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“Don’t forget! Practice tomorrow at the same hour!”
Hunter’s smile gets wider as Willow waves him goodbye, already half-seated on her staff and ready to take off as soon as he answers back. One would think she would get tired of flying after having practiced for three hours and that only after a full day of classes, but Hunter isn’t surprised; she’s the team captain for a reason; if she got tired of what they do so easily, they’d be in trouble.
Besides, their teamwork was perfect today. The Blue Gargoyles aren’t gonna know what hit them.
“I wouldn’t dream of forgetting, captain!” She nods at him, her eyes wrinkling with mischief as if that was exactly the answer she was expecting from him before she waves once more and finally flies away in the direction of her house.
There’s a pang on his chest as he watches her go, but he has grown used to having feet on the ground and a weightless shoulder by now, not even having his enchanted broom as a companion since… well, it’s a broom, it’s hardly going to talk to him, and unlike Willow, he does prefer to go on foot for a bit rather than fly home after a long day of doing nothing but that. He’s honestly fine with that too; he never had many chances to simply walk around town when he was still in the coven, and while his house isn’t exactly in the main part of it, he doesn’t mind the extra time spent in solitary.
Sometimes having some time to gather his thoughts in silence is just what he needs before he goes right back into the metaphorical fray with his new guardians –admittedly, it’s usually himself and Eber being the principal responsibles for the chaos, and he wouldn’t give that away for anything in the world, but the fact that he likes to have some time of reprieve first still stands.
Bonesborough is buzzing with sound and movement, the complete opposite of the first time he put a foot on there after returning to the Boiling Isles, and it’s all the better for it. The reconstruction labors have been extensive and continuous ever since everyone was freed from the influence of the Collector, and even now he can see Construction witches helping others to erect new walls and fix leaks on roofs, and other sparkles of color are added to their bright brown circles of magic, with all kind of witches helping with less heavy tasks; hanging signs on shops again, putting temporary doors and windows on houses, and there’s even a couple of abomination tents set around, for those whose houses haven’t been yet fixed enough for them to be able to live comfortably there.
Hunter is sure he even sees a couple of wild witches mixed with the rest of the people, though it’s hard to say since he’s not about to go around asking people to show him their wrists; that would be awfully rude of him, but he’s almost completely certain that he sees one of the people helping switch types of spells a few times in their efforts to help put out the display of a bakery that has just re-opened again. Or is it open for the first time now? Either way, things are looking up.
There are still things that time won’t be able to repair, but Hunter finds himself smiling. They all will be alright, his friends and their families aren’t the only ones selfless enough to help each other without any expectations of being owed favors, it seems. The world seems a little brighter and a little kinder now than he had always assumed.
Even for those who may or not deserve it.
He includes himself in that category, even if he knows back then he hardly had options or reasons to believe what he was doing was wrong. At the end of the day, that doesn’t erase his actions, and as his eyes land on the strange expression of ex-Head Witch Mason, he knows he isn’t the only one feeling that way.
The man is helping with the reconstruction efforts, which is to be expected, given his expertise and his apparent enthusiasm for making up for his wrongs; Raine had commented once that he truly seemed to have been clueless about the workings at the castle, and he was eager to build a better future now. For his children.
Hunter supposes that it’s something he can understand, to a certain degree, if only because of the soft look Darius and Eberwolf give him every time they talked about a particularly good achievement they had managed to push for on the Council, one that would bring benefits to the generations to come.
Is it the same youth he possesses that makes the two so protective of him what’s making Mason look so remorseful and guilty now? Hunter averts his gaze first, only belatedly realizing he stopped walking and resuming his walk now with hurried steps. He can appreciate the attempts to amend past wrongs, but he doesn’t need to be the object of pity of anyone, let alone someone who never knew him or bothered too.
And yet, he can tell that’s unfair. It’s not like anyone suspected their Emperor had a liking for striking at his own damn nephew behind closed doors.
He exhales once he’s a few streets past the place his old coworker was at, trying to feel relief that there are fewer people around now and failing, his lungs still finding it difficult to gather some air. He scoffs. He’s being ridiculous, the only thing that happened was that he coincidentally was at the same place as Mason for a few insignificant moments, he shouldn’t get so anxious over something like that.
But he can’t bring himself to calm down. Suddenly being alone with his thoughts doesn’t seem so appealing, so he grabs tighter onto the strap of his backpack, looking at the ground instead of the scenery, and decides that today it’s not a good day for sightseeing, the faster he gets home, the faster he can forget about all this.
