Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

”What in the Titan’s name are you wearing?”

Hunter spun on the ball of his foot, Flapjack safely hidden in his bag, whiplash sure to occurs had he turned any faster. There, standing in his doorway with a face of fury and an anger only Hunter knew to exist, was his Uncle. His eyes were just as wide as his own, shock and anger swirling within them. A look of betrayal in the form of a scowl.

His uncle looked him up and down, taking in the sight of Hunter, scrutinising every inch of his body. All of Hunters hard work of keeping this - this mess of himself, this pool of shame he couldn’t swim away from, the endless months of hiding in fear of even a single scout seeing him; all being unraveled in a single moment right before his eyes. Hunter could see his uncles face warping from shock to anger and the curse was taking an effect and holy Titan his bedroom door shut with a loud bang that had Flapjack close to revealing himself.

“Selfish child. To have thought, after everything I’ve done for you. After taking you in and raising you and caring for you as my own. To think you’d betray me like this.” Belos muttered, closing in on Hunter, green goop and the overwhelming scent of bile rising in the air. A hole in the wall. A barely covered up flinch. A plea that shouldn’t be uttered but still - 

“Uncle. Emperor, please,” Hunter began, stepping back and bowing his head low. He knew better, was taught better. Your superiors should never be looked in the eye, not when you betrayed everything they’ve done to keep you alive and well.

“After all this time, is this how you want to treat your uncle? I raised you Hunter, you can’t do this to me. Not after your father. Not after my brothers betrayal!” Belos interrupted firmly. “I did not raise you for six years for you to do this!”

“Please, Uncle. Let me explain. It was a -”

“No. Hunter. You go out there and you risk your safety - our safety- our life! Of any normalcy after I lost just lost William! After Sebastian and Jasper and Caleb! After my brother’s death! You risk everything remotely safe for what? For a chance to be one of them! All I ever wanted for you, for us, was a chance at happiness.” Belos clutched at his heart, legs falling beneath himself which Hunter was quick to catch before the crash, easing his uncle - his saviour - onto Hunters own bed. 

The man’s breathing was heavy, laboured, and once again Hunter found himself sickly grateful for Flapjack hidden away in his bag. He couldn’t lose Flapjack, but he couldn’t lose his uncle either, he loved the man too much. But to risk his Palisman, his first friend for the health of his uncle… Hunter just couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

It was Hunter’s meaning in life to be by his uncles side but for Flapjack, for his bird, it wasn’t fair to drag him into a life he wasn’t made for. 

Belos reached for Hunters hand gently, taking it to his face, the young witches gloves brushing the green scar gently at his uncles guidance. Silence, thick and heavy, a turmoil in Hunters head and heart. This was it, Hunter could tell, the moment his uncle got rid of him for good.

“After my brother passed, it was just me and my Golden Guard. Just us. And I did everything,” his grip tightening, his eyes narrowing, Hunter’s gloves roughly dragging against his skin. “Everything I did was for you. But that wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

There was no hysterical cry, no tears and no fire in his eyes. Hunter just felt guilty seeing his uncle look so tired. So done. Hunter had done this to his family. He had done this. Him! No one else.

“Uncle, please. Of course you’re enough. Everything you’ve done is more than so. I was just… I just wanted to help! Please, Uncle, let me help you.”

“Hunter. No. That’s not my point. I thought you were - I knew you were - more responsible than this!” Tactics changed, guilt forming a storm in his heart, his stomach in knots and the over whelming urge to run kicked in but instead his legs just gave out, folding him down like a newborn calf as his head fell to the crook of his uncles elbow. 

The hand that once held his let go, travelling to his head and down to his neck, warm but not inviting.

“I thought I knew you, Hunter.”

Any urge to escape now left the boy as his neck bubbled under his uncles hand, skin boiling and rotting down to the muscle. Pain, hot and searing but so deserving. Oh, definitely deserving.

Not only had he left for a mission - one that didn’t even exist - but he had betrayed his coven, his uncle. His home. Betrayed everything he knew for what? A chance to prove himself? What a joke. 

No. That boiling skin, the layers peeling and searing and melting were what he deserved.

Wild magic had no place.

Hunter… had no place.

The Little Prince had been acting strange. Or, more strange than he usually did. More strange than a child soldier with no friends to turn to should. Darius didn’t notice anything off until the first week and a half of complete silence from the sixteen year old. Nine whole days without a peep from the Kid.

It had been well over a month since Darius discovered the Little Brat’s secret Palisman and it had been under a month since he had last spoken a word to the kid.

There was never a condescending goodbye, never an open mock to his uncle's scouts, he didn’t try to argue about going on a mission or pursue his Lord to go on a scouting with the others. He never said a word when another lower, definitely beneath him, Scout trembled and told him he had been summoned by the Emperor. 

The Little Prince, the Golden Guard, had gone silent.

At first, Darius thought nothing of it, that maybe he had been hexed by another Witch in the village but was immediately assured he wasn’t once checking him over with glowing eyes – from a safe distance, of course. But the thought, of course, was valid. The amount of Scouts, Guards and common Witches that loathed the sound of the boy's voice couldn’t be counted on two hands. Of course there would be a large number of people who would feel at peace with the prince having no voice.  

And the thought of him just simply being threatened by someone was dashed again when he heard the kid speak. Barely there, but loud enough for Darius to hear. A soft spoken ‘Thank you, Lord Belos.’ So, it wasn’t magic nor people keeping him silent.

Darius’ next assumption was that the Little Prince simply wanted to talk less. He was always trying to find ways to compensate for his age. Continuously searching and nagging Hettie to help him find an elixir or asking for another potion to make him seem older, more mature.

Maybe the Prince had made a vow of silence. Become a silent Mud Monk in the past week that Darius and Eber had been travelling on some mission – a private mission for an ingredient only found in the Night Market, the last ingredient needed to sneak into Belos’ mind. Sneaking Raine out had been proved before to be too difficult but the other two Coven Heads had no suspicion colouring their name. They had be fine.

Perhaps one too many comments on the squeaky brattiness of his voice finally had gotten to him. Admitting to himself, Darius knew that the reasoning behind it was flawed by the sheer fact that Hunter could never stop talking because someone simply said so, even when he was ten and new to the castle and had lost his voice he still squeaked and squawked, laughing at the way it unknowingly grated on the others ears. If that was the reason though, it worked perfectly. 

But the Golden Brat was the Golden Child. The trusted Golden Guard. The oh so royal pain in the ass Golden Prince. He would never pass up a chance to remind everyone in the castle just how quickly he had climbed the ranks from being just a Scout to being the right hand man of the Emperor.

It could’ve been a command from the Lord himself. Demanding the child to not speak unless spoken too. The way the kid obeyed every word the tyrant told him, his ability to follow his orders down to the letter, it was a miracle he hadn’t realised what a bastard his uncle truly was. But his need to brag defeated this possibility.

Plus, there was no child, Golden Guard or not, that would go this long not speaking entirely. And certainly not a teenager as smart mouthed as the Little Prince. He would’ve found some loophole in the rule.

It was after a meeting, one where Hunter didn’t speak a word, that Darius caved.

