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Everything was broken.
Everything.
Nothing was real. None of it.
He was a lie.
His entire existence was a lie.
Everything he knew. Everything he was. Everything he learned, everyone he thought he trusted.
All of it was fake.
Nothing mattered anymore.
He knew nothing.
He couldn't trust anything but his own bare instincts.
And right now, they were screaming at him to run, to survive.
But could be really trust himself? Everything he knew about himself, every instinct had been nailed into him as the Golden Guard. Belos knew everything about him, how he fought, how he fled, how he spoke, how he thought.
And Belos knew that he knew.
But yet, what he was doing now, running?
He had never been taught to run, never been taught to flee. He used to think that was because Belos trusted him. Now he knew it was because he was expendable.
The Golden Guard had never ran. The Golden Guard had never been scared. Sure, Hunter had been scared before, but had never tried to escape. Every natural human instinct had been trained out of him.
So why could he hear his boots pounding against solid ground? Why was his heart racing, why was he sweating despite not even wearing his full uniform?
If he hadn't been running, how could he have tripped and fallen? If he hadn't been running, he would have his hand pressed against the blood that was flowing out of his elbow, wouldn't have scrapes up and down his side.
Where had he learned to run?
Nowhere. He had never been told to escape. He knew how to run, of course. Chases weren't that uncommon. But removing himself from a situation, that was something he was never supposed to do.
Would Belos know that he ran? Would Belos have faith in the instincts he had beaten into Hunter?
Hunter didn't have faith in himself. He didn't know where he was now, trees towering over him. A light presence landed in front of him. Tears blurred his vision, and all he saw was a red blob. His hand reached out, taking the bird into his palm, blinking rapidly.
Flapjack chirped softly, rubbing his head against Hunter’s thumb, almost cat-like. Hunter stood, stumbled, then sat down again, back against a tree. His breathing was rapid as he put Flapjack down onto the ground, then put his head to his knees, fingers digging into his legs. He couldn't breathe as he let out hoarse, ragged gasps. He couldn't feel the air filling his lungs, oxygen not quite filling him. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't slow the spinning in his head, couldn't calm his vision caving in. He couldn't hear the panicked tweets, couldn't hear his own heavy breathing, couldn't think, couldn't move.
His vision went dark.
His knees were still tucked to his chest when he woke. He stood immediately, a wave of vertigo washing over him. He steadied himself against a tree. “Flapjack?" His voice was sharp, worried, broken. The bird landed on his shoulder moments later. Judging by the sky, he hadn't been out for long. But night was falling, and he had to find somewhere safe. Not that it mattered.
There was nowhere he could go that was truly safe. He couldn't hide in someone's house, or he could risk getting turned in or putting that person in danger. He couldn't go back to Luz - that would be the first place Belos would look.
Well.
There was somewhere.
A place full of witches that hated him, and rightfully so. He hated himself. He was an idiot. A monster. How many wild witches had he led to the capture of? How many palismen did he help to kill? How many deaths would happen, not so soon from now, that were partly his fault?
And even if he managed to get there, how much danger would that put the students in if the Emperor's Coven found him? How much danger would that put him in if the students found him?
He couldn't. He wouldn't. He would stay here. He would stay right here. Starve. Die. Anything was better than going back.
Anything was better than being used. Being lied to. Did he deserve to live? He wasn't a witch. He didn't have parents. He was created. He couldn't do magic. He only existed as a servant, as the perfect soldier. There were hundreds more that came before him, and hundreds more that would come after. He wouldn't be remembered. Everybody would die, and Belos would move on with a new Golden Guard. Another pawn to lie to, to play with.
Would the next Golden Guard be better? Would Belos tell the same lies? Would Belos think about Hunter?
It didn't matter. There were only a few weeks before the day of Unity. Then everyone would be dead. And what could he do about it? He was just a scared little kid whose reality had just been shattered.
But he couldn’t just let himself die.
“Do you know which way to Hexside?” The bird responded with an excited cheep, already leading the way.