Chapter Text
Scar was running.
He had been running for a while, though he wasn't sure how long. Time became a blur. His feet ached; a jolt of pain shot up his leg with each clumsy step he took. The only noise in the cold air was the crunching of the leaves under his boots and his rapid, wheezing breaths. The very breath that burned and clawed at his throat, the very air his lungs begged for.
His entire body burned. His ribs felt like they were tightening around his lungs and his sides felt like they were curling in on themselves.
Scar was sure if he ran anymore, he would faint. He needed to rest. Surely, he had run enough, he had to of outran them by now. Fear churned in his stomach, his mind frantic and racing. It didn't matter, though. He couldn't afford to run anymore. He would have to risk it.
The forest was cold, the lingering air damp and uncomfortable. Light from the moon beamed through the leaves, barely lighting his way. He pushed past leaves and branches, his hands littered with cuts and scratches from the vines that roped around the trees.
While his sight was limited, Scar could see a clearing in the distance. A place to rest, hopefully. He pushes past the greenery, poking out of the dark shadows of the forest to be faced with light. It was a small clearing, a little area of grass and mushrooms. It was noticeably more alive than the rest of the forest. It was gorgeous.
Nature was only a small detail to the real beauty, however. Scar's eyes widened immediately at the sight, his mouth gaping in awe. In the middle of the clearing lay a statue; large and overlooking, casting an intimidating shadow over him. Scar was a brave man—confident and fearless—but even so, the dark shadow consuming his surroundings left him unsettled.
He approached the statue with caution, inspecting it carefully. Scar wasn't sure what it was. It had the face of a man, the wings of an angel, but it had the presence of a god. Even those descriptions didn't seem fitting. The way its wings spread dangerously, looming over Scar as if it were watching his every move.
Scar's eyes slowly lowered, slowly breaking out of the trance. It was only a statue, he didn’t know why he had been so caught of guard. He had other things to worry about.
The man walked closer to the statue, placing a hand on it before collapsing. He turned his back to the stone, resting against the cold surface. Scar wasn't sure how long he sat there, panting and trying to recover. He couldn't hear anything in the trees, no ruffles or movement. He was safe, for now at least.
Scar may not be the brightest, but even he can admit that stealing from some of the most powerful people in the world wasn't his smartest idea. The bag of stolen goods was wrapped around his shoulder, but he couldn't even focus on it. Something he worked so hard for, what he risked his life for, and he didn't care for it. All he could care about was the rough burn in the back of his throat every time he inhaled, the sharp pain in his sides when he moved, and the disgusting feeling of the sweat that soaked his hair.
After a couple of minutes —or what he assumed was a couple minutes— he finally caught his breath, his senses slowly coming back to him. His face was flushed and his whole body was hot, so hot that he could almost ignore the stinging pain on his side. Almost.
Scar slowly pushed the bag off his shoulder, turning in a way he could look at his side. He winced in pain, eyes landing on his red-stained clothes. The wound hadn't been too bad when he first got it, when the knife dug into his side and tore through his muscles. But now—after running with no care for his wounds—it was ripped and open, blood pouring out and soaking his shirt.
Scar was quick to unbutton his top, tugging the cloth off his body. He stretched out the shirt and ripped it, turning it into a long line of cloth. It certainly wasn't easy trying to bandage himself in the night without any sort of assistance, but he managed. It wasn't the best, but it was enough to slow the bleeding. It would have to work.
Scar looked up, getting an upside-down view of the statue. He furrowed his eyes slightly before pushing himself off the stone. He crawled backward a bit and faced the statue properly, looking up at its dark presence. Its face was round and soft and two small wings from the side covered its eyes. Its lips looked plush, and its nose was round, perfectly fitted onto the face. All of its features looked flawless; thoughtfully designed and carved onto the silhouette. Its two hands were pressed together like a prayer, sharp claws rising from its long fingers. A robe elegantly dripped down to the floor, the wrinkles and fabric appearing so real it made Scar feel uneasy.
There was a block of stone that the statue stood on so proudly, words engraved into the stone. Scar tried to read it, but it was completely illegible. The words were written in a language he couldn't understand or recognize. The only thing that stood out was the rectangular symbol in the middle.
A god—or some type of religious figure—if Scar had to guess. Not one that he was at all familiar with, though. Although that shouldn't be too shocking, considering the placement. Who would create a religious statue in the middle of the forest? It didn't seem ethical. Perhaps there was once a church nearby or a group of settlers who found peace in this area. Scar wasn't sure, but what he did know for certain was that this statue hadn't been touched for a very long time. Dirt seeped into the cracks in the stone and vines crawled up the sides. This place was ancient, sacred even. Scar did not need to be religious to know this was a place of respect.