The little prince was good at standing obediently by Belos’ side in silence, not an unusual sight. But with the Little Prince there came flaws, and what he was far from good at, was bypassing the opportunity to correct someone who got their history wrong. And Hunter, who was the biggest geek Darius had ever met, was never one to miss that chance. And, of course, Kikimora got her facts wrong. 

Darius looked up, waiting for Hunter to rudely clear his throat and correct her. When he didn’t, Darius turned to Eber and Raine, both who looked almost as lost as Darius felt. Belos himself seemed to be stunned. Kiki had stopped mid sentence, looking around in confusion wondering why all the eyes had fallen to the Little Prince. Bated breath waiting in anticipation for a crude laugh and a judgmental point in her direction. And when it didn’t come, Belos cleaned his throat, turned back to Kiki and asked for her to continue; grateful for a mask to conceal his grimace at his history of his reign being tainted.

It had been nine whole days since Darius had heard a peep from the Little Prince, and he would find the root to this grating silence. The very second they were all excused, Hunter made his way out of the room. The first sign was that this was deeper than not wanting to speak. Hunter was always the last to leave the throne room. Darius knew this because he had witnessed it on multiple occasions. Always waiting till all the Scouts, Coven Heads and advisors had left to bow to his uncle and leave himself.

Darius was meant to be speaking to Whispers and Eberwolf after that meeting, another clue had come to light about the Day of Unity, but curiosity won out as he followed behind the rest of the Coven Heads. Something was wrong, and it had been wrong for too long.

“Golden Guard.” Darius called for his attention. Hunter stopped in his tracks, not turning but readying himself for whatever it was Darius had to say. The Little Prince had already made it a dozen feet away from the throne room, almost as if he was on a mission to escape the Emperors clutches. Speeding up to catch the kid, “You’ve been acting rather strange, Prince,” he said, waving a gloved hand around. “Finicky. Odd. Out of sorts. Call it what you will,” he pointed a finger at the kids head, back still turned but, of course, listening.

It wasn’t that Darius cared, not in the slightest. It was a cross of morbid curiosity and boredom that left him compelled to find out. He crossed around Hunter, addressing the front of the mask to which only stared back in dead silence.

When Hunter shifted his shoulders, Darius assumed he was preparing to speak, to bow or to swing at him with those clenched fists, instead, the royal brat side stepped him. Leaving, without a goodbye, the Little Prince continued walking down to the doors, careful in his steps and despite his whole body looking ready to run, the kid took each step with the same grace and dignity that he’d always held.

Now see, Darius would consider himself a reasonable person. He knew he had a good head on his shoulders and has been known for his sensibility. He wouldn’t throw a tantrum over being ignored by a foetus. So, instead of shouting and causing a fuss, he swirled his finger and smiled something both smug and calm as a wall of Abomination shot up in front of the kids path.

Hunter jumped, spinning around to lock eyes with him. Darius could practically feel the heated glare through the kids mask. “I wanted to ask you a question, your royal brattiness, so hold still. Please.” Hunter, of course, said nothing, holding himself straight and tensing his shoulders.

“Thank you, Brat. Now, I’m not –” Well, he actually was worried. Not like worried to the level a parent would be to seeing their kid suffer. Just a normal kind of worry. “I’m not concerned, but you have been acting odd.” Good, starting strong, Darius congratulated himself on having the kid stay still and listen for this long so far. “You are our Emperor’s right hand man, I’d like to make sure the baby we trust our lives with is okay.”

In the most monotone and clipped voice, Hunter spoke. “I’m fine, Darius.” His voice, oh Titan, it sounded so frail. So rough. Like he hadn’t had water in days.

Raising a brow, Darius rebutted. “If you’re worried about your uncle finding out your little secret, you should know by now that I am way above gossiping.”

Well…almost above it, after all, late evening with Raine and Eber truly were turning into tiny gossiping meetings rather than save the world from an evil tyrant meetings.

”Take down the wall, Head Witch.”

Darius snorted. “You sound like a dying Gryphon who got lost on the Toe.” Hunter remained silent. Darius sighed, tilting his head from side to side. “Well, if you don’t want to speak to your favourite Witch and you want to build up your teenage angst, I guess I can let you go.” Hunter had already made his way through the doors and down the hall before Darius could even finish his sentence. Darius didn’t care. Why would he? He didn’t give a shit that Hunter’s walk was more quick and rigid then the Coven Head had ever seen. He didn't care that Hunter wasn’t fiddling with his hands like the kid was supposed to. He himself didn’t flinch at the white bandage peaking out from around the kids throat.

There was nothing to be worried about. Titan, he was trying to spark a revolution. 

Trying to take down a monster. Hunter’s mood swings shouldn’t be on his mind at all.

They were.

Titan. Hunter and his ridiculous edgy teenage angst bullshit.

Darius and his Titan damned bleeding heart.

Chapter Text

To Hunter, his chosen silence gave him time to think of ways for his uncle to forgive him. How he could prove himself sorry and regretful for sneaking into Hexside.

It was a few nights after the dreaded incident that Hunter found himself praying to the Titan, he grew out of that feeling of fear about the God back when he started to train to be the Golden Guard but every night he continuously prayed to a deity that refused to answer him.

His hands were classed tightly together, his head bowed low as his knees grew numb on the floor as he spoke softly, his voice rough and his neck still burning and, if he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the hand that fed him on the base of his neck, the skin still bubbling and boiling and aching painfully.

”Dear Titan, all knowing and all seeing God of the Boiling Isles… help me. I’m lost, I have no idea where I’m meant to go. Uncle said that you would guide us, that you have big plans for me, but if you do then why have you let me stray!” Hunter licked his lips, taking in a chest rattling breath as he scowled. “No. It’s not your fault I strayed, but you’re meant to guide us, to help me through life so I can serve the Emperor and his army! So I can make the Isle pure again!”

Hunter’s knuckles strained, turning red and then white as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

”Please, Titan. Please, help me. I’m a Sinner, I have strayed from my path and I’m blind on where I’m meant to go. Please, hear my prayers, hear my voice. Hear me, I beg of you.”

His Hands moved from their clasped position, his fingers gripping the blanket Belos had given him tightly, his lips moving in a prayer he hardly realised he was saying however his mind began to wander.

It wandered to Hexside,to life outside the castle. It began to wander to a Witch he never noticed before, one unlike any other, with striking blue hair and green eyes that saw right though him. His mind wandered to Willow, like it seemed to do more than ever.

His breath hitched, stumbling over the words of his prayer as he thought more of Willow. Of how her fiery passion, of how the other seemed to trust and believe in him, of how her tanned hand would look with her fingers intertwined with his own sickly, scarred ones.

Hunter grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a few deep breaths. He couldn’t think like thats, she was a witch with wild magic, someone who fought against everything he believed in, thinking of a even befriending such a witch was immoral, it was unclean and it was monstrous.

It was against everything his uncle worked for.

His heart hammered against his ribs, Hunter could feel it in his throat. Trying to escape, trying to claw free and run away. Run far away from the castle, the Coven, his uncle.

Just thinking of his uncle left an unwelcome bitter taste in Hunter’s mouth. Left a sharp sting behind his eyes and he took shaky gulps of breath to calm down, very happy he was kneeling as he felt he would have fallen down should he have been standing.

