Chapter Text
Mane was five years old, his front tooth was missing and a lion tail that still made his balance a bit wonky.
Mane was five years old with a toddler in his arms, one with a completely different biology than his own.
He still couldn't believe that his mother had haunted him down just to give him the child. Her lion tail swishing indifferently, a faint look of disgust on her face at the humid cave, while she carried something in her arms.
Mane had been excited, having stayed on his own ever since he was two.
Green leaves fell from the ceiling of the cave, glow berries just out of reach—sparkling like stars. A small dying campfire laid in the middle of the room next to a messy pile of blankets that were a poor attempt at a nest.
The little lion hybrid was thrilled to see his mother home for the first time in three years. The loneliness was almost suffocating for a child so small, pains of hunger and injuries that were unattended. A faint smoky scent mixed with lavender filled the place while the small child stood in the middle of the cave with a toothy smile.
"You hid well, child." His mother said with a gruff voice, holding the bundle closer to her chest in a way that looked almost maternal. It was a compliment, one that made Mane feel fuzzy inside while he hurried to the place where his mother was sitting.
Mane was good hiding, good at playing hide and seek from the different soldiers that flooded the streets outside.
Her claws had softly touched his skin, caressing his cheek absentmindedly, her sword glistering on the side of her hip. Slowly she rubbed her cheek all over his hair in an instinctive motion. She must have been feeling particularly maternal to let herself indulge in that behavior. Mane's milky scent slowly getting covered by the faint lavender of her perfume while she hummed something under her breath.
The moment her brain registered the action, her claws came to push the kid out of the way with a conflicted frown. The sudden movement sending Mane to the floor. The small lion hybrid didn't complain, instead crossing his legs and sitting in front of his mom with an innocent confused smile on his face.
His mother looked at him with something far softer than usual, slowly coaxing his arms open and putting a heavy infant on them.
"I need you to be very brave Mane, and take care of your little brother for me." Her voice was soft, so different from the resentful tone Mane could barely remember. It was the same one she had used before disappearing. "You are a big boy now, you think you can do that for me?"
Mane's eyes shifted to the small squirming infant on his arms, flickering to the pair of mismatched eyes, to dark skin the same color as his and the small pair of tiger ears resting over fuzzy hair. A strange feeling close to worry festered on his chest at the question. Mane could barely take care of himself on his own, and this infant was too small to know how to work or hide.
His small lips pursed into a pout as he turned to look at his mother with a lost expression. A faint look to her mom's almost hopeful expression made the feeling subside. Mane could do this, Mane was brave and strong. He could take care of his baby brother until the boy learned to work.
"Okay momma!" Mane whisper shouted, his hands grasping the blanket, while he stared at his mom with a small smile.
"Thank you baby, Flame has stopped nursing so don't worry about things like that." Her eyes were full of something that looked lighter, a smile laying on her lips while she slowly stood in the middle of the cave before leaving with a faint hum of a lullaby on her lips. "Bye Mane."
It takes Mane a couple of seconds to realize that she was indeed leaving once more. His huge amethyst eyes staring at the retreating figure with a small frown on his face, watching it get smaller until it finally disappears into the thick green foliage of the jungle surrounding them.
The tiger hybrid on his arms made a small cooing sound, small hands raising to slap softly at Mane's wet cheeks— making the child giggle. That's right, Mane had to take care of his baby brother, there was no time for something as silly as crying.
It had been almost torturous to take care of someone so small.
Flame was part nether born, yet his skin was too fragile to tolerate the heat of his own biology.
His skin was soft like Mane's, it lacked that leathery component that made nether demons resistant to the fire of their own anatomy. Each time the infant cried, lava would pour out of the child's eyes, effectively burning both of them in the process.
Hybrid biology always carried these types of risks.
Risks that a child didn't know how to deal with.
Desperation seemed to claw at Mane's insides with each year that passed. A mix of what he now recognized as resentment with adoration. It didn't matter how many odd jobs Mane ended up working, how much he struggled to keep the kid warm— at the end of the day, Flame was always waiting by the door.
Burns littered his arms from each tantrum dealt with, callouses and injuries from holding a pickaxe far too big for himself while he worked as much as he could with the infant secured on his back. Clumsy braids holding his curly hair out of the way, black clothing disguising him from prying eyes.
He had some help.
A kind soldier who had seen him struggling to patch his own injuries while soothing a crying Flame through his own tears.
Her pearly white hair was held in a messy bun, stained red with blood, and her hands had been soft even through the acid burn scars— those were bad enough to make her limbs tremble sightly. The girl was far older than Mane, basically a grown up. She was twelve, the age you were old enough to officially join a gang.
That means the same as being a grown up.
