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Ororon does not remember much of his childhood. Only a few bits and pieces remain intact in his mind. While the rest remained scattered and fragmented. He can recall incidents in his early adulthood perfectly fine, could remember the things people tell or teach him now. The cause of his amnesia was not from his physique.
It instead stemmed from that day. The day he discovered the feeling of guilt.
Years ago, Ororon was orphaned when he was no bigger than a few months old. His body must have been the size of a loaf of bread; small, fragile, helpless. Abandoned.
His parents were nowhere to be found. No one in the Mictlan clan would claim him as their offspring, same as every other household in Natlan. If he truly had family somewhere in the Pyro nation, they were long gone now.
It surprised everyone, then, when Citlali, the resident fortune teller known as ‘Granny Itztli’, decided to take him in. No one had ever seen her with children, much less take care of a young boy?
Yet as time passed, it became clear that she was the best option as his caretaker. For very few in the tribe could detect what she had discovered; the young bat-boy’s fascinating constitution; his fragmented soul.
And though the revelation had brought about dirty looks from left and right of the tribe, from then on, the gears of a plan to save Natlan were set into motion. While the elders chanted that a fragmented soul was a bad omen, a plan was hidden from the young, cyan-eyed boy for all of his childhood.
Ororon was a very gifted child. If you weren’t told that he was an orphan, you would have assumed he was a natural member of the Masters of the Night Wind.
Citlali realized his potential quite early in his infancy. Not even two years after she adopted him, it seemed that this strange bat-eared youth had the innate gift of sensing souls. It made him the most empathetic child she had ever seen (and believe her, she has seen a lot of children in her lifetime). After all, who would have thought that this boy could easily empathize when she was upset, adjusting his tone and voice to be softer? Who could have imagined that he would bond with every flying squirrel and Iktomisaur chick he came across, feeding them generously with the widest of smiles inscribed on his lips? (Ororon had said once before that he treated them generously because they ‘said’ they didn’t want to hurt him)
No child she had ever met would earnestly spend time in their garden, taking good care of their flowers and bushes and plants with nothing but a cheerful hum. No child she had ever met would greet her so happily every morning without a care in the world.
Every time that boy smiled at her, with his lovely sky-coloured eyes, Citlali’s heart would ache. Initially, it was because of his purity, his angelic kindness, his pure-hearted, yet still broken soul. Her heart ached for how the clan may never accept him, all for his unchangeable condition.
But as the years crept on, the ache started coming from something else.
She would clutch the grave letter from the clan chief every time that ache wouldn’t go away.
The day he was brought in as a vessel for lone souls was not his birthday.
At least, it was not fully accurate to his actual birthday. Citlali had designated the day she adopted him as his day of birth, but with no official records of his parents, that date was very likely false.
His birthday didn’t matter to him, anyway. For in that moment his body receives the lone, lost souls of Natlan within his body, their agonizing screeches of death and suffering piercing his bones and digging their way into his flesh, he couldn’t think of anything but the pain.
Granny, help me! Help me, please!
It hurts… It hurts so much!
I want to go home!! Let me go home!
And yet, despite his pleas, his desperate wish to go home, his legs lead him into the dark, abyssal portal. A doorway with black wraiths creeping out to entangle him in their grasp. A one way ticket to the Night Kingdom. A path where he could never turn back from.
Ororon couldn’t tell if his Granny Citali was crying for him, for in that moment, he couldn’t hear her soul. In fact, he couldn’t hear any of those souls within their proper bodies… Were they pitying him? Afraid of him? Happy with their efforts?
Ororon couldn’t hear them. And not being able to hear them, not knowing how they felt, terrified him.
One of the souls within him tried throwing his (their?) head back to breathe. Yet he was still suffocating, like air being sucked out of his body. Was his weak body even his anymore? Did it belong to those souls inside of him? The lost spirits who clawed at his limbs, dragged him closer to the edge of the Night Kingdom, equally desperate to ‘go home’?
