Chapter Text
Keras lounges in the back of the classroom, staring out the window. A police car is pulling up outside the school.
A part of his mind instantly goes oh shit . He’s stayed mostly on the right side of the law, but there might have been a few times when… oh, no. He can’t be arrested today.
My parents are going to kill me.
He watches carefully, preparing to run for it, as a guy in a police uniform gets out of the front seat. He’s got black hair that fades out to white in the bottom — interesting, maybe, but Keras isn’t willing to take the risk by assuming it’s hair dye and that therefore this cop is more open-minded to letting kids express themselves (he doesn’t do it unhealthily or anything!) and not taking them to juvie.
He could just be old, after all. That might make it even worse.
The back door opens, and a girl steps out, with even more unusual hair — shoulder-length and parted in the middle, with one side white and one black.
Fortunately, it’s a girl that Keras recognizes — Reika Hakuryu. She’s in his class. Outgoing, but not one of the supposedly popular kids; she’s a bit too eccentric for that. Funny, though.
Keras hadn’t known her dad was a cop. Honestly, he’d never have guessed it. Her personality is almost like his, even if she’s a bit more bubbly. She seems like the type to not be too weirded out by the idea of going on one of his “legally dubious” adventures.
Another girl follows after Reika, her adopted sister Dawn. She looks almost completely different, with hair a curious shade of golden-ginger, but her personality is similar to Reika’s — bubbly, outgoing, and teasing. Sometimes he sees her staring at him, but he’s got little idea why.
He sees the cop pull Reika close like he’s talking to her, then get back into his car and drive off. Reika and Dawn head out of his view, presumably inside.
Keras turns his attention back to the classroom. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Torrent, is calling out attendance with a bored expression on his face.
“Ishyeal?”
A strangely attractive guy, with black hair longer than Keras’ own and pale skin to contrast, raises a hand expressionlessly — not like Keras has ever seen him have much expression in the first place. “Here.”
Ishyeal’s… odd. He doesn’t seem to fit into any kind of friend group as far as Keras can tell, which honestly makes sense. He’s strange, acting lofty as though he knows things beyond all of them, and Keras somehow can’t picture him just engaging in small talk with someone. It’s cruel, he’ll admit, but it’s probably true.
His attitude might be explained by family wealth, but even though his parents supposedly moved here for business, Keras’ parents — Aendaryn and Karasalia Tae’os — are huge in Mythralian business. You don’t run a company as big as Tae’os Inc. without getting a really good sense of the competition, and yet he’s never heard of any Dawnsglows — he’s never even seen Ishyeal’s parents.
“Teletha,” Mr. Torrent calls out, and a girl in the back, with short-cropped ginger hair and pale skin, raises her hand boredly.
“Here.”
The shadows play on the wall. Keras fixes his stare on them, and wonders, strangely, what they would look like if they were actually playing. It’s strange, yeah, he tends to have strange thoughts. He’s a bit weird, he’s not going to lie about that — being weird is nice. It’s a good distraction from other things. Better weird than— well, several words come to mind, but he cuts off that train of thought before it goes too far. He’s proud of being weird, right.
Think about that. Don’t think about—
“Salaris.”
Keras jolts out of his thoughts and stifles a groan as he comprehends the words directed right at him. He’s tried to get Mr. Torrent to use his middle name, like literally everyone else who doesn’t call him Sal does, but he’s annoyingly stubborn about it.
Mr. Torrent looks up from the clipboard and makes a show of looking around. “ Salaris .”
He sighs and throws up his arm. “Here. And like I’ve said for, like, a hundred times, can you please just call me Ke—”
“Larkin.” Mr. Torrent makes no sign of having noticed. Asshole.
A boy raises his hand, right next to him. “Here.” Larkin’s a pretty good kid, from what Keras knows about him. He’s not as snobby as you’d expect from a Theas, and much more open-minded for being from a family well-known as queerphobic traditionalists despite the media’s attempts to keep it out of the public eye. They both do track, as well, and Larkin’s the only one who can consistently match — or come close to matching — Keras in a fair race.
“Reika?”