A long jagged scar covered the side of her face, a faded purple leotard and a black skirt hanging on her legs. With surprisingly steady hands she started wrapping Mane's hands slowly, humming under her breath before helping him to stand.
Walking with a twisted ankle hurts, yet the girl is too small and too skinny to carry them. So Mane swallows his complaints and the tears while he continues making the journey with a still crying toddler on his back.
Mane thinks her eyes had been kind while she ushered them inside of the cave with a calm expression. There was no disgust at the dusty humid conditions of their home, just a steady hum of her hands working to build a proper kitchen.
She stays with the both of them as much as she can.
"Anarchy kids have to help each other, we have no one else." She had murmured into his ear while teaching him how to use a stove safely with his brother on her arms.
Her name was Lotus, or at least that's what Mane remembers.
Mane had called her Lottie.
She stayed on the cold nights, long enough to teach Mane how to fend for himself. Steady hands guiding his small claws through basic motions: from braiding his own hair to the right grip to hold a spear. Mane thinks she was kind or patient. Always observing the way Mane took care of Flame from the corners of the room.
Some nights he would find her staring at the stars with shiny eyes full of awe, a silent sort of devotion Mane couldn't understand, one that seemed to travel through her entire body.
Maybe it was consequence of her hybrid nature.
Mane never knew what kind of hybrid she was.
One day she had ran out the door in a frenzy, hiding Mane and Flame under the thick blankets of the nest, before bolting out of the cave. Drops of silver staining the floor beautifully, her blood sinking into the dirt. Lottie hadn't returned after that.
Mane had been hurt until he found a piece of information in the middle of the sketchy marketplace. A familiar face on one of the missing posters that littered the destroyed walls. Things like the color of her eyes had vanished from his young mind.
Forever forgotten under the rubble.
Mane doubted she had survived.
Maybe she had fallen into the claws of hybrid traffickers, maybe she had been recruited in a gang or maybe her body really laid in a silver puddle underneath the rubble of a destroyed building.
Still for some stupid hopeful reason, his hands found themselves wrapped around a piece of old wood. A makeshift grave on by the treeline, clumsy with a couple of lotus flowers decorating the outside. Lottie had always said that the worst thing it could happen to someone wasn't death, it was being forgotten.
She believed everyone deserved a resting place.
And maybe, Mane thought it silly was at first.
But wasn't he the silly one? Making a grave because he thought she deserved to have a place of her own under the stars she clearly loved.
No one cared for anarchy kids enough to search for them.
Anarchy kids cared for anarchy kids, until they became anarchy adults… And anarchy adults had better things to do than care for a bunch of children that will probably not make it past adulthood.
Because no anarchy kid reached adulthood intact.
And maybe that belief is not something his three year old brother should be hearing about.
Yet, it was a reality that Mane repeated to Flame at eight years old.
The words are uttered full of venom while his head is halfway into a bucket, hands scrubbing roughly at his wet curls in a desperate attempt to clean the blood from the golden strands. He sounds as bitter as the rest of adults from the dark market and that thought is enough to make him growl in frustration. A hand reaching for the bloody spear nearby and sending it clattering to the floor.
Flame makes a confused hum from behind him, slow footsteps walking around him and kneeling in front of the spear. Through the water on his face, Mane can see his brother staring innocently at the words.
He wonders if Flame would hate him when he grew older.
When mercenary was a word that actually meant something to him instead of an abstract concept.
Because that's what Mane was now, a mercenary, an assassin for hire.
Mane had heard from someone else that it was dirty work, that it was embarrassing.
But he didn't really care.
Flame needed more food with each passing day, needed more warmth, and that cost money.
Mercenary work wasn't glamorous, none of the child's jobs where, but it paid significantly more.
It was espionage at first, targets later.
Nowadays Mane grabbed whatever odd job he could found, from smuggling substances and explosives to actual targets and information gathering.
His hands are bloody, no matter how much he rinses them.
His brother is a toddler now, black horns poking in the middle of his head, tiger tail swishing silently behind him. Flame looks confused at the scene. The small kid hadn't stepped a foot outside the cave ever since his mother had delivered him here. The tiger hybrid had yet to say a single word, instead cooing or yipping the same way cubs did.
He wasn't sure if three year olds were supposed to talk yet, but Mane figured it didn't matter. Silence was better, silence was safe.
Besides, the kid had developed a personality of his own even without words. He could communicate with Mane, he could learn.
Slowly, he had started teaching Flame how to do basic household chores.
The kid was sassy on his own way, sometimes he will dump everything on one messy corner and call it cleaning.
There's something soft landing against his side, the faint thud of the object rolling in the floor before suddenly stopping. With a sigh, Mane went back into sinking his head underwater, trying to get rid of the mix of oils that they used as a shampoo.
