Chapter Text
Hunter had messed up. Again.
He squeezed his eyes shut behind his mask, stopping in front of the throne room’s doors. He had returned empty-handed from his search for a galdorstone, just like he had from his mission for palismen two weeks before. Why couldn’t he do one thing right? What was wrong with him?
The Golden Guard stood in place, preparing himself to face Belos. Hunter knew what was expected from him. He would kneel. He would apologize. He would beg for a second chance. He would earn it. He would take any punishment or test the Emperor dealt in exchange. He would carry on. Just like he had done every time before.
Hunter knew the script by heart. All that was missing was to stop being such a coward and—
“Sir,” A nervous-looking coven scout interrupted his thoughts, “are you…are you alright?”
He huffed. “Of course.”
“You know that what happened during the mission wasn't your fault, right?” the scout said, her voice soft with pity. “There's just—”
“Listen here,” Hunter snapped. “I am your superior, and I will not tolerate any patronizing comments coming from you . Continue with your duties, and please refrain from sneaking up on me in the future. I do not appreciate it.”
The scout skulked away into the corridor, muttering apologies. The Golden Guard sighed, turning back to face the doors awaiting him. He took a deep breath before knocking and stepping into the room awaiting him.
Silence echoed in the throne room, broken only by the beating of the Titan’s heart, so unbelievably massive it gave Hunter vertigo. His uncle sat beneath it, tall and dignified, looking down at the Golden Guard as he kneeled and removed his mask. He couldn’t help but tremble under the Emperor’s gaze.
“Hunter,” he said, his voice deathly quiet. “You’ve failed me. I’ve given you everything you need, everything you desire, and yet you still struggle to follow the most simple of instructions. You came back from your mission empty-handed once again.”
His voice caught at his throat, his heartbeat wild and erratic to his ears. “I’m sorry, Emperor Belos. We tried to find the galdorstones, but the Looking Glass Ruins were—”
“Stop.” The Emperor stood up. “I’m tired of your excuses.”
A flash of green, a forceful push, and Hunter lay on the floor. His wrist throbbed from the impact. His breath turned quick and ragged as he struggled against the sludge holding him in place. Not good , he thought. No, not good. You’ve angered him already.
“Uncle, please,” he wheezed. “I’ll make it up to you. I will. I’ll-I’ll go back and get them. I just need more time.”
Belos stalked over and slowly dragged Hunter upwards, away from the floor.“Do you remember Lilith Clawthorn, Nephew? Do you remember what happened to the traitor? Alone, disgraced, forced to live in the shadows, away from the Titan’s light.” Hunter’s feet dangled uselessly above the floor. “Do you wish to share her fate? Perhaps I should just get rid of you once and for all, just like I should have done before. It will be quite a nuisance to replace you, yes, but it could be worth it. I wouldn’t have to deal with your mistakes any longer.”
Hunter’s blood turned ice cold. “No, no, please,” he begged, his voice quiet with fear. “The coven is everything to me. I couldn’t live without it.”
“Oh, Hunter.” His uncle’s voice rang with cruel humor. “Who said anything about you living?”
He froze, his eyes wide. He’s not serious, right? He…he’s my uncle. He wouldn’t—
The Emperor let go and Hunter collapsed onto his back. He scurried away as tendrils shot out at him, missing by a hair’s breadth. One struck his leg. He hissed in pain and stumbled, a mistake that would cost him his life. The Emperor took the opportunity to seize him.
They stared at each other: Hunter, desperate and wild, facing Belos, cold and calculating behind his stag-headed mask. The Titan’s heartbeat had never sounded so slow to Hunter before as it did then, compared to his own racing pace. Pain gnawed at his senses as his restraints tightened around him. Belos raised a sharp, threatening tendril above his head: the final blow to end his life.
Hunter shut his eyes. This is it. Goodbye, Boiling Isles.
He had let Flapjack out of his room this morning. With luck, his palisman would be able to live free in the forests around the castle, or find a new owner after his death. Hopefully this new owner would get to spend a long time with him, give him a life Hunter wouldn't be able to.
The Emperor's grip on his nephew softened. “No…I can't do it. You look too much like him.”
Hunter opened his eyes. The vines holding him in place retreated back into his uncle’s form, who stayed in mournful silence. He did his best to stay on his feet, even as the wound in his leg made it arduous to stand.
“Go,” the Emperor whispered, “and do not set foot on the castle until you’ve proven yourself worthy.”
“...Uncle?”
With a sickening twist to Hunter’s stomach, Belos teleported them both to the castle’s main entrance. He shoved Hunter forward and away from the only home he’d ever known.
“Do not disappoint me again if you’d like to stay in my good graces,” he said. Belos turned back from him and melted away, leaving a scarlet halo from his spellwork behind.
Hunter stared at the empty space his uncle had occupied just a few moments ago, wondering how he had managed to screw up so badly in such a short amount of time. He found a limit he didn't know there was; he had forced his uncle’s hand and now he was lying on the ground, bleeding out.
Blood—dark and thick—flowed from a deep puncture above and to the side of his knee. If he was back in his room, he could have used his first-aid kit, but he could not afford such luxuries at the moment. He would have to find a healer to treat him, one offering their services free-of-charge, or accepting payment at a later date (both unlikely). With no money and no magic, Hunter was completely useless. The only thing he had at the moment were the clothes behind his back.
He looked away, feeling faint from the sight. Could he die from it if he left it untreated? There's always a chance of the wound getting infected, but could he die of blood loss? Judging by the pace at which the blood oozed out, he hadn't struck any major artery (thank the Titan). He still didn't want to wait and find out if it was still enough to cause major issues, though.
He held his cloak to the injury, blood seeping through and staining it. In his weakened state, he doubted himself able to walk far enough to find any strangers willing to help him. His only choice was to wait for any allies to help him, but who would come? The Coven Heads, were unpredictable, sometimes caring and parental, sometimes cold and competitive. Most scouts do not recognize him as a coven official without his Golden Guard mask. Besides, his current exiled state from the Castle would discourage anyone from the Emperor's Coven from aiding him. Honestly, who would be dumb enough to help someone the Emperor himself disowned? He was alone, except for…
Flapjack.
Through the darkness—as the sun had already set a few hours ago—Hunter spotted a hint of red fluttering around the trees nearby, and heard his palisman’s chirps. He did his best to slowly get up from the ground without triggering pain from his injuries, and limped over to the tree line out of view of the castle. It wouldn't help with his case with his uncle to have his secret palisman discovered.
Flapjack warbled and peeped about his lesions. Hunter shrugged. “Eh, I'll be fine.” ( Well, probably, but he doesn't need to worry about that ) “I just need someone to patch me up. Do you know anyone who can do that, Flapjack?”
Yes! I know her! He told him.
“Do you think she'll want any money in exchange?”
No! No money!
“Alright. Is she close by? Can you take me to her?”
Yes! I’ll take you there! And you can rest on the way!
“Thank you.” He grabbed onto the staff with his unharmed hand and took off. Flapjack adjusted the direction they flew towards as they sailed through the ink-dark skies. The wind whispered in Hunter's ears as he flew. After shuffling into a safer position, and doing his best to keep his leg elevated, he allowed himself to admire the beauty of the Boiling Isles at night.
To say he had messed up would be an understatement. He had thoroughly and stupendously fucked up. But he had a plan. He would rest and go to whoever Flapjack was taking him to. He would make it up to Belos. And he would gracefully return as his right hand man.