But that’s not my home! My home isn’t there…!
I can’t keep going now. If I go there, I’ll be dead! I’ll be dead!
His legs stopped then. Halted in their path, as the skies of Natlan turned dark. Violet clouds streaking the skyline, circulating around the glitching portal to the underworld of souls. A wild tempest swept across the tribespeople, even adults had to hold their ground lest they be taken by the wind.
I want to go home! I want to go home! Back home… with granny… !
At the epicenter of the madness, violent sparks of amethyst converged within the young boy. For a moment, it seemed as if the electricity had taken complete control over him. Like a monstrous creature, crawling up his limbs, entering his body through any means; his mouth, his eyes… It coursed through his veins, thrumming through his spine up to his pointy ears, culminating into a shrill, ear-piercing cry.
Let. Me. Go. HOME!
Granny Citlali spoke very little that night. Ororon didn’t understand why.
The moment his outburst ceased, the doorway to the Night Kingdom collapsed behind him, and naught a single lost soul transported to their resting place, a cacophony of noise sprung up before him. So many voices, not within him, but outside of him, and yet he could hear all of them as if they were coming from inside his body anyway.
The ritual was a failure.
How could this happen?
It should have worked. We were so close!
It failed.
It didn’t work.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
His granny had taken him away then, carried him in her arms with soft whispers, but it didn’t stop those words from repeating in his head. The way those words formed a blueprint of their emotions in his head. The way they felt, their feelings.
Their anger. Their sadness. Their disappointment. Their fear.
Guilt.
He blinked to curb his tears, not paying attention to the changing landscape. That last emotion… It was from him. From within him, and not the others around him.
He felt guilt. An emotion that engulfed his chest and made him feel like he was sinking to the depths of hell. Stemmed from the emotions he felt from the people around him, he felt guilt. Nothing from that night, or the nights after that, could remove that feeling from himself. It had thrown a yoke around his neck, and would never let go.
He felt guilt.
Granny Citlali tried to lighten the mood back then, as she checked for injuries, applied ointment to his wounds and bandaged them carefully. She tried to smile (Ororon thought it was a broken smile though) to cheer him up. She even attempted to distract him, bringing him to the mirror of their home, to let him see ‘how strong he is’.
Because he has ‘some of Granny’s magic’ now? Because he has powers?
He stared at the reflection of himself. At a young boy with dark hair hidden under a darker hood, nary a bat ear to be seen, watching him with indigo and cyan-hued eyes. Such tired, worn out eyes.
No.
Not even the shiny Vision in his hands could change what he was thinking then; of how he didn’t want to be alive.
Parties aren’t his thing. Never have been. Ororon would rather be in the quiet company of his vegetable garden.
Still, he knew better than to reject an invitation from the Pyro Archon. After all, she said, this party wouldn’t have been possible without him. It was only appropriate that he would be a part of the excitement, of the celebration of the end of a war. Part of him wanted to argue that he wasn’t the only contingency in her plan to save Natlan, but decided against it. Not only to avoid being rude, but also because he knew Granny Citlali would give him a scolding if he did.
And thus, he found himself standing by the walls of the Weary Inn, where dozens of fighters populated the seats and dance floor alike. He had come alone, as his granny mentioned that she had something to do and had to pass on the invitation. “Though, Ororon can take my place at the party, of course.” She added with a playful grin.
Unfortunately, for that exact reason, he was struggling to speak with anyone there. How can someone, who has lived away from others for so long, be able to? He barely knew anyone there, anyways. It was a miracle that he managed to get a few words with the Captain, but even he excused himself from the festivities early. Probably to reconvene with his Fatui army. They had their own losses to count for, after all.
Ororon downs a sip of his drink to bury that morbid thought. The distraction kept his attention away from a dark haired figure approaching him. “Ororon.”
It takes him a while to recognise the stranger. “Oh, it’s… Kinich, right?”
“Malipo Kinich.” The Saurian Hunter reiterates, stretching a hand out. “I don’t believe we have formally met before.”