When he can actually see the small object, he notices it's a small lion plushie— one that Mane had stolen from an empty stall during a gang raid.
"I can't play now Flame" Mane says with a tired smile before sinking his head once more on the cold murky water.
Moments later, small footsteps walk around his body, hands scraping against the floor and then retreating back into the same place they were before. For a second, Mane actually thinks the stubborn brother he has is going to actually listen.
Five seconds later, the plushie is landing against the back of his head once more making Mane yelp. Slightly frustrated, he takes his head out of the bucket to actually glare at the small toddler. His eyes shifting between the discarded plushie and the expression of complete faux innocence on Flame's face— the menace is even whistling.
The whole thing is ridiculous enough to make him laugh.
Golden curls are uncomfortable against his back, the wet hair soaking the fabric of his shirt while Mane lets himself laugh at the stupid antics of the small kid. Standing up with tired knees and chasing after his brother with the stupid childish impulse.
The reminder of working with that horrible missing poster board almost disappearing from his mind while he focuses on chasing his brother through the cave. The kid giggles, tail swaying in the air playfully before he pounces on Mane like an overgrown cat.
The place ends up a mess of water and dirt that leaves the both of them needing a bath.
Mane can't bring himself to regretting.
Managing tantrums had became easy the more the kid grew, forcing himself to get out of the house and ignore his brother teary eyes was significantly harder.
Mane is nine when he fails for the first time.
He's unsure of when exactly he arrived home, or what exactly happened.
What he does know is that someone had been following the both of them for weeks, tracking them down, and memorizing their routines. His lion ears are pressed tightly against his head while he stares at the mess inside their cave.
Had Mane really been that tired to not notice it?
Flame is lying on a puddle of blood, sword held tightly on his hands, a body broken and bruised at his feet. The five year old is shaking like a leaf, tears burning his cheeks, while he stares at Mane with something close to horror on his face. His ankle is swollen and ugly— the sight is enough to make Mane queasy.
Mane just knows that he has failed at the only thing he still has.
Slowly cradling the child close to his chest, Mane carries a far too tall four year old to the nearby tub to clean up the blood that stains his brother's skin red.
Mane tries his hardest to shush the kid's soft sobs. Flame is small with wide eyes shining completely, a door for everyone to see. His red and amber eyes reflect every single one of his emotions completely. A vulnerability that Mane needs to somehow fix.
Normally, bathing Flame is a mess of soap and water staning the floors, splashes in the form of complaints as he tries to drag Mane into the murky water with him.
Now, the water is still.
Soft almost impossible to hear sobs are the only sound echoing through the space. Shivers making the small toddler shake on his hands, the cold water making his lips turn a sickly shade of purple, slowly the already dim sparks on the kid's head slowly turning a shady white.
Mane is not enough to protect his brother now.
Mane has a big risk of becoming one of the missing posters on the streets and what will Flame do then?
The more known his name is, the more dangerous this situation becomes for the both of them.
"I'm sorry Flame" Mane whispers while wrapping the kid's ankle tightly. His golden hair falling over his eyes while he continues working through his baby brother's injuries, the cave is cold.
Each glance to the occupied cave is nothing more than a faint reminder of just how much he has failed.
The place is too cold for a netherborn to develop correctly, the constant bacteria and the way they could barely afford food made his brother weaker with each passing day. It was clear Flame was suffering from some sort of netherborn sickness the more the days passed. The faint rattling of his chest with each breath he took in his sleep.
Flame had yet to talk and most days he stayed in the nest of blankets with a faint frown of pain.
"I'm so sorry Flame" Mane hiccuped, holding his brothers cheek with gentle claws.
"It's okay." Flame whispers hoarsely for the first time since he was dropped on Mane's small arms. His eyes are tired, cheeks a tiny bit sunken while he stares at his brother with a smile on his face. The first words ever spoken from his lips, and they are to comfort Mane for his failures.
A hoarse laugh falls from Mane's lips while he slowly starts braiding the wet hair. He should be the one comforting Flame, no the other way around.
That day Mane bows to work even harder than before, through tears that blur his vision, as he holds the shivering injured for of his baby brother close to his chest.
He'll teach Flame to defend himself and then leave for more dangerous missions.
For more money, to get the both of them out of here.
Flame is five when he starts asking questions.
An never ending waterfall falling from his lips the moment Mane get home. The tiger follows him around the house like a puppy, jumping around while his head goes from a topic to another. Most of them don't even have any correlation that could actually make sense.
Now that Flame had discovered his voice, it seemed like the small kid was determined to never shut up again. Words jumbling, jumping from one topic to another so fast— it left Mane dizzy. Ever since their living conditions had improved, more energy seemed to bleed into the small spitfire that was his brother.
