out. He was able to leave the castle now, and more importantly, the Titan’s blood had been useful. 

But on the other was an awful sense of guilt, because he hadn’t listened, because he’d inadvertently questioned his uncle’s judgement, because he’d fucked up, again. He’d returned his uncle’s kindness with betrayal. 

Hunter would do better, though, he swore. Perhaps trying to help with recruitment wasn’t much, but he would do it well. Prove that his uncle could depend on him, both to get his job done and follow instructions. He’d fix it. He would. 

And he knew exactly how to start. 

His uncle had explicitly told him not to keep looking into wild magic. Despite this, Hunter had. Disobedience was a slippery slope and he’d known that, he’d known and still did it anyway. That had to stop. 

So, the books, his research, all of it had to go.  

Upon slipping inside his room, Hunter set about the task immediately. After taking off his mask, he stacked up the library books on wild magic, face hard. He pretended he didn’t want to open them. The non-wild magic books he’d used to sneak them out went in another pile. And his notes…. 

Hunter hesitated. He’d spent so long on them, careful not to let the ink smudge as he scrawled down anything that might be useful, anything that was interesting. The top page of them had carefully penned glyphs, painstakingly reconstructed yesterday from his memories of the human using magic, ones he’d been too afraid to touch. Because what if they didn’t work? What if they did?

No. No, he couldn’t do this. The Golden Guard didn’t fraternize with wild magic. The Golden Guard didn’t find it interesting or think about using it. Therefore, Hunter couldn’t. 

He picked up his artificial staff from where it rested, leaning against the wall. 

A moment later, the pages were nothing more than ash. Months of work, gone. 

It was for the best. 

He was doing the right thing. 

There was a rustling in his pocket that startled him. Flapjack poked his head out of his cloak, twittering. Did you do something stupid? 

“Why would you assume I did something stupid?” Hunter asked. 

You have a history of making poor choices. Flapjack’s feathers rustled. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Hunter rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t do anything stupid. Just something I should have done a long time ago.” 

Flapjack took in the ashes piled on his desk before taking off, twittering madly. Your notes! 

“It’s for the best,” Hunter said. “Wild magic is dangerous. And I can’t keep breaking the rules; you know that. I need to leave it behind.” 

Flapjack tugged at a stray strand of hair sharply. 

“Hey!” Hunter swatted at him reflexively. And then he realized. 

The— his palisman was made from wild magic. His palisman wasn’t something he was supposed to have. If Hunter really wanted to be rid of wild magic, he would have to make Flapjack leave. 

The thought made his chest throb painfully. 

He should. 

It would be better for both of them. Hadn’t he been saying that for weeks? Since the bird showed up? But— 

He didn’t want to. It hurt, thinking about forcing Flapjack to go. 

Oh, Hunter thought. I care about him. I don’t want him to leave. What a novel, unexpected concept. What a wonderful thing. What a horrible thing. 

He held out his hands and Flapjack landed in them immediately. 

The Golden Guard would never have a palisman. But maybe— Hunter wavered— maybe that could be something for Hunter. Just Hunter. 

The books went back to the library. 

Flapjack stayed. 

It had taken two trips to carry everything back to the library, though Hunter supposed he could have used magic. The librarian wasn’t there, leaving him to reshelve everything himself, meaning it took even longer for him to finish. But finish he did. He rewarded himself by taking a book for himself; a thick tome on the history of the Coven System. 

Something safe. Something interesting. Something the Golden Guard would read. 

He’d set it on his now nearly empty desk, then set off to train. 

The ache in his hands was back to normal. He made it up the wall this time. 

He was the Golden Guard. Of course he did. 

It took an extraordinary amount of effort to convince Flapjack to stay home when he went out on patrol the next morning. Only after half a dozen reassurances that he would be fine, several reminders of what would happen if they were caught, and a promise to buy more birdseed from the Night Market once they’d run out did Flapjack stop trying to land on him. 

The palisman’s weight in his pocket had become familiar as of late, and it was almost strange to walk the halls of the castle without it. Still, it was with confidence that Hunter strode out to the drawbridge, where a pair of scouts waited. 

“Golden Guard.” They bowed their heads in acknowledgement. 

“Scouts.” He nodded swiftly back. “You have your orders?” 

“Yes, sir,” the scout on the right said. 

“Excellent,” he said, striding ahead. “Let’s go.” 

Today, they weren’t headed to their usual Latissa. Instead, the airship took them to the other side of the Isles; to a small town called New Paine. It would be good for publicity to have them helping a small town, and of course, just good for them to help. 

New Paine was isolated, surrounded by a dense forest. Its buildings were arranged in an odd spiral, at the center of which was a large, grassy patch, where Hunter put the ship down. 

It was strange to be patrolling on this side of the Isles. It was almost strange to be patrolling, period. 

But no. He pushed the notion away. This was what he was meant to be doing. This was his job. 

The patrol went well, and he left more confidently than he had come. From there, it was more meetings, and, lucky him, paperwork. Eugh. Fortunately, most of the Coven’s files could be handled by the higher ranking scouts, but unfortunately, these were not those files, which meant a long night of working. 

Hunter sat at his desk, squinting at the papers while Flapjack perched on his shoulder, interjecting every so often to remind him he should sleep. 

This Day of Unity shit can wait until tomorrow. He nipped gently at Hunter’s ear. Go to bed. 

Hunter swatted at his palisman half heartedly. “You shouldn’t even be reading this. This is classified information!” 

Who am I going to tell? 

Hunter rolled his eyes. Flapjack had quite the mouth, and he was lucky that Hunter found it endearing, for whatever reason. 

Bed. Now. Flapjack tugged at his ear again. 

Sleep sounded great. Hunter would love to sleep. But this had to get done. “Flap,” he started, “I need to—“ 

It would be very unprofessional if you fell asleep, Flapjack said, over your papers. And even more unprofessional if you drooled on them. 

Hunter whipped his head around to glare at him. “That was underhanded.” 

Flapjack looked back at him innocently. Just saying. 

As much as Hunter was loath to admit it, Flapjack made a good point. He finished his page before throwing his hands up. “Fine! Fine, I’m going to bed. Your manipulation worked. Are you happy?” 

Flapjack took off, landing atop his pillow. Yes. 

Hunter stood, moving towards his wardrobe. “You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbled, fishing out a pair of plain pajama pants. 

A surge of happiness flashed across his mind, startling him. “What’s got you so—“ 

He realized, very abruptly, what he’d said. 

And in a very mature fashion, jerked around and threw his pajamas at Flapjack. “ Ididntsayanything!” he said. His voice did not get high or panicked. He sounded so perfectly normal and dignified, thank you very much. The normalest. The most normal. Thee normalest of normal. 

Flapjack darted out of the way of the projectile, twittering. You’re sending me very mixed signals. It was clear that he was teasing, but no, Hunter was absolutely not touching any of this with a ten foot pole. 

“I am sending you no signals. Absolutely none,” he said. “We’re never talking about this again. Ever.” 

Titan. Hunter was such a disaster. When had he decided he loved Flapjack? He— the thing was a glorified carving, a hunk of sentient wood. And Hunter cared about him. How had that happened? When had the palisman gone from an unwanted companion to a friend? 

He laid in bed, stuffed frog clutched to his chest and Flapjack curled up on the pillow beside him, trying to pinpoint an exact moment, when he’d let his guard down enough to make that fantastic, awful mistake of caring about the bird. He couldn’t find one. 

Eventually, Flapjack nudged him. Sleep. He curled up, kneading his little feet into the pillow. I love you, too. 

Yeah, Hunter was still a little freaked out. But it was… almost nice, hearing that. 

“‘Night, Flap,” he whispered. 

Goodnight. 

It was Saturday. The beginning of the weekend. Hunter was supposed to have a mission. 

He did not have a mission. Just a patrol and a handful of meetings. 

It was because his uncle was still upset with him, he thought. Because his only job now was to run the Coven and help with recruitment. The thought stung, but there was little he could do about it. So, he pretended it wasn’t the weekend and threw himself into early morning training. He listened attentively during meetings and carried out his patrol expertly. 

By four, however, he was back at the castle, meetings over, and with little he could help with. So, time for a distraction. 

He retreated to his room and cracked open his latest read, Ruler’s Reach. 

He could understand why it had been discarded on the street. The writing wasn’t anything spectacular. But there was something about the characters— Ruler’s deep, almost familial relationship with Luzura, his tortured, gloriously bloodstained existence, and Luzura’s misplaced confidence and dedication that ultimately led to her downfall— that kept him hooked. 

If anyone asked, the book sucked. An eight year old had written it, after all. But actually… 

Hunter kinda liked it. He was almost disappointed when it was over. 

“It’s because now I have to find another distraction,” he told Flapjack. 

So it has nothing to do with how you were crying when Luzura died? Flapjack twittered innocently. 

“I wasn’t crying!” Hunter insisted vehemently. “There was— there was something in my eye!” 

Flapjack laughed at him. 

Very maturely, Hunter flipped him off before carefully setting Ruler’s Reach off to the side and picking up the book he’d gotten from the library. 

Hunter couldn’t ever remember there being another Golden Guard. He supposed there must have been when he was younger, but he never met them. All he knew about the past Guards was that they had been great witches, his family, and not nearly as young as him. There was no recollection of passing them in the castle’s halls, or watching them on the crystal ball. The only person Hunter had ever seen wear the uniform was himself. Maybe that was why now, he stared so intently at the illustration on the page. 

It was a whole row of Golden Guards in full uniform, dating from the Deadwardian Era to what must have been only a couple Guards before him, all with the signature mask and unblemished white cape. The Position of the Golden Guard, throughout the years, the caption below it read. Esteemed for being the right hand to the Emperor. 

It was odd, looking at them. Like looking in a distorted mirror. Each uniform was slightly different than his own, whether it was because of the frills on the neck or the lining on the gloves. It was captivating, though. These were his predecessors. His ancestors. 

The book, a history of the Boiling Isles, naturally had a great deal of text devoted to his uncle’s rise to power. Part of that, the tome attributed to the Golden Guards. Despite their prestige, there weren’t often references to them, which made this a rarity. The Guards had almost always acted as a loyal shadow to Belos.  

In the lower right hand corner of the page, there was a simplistic picture of a golden bird, captioned with the words the Sigil of the Golden Guard, dating back to the Deadwardian Era. 

Hunter traced it with his finger. Back to the Deadwardian Era. He couldn’t help but idly wonder what those Guards would think of him, sitting on his bed as he read about them. The youngest of them all. Barred from missions more dangerous than patrols. Having disappointed his uncle so many times. 

Probably not great things, he concluded. It wasn’t as though that mattered, though— they were all dead. The book said that they’d all died in service to the Emperor, and here Hunter was, alive. 

“Huh,” he said, staring at the picture a little more. “It’s kinda like you, Flap. It’s a bird.” 

Keen observation. Flapjack shifted in his perch on Hunter’s head. 

Hunter rolled his eyes. 

Flapjack tugged at his hair in retaliation. 

He swatted at him half-heartedly, not looking up from the page. The sigil of the Golden Guard had been discontinued since this particular book was published, though Hunter didn’t quite know when. He’d never thought very hard about it before. He didn’t know why he was thinking about it now. 

“Wonder why they stopped using it.” He traced it again. Perhaps…. 

He flipped to the copyright page. The book had only been published a decade ago, back in the time of the previous Golden Guard. 

Maybe it’s because you’re not worthy, a little voice in his head whispered. Maybe they had to earn it, and you haven’t. Because you keep messing up. 

Hunter flipped to the next chapter. 

Uncharacteristically, Flapjack didn’t try to accompany him on patrol today. They didn’t do their dance of him trying to slip beneath Hunter’s cloak, Hunter protesting, and then Hunter caving because the bird could be stupidly convincing when he wanted to. 

Instead, Flapjack perched on the bed’s headboard and bade him goodbye, wishing him a good shift. 

Hunter eyed his palisman suspiciously. “What are you planning?” 

Crime. Flapjack met his stare head-on. 

“That’s illegal,” Hunter began rattling off, “and depending on the kind of crime could land you with a fine, time in the Conformitorium, or a petrification, and because you’re my palisman, I would have to carry your punishment. Also, you’d get eaten by— Belos would find you,” he finished lamely. 

You’re only in trouble if you get caught. Anyway, Flapjack assured him, I would never get my witch in trouble. 

“Well— I— still,” Hunter sputtered. He jabbed a finger at him, collecting himself. “No crime. If you’re not coming with me, you can stay here.” 

Bye!

“Flapjack, I’m serious—“

You’re going to be late. 

“I’m going to be— shit!” He scrambled to pull his hood up and fix his mask. One hand darted out to grab his artificial staff, and the other raised in a wave. “Byeee!” 

And then, making it to the aircraft out of breath but very much on time, Hunter didn’t think about Flapjack’s oddness anymore. He focused on his job (back in Bonesborough today) and wished desperately that Steve— wonderful, competent Steve— had been assigned to his patrol instead of Irwin. Because Irwin, well. 

Hunter didn’t want to think about Iriwn’s incompetence, or what it had led to today. 

It was a full day shift that had Hunter ready to break things (or people, Irwin) particularly after the manticore incident that left his cloak tattered and splotched with mud. His only saving grace was that there were no meetings or obligations waiting for him until the next morning. Tonight, he could just go back to the castle, try to scrub the muck off of himself, deal with his cloak, and then lay in bed. It was lazy and unproductive, but after the day he’d just had, he didn’t care. 

The airship couldn't land soon enough, and once it was, Hunter was off of it. He showered before throwing pajamas on and sitting on his bed, pausing to examine the damage to his cloak. 

There were several slashes, a small one down the middle, and several larger ones on the end. He frowned; his uncle didn’t like commissioning him new uniforms, so he kept his in the best condition he could, and this was far from that. Uncle wouldn’t be pleased. But there was no fabric missing, just torn, so maybe he could stitch it back together? He’d have to at least try before the coven meeting tomorrow. The grime would have to be scrubbed out by hand. If he sent it to the castle staff to wash with magic, it would stain. 

Just his luck. 

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to remember where he’d last put his needle and thread, when there was a series of chirps behind him. 

“Hey, Flap.” He turned his head, and there was Flapjack, at the end of the bed, holding some sort of patch in his beak. 

Flapjack hopped forward, offering Hunter the scrap. 

Hunter picked it up and turned it over. “Huh? Is that the old Golden Guard sigil?” It was covered in an impressive amount of dust, but it was unmistakable. 

It’s a bird, Flapjack said. Duh. 

“You’re very funny,” Hunter said, deadpan. “But where— how—?” 

Thievery. Breaking and entering. Loitering. Arson.

“You’re a bird. How are you supposed to commit arson?” Hunter stared at him. “You know what? Don’t tell me.” 

It was at the Head, Flapjack supplied. You seemed interested in it earlier. 

“I, uh. Yeah. Thanks,” Hunter said. “I’ll sew it on tonight.” 

No. Tonight, sleep. 

“I was going to be sewing anyway,” Hunter said. “I have to fix my cloak before the Coven Head meeting tomorrow.” 

The meeting isn’t until nine. Of course Flapjack would know that. Sleep. 

Hunter was absolutely exhausted. The idea of sleep sounded great. But— 

“It’ll only take an hour, tops,” he said. “Maybe a little extra with the sigil. But—“ 

Flapjack nipped at his fingers. Sleep or I’ll steal your needle. 

Hunter glared at him, but he’d lost. The cloak and patch were set to the side for tomorrow, and he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, with Flapjack nestled in his hair. 

Sewing a cloak was a lot harder than sewing a pillow, or stitching up a wound. Hunter learned that the hard way. 

He was up by five, much to Flapjack’s displeasure. Despite his grumblings about how my witch needs sleep! I need sleep! Flapjack accompanied Hunter to train. They were back by seven (This is when normal people get up, his palisman informed him) and then Hunter set about looking for his sewing supplies. 

Much to his displeasure, he didn’t have any thread that matched his cloak, only a dusty red color. Though it wasn’t white, red went with everything, didn’t it? It would probably be fine. So, he got stitching.

He jabbed himself with the needle enough times that he lost count, ignoring the prickling pain in his fingers that followed. While working on the sigil, he ran out of thread, so problem solving, he slapped a bandaid onto the fabric. 

Flapjack flew down from his perch on Hunter’s shoulder to sift through the assortment of things piled on his desk, and reappeared a little later with another spool of thread, this time an ugly brown. 

Hunter went back to sewing, finishing it off while Flapjack spectated from his shoulder. 

It looks good! Flapjack twittered. 

Hunter grinned. “Yeah, it does look good as new!” He held up the cloak to admire his progress. 

It was. Well. 

The stitches were either far too loose or tight enough that they wrinkled the fabric, and the bandaid didn’t really help with the look. 

“... And I have no idea what I'm doing,” he said, frowning at it. It could have been much worse, but it certainly didn’t look as polished as it did before. 

He should probably do something about that bandaid. 

There was a harsh knock at the door that startled him. 

Flapjack hopped down from his shoulder, twittering. 

Hunter set the cloak over him and moved towards the door. 

Two Coven guards stood outside it, staring down at him. Wordlessly, one handed him a sealed envelope. 

Hunter took it, not bothering to watch them leave before breaking the Emperor’s seal. 

“‘My duties are keeping me busy,’” he read. “I entrust you to lead the Coven Heads today. Consider this a test.’” A test. That was what Hunter had been waiting for, wasn’t it? A smile began to spread across his face. If this was a test, he would pass it. Leading a meeting, even if it involved the other Coven Heads, should be a piece of cake. 

He glanced at the time— ten to nine— then spurred into action, shutting the door with a snap. He threw on his cloak, then tucked Flapjack into a pocket. The letter was dropped on the desk, and in his rush, he forgot both his mask and staff. 

It was with purpose that he strode through the corridors, coming to a stop before the large, ornate doors of the throne room. Hunter squared his shoulders, and the door opened. 

Cutburn led the parade of Coven Heads out into the hallway. 

“Good. You're all here. We can get started—“ Cutburn jostled him with a meaty shoulder as she walked past, followed by the rest of the heads. “Hey! Oomph— wha— where are you— ugh! I said wait! Come back here!”

The Heads continued on their way. Whispers turned their head, pausing as though to listen, and Hunter felt a stab of relief— finally, someone who respected his authority— but then they let themself be herded away by Snapdragon, who smirked at Hunter before leaving him alone in the corridor. 

What was going on? Why were they leaving? His mind whirred as he tried to figure it out. Cutburn, Mason, Snapdragon, Whispers, Vitimir, Graye— 

But not Darius or Eberwolf. Hunter marched into the throne room. 

Sure enough, the other two Heads had their heads together, examining a set of scrolls on the table before them. They didn’t acknowledge that they heard the doors being thrown open, or Hunter’s appearance. 

“Darius! Eberwolf! Why is everyone leaving?” he demanded. “We’re scheduled to have a recruitment meeting.” A meeting he was supposed to lead— this was his chance!

It was with an exhausted sigh that Darius turned around, Eberwolf following suit. “Good morning to you too, Little Prince,” he said. “We've decided to reschedule the meeting, so go play arts and crafts or—“ he waved a hand dismissively, “whatever it is you do.”

Hunter scowled. He wasn’t some child, he was a perfectly competent and capable leader. How dare Darius insinuate that— 

“Oh.” Darius wasn’t done. A tendril of abomination stretched out, tugging the cloak from Hunter’s shoulders. “Looks like you've already started.”

“Hey!” He tensed, watching Darius examine his handiwork. 

“This is… impressively bad.” His laugh was full of mirth, which quickly faded, replaced with something somber. “Wait. Is this the old Golden Guard sigil?”

“Of course it is!” Hunter snapped. “And this is no way to treat the Emperor's—“

“Nephew?” Darius said disdainfully. 

Titan, had Kikimora told everyone? 

“I knew your predecessor,” Darius continued. “He was my mentor. One of the strongest witches I've ever known. But you…? Hmm.” 

Hunter didn’t know why the look Darius was surveying him with— something unimpressed, disappointed, almost upset— held so much weight. Yet, he was far less convicted when he said, “But Belos says I don't need magic to serve the coven.”

“And I say you don't deserve to wear that patch.” Darius didn’t spare him another glance. Still holding the cloak, he moved towards the door, Eberwolf beside him. 

Hunter stood there for a moment, frozen. The thought from before, the musing that perhaps the sigil had been discontinued because Hunter himself wasn’t good enough, resurfaced. He was painfully, intimately aware of his failures— mission after unsuccessful mission, his inability to live up to the mantle of the Golden Guard despite his best attempts, all of it. And he wanted to be good enough, strived to be good enough, to fill all the roles he’d been given. 

His uncle’s instructions to him from this morning flashed through his head. Consider this a test. He whirled around.  

“Wait!” 

Darius stopped, but didn’t face him. 

“What should I do? How do I... earn it?”

That got him to turn, clearly utterly exasperated, as though he expected Hunter to know what to do already. (Hunter felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment; he probably should have known what to do already.) 

“ Ugh, sweet mother of Titan. I— I don't know.” He massaged his head with one gloved hand. “Find new recruits for the Emperor's Coven? The ‘best and the brightest witches’ in all the land. Then maybe you can get this back.”

A mission. “I'll do it.”

“Of course you will,” Darius said. “You're very good at doing exactly what you're told.” He didn’t make it sound like a complement. 

(But that didn’t make any sense. Hunter was supposed to do what he was told. Before Eclipse Lake, he’d prided himself on being good at following instructions and getting results. So why did Darius’ words leave a pit in his stomach?)

Then Hunter was alone, left watching the doors swing shut as Darius joined Eberwolf outside. 

Hunter stood outside Hexside School of Magic and Demonics in a pilfered yellow uniform, watching students mill around. Find recruits for the Emperor’s Coven, Darius had said. The best and the brightest. Hexside was known for being one of the Isles’ better schools, so he was sure to find powerful witches here. 

So, part one of the plan: locate and recruit the witches. Part two: take them to the castle. Part three: earn back his cloak and the sigil and prove Darius wrong. And perhaps part four: impress his uncle with a huge number of new recruits, which was exactly what Belos had tasked him with finding. Boom! All of his problems, solved. 

There was some sort of club fair going on at the school. Currently, Hunter stood half hidden behind a stand promoting skullpting, taking in the vast number of students wandering throughout the event. 

“Look at all these potential recruits,” he said aloud. With so many options, it should be impossible for him to fail. Granted, he’d thought leading the meeting earlier would be impossible to fail. But this was different! 

Flapjack landed on his shoulder. Yes, but do you actually have any social skills? 

What a supportive palisman he had. Sometimes, truly felt that Flapjack had confidence in him. 

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, I've never actually spoken to witches my age. But teens are probably into the same things as me! Like authority and rules!”

And with that sound logic, he began his quest. 

He zeroed in on the nearest demon, a rather short bard.  

“Classmate!” he said. “Ignore the fact that we've never met. What if I told you all your dreams could come true? And you'd just have to leave your home, friends, and family forever?” He grinned, confident. 

The bard looked at him as though he’d suggested bringing back the giraffes. “Uhhhhh—“ Their eyes darted around before they darted off with a hurried, “Bye!” 

Hunter’s smile dropped as he watched them go. That hadn’t gone as expected. But no matter! Clearly, this wasn’t the recruit he was looking for; if they had been the best and brightest, they would have jumped at the chance to join the Coven. He’d just try again with someone else! 

Just like that, Flapjack twittered dryly from his shoulder. Do it just like that next time. 

This was a lot harder than Hunter initially thought. He’d been here for twenty minutes, going up to all the promising-looking recruits and absolutely killing his pitch. ( You’re killing something, alright, Flapjack told him. But no one had given him so much as an I’ll think about it, or asked for more information. What was going wrong? 

“I don’t understand,” he said to Flapjack. “Why isn’t anyone interested in joining the Emperor’s Coven?”

Maybe you should be more positive. Flapjack ruffled his feathers. Or use more showmanship. 

“More showmanship, eh?” A plan began forming in Hunter’s head. 

“You!” 

The student, a lanky kid in a multi-colored uniform— a pink and green striped thing— startled, stopping in his tracks. 

“How would you like to rise to the top by joining the Emperor's Coven?” Hunter raised his hand, his staff appearing in midair, and grabbed it with a flash of light. 

Oh, yeah. He’d nailed that. 

“Eh.” The kid sidestepped him, going back to looking at his pamphlet. “Not interested.” 

Hunter scrambled to his feet. What? “You aren't?” His voice did not get high and screechy. Absolutely not. 

“I mean, do I wanna study different kinds of magic?” The kid turned back towards him, gesturing animatedly with his hands. “Heck yes! But why is joining the Emperor's Coven my only option? When I get older, I'm gonna give this system a long-overdue update.” 

