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The thing is tiny in his hands, barely a being in itself. Unlike Caleb's previous incarnations, this one is born an infant. It cries and it cries, and Belos cannot help but hate the thing.
He passes it off to the servants on the fourth day, unwilling to put up with the thing's cries. He is my brother's son, he says, hardly wanting to pass the thing off as his own offspring.
He goes to visit it to keep up appearances, when he needs to take a break from managing the isles. It is in a crib most of the time, tiny and helpless, and Belos thinks how easy it would be to end the little imposter's life. However, he did spend ample time making it, so he supposes it would be a waste to get rid of the thing now, after years of work.
He holds it, once. Its selkidomus skin looks and feels eerily like human skin, but Belos reminds himself that no, this is not in fact what the creature looks like. Before he had given it his brother's hair, it had slithered around in its little cage, a mishmash of dead (yet somehow alive) animals. This thing is not in fact a human nor a witch, despite what those pointed ears may indicate. It is an imposter of Belos’ own creation. One he had made again and again and again.
He had abandoned the thing back to its assigned caretaker shortly after he held it. It gurgled at him unpleasantly as it held his finger in its weak grip, looking at him uncomfortably. He, however, had no wish to look it in its lying eyes, and left the thing to the servants.
He avoids looking in the thing's eyes, and works like he had never worked before, expanding his empire's reach. He makes it mandatory for all citizens to swear an oath of loyalty to him. Initially, there is some resistance to the change, but he crushes any rebellion quickly. The rebels shut up upon the introduction of better legislations, more jobs, improved housing and a whole host of other things meant to solidify his control. The people are disgustingly grateful to him of course, and he hears rumours of more songs about him spreading or of people putting flags up outside their homes in expressions of gratitude. And though they may have some awareness of how indebted they are to him, he is the only one aware of the fact that they will have to pay that debt back upon the Day of Unity.
He does not mention his plans to the nobles nor the coven heads. Instead, he announces his adoption of his nephew, whose parents were unfortunately deceased in an incident with wild magic . The attention is… unfortunate for Belos afterwards. The servants had taken to calling the thing ‘little prince’ when he had given the thing no name. He thinks it must have caught on as the nobles have taken to calling it that as well. The pet name makes Belos' lip curl. They have no right to call it as such; it is his, and they are encroaching on it. They beg to see the thing, and after much pressure he eventually caves. They nobles positively fawn over it, showering it with gifts.
The news of its existence reaches the commoners, and they too join in on singing its praises.
Little Prince, most say, He must take after his father! others say, noticing it's tufts of blonde hair. And others compliment the thing, You are lucky to have such an adorable nephew, Your Majesty! they say, as if the thing had come under his possession by luck. People, both nobility and otherwise, are positively in love with it. He has to stop himself from hiding the boy away from the servants’ smothering. They will spoil him otherwise.
No, not the boy. Not him. It was the thing. The grimwalker, he reminds himself. It is not a human, he says. It is not.
Still, it grows like any other human or witch would, and by the time Belos knows it the thing is toddling around the castle, babbling nonsensically and looking up at him with those wrongly-coloured eyes. He decides it's best to give the thing a name, then.
“Hunter,” Belos says to the servants, “His name shall be Hunter, in honour of his father.”
Caleb had been a shite hunter. He'd always left Philip to do all the work for them both, even when they were in the Boiling Isles. But his statement rang true either way- the thing was Belos’ creation, his child by some definitions. And he was the best hunter there could be.
The people celebrate its naming, throwing parties in the streets for the little thing which will not even appreciate their efforts. He encourages the celebrations, reasoning that they will increase support of the empire. (Although that is largely unanimous these days thanks to Belos’ hard work.)
The servants show off its ‘achievements’ to him, offering him drawings of castles and talismans and two-sunned skies. He visits it one day, bored of his work, and it clings to him like a limpet the entire time. He does not manage to shake it off. He does so again, when Kikimora is irritating him. And once when Deamonne is glaring at him, or when Clawthorne talks lovingly about her criminal of a sister.