”Please, Titan. Please, help me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Maybe the Titan was punishing him, showing him the error of his ways by gifting him with the temptation of a Coven free life. Hunter shook his head of these thoughts almost immediately, praying again and again in his head as he remembered his uncles teachings, his kind words that were hardly spoken anymore.

Hunter spent a lot of time praying throughout his childhood, days and nights being countless as he prayed over his bed, by his uncles side, even once in the garden with the traitorous Lilith.

He always had; it wasn't something he was likely to avoid doing, being raised to fear and love the Titan, and to fear damnation and to fear himself, the Sinner. He thanked the Titan for food, he thanked the Titan for good weather, he thanked the Titan for his life. It was his life’s purpose to do the Titan’s bidding and for that, forever he would be thankful.

But lately things had been different.

His uncle had always told him not to ask anything of the Titan. If you deserve it, the Titan will provide. And he had listened, never asking anything of the Titan or of his uncle.

But as he prayed with his head bowed low and his neck being aggravated by his cloak, Hunter began to ask.

“Please, Titan, I beg of you, please. Help me.”

The Titan truly was testing him when all Hunter got back was the silence of the night in the halls of the castle.

Hunter slowly got up from his knees, his eyes wet with tears as he took off his cloak and started to get ready for bed, he was to help the Titan no matter what and so he shall do everything in his will to do so.

It was as he was brushing his teeth that he heard a knock on his door, not much of a signal when the Emperor walked in  after knocking, announcing his presence silently as he stood and looked over Hunter who was quick to fall upon one knee again, his head low as he awaited for his uncle to speak.

”Nephew, walk with me.”

Hunter looked up to see a hand out stretched to him, he took it, of course, letting his uncle pull him to his feet. Hunter nodded wordlessly, grabbing both his mask and his cloak as he followed his uncle - his saviour - put into the empty halls.

There was silence, thick and heavy around them, suffocating him as he kept up with his uncles steady stride. They approached the spiral stair case that led to his uncles room, silently climbing it as he bowed his head low once more.

The Emperor was a careful man, no job done by his hands was messy or left with loose ends. So when it came down to Hunter, the man was always there to deal with the injuries.

A gash in his thigh from falling out of trees at a young age. Scraped knees, bleeding hands and broken bones from training. Various injuries from missions. Well… it was down to Belos to look out for his ward so of course he took care of it. 

Perhaps he was not quiet as careful as he meant to be, he was a busy man, he was on his own mission. Or perhaps Hunter wasn’t always truthful with his family about his injuries. It wouldn’t be the first time Belos had caught glimpses of scars he didn’t recognise.

It mattered not to Belos, not when scars could heal over time. If it wasn’t caused by his hand, he wasn’t concerned. He only tended to the wounds of his own design. 

Belos prided himself on his ability to retain his composure. His words always chosen with the utmost care. Emotions always pushed down and his curse always in check. Often, however, his rage would rise to the surface, bubbling like boiling mud, hot and out of control, and his cure would respond. At first, his punishments had been small, calculated and cold, a simple matter of discipline and order. But as the curse raged within him, pulling taut on his mind with this seemingly insatiable hunger, he’d become much more prone to outbursts.

He had never thought to lose his temper quiet this badly. The emptiness has been gnawing at his bones for a while now, and when that boy of his had returned through his window, exhausted and dressed in Hexside colours, his vision had gone black with rage. His curse had happily responded, lashing out with hardened mud, a mining for his wards wall, careful not to get the kid until it subsided.

As it was, when the curse came to an unfulfilling end of nothing but mud covered walls, Belos still wasn’t done. The curse mattered not when his creation had played around with wild magic.

Again.

The boy had to learn, had to understand, that everything he did, Belos did for a better future. 

So a simple burn to the base of his neck, blood and flesh so similar to his, it hurt to see his child like this but it had to be taught that he needed this, he had to know there was no place for wild magic in his heart.

As his ragged breaths and gentle sobs filled the silent chamber, the Emperor sat himself up, hand peeling away as the scent of burnt flesh filled the room.

But that was twelve days ago. Twelve days of no missions for his Caleb, no talking for his Caleb. Was he surprised at how quick the obedience settled in to his little bones? No, truthfully, he wasn’t. He knew his child would understand eventually.

Walking in front of Hunter, he pushed open another door, silent until he spoke knowing that nobody’s ears would pick up on their conversation. “Faster, Nephew. This conversation isn’t over.” He beckoned for Hunter to pick up his pace, leading him through the long, empty corridors and up the spiral staircase to his room.

He didn’t need to turn back; there was no question as to whether the boy had followed him or not. He knew his child, had raised him well. There were no tears, no sobs or whimpers or breathless curses as his neck continued to burn like hell.

Belos’ room was best described as cold yet cozy. Nothing grand as one might’ve suspected from the overlord of the Boiling Isles; large, definitely, and somewhat luxurious, but very much lived in. 

A small fireplace tucked neatly away in the wall to fend off the chill, a grand four poster bed, carved of oak wood Hunter could only dream to sleep in, and a desk cluttered with parchment and potions, ink pots and stacks of books upon books, and a golden pocket watch sat above it all, polished to perfection.

A knitting basket sat neglected in one corner by the bed, twisted antlers of some beast adorned one wall and a single sketch of Belos, a younger and smaller version of him sat burnt around the edges on the fireplace mantle.

Hunter had once asked him about it, ten and newly made, curious having been summoned to see his uncle, Belos just smiled and said it was someone special, leaving it at that as they adjourned to the throne room.

It was evening, the room being lit by the soft glow of the moon and magically burning lanterns floating above their heads. Something so enchanting and beautiful and so out of reach; something Hunter never thought to be able to create.

As soon as the door closed behind them and they were away from the Scouts and Head Witches, Belos stripped off his mask and gloves, then grabbed Hunter’s mask too, placing it beside his own as he took his creation by the shoulder, urgently ushering him to his adjacent bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and removed his child’s cloak, peeling it away as gently as he could from the blood soaked bandage. The blood was slowly coming to an end; the burn was spread wide and exposed as the bandage was peeled off too. Even with healing magic, it would certainly scar the boy.

Not that either of them minded. To Hunter it was a reminder to be better, to know better than before. A chance to learn from his mistakes. To Belos it was nothing more than another scar, not a lesson or a punishment, just a scar.

Belos hastily dampened a washcloth. He knelt before the boy, cupping the unharmed side of his face in one bony hand. Hunter’s puffy, miserable eyes met his.

“This will definitely hurt,” Belos murmured. “But you’re so brave. Hold still, Hunter. I need to stop the bleeding and clean.” And with that he pressed the washcloth to the wound, blindly dapping at it, moving across the heat of the wound with careful hands, all the while keeping his eyes on his boy.

”I’m going to tell you a story about the Titan, about how he created temptation to test us all.”

Hunter yelped in pain, but Belos held his face steady in his bony grasp. “Shh shh. Shhh. You’re okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He kept his voice soft and low, soothing the scared and wounded animal that was his nephew, stroking his thumb across the scar on Hunters cheek.

“In the garden of everything, back when our land was pure, the Titan made... an apple-blood tree. It was fruit. Food. Something us Witches need to survive. And the Titan, who made these creatures in his own image, with free will, said, don't eat this fruit.”