What? Give this system a long-overdue update? That was treason! It was blasphemous, it was insane— the system was this way for a reason! To keep everyone safe and the Titan happy. Why would anyone want anything else? 

The thought suddenly struck him that maybe that was why no one had been interested in the Emperor’s Coven when he asked. Because they all thought the same thing as whatever this student did. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Hunter didn’t register moving, but suddenly, there was something fleshy under his foot. Something bumped into him with a screech and he whirled around, coming face to face with a furious griffin. 

Another student— this one also in a multicolored uniform, blue and brown— was trying to pull the animal back by the scruff of its neck. “It's okay, Puddles!” she was saying. “No, he didn't mean it—“ 

Hunter quickly stepped back. Despite the fact that he was no longer on its tail, the griffin was still straining to get at him. 

“No, no, no, no! No, Puddles, no!” The student’s grip slipped, and then there were at least two hundred and fifty pounds of angry griffin barreling towards Hunter. 

Hunter did the only sensible thing he could think of. 

He teleported out of the way. 

It didn’t deter the griffin for long; despite the shouts of its caretaker it narrowed in on Hunter again, even more incensed. 

He hopped onto his staff and darted into the air. 

Of course griffins had wings. Of course it could follow him. Of course he had to irritate an animal that could fly. Stupid, stupid Hunter. 

“Calm down, flea-maggot!” 

It did not calm down. 

Hunter pulled upward sharply, the griffin in hot pursuit. It surged forward, catching one of his boots in its beak. The boot slipped off with ease.

“Hey!” That was his shoe, what the heck? He flew ahead before turning. 

The griffin continued to climb towards him, boot in mouth. 

Hunter did something either very brave or very stupid: he dove straight towards it. 

He needed his shoe, dammit! 

At the last moment, his hand darted out to grab it out of the beast’s beak. He laughed as he swooped towards the ground. Take that, sucker! 

The griffin shrieked in outrage and Hunter glanced back, stopping to pull his boot back on. It had been caught around the middle with thick green vines that protruded from the ground. Impressive magic! If he could find—

“Hey! You!” 

From the ground, a plant witch was scowling at him. The one who’d cast the vines. Oh, shit, he thought. She looked pissed. Had that griffin been a friend of hers? 

Now, Hunter was very appreciative of her powerful magic, seeing as it meant he didn’t have to keep dodging the griffin. But she looked angry, and Hunter did not want that impressive and powerful magic directed at him.

He bolted. 

Hunter would have liked to say he escaped. That he left her in the dust, easy-peasy. 

He made it only a few yards before there were vines wrapping around him, dragging him and Flapjack towards the ground at a breakneck speed, landing them right in front of the witch. His arms were pinned, and he couldn’t get at Flapjack, who’d been pressed to his side by the vines as though part of a splint. He couldn’t do magic. He was stuck. 

The witch advanced, glasses glinting in the sunlight. 

Oh, Titan. This was the end, wasn’t it. Goodbye, Flapjack, he’d loved you dearly. Apologies, Uncle, for such a pathetic death. Kikimora, go fuck yourself. 

The witch reached into her pocket. 

He braced for her attack.

She held up a brightly colored pamphlet, smiling. “Wanna join my Flyer Derby team?”

… What. 

“What?” Hunter stared up at her, lost. 

“Join the Flyer Derby team. We’re starting one,” the girl said, “if we can get enough members— which we will! Your— oh! I’m so sorry!” She waved a finger, and a spell circle later, the vines loosened enough for Hunter to stand and brush them aside. His staff disappeared as Flapjack transformed, landing on his shoulder. 

“That was rude, I’m sorry,” the girls said. She gestured to an illusionist standing beside her. “This is Gus Porter, and I'm Willow Park.” Willow seized his hand, shaking in vigorously. “Future captain of Hexside's first Flyer Derby team.”

“Nice to— uh— meet you!” 

The girl had a hell of a grip. When she let go, Hunter’s hand was twinging. 

“Your flying was amazing,” she gushed. “You're a new student, right?” 

“Yeah,” the other kid— Gus— said, far less enthusiastic. “Weird we've never seen you around. What's your name?”

“Uh—“ Oh, Titan. He hadn’t come up with an alias! 

Try Caleb, Flapjack chirped. 

“Caleb?” Hunter said. “Uh, Caleb!” 

Wait, no. What about Jasper Bloodwilliams? 

“Uh, Jasper... Bloodwilliams,” Hunter finished lamely. 

The Third, Flapjack added. 

Hunter wasn’t going to dig himself into this hole any further. Moving on. “I just transferred from... uh—“ He glanced around wildly, eyes catching on the griffin licking its talons (gross). “The... Toes? But! I'm not here to play Fly-Dooby or... whatever that is. I have my own mission.” 

Wow. That had been awful. Good thing he could leave and never speak to these people again! He’d find different recruits. Surely there was someone here he hadn’t talked to yet. 

Hunter began to walk away. 

“Okay.” Willow held out the paper she’d been holding, clearly disappointed. “At least take a pamphlet?” 

Behind her, Gus glowered at him. 

Hunter took it from her, flipping through it automatically as he left. And then, there on the back in bold letters, it proclaimed: FLYER DERBY - A SPORT FOR THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST! He could certainly use some of those people right now. 

It struck him. 

“Wait!” Hunter whirled back around, brandishing the pamphlet. “Do you really think your club will attract the best and the brightest?”

Willow brightened, her eyes shining competitively. “Absolutely! Flyer Derby is not for the faint witch.”

“Then— maybe I will give it a try,” Hunter said. 

“Really?” Willow leaned forward.

“But— Okay,” Hunter said. “How do we evaluate others? A Witch's Duel? A maze full of traps? Oh! Leave everyone at the top of the mountain and see who makes it back to the bottom alive!” He remembered when he’d had to do that for scout training. He got major frostbite and almost died. Good times! “Classic.”

Willow looked at him strangely before smiling again and patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Um... we... might not have time for all that. But you can help by attracting people with your sick sky skills!” With that, she grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the Flyer Derby stand, running off with a wave. 

Sick? Did he look sick? 

“Huh. don't—“ He prodded at his forehead, “—feel sick.” 

Maybe it was the eyebags. 

“Hey.” Gus was frowning at him, dead serious. “I don't know what kind of mission you're on, but it's been a tough year for Willow. And she's really looking forward to making this team a thing. Don't mess this up for her.” 

Hunter watched him walk away in the same direction Willow had gone. He wondered why Gus seemed to think he was going to screw things up for his friend so quickly. He was actually doing the opposite— granted, not that they knew, but still— by getting them into the Emperor’s Coven! He liked Willow— she was cool and confident and clearly a great spellcaster. She would be a great asset. And Gus—

Well. Gus was certainly loyal, which was an admirable quality. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Flapjack twittering. 

Maybe that’s why Belos makes you wear the mask, he mused. You’re a terrible liar.

“Shut up.” Hunter jabbed a finger at his Palisman. “I won’t condition my hair next time I shower,” he threatened.

The utter horror that flashed through their bond was almost funny. 

Flapjack took off, nesting atop his head and pulling at strands of his hair. Don’t you dare! 

Hunter laughed. “Good to know that y— ow!” 

Flapjack yanked at his flyaway, hard. Don’t mess with my nest. 

“Not a nest,” Hunter said automatically. 

Yes. It’s my witch nest. The best nest. 

Hunter rolled his eyes fondly (though he’d never admit it). 

“Students of Hexside!” Willow called. “Got a palisman? Got a need for thrills, chills and theatrics？Well, this could be you!” 

Hunter flew over her head with a whoosh, over the gasping crowd gathered below. He made a loop and hopped off his staff, dropping into free fall for a few moments before landing back on Flapjack. Below, the crowd cheered. 

He looked down, watching Willow handing out pamphlet after pamphlet, grinning. 

“This girl will be a perfect candidate for the Emperor's Coven. If there are more witches like her, we're set!” This whole stunt had been her idea after all, and clearly it had been effective. She was incredibly powerful and a good leader. Hunter would dare say she was more competent than some of their scouts. 

She waved him over. “Hey! Come on down!”

Hunter touched down beside her. 

Willow was almost radiant, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured towards the school steps. “Allow me to introduce you to... the best and the brightest of Hexside!”

Much of the crowd had cleared away, leaving only a few students, who were not what Hunter had been expecting. Like, at all. 

There was the girl from before— the one with the griffin, who was currently trying to restrain the beast from lunging at Hunter again. “Look, Puddles, it's the friend you made before! No, no, no! Do not claw Mommy's face!” 

A little further down the steps was another girl, this one in a crimson uniform. She laid upside down, scrolling listlessly on her scroll. 

And then on the ground, Gus. He sat atop his staff, announced to his palisman, “Let's try this one more time!” and then began to drift backwards, before rocketing forwards with a screech, completely out of control. 

These were the best and brightest? This was what Hexside had to offer? He couldn’t bring them back to Darius. They were pathetic. The Coven Head would laugh in his face. Hunter could practically hear his disdainful amusement. “This is what you came up with, Little Prince?” he would say. “My. And I thought your sewing skills were bad. What a failure.”

It reverberated through his head. Titan, was there anything he could do without messing up? Why couldn’t he make this work? 

He thought abruptly of his predecessor. Darius’ mentor. He probably could have finished this mission by now. He probably wouldn’t have needed to be on this mission because Belos would have had him out doing more important things, because he wasn’t a burden or a liability and was worthy of his rank. One of the strongest witches I’ve ever known, Darius said. The way Hunter compared was laughable. He couldn’t do something simple as find recruits for the Coven. He couldn’t even do fucking magic. Darius was right. What a disappointment he was. 

Hunter started to walk away, no plan to fix this forming in his mind. He was beaten down, tired. Angry. He couldn’t do this. Why couldn’t he do this? At the end of the day it didn’t matter, he supposed, but he still desperately wanted to know why. What was wrong with him? Why was it always failure after failure, why couldn’t he do what he was told? Why was it so hard to fulfill his position? The Golden Guard should have been able to do this, thus, Hunter should have been able to do this. Why—

“Caleb?” A hand landed on his shoulder. “Where are you going? The field is this-a-way.” Willow pointed behind them. 

Hunter snapped. “You said you'd find the best witches for this team. But them? They're pathetic!” 

“You just met them!” Willow crossed her arms, oddly defensive. “Give them a chance!”

“Well, where I come from, even chances have to be earned,” Hunter said. He couldn’t hold her angry gaze any more. “Especially if you're considered half-a-witch like me. Sorry, Captain. Good luck with your match.” He turned back around, making it only a few steps before his foot caught on something. Hunter looked down, and, “Huh?” Why were his feet covered in grass? 

Maybe it’s because you just pissed off a plant witch, his brain supplied. 

With a jolt, the grass dragged him downward as though he’d stepped in quicksand. He clawed at the grass, but it did nothing to stop him from being swallowed by the ground. 

Well, shit. Nice fucking job, Hunter. 

Traveling with plant magic sucked. When he was thrown back above ground, he was pretty sure he swallowed some dirt. Gross. 

There was no time for disgust, though. Hunter jumped into a defensive stance, brandishing Flapjack at the air before him. Clearly, Willow was upset and was going to try and get back at him for what he’d said. His head whipped around, looking for any sign of her, but there was none. Just the empty grudgby field. 

He didn’t let that fool him, though. The girl was smart and probably biding her time, waiting to see if he’d let his guard down—

His head turned at the sound of footsteps. 

It was the bard girl from earlier, offering him a hand.

“Huh?” 

“Sorry I was distracted earlier,” she said, pulling him up. “Been playing grudgby for so long, I needed to catch up on the latest flyer derby strats.” She held up her scroll to show him the plays, all of which were covered in convoluted arrows and x’s. 

“Those look... complicated,” he said, studying the diagrams. 

The bard smirked. “They are.”

There was another voice from behind him. 

“Whew! Okay, finally. Got Puddles down for her nap!” The griffin girl stepped away from— was the griffin her pet? — and surrounded herself with a spell circle, which quickly vanished any trace of the animal’s resistance. She shot finger guns at him and winked. “Now I'm only scarred emotionally.”

Hunter barely had time to process that before something was whizzing past him. He did a double take; it was Gus, standing on his staff and soaring through the air as though he’d been doing it for years. The boy came to a stop before him. 

“I thought you couldn't fly!” Hunter sputtered. 

“So I can't fly like everyone else,” Gus said, “But my way's more fun.”

His palisman, a blue chameleon, cheeped. 

“Oh,” Hunter said dumbly. “That's uh. Cool, I guess.”

“Oh, what was that?” Gus was far too smug. 

“I said it was cool!” Hunter repeated, so ready to wipe that look off the kid’s face. 

The ground opened up beside him and Hunter jerked back with a squeak as Willow popped up. 

“Gus is a natural speed demon. Skara's a strategic wizard,” she said, “and Viney's the best healer in school. And at one point or another, we've all been misjudged. So—“ she moved over to join her team, “—still think we're pathetic?”

And— 

No. 

The bard, Skara, apparently figured out those plays within only a couple minutes, which was no easy feat, especially for someone who’d never played the game before. Viney had healed herself like it was nothing, and everyone knew it was harder to heal yourself than someone else; not to mention the fact that she’d held back a griffin. Gus was different, sure, but had expert control over his staff in the air. And Willow, of course, was, well, Willow. 

Hunter shook his head. For some reason he wasn’t quite able to meet any of their eyes. His stomach squirmed strangely. 

Willow seemed oblivious to his thoughts. “Good,” she said. “Let's get our game faces on!” And as though it were something witches at Hexside usually did (perhaps it was, Hunter wouldn’t know), she whipped a can of green paint out of her pocket. 

Chapter Text

The paint was for their faces. The first matter of order, the captain said. Apparently, face paint was a type of uniform in flyer derby. 

Viney applied his: a long, jagged strip that ran over his eye. 

“You look badass,” she said, finishing the tip of it. “Wanna see?” She wiped the paint off her fingers before summoning her scroll and snapping a picture. 

Hunter peered at it, taking in the vibrant stripe opposite of his scar. “Yeah.” He didn’t take his eyes off of it. “It does look cool.” 

The thought flitted through his mind that his uncle would hate this, and call it a mockery of a uniform. Declare that face paint was childish, beneath the Golden Guard. But Hunter… he kinda liked it. It did look awesome. 

“Nice!” Willow grinned at him, her own face paint striped across her face like a liger. She clasped her hands together. “Okay. So, then, we just need the rest of our uniforms, and then we can get practicing for the game against Hermonculus!” 

“Where are we supposed to find green clothes?” Skara asked. “The lost and found is all Hexside colors and uniforms.”

“I could try an illusion,” Gus mused. He drew a spell circle, and with a poof, they were all wearing similar green jackets, studded with rhinestones, and— were those leather pants? Interesting. 

“Um,” Willow looked down at her new getup. “I’m not sure this is quite the flyer derby uniform we’re looking for.” 

Another poof and the outfits were gone. “What do we need? More glitter? Less glitter?” Gus cracked his knuckles. “I’m on it.” 

“Actually,” Hunter said, “I might have an idea. I know a clothes-changing spell.” 

“You do?” Willow said. 

Hunter nodded. It came in handy when he had to make dramatic reveals, or when he forgot to change out of his pajamas before an early morning meeting, though it had been a while since that happened. “What are the uniforms supposed to look like?” 

“They have to be easy to move around in. Not too elaborate. But cool! And green to match the face paint, obviously,” she added as a second thought. She whipped out her scroll. “Here, I’ll show you some pictures.” 

The uniforms almost seemed to be cobbled together; random articles of clothing that strangely worked despite its lack of conventional fashion. Hunter frowned at the screen for a couple minutes before whirling Flapjack around his head.

Gold magic rippled through the air around them, and when Hunter looked down, it had worked. Instead of his stolen uniform, he wore an artistically ripped emerald green top and brown, movable shorts. Likewise, the rest of the team’s outfits had also changed, all to varying shades of green. 

For a moment, no one said anything. They just took the clothes in. The lack of comments put Hunter on edge— had he done something wrong?

Skara was the first to say, “This is so cool!” she squealed. “We actually look like a team now!” 

“I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” Gus said, holding out his hands to examine the fingerless gloves he’d acquired. 

“You’ve gotta teach me that spell sometime,” Viney said. “When Puddles is in a bad mood, I go through clothes like Belos does Coven Heads.” 

(Hunter shoved the thought aside. Worrying about being replaced wasn’t going to help anything right now.)

He felt a strange sense of excitement at knowing the team liked that he helped. But Willow hadn’t said anything. Did she not like it? Hunter had tried to get them as close to the pictures that she showed him. He turned to her, picking unconsciously at his gloves. “Captain?” 

Willow’s eyes snapped to him. A wide smile blossomed on her face. “These are perfect!” she said. “Ohmygosh, this is so exciting! Thanks, Caleb!” 

Hunter relaxed, offering a small smile back. This team really meant a lot to her, didn’t it. 

“Alright.” Willow surveyed the group. “The game is in just a few hours, at the end of the club fair.” 

“Professor Jerkmonculus’ll probably take any opportunity he can to keep this club on the ground,” Gus said. He glanced at Hunter. “So we’ve gotta be good.” 

(Hunter resolved that he’d kick Hermonculus’ ass during the game, whoever that was.)

“We’ll be fine,” Willow said brightly. “I think the best place to start is at the beginning. Like Gus said, Hermonculus—“ 

“Jerkmonculus,” Gus corrected. 

“— is going to be hard on us. So, let’s make it hard for him,” she said. There was a determined glint in her eye. “Let’s start with the rulebook.” 

A chalkboard was wheeled out of one of the locker rooms, and between Willow’s patient explanations and Skara’s befuddling diagrams, Hunter figured out how the game worked. 

There were five players on each team, all of whom had a flag attached to their staff. Points were earned by stealing flags from the opposite team and attaching them to your team’s post. When you lost your flag, you were out, and the team that got all the flags first won. All magic was fair game. 

When they got to playing, it was actually really fun. The most fun Hunter had had in ages. 

(Maybe the most fun he’d ever had.)

They were scrimmaging against each other, Hunter and Skara versus Willow, Gus, and Viney. It was certainly a challenge; while the others could simply twirl their fingers and summon a barrage of distracting illusions or a torrent of vibes, Hunter was limited in the magic he could perform while on his staff. It didn’t discourage him, though, just made him work harder. 

Even playing against each other, the team was nice. They laughed often, teasing Skara about the code names she came up with for their plays, though it wasn’t malicious. They joked about Gus’ love of giraffes and pestered Viney about her crush. They complimented each other often, and it was nice. It was nice. When Hunter touched down after they’d finished scrimmaging, he was beaming. 

Flapjack transformed, landing on his shoulder. He nipped gently at Hunter’s ear. That’s a good look.  

“What, the uniform?” Hunter said. 

No. Flapjack twittered. You being happy. 

Hunter went pink. Before he could stutter out a response, the captain was talking again. 

“Okay, team, listen up,” she said. “We have about an hour and a half. Time to start playing together. Gus, do you think you can make us some illusions?” 

“Of course.” With a whirl of his hands, five flyer derby players poofed into existence, these ones wearing a vibrant red (and glitter). 

“Perfect. Let’s run some plays on these guys.” Willow’s palisman elongated back into a staff and she took off. The rest of the team followed. 

They drilled with the illusions for a little over an hour, touching back down for a water break. Gus held them the whole time, quite an impressive feat for a kid his age— eleven? Twelve? 

At some point, he’d stopped shooting wary looks at Hunter, too. That just served to make Hunter’s smile widen. He was being accepted! It was going to be so awesome when the four of them joined the Emperor’s Coven— maybe they could make this an official Coven team! 

He was dragged from his thoughts by the sound of crunching gravel a ways away. Hunter glanced up from the bench. 

Willow had distanced herself from the group and was pacing, her palisman perched on her shoulder. She picked at her cuticles anxiously. 

“It’ll be fine,” she said to herself, not sounding positive. “Right?” Willow came to an abrupt halt. “They all know what they’re doing. You know what you’re doing. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” 

Hunter felt like he was intruding on something. The others hadn’t noticed, too enveloped in using Viney’s crow phone to prank call their principal. 

“Hemonculus has been playing for years, though,” Willow continued, wringing her hands. “We’ve had an afternoon. And none of us have played on an actual flyer derby team before— ugh! Why did I think I could do this?” 

Her palisman nestled closer, clearly saying something to her. 

Willow steeled herself, standing a little straighter. “You’re right. I’m more than half-a-witch. I can do this.”

The palisman buzzed. 

Willow laughed. “Thanks, Clover. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Hunter turned back to the group as Willow turned around. 

The others were roaring with laughter at whatever had just happened, and the crow phone’s beak shut with a snap, signifying the end of the call. That just made them laugh harder. 

Gus wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “Oh, Bump. So poetic.” 

“What’d I miss?” Willow asked. Whatever her palisman said had restored her confidence. 

“We prank called Bump,” Gus said. “He was disappointed when he found out we weren’t actually from the Wednesday Witch and didn’t want to feature him in a shampoo ad.”

“Oookay,” Willow said. “Well, Hermonculus and his team should be here soon, sooo….” 

“We’re going to do great,” Hunter said, convicted. “This team has all the brightest witches of Hexside and an incredible captain.” 

“I second that!” Gus said. 

Willow blushed pink. It was weirdly endearing. 

Wait, what? 

Anyway. 

Hunter refocused. He had a game to win and a mission to complete. And speaking of…. 

“Can I borrow that?” He gestured to Viney’s phone. “I need to call someone quickly.” 

“Sure.” Viney tossed it to him. “Knock yourself out. Just let it go when you’re done.” 

“Thanks.” Hunter retreated a ways away onto the field. Above, a series of silhouettes passed. He glanced upward, and sure enough, it was the team they were playing. He’d have to make this quick. 

He dialed Darius’ number.

“Darius, it's me!”

Darius sputtered on the other end. “What the— How did you get this number?” he demanded. 

Hunter had won it off of a bet with Eberwolf. Not that Darius needed to know that. 

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “I've found some incredible recruits at Hexside. I'm earning my place, just like you told me!” And he was. He’d found the recruits for the coven, and had been accepted into the team!

Darius sighed deeply. “Of course you are.” 

Hunter grinned. He was capable. 

There was some mumbling that Hunter didn’t catch. “What was that?” 

Before Darius could answer, there was a shout from behind him. 

“Caleb! Waiting on you, buddy!” Willow waved at him from the flag post. The other team was ready, adjusting their uniforms and moving to line up at the center of the field. 

A thrill rushed through him. Game time. 

“I gotta go. But you'll meet them soon!” Hunter couldn’t wait for Darius to meet them— his team was amazing; Darius would have to be impressed by them! 

He hung up and let the crow phone go, briefly watching the bird fly away before hurrying over to join the team. 

Gus handed him a flag to fix to his staff when he got over. As he tied it down, he examined the other team. 

The demon that stood out the most was impressively short, held up by a faded bubblegum pink abomination. He stared down at them over a hooked nose, decidedly smarmy. Hermonculus, Hunter realized. The teacher who’d been trying to shut down the club. 

Oh, yeah. Hunter was going to enjoy kicking his ass.

Behind him stood the rest of the team. Two of the kids wore abomination track uniforms underneath their jerseys. There was another kid, even shorter than the abomination professor, dressed in a deep purple. Hunter couldn’t say he was particularly impressed by any of them. That was only four, though. They needed five to play— where was the fifth? 

“Thanks for asking me to join, guys.” Another kid— Hunter recognized him as the student from earlier who wanted to change the coven system— came up behind one of the abomination students. “I think we're gonna have a—“ His eyes locked on Viney and he paled. 

“Jerbo?” Viney was incredulous. Her eyes narrowed and she made a slashing motion across her throat. “Traitor.”

“...fun... afternoon.” A tear slipped down Jerbo’s face. 

Wordlessly, they mounted their staffs, lining up opposite of the other team. 

Hunter was used to the sensation of adrenaline. As the Golden Guard, he’d been in plenty of situations where it was the only thing keeping him going. It was strange to feel in a situation like this, where his life wasn’t on the line, before a simple game. It made him feel like he was on a mission. 

“All we gotta do is fly high and snag some flags,” Willow said. 

Hunter nodded sharply. He ran through the opening play Skara had helped them choose earlier one last time in his head. 

“Let's see what you can do,” Hermonculus said, “ Captain.” The way he said it was mocking, cruel, and made Hunter even more determined to win. 

On the ground, the abomination raised a whistle to its mouth. With a shrill screech, the game began and Hunter took off. 

