Chapter Text
Flames scrambled up the silken curtains of the windows left standing, devouring them like starved mutts. People in white robes were wailing and screaming, begging for mercy that wouldn't come. Angry flickers of orange and red towering and swirling over the rubble of the quartz estate, reaching through the bars of great iron gates like the hands of prisoners, desperate to snag anyone near.
And in the midst of the terrible destruction stood a small group of figures, led by a shadow. His wings spread great and mighty as he looked down at the havoc he caused with a smile.The group looked up at him, some wearing the same white silks while two others wore normal clothes. There was not a single regret in their minds.
Now, you're probably wondering how we got here. Well….
It all started with an idiot.
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Grian awoke with a flick of his feathered ears, dressed in silks, laying comfortably in a lavish silken bedroom.
Crap.
Now, it wasn't like he didn't enjoy waking up somewhere other than the cell. But at least that was real. Sitting up, Grian found a new pair of silks placed atop the chair by the bedside. He hated silk. It rubbed over his skin like needles. A suffocating softness that was practically burning to touch. It was like a faerie being forced to chain themselves in burning iron shackles. Only with silk, no one could see the pain it caused.
With a huff, Grian swung his feet off the bed and onto the cold dark-wood floor. The floor was the most appealing thing here. The only crap that wasn't so blindingly white. The brunette took the new silks up with a pinch of his fingers, keeping it as far as he could from him and promptly throwing it in a random chest, as per usual when he woke up in fake-rooms. He glanced up for a moment, challenging the many eyes he knew were watching him.
Watching. Watching. Watching. Never a moment's peace. Never a time to relax.
If they thought he would be accepting anything from them besides what he needed, they were dead wrong. Today was going to be the same ol' hell anyways.
A Watcher would shuffle in, and sometimes he would recognize them as the shell of yet another acquaintance fallen to the lies, and they would frown at the blood and dirt of silks he still hadn't changed out of.
They'd set down a tray on the chair.
It was always the same thing. Rooibos tea with a spoon of wild honey, buttered toast, a boiled egg and sometimes water to wash it all down. Hot tea, as it turned out, did not quench your thirst at all. Grian always just took the toast and occasional water. But since he'd just gotten back from the cell it was no surprise that the water was absent this morning. Well, assuming it was morning.
Two tall windows easily displayed a beautiful bright day, birds flitting happily across the sky like a taunt. But Grian used illusion magic everyday, and the Watchers didn't seem to care if he noticed an eye or two peering out of tree leaves, or a bird with no wings, circling like a fly.
Silently, Grian ate his toast, cursing himself with every delicious bite. At the start of all this, he'd been so unsure about everything. Every breakfast was an existential crisis, a game of tug of war. If every kindness was real and he was just overreacting, or vice versa.
Eventually though, The Watchers did him a favor. They introduced him to the cell.
A dank, dark place where fear burrowed into the cracks and gnawed at his stability. Somewhere sadists came to have a laugh.
Grian felt sick, placing the half eaten toast on the chair and gripping the edge of the bed till he stopped shaking. His back ached, wings absent, but it was worth being ignored for now. Goodness knows when he'll have time to relieve the pain, though.
For now he simply waited for his tutor to fetch him. Really, it was someone just as lost as most Watchers. A few times after being introduced to the cell, Grian tried convincing them into realizing what was going on. He was then introduced to the fact that lashes were not the only thing done in the cell....and the box.
Great skies, he hated the box.
Screaming. He was screaming. A metal mask clamped over his eyes and he couldn't get it off. He couldn't get it off no matter how much he clawed and thrashed and howled like an animal. He remembered someone making that comparison. A whisper digging through his ear like a dagger. "You're an animal Xelqua~. A creature. A thing. Accept this and it will end."
They had purred with a chorus of voices. Some screaming for help, just like he was.was.
The door opened now, soundlessly with well oiled hinges. Sometimes They liked to stand there while you slept. Just….in the doorway. Watching. Watching. Watching.
"Xelqua.-"
Without further instruction Grian stood, as if his heart wasn't pounding under this emotionless facade, following behind his tutor and preparing for the falsities about to be forced down his throat. This was fine. He was fine.