Focusing on putting one leg after the other as quickly as he’s physically possible isn’t soothing at all, and after approximately five minutes in which the crowd around gets thinner and thinner until it disappears and he’s still not done getting to the outskirts of town, he frowns and finally looks up.
He’s a few streets from the center of Bonesborough.
His frown gets deeper and he stops walking abruptly, looking around him with a critical eye, to the same houses he passes every day and the same ratty sign of a bookstore that hasn’t opened ever since the Day of Unity; this makes absolutely no sense, he’s been walking for long enough to be well on his way down the middle of the road to his house and then some, he’s sure. Was he really that lost in his thoughts?
Well, whatever it is, he has to hurry. Darius and Eberwolf are gonna get worried if he takes too long to get back home, he told them he was gonna go back directly from practice, all of his friends are usually too exhausted after practice to contemplate a hang-out afterward. If he starts seeing the sun setting on the horizon, he’ll simply fly the rest of the way home, he decides.
He takes a hasty turn on the corner of the next street, as he always does, ready to welcome the sight of the vines that decorate the outside wall of one of the houses and that he uses as one of the small marks that he’s going the right way and he stops on his tracks.
A closed bookstore. A sign that has seen better days.
This is the same street he just passed, and he’s tempted to pinch himself to make sure he didn’t fall asleep after practice and this is just some –very realistic, he would give his mind that– elaborate nightmare, when he sees the window of the bookstore waver slightly.
Now, Hunter might not be an expert on the nine tracks of magic, being unable to use any of them himself, but he’s spent way too much time around Gus to not recognize the signs of an illusion.
With this, he’s aware of multiple things:
First, that it wasn’t his imagination that he had walked for too long already, which means he’s probably not even inside Bonesborough anymore, but probably somewhere along the forest outside, and the only reason why he hasn’t crashed into a tree or a bush is that someone is putting a lot of effort into maintaining an illusion that will keep him in the path, in hopes of guiding him… somewhere.
Two, for this to be possible, someone has to have been observing him for long enough that they figured out he would be left alone and that it would be fairly easy to put an illusion around him as soon as there was no one else around. Which probably means it’s not just one person, but multiple ones.
Three, there’s a limited amount of people who would be skillful enough to pull off an illusion of this level, and one of them happens to be one of his best friends, and he knows for a fact that Gus would never mess with him. Which is always great for his still regretfully existing problems with trusting others, but doesn’t fare too well with his chances right now, considering this has then to be the work of multiple illusionists or just a very powerful one.
Four, Mason’s guilty face. It occurs to him that perhaps the man wasn’t thinking about their shared past, but about someone he knew would happen, though perhaps he’s making too many assumptions right now and he should rather focus on the fact that…
Five, he gave his own awareness away by stopping like that and looking directly to the place where the illusion started flickering and-
Six, he has to move. Now.
He puts himself into a defensive position –admittedly, it can’t look as impressive as it used to, when he’s holding a broom instead of his old artificial staff or his palisman–, the breath catching on his throat as he focuses on any strange sounds that don’t belong to what he assumes now it’s entirely an illusion.
It doesn’t take long for him to hear a rustle near him and he teleports out of the way just as a small cloud of toxic fumes covers the area he was just in and the illusion around them shatters, leaving a panting Adrian holding his shaking arms weekly a few meters away while Vitimir squints his eyes at him, evidently disappointed that he no longer has the cover of being invisible. The trees around them confirm what Hunter already suspected; they’re not in Bonesborough at all anymore, but the forest outside of it. He’s pretty sure he could find his way back home from where they are regardless, but he has more pressing problems at the moment.
He opens his mouth to –Shout? Question them? Make a quip at them? He’s not sure of anything other than he’s not just going to stand there gaping at them like a fool when he hears a rustle behind him, and slightly faster than he can think to move out of the way, something heavy hits him on the head.
A strangled sound comes out of his throat. The hit didn’t knock him out completely and perhaps that’s worse, because he then gets to hear someone clicking their tongue behind him and to feel the shiver taking over his body as a sickeningly fake sweet voice speaks from above him.
“Sweet dreams, little blossom.”
Terra. Of course Vitimir and Adrian couldn’t have tried this on their own, they never had particularly strategic minds. And of course it has to be Terra because when has anything ever been easy for him?
He presses his eyes closed tightly, in part so he can perhaps have the advantage of having them think he’s out for the count completely so he can get away before they realize the truth, and in part because Snapdragon has just given him one killer headache and even the reflection of the dimming sunlight that filters through the top of the trees onto the ground feels like too much at this moment.
