Chapter Text
You stood amongst the corpses and the dust. The bodies--some have limbs missing, others are decapitated, some have torsos missing, gaping holes in others, arrows poking out of arms and legs and necks and heads, swords plunged through chests, embedded in shoulders or sides, quivers strapped to backs; swords in hands, clubs, broken shields lay on lifeless arms, armor and chain-mail and cloth torn and dented or burning in the fires-- lay littered around you. The dust, and clothes and armor and weapons of monsters, blew away on the wind, as you collect blood of the fallen.
Rivers and streams of red poured out of the bodies, along the ground, collecting dust, and gathered under you in a puddle, then a pool, then arching up in individual streams, curling and twisting around you like red snakes through the air, red drops floating amongst them.
Behind you.
You turn and come face to point with an arc of a flaming white sword, you dodge away and send waves of blood at it, shaping spears and throw them at him, he burns them away, red and grey armor torn and broken, burgundy cape ragged as it flew behind him.
He slashed and hacked at you, but your blood was always in the way, you both kicked up the dust and the bodies burned around you.
You shaped the blood in your hands into a tight ball and throw it, catching him on the side of his helmet, knocking it off.
You face the fire and then freeze in place. His f a c e IS all f l a m e s.
Then suddenly the scene changes and you’re in the middle of some dark corridor, but you weren’t alone...something dark and cold behind you grabs your attention.
You turn around and came face to face with a masked-white face, eyes cracked and a white face-splitting smile, noise and static fills your ears as your vision blurs and statics out like an old TV, as skeletal hands with holes through the palms reach around and grasp your neck.
You open your eyes to a chipped white ceiling, dusty brick walls and old wood floors, and dirty windows. You let out a sigh as you get up from your old mattress on the floor, readjusting the bandages that covered your arms and most of your fingers, then you pull your hood up and slip on the mask you’d left at the bedside drawer, next to the old lamp.
You pass the darkened window of your room, a figure in red passed by where you should be and you look over at it again, but only see a figure in a ragged hooded vest, ripped khaki pants, and old sneakers--hood up to conceal their hair and a cracked white facemask with two eyeholes and two thick red streaks coming from the holes.
You’d made your mask years and years ago, it was perfect to hide you, but also served as a reminder.
Not that you could forget.
Seeing your reflection made you remember your dream, a creature with cracked sockets(one of them drooped), a permanent smile, and black gooey body.
On the rare times you did sleep you dreamed of that thing--Him. He was the reason you’d stopped trying to sleep. That--Him and the flashes you’d get of the battlefield and the burning knight.
You look to the wrapped bundle in the corner of your room, thick burlap and twine, leaning against the wall.
You walk to the doorway and leave the room.
You walk to the spiral stairs standing on the overhanging railing to the floor below.
It was so empty, dusty, and old before. Now look at it.
You leapt over the railing and landing with barely a sound on the floor below in an elegant crouch. You look around, the kitchen cabinets were painted blue and patterns of clear blue and green tiles mixed with the white of the walls, pots hung by the island counter, plants hung in various places from the kitchen to the sitting area, which consisted of a couch and two stuffy chairs, a large fireplace roared with blue and green flames.
Bookshelves lined the wall from the fireplace to the back of the house, under the stairs lined the wall next to a bedroom. The witch’s room. The bed was simple, white blankets and woven quilts, books and papers on the desk. On the walls not taken up by bookshelves hung old paintings and crystals and charms and hooks for hats and keys.
Was it always so quiet? Usually the witch would be brewing tea by now--you stop.
The witch...She died shortly after the barrier fell, when you both felt that old magic shatter like glass, reverberating through the town. You remember how astonished the two of you were when it happened.
Then she collapsed.
You stayed at her bedside for days, nothing helped--not magic, not potions, not tea--she just started deteriorating, but the strange thing was that she was happy.
SO So happy.
You didn’t understand--well that was a lie. But you didn’t want to think about that.
You won’t forget her last words as she cradled your face in her old withered hand, the first and last time she ever touched you.
“You’ve been through so much, seen more than any child should, done things no child should. This you know, as do I...” She heaved a breath before continuing, that mysterious smile across her face once more, her shining green eyes twinkling.
“Find the child who speaks in hands, they will bring you to whom you’ve always been seeking.” Her voice was barely a whisper, then her eyes slipped closed and you grasped her hand as it slipped from her face.
She always did get the last word.
The faint moonlight that came in through the windows, catches one of the metal manacles on your wrists. Solid, thick but surprisingly light. Sometimes you forgot you even had them, you’d been used to having them. You touch the one around your neck. You walk to one of the windows and open just large enough for you to slip through and onto an old metal fire escape.
The night air in somewhat warm and clouds block out the night sky, rolling across the moon. You climb up and onto the roof of your building.
You were in an old part of what was once a human town, but now a mostly-monster town since the barrier fell. This building was still empty, and you’d made sure it would stay that way. You set up wards and spells and everything to keep it hidden. To mortal or monster eyes where this building stood was an empty lot between buildings in the old part of town.
Her words echo in your head as you stand on the roof.
They are what have kept you out of the building, searching as she said you should.
“Child who spoke in hands”...a child--monster children...didn’t all have hands, you observed this when you saw a little yellow lizard monster in a yellow and brown striped sweater run down around in a park and fell down on his face a lot.
You’d only ever gone out and watched from the rooftops, or the branches of trees or in dark hidden corners, the coming and goings of the monsters. You watched their conversations, read their words, interpreted meanings, understood gestures and slight changes in faces, but they were not what you were looking for.
You couldn’t bring yourself to go farther than the very outskirts of the town the monsters inhabited either. Every time you got closer your body would stop, unwilling to go farther in--even if you wanted to.
You felt like you couldn’t--shouldn’t.
You couldn’t bring yourself to travel during the day either. You were noticeable, especially during the daylight so you only came out at night when it was dark.
You could easily hide if you had to.
You looked to the faint lights of the town where the monsters stayed. You wonder if you’ll find “whom you’ve always been seeking”...
You aren’t sure who she was talking about but you had a feeling she was right--you had been seeking something...someone? You couldn’t remember.
But the witch had never been wrong before... and it was the last order she gave you.
You take a deep breath and hop up onto the edge of the roof, then crouch and jump high into the air, high into the deep midnight sky and the millions of twinkling stars, the crescent moon above you.
You had a child to find.