Chapter Text
Hunter knows how slippery eternity could be — the ways to discover it he would never want to pass again. Hunter knows – no need to repeat twice – how to fulfill an order and kneel before the emperor for the greater good. Hunter knows quite a handful of etiquette-punishment things, scrambled with knowledge of the closest stall with bandages and ointment for abrasions.
What Hunter doesn’t know and what makes his stomach tickle like he’s gonna throw up is what to do when promised eternity falls into a million pieces. He used to mumble “Nothing is eternal” like a lullaby but no one expects lullabies to come true and rip all general understanding of “how things supposed to be: The Golden Guard edition” into pitiful pieces.
“Affection is for weaklings” – trained the Emperor’s Coven. But it’s widely known that Emperor’s Coven – Fool’s Coven. Hunter first to know it. Affection is luxury, affection is boldness too naive to be met among coven members, and affection is the ability to trust. Hunter has nothing on this ability. Cause Hunter knows – nothing is eternal. And it’s, honestly, the most terrifying thing he knows about.
Eternity is frighteningly long, but it's even worse when eternity ends. When the tapestries with the golden face of the emperor burn (wild magic screams a victory cry at this point). When the Owl Lady laughs and Hunter’s senses dazzle from new sounds and scents, eyes darken from new curses and nicknames. The Golden Guard turned out to be the keeper of the keys to the new world, but the freshly discovered world - what a shame - turned out to be of no use to anyone. Golden boy, prince, and soon-to-be emperor, but - again, what a shame! – there is no trace of such a title in the country. And there won't be. The Rebellion has already taken care of this for good.
The Rebellion took care of everything. The Boiling Islands lie in strong clawed hands as if in a cradle. The eclipse fades away. The golden souls of tiny palismans, sacrificed to the newly named tyrant (long live the Emperor), slowly rush into the air. Hunter is afraid to take a breath.
Hunter doesn't demand an explanation, he doesn’t need it. And as soon as the shadow finally leaves the hot and, turns out, living and resisting sun, eternity ends. The well-aimed and firm “never”, said wasted a million times by Belos, crumbles like green poison before the feet of the Golden Guard. The Guardian of a dying future, or perhaps a completely stubborn past. Hunter didn't think he would live to see the Emperor’s Coven go out of fashion when the posters would be ripped off the walls and forgotten like a bad dream. Hunter didn't think he would live so long. But he immediately grins, squats down, and repeats quietly, muttering:
"Eternity is such a thing." and the crimson eyes softly shimmer with acid blue, reflecting what remains of the Emperor.
Hundreds of meters below the crowd cheers for the new heroes of the Boiling Isles, Hunter bets a couple of gold on the soon legends of the Owl Lady and the stubborn human girl. What was her name again? Luz.
Hunter is not supposed to look at the heroes - this may be regarded as an attempt to snatch a place under the sun. But he is looking. He smiles wryly at the sight of Lilith - apparently, Clawthorne’s blood has taken its toll - but when he sees a couple of Coven's heads, he is not surprised at all. Well, of course, it could not have happened without traitors.
Hunter doesn't believe in the future. He believes in the great past, he believes that the future is determined by the past only, and every moment of his suffocating life was needed for the sake of The Day of Unity. He believes in the necessity of his faith in at least something, if a simple plea to return Belos can be called faith. He needs someone to tell him how unimportant the future is in the face of the past. He needs a false eternity, which his uncle believes in so much and he himself never ever believed in a bit.
He needs confirmation, needs a bright fire - be it rage or hope - to lead him behind into the very thorns of the world, to give him the titles of Guards and Knights, behind which there is absolutely nothing but a simple desire to tightly tie - to have the support of Hunter. Hunter is ready to give forever, he is ready to fulfill, to wait, to beg for return, But - He repeats this to himself again when he stands on stiff legs in front of the leaders of the Rebellion - eternity does not exist.
“What did you expect, Hunter?” chirps his inner self. “The eclipse is over, Hunter.” and the Golden Guard grabs his staff.