They were on the defensive immediately, with Hermonculus sending a glob of abomination goo at them. 

Viney swooped in front of them, blocking it with a well-placed shield. 

Another stream of goo, this time from one of the students, rocketed towards Hunter and he teleported away with a flash of gold. He grinned; not only did he feel great, but they had the advantage over Hermonculus’ team— most of his kids were in the abomination track, which meant they only had one branch of magic they could use, while Willow’s team had plants, illusions, healing, beast keeping, bard, and whatever kind of magic Hunter’s teleportation was. 

Hunter was the first person to snag a flag. In all the chaos, it was easy for him to dive below the mass of players. His eyes fixed on a target; the small girl in purple. She was flying a ways away from the rest of her team, which was much less work for him. 

He lined up below her and teleported beside the back of her staff, snagging the flag off of it. A grin spread across his face as he soared away from her shocked expression. He looped around the field, looking for an opening to get across the fray of players. 

He caught sight of Gus flying towards him at breakneck speed. Without thinking, he held out the flag. 

Gus snatched it from his hand and looped around, swerving around the other players like it was nothing. He slipped the purple flag onto the post. 

“Gus, that was amazing!” Hunter was grinning like a maniac. They’d gotten a point! They were ahead! And Gus had killed it!

Gus turned around and grinned right back. 

Something flew through Hunter’s peripheral vision and he swerved out of the way just in time to keep his flag from being stolen. 

With their first point, the team was emboldened. The game continued with a renewed vigor on both sides that escalated again after Hermonculus’ team scored their first point by knocking Skara out of bounds with a blast of abomination material. 

Viney and Jerbo were out next after crashing into each other headlong, leaving just Hunter, Willow, and Gus left to go after the remains of the opposing team. 

With every player that got out, the energy continued to intensify. It was getting harder and harder to find an opening to snag flags without as much chaos on the field, but Hunter refused to let that deter him. 

He ducked below a stream of abomination goo, straightening up immediately to scan the situation. 

It was with a jolt that he realized the spray hadn’t been meant for him; rather, it was aimed at Willow and Gus, who all the other team’s remaining players were focused on. 

Perfect. 

He teleported off to the side of the field, looping around behind the line of players from the other team.  

“She's right there!” the abomination professor cried, nearly beside himself with fury. “Can't you see?”

A flash of light and Hunter was beside him. He pulled off the teacher’s flag. “Boo.”

The teacher whipped around, face slackening. 

Hunter smirked before zapping away again. He was perhaps a little smug when he watched Hermonculus guide his staff to the ground. 

No sooner had Hunter hung his newly acquired flag on their post when there was a shout from a ways off. He turned towards it to find Willow with two flags in her hands— and plummeting towards the ground. Without thinking, he zoomed towards her and held out his hands. 

As she fell past him, she slapped the flags into his hands which… wasn’t what he’d intended. She’d been supposed to grab hold instead of continuing the fifty foot drop. How was she supposed to catch her fall without a staff? Best case scenario, Willow was looking at several broken bones, an impressive head injury, and a hell of a lot of bruising. Viney was good, but Hunter doubted that she was that good. 

Hunter stared down at her dumbly, heart pounding in his chest. Below, Willow made a spell circle, summoning a plant that cushioned her fall. Hunter kept staring. 

Gus pushed him out of his stupor, literally, with a shout of, “ Go, go, go!”

Hunter snapped back into action, flattening himself against his staff as he sped towards their post. Blood rushing in his ears, he slipped the flags onto the pole’s remaining limbs before landing carefully on the ground. 

Something wet and scarlet washed over him accompanied by frenzied shouting; for half a moment he wondered if it was blood, but no, it was too cold and not nearly thick enough, and the screams were too excited. He realized very abruptly that his team was standing around him cheering because they’d won. They won! Without thinking he pumped a fist in the air, crying out jubilantly alongside them. 

Flapjack transformed from the staff, fluttering above them and twittering happily. 

The elated cacophony only stopped when the abominations professor, looking particularly sour, cleared his throat. 

“May I please have your—“ He grimaced as though this were the last question he wanted to ask, “— team name?” 

“Shoot. We never thought of a name.” Willow frowned. 

“The Emerald Entrails!” Hunter said suddenly. All eyes turned to him. “You know, because... we're green, and there's... more to us... than you think?” he finished awkwardly. 

The rest of the team was silent. 

Stupid, stupid, Hunter. Why had he suggested that? They didn’t like it, it wasn’t—

With a roar, the others began to chant. “Entrails! Entrails! Entrails! Entrails!” Viney shook his shoulder excitedly while Gus jumped up and down erratically. 

You could’ve been the Cardinals, Flapjack teased, and Hunter laughed.  

“Entrails team photo!” Willow held up her scroll, grinning. “We're number one!”

There was a snap as the picture took, and when they looked at it a few moments later, Hunter did a double take. 

He was smiling. A ridiculously wide, gap-toothed grin. He looked happy. 

He was happy. How strange. How wonderful. When was the last time he’d smiled like this? The last time he’d been this happy, not smug or relieved or vindicated? He didn’t know. 

This team— they made him happy. How crazy was that? Playing a silly game, just being around people he actually liked made him happy. Hunter had never had much opportunity to make friends in the Coven. There, as the Golden Guard, everyone was either your superior or your subordinate; your superiors wouldn’t take you seriously and your subordinates always wanted something from you, and besides, Hunter didn’t have time for things superficial as friends, couldn’t afford to have any liabilities. But here, with the Entrails (the Entrails!), despite the fact that Willow was their captain, she treated everyone as an equal. No one was trying to get anything from each other. They actually liked each other, he thought. They made jokes that weren’t at each other's expense and laughed and listened to each other. Was this what he’d been missing, not having friends? (Was this what it was like, to be normal?)

He was so glad that he wasn’t losing this after today. That they’d come back to the Coven with him. (That he could have just this one thing, this one normal thing.) This was the most fun he’d had in a long time, and he was loath to let it go. 

“I can't believe I almost bailed on you guys,” he admitted. “Today was amazing! Thanks for giving me another shot.”

“Always nice making a new friend,” Viney said. “I had an opening for one.” She shot a death glare at Jerbo, who hadn’t yet left the field. 

“We wouldn't have gotten here without you,” Willow said.

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I shouldn't have been so suspicious.”

“We can forget all about that when we play next time,” Hunter said, waving it off, “as a part of the Emperor's Coven!”

Gus was the only one to respond. “The what?”

“My name isn't Caleb!” Hunter said. “It's Hunter! And I'm the Emperor's right-hand man. The Golden Guard!”

Willow laughed, but it wasn’t the same as before. It had lost its excitement, and in its place was something nervous. “You can't be serious. You're not the one Luz—“ She took a small step back, “—told us about, right?”

Hey, his reputation preceded him! “Yes, I am!” He turned to Flapjack. 

Are you sure? Flapjack asked. 

Hunter nodded. 

With only a moment’s hesitation, Flapjack took off, transforming back into a staff. Hunter plucked him from the air, and with a whirl, transformed his green derby uniform into that of the Golden Guard. He slipped the mask over his face frowning; it felt odd to wear it without the weight of his cloak. Speaking of which… 

“Yeah, this would usually look cooler with the cloak, but... I don't have it at the moment. Long story.”

The other Entrails drew closer together, eyeing Hunter warily. He hesitated, something twisting painfully in his chest at the way they looked at him. But no, he realized, they weren’t looking at him (he didn’t feel any better). He turned. 

A group of scouts were walking across the field. Quickly, they surrounded the Entrails. Why were they here?

Hunter held out a hand. “Whoa there, scouts. I didn't give you orders to come here.”

“Darius sent us to collect your recruits,” Steve said, sounding as though he really didn’t appreciate Darius’ orders. Or Darius. 

“Ah, okay,” Hunter said, confidence restored. “Very good. Then there won't be any delay in branding you with coven sigils and taking you away from your friends and family forever. Hooray!”

He looked back to the others, and— 

Willow, Gus, and Viney were glaring at the scouts, unconsciously putting their backs against each other. Skara let out a wail. 

Why was she crying? Those must be happy tears, right? Hunter reasoned. But no, somehow that explanation felt wrong. The something twisted inside him again. 

The scouts stepped forward. Steve moved to lay a hand on Skara’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright, w—“

Skara’s fist slammed into his mask, and all hell broke loose. 

The team had been stonily silent since they arrived at Bonesborough’s police precinct. They got a cell while they waited for Darius to arrive. 

Steve got an ice pack. 

And Hunter didn’t get it. At all. 

“I don't get it,” he said, pacing in front of the cell. “You're joining the best coven there is! You can keep all your magic, you get free room and board, you can even play Flyer Derby on your day off! Well, this year's day has already passed, but next year's is only fifty two weeks away!”

The Emperor’s Coven was a huge opportunity for them— one they deserved. They all had so much potential, potential that would be wasted in a small coven like the Tiny Cat Coven or the Bakers’ Coven. And Viney had called him their friend— weren:t friends supposed to help each other? Flapjack was his friend and they helped each other. Wouldn’t Hunter be being a bad friend if he didn’t help them get into the best Coven?

(They were nice, too. Funny and clever. Kind. Selfishly, Hunter didn’t want to leave that behind when he went back to the castle at the end of the day.) 

(Not that that was a huge motivator for him, he told himself. The main reason he was doing this was because it meant he would fulfill his mission. And he wanted to help his team. He wasn’t lonely or anything. What a stupid, ridiculous thought.)

“We don't care!” Skara scowled at him from behind bars. “None of us want this!”

“You will eventually.” This was in their best interests, after all. “Trust me, I'm your friend now!” 

“Friends don't stab each other in the back,” Gus said venomously. 

“Sure they do. The Coven Heads do it all the time back at the castle.” Hunter shrugged, turning to Willow with a smile. “Captain, you're on my side, right?” Surely she understood. 

Since they’d been deposited in the cell, Willow had been standing, staring blankly at the stone wall before her. She didn’t move from there. She didn’t even seem to have heard what Hunter said. “I... thought I... could be good at this,” she said, voice wavering. 

Hunter’s smile dropped. What was wrong? 

“But we're here because I made a bad call. I'm just... half-a-witch Willow.” She tugged at a braid, drawing even further into herself. 

Hunter took a step forward, not quite sure what to say. 

From a crack in the floor, a torrent of abomination appeared, enveloping the team with a swirl. Their shouts of surprise disappeared as the goop drained back into the ground. 

He stood there a moment, staring at the empty cell, where Willow had been moments earlier. 

It’s just the shock, he told himself. She’ll come around. They all will. 

Even in his head, it sounded like a lie. 

He pushed the thought aside along with the clenching in his chest, refocusing. He turned away from the cell, hurrying out to meet Darius. 

Darius looked down at the precinct from an airship, radiating a clear aura of I don’t fucking want to be here. His attention shifted from the coven scout using magic to lift the Entrails’ palismen onto the ship to Hunter. 

“Darius, I did it!” Hunter said. “I found recruits!” He’d proven himself today, something he’d been aching to do for weeks. It didn’t feel quite as good as he’d imagined it feeling. 

“Yep. And you're making me work on my day off.” With a spell circle, Darius summoned the confiscated cloak and flung it down at Hunter. “Take this and quit bugging me.”

It landed in Hunter’s hands. He ran a gloved finger over the line of the sigil’s stitching. “I can wear this proudly now.” He looked back up at Darius. “Right?”

“Can you?” Darius’ tone was light, yet somehow, it still managed to drip with disdain. It fed the sense of wrong that had settled in his stomach. Which didn’t make any sense. Hunter had been successful today. He’d proven himself— both his skills as a witch and his loyalty to the Emperor, cornerstones of the rank of Golden Guard, the very things symbolized by the old sigil. 

Why did earning it not feel right? Why was Darius so disappointed? Why was Hunter?

Darius turned away. “See you at the castle, Golden Guard.”

Golden Guard. Not Little Prince. Hunter had never liked that moniker. He’d always preferred that the Coven Heads call him by his title. So why did it sting now? 

He shoved those feelings aside as he watched the ship fly off, stuffing them in a box labeled to be unpacked: never.

The precinct’s door opened behind him and Steve came out. “I do not envy those kids, man,” he said. His mask was dented from where Skara had punched him earlier. 

“They just have to go through basic training before becoming scouts. It's not too bad,” Hunter said, latching onto the distraction. Basic training had been great— he almost missed it. 

“Dude—“ Steve was incredulous, “—do you even remember what we had to do? The duels. The mazes with the traps. That time we were left alone on a mountain?”

Hunter laughed. “Classic.”

“And of course,” Steve said, “Belos likes to collect everyone's palismen.”

The image flashed across his mind, unbidden. A small little wooden creature, crushed in the Emperor’s hand, turning to ash as its magic drifted lazily upward, into the holes in Belos’ mask. 

But it was fine! It was fine, he reminded himself, it was just what his uncle had to do to control the curse! It wasn’t as though anyone was getting hurt!

Except for the palismen, part of him whispered. Isn’t that why you haven’t given him Flapjack? 

Vividly, he saw the scene playing out. His uncle’s gloved hands curling around the red bird, the crack as Flapjack splintered, and—

He wanted to throw up. 

He wanted to throw up even more when he thought about Willow and her palisman, and the way she’d spoken with it earlier, how much she cared about it. His uncle wouldn’t know that she cared. His uncle wouldn’t care if she cared, he’d crush the bee in his fist and Hunter had to fix it, had to get them out of there before things got worse—

“Steve is beginning to regret his choices,” Steve announced. 

Hunter focused on the sound of Steve’s footsteps fading away, clenching his cloak tightly. He wasn’t going to spiral. He wasn’t. If he spiraled, he couldn’t help the team. 

He heard Belos’ voice in his head. Do you swear to protect the Boiling Isles and serve our cause? To help rid this world of wild magic, and to serve me?  

He was sixteen and standing in the throne room, his uncle presenting him with his staff and rank. Another gift, after the home, after the opportunities, after the teachings. Hunter had promised his loyalty, his undying fidelity. 

But his friends were in danger. 

A breath in, a breath out. In. Out. Easier said than done. Don’t throw up. Focus on the sting from your nails biting into your palms. Don’t think about betraying Uncle. In and out. In and out. Dammit, Hunter, pull yourself together—

Eventually, he did. When his panic and nausea subsided enough, he looked to the outline of the airship in the distance. Where his friends were. And…

“I think Hunter is, too.”

Alright. New mission. Re-kidnap the Entrails and their palismen. He’d done it once; he could do it again, even if this time he had to fight Darius. And beyond that, don’t think about what Uncle would say. 

Hunter swung the cloak around his shoulders. Glancing either way, he pulled Flapjack— gone wooden and still— from his pocket. 

Flapjack woke up, feathers softening, almost immediately. Did you realize your actions have consequences? 

Hunter had never hated and loved his palisman so much as he did in that moment. “Yes,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m fixing it. Can you get us up to the ship?” 

Silly boy. Of course I can. Flapjack extended into a staff. 

Hunter mounted him immediately and pushed off the ground. 

The airship was moving towards the sea, the shortest way to cut across to the Heart. This was one of the few short stretches of coast where the water didn’t boil, but if they got too far out, it would. Should things go wrong over the water, that could be even more problematic— he did not want to see his teammates be boiled. So, he had to stop Darius before they were too far over the sea. 

He flattened himself against his staff, eyes fixed on the airship. With concentration, he teleported further up, then again. A third time brought him beside the ship. Teleporting in such rapid succession had him disoriented, but it didn’t matter; a last flash of light had him on the deck and he cried, “Darius!” 

Darius’ head whipped around to face him. 

It was then that he realized he didn’t actually have a plan. Whoops. Some rescue mission/re-kidnapping this was. 

“Now!” Willow shouted, and the team ran for the railing, vaulting over it. Gus was the last to go, sticking his tongue out before making his exit, and Hunter abruptly realized that none of them had palismen. 

He rushed to the rail beside Darius, watching the team fall until… they… disappeared with a poof? 

“An illusion,” Darius breathed. 

There was another poof from behind them and Hunter turned, letting out a relieved exhale. 

Gus had dropped the illusion, revealing the Entrails perched on the ship’s mast and not hurtling to their deaths. 

“Land the ship!” Willow ordered. 

One by one they dropped down, Viney lunging for the controls. 

“Wait—” Darius started, but the ship was already going down. 

Why did Hunter always end up on airships that fell from the sky? He hated it when that happened. Plunging towards the ground sucked. 

Unlike the last time Hunter had crashed an airship, he didn’t pass out. Instead, he was very much conscious, and very aware of the bruise he was going to have on his hip tomorrow morning. He didn’t give it much thought, too preoccupied scrambling for the cage with the palismen in the wreckage. 

“We’ve gotta go, now,” Viney said somewhere amidst the smoke. 

“Not until I have Emmeline,” Gus said. 

Hunter almost had it, he almost had gotten it— 

“Caleb?” 

He looked up to find Willow standing in front of him. What it must look like, Hunter clutching the cage with their palismen. Luz had told them about him— she’d probably told them about how they’d met the second time and what Hunter had been planning to do with the palismen— 

No time to think about that. Flapjack lit up with a burst of magic and the lock fell away. Hunter shoved it at Willow. “I’ll deal with Darius. Viney is right, you need to go.”

Willow opened her mouth as though to say something. 

Hunter shoved her. “Go!” 

“Emmeline? Has anyone seen the palismen?” Gus was sounding a little more frantic, wherever he was on the ship. 

Willow turned away. “I have her!” she called. “Let’s go!”

Okay. Now Hunter just had to find Darius. 

It was hard to see with the smoke. Titan, Darius was going to be pissed. Not only was Hunter disobeying orders, but the Coven Head’s cloak was going to smell like a campfire for weeks. When this was over, Hunter was in for it. 

He fumbled around in the wreckage, looking for any sign of Darius. 

“Did you really think you could get away with endangering a Coven Head?” a decidedly pissed off voice demanded. “Do you have any idea what I'm capable of?”

Oh, shit. Hunter had to move. 

He sprinted in the direction of Darius’ voice, flinging himself off the ship without a second thought. At some point, Flapjack had transformed again, flying behind him with a clear sense of urgency. 

The scene before them was decidedly not good. The team was cornered on the beach, with Willow struggling to create a strong enough shield to keep Darius from defending upon them. Darius looked particularly deranged, one arm transformed into a deadly scythe that broke through the captain’s vines easily. He raised his arm again and—

Hunter dove in front of his team. “Wait!” 

There was a dangerous glint to Darius’ eyes. 

Hunter was so fucked. Too late to back down now. 

“Out of my way, little prince.”

“No! I was mistaken.” Hunter held his ground. “These four are— are insolent agitators who aren't fit for the Emperor's Coven.” And…. “And I'm unfit to wear the sigil of the Golden Guard.” The Golden Guard was supposed to be loyal, but Hunter— 

Hunter loved his uncle. He did. He would do anything for him. But today, he’d chosen a different side. The thought made him feel sick with revulsion, but what else was he to do? He’d had to help his friends. 

The cloak dropped to the ground before him. 

The expression on Darius’ face was impossible to read. 

Hunter turned to Willow. “You can go,” he said. 

Willow hefted her staff, eyes still fixed on Darius behind him. She clenched her jaw, and it was with a start that Hunter realized she was holding back tears. That she was willing to fight alongside him against Darius. 

“Please, Captain,” he said. A little more desperate. A little more resigned. 

She hesitated before lowering her staff. She turned away from him. “Let's move, team. We need to find a replacement.” 

Something in Hunter twisted. 

“After all,” Willow said lightly, “it'll be fifty two weeks before Caleb's next day off.”

Hunter watched them walk off, something warm blooming in his chest despite his confusion. He didn’t understand— didn’t they hate him? Shouldn’t they hate him? (He hoped they didn’t hate him) — but it was so very Willow that he couldn't help the small smile that formed. 

“You... befriended them?” Darius was incredulous. “And then you disobeyed me to protect them?”

Hunter turned to find Darius raising his scythe arm about his head. He flinched, eyes snapping shut as he braced for the hit. 

A hand hit his head, firmly but not harshly. Hunter chanced opened his eyes. 

“I'm impressed.” Darius’ fury had evaporated. Now he was… smiling? What? “I had you all wrong.” 

Had Hunter missed something? “Huh?”

“You're what? Sixteen? It's about time you made connections outside the castle.” Darius circled a finger. 

Something dropped into Hunter’s hands. The scroll unrolled, boasting a signup page for Pennstagram. 

“I was just gonna drop them off at Hexside,” Darius said. “We have more than enough recruits, in my opinion.” 

Darius had to have some kind of end game here. What was he playing at? Was this a test? 

“Are you... gonna tell Belos about this?” Hunter frowned, looking away from his (?) new scroll and back at the Coven Head.

“Are you going to tell him about your secret palisman?” Darius’ eyes twinkled with amusement. 

Hunter reached for Flapjack where he was perched on his shoulder instinctively. 

Wait. You didn’t know he knew? With all those bird puns? Flapjack twittered. 

What. 

“Magic or not, I think you'll make your predecessors proud.” 

Another spell circle and Hunter’s cloak flew out of where it had been discarded in the sand, hitting him in the face. He peeled it off of himself, watching as his shoddy stitches glowed with a purple light before realigning themselves, much neater than Hunter’s had ever been. 

“But you could still use a sewing lesson,” Darius added. “So many sewing lessons.” 

Hunter stared at him. 

“You’ll catch flies like that, Little Prince,” Darius said. 

“I disobeyed your orders,” Hunter said slowly. “I have an illegal palisman. And you’re offering to give me sewing lessons?” 

“Well. I didn’t say that,” Darius said, “but sure. Does Tuesday work for you?” 

What the fuck. This was even weirder than when the Owl Lady had ripped off her own arm to attack him. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Hunter demanded. 

Take the win, Hunter. Flapjack nipped at his ear. 

Hunter did not take the win. 

“I committed treason. Also,” he continued, “you hate me.” 

Darius went uncharacteristically quiet. A second passed, and then another, with no witty or condescending comeback. 

Oh, Titan. Hunter had really done it this time. 

They stood there in silence, waves lapping gently on the shore. 

“I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever did,” Darius said at last. “Resented, certainly. But never hated.” 

Well. Didn’t Hunter feel enlightened. Darius didn’t sound upset, though, just… sad. 

“My mentor— your predecessor— was the bravest witch I’ve ever known. His name was Regulus,” Darius said. “And he—“ He laughed, both fond and hollow, “— he was an extraordinary witch with quite a knack for getting into trouble. Quite the knack for getting out of it, too, until….” Darius trailed off, sombering again. “Well. It’s a strange coincidence, but this is the anniversary of the last day I saw him.”

Hunter had no idea what to say to that. “Uh—“ 

“And then,” Darius said, “a few years later, you showed up. You look a lot like him; the resemblance is uncanny. Although—“ The mischievous light returned to his eyes, “—he had a far more sensible haircut.” 

“Hey!” Hunter squawked. “Flapjack likes my hair!”

Best nest, Flapjack agreed. 

“Is that their name?” Darius motioned to the bird. 

Hunter nodded hesitantly. His head was spinning just a little. Or a lot. What even was this day. He’d made friends, kidnapped said friends, re-kidnapped said friends, disobeyed direct orders, a Coven Head found out about his palisman, and he was now said Coven Head’s therapist. 

“I like it,” Darius said. 

Flapjack’s chest puffed up. See? Someone likes me.

Hunter swatted at him half heartedly. 

“Anyway,” Darius said, and Therapist Hunter was back on duty, “despite the fact that you two could be siblings, you… weren’t him. You were a replacement, and the pain was still too fresh. My assholery wasn’t personal, but was underserved, and I’m… sorry. By no means does an apology make up for any of this, but you deserve to know.” 

“I mean,” Hunter said, “your assholery is kinda your whole personality.” 

Darius shot him a flat look. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Little Prince.” 

They stood there awkwardly for a couple of moments before Darius cleared his throat. 

“So. Tuesday? If you want?” he prompted. 

“I, uh, I have patrol,” Hunter said. “But. Maybe… another time?” 

“Alright,” Darius said. 

Hunter fidgeted with his gloves as they lapsed back into silence. 

Well, this is awkward, Flapjack chirped. You should say something. 

Hunter’s eyes flitted around until they landed on his scroll. “So, uh, what am I supposed to put for my ‘username?’”

Darius pinched the bridge of his nose. “You poor, depraved child. Alright. Well, people typically put part of their name in their handle, but that’s not an option for you. Do you have any hobbies?”

“Um.” Being the Golden Guard didn’t really leave much room for hobbies. “Researching wild magic?” 

“Anything else? Flyer derby must be a hobby,” Darius suggested, “or sewing, albeit dismally.” 