He hears Adrian groan, his exaggerated tone unmistakable, and Hunter feels a small pang of ire toward him; he hasn’t forgotten what he did last time they saw each other, he can’t believe he’s been free, out and about all this time, as if he hadn’t tried to brand kids for death.
“Couldn’t you have hurried up? I told you I could only keep that up for so long,” the Illusionist complains to an unimpressed Vitimir, who doesn’t audibly respond, but he has always been a man of few words. Hunter was good at reading him regardless, or so he wants to believe, but he can’t do it right now without showing he’s still awake.
“We want him alive, Vitimir,” Terra scolds, joining on the complaints. It doesn’t seem like they have their teamwork well established yet, unlike him and the Entrails. He almost wishes they were here, but he would hate to put them in danger like that.
The feeling of vines creeping under his body and lifting him up interrupts that train of thought, sending dread directly into his stomach. He wills himself into staying calm; he can still escape like this, they have never fought him before, so they probably have no idea how his teleportation works depending on how long they have been keeping an eye on him, but they definitely don’t know that he’s not unconscious, he can still use that in his favor. This is alright, it will be alright.
Darius and Eber are definitely going to worry now though. The thought sends a spark of guilt directly into his chest, but there’s some hope there too; truth be told, he no longer feels like being alone right now, but if he could choose the company he’s in, it certainly wouldn’t be a bunch of ex-Coven Heads that want… something with him, it doesn’t matter too much when he knows whatever it is can’t be good. Unlike Darius and Eber, who make him feel safe and wouldn’t it be damn nice to be feeling like that right now?
He wants to huff at himself, but he has to concentrate on keeping his helpless act, for now. One slip and who knows what they’ll do.
Vitimir mumbles something, too low for him to catch the words –and the pounding headache behind his skull hardly helps– and Adrian makes a sound of disgust.
“You said nothing about having to carry a corpse,” He whines, making the blood in Hunter’s veins feel like it’s turned into ice. They want to kill him? It shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, but he clings to Terra’s earlier words like a lifeline. “I don’t care if you can make him look as if he’s alive or not, that’s just disgusting.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Terra says, and her voice is a little too close for comfort. “Besides, you’re not even doing any of the heavy lifting.”
“Whatever,” Hunter can practically see Adrian rolling his eyes at the same time that he hears him snapping his fingers. “Are we going or not?”
He hears Vitimir humming in agreement and his own weight being redistributed in the air as they all start presumably walking again in whatever direction they came from. It’s as good of a chance as he’s going to get.
His body struggles with the notion of moving instead of letting himself fall into sweet sleep, but Hunter knows it won't be as nice as his exhaustion and disorientation lead him to believe, and so he forces himself to open his eyes despite the sting and ignore them watering as he channels all he has in teleporting away from the vines and out of reach.
He's only mildly successful. There’s a moment in which he’s suspended in mid-air instead of the branch he was hoping to reach, but he presses on and teleports again, closing his eyes tightly until he can feel his palms connect with the rough surface of the wood and he holds on for dear life. It’s barely a victory with his muscles feeling like they’re about to give up on him and the exhaustion falling heavier and heavier over his eyelids, not to mention he knows none of the ex-Coven Heads are careless enough to not notice him missing. Terra, for one, has to feel that he’s no longer in her grasp.
He blinks and sees a vine approaching at a dangerous speed, reaching for his leg, but this time he’s prepared and he moves out of the way in another quick flash, landing on another tree off to the side; if he does this enough times, he’ll eventually reach the town again or he’ll find someone wandering around, it’s not like they’re near the Bat Queen’s lair for this area of the forest to be abandoned, though even if that were the case, he’s fairly certain he could ask her for help.
It’s not a flawless plan, but it’s all he got for now.
“Now, now, it’s not very nice of you to slip away when we were so considerate to invite you to come with us, is it?” Terra coos, her smile and still posture doing nothing to deter the vines that continue reaching for him from all sides; in retrospect, it might not be the ideal scenario to be trying to escape from a plant specialist in the middle of the woods, but he figures that’s also why they lured him, not merely because it’s similar enough to the path he usually takes.
Adrian is simply scoffing at him from where he is still catching his breath, and despite his own exhaustion as he switches from teleporting onto the ground and onto any branch he can see nearby, letting out labored breaths as he misses yet another vine by mere inches, he can’t help but feel amused. No wonder a twelve-year-old was enough to humble Graye if he can’t even do magic after keeping up an illusion for… what was it? Fifteen minutes? A ridiculously small fraction of time compared to what Gus can do, and he has gotten even better since the incident at Hexside.