The kid couldn't stay still, jumping from one foot to another, getting distracted but small little details.
"Mane, why are my eyes a different color than yours?" The kid drags the e, his mouth creating a small lips at the moment of rolling the r's that is a bit adorable.
The questions drags Mane out of his musing, making him hum.
"Cause of genetics" Mane responds, having no idea on what the word actually means. Part of him remembers a man complaining rather loudly about the eye color of his daughter, and another one smiling before blaming it on the same thing.
"What is that?" Flame interrupts, his tiger tail swinging on the air, a small smile on his face while he stared at Mane. Staring up at him like Mane held the answers to the universe.
It was uncomfortable the way Flame believed every word that came out of his mouth with steadfast determination.
It was embarrassing that Mane answered with things that he usually didn't know. His cheeks started heating up at the situation, eyes going back to the soup in front of him.
"Dawg, nun ya'" Mane snarks back, going back to slowly mixing the ingredients of the stew that he was making.
"Nun ya' what?"
"Nun ya' business." The cub behind him lets out a sassy hiss at the response, staying quiet a couple of minutes. Sticking his tongue out of Mane which earns a dramatic gasp from the other kid as he hurried to stick his tongue out too.
The small cub actually shuts up for a couple seconds.
Faint false hope shimmers through Mane's body while his tired brain appreciates the silence. A faint humming falling from his lips while he continues cutting the vegetables into small pieces.
"Maneee!" Flame starts once more, a cheeky smile on his face. "I wanna be a fighter"
A tired sigh falls from the taller child's lips, hand coming to massage the bridge of his nose while he stares at the wall.
Maybe if Mane was a little less tired he would have been able to do something other than actually indulge the kid in this line of questioning. In a place so full of violence like this once, it was very unlikely that Flame would be able to find a job that didn't include it.
Also, no matter how uncomfortable it made him… Flame actually saw Mane and saw a role model.
How could Mane actually scold Flame for wanting something like that? how could he when Flame wanted to be the same as he was.
Mane didn't think he was anyone worth admiring.
"Okay, what would be your price then?" Mane hums softly, only the sound of the knife hitting the wooden chopping board traveling through the cave. For a second, they sit there in silence while he focuses on the food in front of him.
Finally Flame speaks, head tilting to the side in confusion while his mismatched eyes stare at Mane with innocence on them. They still shine with an expressiveness that would make anyone else uncomfortable.
"A price?" The cub hits his tail softly against the cave's floor.
"Yes Flame, a price. The price for your use, the reason you fight." Mane slowly begins stirring the pot almost absentmindedly, eyes drifting to the direction where a familiar grave laid. "Mine is money, because money is static, it never changes."
Money kept a roof over the cubs head. It was something that stopped you from loyalty, from getting used as discarded. Why would anyone discard something they can buy to stop their enemies.
Flame stared at him like the whole concept was confusing to him, like the idea of having a price was stupid. It was during moments like these with his hands on the stove and the faint warmth of the oil lamps that Mane remembered just how naive his brother still was.
How innocent his view on life remained even after taking the life of another person.
"Flame, you can't choose what use people see on you." Mane starts, slowly passing a bowl of warm soup to his brothers hands with a faint tired smile still present on his face. "But you can choose what your price is."
His eyes shift downward, remembering faintly his first day as mercenary before continuing to speak casually. The broth is warmth on his hands, barely any meat on his plate while he looks at the place where they live.
Every single thing life has taught him.
"They will take it either way, so you can ask for something in return or just let them do as they please." Mane replies slowly.
"I don't have a price" Flame replies almost dejected, his tiger ears dropping to his skull while he eats a mouthful of meat.
"Well, then you can't be a fighter until you have one." Mane smiles faintly, continuing to eat the broth in front of him.
Mind already thinking on how to organize his time between each mission.
Unaware of the gears moving in his younger brother's brain.
Most adults often don't realize just how much a couple of words can shape a child's entire worldview.
Mane was not an adult.
Mane's last milk tooth had yet to fall.
How could he have known that those words would completely redefine the way Flame saw adult relationships?
He was just parroting something he believed was true.
Flame is seven when he starts getting in stupid fights.
Some sort of hunger had developed behind his little brother's eyes, one that yearned for the fights Mane usually took. One that saw mercenary work as something precious. Maybe Flame was hungry for approval, hungry for attention.
Mane thinks that's something supposed to be normal in children so young.
Had he been the same when Lottie was around?
It's not a question Mane has answer to.