“Right…” His soul… I can sense it from here but… He quickly returns the gesture before he could draw any suspicion, but couldn’t hide his surprise when Kinich decided to stand next to him. In his hands was his own drink, half-filled, just like Ororon’s.
There was a brief silence between the two of them. One that neither of them found uncomfortable. Perhaps that was the unspoken similarity between them; their preference of solitude. It surprised Ororon again when Kinich was the one who broke the silence. “Xilonen asked me to check on you.”
“Xilonen?”
Kinich turns to him. “That woman, over there.”
Following Kinich’s pointed finger, Ororon spots the woman in question, standing behind a DJ turntable and leading the party. He recognised her as one of the few people who witnessed his stint with the Fatui before the war began. He mentally hoped that she had not told him the details of what happened.
Eh, not that it would make a difference to his reputation now .
“So,” Kinich continues. “Here I am, checking on you.”
Now the silence between them was awkward. “Um, okay?” Ororon blurts out.
After receiving a look from the hunter, a very tense look, he adds on. “I’m fine, really. Not… well, not hurt or anything, I guess.” He tries looking away from Kinich so he could think clearer. It’s harder to sense what Kinich is thinking. He realizes. Is his soul… more guarded?
“That’s good.” Following a curt response, Kinich resumes his spot from before, sipping from his drink as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps he was used to this… Ororon tried taking a sip again from his own cup to even out the awkwardness as much as he could.
Instead, he let his eyes wander across the surroundings of the Weary Inn once more. Taking in the sights of the party. Almost every corner had a group engaging in bustling excitement. Warriors, doctors, Saurian caretakers, even the elderly were partaking in the fun. There were casual dancers who would take a few steps forward and back, there were break dancers doing incredible dance tricks much to the joy of onlooking children, there were those who danced with their Saurian companions, their bonds closer than anything Ororon could ever imagine-
“You know,” Kinich mumbles. “When you helped the Captain escape, our Archon had asked me to look for you.”
The lone bat ear on his head stands tall. “What?”
“She wanted me to find out which of the Masters of the Night Wind had allied with the Fatui.” He elaborates. “She didn’t know it was you, none of us did, but she knew of the trick you used.” His dark eyes stare at him, not with malicious intent, but with something Ororon could not describe. “I wasn’t there when the traveler or Xilonen stopped you and the Captain, and I wasn’t there when you decided to fight alongside us.”
“So, help me understand.” He speaks with finality. “Why did you ally yourself with the Fatui, instead of helping us first?”
… Why did he ally himself with the Fatui?
It had been a long day, longer if he counted the hours he spent walking alongside the Captain, listening to his plans to save Natlan, and realizing how he could be a part of it. With the war at the top of their priorities, he had not yet realized exactly what he had been doing.
Lying to Granny Citlali. Abandoning his people for a Fatui Harbinger. Foolishly trying to break into an ancient Natlan artifact just to ‘save Natlan’ as he was told.
He even almost died. Though it was unforeseen, it only happened because he did what he thought would help his nation. Altogether, it did not take a fool to notice that all he had done were the hallmarks of a traitor .
“I thought,” He finally responds. “I thought I could do better. I thought that was the only way I could help.”
He wasn’t facing the hunter now, but could sense his disbelief all the same. “You thought of working with the enemy to save our nation?”
“I can’t fight the same way you all can.” Ororon retorts. “I’m… not as strong as you all are.” And because of that, I want to help but I just can’t.
“So instead of asking our Archon what you should do,” Kinich says gingerly. “You chose to believe the words of a Harbinger .”
The longer the two men spoke, the faster Ororon’s responses came to his mouth. A sub-conscious effort to catch up to the Saurian Hunter’s quick thinking. “He was being genuine. I could tell he wasn’t lying.”
“You believed a man who served the Cryo Archon was not lying?”
“He wasn’t lying to me .”
“A potential misjudgement.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong, after all. If all else failed, I would have still stuck to his plan.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t do anything else!”