Although he supposes he can’t laugh too much at him, when he’s not doing much better himself.
While there’s a part of him inside the grief that’s grateful for the protection Flapjack brought him even beyond the grave, he’s come to find out ever since he started testing it that it’s rather different from when the two of them were working as a team; where he used to only have to worry that he was synced enough with the cardinal for them to move as one, now it seems that, since his body is the catalyst for the teleportation spell, the energy it requires comes directly from him.
He’s no longer a soldier, so that isn’t a problem most days, but after an entire Flyer Derby practice in which his role in the team strategy still consists of swift movements and the element of surprise, his magic battery must be very depleted, so to speak. It’s entirely possible the sluggishness of his limbs has more to do with the concussion he may or not have too, but Hunter isn’t a healer and right now he has better priorities than to try to figure that one out, like keeping enough energy for his eventual get-away as soon as he manages to disappear from Terra’s sight. Adrian is hardly going to be a problem at the moment, with how tired he seems to be and how unhelpful he is in a fight, while Vitimir…
Where’s Vitimir?
He hasn’t seen him in the last few minutes he has been trying to get away, he realizes with a start.
Hunter’s been getting sloppy ever since he doesn’t have to worry about training every day or watch his back against assassination attempts, clearly, because by the time this realization crosses his mind, he has run out of time and his instinct to whip his head around when he suspects more than perceives a presence at his back is halted by a pair of arms surrounding his neck and squeezing.
He hears voices, vaguely alarmed tones ringing in his ears, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying when there are dark spots growing on his vision and his head feels like it’s going to pop out of his neck as he struggles to get some air into his lungs and to raise his hands and claw at arms covered in bandages, in a futile attempt to free himself that does nothing but make him feel a little bit less useless in whatever part of his brain is still coming out with desperate and impossible plans of escape, even if none of it makes him any less helpless.
If he had the presence of mind for it, he would be disappointed when he finally loses consciousness.
.
.
.
A series of coughs coming from his sore throat is what ends up waking him up again, which is just as well, because he’s barely processing the blurry sight of the former Coven Heads in front of him as he blinks rapidly to recover some sight, and he would not have been able to formulate a plan with how disoriented he is.
That doesn’t mean he’s willing to stop fighting though, and as soon as his eyes land on Mason, who’s looking at him with wide, alarmed eyes, he’s teleporting out of the vines that were holding him down with more instinct than planification; if he got a snail for every time someone has tried to hold him hostage by tying his arms while forgetting he can’t even do circle spells and all that.
He hears the exasperated groan Adrian makes and winces, almost feeling the sound in his own throat before landing on the top half of a broken wall. Where even did they take him? The sky is completely dark now, but he sees a fairy lamp in the middle of what seems to be a very sad-looking campsite from where he is, set up along the collapsed walls of… of…
Is this what’s left of the castle?
He teleports again, not losing time with Terra’s vines in movement to catch him once more, but the pounding of his heart all along his body distracts her from whatever she’s telling him with her saccharine tone –he’s sure she’s just trying to taunt him or lull him into a trap anyway. He hasn’t been at the castle since… well, since he departed to stop the rebels from entering Belos’ mind, actually, and while enough time has happened that he no longer feels deathly afraid that the late Emperor is coming back to rob him of his autonomy once again, being here, in ruins or not, isn’t doing anything to calm his nerves.
He supposes that had to be part of the point.
“Wait!” He hears Mason shout, before what’s left of the place he grew up in disappears under a blue shimmer and all he can see are ghosts of the past.
Hunter knows they have Graye on his side and he can feel the rubble under his feet, he can fear the faint chirring of insects nearby aggravating the headache he’s still sporting… and yet, the sight of the castle restored to his former glory makes him stumble, stopping his jump in space to not crash against a door that isn’t even there anymore.
Disorientation still has a hold of him; being hit on the head and choked until he passed out are hardly things that are going to disappear simply because he took a short, involuntary nap, and he clings to those facts as something surrounds his ankle and pulls until he’s on the floor and a foul-smelling rag is placed over his face.
The illusion disappears and he’s left staring at the stars up above. He expects whatever nasty concoction Vitimir surely is making him breathe in, crouching at his side and pressing the rag over his mouth and nose, to knock him out again, but instead, his ears tear up at the smell and he feels like he’s going to be sick, which is almost worse than lose the relative advantage of being still aware of his surroundings.
For the good that’s doing him, it would be the same if he wasn’t awake.
He misses Flapjack.