Silence. Odd, alien, after what everyone’s come to expect from Reika.
“Rei—”
The door bursts open, and Reika hurries into the classroom in a whirlwind of black-and-white hair and flailing limbs, already unslinging her backpack from her shoulder.
“Hi!” She pauses for a moment to wave to Mr. Torrent. “Sorry I’m late.” She whirls around without further addition and skids over, beaming, to her seat next to a girl with blue-and-white hair. “Hey Mei!”
There she goes. That’s Reika.
Mr. Torrent takes a moment to regard Reika with an annoyed stare, then sighs. “Meilin?”
Meilin raises her hand instantly, almost nothing like how Reika had. “Here.”
Once the day gets going, it passes quickly. The Velthryn teacher, Ms. Wyndam, gives them an essay about interpreting the old legends of the ‘Givers’ versus the ‘Takers’ and their symbolism in ancient times — nothing new, since both his parents were apparently mythology nerds when they were younger and he’s been told those as bedtime stories since he was little. The only problem is that essays are the bane of his very existence, and symbolism is… well. He’s always been a straightforward guy. He can tell them the story of how the Warrior destroyed an entire mountain range with his hammer, but ask him why the story was invented in the first place and he’ll be completely clueless.
History sentences them to a grueling debate preparation on assassination; chemistry gets him a partner project that he really does not want to do, which is good because his partner, Arkhen, will probably do all the work for him; his language elective is a mess of attempting to engage a partner in butchered Xixian. Etcetera, etcetera. School isn’t his forte, really. Obviously.
Last comes physical education — which, out of all of them, is probably his favorite. He’s the best sprinter in his entire year — hell, maybe even in the whole school — and even though he doesn’t really see himself as one of those sporty kids who constantly misbehaves, it’s not like he enjoys learning about dead people and writing essays. He’ll take running outside over that any day.
So he outruns everyone else when they’re running relay races, trying not to look too proud when he’s at the finish line first even though the other people in the class definitely noticed — and then, the day’s over. Most people head home immediately, so now it’s only him, Reika, Dawn, and a few other scattered kids waiting around and shifting on their feet.
Boredly, Keras pushes his backpack over his shoulders and kicks a rock lightly, sending it thudding into the wall. It’s satisfying and he’s bored, so he kicks another one. And another.
He leans down and grabs a rock off the ground, then aims for the middle of the 6 marked above the door.
“Hey!”
Dawn Hakuryu marches over to him, frowning. Keras pauses and lowers the rock. “Oh, hi. What?”
“What are you doing to those rocks?” she asks, sounding genuinely scandalized.
“Uh… kicking them?”
She glares even harder. “Yes! You were kicking them. You know this kind of mistreatment of nature is—”
“What?” He tosses the rock to the ground and folds his arms. “You know rocks aren’t technically alive, right? I mean technically in the terms of, like, growing things. Like trees. I wasn’t mistreating anything—”
Dawn waves a hand, looking noticeably flustered. A flush is starting to come over her cheeks. “Blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t — rocks are a valuable part of the environment! You shouldn’t just go around kicking them and throwing them places!”
“I shouldn’t — what —”
“Hey, Dawn! Keras!” Reika’s launching herself between them now, an annoyed expression on her face. “C’mon, stop it. Dawn, stop harassing him. Keras, stop killing rocks.”
Keras’ jaw drops. “I’m not killing —”
“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna hear it.” Reika gestures vaguely at the other end of the sidewalk. “Dawn, go over there.”
Dawn’s eyes widen incredulously. “What? But Rei —”
Reika waves her off-hand dismissively. “I gotta talk to this killer of rocks for a sec. Dawn, away you go.”
Dawn pouts, muttering “Slayer of stones” under her breath quietly enough that she probably thinks he can’t hear her, but obeys, flouncing off. Reika turns to him as soon as she’s out of earshot and fixes him with a glare.
“Okay, you have got to stop doing this.”
Keras splutters defensively. “Doing what ?”
“Shutting down Dawn! She’s gonna be miserable, you know that?”