What Mane knows is that his brother arrives home just an hour after him, sword held on his hands and a satisfied smirk on his face. Orange blood drips from his split lip, nose crooked, fiery eyes staring at Mane with something soft and prideful.
The situation makes Mane sick.
He couldn't stay in home and watch after Flame like he had done in the past. Both of them needed money. Instead with angry eyes, he grabs the rebellious kid's hand and drags the menace into the makeshift kitchen. Slowly wrapping ice in a nearby towel and holding it to Flame's bruised cheek.
Making sure the kid has the ice pack secured before his hands grab around the crooked nose and set the bone in the way it should be.
The sword lays scattered on the stone floor, blood glistening on the blade, staining the whole place red.
"Flame, why on earth are you picking fights with random people?" His voice is angry. Because for the first time in his life, Mane is angry at Flame's reckless behavior.
It's probably hypocritical of him, giving the fact that he was just a year or two older than Flame when he became a mercenary.
Mane just doesn't know why the notion of Flame fighting makes him so angry.
It also makes him want to cry.
Which, hah, it's stupid.
"I was practicing." Flame bites out, cheeks puffing as something defensive starts brewing inside of his eyes.
"Practicing what Flame? you don't even have armor yet!" Mane sighs exasperated, a hand reaching to apply pressure on the stab wound on his brother's shoulder.
Right, fuck, how much blood had Flame lost in that stupid fight?
"Well, that's because you don't let me do anything!" Flame snaps back, thick black smoke falling from his nose. It makes Mane eyes water, nose itching under the substance.
Ignoring the sensation, Mane turns around, dabbing a health potion that he had kept only for emergencies on one of the nearby chests. The glimmering pink liquid was extremely expensive and Mane had yet to finish learning how to even make it.
Letting a few drops fall into the cloth, he goes back to applying pressure, this time with the potion.
"Flame, If I don't let you do something, then maybe it's because you aren't ready for it." Mane's voice is sharp, making the kid in front of him shrink slightly. His hands shake slightly while he focuses on making sure the bandages are wrapped tightly.
"That's no fair! You were younger." Flame actually whines making Mane freeze, the blood on his veins turning into gelid ice. The cave where they live feels slightly too small for the increasing pressure on his ribcage.
The worst thing is that Flame isn't wrong.
Mane was five, two years younger than Flame and there were other kids who at seven where already mercenaries.
Flame didn't work, Flame didn't fight and he certainly was old enough to do so.
So why is Mane so pressed about this?
Slowly he stands up, his knees shaky while he focuses on the medical supplies scattered on the stone floor. Smoke steadily falls from his brother's nose, making his throat itch in discomfort.
"I was, but not everyone is ready at the same time." Mane replies almost monotonously, feeling a bit empty about the whole situation. Flame, prideful and stubborn to a point where it's painful, opens his mouth to speak.
Mane doesn't let him.
"Go to the nest, Flame. Just leave." Mane starts gathering everything into his arms, counting the supplies in his head. Muscular memory allowing him to organize everything the way it's supposed to be.
Mane doesn't turn around when he hears his brother storm to the corner of the cave.
Instead he kneels and focuses on cleaning the blood from the floor.
Because Mane doesn't understand feelings, but he understands chores.
Because Mane feels empty, and he doesn't know what that's supposed to mean.
Flame is ten when he discovers his price.
Honor, a title, recognition.
All of them are completely subjective to the environment where the both of them live. As a consequence his brother begins to behave more like a sheep than an actual tiger. It becomes scarily easy to blind Flame to manipulation of someone with authority. And worst of all, Flame becomes discardable.
The worst thing is that Mane doesn't know how to stop it.
Honor and money were two different things, to different ways of fighting.
Every single conversation became a fight between the two ideologies. Every time Mane used an underhanded technic to win, every time his spear killed someone defenseless, his brother would look at him with something almost disappointed.
And Mane can't stop Flame from fighting.
But he can hide those glimmering eyes that share every emotion from the outside world. He can make it slightly harder for someone to realize just how easy it is to make his brother obey, just how malleable Flame was.
He could Flame lose enough expression, to make it harder.
For people to stop seeing those eyes that shone with so much hope and trust.
So he does something dirty.
Mane sees the trust on his brother's eyes and the way he still copies Mane's style with a grin, and he uses that.
Because Mane is not a good person like Flame.
Walking around with an orange blindfold is complicated, it makes all of his chores significantly harder to do.
The world becomes a sad black with barely any light filtering through the fabric. Fighting blind is a weakness. It's dangerous. But Mane life was filled with sacrifices. Mane sacrifices the memory of the grass under his feet, the shade of purple of the sunset and those black dreads that sparked at the end.
He struggles until he develops some sort of echolocation.