"I know the story, Uncle. There was a traveler, a foreign being, that came and tempts our people, tainting our hearts and manipulating us to bite the hand that fed us. It broke the Titan’s heart. So then witches were cursed, their bile sack forever tainted by wild magic. The Titan left us in a world of horrors and unknowns."

"But the apple was knowledge. Forbidden for our sake to keep us pure.” His uncle continued, almost as-if Hunter hadn’t interrupted him. “Truth that now curses our people to this very day, and regardless of who we have saved, there are many out there that still need saving."

"I don't understand." But he had a sinking feeling he might begin to.

The blood had already soaked through the washcloth, another perfectly white item stained beyond salvation. “Can you keep pressure on it?” Belos asked, his voice gentle and honeyed. Nodding slightly, Hunter shifted to hold it in place as Belos prepared a clean one.

This time, Belos took a handkerchief in his free hand and began wiping the tears and snot from the boy’s face. He kept his own expressions gentle, concerned, forcing down his revulsion and disinterest. Honestly, nine days is enough for a child to get over a small injury like this. Children were so messy, so unnecessarily embarrassing. But his nephew’s love and trust was more vital than anything.

”There was once someone I knew long ago that I thought was pure like me, and he did the same thing our ancestors did years ago. He took a bite of knowledge that was forbidden and he paid the price.”

“Uncle. What do you…?” Hunter finally sniffed, voice just as scratchy as it was the night he let out this blood curling screams. More tears spilled from his eyes and Belos dabbed then away. “I’m not like that! I p-promise. I’m not.”

“I know. I know.” Belos answered. He inwardly cursed himself for not thinking it through, for not aiming further down the boy’s neck and spine, somewhere that wouldn’t cause eyes to stare. He couldn’t have some well meaning Witch trying to steal away his soldier. His little Hunter. With a face too chubby and childlike; it would garner sympathy from anyone. Again, the Emperor wished it was possible to build himself an adult Grimwalker.

After a moment of silence, of watching Hunter through his careful blue eyes, Belos replied, “Hunter. Let this serve as a reminder that you can always do better. That I expect you to know better. Wild magic has hurt our family, has killed more than just our family. I know you’re strong Hunter, how brave you are. In spite of your age, you’re one of my most capable soldiers. My boy, you have brains beyond your age. Why do you chase what has hurt us? Why do you dress up like those Witches that have hurt us? Why do you try magic that hurts us.” He stroked ancient fingers through blonde hair, hair so much like his brothers. Like the man that Hunter would never be.

Hunter tried for a smile, weak despite it all, but it faltered. Something was still on his mind. “Uncle… why? There’s no question of my devotion. I’ll always do my best for you. For you Uncle! You’re my family, I…I can’t bare to see you in pain. I love you!”

Belos suppresses an irritated sigh. They’d been over this time and time again. Instead, he wrapped his free arm around the boys head, pressing his face close to his chest. “I know, poor boy. I know,” he soothed, rubbing his knuckles down his back lightly. “You’ve done so well, and I’m so lucky to have you. I know.” He paused and contemplated his next sentence. “I can’t have our Coven showing weakness. A great leader must put his personal affairs aside. If I treated you with kindness, I’d be accused of favouritism.”

“Favouritism?” Hunter questioned.

“I can’t show excessive favour to the people I love most, Hunter. You of all people know this,” Belos clarified, he tried for a warm chuckle (though his voice was forever cold and high). “I suppose it’s true. Your position is a privilege and an honour, and it’s only yours because I hold you so dear to my heart, Hunter. I trust you more than anyone else in the Isles, and the world beyond.”

Hunter relaxed into his arms, though he was still shaking, still letting the tears fall, still scared and scared. Belos could feel his heart pounding slightly, like the flutter of tiny bird’s wings. He imagined the Galderstone pulsing in his chest, sending blood running through all his veins, bringing life to his Palistrom-wood skin. It made him think of Palismen. 

He held the boy tighter and wrestled down his hunger.

“You,” Belos continued, “are more important to me than anyone. As your uncle, as your only family, I will always love you, and I will always take care of you. But you can’t disappoint the Emperor. 

“He is not a merciful man,” Hunter finished for him. “I understand. I’ll do better, Uncle,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion: devotion, and love, and exhaustion, and something heavier.

It was the morning after that Hunter found himself in the garden, slightly sweaty as he stared down at the grass beneath his feet, his uncle’s story repeating in his head. He hadn’t realised he had company until he felt his mask being taken off.

Tightening his fist, he threw out a punch, only to have it blocked by Darius who stared at him in concern.

”Head Witch.”

Darius nodded his head, taking off his gloves before sitting beside Hunter. “Finished training already, Little Prince?”

Hunter ignored him, staring at the Abomination master who was staring at the sky, his face gentle with a soft smile and his green eyes squinting up at the sun.

”Why are you here?”

”I have a question for you.” Darius replied back in the same tone, his lips moving into a smirk as he held the Golden Guard mask in his hands, his fingers tracing the small scratches and dents that had been on it since before he was born. “And you have the answer.”

”What makes you so sure of that?” Hunter replied back, crossing his arms defensively as he glared up at the Head Witch.

”It’s about the passage, the Old Testament to be exact. Something that Eberwolf and I were talking about the night before.”

The Old Testament? Darius was never one for religion, sure he followed the Titan and his words but Hunter knew he didn’t really believe it. And he knew for certain that Eberwolf didn’t care about the Titan’s readings.

”Since when do you and Eberwolf talk about the testament?” Hunter said, pointing his finger accusingly at Darius. “If you want to bash the book then go do it elsewhere. You’re not going to get the reply you want from me.”

Darius shrugged, handing back the mask to Hunter as he smiled down at him. “I want your view on the passage about the Apple-blood tree. Something about it makes me curious about it all.”

Hunter ignored him, his eyes settling on the soft sway of the trees as he let the sun bathe him in a warm light. He hadn’t been able to get out into the garden as much as he used to, in fact with the Day of Unity approaching, Hunter hadn’t really been able to do anything he used to. He clasped his hands together quickly, praying that Darius hadn’t noticed the tremor that ran through them.

”You know how the story goes,” Darius continued, making no effort to drop the subject, just like how Hunter made no effort to leave the Head Witch’s side.

“The traveler tempted our kind and tainted our blood and magic.” Hunter quietly whispered, his uncles teachings playing in his head.

“But what if it wasn’t a traveler?”

Hunter snorted, glaring down at the ground beneath his feet as he spoke. “It was a traveler and he ruined our kind forever.”

”If it was a traveler then how did they get to our land?” Darius shot back, an eyebrow quirked up as he regarded Hunter’s tense body.

”The same way the Human did. Magic, teleportation. Does it matter?” Hunter spat out, his face screwed up in disgust and his mouth tasting bitter as he spoke.

“But what if that traveler was our Titan?”

Hunter snorted again, lips twitching in amusement as he looked at Darius’ expression. The Witch was completely serious, his eyes giving away no joke, and it just set off a small amount of laughter that left Hunter blushing as he tried to regain his composure. “The traveler was not the Titan.”

“Would the Titan not test the free will of his creations by tempting them towards that which they needed? Would you not take that apple?”