Willow had said it was fifty two weeks until Hunter was off again, as though they expected him to come back. But he didn’t know that he could call himself an Entrail, especially after what he’d done, even if they didn’t hate him. And he didn’t sew enough to consider it a hobby. 

With clumsy fingers, he pressed on the scroll’s keys. 

Darius moved to peer over his shoulder. 

Rul.erSRea,chfan  

“Your typing skills are incredible,” Darius said. 

Hunter grinned. “Thanks!” He tapped the Create Account! button. The screen flashed red, now reading We don’t allow commas in usernames. Try again! and below that, Don’t forget a password!

Darius held out a hand. “May I?” 

Hunter passed the scroll over. A few quick taps and it was back in his hands.  

Welcome, RULERZREACHF4N, it read now. 

“Your password is Flapjack,” Darius informed him. 

“Okay,” Hunter said, trying to tap on the gray icon that was apparently him. Why was it so hard to select things on here?

“Now what do you say we head back to the castle?” 

“Sure.” He pressed on the circle harder, and was enveloped at once by abomination sludge. He tried to yelp— that was not what he’d been expecting— but nothing came out. 

The goop disappeared, leaving Hunter and Darius standing outside Hunter’s room. 

Titan. Did Darius travel everywhere like that? That was awful. 

They stood there for a moment. 

“We’re never talking about this ever again,” Darius said. 

“Alright,” Hunter said. 

“And we will find another time for the sewing lesson,” Darius said. 

“Alright,” Hunter repeated. “I’d… like that, I think.” 

Silence again. 

Okay. Hunter was getting out of this awkward situation. 

“Byeee!” he said, threw open the door to his room, and ducked inside. He left Darius outside, muttering something about teenagers without social skills, and shut the door before moving to sit on his bed. 

Pennstagram was still open. Hunter was examining the screen when the scroll pinged. A red dot appeared in the upper right corner, next to a small icon of a crow. After a couple failed attempts, he clicked into it. 

The screen changed, taking him to a page labeled Messages. Below the heading, there was a profile that wasn’t his. Hello_willow, it read. Its icon was a picture of Willow and her palisman, grinning at the camera. The red dot had moved to rest beside the image. 

Hunter clicked it. 

Chapter Text

Hello_willow: Hi! Hunter, is this you? :) 

RULERZREACHF4N: ye.s 

RULERZREACHF4N: heLLO

Typing, Hunter was finding, was very tedious. And difficult. 

Hello_willow: Just wanted to make sure you were alright! Darius seemed pretty angry. I’m sorry we left you behind. 

Hunter frowned as he meticulously wrote out his message. 

RULERZREACHF4N: it.s oKay, I t0ld yo.u to Go

RULERZREACHF4N: you hAVe not.hing to be srry f.or

RULERZREACHF4N: sOrr.y for

RULERZREACHF4N: I mad.e A miStaKe s o I h.ad to reci.eve repr.icUssions

RULERZREACHF4N: are yo.u aLL oka y 

RULERZREACHF4N: .?

Willow’s response was immediate. 

Hello_willow: We’re all fine!!

Hello_willow: What do you mean by repercussions?? Did you get in trouble for helping us???

RULERZREACHF4N: My miSsio.n waS to fiND rEcruits f.or the eM porers c.oven

RULERZREACHF4N: bu t iT wasn.t a rEAL mssion 

RULERZREACHF4N: appa rEntl.y dari.us wAs juSt gO.ing to brinG y ou ba.c/m to hexside 

RULERZREACHF4N: I didn.t knOw thOug h so I intERFe.res

RULERZREACHF4N: he wasNt th a.t upsEt

RULERZREACHF4N: h.e gaVe me t.he scr ol.l

Hello_willow: I’m glad you’re okay!! 

Hello_willow: The rest of the team is, too :)

Hunter glanced at Flapjack. “What now?” he asked.

Why are you asking me? Flapjack twittered from his knee. I can’t type. I don’t have opposable thumbs. 

“You’re the only other person here!” Hunter said. 

I’m a bird. 

Wow. Hunter’s palisman was really helpful. Thanks, Flapjack. 

He bit his lip, searching for something to say. Before he could come up with anything, another message from Willow appeared. 

Hello_willow: Btw I meant what I said earlier. If you ever have a day off you’re always welcome to join us for flyer derby. 

Hunter reread the message. 

RULERZREACHF4N: wh.y? I al.most sEnt yOu to. Th.e empe ror.s coven nd puT yOU in j.ail

Willow’s response took a little longer to come this time. 

Hello_willow: You thought you were doing the right thing, and when you realized you weren’t, you tried to fix it. You stood down a coven head for us. And most importantly, you’re my friend :)

Hunter was someone’s friend. Hunter had friends, or at least one friend. It made his heart beat a little faster— how scary, how strange, how exciting. He’d never had real friends before— just indifferent allies. 

He couldn’t say he knew a whole lot about how friendship worked, but he did have a vague notion that Willow must be incredibly kind and patient to be friends with him. 

RULERZREACHF4N: thANk.you

RULERZREACHF4N: /:]

Hunter frowned. His smiley face didn’t look quite right. 

Hello_willow: Sorry, gtg. Clover and I are exhausted after today! 

Hello_willow: Image.jpg

The picture enclosed was one of her palisman curled up on a mound of blankets, eyes closed. It was cute and made Hunter smile. 

Was he supposed to send a picture back? How did he do that? He fumbled with his scroll for a couple minutes before finding the camera function and aiming it at Flapjack. 

His picture wasn’t nearly as good as Willow’s— it was blurry, and his thumb was covering the corner of the frame— but for a first picture, not bad! He would have to practice. For now, though he send it through the chat. 

RULERZREACHF4N: image.jpg

Hello_willow: <3

Hello_willow: Goodnight, Hunter! Flapjack, too! 

RULERZREACHF4N: gOod.nigh t

“Willow says goodnight,” Hunter said. “We’re still friends, I think.” 

Flapjack was clearly pleased. Of course you are. She’d be stupid not to be. 

“Hey!” Hunter scolded him. “It would be completely reasonable if she didn’t want to be my friend. I kidnapped her, remember?” 

All friendships have their ups and downs.  

“I’ve never had friends before and even I know that’s not normal.”

Shows what you know. Flapjack stood, ruffling his feathers. But she was right. My witch is a good person. And it’s time for bed. With that, he took off, landing to nest in Hunter’s hair. 

Hunter wasn’t quite so sure that he was a good person after today. He’d thought following his orders was the right thing to do, but it was clear now that that wasn’t the case. 

How many of his other orders had been wrong? How many of them had hurt people? 

He shoved the thoughts away. No. Hunter wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to question his uncle’s orders because his uncle did the right thing (but did Belos ever make mistakes, like Hunter had?). 

But, he supposed, today was a lesson. Pain was one of their most effective teachers, and messing up today had hurt. Recalling Skara’s sobs and Willow’s anguish still made his heart clench. So today was a lesson. He wasn’t about to start questioning his orders, but… he’d think about them a little more. Was that questioning his orders? 

Flapjack tugged at his hair. Too much thinking. Go to sleep!

“Okay, okay, fine, I’m sleeping.” He grabbed his artificial staff from where it was propped up against his desk and with a wave, swapped his uniform for pajamas. His scroll disappeared with a wave, and leaned back in bed. “Happy?” 

Yes. Flapjack’s little feet kneaded his scalp until the bird got comfortable. Not too much later, Hunter drifted off, too. 

Hunter spent too much of his morning trying to figure out how Pennstagram worked. 

The first thing he did was explore the People in Your Orbit tab, coming across accounts like goopy.gus, bad_girl_bard, RealEmperorBelos, rainy.day, Dariusisnotahack, and oneandonly_Steve. He even found Kikimora’s (which he deleted it from his page right away, eugh); it seemed that everyone was on scrolls. He followed Willow immediately, and hesitated before clicking the follow buttons on the accounts for the other members of the Entrails; they hadn’t said they wanted anything to do with him, and though Willow had said the whole team was glad he was okay, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was just trying to be nice. Darius he also followed, bringing his total up to five people. For good measure, he added Steve, then moved on to phutzing with the app’s other functions. 

Every other account had some sort of profile picture, which was the next thing on Hunter’s list to fix. Before taking one of his own, he did some recon— a lot of witches his age had pictures of their palismen (not an option for him. Call him paranoid, but if Uncle found out he had a Pennstagram, he didn’t want Flapjack to be in danger) or of themselves. A lot of them made strange hand gestures. 

And that was how Hunter found himself making a ridiculous face at his scroll, holding it up awkwardly with one hand and using the other to make some teenage symbol. When at last he had a picture that wasn’t blurry, he turned the screen towards Flapjack. “Does this make me look stupid?” 

A wave of amused affection passed through their bond. No. 

Hunter eyed him warily. “Are you sure?” 

Yes. It’s very distinguished. Flapjack chirped. 

Hunter had just set the photo as his profile picture when he saw the time, a tiny clock located on the top of his scroll. 

Huh. I have an important meeting in fifteen minutes, he thought, then oh, shit, I have an important meeting in fifteen minutes. 

With a wave of his hand, Hunter vanished his scroll (something he was perhaps a little too excited to be able to do) and grabbed his mask off the desk. He held open a pocket beneath his cloak for Flapjack to hide away in, and grabbed his staff before practically sprinting from the room. 

Hunter wondered vaguely how anyone got anything done when they could stare at their scroll for hours on end without realizing that time was passing. Perhaps he could ask Darius about it, or one of the Entrails— Skara had seemed quite knowledgeable about Pennstagram. 

He skidded to a stop outside the throne room with seven minutes to spare, chest heaving as he fixed the hood of his cloak. Once he’d stopped wheezing, he pushed the door open and slipped inside. 

Fortunately, none of the other Coven Heads had arrived quite yet. The room was empty except for Belos, who sat poised in his throne, and Kikimora, who stood beside him, shooting Hunter a dark look as he entered. 

“Cutting it a little close, are we, Golden Guard?” his uncle said lightly. 

“My apologies.” Hunter bowed his head. “It won’t happen again.” 

His uncle waved a hand dismissively and Hunter took his place beside the throne. 

Not long after, the Coven Heads began to file in, beginning with Mason and Vitimir and ending with Terra leading in Whispers. With them all gathered before the throne, Belos rose. 

“My Coven Heads,” he said, surveying them from beneath the mask, “I have spoken with the Titan, and the Day of Unity is almost upon us. When the moon eclipses the sun, we will inherit a utopia free of wild magic.” 

The next solar eclipse was just a handful of weeks away, Hunter realized. With so little time, the castle would be scrambling, and his job would probably get a lot harder. Wonderful. 

“However, in order to do this, there is a spell that must be performed at the Head, and I cannot do it without you,” his uncle said, “We will all have to work together to achieve paradise. I can depend on you all, can’t I?” 

There were various nods and murmurs of agreement. 

“Just as I hoped. Then we have much to prepare,” his uncle said. “Mason, how long do you estimate until our venue is finished?” 

“Within the week, sir,” Mason said. “My men have been working on it around the clock.” 

“Security will be provided by Blight Industries— don’t make that face, Darius, I’m putting you in charge of it. Can you handle it?” 

Darius looked as though he’d swallowed something particularly sour. “I doubt it will be a struggle to manage anything made by that hack.” 

Belos didn’t dignify that with a response. “Additionally,” he continued, “each of you will be expected to rally support for the Day of Unity and promote travel to the Head for the event. Kikimora has several marketing strategies devised to….”

Oh, joy. Two things Hunter loved: Kikimora and marketing. 

The remainder of the meeting was mind-numbing, and it was quite the relief when it was over. He made to file out with the other Coven Heads, but Belos stopped him. 

“Golden Guard,” he said, “another moment.” 

Hunter turned towards him. 

“Kikimora, you are dismissed. Thank you.” His uncle waved her off. 

She was clearly displeased, but didn’t argue, leaving through the tall arched doors and letting them shut behind her with a muffled bang. 

“I have a small job to ask of you,” his uncle said, turning back to Hunter. “I suspect we have a traitor in our midst, and you are the only one I know I can trust with it.” 

Hunter swelled with pride despite his concern that a Coven Head was plotting against them. “Anything.” 

“I need the portal to the human realm moved to the head.” His uncle’s eyes bore into him. “Its existence is very sensitive information, knowledge I would rather not give to those who may try to stop us. I need a list of scouts who can be trusted to be both competent and secretive enough to help move it, and I would like you to oversee it.” 

Hunter’s mind raced through a list of names. “How many?” 

His uncle hummed thoughtfully. “Half a dozen at most.” 

“I’ll contact them tonight,” Hunter said. 

“Thank you.” His uncle put a heavy, gentle hand on his shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Hunter.” 

He returned to a new message on Pennstagram, another picture of Clover, this time perched on a balcony laden with plants. His response was a slightly less blurry picture of Flapjack, sitting on his sunny windowsill. 

From there, he banished his scroll and set about making his list. Steve, naturally, would be included, and Riley was among their most competent. For a moment he considered the Captain, but no, she had other jobs to do and couldn’t be spared. Maybe Roul or Tom would be a good fit. 

Hunter also ran over his conversation with Uncle. I suspect we have a traitor in our midst. Terra swore she’d taken care of Whispers, but were they still passing information to someone on the outside, even if they weren’t actively messing with Belos’ plans? Or had they been working with someone? How many traitors were there? And who were they? 

It crossed his mind for a moment that perhaps Terra was only pretending to “take care” of Whispers, whatever that entailed, and was working alongside them, but she was too convicted, almost scarily loyal to the Emperor. Vitimir hardly left his laboratory if not on a mission; it couldn’t be him. Graye was a pain, but no traitor. Darius— well, Darius couldn’t be the turncoat, he was loyal. And there was no reason for Eberwolf to revolt. Hunter couldn’t say he knew much about Cutburn or Mason, who tended to keep to themselves; perhaps it was one of them. 

Also with similar clearance to the Coven Heads, and not trusted, was Kikimora. His uncle had sent her from the room before mentioning the spy to Hunter. The thought of her betraying Belos was laughable, but boy did he wish it was her. He’d enjoy her getting in trouble immensely.  

It was an unsettling thought, that someone in his uncle’s inner circle had deceived them all. With the Day of Unity so close, though, whoever they were, they were bound to slip up. Hunter would keep an eye out, and he didn’t doubt his uncle was on high alert. 

He finished the list just in time for patrol, and it was to his great surprise that he was met at the drawbridge by Steve alone. 

“Jessie couldn’t make it,” Steve explained. “They fell off the airship last night and couldn’t find anyone to cover.” 

“How did they fall off the—“ Hunter rubbed at his mask. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Let’s just go.” 

Steve took the job of piloting the craft, steering them towards Latissa. They stood in companionable silence for the first half of the trip, watching the clouds pass. 

How strange. Only a day ago, Hunter was at Hexside, being chased by a griffin. It seemed like longer since then. 

He looked out over the landscape, gaze landing on the Titan’s skull. He opened his mouth, thinking he’d inform Steve about the mission his uncle had given them, when Steve spoke first. 

“So,” Steve said, “yesterday, when Darius sent us to pick up your recruits. You had a palisman.” 

Hunter’s heart stuttered in his chest. The air rushed out of his lungs. He’d been so distracted— by the team’s win, by what he’d thought was success— he hadn’t even realized the scouts had seen Flapjack. How many had there been? Five? Six? Eight? Titan, they were going to report him and sure it wasn’t illegal to own a palisman but he was the Golden Guard and they were going to tell Belos and Flapjack was going to— he was going to—

It was getting harder to breathe. No, no, he wasn't doing this right now, he wasn’t, he had to deal with Steve, he couldn’t shut down, get it together, Hunter—

He clenched his hands into fists so tight it was painful. Stay here. Stay here. Stay here. Stay stay stay staystaystaystaystast

“Are you with me?” Hunter came back to himself, eyes locking in on Steve, who’d abandoned the wheel at some point to crouch in front of him— when had he gone to the floor? He took stock of his surroundings, pressing his hands into the wooden deck beneath him, willing his breathing to slow. 

Hunter nodded. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Steve summoned a bottle of Coven rationed water. 

Hunter took it, uncapping it despite unsteady hands. Without thinking, he took his mask off, gulping the water down desperately. 

“Are you okay?” Steve sounded weirdly concerned. 

“Fine,” Hunter said, as though whatever just happened hadn’t happened. As far as he was concerned, things were fine and he wasn’t mortified. “Um. Thanks. I apologize for my behavior; it was unacceptable.” 

“Dude, don’t thank me, I sent you into a panic attack. And don’t apologize, that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t’ve….” He trailed off, glancing away. 

The reason Hunter had had his panic attack, as Steve called it, came back to him, sending his heart racing again. He dug his fingers into his palms again. “Asked about my palisman?” he said. Hunter wasn’t weak. He could talk about this without having a meltdown. 

“Uh, yeah. That.” Steve shifted awkwardly. 

“His name is Flapjack,” Hunter said. “He— he found me on a mission, and I wasn’t able to get him to leave.” He looked away. “Belos doesn’t know I have him. He wouldn’t be… happy, if he found out.” 

For a moment, Steve seemed to digest that. Then, he slipped off his own mask, running a hand through his shaggy hair. 

Hunter stared at him. 

“I never gave Belos my palisman, either,” he said, nonchalant. “I left Pickles at home with my brother when I heard about how they were collected when you joined the coven.”

“Oh,” Hunter said. 

“So,” Steve said, “Steve promises not to tell. I’ll make sure the other guys don’t either, if they noticed.” 

“I— I won’t tell, either,” Hunter said. This was so weird. How had he gotten here? Sitting on an imperial airship, mask off and talking face to face with Steve the coven scout about their palismen? 

Wait a minute.

“Who’s flying the ship?” Hunter asked. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” He scrambled for the wheel. 

Fortunately, they didn’t crash. Unfortunately, they’d flown over Latissa, meaning they had to turn around. As they reentered the city’s airspace, Steve shot Hunter a wink before re-affixing his mask. 

They were a couple minutes late to patrol. It wasn’t as though the scouts could do anything about it (Hunter was their superior, after all) but it still put him a little on edge. Or maybe that was just a result of his shutdown on the airship. Regardless, he was happy to ignore it, throwing himself into his work. 

The sun was starting to sink towards the horizon when he returned to the castle. 

Disembarking the aircraft, Steve shot him a set of finger guns. “Later, Mr. Guard Sir.”

“Bye?” Hunter wasn’t used to being shot finger guns. He didn’t know what the appropriate response was. 

Steve didn’t seem to notice his confusion, turning and walking away, whistling to himself. 

Well. The past several hours had been surreal. Hunter never wanted to do it again. 

He disappeared back into the castle, slipping inside his room and shutting the door with a snap. He held open his pocket to let Flapjack fly out before pulling off his mask and settling at his desk to start composing his instructions to the scouts helping with the portal door. 

You should take a break. Go get food. Flapjack perched on his shoulder. 

“Later,” Hunter said, frowning at the sample instructions he’d drafted. He was missing something. 

When was the last time you ate? 

“Steve gave me water.” He squinted at the parchment. He had the directions, he would copy it down for each of the recipients….

That’s not food. Flapjack nipped at his ear. Go get food or I’ll make you eat bugs.  

“First and foremost, that’s disgusting,” Hunter said, holding up a finger, “and second of all, I have to finish this. I told Uncle I’d send it tonight— dammit!” That was what he’d forgotten— he hadn’t asked his uncle when he wanted the portal moved. Time to be communicated at a later date, he scrawled. 

If he wants it done that badly he can do it himself. Flapjack’s displeasure with Belos was quickly smothered, stamped out of their bond. 

“Flap,” Hunter staring, turning away from his work, “why—“ 

Go get food, Flapjack insisted. Self care is important! 

“I don’t have time for self care.” Hunter waved him off. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just trying to— owowowow— okay, okay, fine!”  

Flapjack stopped tugging on his hair, incredibly smug. 

Hunter stood, opening his pocket for his palisman to dive into. “You’re the worst.” 

He thought about how earlier, the idea of Steve knowing about Flapjack, the idea that Flapjack was in danger, was the thing that sent him over the edge. His palisman wasn’t actually the worst. The little guy had grown on him, and Hunter….

You love me! Flapjack chirped. 

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. “Yeah, I do.” 

The day started with boiling rain, which was unfortunate. Hunter had been scheduled to train, but he wasn’t going to do that in the courtyard in the middle of a storm. Instead, he shoved the books on his floor to the side and started his regiment of push-ups in his bedroom. It was far more cramped than the courtyard and decidedly not fun, but he couldn’t afford to be lax. 

At Flapjack’s count of seventeen, his scroll pinged. Probably Willow— though the two of them hadn’t had any more real conversations, they’d developed a ritual in which they sent each other cute pictures of their palismen. Hunter hadn’t sent one of Flapjack today— he’d do it after he finished. Another push-up. 

Eighteen. Flapjack chirped from where he was curled up on Hunter’s cloak. 

There was another ping. And another. And— 

Hunter sat back on his knees, summoning his scroll. What was happening? He opened his Pennstagram not to a message from Willow, but from… BADGIRLCOVEN? Who was that? He clicked into the messages. 

BADGIRLCOVEN: Are you good now?

BADGIRLCOVEN: Is Belos evil?? You can tell me!

BADGIRLCOVEN: Also hi!

BADGIRLCOVEN: It's Luz!

Following that there were a series of small pictures— imogees?— that Hunter wasn’t sure how to decipher. He had… a lot of questions, like: why was the human texting him, and why did she think his uncle was evil? Mostly though, he didn’t want to deal with her overly chipper attitude and ridiculous accusations. 

RULERZREACHF4N: LEAVE.ME ALONE

Well, that was taken care of. While he was on, he might as well send Willow her daily Flapjack picture. He opened the camera and aimed it at Flapjack. The picture took with a click and he bumped something. 

RULERZREACHF4N: image.jpg

The image appeared in his chat with Luz. 

RULERZREACHF4N: sORry.wrong.person .,. 

BADGIRLCOVEN: Awwww el es tan precioso!!!

BADGIRLCOVEN: I LOVE HIM <3 <3 <3

BADGIRLCOVEN: So is your uncle evil???

Hunter groaned. Why was she like this? 

Flapjack relocated to his shoulder, peering at the scroll. He radiated approval. I like her. 

“You have horrible taste,” Hunter said. “I’m gonna block her.” 

No! Flapjack twittered. She’s nice!

“She boosts your ego,” Hunter said. 

And she’s nice! Flapjack insisted. 

Hunter couldn’t argue with that. Luz was really nice. 

He was still gonna block her. If he could figure out how. 

He fumbled with the icons on the screen and— 

Luz’s face appeared. “Oh, hey, Hunter!” She grinned. “What’s up?” 

Oh, Titan, had he called her on accident? Why were scrolls so hard to work? 

“Long time no see, human,” he said. “Byeeee!” He fumbled for the hang up button. 

“Wait! But I haven’t even gotten to interrogate you yet!” Luz said. She pressed her face closer to the screen. “Hold on. Are you… typing with gloves?” 

Hunter paused. “Uh. Yes?” Was he not supposed to do that? 

Luz snorted. “Yikes, my dude. How do you even type?” 

Poorly, Flapjack supplied. 

“Hey! Darius said I was doing good!” Hunter retorted. 

“Aww, hey, ‘Lil Rascal!” Luz beamed at his palisman. “I didn’t even see you there!” 

Flapjack preened. Someone appreciates me. 

Hunter rolled his eyes. “If you like her so much why didn’t you become her palisman?” 

Because you’re my witch. Flapjack snuggled into his neck, Hunter going bright red. 

“ Ohmygod, you two are adorable!” Luz squealed. “ Que lindo!”  

Hunter went, if possible, even redder.

“What’s Luz losing her mind over over there?” another voice on the Luz’s end asked. Another face entered the frame. The Owl Lady. “Why the fuck is Blondie on the phone?” 

“Language,” Luz scolded, then said brightly, “and he called me! I’m interrogating him.” 

“I was trying to block you,” Hunter said bluntly. 

“You don’t mean that.” Luz waved him off. 

“Yes, I do,” Hunter said. “That was literally all I wanted to do, but these things are hard to use.” 

“Try taking the gloves off,” Luz suggested. 

The Owl Lady snorted. “He’s typing with gloves? Titan, kid, what do they even teach you in the Emperor’s Coven?” 

“Important life skills, like following the law,” Hunter said. “Not that you would know.” 

“Touché,” the Owl Lady said. “Well, good luck with the Goofy Guard—“ 

“Golden Guard—“ 

“—Mama needs some apple blood.” She disappeared from the frame. 