He learns to fight completely blind, learns to detect enemies hiding in the foliage even better than before— his ears become sharp enough to hear everything in a twenty blocks radius.
And then, finally, Flame asks about it.
"It's just a challenge" Mane hums while frying some meat on the stove. His lion ears twitch occasionally, sensitive to help with his now impaired vision."Too difficult for you."
"Yes I can!" Flame bites the bait, offended. Mane is sure that his little brother's ears perked up at the notion of a challenge, that his eyes are full of pride and excitement.
It makes Mane feel guilty.
"Sure bro, whatever you say." Guilty for pressing just the exact buttons to make the child obey.
It's fine.
Mane doesn't plan on making this part of his daily routine.
After that, Flame starts using a black blindfold. It's easier for the tiger to walk around blind since a lot of the nether demon instincts let the kid see almost normally. He's not like Mane. He's not walking around blind in the same way Mane is.
He looks so proud of that fact.
He looks less expressive.
He's slightly safer now.
Flame is thirteen when he starts hearing whispers that aren't there.
The cave is warmer than during their childhood, a personalized heating system that Mane hands had created a long time ago. Whatever netherborn sickness that had haunted his brother's early childhood had disappeared completely with no sign of returning. Weeks of full meals and constant fighting helping his brother stay strong.
The stone built to absorb as much warmth as possible while a full pantry remained on the corner of the room.
Flame sleeps in a completely different nest after he had complained constantly about sharing one with Mane.
So imagine his surprise when he wakes to a sniffling preteen crawling onto his nest, letting Mane's sleeping hands cradle him and hold him close. The tiger ears are pressed tightly into his skull, nonsense falling from his lips.
The kid wails, actual wails mixed with cub yowls, a sound that he hadn't done since he was eight and had broken his foot in the middle of a fight. Flame is begging Mane for something and Mane has just woken up.
Mane doesn't even care as he yanks the orange blindfold from his head, ignoring the migraine at the sudden influx of light that he hasn't seen in three years. His elbows support his body into a half sitting position, the skin on his legs sizzling from the heat of his brother's tears.
Flame's tearing at his hair from whatever this episode is.
How do you fight something that isn't there?
It wasn't a normal nightmare.
Normal nightmares didn't leave you with whispers on your ears.
Whispers that apparently beg for mercy.
And after desperation starts clawing at his throat, Mane does something he hadn't done in a while.
His hands come to cradle a way too big Flame, holding him close to his chest and slowly standing up. The kid is too big for a fifteen year old Mane to carry, the same height as him, and a bit heavier. Because Flame wasn't like Mane, Flame wasn't lean or didn't use speed as his advantage.
Flame wasn't touched by malnutrition the same way Mane was.
Flame had enough food to grow both in height and in muscle.
A soft lullaby falls from his lips while he rocks the thirteen year old on his arms. His hands slowly rub behind the soft red ears while his eyes try desperately to analyze his brother's body for any visible injury or sign of sickness. He finds no sign of it beyond the burns on the kid's cheeks from the lava of his tears.
The kid's skin had become slightly more resistant to fire as the years passed.
Now the tears only left a faint burn that itched more than hurt.
This was not the same for Mane, who often left with third degree burns that he healed with a potion before the kid could even see them.
Finally, Flame falls back into an uneasy sleep.
For the first time in years, Mane does nothing but hold Flame close to his chest while whispering lullabies he hadn't sung since Flame was three. Slowly dabbing a fireproof cloth over the leftover lava, uncaring of the burns on his arms.
Downing the rest of the health potion until the burns are nothing more than a faint scar.
Mane lies down with his brother on his arms, holding the sleeping child close to his chest. Flame lets out small snores, smoke falling from the kid's nose with each peaceful exhale.
Mane doesn't sleep that night, nor does he sleep the next one.
After all, he needs the money for a pediatrics doctor and that involves grabbing extra missions while missing a couple of meals.
After Mane finally finds a pediatric doctor on this anarchy server. Dragging a moody thirteen year old out of bed is a challenge, especially one that insists he's fine and doesn't need a stupid doctor. Getting said moody preteen to abandon the blindfold home isn't something that he's able to do.
Pick your battles, they say.
"I'm not a weakling" Flame mutters, watching their interlinked hands with disdain. "I'm not a baby, bro, I can walk on my own"
"Dawg, you think I'm stupid? I know the moment I let your hand go, you will go straight home." Mane teases, one of his hands coming to ruffle his brother's dreadlocks with a small smile.
"Nahh, I won't!" Flame very obviously lies through his teeth, somehow easy to read even with his eyes covered.
"Sure, and your ears don't twitch when you lie" Mane replies almost easily, dragging his brother through the destroyed streets with a nonchalant expression.
