Chapter Text
"— The youngest Cleric of the Byers household, truly lost potential.."
Everyone in the little Border March of Hawkins have heard the depressing tale of the Lost Warden that resonated around of how the supposed youngest heir of the powerful lineage's disappearance after being blessed by deities, told like a prayer that no longer expects an answer.
They said the buffer territory once held itself together through people, and not walls – through bloodlines that sworn to stand where the world thinned, where the forests leaned too close to one another and the shadows learned to listen. The Byers' were one of such line that came with every whisper through the breeze — a strong blood of clerics, but not of the usual temples, and more of thresholds; they didn't not preach, and more of endured.
But the moment the second born arrived, with the soft touch of the deities from above as a beautiful blessing through the form of a beautiful glowing flower – The March had nearly forgotten of them.
That same night he came into the world, in their beautiful Wardenstead - the place as close to a smaller castle, the dream-like symphony of the birds chirping around the beautiful cradle and the beams of light of the blessed slowly dimmed once nightfall.. the stones stirring – air prickling with secrets. The wards long dormant tightened like a drawn thread, and the moon frowned upon them.
Joyce Byers felt it it before she saw it- the small subtle warmth beneath her child's skin, the faint sigil that meant something as close to healing wounds blooming along his collarbone, pulsing softly with each breath he took. He looked beautiful, as similar as her.
"He looks just like you."
The man embraced his wife from behind as she cradled their child with such care, showing softened gazes as the elder child, Jonathan, slowly tries to cheer the baby, it's soft laughter ringing through the room, making them feel as though like a wanton fire against a cold night.
"Maybe.. like you too? He's got your eyes." She said back, barely glancing over her shoulder as she was too focused at her newborn son, booping his nose making a soft giggle escape his lips. She melted at that, caressing his cheek. "What do we even call him.."
The eldest son stands with them, going on his tip toes just to meet his brother's innocent gaze. He smiled ear to ear, thinking for a brief moment, until he gasped. "Will! William- we said if he was a girl, it would be Willow, like the pretty willow tree behind our home! So.. Will!"
"Will.." She tried, biting the inside of her cheek with joy. It felt perfect – a name that seemed to suit him like a fitted glove. Nothing else can ever compete with it. "Oh my beautiful boy.."
"Well, Will is beautiful but I'm definitely more beautiful, right mom?" Jonathan joked, trying to jump more to see his sparkling doe eyes, earning a soft ruffle on his hair by his father.
Joyce gave an amused smile, looking down at him now. "Oh Jonathan.."
She was about to continue, if it weren't for the weak cough she let out, eyes closing shut.
Her husband turned to her direction with a look of concern, before walking over to the table from afar, grabbing the wooden bowl with a soup that glowed closely to the elixirs concocted by fellow potion masters. He brought up the spoon, tenderly feeding her the medicine. "Don't forget to take this, alright? They told me you need it for you to grow into a better state sooner."
"Oh please, Hop." She rolled her eyes playfully. "Just because my powers have weakened from growing older day by day, doesn't mean I cannot feed for myself."
"Whatever you say.." He grumbled, before placing it aside, patting Johnathan's back as though to snap him back from reality. He was busied staring at his brother with awe, observing each movement once he was placed at the cot. "Come on, kid, it's bed time."
"Fine, fine, fine.." Jonathan crossed his arms and followed him to the doorway, not long after rushing back to his previous spot to wave and say his goodnight to little Will.
"Goodnight Will, I'll see you tomorrow! I'll make sure to help you become the best cleric ever, promise!" He exclaimed, waving happily as if he could understand what he had said, before waddling over to his father as they retreated to his own separate bedroom.
Joyce shook her head at the sight, smiling softly. She then walked over to the bed, letting out a tired yawn, taking a small glance over to the cot and later on going under the blankets – her husband doing the same the moment he came back. She could feel fingers gently run through her hair, and she leaned close.
"The medicine worked well, I have no clue what I would be if I wasn't a self healing cleric." She whispered, eyes closing shut. "Where did you get them anyways? The flowers.. they do not.. look common."
"You wouldn't really like to know.." He murmured, chuckling softly. "Once our bright children will grow into the most powerful clerics, they'll be there to replace us, you know..? Heartland will need them."
"I know, but.." her breath hitched for a second. "Let them stay young and have a wonderful childhood.. live the best without the worries we experienced when we were younger."
"Like healing a whole flock of injured paladins? I know, I know." Jim muttered, flickering his gaze over to the cot, seeing small movements of their son. "I just know.. he'll be the best there is. The deities blessed the flower for a reason, and him."
She gave a small nod, before slowly hugging him tighter, her fingers curling onto his clothing.
Far beyond their abode, deep where the roots knotted into black soil, something ancient turned it's attention towards the March – ever since he felt a disturbance towards his area, something that was his taken, nothing had ever been the same. Vecna felt the sigil ignite – the flower that was barren through his land touched something else. The same flower carved around the Byers' household, rightfully.
It was blessed by the deities, but corrupted by his own graze.
He could feel it through his fingertips as if he owned it – not like a flare, but like a door unlocking. A cleric was born without a god, a warden that was born too late.. and he came when the world was too quiet.
And his eyes slowly opened, after the long rest he took of hiding.
The forest felt still as shadows slipped between the trees, neither breaking the branches and disturbing the soil. Dark slithering vines crept along, each touch to the grass turning it lifeless and the flowers withered, creeping along the Wardenstead's walls.
It was not there to imprison, but to seal — to keep the rest of the March from ever seeing what it had failed to protect.