The Titan was testing him.

”You’re asking if I would bite the hand that feeds me, if I would give into greed and consume knowledge that I shouldn’t have?” Hunter traced the Sigil on his wrist as he spoke. “Are you asking if I would sin?”

“No.” Darius quietly whispered, placing his in gloves hand over Hunter’s sweaty palm, squeezing him reassuringly as he looked into his eyes. “I’m asking if you would starve yourself, Hunter?”

Hunter let a little gasp leave his lips as he stumbled to stand up, staring at Darius in disbelief for a long time. He clenched his fists tightly, putting his mask on his face as he walked away from the Head Witch.

The Titan was testing him.

”Never ask such a question again. The Titan is forgiving but I am not. Leave me alone, I have to train.” He said, parting ways as Darius’ words consumed his thoughts.

This is all a test. A tests. Uncle was right to say temptation was everywhere. I have to focus, I have myself a mission.

Chapter Text

The sky was a warm and rich colour, almost like a painting of warm reds and deep oranges. Hunter found himself staring out his window, his eyes gazing off into the distance.

It was quiet, everyone either asleep or already in the lunch hall, a few Coven Heads were probably out debriefing missions and tasks they had to sort out before the Day of Unity. And Hunter?

Well, Hunter just day dreaming, pushing down the confusion he had slept with - he says sleep, but he didn’t think that tossing and turning counted - as he replayed his rather conflicting conversation he had with Darius yesterday.

His fingers grazed across his stone cobbled window seals as he stared at the Titan’s skull, his mind lost and his eyes growing foggier by the second.

“What does he know. Lies and blasphemy.” Hunter grumbled under his breath, Flapjack tweeting up at him as his Palisman pecked at his hand. Stroking the birds almost retaliating feathers he continued to talk, his voice cracking slightly. “The Titan wouldn’t tempt us with magic he didn’t want us to know. Nobody would.”

So why was Darius so sure that Hunter was wrong? It was in the scriptures, the books all said the same thing, a traveler was what tempted and corrupted Witches to turn to the forbidden wild magic.

”Do you think I should talk to Uncle? Tell him my concerns?” Hunter’s gut twisted at the thought, shaking his head no as he bit his lip harshly, his teeth dragging across his chapped skin. “No. It shouldn’t worry me, I shouldn’t stray.”

The Titan had big plans for him, plans that Hunter wanted to obey and follow. He hoped, deep down in his heart and soul, that the plans, whatever they were, would help his uncle.

He watched as the sun rose higher in the morning sky, licking his lips as he pushed his thoughts away and started to get dressed for the day. His hands shaking slightly as he pulled his uniform on. He looked at his desk chair, his cloak - the old cloak of the Golden Guard - as it draped across the back of his chair, the symbol he knew he should wear with pride burning tears in his eyes, a sort of hit and stinging sensation that he blinked away as he grabbed it, fastening the claps around his neck.

His uncle had requested last night over dinner that Hunter was to not leave his room for the next day or two, his punishment for his disobedience having been extended until his injury had healed, so Hunter did as he was told, sitting by his window seat with his head floating away with the clouds and his heart feeling heavy with guilt as he replayed Darius’ words over and over until he was sure his brain would detect the fault in his retelling of the Old Testament.

Turning to his precious friend, he rubbed Flapjacks feathers gently as he spoke. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Flaps. He thinks he’s helping but he isn’t.”

”He never has.”

“The Golden Guard? You mean your Little Prince? That Golden Guard?”

Darius groaned, dragging a hand down his face in barely concealed frustration. “Yes, yes. Keep up.”

Frowning, Raine adjusted the cup in their hand. “I am trying.” They looked back out the window for the fourth time, pouring the tea into a potted plant Eberwolf kept for the vermin he called pets. “You know, brainwashing isn’t easy to get over.” There was a hint of mirth in their voice, Darius didn’t smile.

“The kid.” He repeated. “Do you know if anything happened to him?”

“Religious, cult raised, child soldier,” Eber huffed from above the table, his native tongue making it out to be nothing more than a collection of snarls and sniffs. Curled up like a cat under the moonlight streaming through the open window.

Darius found himself close to strangling himself and the others. “I am well aware of what he is, of what he was born into and what he was raised to be. There’s something else – something wrong with the Little Prince.”

Raine brushed themselves down, crossing the room to sit on the table beside Eber. “Darius, I know you’re worried about your kid –”

“Not my kid. And not worried.”

They sighed. Darius really was stuck living in denial. “Right.” They coughed awkwardly, Eber themselves letting out a small chuckle at Darius’ outraged face. “You think you know something is wrong with him, and you want to help him. I get that. But we are in a bit of a position here. Right now, the best thing for us to do is let him continue to be as he is while we continue to take down Belos.” Darius looked away as Raine continued, his gloopy hair dropping down slightly in disappointment and resentment. “He’s deathly loyal, we’ve all been a witness to it. If something is wrong with your kid, we can help him by freeing the Boiling Isles, and in return, him too. He’s a smart kid, he can look after himself till then.”

“He shouldn’t have to, Songbird.” He growled out.

“No,” Raine looked impossibly sad, running a hand through Eber’s fur. “He shouldn’t have to.

“Strong boy,” Eber finally got up, stretching his body like a cat and crawling up to sit on Darius’ shoulder. 

“Traumatised.” Darius said flatly. “He’s depressed and traumatised and he doesn’t even know it.”

“He’ll be okay, Darius. He’s devoted and stubborn. And when we succeed, we can help him get better. You can help him. For now though, let's get this potion sorted and take down Belos. Repercussions can wait until later.”

And Darius, eyes solemn and distant as he looked out the window, arms crossed as he looked at the statue of the previous Golden Guard. His Golden Guard. “I hope you’re right.”

Helping the Little Prince would come first for Darius.

Helping his kid would definitely have to come first.

The child in question was quite literally dragging himself through the woods, panic rolling off him in waves. “I can’t go back. I can’t go back. He knows. I can’t go back.” A continuous promise to himself leaving his lips at the speed of light. He watched from afar, Raine holding him back with a grimace. He was bleeding.

His child was bleeding, and it wasn’t sluggish.

His leg was practically mutilated. A chunk of flesh having been caught and ripped out by some berry bush. A long scratch down the back of his thigh and a larger one across his cheek, thankfully those wouldn’t require stitches, but his clothes would. The poor boy using the trees as a crutch as the Golden Guard rushed his way through the forest.

Darius didn’t try to hide his worry and anger, pushing himself out of Whisper’s grasp, running after his kid who was moving closer to the creek, further away from Darius. Titan, why couldn’t this kid just stop being an idiot for one second and think about his own self worth?

Once Darius found himself caught up to the little prince, his green eyes locked onto striking magenta ones, tears shining and ready to fall. Chest heaving and breath laboured, a panic attack in the making – Darius was no idiot to spook the child any further. He crouched down, arms length from the kid, caring not for his boots being muddied, that his cloak needed to be set ablaze from the dirt it was covered in. All that he cared for was this kid.

“Little Prince –”

“Did you know?”

“Know?”

“What Belos did to me? To the others.” Hunter panted. “Did you know?”

“Oh, kid. I’m so sorry.”