Grian knew it wouldn't always be like this. That one day his will would break and like a bridge, he'd be left to fall into the depths below. And he will never be able to fight off the soft hands that were dragging him further down until he forgets himself. Until all he can remember is silks, and white walls, and a labyrinth of hallways, and torches he planned to burn this place with, and all the truths they conjured up.
Eventually he'll write off the pain in his back as nothing, never investigating under the illusions that sat there. And he'll watch the birds and wonder why he felt a tug of jealousy. Eventually that will be tomorrow. Today. That hour. That minute. That moment, where his soul snaps in two and the bridge collapses. That second everything he is is lost.
Grian doesn't like to admit it.
But that inevitability terrified him.
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The tutor's room was just as large and luxurious as Grian's fake-room, though this one had towering bookshelves of oak, wooden benches and patterned rugs.
The same cheerful morning played outside perfect domed windows, but there was enough quartz covered with tapestries for Grian to breathe a bit more. Maybe that's why The Watchers hadn't bothered to blank everything here with white.
They wanted him to feel comfortable, safe- Ha! Grian would never be safe. And he was no fool, least of all theirs. He could feel the invisible stares burning into his skull. He knew they were there.
"Sit down Xelqua."
The Watcher said, gesturing a delicate hand to a chair beside a little desk. Grian sighed, begrudgingly obeying despite the way his mind screamed to stop. Look, he was tired ok? And if he was shoved in that cell now he'd only be pushing to that snapping point sooner.
But then again he'd obey when broken too. Maybe this was all an elaborate plot to break him sooner by wearing Grian too thin. Making him think he doesn't want to go to the cell so he'll obey. But then what if he did disobey? Or are The Watchers counting on him overthinking this and doing something rash like usual? No, surely they wouldn't be so predictable as to count on his spiteful temper, right?
Grian hadn't realized he was hyperventilating yet. Or the fact that either way, he'd break.
Everyone here broke eventually. A gentle stream could still break stone. It just took a little time.
"Xelqua are you listening?"
Grain looked up, swallowing down a flitch as he found The Watcher standing over him, arms crossed and a frown on his gaze-less face. Instead of cowering like he wanted to, Grian stared straight back. "No."
He said.
"Well pay attention."
The Watcher replied, frowning disappointedly. "Y'know...it really won't be so hard if you just let us help you."
The Watcher reached up, trying to touch the sides of his head and Grian jerked back. "Touch me, and I'll make sure the last thing you remember is pain."
The words dripped with venom as he scowled, following soft pale hands as they dropped back to the Watcher's side. "That isn't very nice Xelqua. They only want what's best for us all. You only need to be nice and co-operative."
Grian wanted to laugh.
"Hm, did They tell you that?"
He leaned forward with a tight grin, hands trembling from under the desk. "Trust me puppet."
He spat, returning to his seat. "I'm the nicest you'll get here."
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Weeks passed, and Grian found himself back in the fake-room. His back felt like someone had taken his muscles and squeezed. Holding up his arms, Grian found the purpled bruises spotting his skin like leopard print, and with the way his legs were feeling he'd guess the same for them. It wasn't much bother to him, with a flick of the wrist the marks were hidden, and Grian swept his feet to the ground yet again.
Silks sat on the bedside chair, folded innocently in the seat. Grian grasped the fabric and frowned, moving towards the chest and hesitating above the open box. They had taken time to set these clothes out for him…. Grian shook his head, hands shaking. The Watchers were not and never will be good. They did nothing without something for them to gain. This wasn't his home. This was not his room. These clothes were given not out of kindness, but the need to control.
He let the silks drop with a soft thump, and shut the chest as quickly as he could.
Grian needed to get out of here.
There was a knock on the door as usual, but it wasn't a tutor that walked inside. Tutors wore silks with white lace tied around their waist, this one's silks were partially covered under a long pure cape.
"The Head Watcher requests your presence immediately."