One day, it speaks.
“Uncle,” It giggled with happiness that only a child could have, “Uncle!”
A servant, Kendra Belos thought her name was, gasped rather loudly at this. He thinks the interaction must have been spoken about, because days after some of the nobles smile at him, which is certainly an odd experience. He is used to respect, formality, and these monstrous beings now smile so earnestly at him almost like they know him. It makes Belos feel rather frustrated with himself. His own imposter of a creation has had such control over his court, which is nothing if not a weakness. Still, he can hardly hide the thing away now, when he has proclaimed it his nephew. He supposes he could get rid of it, but Belos finds the idea rather… unsatisfactory. After all, the thing seems to be rather attached to him, and it has only increased the people's devotion to him. Or rather, their devotion towards the royal family, he supposes.
He does not end up getting rid of it. It grows even more, impossibly, up to his knee. The Hunter-Prince is less toddling now, more walking proficiently. He comes to see Belos every day, showing off better and better crayon drawings, and eventually short stories written in chicken-scratch letters.
It is still as affectionate to him as it ever was, and when he is going to tuck it into bed as Belos has taken to doing, it asks if it can sleep with him. Slightly less tiny now, the thing cuddles close to him in a way that almost reminds him of a different time, a different place, a different person. But none of that matters now. He is the thing's uncle, if not it's father, and he ought to be there for it.
Of course, the thing is only alive because he allows it to live. He will kill it the moment it becomes a threat. From the looks of it, though, it will never become one. He hopes it never does, at least.
He allows it to socialise with other children when he believes it old enough. It has been taught how to talk properly now, by Belos himself. So he should not be surprised when the thing bundles up to him, bows and in accent like that of his homeland, says, “Your Majesty.”
Caleb, he thinks. Oh, Caleb.
Then he looks into the boy’s eyes. The thing’s cranberry eyes which look at him so lovingly in a way that Caleb’s never did. Isn’t grief a funny thing? He thinks, for he has made many Golden Guards, and he misses Caleb still. Hunter The thing only seems to make his grief worse, somehow.
“There is no need for formality when it is just us. What is the matter, Nephew?”
The thing hesitates, before holding up a palisman. “For you.”
How considerate. These days, he finds more and more that he likes the little creature. He takes the palisman for himself, running his hands over it’s intricately carved trunk.
“Thank you, Hunter. Where did you get this from?”
“Flora!” The thing snickers.
Belos hesitsates. “...Miss Snapdragon?”
The thing nods proudly, and he has to stop himself from shouting at the tiny thing. Flora was Terra’s granddaughter, and he had no wish to incur that woman’s wrath. She was powerful and well-liked enough that she was the perfect fit for a coven head, but the woman had nasty streak.
He looks at the boy, tempering his anger into something softer. “Hunter, you must return this and apologise at once. It is not very nice to take things that belong to others.”
It looks sheepishly at him. “But don’t you need it, Uncle?”
“Do not concern yourself over that, Nephew. That is my issue to worry about. Now, go. Return it to Miss Snapdragon, before she tells her grandmother.”
“Oh,” It says, looking like it’s about to cry. “...I just wanted to- help-”
This poor little thing, concerned with Belos when it does not need to be. “Come here,” He says without thinking.
The boy runs into his arms and it’s little body shakes with sobs. “I- I didn’t think she’d mind-”
“Shh,” he says.
“I’m sorry, Uncle!”
“I know you are, Hunter. All will be okay. You will see.”
It cries more and more, and a part of Belos aches with it. “Okay,” The boy says, “Okay, Uncle.”
He kisses his nephew’s head. “Yes.”
It slowly looses the accent upon socialising with more and more children, and Belos is surprisingly grateful over this. The boy is not Caleb, he thinks, and finds it not repulsive but refreshing.