“Did you know!”

His voice wasn’t sad or weak like it had been the past times Darius had heard him speak. This time it was mean, full of anger. Gravely and raspy and heightened in panic, as if he had inhaled too much air and tried to breath for the first time in years. His clock was gone, hair a mess and falling over his eyes. 

Hunter’s breath came out hot and heavy, gasps and whimpers as he trembled standing on his own two feet.

“I didn’t. I just – I knew he was – was evil.” Darius cautioned, treading closer.

“Keep your fucking distance!” He shouted, and if Darius was a lesser man, he would’ve hit the child. But instead he stopped, nodding at his panicking child.

Crazy what emotions could do to his usually collected manner.

“Prince, you need to get healed up.”

“I’m not going back!”

“Kid!”

“My name is Hunter!”

“Okay. Okay. Hunter, yeah? Okay. You need to listen to me.”

“Fuck you.”

Darius, for his effort, remained silent as he watched the child. Now was not the time for the kid to choose to be a stubborn little shit. He stepped forwards again, taking a long stride to close the distance that Hunter had created. He watched as Flapjack fluttered around Hunter, silent for once but clearly as worried as a Palisman could get.

Rephrasing his concern, Darius took hold of Hunter’s outstretched hand. “I am taking you to get healed.”

Then, the Golden Guard did something that Darius would later congratulate him on. When the boy would be healed and healthy and safe. He summoned that damn bird into his staff, tilting it so it rested against Darius’ chest, glowing faintly.

“You won’t. Take me. Back.” He gritted out, ragged breaths, legs slowly growing heavy and weak beneath his body’s weight.

If Hunter wanted a fight, Darius sure as hell would give him one. It just wasn’t the time or the place, but he congratulated the kid – in the back of his mind where he could forever deny it – that the kid's efforts to stay strong were astonishing. But now, Darius glared down at the staff and back up to Hunter’s emotion consumed face. Fear, hurt, anger. Darius noticed how badly, not for the first time in his life, Hunter was determined to fight for himself. Hands shaking and body trembling but not giving in.

He never thought it would be easy, the Coven Head knew better than that.

“Hunter,” he softened his voice, his abomination hair leaving him as to appear non threatening. “I know you're hurt, you’re scared but you are –”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as Hunter barrelled himself into his, almost passing out as his arms wrapped tightly around the coven head. Darius would’ve cringed at the dirtied fabric against his skin if he wasn't so concerned for his kid. 

“He killed me.” A whispered confession from the shaking boy.

Blood began to pool around Hunter’s leg, spreading across his and Darius’ pants. A tightened grip, a hand resting on the back of a mess of hair, a fight the kid was slowly giving up on.

“He killed me.”

I’m sorry kid.” Darius said, picking the boy up into his arms, adjusting him to lean against his back with arms and legs wrapped around him like vines on trees, and walked back to where Whispers and Eber last were, the kid clinging tightly to his back whilst Darius was left wondering how a sixteen year old would ever recover from what he had seen.

“I just want it to end. Please, Darius, just kill me.”

He swore to himself that night, watching Hunter’s shallow breathing, that he would take down Belos and give his kid the life he deserved. And nothing, not even the day or unity or Belos himself, would stop him from being the parent Hunter deserved.

Nothing.

Chapter Text

His Coven Head cleared her throat, standing somewhere near his right shoulder, her delicate fingers landing on his left shoulder and leaving Darius to flinch and blink up at her.

“You’re staring, young one.” Maureen observed, taking her place to stand beside him. The hem of her dress dropped in elegant waves that created just above her shins, something Darius envied as he went back to his somber silence.

“For what it’s worth, getting attached to one Golden Guard was bad enough, it betrays a certain…” She paused, her hand flying away with the motion of her words. “And this one, well, he’s a bit to young for that Darius.”

Darius’ jaw clenched involuntarily. “Vulgarity is the last resort for those that lack enough brain cells to be considered ‘clever’, Maureen.” He said, unable to help the slightly sourness of his tone. “I was simply wondering how long it would take for the new Guard to adjust to his role. If he is as young, as you say, I don’t wish to have to pick up the slack within the Emperor’s Coven once I proceed you.”

Maureen frowned thoughtfully. Before she could say any more, the doors creaked open, thudding back against their doorstops. A rustle of cloth and creaking limbs crested through the crowd like a wave as the assembled coven officials knelt, heads bowed at various angles of respect. 

Darius stared at the carpet in front of him, unseeing. At the top edge of his vision, the emperor’s cloak swept the carpet ahead of him, the gold thread at the hem glinting as he passed from shade to sun. His steps echoed in the reverent silence, heavy and slow. Darius felt himself timing his breath to them - in, step, out, step. 

At last, Belos reached the throne. Darius lifted his head just enough to watch Belos ascend the trio of steps. His newest Golden Guard looked up from where he was kneeling with something akin to awe. Inexplicably, his expression alone made resentment swell in Darius’ throat. 

Emperor Belos turned, lifting his hands to hip-height, palms toward the vaulted ceiling. The doors groaned shut, closing with another deep boom. “Rise,” he spoke, and the same rustle filled the throne room.

There was a beat of silence once everyone was standing at attention.

“Children of the Isles,” the emperor greeted, his tone rich and cold, there was an underline of warmth but not something anyone would pick up. “The Titan has spoken to me. A new Golden Guard is to be appointed.” Another pause. “Will you, stewards of the Covens, stand as witnesses to his oaths?” 

“We will,” the crowd replied as one, their joined voices swelling in the space. Darius muttered his assent, unable to raise his voice louder. Beside him, Maureen glanced at him carefully. 

Slowly, like a statue that had been brought to life, the emperor seated himself on the throne. One hand curled around the carved end of the armrest, the other holding his staff in a tight grasp. After a heartbeat, Hunter stepped forward, every movement carefully rehearsed, and knelt before the throne. 

“Your oaths,” the Emperor requested. 

Darius heard Hunter take a small, quick breath as he bowed his head. “Emperor Belos,” he intoned, “in your name, I will hunt wild magic to the ends of the Isles. In your name, I will protect those honoured by the Titan’s gift. In your name, I will promise peace among all Witch-kind.” 

Unbidden, Darius heard William’s voice, layered underneath Hunter’s. “I give you my mind, my body, my magic. To the last of my ability, to my last breath, I will serve the Children of the Isles.” Grief swept through him like an icy tide. “I will serve the will of the Titan.” 

Belos stood, towering over the rest of the room. Hunter looked so small in front of him - for a second, it looked as though he were cowering in front of Belos, instead of kneeling. Belos’ staff tapped against the stones at the base of the throne, and a staff materialised between them. Almost hesitantly, Hunter reached out and grasped the staff, holding it in place as the warm green glow faded around it. 

At once, Darius knew that this was William’s staff. At this distance, he could see the small nick just under the extended wing of the focus, the one that William used to rub with his thumb when he was thinking. The faint scorch mark near the end that William had never been able to buff out entirely. Darius could feel the phantom sensation of that focus rapping against his ear, the top of his head. How dare you, he thought cruelly although he couldn’t say with any certainty at whom it was directed. 