“Shutting down… what? What do you…”
Reika rolls her eyes. “Come on, you can’t be that clueless. Dawn’s had a crush on you since, like, the beginning of the year.”
“Oh my gods,” he mutters, groping around for an appropriate word. “Fuck.”
Reika sighs heavily. “So you don’t like her back. Which, gotta be honest, is not that surprising. Wait!” Her eyes light up suddenly. “Are you being suddenly overcome by shock that the one you’ve been in love with this entire time actually returns the—”
“What? No! ”
She waggles her eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re still in denial.”
“What do you think this is, a romance novel?” Keras glances over at Dawn, trying to figure out if he feels anything, and… he doesn’t. Nothing like what he’d felt before everything had gone wrong.
Too late, he realizes that this could be interpreted as him mooning after his love or something like that, and hastily looks away. But he’s too late, Reika’s already spotted him.
“Ooh! Checking her out again?”
“Reika, I am not —”
A car honks somewhere just behind him. Keras jumps and definitely does not yelp slightly, then spins around. Wrynn is leaning out the window of a sleek dark gray car, one hand on the steering wheel and one waving at him.
“Hey, Sal! Get a move on!”
He sighs and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders. “Gotta go.”
“See you tomorrow!” Reika grins. “You can tell me all about your secret, hidden longing during lunch.”
Keras rolls his eyes and starts off towards the car, walking at a deliberately leisurely pace just to irritate Wrynn, who uses her hand to make a rude gesture at him. He laughs and returns it. Just behind him, he can hear Reika and Dawn talking.
“…said he would be here over half an hour ago…”
“…wasn’t picking up. We’ll just walk home.”
He glances behind him curiously, but the sisters are already walking away. Thankfully, Reika isn’t looking back to see his ‘final look of lovesick longing’, or whatever she might call it.
Keras opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat. “Why so late? Also, why isn’t Mom or Dad here?”
“Oh, so I’m the slow one?” Wrynn rolls her eyes and starts driving down the street. “And c’mon, you love me. If you must know, I nobly volunteered to pick you up, as the great sister that I am.”
He makes another rude gesture at her, but she just chuckles and shakes her head. “They had some important thing to get to at work and couldn’t make it.”
He groans. He wishes he could just walk himself home or take the bus like everyone else, but none of the bus stops even come close to their home, and it’s way too far for walking, or even running — maybe he could do it, if he really had to, but it’s well over six miles. “They’ve always got some important work thing nowadays.”
“Yeah, sure.” Wrynn sighs. “Doesn’t mean they don’t care about you, though. Just means that business is picking up for them… well, more so than usual. Could be good for us, you know. There’s this thing called money.”
“ Wrynn …”
“So how was school?” It’s a transparent attempt to change the topic, but he doesn’t call her out on it. “And who’s that girl you were talking to? I haven’t seen her around much.”
“Oh, that’s Reika. She moved here over the summer, I think? She’s got a little sister, too, Dawn.”
“Oh!” Wrynn nods sagely. “The one who was making moony eyes at you last time I came to pick you up? Did you, you know…” She waggles her eyebrows.
Keras moans. “Oh, don’t bring that up. I just found out and now Reika thinks I’m in love with her.”
“Who knows? Anyone could be better with romancy things than you. Even me, and I’m aro. Maybe you’re just in denial.”
He throws his head back onto the seat, offended. It’s almost exactly what Reika said. Is this a conspiracy or something? “I think I’d know when I like someone or not.”
Wrynn nods thoughtfully. “Huh, true. I mean, you have a history of not knowing things you’d think you should know, but you did have that one girlfriend a while back.”
Keras stiffens. “Please don’t .”
But Wrynn’s still talking. “You can’t still be awkward around her. I mean, it’s been… what, five months at least? Why’d you even break up anyway?”
“Wrynn. I really would rather not be having this conversation right now.”
She stops talking and looks at him, seriously this time. “Sal, come on. I was being honest. What even happened there? You guys were fine and then you had some kind of mutual breakup and suddenly you were refusing to even mention her and we never heard from her again. I know she’s still going to Velthryn High, so you can’t say she moved away or some bullshit like that.”