Her silvery voice stated, hands clasped together at the front of her skirt. Panic ran through the brunette, hands shaking once more as a million thoughts buzzed under his skin. He just got back. What had he done? What had he done!?
Did he deny their service one too many times? Was this the day he died?! Grian didn't want to die!
"Now, Xelqua." She demanded.
On reluctant feet, Grian stuttered forward and followed the lady down the halls, all the while trying to wrangle in his nerves.
By the time he'd managed to calm the racing of his heart, Grian had been led into the main room of the estate. The Head sat on a white cushioned throne, atop elevated steps in the center of the room. Something about wanting to be in equal distance with the people from all sides. Grian thought it was simply so all cityfolk would be in watching range.
At the foot of the steps stood a man with shabby brown hair and a plethora of scars. The most noticeable being a thick line crossing over the bridge of his nose. He turned with the echoing thud of the main door closing shut, and smiled shyly.
Grian paused halfway, Puzzledly glancing around the room as the woman scurried to stand beside the throne. What were They going to do? "Xelqua! How nice to see you!"
The Head cheered through a sweet grin. Grian thought he saw the man flinch, but that was to be expected honestly. He just wanted to know what the stranger was doing here. "Stand beside Mr. Scar here. We have much to discuss."
If it weren't for the warning in the voices, he might've laughed. Mr. Scar? Really? Was he born completely battle-worn?
Reluctantly, Grian moved, standing beside this "Mr. Scar" Flexing his jaw he tuned back into the conversation, or rather, an announcement.
".....- and so we will be sending you both on a little quest! Slay the ender dragon and bring back its egg. Very straightforward. We will even produce a map!"
Grian frowned. The egg was a myth. Why would They ever want-
The realization dawned on him. Oh, it was that kinda mission. "Now…Xelqua is- how we say….a little selfish. We've tried working through this issue with him but alas!"
The Head Watcher chuckled, shaking their head like an embarrassed parent. "It-..He's a stubborn one! We know a way to prevent him from leaving you behind though. If you'll kindly step up here for a moment."
This idiot Mr. Scar was already climbing the stairs but Grian stood firmly in his place. Get close to The Head Watcher? Um, no thanks. He'd rather not. Not after the box and the pain They had inflicted.
They watched with what Grian could somehow tell to be an unimpressed expression, waving their hands to one of the others as The Head plastered on another smile for Mr. Scar. "Do you see what I mean?"
Rough hands grasped Grian by either shoulder. He would've thrashed away immediately, but one of these Watchers had a nullify ability, all his panic merely flicked off like a switch as the two hauled him up the steps. Grian's breath caught in his throat, screaming in his head to run. Run. Run!
His body wouldn't listen. The Watchers set him down carefully and with a bow left Grian at The Head's feet, practically kneeling pathetically beside Mr. Scar. Grian had never wanted to pass out more in his life. To be spared the embarrassment as he fixed his silks, which somehow had been cleaned. Grian could see the faint shimmer of illusion magic patterned across the silks just like the ones dotting his skin. That stupid Head Watcher must've fixed it on his way in.
Upon closer inspection, Grian could spot the glint of a knife in their perfect hand, peeking out from behind white silks. Before he could pull away The Head took up his wrist, nails digging into his skin but the brunette refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain. They didn't need to see it though. They could feel his pulse hammering through his veins. "As of now, you both will be bound eternally. One life. One soul. Two bodies. Two minds. Hold out your arm, Scar."
With an unsure frown tugging his lips, Scar held out his wrist. Unsurprisingly, Grian could already spot several chaotic splotches and lines buried within his skin. Grian's thoughts were interrupted as a knife dragged over his own, jumping at the feeling and staring with a tense gaze as crimson started to trickle. It didn't hurt per say. Grian has had much worse. Scar on the other hand hissed at the sharp pain and jolted his arm back, spots of blood flying from the cut in his wrist.
The Head Watcher smiled, turning to Grian. "You are soulbound as of now. Xelqua, I expect you both gone by tomorrow."
They nodded encouragingly, the movement was forced and jerky, almost as if they really meant to butt their head against him.
"Go on and pack then."
(2560 words)