Hunter and Luz were silent for a moment. 

“I’m going to hang up now,” Hunter decided. 

“Fine. But first,” Luz held up a finger, “gloves off.” 

Hunter shot a death glare at her before sliding his gloves off. “Bye.” 

“Bye, Hunter! Bye, ‘Lil Ras—“ 

He hung up, first try. 

Hey! Flapjack twittered. I didn’t get my goodbye! 

Huh. He guessed it was easier without the gloves. With his way more precise typing skills, he sent Luz a last message. 

RULERZREACHF4N: easiEr wi.thoUt gloves. thank.s 

BADGIRLCOVEN: Of course, my favorite Bad But Sad Boi!!!

RULERZREACHF4N: never.caLL mE th.at

You’ve been added to: Emerald Entrails!!!

Hello_willow: Hey, guys! I have the field reserved for us today, Wednesday, and Friday from after school to five. Just double checking that it works for everyone :)

goopy.gus: yeah definitely!! me and emmeline will be there

bad_girl_bard: sounds good :D c u l8r!

grffnlvr: will be a little late today, have beastkeeping club that goes to 3:30

Hello_willow: Don’t worry about it! Just get here when you can :) 

Hello_willow: Btw, Hunter, I meant what I said— you’re always welcome if you have time off! 

grffnlvr: yup all entrails welcome!! Puddles misses youuuu

goopy.gus: what willow said!

bad_girl_bard: !!!!!! 

RULERZREACHF4N: than.ks 

RULERZREACHF4N: :)

Hunter hated being sweaty with a burning passion. You were all damp and moist and smelly and eugh. He despised it. Why no one had come up with a sweat-preventing spell was beyond him. Nonetheless, here he was at seven thirty in the morning, decked in his full Golden Guard regalia, and sweating buckets as he tried to scale the wall of his obstacle course. 

Life was suffering. It was fine. 

He clambered atop the wall, collapsing once he reached the platform. Maybe he’d just. Lay here for a while. Try to remember what air was. All the fun things. 

Flapjack landed on his head. You smell. 

Hunter’s response sounded something like “merp.” 

You have a meeting in forty five minutes. Flapjack relocated to his shoulder. 

“Hrmf.” 

You’ll have to go to your meeting smelling like an angsty teenage boy if you don’t get up and shower. 

Hunter swatted at his palisman. “Don’t call me an angsty teenage boy. I’m the head of the Emperor’s Coven, the Golden Guard, and the youngest person to fulfill such a prestigious—“ 

Angsty teenage boy. 

“You’re lucky I love you.” 

Yes! Flapjack chirped, content. 

Joints protesting, Hunter forced himself to his feet. Normally, he would force himself to scale the wall back down, but Flapjack transformed into a staff, and honestly, Hunter was too exhausted to care. He flew down instead. 

Flapjack tucked himself back away beneath Hunter’s cloak, and they slipped out of the courtyard. 

A rivulet of sweat dripped down the back of his neck and he shuddered. He shouldn’t be so squeamish, he knew, as the Golden Guard, but for all his uncle’s tutorage, he couldn’t help the revulsion. 

Hunter turned the corner, starting down the next corridor and picking up his pace. It wouldn’t do to be late to a Coven meeting, and Titan forbid he had to go smelling like this. He did not want to hear Kikimora or Darius to taunt him because he stunk. 

Although… would Darius take a dig at him? They hadn’t really interacted since what Hunter was now calling the Flyer-Derby-Kidnapping-Therapy-Scroll Incident. Yesterday, he was bold enough to follow Darius on Pennstagram, and Darius followed him back— a good sign, he thought— and the one time they’d seen each other, passing in the castle’s halls, Darius had inclined his head, something fleeting but not hostile. Maybe Darius wouldn’t. Or maybe he would, seeing as he was kind of an ass to everyone. 

Either way, Hunter didn’t want to go to the meeting smelling awful. 

He was about to turn another corner when a loud outburst came from behind him, muffled by a closed door. 

“What do you— he’s not my son!” the voice hissed. There was a series of shushes. 

Hm. Interesting. 

Hunter crept closer. 

“Regardless,” a second voice said, “you care about him. If this goes wrong, you won’t be able to protect him. If you want to sit this out—“

“I know that!” the first voice exclaimed. 

There was more shushing. 

“I know,” the first voice repeated, quieter. “Don’t think I don’t know that. But it’s because of him that I have to. He can’t keep— I’m a temporary solution. He needs out, not a useless buffer.” 

The room went silent. Hunter pressed his ear to the door. The man’s voice sounded so very familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“I made a promise,” the voice said, “and I damn well intend to keep it.”  

“So it’s settled,” a second voice said. This one, also, was familiar. “We’ll use the potion to access Belos’ mindscape tonight.” 

Hunter jerked back. 

The second voice continued. “Meet at—“ 

“The Night Market, off of Crow Depot, we know,” the first voice said. Something— someone?— else garbled something in response. 

There was the sound of footsteps, people shifting, and Hunter booked it. Holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

They— whoever they were— they were going to invade the Emperor’s mind! That was so illegal, not to mention treasonous. He had to warn his uncle. 

Shower first, Flapjack twittered from his pocket. 

Hunter shushed him. “Not the time, Flap. Did you hear what they were saying?” He spared a quick glance in either direction before darting into his room. “They’re going to invade his mind! Not only is that an invasion of privacy, but he’s the Emperor!”

The lack of integrity shown by wild witches was astounding. Was there no low they wouldn’t stoop to? 

But it struck him— why would a bunch of wild witches be plotting in the castle? It couldn’t be a wild witch, he realized. It had to be someone in a Coven, to make it to the castle, likely the Emperor’s Coven, or— 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He’d found the Coven Head— Heads— who had been playing Belos. 

Hunter didn’t even take the full three minutes of shower regulation— he probably still had soap in his hair (not that anyone could tell with his mask and hood on). Flapjack watched him darting around his room like a madman, scrambling to don his armor and only succeeding in putting his chest plate on backwards. No time to fix it, he had to talk to his uncle, now. He was still pulling on his boots as he stumbled down the hallway, thanking the Titan that there weren’t any scouts to ask why he was wearing mismatched socks. 

He was early to the throne room, but not early enough. Snapdragon turned from his uncle to smile at him, sickeningly sweet. “Nice and early this morning, aren’t we, sapling,” she crooned. “Timeliness does make for a dependable young man.” 

“Good morning, Head Witch.” Hunter inclined his head. “Emperor Belos.” 

His uncle didn’t offer a greeting. “I asked Ms. Snapdragon to come a little early, to discuss Headwitch Whisper’s condition,” he said. “They seem to be improving quite nicely, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” Hunter said, at a loss. How was he supposed to warn Uncle about the traitor with another Coven Head here? 

Soon enough, the others began to file in, and the meeting began. Hunter paid little attention. His eyes darted between the Heads, wondering who it was. How many there were. It made the time pass agonizingly slowly. 

When the meeting finally ended, Hunter stayed behind. His hands were shaking; nerves, anticipation, fear, he didn’t know why. He clasped them together beneath his cloak and turned toward his uncle. 

“I didn’t recall that we had another meeting,” his uncle said. 

“This is important,” Hunter said, eyes flitting towards the doors, where the last Coven Heads were walking out. It shut with a snap. “I overheard the Coven Heads who have been betraying you.” 

“Coven Heads?” His uncle was rapt. “Who?”

“I— I’m not sure.” Hunter swallowed. “I couldn't make out voices. But I overheard them when I was returning from training. They’re planning to invade your mindscape tonight.” 

“Invade my mindscape. That certainly is troubling,” his uncle mused. “Thank you for warning me, Hunter.” 

Warmth flared in Hunter’s chest. 

“If you couldn’t hear their voices, how do you know they are Coven Heads?” Belos asked. 

Hunter hesitated. “Intuition, sir.” 

“Hm. Not the most concrete evidence.” His uncle sounded almost disappointed. “Was there anything else?” 

“There are at least two or three of them,” Hunter said. “Maybe more. And they said that they plan on enacting the spell at the Night Market.” 

His uncle’s voice dripped with triumph. “How careless of them and how fortunate for us. I’m removing you from your duties today,” he said. “You can take care of this alone, can’t you?” 

The prospect of potentially fighting three Coven Heads made him a little nervous, but he had to. For Uncle. 

“Of course,” Hunter said. 

“There is a good chance, of course,” his uncle said, as though reading his mind, “that only one of them is a Coven Head. And clearly, not the most competent one, if they’ve allowed themselves to be discovered. The rest are likely wayward scouts. You can handle it, Hunter. The only outcome I see for tonight is your success. I’m counting on you.” 

“Thank you, Uncle.” Hunter bowed his head. “I won’t let you down!” 

“I’m sure you won’t.” Then, the genuineness fading from his voice, “Now, I have some… matters to attend to.” 

Hunter nodded. “I’ll go prepare.” 

“Your dedication and loyalty heartens me.” His uncle waved him off, though not unkindly. “Go.”

Hunter left the throne room, head whirring. The Night Market began within the hour after sundown, when all the stands appeared to line the streets, and shortly thereafter, the shoppers appeared like moths drawn to a flame. During that time, the streets of Bonesborough were transformed, convoluted and crowded in the dim light. He racked his brain, trying to remember where the Crow Depot had been the last time he was there. Somewhere towards the edge of the Market, he was sure, but which edge? 

He entered his room, closing the door behind him, and pulling Flapjack out of his pocket. The palisman perched on his finger. “Do you remember where Crow Depot was? At the Night Market?” 

No. And then, even less helpfully, The birdseed woman is there. We should stop. 

“This is for a mission, not a supply run,” Hunter snapped. 

I’ll eat bugs, Flapjack chirped, unphased. 

“We’ll stop another time,” Hunter said, “ after I catch these criminals.” 

Flapjack’s little head nodded, almost sagely. Celebratory birdseed. I understand. 

Hunter snorted despite himself. Wait, no! He had to focus! His uncle was counting on him, and who knew what the rebels would do with the top secret information they could get if they were successful? It could put the entire Day of Unity at risk. There was no time for distractions. 

“Okay,” he said, serious. “We need a plan.” 

Hunter showed up to the Night Market in uniform right at sundown. Within half an hour, it was in full swing. In one hand, he held his artificial staff, and tucked beneath his cloak sat Flapjack. 

He managed to find the Crow Depot, in one of the most dingy parts of the market. While waiting for the criminals to convene, he pretended to peruse the stands around him, much to the anxieties of their owners. He saw at least four different illegal herbs, and a whole collection of even more illegal curses. Any other time, he might have made some arrests, or at the very least a couple threats, but he was too focused on his mission, seeing as waiting for the criminals was incredibly difficult. Hunter had no idea what they looked like, how many of them there were, or even what time they were meeting at. 

A handful of times, a couple groups formed at the stand, but they all had their faces uncovered, and Hunter recognized none of them, as scouts or Coven Heads. When this happened for the third time, he sighed, turning back to the apothecary he’d been standing at for the past ten minutes. The witch running it was dripping sweat, shooting nervous glances at him every few seconds. He felt kinda bad (which was ridiculous. She should be thanking him for not arresting her for being in possession of alconite). 

Behind him, some peddler was harassing passerbys, trying to sell teeth. Hunter was not vibing with this place right now. Literally everything here was so illegal and the criminals didn’t even have the sense to show up— 

A hand gripped his shoulder from behind. “I even do trades,” the teeth peddler said. 

Hunter turned around to find the demon brandishing a pair of pliers conspiratorially. Their smile vanished as soon as they saw his mask and they stuffed the pliers into their coat. 

“Oh, I mean, uh—“ the demon floundered. “Why would I trade teeth? That's illegal. And unsanitary. But, I mean, if you're interested—“

Out of the corner of his eye, Hunter saw a group of cloaked figures moving away from the Crow Depot. He zeroed in on them. Could they be…? 

One of them glanced around furtively, as though afraid of being seen. Another one, remarkably short, tugged on their cloak, urging them forward. The third led the way. That had to be them. 

Hey, maybe it’s Kikimora! Hunter thought. Nah. That would be too good to be true. 

He turned away from teeth demon without a response, moving to follow the suspects at a distance. He had a mission. He would not fail. 

The three of them ducked into a long alleyway, down a short flight of stairs, and they were removed from the scene of the Night Market. 

Hunter ducked behind a barrel, just out of their line of sight, watching. 

The shortest scampered along the cobblestone, using a clawed finger to trace a series of interlocking circles on the ground. 

As they did this, the nervous one from before raised a flute to their lips— evidently a bard (Whispers? The cloaks covered their faces, much to Hunter’s frustration, so he couldn’t be sure)— before playing a short stanza, which caused the circles to glow with an ethereal light. 

The third and final figure held a vial. A gloved hand made it bubble with a spell circle, and its contents turned a vibrant gold. They set it in the center of the setup, and raised their hand, which transformed into an abomination hammer. 

Kind of like Darius can, Hunter thought abruptly. He shoved the idea aside; Darius was loyal, he couldn’t be anything else. Why he was adamant about it, he wasn’t sure. But Darius couldn’t be. 

You have a mission. Finish it. 

Hunter jumped out from his hiding place, brandishing his artificial staff, which thrummed with red magic. “Halt! For crimes against the Emperor, you are under arrest!” 

Three heads looked up, clearly startled. 

Hunter took a step forward, and—

“Hunter!” 

Something tackled him from behind, knocking him to the ground inside the circle. His staff flew out of his hand. His elbow knocked against the cobblestones painfully, and oh, that was going to bruise tomorrow. 

“Hey!” Luz said, obnoxiously cheerful as ever. She clicked her pen. “Can I bug you with a few questions?”

“ Human!” Hunter shot up, so done. What the fuck was she doing here, now? He was in the middle of saving his uncle and the Isles! Every time she showed up his mission failed and he couldn’t afford for that to happen now, not with the stakes being what they were. 

The sound of a flute floated over from off to the side. 

Hunter whipped his head around just in time to see the alley filling with thick smoke, obscuring his vision. 

Shit!

He scrambled to his feet, flailing his arms helplessly. “No, no, no! Stop! I forbid you to flee!” 

When the smoke cleared, the criminals were gone. 

Hunter clenched his hands into fists, whirling around with a cry of frustration before ripping off his mask. “Human! Do you know what you've just done?” He whipped Flapjack out from beneath his cloak, turning the palisman into a staff as he started forward. 

Something shattered beneath his foot. 

Things couldn’t possibly get worse, right? 

He lifted his foot and, oh, yeah, they definitely had. The golden vial had been crushed, and was glowing with an increasingly bright llight. The potion to enter the mindscape. And Hunter had just activated it. 

“Uh,” Luz said, “what's that?” She’d come closer, peering at the liquid with the same trepidation as Hunter. 

That, Hunter wanted to say, is what happens when you intervene in government matters! 

He did not say that. Instead, the light spread across the ground to the edges of the circles, and then enveloped him. 

When Hunter jolted awake, he was lying on the ground. It was not made of cobblestone. It was too smooth, too refined. It felt like the floors of the castle. 

He pushed himself to his feet, taking in his surroundings. 

It was certainly reminiscent of the castle. The same brick corridors that seemed to go forever, the same dark tiling. The torches cast a glow over the hall reminiscent of how they did at night outside Hunter’s room. This was not the castle, though. Portraits lined the walls, of his uncle administering sigils, of him taming wild magic. 

This was his uncle’s mindscape. 

Under any other circumstances, Hunter might have thought it cool, to see someone’s mindscape. When he was younger, he’d been obsessed with the concept of them, and read through all the books in the library on them at least three times. 

But now, he had no way out. He’d failed to apprehend or even identify the criminals. And he was stuck with the human. Maybe not for horribly long, though. If wild magic had gotten them in here, it could get them out, couldn’t it? He reached for Flapjack, and— 

Flapjack was gone. 

“Flapjack?” Hunter whirled around. “Flapjack! Flap, where are you?” 

There was no answering bird call. No press against the fringes of his mind. He dug his fingers into his hair, tugging at it painfully. “Think, Hunter. You need to think.” He couldn’t lose it now, couldn’t afford to spiral or be weak. Even if he was literally helpless without his magic and didn’t know if his palisman was okay. Come on, Hunter, think, dammit, think—

There was a sharp inhale from behind him. He turned to see Luz, climbing to her feet and taking in the portraits with wide, fearful eyes. She stepped back from one of the Owl Lady’s petrified. “What is this place?”

Hunter wanted to scream, suddenly. This was all her fault— if she hadn’t interfered, he wouldn’t be in this situation. The criminals would have been apprehended, his uncle would have been safe, Hunter would still be with Flapjack—

“You know exactly where we are, human,” Hunter said, furious. “You got us trapped in the Emperor's mind!”

Luz’s eyes, if possible, grew even wider with disbelief. “Huh?”

Chapter Text

“We're in the Emperor's mind?” Luz’s voice echoed in the corridor. “That's bananas!”

“I don't know what those are, and I don't care to,” Hunter said, shooting her a look. Remember what happened at the Night Market?” 

Luz stared at him blankly. 

“I heard whispers of an attempt to invade the Emperor's mind with wild magic. I decided to take the villains out myself. But just as I was about to stop them—“

“Oh, wait!” Luz interrupted. “I remember now!”

“Hey!”

“Eda took me and King to the Night Market to repair my witch's wool cape,” she said, frowning. “But, we ran into some trouble. Eda’s friend, who makes the witch’s wool joined a coven and wouldn’t help her because she’s covenless, which is so stupid! I gave her a piece of my mind. If Mama had been there I bet she would have given her la chancla—“ 

“Does your story have a point, human?” Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. Five minutes alone with her and he was already getting a headache. Or maybe that was just the effects of him being slammed onto the ground earlier. Who knew. Either way, still Luz’s fault. 

“Right!” Luz shot him finger guns. “I’m getting there, my dude. So, I was trying to figure out how to get everyone to realize Belos is evil—“ 

“My uncle?” Hunter said incredulously. 

“He’s your uncle?” Luz demanded. “ Belos is your uncle?” 

Oh, right. Hunter wasn’t supposed to say that. Too late now. “Uh, yeah.” 

Luz shook her head. “I am so sorry,” she said, then continued quickly, “ Anyway, then I saw you and who better to get me information on the Emperor than his right hand man? He probably tells you all the hot goss and you have a front row seat to his villain monologues!”

Never mind that Hunter had no idea what the fuck “hot goss” or “villain monologues” were. He burst out laughing. “You wanna prove that my uncle is evil—“ he snorted, “—and you thought I would help?”  

Luz scowled at him. “Well, now that I'm in his mind, I can learn the truth for myself!” She paused, looking around. “Weird though. I've been in Willow's mind once, and it had more, uh, trees.”

Now that she mentioned it, this didn’t look much like the illustrations from the books he’d scoured. Then again… “Makes sense.” He shrugged “Mindscapes reflect the individual. I've read a lot about this subject.” Maybe his uncle’s mindscape was so different because he could speak with the Titan, or just because of his upstanding personality. 

Hunter looked around at the walls again, really examining their memories for the first time. He knew, he knew they were private, but his old hyperfixation had been reawakened, and they were stuck unless the human had a plan, so really, it was okay so long as he only looked. For research. 

His eyes caught on a gilded frame, displaying an image of his uncle guiding a group of witches from a burning town. “Whoa, look at this memory!” He rushed towards it, stopping in front of its caption: Dangers of Wild Magic. 

Luz followed, though less enthusiastic. 

“You know, unfettered wild magic wiped out our family. Everyone knew too much and got themselves hurt.” 

Luz had wanted to know who his uncle really was, right? Well, here he was. “That's why Belos took in the survivors, and dedicated his life to making the Coven System!” Hunter caught sight of another portrait, this one of his uncle administering sigils to a group of wild witches, thrilled at the prospect. “It's why he's so well-liked! Our sigils protect us from ourselves, and make the Titan happy.” 

Luz was still frowning but hadn’t argued. Maybe Hunter was making progress. 

The next memory had Hunter grinning. “Oh! This is when I inherited my staff!” Something warmed in his chest, to know this memory was so important to his uncle that it was found beside that of the establishment of the coven system. “You know, I'm the youngest scout to become Golden Guard. I, uh, never found out what happened to the previous one.” 

He examined the memory. Belos’ face was covered by his mask, but he must have been proud. Hunter knew that he had been. Behind the two of them, the crowd stood, headed by the Coven Heads. Most of them just looked like they didn’t want to be there. But Darius… 

Darius’ jaw was clenched, and— were his eyes wet? His gaze was on memory-Hunter, looking at him as one would a beloved corpse. “Huh. Why does Darius look so sad here?” 

It hit him very suddenly; his mentor, the past Golden Guard. What else could it be? 

There must be other memories in here, he realized, of his predecessor. Regulus, Darius called him. Hunter’s previous qualms disappeared and he turned, starting down the corridor and peering at the memories. 

There was one of Belos giving some sort of a speech. One of him visiting Hunter in the castle’s infirmary after the first outburst Hunter had caused. Another of him working on an artificial staff, one of him carrying Hunter out of the smoldering ruins of a village. 

Hunter inhaled sharply. That was— He reached out and touched the canvas, tracing the line of his uncle’s hands, eyes darting around, not sure where to focus; the flames, the scattered bodies, his uncle’s protection, his uncle’s love. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. For a moment, he thought it was because of what the portrait was. Then he recognized the feeling. 

He was being watched. 

Hunter turned, and—

“Belos?”

Out of the shadows, a familiar shadow was emerging. His footsteps made no sound against the tile floor. 

Hunter dropped to a knee. “Emperor, you're here! We beg for your assistance to return to the physical world, so that I may capture your enemies! And so she—“ He shot a glare at Luz, “— can ruin someone else's day.” He bowed his head. 

There was a strange, unearthly sound that made his head shoot up. 

His uncle was… not his uncle. The folds of his form glowed with a faint, unsettling light. His features were gone, replaced by an endless swirl of stars and galaxies. And peppered across his form were dozens of blue, luminescent eyes. It screeched, repeating the sound from before. 

“Hunter! Watch out!” Luz darted in front of him, slapping a glyph that exploded in a ball of flame, knocking both them and the creature back. 

The two of them tumbled backwards until hitting the wall, which made a horrible ripping sound as they fell through it. 

Hunter yelped, and reasonably so. The wall had torn as though it was paper, and now he was plunging down into an abyss, with no magic or way to save himself. 

Or maybe it wasn’t an abyss— the fuzzy shapes of far-away objects could be seen, gray and twisted below them. Either way, this was the end. 

A hand wrapped around his shoulders and he glanced to the side to find Luz holding onto him with one hand, while the other tapped a glyph. This one was far more intricate than the ones she’d used in Latissa, and if they’d been in literally any other situation, Hunter might have been intrigued. 

Instead, he screwed his eyes shut, bracing for the ground racing to meet them. And— 

They stopped. 

Hunter opened his eyes to find them levitating a few feet above the dirt below. Quickly as he registered what had happened, the spell Luz cast wore off, and they crashed to the ground. 

“Where are we now?” He pushed himself to his feet, taking in his surroundings. 

The ground below him was dusty and gray. He seemed to be in the middle of a forest, made of barren, twisted trees. Cobwebs hung from branches, obscuring framed pictures— memories— and the whole place seemed to be dead, or abandoned. 

Hunter followed Luz’s gaze, up towards the darkness they’d fallen from. The tear they’d fallen through was visible for a moment, before it sealed itself up. 

“We must be in the Emperor's real mind,” Luz said. 

“What do you mean, the Emperor's ‘real mind?’” Hunter said. “That gallery—“ 

“Was made of all the lies he tells. He's not who you think he is!” Luz insisted. 

This did look more like what a mindscape was supposed to, warped and distorted as it was. And if the gallery wasn’t really his uncle’s mind…. 

Hunter turned away from her. That was ridiculous. Even if— a big if— that gallery was fake, it must be for another reason, like for defense! Belos had said he had preparations earlier because of the rebels, maybe that was it, just in case Hunter failed. Or maybe this was intentional. People had some control over their mindscapes; perhaps his uncle knew they were in here and was punishing Hunter for his failure and Luz for her treachery. Yeah. Yeah, that was it. The human was wrong, as per usual. 

His eye caught on a dark, wooden thing, an abandoned palisman, a bird, discarded on the ground. He bent over and picked it up. 

It crumbled to dust in his palm. 

Titan, he wished Flapjack was here. 

His hand was shaking, and why was it shaking? It was a hunk of wood, and an imaginary one at that. Not Flapjack. It was fine. He clasped his hand until it steadied before turning back around to face the human. 

“We're probably being punished because you provoked his inner self,” he said. 