Belos tapped his staff again, and a mask materialised in front of Hunter. He took it, lowering his head to fit the mask over his face. When he raised his head again, all Darius could think about was the empty casket in the centre of the main foyer, that same mask resting impassively on the lid, a tomb all its own. The thought of a child taking it on willingly pressed the air from his lungs. 

With one smooth motion, Belos spun his staff, pointing the focus down the carpet toward the throne room doors. He brought the focus down to an inch above Hunter’s left shoulder, and then twisted it up and over to his right shoulder. After a moment that seemed to hang in the air, Belos’ staff swung up to return to his side. “Rise, my child.” 

Hunter braced the staff against the floor and used it to guide himself to his feet. The nervous energy had calmed, his posture straight and steady. A fixed point in space. It was like William was standing before him - like Darius was being punched in the stomach with his absence. He could taste the grief on the back of his tongue, heavy and acidic. He could see William in this child. His child.

“Children of the Isles,” Belos said, projecting his voice to every corner of the room. “Your new Golden Guard.” As the rest of the room applauded, Darius felt himself drowning in grief for a child who wasn’t even dead yet.

Darius had failed his mentor - not Maureen, no, he made no promises to her, back in his youth - so completely.

There was so little that he had asked of Darius, aside from one thing. A letter he had received mere hours before his mentor, his Golden Guard, had been declared dead from a mission.

He can’t recall the exact words anymore – that was a lie, he still had the letter locked up in his bedroom – but he knows he doesn’t have to anymore.

He remembered a warning, from his William. Telling Darius that he wouldn’t be around any longer, and that the next Golden Guard would be young. Far too young for what Belos wanted the Golden Guard to do. Far too young to handle a job like that. He had asked, in gryphon-scratch so unlike his usual cursive writing Darius had begged to be taught, clearly written in a rush, that Darius was the only one he trusted. The one to look out for the next Guard. To protect him from Belos, to guide him, to help him strive and survive. Darius, back then, had done none of those things. And now the youngest Golden Guard to have lived now lied sleeping, cold and near death on his couch.

He hadn’t seen Hunter’s face for a long time when he had first entered the castle, the Little Prince always wearing that mask as instructed by Belos. The same as the Golden Guard had before him, and the one before him and so forth.

The day he had seen Hunter’s face though, was one he’d never forget. Walking into the library late at night to see the golden child, maskless, surrounded by a pile of books towering over his tiny frame. Darius had nearly screamed, thinking that the ghost of his past was now haunting him, disappointed in how Darius had let him down on his final wish.

But no. Hunter had merely looked up at him, his smile fading into something fearful and panicked, and had asked him to not speak a word of this to his uncle that Hunter was breaking his rules, hiding out and studying books of different magic. 

Wild magic. Forbidden and yet here was the seven year old with a crave for knowledge he had been taught to hate. He’d been in the castle for two years and this was the first time Hunter and Darius had locked eyes, the first time Darius had seen a ghost of his past.

Darius had agreed, and the newest member of the Emperors Coven had smiled with missing baby teeth. Darius could still recall the way his stomach had dropped at the sight of it, how quickly he was reminded of how young he was.

It made sense to Darius, that the son of the previous Golden Guard would take the last one’s place. He knew that Belos and William were close, that the Guard and the Emperor were just like brothers. Just… Darius never came to the assumption that they truly were brothers.

He swore to himself that night, under the promise of a secret and the candle he had left for the kid, that he would protect Hunter just like his mentor had wanted him to.

But bitterness rose up over time. Every passing second he found himself growing irrationally angry with the boy for replacing his father, for not even knowing him and yet trying to take his place. He had spent countless nights wondering who was the Witchlings mother, who could be so heartless to leave her child after his father had died? 

Why hadn’t Belos told the child of who his father was?

He spent more and more time on the rebellion, watching as the child was slowly being moulded into his fathers image, completely subservient to the Emperor.

Until tonight.

When the boy had begged not to be taken back. When the boy had run and been close to death, practically begging to be dead rather than be back in the hands of Belos.

What had he seen?

What had scared him bad enough to make him lash out like a wild animal? To make him more willing to fight for his own death, emotions no longer reserved like they had been his entire life?

Darius heaved a deep breath and got up, casting a look to the boy before turning his back. He needed to go wash the blood off his hands and burn his shoes. For now, the still body could have the cloak, something to cover him up until he took his last breaths.

He wandered to the kitchen, dazed and out of sorts. He threw his white gloves into the sink, turning it on and letting the scolding water run over his hands. He turned them back and forth, watching the flaky half dried blood wash down the drain.

When his hands were clean, he kicked off his boots and shoved them aside, planning to burn them later, heedless to the mud and dirt he had no doubt tracked around his house. He can clean it later, there were more pressing issues going on right now. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water and went to take a gulp, instead letting it cool in his hands.

He scrubs at his eyes with his free hand as he walks back into his living room, trying to wake himself up after the hellish night he’d had. And as he steps into the living room, the first thing he notices is his cloak lying on the floor, blood drying on it. The second thing he notices is that Hunter’s body is nowhere to be seen.

He panics for a moment, mind rushing to bodysnatchers and Scouts crawling and stealing Hunter’s body for Belos. But, all those thoughts are halted by the third thing he sees.

Hunter has one leg out the window and is staring at him like a child being caught with their hands found in a cookie jar, eyes wide and panicked, body shaking in both terror and exhaustion.

The glass Darius was holding shatters against the floor.

Chapter Text

Hunter slammed the door shut, his chest heaving, hands shaking. He couldn’t deal with this, he couldn’t face this. He couldn’t let Darius see him and his stupid face. He shoved the chair desperately against the door of the study, turning the lock for extra measure and wishing he had Flapjack with him. Hunter shook violently, legs giving out and his gash bleeding sluggishly again, hands clapped over his mouth and oh Titan why couldn’t his chest stop heaving.

He had fucked up. Oh he fucked up big time. Oh Titan, forgive him please. Oh he fucked up.

Hunter had never screwed up before, never this big, he had betrayed his uncle, betrayed everything he had been given and for what? For some sad attempt of humouring the human? Titan, he had lost everything he had in one night and Darius, Darius who had taken him back to his private manor, Darius who had stitched his gash up, Darius who had shown more kindness in a day than Belos had shown in a lifetime.

And Hunter? Hunter who had betrayed his uncle. Hunter who had reopened the stitches. Hunter who deserved nothing Darius had given him.

Hunter had thought that Darius would’ve snapped already, that he would’ve just stitched the boy up and returned him back home. Back to the castle.

Back to Belos.

Hunter wanted to believe Darius wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t betray him, but what else was there to expect. Darius never showed him kindness, turning his head when Hunter was injured at the hand of his uncle - not that Hunter didn’t deserve it, no, he did.

Hunter felt like he’d been walking on eggshells the last few days after what happened with The Captain and his Flyer Derby team, mistakes piling higher and higher after Belos caught him sneaking into the castle through the window.

Hunter had fucked up too many times to be forgiven. He was fucked. Doomed. Dead. Well and truly. Darius wouldn’t forgive him. This time, he could tell, was the final straw and Hunter had just broke it, set it ablaze, brought it back to life just to ruin again. He felt stupid and lost and so angry. Inexplicably angry.