“You’re being way more trouble than you’re worth,” Vitimir grumbles under his breath while pocketing his rag, as if Hunter was a fussy kid refusing to go see the healers instead of someone he has aided to kidnap. The potioneer already isn’t one to talk much, but Hunter finds himself wishing that he would simply keep his mouth shut.
“Now, now,” Terra starts with a placating tone, and Hunter lets out a pained whine, feeling regret over his earlier wish as she turns to look at him with what he’s almost sure is a smile. It’s hard to tell, he feels like he’s underwater, but he knows he doesn’t like the feeling of eyes on him. “Having him here is going to earn us a bigger advantage than not. Kids simply need a little more attention than adults, one has to play with them until they grow tired.”
There’s a pair of boney hands on his shoulders, helping him sit up against a wall, and while Hunter wants to protest, to move away from the uncomfortably tight grasp, too reminiscent of another touch that used to occur inside of these same walls, he finds that the only thing that he’s able to do at the moment is let out small pained cries. In fact, he realizes with growing horror, he can’t even control himself enough to not let the sound escape.
It’s humiliating.
“Aren’t there kids in your family, Vitimir? A little nephew, perhaps?” Hunter’s stomach feels scrambled. He’s sure she said that on purpose.
But the other doesn’t seem particularly interested in indulging her. “No,” He replies simply.
“Mmm, that’s a shame,” The smile in her voice is audible, but Vitimir says nothing in return. But that doesn’t seem to matter to her, because she turns around and addresses another one of the members of the small group gathered around. “You, on the other hand, have kids, don’t you, Mason? Why don’t you keep an eye on our little blossom for now?”
Hunter doesn’t hear an answer, but he figures that the man must have agreed, because soon enough there’s a big dark shadow crouching at his side, and he uses the reduced movement he has to flinch away from his reaching hand with a whimper.
“What did you give him?”
If Hunter didn’t know better, he would almost think that’s horror in Mason’s voice.
Adrian scoffs. “Does it matter? It keeps the brat quiet. And he’s not dead,” the last part sounds like a last-minute addition.
Oh, great, they don’t plan to kill him yet. What a joy.
“But… isn’t this…?” Mason seems to struggle with his words, and the way his shadow moves indicates he’s hovering, but he doesn’t try to touch Hunter again. “Are you really okay with drugging a child?”
Funny. Wasn’t the time of concern way before this point? Perhaps when he saw him earlier and could have warned him instead of letting him walk directly into a trap? He supposes that would be asking too much of the man, after all he seems to have been in on this, so no matter whatever qualms he might have about Hunter’s current state, he must have agreed to it beforehand. And here Hunter almost thought, out of them all, Mason seemed like a decent person.
He closes his eyes tightly as a pang of pain reverberates over his skull. Titan, he could really use a potion for his headache right now, though the thought of drinking anything they give him makes him nauseous.
“I’m sure the Golden Guard here can take it,” Adrian says with clear mockery.
“He’ll get used to it,” Terra adds, with an affectionate tone that does nothing to disguise the creepiness of her words, and then she approaches him again, holding what seems to be a battered cup of liquid in her hands, that she then moves to the side so one of her plants can let some petals fall into it. “This’ll just make it easier for him to not waste a drop of this tea. I believe he could use a warm drink as a welcome, don’t you?”
Hunter’s breath quickens. He knows what this is; he has heard the stories about the formation of the rebellion by now, not by word of mouth or rumors but from the sources themselves. If this is the same drink Terra was constantly giving Raine after their first rebellious stunt, then he doesn’t stand a chance.
But there was a difference. Raine not only had magic, but a very specific trick that allowed them to stay under the radar for months. Hunter doesn’t have that, he doesn’t have magic or even a borrowed palisman or a practice wand. And since the bard could avoid his mind from being altered, he also has no reference about what this will do to him.
Will he temporarily forget? Or will this modify his memories forever? He doesn’t want to be an empty casket of the person he has become, he doesn’t want to be back to being an obedient toy in someone else’s hands. But he doesn’t have a choice, does he?
“What is that?”
If he could laugh, Hunter would. Didn’t they discuss their plans beforehand? Just what are their intentions here? He knows the Coven Heads were always backstabbing each other, back when the Emperor’s Coven was still a thing, but not talking about what they want to do amongst each other sounds like too big of an oversight. How did these people even run their own covens if these are the sum of their organizational skills?
“Don’t you worry that thick skull of yours over it, it’s just to make our dearie more… complacent to what we need from him.”
“It’s Terra’s stupid brainwashing tea, happy? Any more questions you need answered?”
Mason splutters.
“Brainwashing?!”