Keras looks out the window, avoiding meeting her gaze. “I promised not to tell anyone.”
“Well, I’m not anyone. Especially not to you, Sal. You can tell me.”
“I’m serious.” He remembers that night like it was yesterday, remembers what she’d told him. “I… I think it was bad.”
Wrynn snorts. “You think? I don’t know what’s up with you, but fine. Don’t tell me, if that’s what you want.” She doesn’t sound bitter at all, and even though Keras knows she’s more than capable of hiding her emotions, he doesn’t think she is now. “Gods know I keep secrets from you too.”
They don’t talk much more for the rest of the ride home.
Their house is, in a word, large. Well — maybe that’s not the best word to describe it, but it’s not like Keras is the reigning champion of coming up with words. It’s fancy, too, luxurious but practical and good-looking — his aunt Sytira designed it, so it has to be good, because she’s practically the definition of genius and he would believe anyone who told him that she’s a professional in every discipline ever.
It lies way off the road, in a relatively secluded forest just in the city’s suburbs. Practically the entire forest belongs to their family — benefits of being rich — including a small pond and a river going through the house itself that makes for a good swimming location.
In short, it’s one of those homes designed to show off how rich someone is — except with actual style, and by one of the greatest architects in the world.
Keras loves it.
Wrynn sets right away to grabbing some leftovers out of the fridge, consisting of a bit of kavatkas , some bread and cheese, a half-finished steak, and a container of rice. She slides the rice and steak into the microwave and starts making a sandwich for herself, humming something that sounds vaguely like one of her Artinian folk songs.
Wrynn was adopted when he was six years old. She was born in Artinia, but apparently his parents found a thirteen-year-old her stealing some kind of expensive thing from them while on a business trip and decided to adopt her. Sometimes Keras gets the sense that they’re embellishing it a bit, or even just flat-out lying, but Wrynn looks embarrassed by it every single time they reference it at dinner, so it’s probably true.
His parents are weird like that, apparently, but he’s not complaining, even if they do end up to be lying. He can’t really imagine life without Wrynn.
She always hums Artinian things — folk songs, little melodies. Once, she sang part of one of them to him, and he was left thinking about learning Artinian and that Wrynn should probably not pursue a professional career in singing. Since then, he’s gotten a basic fluency but not enough to speak quickly or understand normal-paced conversation, and Wrynn hasn’t done anything with her singing, so it’s a win-win.
He deposits his backpack in his room and grabs out his laptop, going over to sit on the couch and stare at the taunting, blank screen that’s meant to contain the essay he should be writing.
The Givers, he eventually types up as a beginning. He stares at it, trying to figure out how to continue the sentence, and eventually adds, gave things to well-meaning people, but the Takers took things from bad people, before sighing and erasing all of it. It sounds stupid.
Ugh.
In a fit of spite, he types that onto his doc too, then deletes it, belatedly imagining how his teacher would react if he turned it in with only the one word on it.
“Want some dinner?” Wrynn calls out from the kitchen, heading over with a plate of rice and steak in one hand and the other stuffing a sandwich into her mouth. “Hey! Are you working?”
“Shut up.”
“No, it’s just so rare to actually see you doing school things for once. And here I thought I stole all your parents’ school genes from you.”
Keras rubs his forehead. “It’s an essay and I can’t write shit.”
Wrynn nods. “Fair. What’s the prompt? I could write it for you and you’d get an A.”
“That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Oh, foo, where’s the fairness in school anyway?” She shakes her head. “You’re too noble for your own good sometimes, Sal.”
She has a point. He tries to ignore it. “It’s about the symbolism of the Givers and the Takers, or something like that.”
“Oh, more mythology?” Wrynn tips her head thoughtfully. “Well, what’d you write so far? Don’t worry, if it’s terrible, your secret’s safe with me.”
“I deleted it.”
“What’d you delete?”
Keras rubs his eyes. “You’re annoying.”
“I know. What’d you delete?”
“…I wrote that the Givers gave to well-meaning people and the Takers took from bad people.”