It was almost comical how much he fucked up in one night. It was like he was begging someone to do something.

Hunter stood, his leg almost giving out whilst he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands shaking and one covering his mouth while the other dug his nails into his arm so hard he could feel the nails cutting into his skin, that the blood welled up and dribble down his skin.

Well…it wasn’t blood was it? Because Hunter wasn’t a Witch. He was just wood. Something carved to be someone dead. Someone gone and lost in history.

Stumbling and sobbing, Hunter collapsed under the desk, curling up into a ball and shaking like a goddamn leaf. He was beyond terrified. He can’t remember this feeling of horror, of gut wrenching dread, not since he’d - Hunter choked up at the memory of the night of his coronation.

Hunter knew his fate was sealed as soon as he heard the stairs creak. The door down the hall opening and closing minutely. Repeat. Open. Slam close. Open. Window shattering sound as it got closer.

Hunter shook, hands digging into his hair as he prayed to the Titan - was there even a Titan. Had that been a lie too? The urge to run and hide screamed from the back of his mind, unable to truly be heard in the fear riddled haze that was his life.

The knock at the door startled him even though he was expecting something more. He was expecting it to be blasted off his hinges - no, Darius was too refined for that. No, Darius would sit there and wait and pounce at him the moment a chance was available. 

“Hunter?” Darius’ voice came from the other side of the door, so gentle that Hunter almost believed it was genuine, so soft that it almost tricked him.

Hunter opened his mouth meaning to answer. Nothing came out, his chest feeling too tight to do so. His mouth hung open, his legs curling himself into an even smaller ball then he thought he could handle, his hair being tugged harshly by hand that weren’t even his own. His breath came out quicker he could feel his lungs – did he even have lungs – constrict against his chest. Maybe he was dying, he couldn’t tell, he didn’t want to know he just wanted it all to stop.

“Hunter,” Darius sounded sterner now, his fist bashing against the door once more. “Open the door, Hunter, we need to talk.”

“No,” Hunter squeaked, his voice a wreak and too small for Darius to have heard, voice cracking pathetically.

“Stop being foolish!”

Hunter shoved his face into his knees in an attempt to hide from the inevitable, even though he knew it to be useless.

Ha. Useless.

Hunters tremors grew rapidly as he heard more than saw the abomination goop crawling between the gaps under the door, the purple creations pushing away the chair and footsteps filling the room as his impending doom approached. Hunter wished Darius would cut the act and just get it over with already.

He could already feel the skin break and bleed, hear his screams and feel the sharp sting of disappointment as he cleans the blood from raw flesh and white clothes.

Hunter heard the chair by the desk move, his shoulders rising and falling violently, he heard Darius’ knees click horribly as he settled himself across from Hunter, hands wrapping around him, pulling Hunter out of hiding when he didn’t show any sign of wanting to be pushed away.

It felt like Belos again, the calm before the storm.

“Hunter?” His voice was tender, that same calm and gentleness that Belos would show him. That Hunter knew he didn’t deserve.

Darius took one of Hunter’s trembling hands in his own and rubs his thumb over it, the other hand resting between the gap he left incase the kid wanted to run again.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter blurted out, hoping his unprompted apology would make the punishment go faster.

Darius sighed, going to rub his head but thinking better against it. “Hunter, you’re okay.”

Hunter began to shake even harder. 

“I’m so sorry,” he stumbled, hiccuped, sniffed out his apology again. “I - I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”


"I know you didn't mean to," Darius said, his voice a type of gentle sternness.

“I swear on the Titan,” Hunter stuttered as Darius simply held his hand with tenderness to kind for a monster like him, “I will fix this. I will.”

“Of course, Little Prince. Of course.” Darius agreed easily, a slight hum of amusement and sarcasm to his words.

"Darius," Hunter choked, his heart hammering with his horror, "Will you make it fast?"

Darius hummed, and he almost sounded confused, making it so hard for Hunter to get the words out.

Oh Titan please don’t make me say it.

"Make what quick, Little Prince?" There it was again, the kind and loving nickname only Darius had ever called him.

"Just do it," Hunter begged again, unsure as to why he still clung to Darius' hand.

"Do what?" Darius' voice trailed off into silence when he realised what Hunter meant, and he moved to pull the boy even closer.

"Oh Titan, child, no," Darius rushed, his voice filled with panic. "I'm not going to hurt you. Titan, kid, I’m not him.” He spat the word out, hand tightening slightly around Hunter’s.

Hunter sobbed and looked up at Darius with shock and fear still in his eyes. Kindness and disgust, understanding in a way that set Hunter’s anger alight.

"Wh...what...?" The teen said softly, his voice at a whisper as he continued to shake. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had tried to run away. He had taken advantage of the medical care Darius had given him and in return had tried to run.

He had hurt Darius in his failed escape attempt.

He had caused the man to bleed!

Darius sighed, looking at Hunter with concern, "Little Prince, I'd never hurt you. I don't know what you were expecting, but I'm not going to try and do anything that would harm you. Don’t ever think I’m like that man."

Hunter was confused, tears rolling down his cheeks.

You had no problem letting it happen though. You had no problem when I was broken and bleeding at my uncles hand. You had no problem watching! "But I deserve it…” Hunter instead whispered.

Darius shook his head affirmatively, "No, you don't. I promise you, kid, you don’t deserve anything like that. I promise I’m not like him, I’m not, no. I never would touch you. I promise."


Hunter practically flung himself into the man's arms, not necessarily caring that this was probably a trick, a trap he was falling right into.

Darius caught him, wrapping the boy securely in his arms. Hunter knew he was falling right into his trap, a trap of security and love that would be ripped away in a matter of moments. He didn't know why Darius was still comforting him, Hunter thought he would've ended his act by now.

After a few minutes, Darius released Hunter and stood, offering a hand, which Hunter took it with his own trembling hand.

Hunter bit his tongue, his chest still tight and burning.

Darius didn’t speak, he just kept his soft smile and lead Hunter back downstairs, where they find the broken glass of water still laying on the floor, shattered, speckles of blood across the floor.

Hunter flinched, biting back another apology as Darius directed him to grab a trash bag and rag from the closet.

Which was something Hunter knew he could do. Titan, he’d do anything to stay away from his uncle. Anything.

Hunter returned, he found Darius carefully scooping the glass into a small pile.

Hunter didn't know what to do, so he opted to just hand Darius the trash bag, which the older man accepted with a thankful nod.

"Thanks, kid," Darius said, sweeping the glass into the bag, and then wiping up the water that had been spilled.

"Hunter," Darius said after a few minutes, startling the teen from his trance of staring at the floor.

"Yes, Darius?”

"Can you go grab another glass from the cupboard for me please?"

Hunter didn’t know why he was relieved that Darius just wanted him to get something else, but he does anyways.

Darius had cleaned everything up and taken the rag across the floor to finish mopping up the water before taking the small glass from Hunter’s hands. Darius smiled at Hunter, hoping to ease his nerves.

"Thanks, kid, would you mind filling a jug with some water real quick?"

Hunter nodded, "Sure."

This was something Hunter could do. He didn’t care his leg was burning in pain, that his whole body was alert and ready to run. He didn’t care because he had a purpose, a task he couldn’t mess up.

Not again. No more.