“Are you a broken machine or what? What did you expect to happen when you came here?” Adrian sounds thoroughly irritated now, but Hunter can’t even be annoyed in turn. Seems like the bickering is distracting Terra, and the longest he spends being free at least of mind if not of body, the happier he is.
Not that he’s feeling particularly joyful at the moment, but in this situation, that’s just relative.
“I… I didn’t…” Mason clears his throat. “What did you tell the others? No one else came.”
“The same we told you. Hardly our fault Osran is too old to want to do anything for himself these days and Hettie said something about keeping a low profile,” Adrian lets out a snort. “I can’t wait for them to come crawling back once they realize who’s holding the power now… although on second thought, it’s a good thing Hettie didn’t come. She gives me the creeps.”
“Adrian,” Vitimir cuts the other with a severe tone.
“Oh, don’t be so sour. You’ll get your chance to experiment with your poisons another time or whatever. Get yourself as many subordinates as you want, you don’t even have to get Hettie to heal them, poison them all for all I care.”
“Are you planning to poison the Golden… the child?” Mason asks cautiously.
“Calm down, Mason,” Terra croons at the same time that she puts a hand on Hunter’s head, prompting him to let out a weak sound of protest. “There would be hardly a reason to go through all of this just to kill him right now, don’t you think? No, he’s going to help us to seize back the throne. It’s not like those traitors are making a good use of it anyway,” her voice turns reproachful by the end of it and Hunter wants so badly to recover something similar to the capacity of speech, if only to tell her off for talking about Darius, Eberwolf, and Raine as if they were nothing better than dirt.
“And you need to give him this to do that?” The man points in the general direction of the former Plant Head Witch and the cup she’s holding, sounding strangely like he’s forming some kind of resolution in his head.
Hunter is starting to feel tired to be a mere spectator over what seems to be a jury deciding his fate, but annoyingly, whatever Vitimir gave him is holding out strongly and he can barely make his fingers twitch.
Terra scowls.
“You know very well staging a coup isn’t possible. And people love a good underdog story, don’t they? The good-hearted nephew of the evil Emperor, deciding to step up to take the crown and repay the people for what his family did. It’s bound to sway some hearts.” She starts petting his hair and Hunter can’t help it; the blurriness in his sight gets worse with tears accumulating at the corners of his eyes. It’s the right touch from the wrong person and he wants it to stop, he wants Darius’ warm hand on his head and Eber’s safe presence at his side, he wants Raine’s gentle voice instructing him while he learns to play the flute and he wants to be back home, not shivering under the cool night at the mercy of people who have always looked down on him and are ready to do way more than that now that there is not an Emperor who would presumably be upset if something truly bad were done to him.
He knows his new family would protect him and as the tears come down his cheeks, he can’t help but feel a pang of reproach. Why aren’t they here yet? Don’t they suspect something’s happened to him? He has never failed to show up at home when he says he’ll be there, he wouldn’t make them worry like this, they have to know something happened to him.
He wants Terra’s hands off his hair and off his face. Why aren’t they here?
“Awww, don’t cry, you little rosebud. You won’t even realize anything is wrong,” She promises, wiping his tears with a forceful hand and Hunter just lets out a hiccup. Those words were her twisted version of comfort, but knowing her, she must be pleased that it’s making him afraid instead. “Don’t you think it’s better this way? We are telling you what’s going to happen. Unlike Darius and his dog, we aren’t going to bother to pretend we want you for any charitable reasons. Those two are always finding convolute ways to gain power, but honesty is much better, don’t you think?”
“That’s enough.”
For a single, hopeful moment, Hunter thinks he has somehow willed his family to appear, but then the ground rumbles near his feet and something knocks the cup Terra’s holding off her hands, making it spill half on his shoes and half on the dirt.
There’s a beat of silence in which his mind somewhat gathers what it was without having the ability to see clearly or to move to touch it and check for himself. It’s a uniform slab of… concrete?
Terra is standing now, and Mason is too, in such a way that Hunter has the sudden hysterical thought that he must be trying to protect him. An even more ridiculous notion than the idea of his loved ones showing up to save him, it seems.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Adrian’s loud shrill resonates painfully in Hunter’s head. Despite himself, however, he wants to know the answer too.
Maybe Mason simply hates tea with a burning passion, who knows? Hunter never spent much time with him anyway.
“This is not how you wanna play,” Vitimir’s low voice comes, and he wants to cower onto himself because he didn’t hear him approach.
There’s no mistaking it this time; the Construction witch steps in front of him more firmly.