"They don't do that!" Flame yelps, voice high pitched, hands reaching to grab at his ears almost subconsciously.
"How do you know that? Can you see them?" Mane smiles, messing with his little brother.
"No…"
"Well, then I guess we'll never know bro." Mane says before opening the doors of the anarchy hospital with a small frown. Flame grips his hand a bit tighter, scared of the place.
Mane didn't really blame him.
Hospitals on anarchy servers were a death zone, a place where you went only when you were on the verge of a permanent death or your mind had collapsed completely. The way you were treated depended on just how much money you could pay the place.
There's death in every corner of the room.
Mane doesn't even need to see to know just how dire the situation inside this place is. His lion ears pressed flat against his ears with each far away screamed that echoed down the dirty hallways. Slowly he leads the tall thirteen year old to a nearby chair.
Flame looks small, surrounded by white walls of the barely standing pediatrics unit of this anarchy server. That small old lion plushie clutched to his chest while his eyes flicker from the door to Mane's blindfolded ones. Sometimes seeing his brother like this, reminded Mane on just how small Flame was.
The kid was a year older than the age of recruitment.
A year older than that small child that had helped Mane a long time ago.
The place smells of heavy disinfectant, lavender mixing with the chemicals as Mane struggles to fill all of the forms without writing. Mane couldn't read or write anything other than his name, a truly embarrassing fact. Words that made absolutely no sense past a few letters that he could recognize.
Finally, he adjusts the blindfold on his head, pretending to be blind.
Being blind in a place like this meant you were powerful enough to survive.
Which was better than admitting that at seventeen years old Mane was still illiterate.
The secretary's annoyance transforms into understanding as she starts reading the questions out loud, finishing the forms and sending Mane back to his seat with a forced smile on her face.
Mane needed to get his hands onto that enchantment that made fabric's see through on one side while the other stays covered. Traveling the world barely able to see a single thing through the opaque fabric was a problem.
At least Flame's eyes were designed to see on low light.
The doctor that greets them is kind, a book of hybrid biology on the side of her desk while she waits for the two of them to settle down.
The place is cozy while she slowly waits for Mane to mutter as much of his family history as he can remember. Before getting up to examine Flame's ears, making a small chart of every single obvious hybrid trait into her book before turning to look at Mane.
She examines Flame's canines, writing every single hybrid trait she can see in a small notebook. She makes questions about Flame's hybrid status that Mane has no idea on what to answer past the obvious.
Finally, she slides over a paper with some sort of genetic exam while softly explaining that there was a good possibility that the whole things was a netherborn curse. Since Mane wasn't sure on what hybrid exactly his brother was, they will need to do an evaluation there to determine it. Another fragment of biology that Mane can't understand past the rather costly price of the exam.
"It's not unusual for soldiers who are netherborn to bear this curse." The doctor explains while filling out some sort of prescription. It's odd since there is no medication for curses. "Give this downstairs for free medication and you can pay for the exam there too."
Mane looks at her slightly suspicious before turning to grab Flame's hand and leading the both of them out of the room swiftly.
Flame complains the whole way down while Mane finishes spending their grocery money on genetic testing and a brain scan. He's going to have to take more jobs to cover this entire thing.
They give him a hybridity certification about Flame's species. The summarized name that they put on the first part is nether tiger hybrid, a rare mix between a nether demon and a tiger. Next to it, a blood carnet that Mane can use to finally get Flame's player tag.
For the brain scan, Mane has to pay a bit extra to make sure they sedate his brother before putting the thirteen year old in the strange machine. It's white and seems a bit claustrophobic. The medics come and go, speaking on hushed tones before delivering the results to Mane.
In the end, the curse theory is confirmed.
There's no cure to soothe it, no medicine past convincing Flame to stop fighting.
The small bag of vitamins is heavy on his arms while he slowly unwraps a sandwich and passes it to Flame with a small smile. Ignoring the way the hunger pains make his mouth water while he sees the small kid dig into the food with a smile.
Flame turns to look at him with a frown, head tilting to the side, staring at the piece of bread on his hands.
"I'm full, bro" Flame replies, trying very hard to seem nonchalant as he passes half of the sandwich into Mane's hands.
"Sure you are." Mane laughs, knowing full well the teen was still hungry but accepting the food nonetheless.
One day, Mane is going to get the both of them out of here.
One day.
Flame is fifteen when he learns how to read and write.
Flame is sixteen when Mane finally manages to get the both of them out of the server where the both of them where born.
The teen smiles teasing Mane about choosing "Pear" as the next part of his player ID.
"You named yourself after a fruit?" Flame laughs freely.
"I know you ain't talking after you named yourself after your weapon Mr. Flamefrags" Mane teases back, giving a mocking bow at the end of the name with a hum.