And once it went past the protection spell, the atmosphere changed to something more grim – Jonathan, who had (for the first time) attempted to do the spell for tonight in honour of his little brother, had woken up from his slumber like as if he was splashed with cold water. He looked around frantically, scrambling out of his bed.
"What's happening.." He murmured, checking over to the window with worry. There, he could see a dark figure lurking in the shadows, something seeping behind it – which he realized were the vines that tried to enter around. A breach.
This couldn't be.. He thought, fear showing on his features. They all knew the tale of missing children, and it was nothing they have not heard of before – but perhaps this was connected to the sightings of the dark entity that they did not wish to speak of.. lurking over to the Dark Spirals of Camazotz.. perhaps more further past their area, and was supposedly guarded.
He flinched when he saw his eyes meeting venomous red ones, and he stepped away from his window, heading over to the master bedroom with a heaving gasp. "Mom! Dad!" He knocked on the door before trying his best to open it, sniffling when he failed to do so.
Meanwhile the little baby was sleeping quietly in his cradle, their parents the same – embracing one another with affection. A spell. They couldn't hear Jonathan because of a spell.
A soft thud was heard, and the windows silently open from it's locks, the vines slowly rushing past to not only refrain the door to be opened by Jonathan – but to also wander around in search of the blessed boy. The boy who stole the blessed flower kissed by the deities – the one who was in the prophecy.
Vecna entered the room, letting out an abrupt creak, slowly shifting his unappealing features to something more.. plausible. He stepped over and lifted him from the cradle, his stoic features hardening as the sigil flared bright gold, answering an oath older than language.
The forest recoiled, cold breeze rushing past that it made them all shudder. Thick roots snapped and the bark that were claimed stronger than metal splitted as if it burned – and that made the lovers soon enough awaken with unease.. the feeling spreading through the land. For one fragile moment, the March tried to remember itself.
Vecna paused, impressed by the effect. He gazed down at the child that slowly woke up, trying to refrain it from shifting around and crying. "So much power," he murmured softly, voice layered with echoes. "And no one left to teach you what to do with it.."
He then snapped his gaze over when he hears the loud noise coming from the couple, the vines that held the edges of the cradle crushing it as it got caught. He gave a soft smirk, and before they could do anything, he disappeared from their point of view – lunging over to the window as the vines that slyly crept up on them restricted them from ever getting closer.
Dark magic.
The door bursted open the same time, showing a teary eyed Jonathan that seemed helpless as ever, loudly blabbering about what the had seen. "Mom! Dad!! I.. I saw him – the Dark Sorcerer! He—"
But it was nothing much, as Joyce felt her heart drop, breath knocked out of her – the world slowly stopped spinning. She scrambled over to the window when the light faded and the vines loosened.. slowly retreating.
The wards fell quiet and she finally exhaled shakily, her grip tightening.
"WILL!"
She cried, slowly trying to jump down from the small height and try to atleast follow wherever the monster was taking him away to – falling gracefully down to the ground with her powers. The grass died, it's usual vibrant green hues now a pale grey.
Joyce tried to follow them with desperation, barely caring if she didn't know the path she was taking – looking left and right. She could hear calls from afar but it didn't matter, her gaze locked on the man that wore a hat, holding her son. She tried to use her powers, but the moment she did, they faded away.. dissipating into dust particles.
It was a hallucination – Vecna tricked her.
She let out a loud cry of agony, falling down on her knees – hands reaching to pull her hair with frustration. That one simple thud of grief had subtly created a signal towards whicheer deities were there that watched her from above, as a loud cry for help.
Joyce had thought it was just pure trickery that the infamous dark sorcerer had created to deceive her.. but the moment she came back from the woods with an expression that seemed as if the life had got drained out of her, her hopes were pushed away.
By the strike of dawn, it was still the same – the cradle was crushed and empty.
Not a single track led further into the woods and stopped where she had last seen them. No spell could even trace their child no matter how powerful, and the Border March of Hawkins swallowed the loss the way it always had been – silently and shamefully whole.
It was as if something was redirecting the answers – avoiding the truth. And somehow, no god, magical being, or pure human could even go past it. At all.
Or, They simply found nothing willing to answer.
But.. deep within the forest – past the bustling city of Heartland and it's beautiful lake, where the maps failed and the air bent in an off tilt, a dark tower rose into being – stone threaded with living shadow and guarding vines, it being once tethered to the realm that did not exactly belong to this one.
Camazotz wasn't the same ever since, and there in that tall tower, Vecna would hide and raise the child carefully. But not as if he was his own son, nor a king. But a cleric without a congregation — a living seal, a bridge.. a battery for a world that should never touch this one.
He held the powers that should've been his from the blessed flower – and the only way to remain connected to it is by keeping the source. And the March would learn to pray again.
Placing the child to its own cot, the darkness seeped around and he gave a dark chuckle, slowly caressing the sigil that glowed underneath his palm. "You will be my little vessel.. my seer, spy.." he started.
Looking over to the open windows of the tower, the view of nothing but crowded trees that hid the taunting glowing city from afar.. the place he truly belonged to, made him let out a low, menacing hum.
With a flick of his wrist, the dark slimy vines closed the window shut – the darkness enveloping them. Just a fleeting sight of light seeped through the cracks from above, falling down to the little boy's fluttering amber eyes.
Vecna – or Henry, slowly clasped his hands behind his back, staring down at him.
"You and I, we are going to do such beautiful things together, William."
Yet somewhere beyond Vecna's reach, an oathless paladin unawarely moved through The March and searched something he could believe in – a devotion with no name - and it was going to collide paths with him, waiting for him in a tower that was built through shadows no spell could find..
For his fate was already bound to the blessed cleric that the world once thought they lost.