Chapter Text
Naberius Narnia loved his mother. He loved the way she stroked the hair between his horns. He loved the way she commanded respect and attention from the staff of their house. He loved the way she could always pull his father away from his work to share a family meal.
It was difficult for him to believe that the thing lying on his parents' bed was his mother. Her hair, normally kept in meticulous order, was loose and splayed messily across the plush pillows. One of her hands had slipped off the edge of the bed and now hung limply. Narnia could see that the tips of her fingers had begun to turn an ugly greyish blue.
Someone, perhaps one of the doctors that had frequented their estate over the past two days, had covered her face with a small sheet. He could almost pretend it wasn’t his mother lying on the bed, just a nameless demon. Narnia clutched the hem of his sleeve, an unfamiliar emotion welling in his chest.
“Don’t cry,” his father commanded, his voice as sharp and cold as a knife, “If she was strong, she would have survived,”
He blinked, blurry eyes looking down at his feet. Oh… perhaps that was it. His mother was weak. Weak like the spirit tribes his father always complained about. Weak like the magical beasts they kept at their command. Weak like the subservient Many-Ears he often saw laboring in town.
If she was strong, she would have survived. The thought echoed in his head and Narnia wobbled slightly. A long, slow breath slipped from his mouth as the feeling in his chest surged. He hated weak things.
Narnia hated his mother for being weak. For dying. For leaving him behind.
From his father’s arms, the pitiful creature that was Narnia’s new brother mewled. The sound cut through the silence that hung heavily over the room and pulled him from his thoughts. Narnia turned his gaze to the squirming baby.
Naberius Kalego had been born premature and the strain of his birth had killed their mother. He was tiny—too tiny to be anything other than a runt. The Naberius heir could see the disappointment that lay dormant in his father's eyes as he passed the baby off to a nursemaid. As he followed his father out of the room, Narnia couldn't help but spare a final glance at the newest Naberius.
“I hope for your sake, little brother,” he thought, “that you won’t grow up to be weak.”
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His brother’s nursery had been set up on the southern side of their estate, noticeably removed from where both their father and Narnia spent most of their time. The distance should have made it easier to forget about the existence of the youngest Naberius, but curiosity had sunk in its hooked fangs and refused to let go. He found himself distracted—filled with a directionless energy that made it impossible to get any work done.
Even his tutor had begun to notice. Though, the old man seemed more amused by his preoccupation than anything else. It was only once Narnia found himself lingering just beyond the threshold of the southern hallway that he finally decided enough was enough. Satan’s sweaty balls, he was a Naberius! They were not a people who dawdled on indecision.
With the beginning of a scowl pulling at his lips, Narnia proceeded down the hallway. The southern wing was one of the oldest additions to their estate. Originally constructed to accommodate the visitations of important, high-ranking demons, the place had gradually fallen out of use. Presently, it was mostly used to store furniture.
Still the remnants of grandeur shone past the cracked ceiling and peeling wallpaper. Sumptuous curtains framed the delicate sash windows that decorated the left wall of the hallway. His eyes flickered over the dust particles slowly meandering in the afternoon light.
It was as though he had stepped into a different world. The familiar hustle-bustle of the estate seemed to fade away the deeper he stepped into the southern wing. His footsteps barely made a sound, muffled by the ostentatious carpet that decorated the floor. Narnia felt his nose crinkle as the musty scent of disuse grew stronger.
Without much thought, he shoved open one of the hallway’s many windows. The warm Netherworld breeze blew gently across his face. Narnia rubbed his nose. He supposed that would have to do.
“Oh! Naberius-sama!”
Narnia turned to see a maid carrying a basket of clean laundry. He blinked as she smiled warmly at him.
“Are you here to see the baby?” she asked.
Unsure of what to say, and slightly startled by her sudden appearance, he nodded.
“How wonderful,” she beamed, “I was beginning to worry that no one was ever going to visit him,”
She moved swiftly down the hallway, a pep to her step visible with her wagging tail. After a moment of hesitation, Narnia followed after her. His brother’s room was further down the hall than he anticipated, nearly at its end. The midday light seem to struggle to reach this far, casting long, dark shadows.
Eventually, they came to an open door. The maid was quick to pass into the room, but Narnia hovered at the threshold. It felt as though he was on the precipice of something—as though the next step may send him plummeting if he wasn’t careful. With the ghost of a breath on his lips, he stepped into the room.
It was underwhelming.
Supplies, clearly meant for rearing a young demon, littered the room in barely contained chaos. The faint smell Narnia had come to associate with babies saturated the room like a cheap perfume. He subconsciously crinkled his nose. The maid was a few feet away, her hands reaching into the deep recesses of a dark purple crib.
Without much ceremony, his little brother, Naberius Kalego, was pulled from his nap. Narnia watched frozen, as the pitiful creature’s face scrunched and turned a light shade of red. A nonsensical sound of discomfort came from the babe as it began to squirm. Before he gather his thoughts, the maid deposited the creature into his arms.