He grabs an artificial staff - a swarm of slippery ridicule rushes through his head - in an attempt not to defend himself but to protect what's left of so-called eternity. With his gaze, the Golden Guard stumbles upon the expressionless sparkling green eyes of Darius Deamonne. It's just like always. Hunter feels a tingling recognition at his fingertips, he knows what will happen next, he knows what is in the head of the proud Head of the Coven of Abominations. The boy frowns, clutching his staff tighter and preparing to give the command.
Darius Deamonne laughs. Hoarse and very tired - do the traitors get tired too? weakling! – but noticeably caustic. It looks like Hunter isn't the only one feeling the wind change. At this very moment, a stinging chirping feeling lights up in his chest and he thinks, almost with childish resentment, unforgivable for the Golden Guard, “He has put an end to eternity!” and with horror notes the same childish delight. Respect from junior to senior. Fear and desire to bend the knee because that's what he can do.
If it happens so the Golden Guard's knee barely touches the ground, he knows the script. It’s as if there’s a slippery throne room around and there are only two lines Hunter is allowed to say: “thank you” and “I’m sorry.” In different variations, but the essence is the same.
But Hunter doesn’t have enough time to decide to bow. Hovering somewhere between Darius’ smirking and Darius' disappointment, he receives blurry signals. He casts a desperate glance at his uncle - his absolutely sad remnants - hoping to get instructions, but now his uncle looks like disgustingly dripping tar and it obviously doesn’t help, only making worse Hunter’s sense and ability to think straight. He does not understand. Receives neither order nor answer. Hunter is on his own now. Hunter now has a head on his shoulders that is obliged to help him, but instead, it gives off acute pain.
“So what now?” Hunter really doesn’t want to know the answer. His chirping inner-self begs him to shut the hell up and disappear.
Darius Deamonne comes closer and shrugs.
“Now you are on your own, little prince.” Hunter regrets that the sun’s rays did not burn through his retina a minute earlier, because the arrogant dry smile would appear in his nightmares from now on thanks to bloody Abomination genius.
And it’s not the cruelty of the smile that might scare the shit out of Emperor’s followers, hardly. Deamonne's smile had another quality - a strong glee that left Hunter, Belos, and everyone else behind. Darius was leaving eternity behind. And with that smile, he left the Golden Guard behind too without any further hesitation.
Hunter knew that eternity was not forever. Sometimes he dreamed, quietly, under a thin Coven blanket, that eternity would become less and less with each passing day. Eternity is unbearable as well as unbearable it’s end.
If you look out from the edge of the platform you can see all of the Boiling Islands. Hunter felt the islands looking back, into his very heart. He knew that it would never be the same again. He was afraid that it would no longer be as it used to be. He was as afraid of living a lie as he was of learning the truth.
He turns around sharply, meeting the eyes of the human girl. And he doesn’t know what to say to her.
Doesn't have time, actually. Because the youngest Blight shouts in fear: “Portal!” and Luz rushes down the stairs, leaving behind the defeated heads of the covens in the service of the former emperor.
Hunter rushes after her when Owl Lady grabs his elbow. In her gaze, there is a desire to protect, but Hunter does not know the meaning of this and grins, pulling out his hand.
He must turn back time.
If the world does not want to enter a new era, then a new era will enter the world. A swarm of thoughts clumps into a sticky, touchy heap, pushing Hunter to walk faster and louder. "Portal". He knows what it means.
Being late demands punishment, especially when it comes to the end of eternity, but there is only enough strength for a quick and desperate step because running is too much honor for all this rebellious circus. The bridge leads to a portal where Luz and her friends are crowded - Hunter imagines that shadows are moving as if shaking with laughter and he is not sure how he should react to this - but something makes him stop halfway.
His head splits into small debris out of someone else's voice. Freezing, it becomes clear. Shadows are watching him. They stare for a long time, chuckling with a cocky laugh that Hunter hasn’t heard for a very long time.
Golden Guards are immune to fear. Not only to fear but this too. The Golden Guardians are invulnerable through trial and error. Yes, the guards themselves are a process of trial and error. Uncle often said this, looking for understanding in Hunter's face. Hunter nodded enthusiastically, barely understanding the words.