Scar swallowed. He scooted forward again, deciding he was done ogling at the statue. He once again leaned his back against the rough stone, reaching over to grab his bag. He peeked inside, grinning at the dull green color of paper that flooded his bag. Despite the danger, it was worth it. He could pay off his debts, get his brother out of jail, and even pay for his cat's medicine. He could fix everything with this money. Maybe he was foolish, maybe he was naive, but to him, this was all that mattered.
Only then did Scar realize just how tired he was. His body felt heavy, as if there were weights chained to his chest. He wanted to sleep, void, did he want to. But he couldn't, it wasn't safe. He was on the run, for void's sake. Not only that, but who knew what was in the shadows of the forest? He shouldn't, yet his eyelids disobeyed his mind, slipping shut with a mind of their own. He snapped them back open, physically struggling to keep them open. He could feel the frustrated tears well in his eyes, all of his panicked emotions festering in his body.
Suddenly, his eyes landed on the feet of the statue. He turned, looking up at the great figure, and had an idea. An idea he's never had before. Maybe it was the gut-wrenching fear in his gut, or his panicked mind that influenced this thought, Scar didn't know. He crawled away from the statue, turning to face it once again. He sat on top of his knees, placing his hands on the dirt to lean against as his eyes trailed up the angelic being. For a moment, he questioned what the hell he was doing. He had never done this before; he didn't even know how. He was just scared and wanted something, anything to comfort him. Void, he was scared. His body trembled and he tried to blink away the tears that wetted his eyes. He hoped this would allow him to feel safe if only for a moment, a silly delusion he could live in. He told himself he'd never give in to such fairy tales. But, really, what did he have to lose?
So Scar raised his hands and clasped them together and did something he'd never done before. He prayed.
"If you're there," He started, his voice broken and raspy. "Whatever god or being you may be, if you're there, please hear me." He choked out, eyes staring at the statue. "I've never- I've never done this before, so I'm sorry if my, uh- prayer etiquette is off." He joked, as if there were anyone to laugh with him. The statue stared down at his trembling figure, watching him. Scar lowered his eyes to the dirt.
"I do not ask for much. Please, if you are there, grant me one night of peaceful rest." He whispered, shutting his eyes tight. "I just..." He paused, laughing at himself. He felt ridiculous talking to a statue. "I want to be able to wake up tomorrow. I want to be able to go home and see my cat again. Her name is Jellie, you know? She's grey and white and she's so cute! She's sick though. That's why I need to get home, I need to use this money to get her medicine so she..." He trailed off, opening his eyes and staring at the dirt under his knees.
"I also want to see my friend. His name is Cub, and he's... well, he's something else, that's for sure. He's locked away right now, I'm gonna use this money I got to bust him out. Got caught doing the same thing I am, actually. Isn't that ironic?" Scar asked, raising his gaze up to face the stone. He faltered. Void, was he seriously rambling to a statue? He was meant to be praying but not he just sounds like a crazy person. He sighed.
"I, uh, got off topic." He squeezed his hands together; his knuckles were red and his palms sweaty. "What I'm trying to ask is for one night of safety. Please." Scar bit his lip, leaving it red and swollen. "Please." He repeated, a desperate whisper. He was scared. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Jellie, he wanted to see Cub, he wanted to lay in bed and forget any of this ever happened. But for now, he would take what he got.
Scar stared at the statue, eyes glued to the stone face. His hands were clenched, waiting. The statue didn’t move. Of course it didn’t. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It was just a statue. A rush of embarrassment quickly washed over Scar, a flush creeping onto his face.
“Of course.” He raised a hand to cover his face. “What was I even thinking…”
He lowered his arms and stood, dirt clinging to his worn-out pants. He winced in pain as he moved, limping as he slowly walked back to the statue. He slid to a sitting position, shivering at the feeling of cold stone against his bare back. Placing a hand on his lap, he exhaled and closed his eyes with ease. Despite how exhausted he was, sleep did not come easy. Praying did not relieve him of his worries. It did nothing for him. Truth be told, he never understood how they did it. How one could pray to whatever god they believed in and act as if everything was better.
Scar felt embarrassed. He tried not to dwell on it too much, but he had lived as an atheist his entire life. Did he seriously question it now out of fear? He cringed. He’d rather not think about that. So instead, he tried to relax as much as he could. Leaning against the hard stone wasn't exactly comfortable, but after a while, the exhaustion finally got to him and he dozed off.
As he drifted away, his fears haunted his dreams. His body was tense and sweaty, anxiety clawing his gut. It was not a sound sleep, farthest from it. He was tense, on guard; As if he were ready to wake up any second, in case something or someone were to attack him.
Little did he know, however, that the god that loomed over him would keep a watchful eye all throughout the night. If any animal were to creep too close, it would run away quickly in a rush of adrenaline. If any humans were to search near the area, they would eventually give up and go home, claiming to have the distinct feeling of being watched. He would make sure Scar slept safely that night. After all, he hasn't had a mortal pray to him in over millennia. He wouldn’t want to give it up so soon.