The people party on the streets every birthday it has, according to the nobles. They themselves have a feast worthy of the gods, and Belos feels ever so proud as it blows out its candles.
It- No, he, Hunter, decides he wants to celebrate Belos’ birthday too. Belos considers it wasteful to celebrate one’s own birthday, so he has always discouraged any celebration from the people. He does find himself accepting Hunter’s little gifts every year, however, finding himself… attached to the boy’s abysmal drawings or the misshapen biscuits or the little bouquet of weeds. He allows the people to celebrate his birthday, for Hunter’s sake. It would be embarrassing for the boy if he was the only one giving him presents, after all. Soon enough, photos line the walls of Belos’ chambers.
And disgustingly, he finds himself rather happy.
Deamonne is a slight problem, Belos discovers.
“Forgive my impudence but was the Golden Guard your sister, Your Majesty?’
He wishes for the man to shut up. He needs to work on the efficiency of his coven after all- it is sorely lacking compared to the others, and Belos suspects that Deamonne spends more time on his outfits that on managing his coven. When it should be providing for the army as per Belos’ intruction, it is instead focusing on construction. Belos has informed Deamonne of his preferences time and time again, and yet the man continues to disobey him. He believes the man does it on purpose to frustrate him.
“That is hardly any of your business, Coven Head Darius,” He glares.
“I apologise my lord,” The man says carefully, “It is only that the little Prince Hunter looks so much like her.”
Belos was not aware that the last Golden Guard had shown his face to anyone, least of all Deamonne. The bastard must have been betraying him long before their unfortunate murder attempt.
“I see,” He says, words poisonous. “I had not noticed this fact.”
“It's almost uncanny, my lord. Perhaps Prince Hunter should-”
“He should what, Darius? Become a soldier at the ripe old age of five? Take up the Golden Guard mantle himself?” He asks incredulously.
“I-” Deamonne stutters, clearly not managing to speak despite his traitorous behaviour before.
Belos snaps, waving him off. “Hardly. The boy is-'' Not a Golden Guard, not a human, a (grimwalker) child. Not really his nephew, and yet somehow more than that.
“Different,” he settles on. “He shall do no such thing. He shall be protected.”
Deamonne nods, but Belos can see the defiance in his eyes. He wonders what the abomination head will do.
He does not have to wonder for long. Darius Deamonne, now the criminal, had attempted to steal his nephew in the dead of the night. Luckily Hunter had known to scream, and the man had been apprehended by guards and life in prison. Many had called for his death, but Belos believed that life in prison was more torturous and appropriate for the child-stealing traitor.
Apparently Deamonne had tried to take Hunter because he was convinced he was rightfully his. He and the last Golden Guard had been together, and she had apparently fallen pregnant before her death. How annoying. It would have been rather intersting to see how a half-grimwalker would turn out.
Belos replaces him within the hour. He appoints Alador Blight the new head of the abomination coven, who is a rather inventive man. Belos sees some of himself in him, although unlike him, Blight is spineless. In his books, it was a pleasant contrast to Deamonne. And who knows, he might replace him later.
Belos has the startling realisation that he loves Hunter when the boy is curled up on his lap, asleep. He supposes such a revelation has been a long time coming now. Somehow the child has worked its way into his heart, and he wishes to have the boy at his side always, as he once wanted Caleb to be. He wishes to spoil the boy; to never let him out of his sight. For all his four hundred years of age, these sensations are ones he has never felt before, and he selfishly indulges in them. After all, why not? The boy is his.
He makes sure the boy is educated, though. Belos, who feels dangerous close to being Phillip, assigns the boy lessons on politics, on magic. The discovery that Hunter is incapable of magic hits the boy quite hard. Perhaps he should not have told him so many stories of black dog demons, child-snatching sidhe, wise women. He comforts the boy with even more stories of legendary kings and swords in stones, of brave knights saving maidens. It is his culture after all, and Hunter should learn he is special with or without magic.