A portrait in a golden mask appears in antonyms for the word “fear” in the same way as “doubt” - lousy dictionaries these days, since there is one antonym for so many human feelings. But the dictionaries are accurate - Hunter is not at all scared. Puzzled, perhaps. He is puzzled to the point of goosebumps when his gaze rushes down from the bridge, from where hundreds of eyes squinted in laughter look out in response.
It takes a long time to go down the stairs. Small heels - “for balance”, yeah, of course - tap on each step with a rhythm that reverberates in the jaw. Hunter trembles, as usual, shudders, and walks faster. It’s scary everywhere, so what difference does it make now - up the stairs or down the same very stairs? Be thankful for not rolling head over heels. Be thankful you're not falling down from the bridge.
Counting these steps is a tricky business, but it happens completely automatically. At the thirtieth mark, Hunter jumps over Kikimora and breaks into a run. Here at the seventieth, he can see the bottom, but the light remains a distant glare hundreds of meters up. The light barely reaches the bottom, but for some reason, the sunbeams play on the icy stone walls of the hall. It’s as if the whole hall is strewn with gold. Not as if. Exactly.
Hunter feels like he lived for this moment. He looks around and sees hundreds of stories, hundreds of his own reflections, trampled and defeated. What the hell is going on here. What the hell has been going on here for the last... how long? A hundred years? A thousand? Perhaps for the last eternity?
“How..?” The heartaches and a lump appear in the throat right before the word “so” barely escapes. Because Hunter has nothing but hollow on his mind.
The laughter becomes so loud that it rings in Hunter's ears
“It's you! It's all you!” the voice of ringing bells blames.
Hunter tries to catch the direction the voice is coming from only to realize that voice is all around him regardless of how hard he tries to cover his ears. It's almost like this voice is coming right from his breaking-into-pieces head. He holds his breath unconsciously, peering into the deep howling darkness before him with golden masks all over the place. It’s about poetic but all of Hunter’s common sense and a sense of beauty crumpled up onto his very fingertips, shivering as Hunter steps forward. It is almost like approaching the lighthouse and sensing small waves of light getting closer and closer.
Hunter knows that he’s close to something. Something he should have never been close to. The laughter scatters like bells with every Hunter’s step but even with laughter-ringing he feels – he hears – in complete suffocating darkness how he steps on thin rolling bones of creatures he would never ever want to be meeting neither in the past nor in the future.
So that's how it goes, right? “At all costs” in the shut-closed Hunter’s scalp this phrase means literally everything and nothing at once. At first glance, he sees nothing but the same darkness and hears nothing but the same giggling.
Two slits of shimmering eyes looking almost identical to sunbeams from golden masks emerge like two crescents in the sky full of deceptively close stars. The third crescent serves as a devious smile.
“Wanna play a game?” the laughter ended at last but shadow’s words were whiny and jingling and still resembled laughter.
“No.”
Shadow froze in confusion. And then took another try;
“I’m Collector!” they slid off the wall to the hunter's feet, surrounding him.
“I’m Hunter.”
“I know!”
“I didn’t.” Hunter looks at his feet where shadows scrambled into quirky shapes of stars and moons. “I didn’t know that you are Collector”
The Collector burst into laughter while their shadow – their body? their spirit? their soul? – grows to an enormous dimension and they almost stick out from the wall.
“Of course, you did, Silly!”
Hunter knits his brows.
“Did not.”
“Did yes! Did a million times yes! You just don’t remember, you always forget.” the wall serves as an illustration of everything they say.
A quick smirk towards Hunter and Collector giggles proudly “But I didn’t! I remember you!”
“And what exactly do you remember?”
Shadows on the wall spinning around and giggling hardly serve as a proper answer. Hunter asks again, but harsher and shadows stop all at once with moon-wide open sunbeams-eyes looks with deep resentment. Hunter’s stomach starts tickling again wanting to impatiently push the entire interior out. Hunter swallows hard. Nobody said “all costs” gonna be nice and easy.
Hunter needs to bring back eternity. Hunter needs to believe that he still has a quick and simple order, there is nothing to be afraid of. Hunter needs times when the only one having the right to kill him was Belos. Hunter needs Belos.
Hunter glances up briefly at the light as if it’s the last chance for him to catch traces of the day dissolving into the night and says through gritted teeth, “Let’s play.”