"You just jealous my name is badass and yours isn't" Flame stuck his tongue out, before running into the universal lobby with a sharp smile on his face.
"Come here, you menace." Mane had giggled, stomach full for the first time in years as he ran after his brother with a smile.
Mane is twenty five, no longer blind, no longer hungry and no longer cold.
Mane is twenty five with an empty nest, missions occupying more of his schedule as a faint bitter resentment of the past lingers on his throat.
Burnt scars cover the palms of his hands, charred skin the only evidence of his brother's existence that he carries as some sort of gruesome reminder. A much smaller cut scar on his neck from his last meeting with his little brother.
That time both of their ideologies had finally clashed together into a messing fight that almost ended up killing them. Because Mane was a mercenary, and his loyalty laid in the person who had more money. Flame stayed in the fallen empire, unable to understand the easy way that Mane betrayed everything for just the right price.
Mane had raised Flame unable to resist the call of honor and that is something that will cloud his brother's judgment for ever.
Yet, here Mane was.
Denying mission after mission with a calm frown on his face, because some stupid emotional part of him was unable to even stomach the thought of killing his brother. There was no price for the sacrifice that he had made to raise Flame, no way they could convince Mane of killing Flame.
Who were they?
Who were they to ask Mane to kill the person he spent his tears and his blood on?
How did they expect Mane—the one who held Flame during every thunderstorm, who made fun of every teen phase and yet helped him overcome it—to plunge a knife into his brother's heart just for money?
So, no, Mane is not killing Flame.
As he hears the familiar sound of footsteps echoing through his big cave— not his childhood one, not home, Mane was on another server away from that place— he prepares to go and make that clear once more. To look at whatever gang decided to recruit him for his brother's head at the face and watch them freeze at the venom in his voice.
Watch them beg and raise the bet, confused on why he wasn't accepting the bait.
Instead he's met face to face with a familiar face, that same smile that lit up the whole room and those same canine teeth.
Mane is twenty five when his estranged brother comes knocking at his door, not literally since Mane doesn't have a door but you get the idea.
And the only thing he can think is "Oh, he comes for a rematch" as he slowly launches into a fight.
To his surprise, that wasn't the reason Flame had traveled so far.
No, Flame wanted Mane to train him.
And Mane has the chilling urge to laugh hysterically, look Flame in the face and ask "Haven't I ruined you enough already?"
Because Mane wasn't good at caring for someone.
Flame was example of that.
Wemmbu was example of that.
His claws were too damaged, they sunk into other's skin until they poisoned whatever vision of the world the other person had with his transactional relationships. His brain was too caught up in what the other person could do for him, on how his actions could benefit him, that he could do nothing but leave once he realized.
Mane had ruined part of Wemmbu's view on the world.
He had ruined Flame with his broken moral compass.
And yet, it didn't matter how much cruelty poured out of his mouth, Flame remained steadfast on his decision. Hurt but stubborn to learn from him, to learn the dishonorable ways of the spear.
So he yields, he surrenders the same way he surrenders everything when it comes to Flame.
And accepts training the man.
And when Flame inevitably ends up locked up inside of a prison, Mane goes against his beliefs and breaks the man out anyway. He pretends not to see the disbelief coloring the other man's face at his actions.
It stings, it's deserved but it still stings.
And that last night before Flame leaves, his brother sleeps on his nest for the first time in a years.
The twenty one year old is sprawled over the covers with a smile on his face, small snores falling from his lips—blowing soot into Mane's cheek. His tail is curled around Mane's leg, an arm wrapped around his chest and somehow taking most of the nest. Really, Flame was a very bad sleeper, a snorer and someone who took most of the space on whatever bed he was occupying.
Genuinely, pick a struggle dude.
A small laugh falls from Mane's lips, one that surprises him. It's fond, fond in a wave that carries through the entire sound like Mane's love is actively pouring from his heart. The feeling that fills his whole body is strange, a nostalgic mix of admiration and deep sadness.
He could never bring himself to get truly attached to anyone the same way he had allowed himself to grow attached to Flame.
Having Flame curled in his nest next to him reminded him of that small cub that used to follow him everywhere.
He had grown so much and maybe Mane is just getting emotional.
After all, Flame was now taller than him, a lot more muscular than him, a lot stronger.
And yet somehow, beneath all of it.
Flame was still his little brother, and he will remain his little brother until Mane's poisonous heart gave out.
Under the faint lights, surrounded by the almost suffocating heat of his brother's body, Mane slept soundly for the first time in years.
...
And If he wakes up to complain loudly about Flame's sleeping habits just to make the man laugh, then that's a secret no one needs to know.