Wrynn shrugs. “Well, that’s not very well worded, but the basic concept’s there. What about having the Givers symbolize the good side of things, but the Takers symbolize the more nasty side of things? Even if they both have good intentions? They work in balance?”
Keras blinks, surprised. “That makes… sense. Okay.” He turns back to the screen.
“No. No more essay. Eat.” A steak is shoved in front of his face.
“Hey! Move that away!” He grabs it from her grip after a few seconds of helplessly snatching at air. “I hate you. Sometimes.”
“But now is not one of those times, because I’m being a good sister and feeding you like the small, noble baby that you are.”
“ Wrynn !”
He grabs the plate from her and sits down at the kitchen island to start eating, making sure to glare at her the entire time. She’s entirely unperturbed, continuing to munch casually on her sandwich.
They eat in comfortable silence. Keras is just finishing up his dinner when Wrynn’s phone vibrates on the table, and the screen lights up.
She grabs it and taps the screen a few times, then sighs and puts it down. “Sorry. They’re not coming home for a while tonight. Turns out the work thing is bigger than they’d expected.”
Keras heads over to the kitchen to rinse his plate. “Just perfect.” He slides it into the dishwasher and dries off his hands. “I’m heading out, okay?”
Wrynn raises her eyebrows. “You’ve been heading out a lot lately. Something up?”
“Nothing romantic, obviously,” he says hastily. “Just going out with some friends.”
She grins mischievously. “Got it. Don’t stay out too late, don’t get too drunk. Got it?”
“I find your usage of too disturbing.”
“Aww, you’re adorable.”
Keras grabs his jacket and glances back at her. “See you later.”
She waves, and he steps out the door.
Keras mounts the motorcycle and speeds off down the road, the darkness gathering around him. There are no stars visible above him, even in an area like this — relatively untouched by light pollution. From what he knows, it’s been millenia since the last time anyone saw a star in the sky, so long that scientists are casting doubt over whether they ever actually existed in the first place. Countless artists have tried to capture the image of what they might have looked like, but Keras has always wanted to see the real thing.
But I can’t. Because of our technology.
It’s an unusually depressing thought, especially for him. But he’s always loved nature, and the fact that there are supposed to be these beautiful little bits of light in the sky — and there aren’t — well, it makes him sad, for lack of a better term. Not like he’s attached to them, but the sky looks empty without them, even though he can’t really picture what it would be with them.
Far off in the sky, there’s a slight twinkle of light, but it’s gone in barely a fraction of a second. Probably just a passing plane, he thinks morosely. Nothing compared to what a star should look like.
He parks in front of a gym, with dark, stained windows and a single rusted door with a sign reading Closed hanging in front of it. He knocks on the door three times in rapid succession.
“I’m here for the Bladebreakers.”
There’s a pause, and then a voice speaks from behind the door. “What does loyalty mean to you?”
“A shadow,” he answers promptly, but after a beat of silence, he backtracks. “Or — wait, was it a crystal sword? Did you guys change it again? Is it the shadow of a crystal sword? Is it a—”
There’s a sigh, then the door opens, revealing a tall, brown-haired, bronze-skinned person in their early twenties. “Hey,” they say, jerking their thumb towards the door at the end of the hall. “Hurry up, you’re late.”
“I know, I know,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
Keras walks at a fast pace towards the door, pulling it open to reveal the gym — huge, plain, with a ring in the middle and various punching bags and target dummies scattered around the rest of the space. A group of people, ranging from sixteen or seventeen like Keras to their mid-to-late-thirties are spread out across the gym, punching the bags, shooting at the dummies, or sparring with each other. In one corner, he spots Arkhen, experimenting with some kind of acid that is almost certainly not legal, and waves. Arkhen waves back.
He heads straight to the weapons rack, grabbing a blunted sword off the rack. Before he can head over to the dummies to practice his swings, a hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns.
Res’vaye Fayne, leader of the Bladebreakers, meets his gaze.
“Keras. You’re late.”
“Sorry,” he replies simply. “Won’t happen again. Got held up. I know better than to miss any of this, trust me.”