Luz was unapologetic, waving her hands as she argued, “Well, his inner self had a thousand glowing eyeballs!”

“Oh, no! Eyeballs!” Hunter said sarcastically. “You're so easy to scare.”

Luz glared at him, but what could she do, argue? Hunter was right—

“ Boo!”

Hunter yelped, jerking into a defensive position, because that voice was not Luz’s. 

Luz, instead of being freaked out by a disembodied voice like any normal person should be, instead beamed, pulling a strange device out of her jacket pocket. 

“Luz, where are you?” It was the Owl Lady, somehow talking to them through the rectangle. “Oh, wait,” she said. “Hey, blondie, your friend wants to talk to you.” 

Hunter’s… huh? “Uh…”

Grainy through the device came a chirp. Hunter? Are you okay? 

Hunter snatched the thing from Luz’s hands. “Flapjack! Are you okay? Have they hurt you?” 

Luz grabbed the thing back before Flapjack could answer. “Give me that!” She brought it up to her mouth, bouncing uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. “So, Eda. We may kinda sorta be trapped in, uh. Theemperorsmind?”

“How in the world did you— no, we don't have time for that. Has the Inner Belos spotted you yet?” the Owl Lady asked. 

“Yes. But we were able to get away... with help.” Luz paused. “Can there be two inner selves?”

“No. But I have heard of strong emotions materializing,” the Old Lady said. “Just stay safe. If you're devoured in his mindscape—“

Oh, Titan, Hunter hadn’t even thought about that. “We'll be trapped,” he said, beginning to pace. “Dragged down into his subconscious forever!” They had to find a way out, and soon. But how?

Luz was giving him a look, clearly hoping that he was making things up. Hunter wished he was. 

“Like I told you, I— I read about this stuff,” he said. 

“Well, we're gonna get you out!” This voice belonged to King. “We'll make a return spell as fast as we can!”

“Just don't lose the walkie-talkie. It's our only connection to you,” the Owl Lady added.

The reassurance seemed to have restored Luz’s pep. She smiled. “You got it, Owl Lady. Over and out.” 

“Wait!” Hunter launched himself at the walkie-talkie. “I'll be home soon, Flapjack,” he promised. “Stay safe.”

I know you’ll be home, Flapjack twittered. The Owl Lady is taking care of it, and I’ll help. Won’t rest until my witch is back! 

Hunter loved him. So much. “I love you.” And then, because it seemed to be how these calls were ended, “Over and out.”

Love you, too! 

There was a chorus of awwws from the other end. Scowling, Hunter tossed the device back to Luz, who was grinning stupidly as she shoved it in her pocket. She opened her mouth to say something. 

Something rustled from off to the side and their heads snapped towards it. 

A child was poking their head out from between two trees. Their face was covered by a mask, a crude replica of Belos’, and they wore the strangest assembly of clothes Hunter had ever seen. 

“It's you!” Luz exclaimed. “Kid Belos!”

“What?” Hunter stared. That couldn’t be. He’d seen Belos earlier, and the eldritch form he’d seen looked nothing like this. 

Luz stepped towards the kid, crouching down to his level. “Thank you for helping us before. You don't seem nearly as scary as your inner self.”

As though being mentioned had summoned it, a screech echoed through the mindscape. 

The kid clapped hands over his ears for a moment before hurrying to grab onto Luz like a lifeline. 

Luz turned back towards Hunter. “If strong emotions can take form, maybe he's the Emperor's... I don't know, sense of guilt?” she suggested. 

“What?” Hunter snorted. Now she was just grasping at straws. “Belos has never done anything worthy of feeling guilt. It's obviously his…” But what could a mysterious masked kid with a wooden sword represent? “Uh, sense of innocence!” Yeah, that made sense. “His pure intentions!”

“Well, whichever it is, I think he can help us stay safe,” Luz said, focusing back on the kid. She leaned towards him, whispering something unintelligible to him that made the child nod once, solemn.

“What was that?” Hunter said. 

There was another horrific screech, closer this time. 

The kid grabbed Luz’s arm and began tugging her away. 

“No time!” Luz hurried away. “Let's go, go, go!”

And Hunter… really didn’t want to encounter that thing again, even if it was his uncle’s inner self. It clearly didn’t understand that he was here to help, and he didn’t want it to hurt him, as it seemed to intent on doing— that would make his uncle feel awful when he found out, and Hunter wanted to keep him from as much pain as possible. Besides, he would be neglecting his duties if he left the human, a rebel, to run amok in Belos’ mind. 

So, he followed. 

They veered off the main path, following the kid. He dove into one of the portraits, depicting his uncle, in the days before the Empire, leading witches from a burning city. Luz made to follow suit. 

“Wait! You're just gonna invade his memories?” Hunter demanded. “That's sacrilege!”

Closer still, the Inner Belos screeched. 

“It's a way to survive!” Luz grabbed onto his arm with an ironclad grip and pulled, and Hunter fell into the memory. 

He flailed as he slipped on on the other side of the portrait, landing face first on the dirt, Luz beside him. The kid was already running off, leaving the two of them to scramble to their feet, tripping over themselves to catch up. 

Hunter took in his surroundings as he turned a sharp corner. They were in some kind of town, made of dirt roads and dull brick buildings. It wasn’t night, but it seemed dark, deserted, until ahead, he caught sight of a wooden, pop-up stage, around which a small crowd was gathered. 

The kid dove into it, disappearing amongst the forest of legs. 

Hunter and Luz made their way towards the front of the stage, a small, empty thing. Before it, the handful of onlookers whispered amongst themselves.  

“He says he can talk to the Titan,” the man beside Hunter said. 

“The Titan's dead,” another woman said, skeptical. “How is that possible?”

The stage, suddenly, was no longer empty. 

The witch before the crowd stood, arms raised as though embracing his captivated audience. His robes, though simple, were elegant, and despite the antlered mask covering his face, it was clear he was genuine. 

“Fellow citizens,” Belos said, “we are born into chaos. Our lives anger the Titan. My own family has been hurt by the darkness of wild magic.” Smoke began to emit from the primitive staff he held in one hand. 

How cool was this? Hunter was actually getting to see his uncle uniting the Isles! He’d read about it, and Belos mentioned it sometimes, but it was hardly the same thing. 

The smoke cleared to reveal his uncle twirling a staff, which shone with a series of colorful lights. “I've been shown the healing light!” he said. “It shines in nine hues!”

Hunter’s smile broadened as the people around him gasped in awe, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. He nudged Luz, the only one who wasn’t so enthusiastic. “See? He's always been helping people.” She’d said that going into his uncle’s memories would help her learn the truth— well, this was it. Belos was a great guy and fantastic leader! 

There was a bang and burst of orange light from the direction of the stage. The crowd began shrieking and fleeing. 

Hunter jerked into a defensive stance, whipping his head around. 

The stage around his uncle was bright with explosions. He ducked around the flames. “The wild witches!” he cried. “They have found me! Run!” With that, he hurried off the stage. 

Luz grabbed Hunter’s arm, pulling him after his fleeing uncle. “Come on!” 

Automatically, Hunter jerked his arm out of her grip, but followed. He glanced back at the chaos. The stage was in flames, and the man he’d been standing next to was clutching his leg as he hobbled away as quickly as he could. A horrible cry erupted from his lips. Hunter caught the smell of burning flesh, and a glimpse of seared fabric and skin. He stopped. 

“Hunter!” Luz was impatient. “We’ll lose him!” 

Hunter hesitated before setting his shoulders and chasing after Luz. He had a job to do. There was no time for distractions, and anyway, this was a memory, it wasn’t really happening, he couldn’t do anything. 

He’d lost sight of his uncle, but not of Luz, who swerved into an alleyway. Hunter glanced back one last time, but everything behind him had gone dark. This must be the end of the memory. 

“You incompetent fool!” 

Hunter turned. 

Belos stood at the end of the alley, boring down on— 

It was a Golden Guard. A past Golden Guard, sigil and everything. 

Hunter stepped closer, watching raptly. 

“You nearly took my head off with that blast!” his uncle bellowed. 

“I'm sorry,” the Guard said, and Hunter did a double take. Why did that sound like him? “— Lord Belos.”

There was no time for Hunter to process. His uncle was already moving away, dismissive. 

“I'm off to the next town,” Belos said

“Uh. What about... the rest of these?” The Guard pulled a tarp off of several boxes laying behind him. Though most of the crates were sealed, the one open was laden with explosives. 

What?

His uncle considered it for a moment. “Put on a bigger show.”

Had— no, it wasn’t a question, as the Guard lit a match, holding it to a fuse— his uncle orchestrated the whole attack. There had been no wild witches there, just him and the Golden Guard. His uncle had told the Golden Guard to make it look like he was being attacked, and the Guard listened. Someone had been hurt and his uncle didn’t care, just that he had almost been. It didn’t make sense.  

Uncle’s policy had always been righteousness and honesty. He’d always sought to help people. But this— seared flesh, panicked screams, the smell of smoke and burning sinew— 

Hunter dug his nails into his palm. This was fine. It was all fine. He had to trust that his uncle knew what he was doing. 

( But if he knew what he was doing, a little voice said, he’d know he was hurting people.)

The kid, at some point, had reappeared, and was now lugging a sack of bottles behind him. He passed between Luz and Hunter, hopping into the framed memory. 

Luz and Hunter followed. 

His mind was whirring. There had to be an explanation for what Hunter had just seen. 

Luz, of course, had one at the ready. The moment they touched down, back in the desolate grove, she jerked a hand at the portrait they’d come out of. 

“Belos was lying! Wild witches weren't attacking him. How could you help someone like that?” she asked. 

“That was—“ there was a reason there has to be a reason he did that “—probably a— a special technique to get people to listen to his message!” Why was he justifying this to her? Hunter didn’t know, but he kept talking, even as he turned away from her judging eyes. “It's… it’s for the greater good.” His voice lost some of its edge. It had to be. Even if it wasn’t necessarily clean cut right, his uncle had always told him to think of the bigger picture. The Titan’s plan is bigger than just you or me or them, he’d said on a visit to the Conformitorium. Hunter was nine. Besides, desperate times often call for desperate measures. 

The Titan’s anger certainly counted as desperate times, didn’t it? And it all worked out in the end! The Isles were better, safer now, now that everyone had been protected by his uncle and the Coven System. Our sigils protect us from ourselves, and make the Titan happy. That wouldn’t have happened without Belos. And if a few people had been hurt and if his uncle had to lie a little, obviously that was bad, but certainly the ends justified the means. 

But the man’s screams, his seared flesh, put on a bigger show, his uncle’s lack of concern and did he know what he had done or not? Of course, of course he knew, his uncle always knew but if he knew then it meant he knew he was hurting people and maybe Luz had a point, maybe—

Hunter couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He was trapped in his uncle’s mind being chased by an eldritch terror— his uncle, or the cursed part of him, Hunter guessed, and maybe Luz was onto something about this kid being a younger version of his uncle— and nothing he was seeing was making any sense, he’d been separated from Flapjack and the whispering doubts in his head wouldn’t shut up and he could feel Luz’s eyes boring into the back of his head with a venomous glare, which was certainly not helping the situation. 

But he had to do this. Titan, he didn’t know how, but he had to. His uncle wasn’t the monster Luz seemed to think that memory proved. How could Hunter entertain that thought, even for a moment, after everything his uncle had done for him? 

Hunter turned, to do what, he didn’t know, and was met with the sight of green, muddy tendrils emerging from the memory they’d just left. 

Luz followed his gaze and yelped, darting away. “He found us!”

Hunter was well aware that they couldn’t keep running forever. They needed a way out of the mindscape, and soon. If the Inner Belos didn’t get them, they would be trapped in his subconscious, and Hunter had no idea how long they’d been in here for. Running couldn’t be their only solution. 

For now, though, he ran. Ahead, the kid laughed, as though enjoying the chase. Burlap sac thrown over one shoulder, he hopped into another memory. 

Hunter didn’t stop to see what it was. He dove in, heart thudding as the creature roared behind him. 

They landed in the snow. The kid bounded up the hill, Hunter and Luz following at a more subdued pace. 

This was somewhere on the Knee. Between the snow and the spine trees, it couldn’t be anywhere else. The sky was a vibrant red, the sun setting, and spattered with dark clouds. It reeked of smoke, and at the top of the hill, it was clear why. In the distance, a city laid, crumbled columns visible amongst the swarm of ashes blowing in the wind. 

Hunter turned his attention to the people gathered before him, also looking down at what he assumed were the remains of their town. They were rather unremarkable witches, no longer wearing clothes indicative of the Deadwardian Era; instead, they were rather Elizabheathen. Worn down, desperate, and hopeful. The kid, still giggling, stole a length of rope off of the shoulder of one of them. 

Hunter frowned. That was weird, wasn’t it? “What’s the kid doing?” Hadn’t he grabbed that bag in the past memory? What did he need that for? 

Luz shushed him. 

Hunter turned his attention back to the memory. 

His uncle stood before the witches, a hand held out towards the smoldering ruins behind him. Off to the side, another Golden Guard stood. 

“Look at what wild magic has done to your city!” Belos said, “Now imagine what it's doing to you. A city can rise from the ashes, but a soul…” He shook his head. The mask made his face unreadable. 

The witches broke out in worried whispers. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I can make your magic pure again,” Belos promised, quieting the crowd with a passionate wave of his staff, “as the Titan intended!” 

 The Golden Guard stepped forward, holding up a gloved hand. His pointer finger glowed with a warm light as he pressed it to the wrists of each of the witches. 

There were nine of them, Hunter realized. This was early sigil magic. 

His uncle raised his staff above his head, the Golden Guard taking his place by Belos’ side. “Welcome to your new covens!”

A cheer rose from the witches. They raised their branded wrists. 

See? Hunter reassured himself. There’s nothing even remotely morally questionable about any of this except for the part where Belos had probably been the one to burn down their city ! Just his uncle, helping implement the Coven System, which protected them all. 

One of the witches gasped. The smile on her face dropped, her Oracle sigil glowing with a cold, purple light. Hunter watched as the light spread, running up her arm like a fracture, and then up her neck and face. 

She was not the only one to scream with pain. 

The rest of the witches clutched at their arms, eyes and bodies alight with an unearthly light. For a moment, everything was still except for their shaking, and then they dropped, like puppets whose strings had been cut in one fell swoop. 

Hunter’s blood ran cold. A hand went to his own sigil, covered by his sleeve. He could almost feel the magic tearing through him as it had the other witches. 

Standing above them, his uncle was unphased. 

The Golden Guard knelt before the Oracle witch. In her comatose state, she shuddered, as though sensing his presence.  He pressed a hand to her wrist, sigil glove gone. “They're... still alive.”

“Then we still have some work to do,” his uncle said coolly. “Gather the palismen.”

Hunter stood, frozen as the Guard picked up the witches’ staffs. He watched as Belos snatched one from his predecessor’s hands, snapping the shark adorning it in half and— 

This— 

This couldn’t— 

They’re still alive. Then we still have some work to do. That couldn’t mean— 

Belos meant that the witches could still be saved. He would come back for them, right? 

Right? 

No. He wouldn’t, not if he was taking their palismen and leaving them to the elements like this. Already, he was walking down the hill, leaving their bodies behind. There was no intention to save them. Hunter was a soldier, he knew, he knew what leaving people to die looked like. When he’d been left on the Knee as a scout, he’d done it. It had left a twisting in his stomach but it was fine because they were supposed to survive on their own, not rely on the help of others. But they were scouts. These were civilians. It wasn’t the same. Weren’t they supposed to protect them? Wasn’t Belos supposed to be trying to save them? This wasn’t saving, nor was it protecting. And—

We still have some work to do.

Hunter turned to the Golden Guard, searching for some kind, any kind of reassurance or justification. 

The Guard clutched the remaining staffs in two shaking hands. He stared down at the witch closest to him, closest to Hunter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice shook. 

“August,” Belos snapped. 

The Golden Guard straighter. “I’m coming, Uncle,” he said, sounding only marginally better, and starting down the hill, where the Emperor waited, impatient and judgmental. 

The wind whistled and the scene began to go dark. 

The kid was already bounding down the hill, back towards the portrait. Hunter followed, legs strangely shaky. His head was spinning. Luz walked beside him, concern written all over her face. It looked like she wanted to say something, but for whatever reason, thank Titan, she didn’t. 

Hunter didn’t think he could talk right now. 

What was happening? This was all wrong. This couldn’t be what it looked like. The human couldn’t be right, his uncle— the man who’d taken him in, who in trying to please him Hunter had almost killed himself, his uncle— he couldn’t be evil.

Hunter needed answers. 

Still giggling, the kid hopped through the frame. 

Him. 

This kid— Belos or not— had been leading the way this whole time. He was messing with them, messing with Hunter. He had to know something, and so help him Titan, Hunter was going to get his fucking answers. 

Hunter picked up his pace, face set. 

“Uh, Hunter, buddy?” Luz called from behind him. “You good?” 

“Go away, human.” Hunter didn’t turn back.

“Look, I know this is probably a lot to take in,” she started. 

“There’s nothing to take in,” Hunter said tersely. Ahead, the kid dove through the portrait. 

“Are we in the same mindscape?” Luz asked. “Arson? Petty palisman theft? Attempted murder? Leaving innocent people on a mountain to die?”  

Hunter dove through the portrait. It didn’t stop Luz, who kept talking when she popped out behind him in the grove. 

“You can't deny it now! Belos is trying to hurt people!” 

“He was just... perfecting sigil magic!” Why was she so insistent? Why was what she was saying making more sense by the memory? “Besides,” Hunter continued, not bothering to mask his frustration, “maybe, he's remembering things wrong. Who knows how mindscapes work?”

There was that laugh, again. Hunter’s attention snapped to where the kid was, crouched behind the roots of one of the trees. 

“I thought you did!” Luz said incredulously. 

“Well, maybe I'm an idiot!” The books must have been wrong, he must have been wrong, anything that would explain this. 

( Maybe she’s right, maybe Uncle isn’t—) 

The kid laughed, mocking. 

“You.” Hunter zeroed in on him. “Get back here!” He started forward, ready to throttle the kid, to demand answers, when— 

The ungodly screech was closer than it had ever been. Hunter whirled around, jaw dropping as he beheld the creature, which towered over him. Antlers protruded from its head, made of a grotesque, rotting substance. Hunter had never seen his uncle fully transformed because of the curse, but he imagined, suddenly, that this was the horror he would become. 

Hunter didn’t know if he screamed. Someone screamed. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Luz. Maybe they both did. All Hunter knew was that next thing, they were scrambling to get away from the thing, dodging its spindly arms and sharp nails and following the kid yet again, to another memory. 

This memory was different. The tree it protruded from was an icy blue, adorned with stars. Its portrait was that of the portal door. 

The kid jumped through, Luz on his heels, and Hunter hesitated. 

The monster screeched behind him, bearing down on him but in that moment he didn’t care. What would he find behind that painting? What horrors were in that memory? Hunter didn’t know what to think, only how to cling onto what he’d known. To cling to (his) the truth. But even that was feeble. What if whatever he saw in there got worse? What if the next thing his uncle did was even more unjustifiable? What would Hunter do then? 

He didn’t want to see any more. 

“Hunter.” Luz held out a hand, already half inside the memory. She didn’t beg, just looked at him with wide eyes, arm extended, palm up, imploring. 

Hunter took it, and let himself be pulled into the frame. 

They hit the ground on the other side, a stone floor he knew all too well. Above— his head snapped around— something breathed. The creature’s snout was sticking through the frame, and holy fucking Titan it was going to get them. 

Luz grasped his arm, hardly daring to breathe herself. Her other arm squeezed the kid. 

It huffed overhead for what felt like an eternity before disappearing, back into the grove. 

Both Hunter and Luz slumped in relief. 

The kid did not. Instead, he threw Luz’s arm off of him, giggling as he ran off. From where his footsteps pattered off to, Hunter could hear the clinking of glasses. 

Beside him, Luz gasped. “He's got the portal?”  

Now that they weren’t facing certain death and/or dismemberment, Hunter truly took in his surroundings. His uncle’s private chambers. The portal room. He pushed himself to his feet. 

Luz jabbed a finger at the portal. “Did you know about this?” she demanded. 

Hunter walked towards it automatically, taking in its cracked eye, the dark, empty tubes connected to it. “Of course,” he said. “I helped rebuild it.” He remembered his uncle’s pride, how pleased he’d been that Hunter could help. How proud and pleased Hunter had been that he could help. 

“I can hear you.” He jerked at the voice, his uncle stepping into his line of vision. Belos glanced back, at him, and Hunter’s blood chilled. Beside him, Luz reached for her pocket, for a glyph. 

Behind them, something laughed, childlike and carefree from the shadows. It was then that Hunter realized his uncle wasn’t looking at him, but through him. 

Hunter turned. 

In the darkness, two silver eyes appeared, illuminated. “You caught me!” the child’s voice said, pleased. Then, it moved towards the portal, the shadows taking form to something humanoid. Hunter jumped back as it glided over the pillar he leaned against. What was this? 

“To you, who strays so far from home. To me, who's trapped beneath these bones,” it singsonged, “We'll play forever, me and you, when you paint the land in nine bright hues!” 

He watched as the shadow, now arking over the portal’s frame, morphed into the Titan’s skull, surrounded by kneeling figures, and then with a shriek, shattered, cracking in the same pattern the witches’ sigils had on the Knee. It was with a sick sort of detachment that he kept watching as it resumed its humanoid figure, holding a miniature version of the Titan’s skull, cackling happily as though it hadn’t just been talking about genocide that. 

“What can I do for you, Collector?” Uncle stood before the portal, lips twisted upward in an odd, cold smile. 

The shadow— the Collector— draped itself over one of the statues lining the edges of the room. “I'm bored! Is the Draining Spell ready yet?” it whined. “I wanna play and see everything go all—“ It enveloped the statue with an awful scream, shattering into a dozen pieces before disappearing. 

Belos was decidedly unphased. “You'll have your fun,” he promised, turning away from the portal, “on the Day of Unity.”

The Collector reappeared, silhouetted over the door. “Betrayed, beguiled, alone, deceived! We'll have our revenge on— ugh, ‘unity’ is so hard to rhyme,” it sighed, folding its arms. 

Who was this “Collector,” why was it so excited about the destruction of the Isles, and what was its obsession with rhyming? Luz looked over at Hunter as though he would have answers, but all he could do was shrug. 

Suddenly, a feeling of cold overwhelmed him, as though he’d been doused in ice, as something— himself— passed through him. Hunter clutched at his chest, as though that would stop his heart from pounding or make the chill go away. What the fuck. What the fuck. 

Memory-Hunter’s footsteps echoed against the high ceiling, coming to a stop part way up the stairs. “I— I know you didn't want me going to Eclipse Lake,” he said, and Hunter’s head jerked up. 

He remembered this. 

“But if I hadn't,” memory-him said, pulling out the key, “I wouldn't have found this!” 

Hunter remembered the desperation. The way his breath caught when his uncle snatched the key from his hand. Remember the failure, the quiet fury of his uncle. 

For some stupid, ridiculous reason, his first thought was that he didn’t want to relive this again. And his second, even more inexplicable: he didn’t want Luz to see it. 

The memory didn’t care. It played on. 

“Some... of the Titan blood did spill,” past Hunter stammered, “but— if you let me explain, then—“ 

“Leave,” Belos snapped. “Now.”

Hunter watched himself retreat, tense and defeated. He could practically feel Luz’s eyes move to him. 

The grand wooden doors shut with an echoing snap. 

From behind the portal door, the Collector emerged. “Ooh, you were maaaaad!” it crowed. “I thought you were gonna go all—“

Hunter flinched as it transformed into a multi-limbed, antlered creature, flailing its limbs with a horrific screech. 

It turned back after a few seconds. “— on that kid.”

“Not as long as he stays on the right path,” Belos said, as though his curse was something he could control. As though the times he lashed out weren’t accidents. 

Hunter felt himself beginning to go numb, unable to tear his eyes and ears away. He was frozen in place. 

“I say, ‘The Titan has big plans for you,’ and he does what he's told.” His uncle smiled, as though this was a particularly amusing joke. “Unlike the previous attempts.” 

… Previous attempts?

“I'm starting to think you make those things just to destroy them. You have fun with it. Admit it!” The Collector cackled, mirth uncontrollable. 

Hunter’s stomach churned, twisting itself into knots. You make those things just to destroy them. It mean the Golden Guards, Hunter was positive, but that didn’t mean— it couldn’t— Belos wouldn’t kill the Golden Guards who didn’t fall in line. 

Right?

“Of course I don't, Collector,” his uncle said. His face twisted, almost pained. Hunter almost believed his anguish. “It hurts every time he chooses to betray me.” 