It was a miracle that Ororon was naturally soft-spoken. Otherwise, that outburst would have drawn all the attention to him. Instead, it had Kinich widen his eyes at him, a shocked expression on his face. It was probably the most emotion he had seen on the man since they joined forces during the war.
It was all it took for Ororon to realize; Kinich did not mean to rile him up. He wanted to understand him. And here he was, taking whatever he said to be personal.
Take a deep breath. “If I had known that I would be one of the Ancient Heroes who could save Natlan, I wouldn’t have spoken to the Captain. I wouldn’t have helped him escape, and I wouldn’t have left my tribe.” He hopes his voice sounds less confrontational by now. “Like I said, I can’t fight like everyone else can. I never took part in the Night Warden wars, and I never could because of my own constitution. Honestly, anything our Archon did or enforced, I probably couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t hate our Archon, and I’m sorry if it sounded like I did. But with all due respect, I don’t have a place in her plan. Or her plan to protect Natlan.”
Kinich’s expression stays as stoic as ever. Though his tone seems slightly brighter than earlier. “But you are a part of her plan. You always were.”
“I know that now .” With a long sigh, Ororon takes another sip of his drink, hoping that would be the end of the topic.
As Ororon turns to people-watch again, the usually silent hunter asks. “Your Ancient Name… It’s Bidii, right?”
He adds without waiting for a response. “When I awoke to my Ancient Name, our Archon told me of her plan, and of the other Ancient Heroes. She told me about the previous owner of your name, and how he struggled to find his purpose in life.”
“Now I can see why you fit the bill.”
Was that the reason Kinich was looking for him after all?
He takes a momentary pause, as if waiting for Ororon to internalize what he said. “I’m not usually the one to offer advice. More often than not, I am much better at weighing the cost of a person’s actions pragmatically.”
“ … But you’re comforting me.” Though it was harder to read his soul, Ororon could read his actions now. Approaching him in a public gathering, and not seeing his friends, was probably not something Kinich had done before.
He didn’t get an answer though. Instead, Kinich continues. “Finding your purpose in life is never easy. You will stumble and fall, lose your way even.”
“But I like to think that everything in our lives, even the smallest things, come with a price.” At that moment, the dull-eyed hunter sneaks a glance at his bracelet, the source of the mighty power Kinich would unleash in battle. Ororon wonders if that ‘price’ was what he was referring to. “In that sense, perhaps your journey to find your purpose is that price, and your purpose will be what you’re paying for.”
Hearing something so profound had Ororon chuckling. “Pardon me, but you sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“And if I am?”
Upon hearing Kinich’s reply, Ororon decides to stay quiet. Of course he would be speaking from experience. It probably explains how Kinich had easily broken down his walls and got him voicing his thoughts, and how Ororon didn’t feel any discomfort at all, apart from that brief moment of emotional reaction.
How peculiar for the Saurian Hunter who usually isn’t known for being comforting.
As if on cue, the man in question takes a step forward, away from the wall they were both positioned against for the past few minutes. “I very rarely speak this much, though I suppose that’s what happens when you’re at a party.” He admits with a nonchalant shrug. “At any rate, I appreciate the conversation we had.”
Ororon nods. “ … Likewise.”
For a short while, there was silence between them again, though it seemed more as contemplation from Kinich’s end. “Mualani usually likes to do this. Normally, I don’t but given the circumstances, I’ll give it a go.” He ultimately says.
The hunter raises his drink to the bat-eared man. “To our victory, Ororon.”
His expression was stoic, as it always was. Yet having looked at him for so long, Ororon finally spots it. Like a soft shimmer of stars in the night sky, there was a glimmer of contentment in those dull eyes. Whether it was hope, joy or even friendliness, Ororon couldn’t tell and didn’t care.
Instead, he simply decides to softly smile back. “Yes… To our victory.”
For in Natlan, no one fights alone.
Somewhere, the young boy who was scarred by his childhood was smiling again.