The boy takes to learning about magic like a duck to water, despite Belos’ reassurances that he does not need to do so. He inevitably asks about palismans, still wishing for the only thing he does not have. For now, this is the one thing Belos denies him.
Hunter grows up surrounded by attention, affection, everything he could ever want, until he does not. Upon his twelfth birthday, he starts giving the boy restrictions. He gives him a mask, as Belos has noticed some of the nobles leering at him. The disgusting few have since been dealt with, but he doesn't want to take any chances. It is a smaller replica of Belos' own mask, although childish in size.
He has asked Hunter to wear the mask at all times except formal occasions. This upsets the boy, but Belos comforts him; of course, he has no need to wear the mask in private, when it is just the two of them.
He begins privately training the boy. His plan to go back to the human realm is progressing smoothly, and the boy must take up new responsibilities in preparation for when Belos leaves. He makes sure to bribe the child by giving him plenty of breaks whenever he wants, and the kitchen staff always make sure a cup of hot chocolate is waiting for Hunter when he turns up. It is made exactly the way the child likes it, with lots of marshmallows and even more whipped cream.
His nephew-child still compains, but Belos thinks he is just ajusting. After all, the boy is rather isolated now, schedule shifted to be full of lessons with Belos and his tutors. He finds this rather pleasing, himself. His nephew should not be spending time around those his lessers. However, the change in routine has a purpose other than getting rid of those snotty friends of his.
“Eventually I will leave this world behind, Hunter,” He smiles wanly, “And although I am not ailing, I am rather old.”
“No!” Hunter cries, “No, Uncle! You aren't allowed to…”
“To die?” He asks, “Limpet, we all do it eventually, even I. And when I leave this world behind, there must be someone to rule in my stead. That's you.” He pokes Hunter’s nose just to watch the boy squirm.
“What if I don't want to, Uncle?” He complains, pouting. This silly thing, Belos thinks fondly.
“Ah, well I am afraid you must, nephew,” He replies, “There are no other heirs but you my sweet.”
Hunter grumbles and attaches himself to his chest. They end up writing letters to the upcoming ball together, and Hunter picks himself out an outfit. It looks rather cute on him, the colour of the cape matching the crystal in his circlet.
Upon Hunter’s fourteenth birthday, Belos starts experiencing something he could have gone without; guilt. He finds himself regretful of his treatment of the Golden Guards, however imperfectly they were made and how traitoruous they were, he finds himself… upset, by reminders of them. The collector teases him about it, believing him to be some kind of apathetic monster.
He supposes he was, before Hunter. He did not hesitate in eliminating any threats to his throne, or his way back home. But Belos (Philip?) thinks he might have lost something along the way; something he has forgotten the name of, but not the taste.
He is closer than ever to going home. All he needs now is titan blood, his main obstacle so far. He has no clue how he would get such a thing, as the titans are long since believed to be mythical. A Golden Guard would be useful to search, he thinks.
So he makes, what in retrospect, was his worst mistake. He appoints Hunter the Golden Guard. Perhaps it was to clear his conscience; he does not know. Hunter is pleased to take up the mantle at first, working harder than a child should in his duties.
He and Belos see less of each other, in the next year or so. The times when he does see Hunter, his child looks exhausted. Sometimes he comes back injured. Belos doesn't know what to do- he cannot take away the position of Golden Guard from Hunter- he has become very attached to his role, believing himself important when in actuality Clawthorne takes on most of his duties. It saddens him, what he has done to Hunter.
He has lied to him in a way that is unforgivable. He has injured the boy, even if it was done indirectly. He has selfishly isolated him from people his age. By all accounts Belos is an awful parent.
So, when it comes down to it, Belos (Philip) thinks that maybe now it is time for a change. Maybe he should send Hunter to school.