As the scene faded to black, Hunter stood there, hollow, staring at where his uncle had vanished. He’d thought— his uncle had always said he cared, always reminded Hunter that they were family, that he had his best interests at heart. But this? This wasn’t that. Did his uncle really only see him as a tool? Was that all he was? A means to an end? A hammer, a sword, whatever Belos needed most in that moment? 

But we’re family, he protested weakly. He said so. He did. He’s proud of me. He loves me. 

Only… that wasn’t right. 

Uncle said a lot of things. I believe in you. You have my trust, Hunter. I’m pleased with you. You’ve done well. I know you can do better. But never I love you.  

The man had never even told him he was proud of him. 

Of all the things he’d seen tonight, of all the things he’d been confronted with, that was the one that cut the deepest. 

Hunter didn’t care how childish it was, didn’t care that there was a monster loose somewhere, or that they were running out of time before they were swallowed into the subconscious. He just wanted to sit down and cry. It was too much. He couldn’t do this. 

There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He realized, through the fog, that Luz was still there. 

“Hey. Hunter?” She frowned, clearly concerned. “You there?” 

Hunter nodded automatically. “Yeah. Fine.” 

“You sure?” Luz stopped shaking him, but didn’t let go. 

He nodded again. 

How could he be fine after that? 

“Alright,” Luz said, unconvinced. “Well, let’s get out of here.” She began guiding him towards the memory’s frame. 

Hunter let himself be led. 

Belos had lied. Lied that he cared. Lied that Hunter was destined for some great plan. Lied when he said he wanted to help the Isles. What else had he lied about? Everything? He couldn’t’ve, right?

Hunter didn’t know what to think. 

Luz didn’t let go of his arm as they climbed through the frame. Thankfully, she didn’t start asking Hunter about what they’d seen. Instead, her conversation starter was an uncomfortable, “Sounds like he wants to wipe out all life in the Demon Realm. And the sigils help him do that.” 

Hunter couldn’t think about that. He needed just a minute. One minute to compartmentalize. One minute to pack all this away, to never look at it again, because he couldn’t. How was someone supposed to deal with their world being torn out from under them? What were you supposed to do when you didn’t know what was real anymore? 

How was he supposed to face his uncle after this? 

Hunter stepped away from Luz, barely hearing her continuing to talk. He braced himself on the trunks of one of the withering trunks, eyes screwed shut. Get it together, Hunter. The Golden Guard does not doubt. The Golden Guard carries out his duties. You are the Golden Guard. The Golden Guard does not doubt. The Golden Guard carries out his duties. You are the Golden Guard. The Golden Guard does not doubt. The Golden Guard—  

He opened his eyes and was met with a nightmare. 

The corridor before him was framed with gnarled trees, in further disrepair than much of the rest of the grove. Memories hung in dusty, golden frames, crooked. And among the roots of the trees— 

Hunter dug his nails into the bark he’d braced himself on, fighting back nausea. 

Roots wove through the cracked, unmistakable masks of the Golden Guard. The ground was littered with them, like corpses on a battlefield. Scattered amongst their broken shells, snapped staffs laid discarded. 

Hunter couldn’t move. He was leaden, save for his eyes, which took in the scene against his will, jumping from the carnage on the ground to the memories themselves. 

The one closest to him was of a Guard, petrified with his staff in hand. His mask hid his expression, but Hunter could imagine beneath it, his face was twisted in pain. Beside that one, a hand holding a staff pointed at another Guard, who was being disintegrated. Very quickly, he realized that teach memory depicted the death of a different Golden Guard, the corridor ending with a hand reaching out of a bed of dirt, trying— presumably in vain— to dig its owner out of their grave. 

This was a Golden Guard graveyard.

Hunter’s eyes were drawn yet again to the portrait of the Guard being disintegrated. He knew that staff, the one out of which the red beam of magic poured. It belonged to his uncle. 

I'm starting to think you make those things just to destroy them. You have fun with it. Admit it. 

It was suddenly, Hunter realized, very hard to breathe. Somewhere behind him, Luz had stopped talking. 

Uncle killed them. The words reverberated around in his skull. Uncle killed them all. 

He dug his fingers deeper into the bark, no doubt making marks. His heart pounded viciously against his rib cage. Will he kill me, too? 

Hunter didn’t know how to answer that question. He didn’t know. There was a sob building in the back of his throat, interrupted by a shout of, “Hey! Stop that!” that jolted him from his stupor. He turned. 

Luz was dragging the kid away from the center of the grove, where he’d laid out a lasso of rope, along which were placed elixirs and arrows. In its center, a red fire roared. Automatically, Hunter hurried to stomp it out. 

The kid squirmed out of Luz’s grasp, running away. “Why would he do that?”

Something flew past Hunter’s boot and he took a couple steps back, out of the rope circle. Another blob of green muck joined it. The curse. 

It accumulated quickly, forming the monstrous creature that had been chasing them. With a roar, it rightened itself, eyes glowing with a frightening blue light across its form. And then it shifted, eyes taking their places on little bodies, rodents and cats and lizards and birds and crying out, get away from him danger danger run—

And Hunter understood. 

“Are those… palismen?” Luz was horrified, jerking back. 

“We weren't running from the Inner Belos,” Hunter said slowly, stomach dropping. “He was with us, the whole time.”

Behind them, the kid— the real Inner Belos— laughed, raising his play, wooden sword over his head, then slamming it down on the end of the rope. Red lightening rushed through it, sending the elixirs flying, shattering against the palismen. As one, they roared, but it was of no use; the ropes flew, binding them thoroughly. They fell to the ground, furious, screeching at the child. 

Hunter looked to the child, who had begun to shake. With the sickening snap of cracking bones, the Inner Belos transformed, growing taller and broader, hair falling over his face. When he looked up with a smile that was almost preditorial, he was the same person Hunter remembered leaving at the castle mere hours ago. 

“Hello, Hunter,” Belos said. “Hello, Luz.” 

Hunter stood there, paralyzed as Belos’ attention shifted from him and Luz to the palismen behind them. His uncle hummed appreciatively. “I was finally able to catch it.” He started forward. Despite the shaking in his legs, Hunter stepped aside automatically to let him pass. “This thing's been a thorn in my side for years. All these weepy palismen souls. Their voices constantly nagging me.”

The palismen whined as his uncle laid a hand on them. Their fight left them as they began to disintegrate with the eerie red light that had done the same to the past Golden Guard in the memory Hunter had seen. 

His uncle picked out a bird from the writhing mass of them, which struggled violently to escape. “Vile. But without them, I wouldn't be able to do this.” At his will, his arm turned into the same cursed muck the creature was made of. He raised the limb above his hand, and with a loud splinter, the bird was crushed in his fist. 

Hunter flinched. 

It was with a smile that his uncle turned back around, directing his attention back at Hunter. “I'm feeling better already. Thank you for distracting it.” Behind him, the rest of the palismen withered away to nothing.

Any other time, Hunter would have glowed at the almost-praise. Fallen over himself to tell his uncle he was glad he’d been able to help. But now, all Hunter felt was sick. 

He shouldn’t have said it. He knew he shouldn’t have said it. Uncle didn’t like questions, and this was an out— if he’d replied of course, Uncle, acted as though distracting the palismen was what he’d been trying to do the whole time, he doubted that Belos would have ever mentioned this again. He never would have asked what Hunter saw, and Hunter could have tried to forget about it all. Gone back to how things were. 

But the Golden Guard graveyard was right there. The bird had looked too much like Flapjack. And Hunter, for the first time, truly doubted. 

“What did you do to the other guards? To our family?” His voice wavered. “It wasn't wild magic, was it?” 

His uncle’s face closed off. He didn’t refute it. 

Any hope Hunter had remaining, for an explanation, for even a denial, was snuffed out. 

“What a shame.” Belos flicked Hunter’s stray lock of hair carelessly. The disappointment and disdain in his voice had tears prickling at Hunter’s eyes. “Out of all the grimwalkers,” his uncle said, smile inexplicably reappearing, “ you looked the most like him.”

Hunter’s breath caught in his chest. “What?” His voice sounded so small, he noted distantly. He didn’t think he’d ever sounded so small before. 

He wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. He’d been told he was a grimwalker, whatever that was, and all he could register was that he didn’t sound as confident as always. 

The ground began to rumble beneath him, and Hunter looked down with a yelp to find himself sinking into the dust as though it was quicksand. 

How fitting. Another Golden Guard gone. This one, actually buried in his graveyard. 

Only, Hunter didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.

“Hunter!” Luz ran towards him, whipping off her jacket. She threw a sleeve at him, and Hunter grabbed hold. “No, no, no!” Luz pulled on her side of the jacket, only succeeding in being pulled towards him. 

Belos looked on, still smiling. 

Hunter was down to his waist now and he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die he didn’t want to die he didn’t want to

“You're gonna be okay,” Luz promised, desperate. Hunter wished he could believe her. He sank further, the dirt up past his chest. “You're gonna be okay. Just— hang on! Just—“ 

Jacket still clutched in one hand, Hunter sank into the subconscious. 

Chapter Text

Hunter remembered being eleven and sitting in the library on his day off. He’d been pouring over Freud’s Guide to the Mindscape, sore from training the previous day and sitting in the stuff backed chair, and disappointed that the book had little more than speculation about what the subconscious contained. It theorized that the subconscious was a prison of sorts, where one’s most primal and evil desires and memories were contained, and when they escaped, they created an unbalance in the mind, leading to split personalities and fractured memories. 

Hunter wished that he could tell Freud he was wrong because this was not that. This was dark and heavy earth, the rough scraping of roots over his arms. This was drowning. 

He’d sucked in a last breath of air before being dragged below the soil. Now, his lungs were ready to burst. He thought of the memory he’d seen above, of the Golden Guard buried alive, straining for air, a hand clawing at the dirt covering them. 

Titan. He was going to die. 

He wished Flapjack were here. 

At least Luz had him. Even if he didn’t trust the Owl Lady, she was going to get Luz out, and Luz would take care of him. She was too nice to do anything else. Flapjack would be okay. Maybe he would take Luz as his new witch. The thought stung, but at least he was okay. At least he’d be okay. 

Flapjack had mentioned once that sometimes he got impressions of what Hunter was feeling, when he felt particularly strongly, the same thing Hunter got from him. He wondered if it still worked when he was noncorporeal, trapped beneath a mindscape. 

Love you, Flap. I’m sorry. 

And then, just as he was about to give in and breathe the dirt into his lungs, he was in free fall. 

He looked up, gasping for breath. If he’d had it, he would have shouted. Above, there was a solid layer of dirt and sod, stretching across endlessly. Out of it protruded roots, which hung— he looked down— over a dark, endless abyss. Each of the roots ended with a memory hanging off of them, frames tarnished and dusty. 

Hunter clawed uselessly at the air, as though that would stop him from falling down who-knows-how-far. His arms flailed, and it was by sheer, dumb luck that he grabbed onto the frame of one of the memories. Beneath his gloves, his palms were sweaty. They twinged as he swung himself up. 

He fell into the memory, uncoordinated, landing in a pile on the ground, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back. He stared up at the sky, too colorful, he thought, too cheerful after everything he’d seen. After getting trapped in Belos’ mindscape, after losing Flapjack, after finding out his uncle had been lying to him for years and that he was a grimwalker, whatever that meant. 

Hunter had heard that word before. He’d read it, age eight, slipping into his uncle’s room to find a new book, Grimwalkers, a bold heading in the book he’d opened. He remembered being nine, left alone on a mountain, and on the transport there, one of the scouts in training teasing her friend, what, afraid a grimwalker will get you? But he didn’t know what it meant, and apparently he was one, and Titan, he couldn’t deal with this all at once. The tears were welling up again, blurring the blue sky above him—

He wiped them furiously away with a fist, blinking up at the sky, as though he’d seen wrong, but nothing changed. 

The sky was blue. 

This memory— this wasn’t the demon realm. He wasn’t on the Boiling Isles. His mind flashed back to weeks beforehand, the illusion his uncle had shown to the Coven Heads, of the human realm, and its boxy buildings and sapphire sky. Was that where he was? 

Hunter forced himself to his feet, truly taking in his surroundings. There were none of those squares the humans lived in; rather, he was in a grassy field, at the edge of a wood, where the trees— 

The trees there are green, his uncle’s voice whispered. The nights are quiet. I look forward to seeing it again. 

He shoved the voice aside. So. This was the human world. Where Luz was from. He clenched the sleeve of her jacket a little harder, still in his hand. 

Other than the wind rustling the grass and leaves, it was still. Above him, there was a chorus of bird song. 

Hunter looked up and did a double take. “Flapjack?” 

The bird twittered, uncomprehending. It wasn’t Hunter’s palisman, he realized, but a wild animal. The ache for Flapjack returned at full force. The gears in his head started turning. 

He hadn’t fallen all the way into the subconscious. Maybe there was a way out. Freud might not have been wrong about everything; maybe there was a way to drag these memories into the conscious mindscape, and then he’d be back in the grove. From there, he could make a new plan, so long as he was able to avoid his—

“Stop, witch!” 

Hunter whirled around, moving to brandish a staff that wasn’t there. 

Before him, there were two boys. A young Belos, he recognized from his inner self, perhaps six or seven, with dark hair and strange clothes. Here, he wore no mask, exposing the piercing blue eyes Hunter had come to know so well. He pointed a wooden sword at the boy across from him. 

The other boy was much older— Hunter would guess he was somewhere in his early teens. He carried a pail in one hand. The other brushed blond fly-aways from his face. 

Hunter stared. He knew that face. He stared it down in the mirror daily. Only it was wrong— brown eyes, tied back long hair, an earnest smile, and round ears. 

What. The. Fuck. 

He watched, frozen, as the boy held up his hands. “Now, why would I do that?” 

“Because,” young Belos said bravely, turning up his nose, “I’m a witch hunter, and I’m taking you to stand trial before God.” 

“Well.” The other boy considered. “Hm. I’ve got a meeting with Lucifer at dusk, but I suppose I could squeeze this God fellow in.” His grin became roguish. “If you can catch me.” He winked, then took off, breezing past Hunter, into the heart of the forest. 

Belos took off after him, in as hot of pursuit as his tiny legs could allow. The movement started the cardinal off its perch. 

Hunter stood there for a minute before following. His chest still ached from before, but he didn’t have any other ideas besides following the memory. 

Sticks crunched under the boys’ feet. Hunter’s double laughed from up ahead, a carefree sound. He even sounded like Hunter, albeit with whatever strange accent Belos had. It was off putting, to put it mildly, sending goosebumps up Hunter’s arms and neck. Out of all the grimwalkers, you looked the most like him.

He was sure that whoever this kid was, he was who his uncle had meant Hunter looked like. They were almost identical, save the eyes and ears. This was a simple puzzle to put together, Hunter thought, but he didn’t know if he wanted the full picture. He didn’t know if he could handle the full picture after the day he’d had. 

He kept running. 

They went deeper into the forest. As they went on, Belos struggled to keep up, unable to match the other boy’s pace with stubby legs and decidedly less coordination. 

“Caleb,” he whined, “the witch is supposed to lose!” 

Up ahead, Caleb’s footsteps slowed. “Foolish boy!” he said, “Satan will never lose! Evil will always triumph over— oomph!”

Belos tackled him. Not with terribly much force, but Caleb still let himself be thrown to the ground. He feigned defeat as the child pointed the sword at his neck. 

“You’re the foolish one! Now, you will await trial before being bur— Caleb!” Belos shrieked as Caleb wiggled a hand free and began to tickle him, sending him scrambling away while failing to suppress a giggle. “That’s not fair!” 

“Says who?” asked Caleb, grinning lopsidedly. 

“Says me!” Belos huffed. He wasn’t truly upset, though. 

The two sat there, sprawled on the ground, and Hunter watched. His skin crawled, though whether it was because he felt like an intruder or because of how uncannily he and Caleb resembled each other, he didn’t know.  

After a moment, Belos broke the silence, brow furrowed. “Will I be a good witch hunter, Caleb?” 

“Of course you will,” Caleb promised. 

“You’re sure?” Belos didn’t look confident. 

Caleb ruffled his hair. “You’ll be the best.” 

He swatted the other boy’s hand away. “Hey!”

Caleb laughed again, that carefree, boyish sound. 

“How do you know?” Belos became pensive again.  

“Because— look!” Caleb pointed to a branch above Hunter’s head. 

Hunter looked up to see the cardinal from before had relocated, sitting observantly on its new perch. 

“You know what cardinals symbolize?” Belos shook his head, and Caleb continued, “They’re supposed to remind us of loved ones past. He’s a reminder that Mother and Father are watching over you. And that’s how I know you’ll be the best. You’ve got them looking out for you. And me. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” 

Belos nodded, eyes somber. 

“Most importantly—“ Caleb held up a finger, “— you have yourself. You’re pretty cool, did you know that?” 

Belos grinned. 

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Caleb promised again. He hefted himself to his feet, holding out an empty hand to the kid. “Now, what do you say we finish getting our water?” 

“Okay!” Belos allowed himself to be hefted up, and they continued on their way. 

Hunter jumped aside just before they were about to walk through him, an experience he’d rather not repeat, thank you very much. He watched them disappear into the woods, and did a double take. Was that—? 

He drew closer, a little ways down the path they’d taken, and sure enough, that was a framed memory hanging from one of the trees. It wasn’t this one— the occupants, the same two boys, both a little older, stood in a crowd, Belos regarding whatever was before them with pride, and Caleb regarding it with hesitation. It might have just been his imagination, but this frame seemed less dusty and neglected than the one that had brought him here. 

He touched a hand to its surface and it rippled. 

“Okay,” Hunter said, “Okay. Maybe this is a way out. I can just… follow the memories out of the subconscious.” Then he could help Luz, if the Owl Lady hadn’t gotten her out already, and find a way back to Flapjack. Of course, galavanting through Belos’ subconscious meant he’d have to see more of these memories— however innocent this one had been, it hadn’t escaped Hunter that his uncle had been gearing to be a witch hunter since the ripe age of six or so— but it was fine. He didn’t feel like breaking down on the ground and sobbing anymore. At this point, he was pretty sure that his brain had decided to just stop processing things because this was all so fine. Yay! And anyway, “I mean. It can’t get any worse.” 

He really hoped he didn’t live to regret those words. 

With that rallying cry, he tied Luz’s jacket around his waist— quite the task, considering his cape— and climbed into the memory. He had a mission. 

Gravel was quick to crunch under his feet. Hunter straightened up, finding himself in a crowd of people. They were strangely dressed; the women with long, plain dresses and pale head coverings, while the men wore hardy trousers and stiff, long sleeved shirts. He picked out Caleb immediately, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked ahead. He was perhaps seventeen or eighteen now. Beside him stood Belos, a little taller, who’d begun to lose the youthful roundness of his face; his eyes were harsher, now, the curve of his mouth less carefree. He was still younger than Hunter— maybe the same age Caleb had been in the last memory. 

They, like the rest of the crowd, were both focused on a raised wooden platform set up before them. A woman stood on it. The rope around her neck was attached to a beam overhead, not quite taut. It was a strange way of trying to keep someone from escaping, Hunter thought, but humans were strange, in his experience, if Luz was an accurate sample. Anyway, it wasn’t as if they had abominations to restrain people in the human realm. 

“Goody Smithe.” 

The crowd’s attention snapped to a man at its head, wearing all black and reading off of an unfurled piece of parchment. He sneered at the woman atop the platform. “You have been found guilty of consorting with the devil to slaughter Abel Clemens’ livestock, as well as conjuring the drought plaguing our town. Thus, in accordance with the will of God, our Judge, you are hereby executed. Do you have any final words?” 

Goody Smithe, despite apparently about to be executed, was remarkably calm. “May He save your souls,” she said. Her voice only wavered a little. She put her chin up. 

The man up front made a sharp slashing motion with one hand. 

Hunter turned, looking for whatever the human equivalent of a petrification machine was. There was nothing behind him, though, beyond the stone faced crowd. 

Something horribly familiar snapped from the direction of the stage. 

Hunter whipped back around to find Goody Smithe swinging from the rope around her neck, now bent at a grotesque angle. The floor beneath her had given out. With a start, he realized that it was a trapdoor. That was how she was to be executed. 

Her body swung back and forth lazily. Lifeless. From where the coarse noose cut into her skin, a drop of blood rolled down her neck. 

Hunter could feel his hands begin to shake again. He clasped them together tightly as though that would stop it. 

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse. The body was left behind, dangling above the ground. 

When the square had nearly cleared, Belos put a hand on Caleb’s arm. Caleb, who had been still, frowning at the corpse, face pale the whole time, didn’t react. 

“Brother,” Belos said, and Hunter’s brain broke just a little bit more, “it’s over. We can go.” 

“Right.” Caleb hesitated before turning away. “Right,” he repeated. “Let’s head home.” 

Hunter followed them down the gravel road for several minutes before Belos broke the silence. 

“Are you alright, Caleb?” Belos asked. “You’ve been… quiet, today.”

It was a moment before Caleb responded. “Just the hunt, I suppose,” he said. 

“Our first successful witch hunt!” Belos’ triumphant smile quickly fell. “You don’t seem very excited.” 

“It’s just… odd. Goody Smithe was a kind woman. Maybe a little strange, but… she was devout. I couldn’t picture her serving the devil.” His face clouded over, staring troubled at the horizon. 

“It was part of her trickery,” Belos said, “so we’d never suspect her. The mark of an experienced witch.” 

“I suppose.” Caleb didn’t look convinced, but his face smoothed over, rearranging itself into a more easygoing smile. “What do you say we go on a walk to the pond tomorrow afternoon, after work is done? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to head down that way.” 

“Alright.” Belos agreed easily. He began to say something else, but Hunter stopped listening, eyes fixed on another frame. 

Hunter left the little town behind, headed into the next memory. 

He climbed out in a dense forest. It was dark, only minimal light filtering through the trees. Despite that, it didn’t take long for Hunter to find the memory’s occupants, about the same age as they had been when he last saw them. 

Caleb forged bravely ahead, pushing aside a loose branch as he squinted into the darkness. Belos, on the other hand, was decidedly less enthusiastic. 

“ Caleb!” he hissed. “What are you doing?” 

“I thought I saw something,” Caleb said, fighting his way past another tree limb. 

“Yes, a witch,” Belos said. “We can come back for it later. We don’t have anything to defend ourselves with!” 

“Except for my incredible charm,” Caleb quipped. 

Belos was unamused. “That’s not funny. This is a very serious situation—!” 

“Actually,” a voice said, “I think it’s hilarious.” 

Hunter spun around to find a woman standing behind him. One of her hands held a ball of flame, which illuminated her vibrant red hair and pointed ears. She grinned at them. 

“So,” she said, spreading her arms. “You wanted a witch. Behold: I am your savior! What can I do for you?” 

Caleb stepped forward. “I need you to teach me about magic.” 

“What?” the witch said. 

“What?” Belos said. 

The witch laughed. “Uh, buddy. You sure about that? ‘Cause, last I checked, you round ears folks didn’t like it all that much.” 

Belos tugged sharply at his brother’s sleeve. “What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“Looks like your little friend agrees with me,” the witch said. 

“Can he and I have a moment?” Caleb asked. 

The witch shrugged, taking a couple steps back. 

Caleb pulled Belos a little further away. Immediately, Belos began whispering. 

“You can’t be serious! You know— you know what magic does to you, you’ve been there during the sermons, Caleb, it’s evil, and in case you forgot, we’re witch hunters—“

Caleb put his hands on Belos’ shoulders. “I know. I know, Philip,” he said. “But— I don’t think it’s only witches we’ve hung. It’s been bothering me since Goody Smithe’s execution—“ 

“Caleb—“ 

“— and I think this is how we fix it.” Caleb’s eyes shone with determination. “If we learn more about them, it’ll be easier to tell who’s a witch and who’s just strange. Philip, this is how we save people— from magic and from false accusations.” 

Belos— Philip, it was easier to think of him as Philip, as some separate entity from Uncle— Philip hesitated. He met Caleb’s eyes.

“Do you trust me?” Caleb didn’t look away, wholly convicted. 

“Yes,” Philip said, “Of course, but—“ 

Caleb turned back to the witch, striding confidently forward. “Teach me about magic.” 

The witch’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” 

“Really,” Caleb said. 

She considered it for a moment. “Fine,” she said, “but, since I’m not convinced this isn’t a ploy to kill me, we’re doing this on my turf.” 

“Your turf?” 

The witch pulled a necklace out from beneath her dress. She clicked the eye of the portal key once. Beside her, the door unfurled, opening to reveal a lush landscape of red grass and trees that Hunter knew well. “How would you like to see a place called the Boiling Isles?” 