“I didn’t think you were truly planning to go ahead with this plan,” the man admits, sounding apologetic and looking back at Hunter, which is just stupid, because if he’s truly on his side then he should not be taking his eyes off the enemy, oh, Titan, Mason, who taught you to fight? “I can’t let you hurt a child like this.”
“I didn’t peg you as the sentimental type,” Terra says, sounding thrilled in a way that bears misfortune. Shouldn’t she sound worried? Or is she that confident that Mason can’t do anything against them? He supposes that makes sense, it’s three against one, and the man isn’t the most adept at fighting. “Is this because of your children? Perhaps we should have brought them in as well, let the kids make each other’s acquaintance.”
“Over my dead body,” Mason sounds angry for the first time in… well, as he stated earlier, Hunter has never spent much time with him, so he can’t truly recall him sounding like much of anything, but the ire in his voice is surprising nevertheless.
That’s what threatening someone’s family will get you, he guesses.
Strangely, despite his temporal protector launching himself against the other three –or, well, two. He still has the impression Adrian is dead weight whenever something like this happens–, he can’t stop the small shivers making his body tremble against the collapsed wall and the influx of tears keeping his cheeks wet.
He should be scared at the plants rising from the ground all around him, and at the rubble becoming a clumsy weapon for a man that knows nothing about combat, but that knows the fierce protective instinct of a parent. Instead, he feels vaguely numb and empty. If that’s because of the rough treatment he got earlier or because of the drug, he isn’t sure.
Or perhaps, there’s a part of him deep down that still can’t quite believe that Darius and Eber would truly want him for who he is. Maybe Terra is right and adopting him into their tight-knitted family was simply a rouse to look better in the public eyes. After all, at the beginning there were still doubts about what had truly happened at the spell platform and how well-informed the Coven Heads were.
A loud sob makes its way out of his throat, mixing itself with an incredulous laugh.
They wouldn’t do that. He would have never trusted them if they were the type to use other people like that, and his friends would have never let him stay with people who only found him convenient. A few hours apart from his guardians and suddenly he’s betraying them like this? By listening to the words of someone he knows to have bad intentions? Perhaps it’s for the best if they don’t show up for him. They have shown again and again that they’re willing to stick out their necks for him, it’s time for Hunter to do the same, isn’t it? To get himself out of this situation.
Even if his body hurts. Even if he can’t move.
He doesn’t think they’d like very much the path his thoughts are taking. Does that count as another betrayal? Should he even be keeping count?
The ground shakes, and plants whip so close to him that Hunter closes his eyes in his effort to not remember something similar and thorny slicing his cheek, somewhere very close to where they are. Unless they are actually in the ruins of the throne room and he didn’t notice. That does nothing to calm him down, but in between the little hiccups he can’t quiet down and his refusal to see what’s happening, he can only hear the confusing noises of a battle and pray to whoever is listening that things will go for once in his favor. He doesn’t think he can’t take another instance of believing himself to be safe and everything shattering at his feet again.
But the Titan is dead and he feels almost as alone as the night in which his whole life fell apart for the first time.
He has no idea of how much time has happened by the time he deigns himself to open his eyes again, or if the sudden darkness around them is Adrian’s doing, but the man has never been that clever, has he? The air is cold around him and he still can’t see properly, but then he sees two big-winged silhouettes approaching from the sky, accompanied by a smaller one, and even with his blurry sight, he thinks he recognizes the shape of that bulky hair.
Is that the Owl Lady? And… Lilith and Raine?
He has to be hallucinating, he thinks. There’s no way he’s actually getting help, and yet… he sees a small figure popping out of the ground and he has the strange certainty that it’s Eberwolf because truthfully, who else would arrive that way?
There are eyes on him again, he can feel it, and getting air in his lungs is turning difficult again with how tight his chest feels, but this time he thinks it has to be a good thing, because when he hears a loud growl, he knows that for once, this means safety for him, and hell for everyone else.
Despite the Beastkeeping demon possessing the biggest amount of animal traits out of everyone they’re allied with, the growl is unmistakable Darius, and Hunter wants to cry with relief when his hopes get confirmed at the sudden apparition of the man’s abomination form.
He sees the Clawthorne sisters lunging against Terra from their advantageous position in the sky, tearing apart her vines faster than she can command them while Raine lands on the ground a second after to join them, Fiddlesticks transforming in their hand onto what they need without needing to be told; Hunter has seen it before, the aptly sly fox working with the bard like a well-oiled machine in a show of companionship that makes him smile despite the ache in his chest, and he would be smiling right now too if he weren’t feeling so dizzy.