Similar to the sensation of having the wind knocked out of him, Narnia felt all breath leave his lungs. His eyes moved from the baby to meet the gaze of the maid. A mischievous light danced in her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind holding him while I make a bottle,” she smirked, “Be careful not to drop him—babies are awfully delicate at that age.”
Before he could refute her, the baby squirmed and Narnia felt his soul nearly leave his body.
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Against his better judgement, he kept going back.
If father noticed the increasing frequency of his disappearances, he’d yet to say anything. For the Naberius patriarch, that was practically a red carpet of permission to carry on these visitations. Besides his brother’s birth and the funeral of their mother, Naberius Nightwalker had not visited Kalego once. He was seemingly disinterested in his youngest son.
Privately, Narnia wondered if this was due to his brother’s appearance. While they both strongly resembled their father in coloring, even as a baby Kalego’s face strongly resembled that of their mother’s. While Narnia’s face was narrow, his cheekbones and jawline were defined by soft edges.
Comparatively, his brother had inherited the commanding, angular face that had made their mother so fearsome. He would likely grow into quite an attractive young demon. Narnia felt his eyebrow twitch at the thought as he pushed open the door to his brother’s nursery.
“Welcome back, Naberius-sama,” a familiar maid greeted from an armchair where she was feeding the baby.
Of all the servants they kept at the estate, she was growing to be one of his favorites. Narnia couldn’t say that he liked her, but she was competent enough at her job that he could at least tolerate her. He also appreciated that while he had never asked for her name, she also had never given it.
She new her place, and that was what made her a competent servant.
Without much word, the maid and Narnia switched positions. Taking the bottle and his brother, he plopped down into the old armchair. The little cretin gurgled, hell-milk dribbling down his chin onto Narnia’s sleeve. Without much thought, he dabbed up the spillage with a cloth. The maid smiled as she watched the interaction occur.
“It shouldn’t be long before little Kalego opens his eyes,” she told him.
The Naberius were different from other demons. Putting aside their relationship with Cerberus and their position as hell’s guard dogs, they were descended from hellhounds. While many demons could trace their lineage to various beasts and monsters, there were only a few families who could be said to have been descended from legendary beings.
Notably, there were the Azazel, Balam, Asmodeus, Dantalion, Naberius. The Azazel were descended from the cataclysmic nine-tailed foxes, evident in their strange horns and two tails they often kept hidden away. The Balam had their roots in the terrifying gargoyle kings that supposedly ruled over hell during the era of bloody stone.
The Asmodeus shared blood with the mythically beautiful dragons, inheriting both their pulchritude and ego. Hilariously enough, there were rumors that both the Balam and Asmodeus’ were born from eggs. With the Dantalion… it was argued that there was only ever one member of the clan. That the original Dantalion just created a new face for itself every couple of years.
Finally, the Naberius. They were descended by hellhounds and, to put it simply, had a progression of growth similar to most dogs. From birth, it took members of their clan nearly two months to open their eyes. From then on, they developed normally enough. Though the Naberius had to be much more mindful of socialization than other demons.
Narnia eyed the soggy, wrinkled potato that was his brother skeptically. He found it difficult to believe that such a creature might grow up to be a powerful and respected Naberius. Though, his thoughts drifted to his uncle, he supposed even that wasn’t a guarantee.
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The next time he visits the southern hallway, Narnia passes by another demon on his way to his brother's nursery. For a moment she almost appeared surprised to see him, before her face twisted into something pitying. With a small nod, the other demon passed by him quickly, the stinging scent of antiseptic following her out.
It was easy enough to recognize what she was, a doctor. A cold feeling washed over him as the smell reminded him of his mother. The image of her hand, finger tips slowly turning blue as it hung limply off a bed, drifted across his mind. With a new sense of urgency, he ran for his brother's room.
Tripping slightly over the carpet, he caught himself on the old oak frame. The first thing he saw was the maid. She was sitting in the same armchair, her face in her hands as she sobbed. Narnia felt his legs grow weak as something in his mind was pulled taut.
Surely his brother wasn't...
He wouldn't have...
He wasn't weak like there mother was he?
Narnia's knees hit the floor with a smack. A hand reached up to grip at his hair. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? The maid, likely hearing his own distress, looked up from her hands with tears dripping down her face. For the first time, Narnia met her eyes.
"My brother," he gasped, his mouth failing to form the words, "is he..."
The maid shook her head and he felt his heart drop.
"He's fine,"
Losing his grip on the doorframe, Narnia nearly faceplanted on the floor. The molten wave of adrenaline that had been racing through his veins settled into something more lukewarm. He exhaled a slow, soothing breath.
"What's the problem then? Why was a doctor called?" he demanded.
The maid clasped shaking hands together. She took a breath, making a deliberate attempt to compose herself.
"He opened his eyes last night," she told him, "but I noticed that he had a hard time tracing objects."
"It's not uncommon for babies who have trouble following movement to have visual problems—they could just have a temporary misalignment or just have bad eyesight. So I called the doctor to check on him..."
Her voice petered off as new tears began to drip down her cheeks. Growing irritated, Narnia gestured for her to go on.
"He opened his eyes," she sobbed, "but he'll never be able to see, Little Kalego is blind."