“Incredible,” Caleb breathed, and without hesitation, he walked through the door. Warily, Philip followed. The witch was the last of them to walk through. As soon as they’d all disappeared, the portal folded in on itself, vanishing. 

Behind it was the next memory— and Hunter hadn’t been imagining things, the frames were definitely growing less dirty. He was getting closer. Hopefully, there weren’t that many memories before the conscious. 

Hunter hopped through the frame to find himself standing in a wooden house. A fire roared in the stone fireplace, over which a cauldron boiled, forgotten. Philip sat at a small table, reading from a pamphlet. 

Hunter peered over his shoulder. The text wasn’t anything he recognized; the print was small, titled Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. It had to be a human publication. 

The house’s door opened with a bang. 

“Philip!” Caleb burst in, jubilant. “Philip, you won’t believe it— I have the best news!” 

Philip glanced up, not matching his brother’s excitement in the slightest, not that Caleb seemed to notice or care. 

“Evelyn’s pregnant,” Caleb said, breathless. 

“What?” Philip froze. 

“Evelyn’s pregnant.” His smile became radiant. “We’ve been talking, and, well. She can’t exactly live here with the town being what it is, so I’m moving to the demon realm. There’s a spot a little ways outside of Bonesborough—“ 

“What?” Belos demanded, standing suddenly. His chair fell over with a clatter. “Caleb, you— are you mad? You’re leaving me for— for that thing?”  

Caleb’s smile faded. “No! No, Philip, you don’t understand, I’m not—“ 

“First you refuse to bring her to justice. Then you start learning their ways— you have a— a staff of your own, for God’s sake. And now you lie with one of them? You’re choosing to live there? What did she do to you?” Belos’ eyes darted over his face, searching for something. “What do I have to get my brother back?” 

“Evelyn didn’t do anything to me except open my eyes. You’ve been there,” Caleb said, tone taking on an edge. “You’ve spoken with them— you know they aren’t what everyone says the are.” 

“No, I don’t,” Philip said shortly. “They’re barbaric— they live on a corpse, in case you didn’t notice. They’re witches and demons!” 

“They’re people, like you and me!” 

“They’re going to Hell, Caleb,” Philip said. “They’ve chosen their path. But it’s not too late for you.” His voice became earnest, almost desperate. “Just tell me how to save you, brother. God is forgiving, I’m sure—“ 

“Then I’m going to Hell, too,” Caleb said. “I love her. I love the Boiling Isles, I love magic— none of it’s what we thought it was. It’s incredible. But if feeling that way damns me, so be it.” 

Philip looked as though he’d been gutted. 

Caleb didn’t look much better. He moved back towards the door, stopping just before it. He didn’t look back. “I hope you’ll come around. You know where to find me. If you do.” With that, he left. He didn’t bother shutting the door behind him. 

Philip stood there for a long time. The heartbreak on his face slowly turned to determination. “I’ll save you, Caleb,” he said. “Whether you want me to or not.” He rightened his chair, sat back down, and went back to his pamphlet. 

Hunter followed the path Caleb had taken, outside. In the house’s front lawn, a lone tree grew, on which the next memory hung. Immediately, he knew this memory wouldn’t be pretty (not that any of them had been). 

Philip stood, a twisted knife in one hand. Before him was Caleb, backed against a wall of flames, a look of clear distress on his face. 

Hunter hesitated. But no, he had to, if he wanted to get out of here. If he wanted to see Flapjack again, or help Luz. He had a mission. He’d just— just hope it was fast. And then never think about any of this ever again. Denial and repression were great coping mechanisms. 

He rubbed the material of Luz’s jacket between his fingers a few times, steeling himself. Then, it was into the memory. 

He was back in the Boiling Isles. 

The grass crunched under his feet— it must have been the dry season— as he stepped out of the forest, stopping before a gray stone building. Behind an iron wrought gate and brick walls, stood a modest but beautiful house. Carefully cultivated vines cascaded down its walls, and past the gate, Hunter could see a well-maintained garden. 

Philip walked up beside him. He held the portal key, clicking its eye once. Behind them, the portal folded itself back up. He didn’t bother tucking it back under his shirt; instead, he occupied himself with the jar he held in his other hand, filled to the brim with a clear liquid. 

Hunter recognized it immediately. Kerosene. 

Unscrewing the lid, Philip walked in a large circle, coating the ground with the substance. When it was gone, he tossed the glass into the woods, unconcerned. From the inside pocket of his long coat, he pulled the knife Hunter had seen before entering the memory. 

Hunter didn’t want to see this. He couldn’t look away, though, drawn to the scene like a moth to the flame. He felt sick. 

Philip considered the weapon pensively, like one might look at a ware they were debating whether or not to buy. Not like it was the thing that would kill his own— 

Maybe he won’t, he argued weakly, automatically. He’s a good person. Only, he wasn’t, was he? That was why Hunter was here. 

From the house, a set of hinges squealed. Philip stuffed the dagger behind his back. 

Caleb stepped outside, looking far happier than he had when Hunter saw him last. When he saw Philip outside, he hurried to push open the grand gates, a smile on his face as he raised a hand in greeting. 

“Philip! You came!” The relief in his voice was palpable. It wrenched something deep in Hunter’s gut. He wanted to scream at the man to run, to get out. He didn’t. 

“I thought about what you said,” Philip said. “About… your choice. You truly would rather be happy with her now than be accepted into the Kingdom of Heaven?” 

“Yes.” Caleb didn’t hesitate. “A hundred— a thousand times over! But I don’t believe my God, who asked us to love each other, would make me choose between Him and Evelyn like that.”

“I just wanted to protect you, Caleb.” Philip’s grip on the knife tightened. 

“I thought I was the older brother,” Caleb teased. He strode forwards, into the circle. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. 

Philip reached into a pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. On it was one of the glyphs Luz was so fond of using. He slammed it on the ground, igniting the kerosene. It encircled them in a rush of heat and flame, sending Caleb jerking back, away from his brother. 

“Philip,” he said, wary, “what are you doing?” 

“I had hoped you wouldn’t say that,” Philip said. “I hoped maybe the time here would convince you… but you would be stubborn enough for it not to work.” 

“Is this about my decision to stay here?” Caleb was incredulous. “Just because I love Evelyn and am living with her doesn’t mean I’m abandoning you. I still care about you, Philip. You’re my brother.”  

“And I care about you,” Philip said. He held the knife out in front of him. “That’s why I have to do this! To save you!” 

Caleb took a few more steps back, stopping before the flames. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Put the knife down, Philip.” 

Philip advanced, blocking Hunter’s view of Caleb. “You haven’t sinned unforgivably. But you will, if you stay. So I’ll fix that,” he said. 

Hunter saw the brown, nondescript end of a staff appear beside Caleb. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said. 

“After that, I’ll put down the creature that did this to you,” Philip continued. 

Caleb inhaled sharply. 

“I’ll put them all down, so no one else can be hurt by them the way they’ve hurt you. I’ll save you. And I’ll save our home.” 

The staff disappeared. “Warn Evelyn,” Caleb said, presumably to his palisman. “Keep them safe.” 

A red blur flew over the wall of flames, which had grown almost insufferably hot. 

Caleb turned his attention back to Philip. “Please,” he said, “don’t do this.” 

Philip lunged. 

Caleb ducked under this first attack just barely. The second attack, he wasn’t so fortunate. 

Philip tackled him, driving him to the ground. Unlike when they were children, this was not play. It was not pretend. When Philip raised the dagger above his head, pointed at Caleb’s chest, Caleb did not wiggle free. 

The knife entered Caleb’s chest with a sickening squelch. 

Hunter promptly retched in Belos’ mindscape. It burned his throat, and uselessly, he let it happen, dropping to his hands and knees. He could hear Belos— Philip, he could hear Philip talking lowly, hear Caleb sputtering as he choked. He dug his hands into the ground, gasping for air, the stench of smoke and vomit and blood making him even more nauseous. 

“I’ll see you again,” Philip promised, kneeling over Caleb’s body. “Goodbye, brother.” 

Eventually, Caleb’s gasps stopped. There was another squelch as the knife was pulled out of his still chest. Hunter fought back another gag. 

Philip used his coat to wipe the blood off this knife, staining the fabric a deep crimson. He spent another few moments knelt over his brother’s— Titan, his brother’s— corpse before standing. No sooner had he risen to his feet when the ring of fire parted. 

Someone screamed. 

The witch from before— Evelyn— caught sight of Caleb’s body and threw herself beside it, a gesture made no less desperate by the roundness of her stomach. “No,” she said. She raised a hand, creating a shaky, useless spell circle above the bloody wound that fizzled out. “No. Nonono, Caleb! CALEB!” She shook him by the shoulders to no response. 

Philip stood behind her, watching silently. There wasn’t a shred of sympathy on his face. 

When Evelyn turned, still clutching the body, her face was tear stained, furious. “You. HOW COULD YOU?”  

“Oh, please. If you really loved him,” Philip said, “you would be thanking me for saving him.” 

Evelyn pushed herself to her feet, unsteady for only a moment. From his spot on the ground, Hunter found himself wanting to get as far away from her as he could. 

“I will end you,” she promised. 

Philip raised his knife, mouth twisting up grotesquely, clearly enjoying this. “You’re welcome to try,” he said. 

Evelyn screamed, throwing a blast of magic at him that sent him flying through the flames and into the stone wall around the house. 

Philip recovered quickly, dodging the next blast she shot at him. He tried charging forward again, ignoring the flames he ran through. 

Hunter forced himself to his feet. As the battle wore on, the house began to crumble. The fire had spread, taking advantage of the dry grasses. Neither Philip nor Evelyn seemed to notice or care. 

It was clear from the offset that Evelyn would be victorious. Philip couldn’t get close enough to stab her, had no magic, and she was out for blood. Eventually, he seemed to come to the same conclusion, and fled, disappearing into the forest. 

Evelyn followed only a couple paces before another sob escaped, and she went back to kneel beside Caleb. A couple feet away from where they lay, the portal key sat, chain lost. 

Hunter turned away, towards the trees. The next memory had appeared. 

He didn’t want to keep going. After that— 

Keep going. It’s keep going or stay here. 

Shaking, though not as much so as Evelyn, Hunter threw himself into the next memory. He wanted out, he wanted to get out he didn’t want to see anymore please Titan don’t make him see more 

He was back outside Caleb and Evelyn’s home. Or, rather, what used to be their home. Now, it was a pile of charred rubble and ruin. Only its gates still stood, rusting on their hinges. 

Before the house’s remains, there was a tombstone. Hunter drew closer, but it was too dark to read it. He could guess, though. 

The grave was suddenly illuminated. Caleb Wittebane. Beloved Husband and Father. 

Hunter turned to find Philip there, holding a lantern, a crumpled burlap bag, and a shovel. 

“Hello, brother,” he said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

He began digging. 

Hunter backed away, searching the trees he’d come from desperately for some escape, but there was none. He’d have to sit through this whole thing, while Philip unburied the brother he’d slaughtered. 

Maybe it was fortunate that Hunter had thrown up already. When Caleb’s emaciated corpse was hauled up, ghastly in the glow of the lantern, Hunter was sure if he’d had anything left in his stomach, it wouldn’t have stayed there. 

He tried not to look too closely at him. Titan, did he try. But it was impossible to miss his sunken cheeks, the decay crawling over his skin, the bits of bone beginning to show around his joints. It was even more impossible to miss how the darkness obscured the round curve of his ears and the age in what remained of his face. His eyes were closed. 

Hunter wondered morbidly if that was what he would look like if his uncle got his way. His hands began shaking again, and regardless of how tight he clenched them, he could not make them stop. 

Caleb’s body was dumped unceremoniously into the bag, which Philip swung over his shoulder after refilling the grave. When he started back in the direction he’d come from, Hunter scrambled to escape the scene, diving into the next frame without a second thought. 

He was in a cave. 

It was dark, damp, and dingy, like caves were, illuminated by a single ball of light that hovered beside Philip. Philip was crouched in front of a dusty mirror. He had his knife in one hand. The other pulled his ear— his round ear, Hunter realized, and how he’d never noticed it before he didn’t know, but suddenly so many things made sense, like his uncle’s fondness for the human realm and how he, too, wielded an artificial staff— taut. The blade came up to it and Hunter jerked away, closing his eyes. It didn’t stop him from hearing the tear of skin, or Philip’s grunt of pain. 

When his eyes opened again, the next memory had appeared and he rushed through it. 

Another cave, or perhaps the same one, Hunter couldn’t tell. Philip had aged, hair beginning to go grey, noticeably more wrinkles on his face. The beginnings of his curse were starting to show, a thin line of green, plantlike material striped across his nose. He stood over a patch of dirt, holding a book in one hand. 

Philip tsked. “This isn’t going to work if I don’t have magic.” 

The Collector’s shadow appeared over his shoulder, smiling slyly. Its eyes shone with mischief. “I can help with that. Lend me your hand.” 

Philip held up his other hand. 

The Collector’s matched up with it and it began talking again in its singsong voice. “With skin and bones and magic stones, we’ll make a playmate of your very own! From the remains of an old friend, here rises a companion who doesn’t know he’s dead!” 

The dirt rolled and a skeletal hand unfurled from it. Hunter watched, horrified, as muscle began to grow on it like some sort of grotesque flower, then skin over that. 

Philip separated from the Collector, grabbing onto the hand and pulling. 

An arm followed the hand. Then a shoulder. A whole body. 

Blond hair fell over the thing’s face as it breathed in for the first time. It looked up. 

It was Hunter. Pointed ears, scarlet eyes, the same flyaway in the front. His nose was a different shape, though, and had a smattering of freckles across his face that Hunter didn’t. It— the thing in the grave looked younger. 

Philip looked at it, rapturous. “Remarkable,” he breathed. 

Hunter did not think this was remarkable. 

“No,” he said dumbly. “No, that’s not— no.” He began backing up, but it was impossible to deny. His breathing was quickening and pulse beginning to race. Out of all the grimwalkers—

“So,” the Collector said, “what do you think?” 

“I think he’ll do wonderfully,” Philip said. He knelt beside the grave. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

— you looked the most like him. Hunter dugs his hands into the roots of his hair, tugging at it. “That can’t be what it means, it can’t be—“ He bumped into something.       

“Where am I?” The thing in the grave spoke with Hunter’s voice.   

“Somewhere safe,” Philip said. “The wild witches— they attacked your home—“ 

Hunter turned—

“— and burned down your village. I was able to rescue you in time,” Philip said, “but I couldn’t save your parents. My brother and sister-in-law.” 

— and came face to face with the decomposing corpse of Caleb Wittebane. 

Hunter’s breath seized. He scrambled back, away from the table the body had been dumped on. His foot caught on his cloak, and he tripped backwards, falling past the floor, further than he should have. Into the next memory. 

The memory’s frame before him disappeared, leaving him with no choice but to turn to the new scene. 

He was in a room he’d never seen before, sprawled on the floor. Or perhaps a corridor would be more accurate— it was a long space with a vaulted ceiling, and the floor itself was even thinner than the width of the place. After the polished stone floor, there was a drop off, one that went down farther than Hunter’s eyes could make out. 

Belos— he couldn’t pretend this was anyone else, with the man in full Emperor regalia, and all of Hunter’s energy expended on trying to suck air into his lungs— stood before a set of grand doors, artificial staff in one hand. He stared down upon the Golden Guard kneeling before him. 

“Rise,” he said. 

Hunter stood automatically, and the Guard Belos addressed did the same. 

“Regulus,” Belos said.

Hunter’s stomach dropped. His predecessor. Darius’ mentor. 

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re going to kill me,” Regulus said bluntly. 

“Hm. Yes, I suppose that was the plan,” Belos mused. Then without any warning, his curse exploded from his free hand, winding its way around Regulus’ neck. 

Regulus’ hands latched uselessly onto the goop as he struggled, writhing in his spot. After a few useless moments of this, he reached a hand beneath his cloak. A torrent of magic from Belos’ staff knocked it away before summoning the Regulus’ staff. 

“No cheating,” Belos chided. 

Slowly but surely, the fight left Regulus. He was so constricted that he couldn’t so much as scream. 

Hunter didn’t think he had a dying breath. 

Carelessly, Belos flung his body down into the abyss. The curse retreated, and he flexed his hand. “Ah. That’s better.” He spared only a glance at the darkness below. “I’ll have to make another grimwalker,” he said. “Shame. This one, I think, though, will be the last of them.” 

Hunter. 

He watched his uncle walk away, down the hall and through the large doors. When they snapped shut, they bore the next memory. 

This frame was the most pristine yet. Maybe this was it. If it wasn’t— 

This is a mission, he reminded himself. It didn’t calm his racing heart or stop the nausea rolling in his stomach, but it cleared his head a little. You know how to take care of missions. Finish it. Whatever it takes. Don’t think about what’s next. Finish the mission. 

He took off, jumping into the frame.

He was back in the cave. There were more patches of dirt now. The Collector stood by as Belos pulled another body from its grave. 

This one, Hunter knew immediately. 

It was him. Younger, skin unblemished by scars, but him, nonetheless. 

Hunter stared at himself numbly. 

“What—“ His younger self coughed. “— What happened? Where am I?” 

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Belos said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I was so afraid. Don’t you remember what happened?” 

Memory-Hunter met his eyes. “I—“ His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“I’m so sorry, my child. The wild witches attacked. I was too late to save your parents—” Belos’ voice wavered the slightest bit, “— but I was able to save you.” 

Memory-Hunter stared at him, looking utterly lost. “I— I don’t remember.” 

“That’s okay,” Belos said, using his hand to stand him up and guide him away from his grave. “I’ll help you. We’re family, after all.” 

Hunter watched them walk away, disappearing into the cave.  

So he was— made? He’d never had parents. His uncle wasn’t even his uncle. Just—

Hunter shoved the thoughts aside and ran, the same direction Un— Belos had gone, eyes searching furiously for a frame, for the next memory, the next torment. He found it a little ways into the cave, between two stalactites. He threw himself in. 

“— ever said being a witch hunter was easy.” 

This wasn’t a memory. 

Hunter was back in the grove— back inside his uncle’s conscious mindscape. Only… not. It was like looking through a window. He was standing overhead, as though on a sheet of glass, looking down at the scene below him. Luz and Belos stood in the grove.

Luz was furious. “Witch... hunter? ” she repeated. “So all this time, people have been mindlessly helping a witch hunter? How could they be tricked so easily?” 

“Luz!” he cried. “ Luz!” 

Luz didn’t respond. It was as though she couldn’t hear him. He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands against the barrier. 

It didn’t budge. 

“I wouldn't be so judgmental, if I were you,” Belos said. He flicked a hand lazily, prompting a memory to rise from his subconscious. Images danced across it, two hulking demons holding a book over a younger Belos’ head. 

“His pretty little words should make pretty good kindling,” one of the demons said. 

Luz stared, slack-jawed as she appeared in the frame. “That,” memory-her said, “doesn't belong to you.”

“No,” Luz said, then more desperate, “No, no, no.”

Another scene, her hand holding out a ball of light. 

“Astounding!” Memory-Belos examined it curiously. 

Another scene, Memory-Belos falling to the ground, clutching his knee with a grunt of pain. Memory-Luz kneeled down beside him, and— was that Lilith Clawthorne behind her? 

“It's okay, we can help!” Memory-Luz said. 

Another scene, Memory-Luz and Lilith ducking behind a stone column. 

“I know you want to get home, but nothing is worth hurting people!”

Yet another, with past-Belos kneeling in a cave (the cave? it flashed across Hunter’s mind, unwanted), looking up at a glowing sun and stars projected onto the wall. “I just need to live long enough to see this through.” 

“No, no, no! You're Belos!” Luz tugged at her hair, sinking to the ground, as though refusing to look at the memories would make it true. “You're just Belos!”

“Please,” Belos said, “do me a kindness, and call me by my real name.” 

“I... can't.” She kneeled, defeated, curled in on herself. 

This wasn’t the Luz that Hunter knew. 

Hunter slammed a fist against the barrier. “Luz!” 

Luz’s voice came from the memory. “You're Philip Wittebane, aren't you?”

Hunter slammed on it again. He had to get through to her— she couldn’t give up, they had to get out, before things got worse. 

“I can't believe I taught Philip something new!”

Another couple pounds on the barrier and he gave up. It wasn’t doing anything except making his hands flare with pain. He rubbed at them through his gloves. 

“I'll go talk to Philip.” The memories played on. 

He needed another plan. 

“Philip… why did you bring us here?” 

Luz forced herself to look up. There were tears in her eyes. 

Belos strode towards her.

Luz scrambled backwards, like a skittish animal. She didn’t seem to hear her walkie-talkie that lay on the ground, abandoned— it must have fallen out of her jacket when she tried to save Hunter. 

“Kid, you there?” It crackled. “We're getting you two out.”

Great. But first Hunter had to get out of here.  

“It does feel good to hear another human say that name,” Belos said, enjoying himself. “I had to change it when Philip was run out of too many towns.”

Luz wasn’t looking where she was going. She overbalanced and tumbled backwards, into the Golden Guard graveyard. 

Hunter forced himself not to look at the masks or the frames. He needed to get out. If he got out, he could help Luz, and the Owl Lady would get them back to the physical world. 

“I told you once before, Luzura. Perhaps—” Belos morphed into his younger self, “we were destined to meet.” 

If only Hunter had his staff, he could summon magic strong enough to break through whatever this was. He could teleport out. If he had Flapjack—

“And what about Hunter?” Luz forced herself to her feet, her eyes regaining their fire. “What's a grimwalker?”

Hunter’s brain screeched to a halt at that word.

Belos paused, morphing back into his present self. “He's…” he considered, then answered with a sick smile, “a better version of an old friend.” 

Caleb Wittebane, Hunter wanted to scream. Your brother. You killed him. You killed them all. 

“But, thanks to you, I'll have to make another one,” Belos said, unaffected. 

“But— why?” Luz demanded. “Why go through all this?”

Hunter dug his nails into his palms. He had to focus. He had to focus. He had a mission, he couldn’t fail. 

“I'll do anything to save humanity from evil.” Belos held up one of the crumbling Golden Guard masks, like some sort of hero. 

“No.” Luz shook her head. “You're evil.” She didn’t move to fight. 

Hunter stared down at her. Why wasn’t she fighting? Didn’t she have glyphs? It hit him like a brick. 

She’d been pulling her glyphs from her jacket pocket this whole time. She didn’t have her jacket. 

Hunter had her jacket. 

He ripped it off, scrambling for the pockets. 

Below, Belos shrugged. “Can't reason with crazy.” His arm rose, becoming a mass of goo that shot towards Luz. The top of it sharpened into a scythe. 

Hunter pulled out a couple of glyphs, and praying that this worked, slammed them facedown on the barrier. 

Titan, I really hope those weren’t all light glyphs. 

They weren’t. 

Ice exploded, shooting downwards, shattering whatever force was holding Hunter up. Over it, vines grew, thick and past, racing towards the ground. There was a dull thwunk as his uncle buried his cursed blade in them. 

Luz looked up from where she’d covered her face. 

“Luz!” 

She saw him this time, waving down at her from where he clung to the vines, her jacket and a fistful of glyphs clenched in one hand. He felt like sobbing with relief. Some of the papers fell from his hand. 

Luz snatched one out of the air, barreling towards the wall of vines. 

Hunter jumped down, knees aching in protest as he landed, hard. He barely noticed. 

They burst through the vines with a blast of fire. His uncle snatched his arm back, hissing in pain as fire danced along the limb. 

The walkie-talkie crackled. “Four,” the Owl Lady said. 

Hunter ran faster. 

“Three—“ 

The walkie-talkie was in sight. His uncle was behind them. They were so close, they were almost out—

“Two—“ 

Hunter didn’t know why he did it. 

He looked back. Met his uncle’s— Belos’ eyes. There was no sign of the man who Hunter had thought to be kind, compassionate. The man who raised him. A firm hand, but a benevolent one. His family. Instead, cold, blue eyes narrowed at him, as though Belos wanted nothing more than for Hunter to drop dead— at his hand, as though he were imagining how he’d most like to see Hunter go. 

Luz grabbed onto him, dragging him forward.  

“One!” crackled the walkie-talkie, and they dove for it. 

“Eda, now, please, now!” Luz cried. 

There was a bright light and a rush; a tug at his gut and the air rushed out of his lungs. Then— 

When Hunter opened his eyes, the trees were gone, replaced by cluttered walls and haphazard piles of books. He wasn’t kneeling on the dusty, hard ground, instead it was a worn rug.