Still, the violin’s notes breaking through the clamor of the previous fight are soothing, and it’s enough to keep him holding onto his awareness still, as he can see Darius taking on Vitimir and Eber lunging at Adrian; the illusionist is done for, he has no doubt the demon will soon move onto helping his brother with Vitimir. He can vaguely see a final shadow bending down near the fairy lamp, and he hopes that this doesn’t mean that Mason is dead.
The silhouette isn’t laying on the ground, so he has to still be alive, right?
Time passes in a confusing manner again, despite his best efforts to keep his concentration on what’s happening, and before he knows it, two pair of concerned eyes are looking down at him.
“…nter? Hunter, can you hear me?” Darius’ voice sounds anguished and Hunter realizes that he must have actually blacked out for a second there. He tries to look behind the man to see what has been of the former Coven Heads, but Eber is covering the other side of his vision, and he doesn’t feel well enough to try harder than what it takes for him to turn his head to the side.
He opens his mouth and a painful rasp comes out. Eber whines in sympathy, and Darius looks one second away from bursting into tears, only deterred by Hunter’s nod.
“What did they do to you?” Despite the menacing undertone of the words, there’s nothing but gentleness in the hasty way the man removes the gloves from his hands and starts touching his face, either as comfort or to gather if he has a fever or not, or both. In any case, it makes Hunter lean his head against him as much as he can, finally relishing in the comfort he was deprived of.
“I’m sorry we took so long, pup. They went into the air and I lost the trail,” Eberwolf sounds miserable about it, and Hunter shakes his head slightly. The poor range of his movements seemingly distressing the demon even more.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Darius laments, starting to caress his cheeks and making Hunter realize that he’s crying. Again. His eyes are going to end up really puffy tomorrow at this rate. He’s going to have to apologize to Willow for missing Flyer Derby’s training.
Someone approaches them and Eber turns around with a growl so fast that no one would have believed he was commiserating a moment ago. It’s a testament to the trust between Darius and him that Darius doesn’t even turn away from Hunter to attend to the perceived threat, trusting the other to handle it, and Hunter would find it a lot nicer if he didn’t recognize the person Eber has just jumped over and thrown on the floor.
“You’re going to pay for what you did,” Eber promises and, knowing them as he does, Hunter panics.
“N-No…!” The word costs him a fit of coughing, and he’d like to let his throat rest for all the damage it has suffered today, but Mason bought him some valuable time and he really should repay the favor. With everyone here, he knows he would have ridden off the effects of Terra’s tea surrounded by people who wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him, but it would have been a miserable experience, not just for him. A warning that this was in the works would have been nicer, certainly, but Hunter can still keep some gratitude for what he did do. “Help…ed. He… helped.”
It’s all he manages to say, but it’s enough. Eber retreats with a critical eye, and whistles, calling the other former members of the rebellion to where they are.
“The cub says he helped,” The demon begrudgingly says to a still feathery-looking Lilith. In his exhaustion, Hunter has to be impressed; he’d heard she had been finally able to do that, but he hasn’t seen it until now. “We can hear him out later, can you take care of it?”
Despite the unnatural echo in her voice, the woman’s voice is soft when she answers.
“We got this, Eberwolf. Take your kid home,” They nod at each other, and Hunter sees Mason’s head bowing down as Lilith helps him stand up and takes him to the corner where Eda and Raine seem to be keeping watch over the other three. They have to have been rendered unconscious. Hunter knows how protective his family can be.
Relief flows through him at the thought, and although he’s sure he’ll feel guilty later about having doubted them for even a second, he’s glad that he can finally feel safe again.
“T-Thank-“
“Of course we came for you,” Darius interrupts him, and Hunter smiles weakly; he knew exactly what he was going to say, huh? “But don’t strain your voice, keep your energy. We’ll get those injuries looked that and then we’ll go home.”
The man puts a hand behind Hunter’s back in a gesture that lets him know what he wants to do, but also that he’s asking for permission. He nods and he’s promptly lifted in the air. He uses whatever strength he can gather to grab onto Darius’ coat with a shaky hand.
“This won’t go unpunished,” Eber says darkly, before their whole demeanor seems to go soft and they summon a ratworm to ride on, putting them at a perfect distance to hold Hunter’s free hand. “Rest now. We’ll keep you safe.”
Darius leans down to kiss his forehead, and Hunter lets out a shaky breath, the tension finally starting to roll out of him as the tiredness he feels becomes stronger and stronger. They haven’t broken a promise to him so far, have they?
He closes his eyes.
They’ll keep him safe. They promised.