It’s not that Res’vaye is giving lectures or anything — quite the opposite. The Bladebreakers are composed, from what he can tell, of a bunch of misfits and criminals (in the loosest sense of the word — no murderers lurking around here, thanks very much) who come in here to beat things up. Res’vaye owns the gym, and it’s located in a less than savory part of town, so the few people who come in here generally have had some kind of run-in with the law at some point.
Keras himself had been in need of a free gym to use as an excuse for his sweat when he’d been nearly caught graffiting and had to make a run for it, and Res’vaye’s had been right there — so he’d popped in, immediately gravitated to the swords (because no one else ever had swords and they were so cool ), been good at them, and Res’vaye had noticed.
Now he’s essentially part of a super-secret vigilante training club. He knows his family would never approve, but he’s learning things that he’d never learn in school, or from them. He can fight now. He can help people, if it ever comes to that.
Res’vaye nods. “Good.” He releases his shoulder. “Taer’vys is here today. You’d like to spar with him, I assume?”
Taer’vys is a guy who Res’vaye apparently taught personally way back in the day. He works in Selyr as a Thornguard spy and dealer of all sorts of stolen items, but he occasionally comes over to the gym to train. The first time Keras had seen him, he’d challenged him to a spar — and lost. Badly.
He’s challenged him to a spar every time he’s come since.
He’s never once beaten him.
Well, I guess I’m getting my ass handed to me tonight.
He trains with Res’vaye for most of the night. He’s gotten both quicker and stronger with his sword, a metal blade so blunt it might as well be a lump or something, but the man still has him outclassed in both.
“Think I lasted a few seconds longer in that one,” he pants, accepting Res’vaye’s extended hand with a grunt and wiping off some of the sweat on his forehead. He grabs a water bottle from the sidelines and drinks deeply, relishing in the cool liquid.
“A few seconds longer doesn’t change anything if you get beaten in the end,” Res’vaye says calmly. “But you are getting better.”
Keras sets the bottle down and turns to see Taer’vys heading over to him, a smirk on his face. “Think it’s enough to challenge me?”
He returns the smirk and hefts his blade. “Well over.”
Taer’vys’ grin widens. “We’ll see.”
They enter the ring in the center. A few heads turn, but their sparring matches are old news by this point; no matter what, Keras always loses. He’s guessing that even him continually getting his ass beaten into the ground gets boring after a few dozen times.
Taer’vys lifts his sword, an equally blunt lump of metal. “Come at me.”
Keras smirks. Doing exactly that a mistake he’s made many times in the past.
…Obviously, he repeats it. Where’s the fun in waiting?
Keras lunges, arcing his blade up to meet Taer’vys’ as his descends in a block. He twists around Taer’vys’ guard and spins around to send his blade towards the back of his neck, preparing to restrain it at the last second — but, of course, he never needs to. His opponent’s blade is already flashing in front of him, clashing with his and sending him back. He lashes out with his legs as he skids backwards, not really expecting it to connect — but it does, sending Taer’vys sprawling to the padded mats on the ground.
I might actually—
Taer’vys spins around cleanly on the ground, and his blade arcs towards his neck, preparing to hover over and win the match. Keras lifts his sword at the last possible moment in an act of desperation, hoping to block, wishing desperately for the sword to glance off, but knowing it’s too late.
But Taer’vys’ sword suddenly swings wildly off course, as though some invisible force had repelled it. Keras scrambles to his feet, gaping blankly. Taer’vys copies him, staring at his sword hand as though it’s personally offended him — and maybe it has.
Why by the gods would that happen? Taer’vys isn’t sloppy. His hand achieving sentience and moving on its own would be more likely than that.
Res’vaye is watching them from the sidelines, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Keras feels an uneasy feeling rise in his chest, but before he can make too much of it, Taer’vys is lunging, taking advantage of the sudden distraction to shove Keras down and place the tip of his sword firmly at his neck.
There’s some scattered clapping, and Taer’vys removes his blade and helps Keras up. “Any idea how that happened?” he asks in a low voice, and Keras hesitates.
It had just been a mistake.
Some wildly unusual coincidence.
Maybe Taer’vys had wanted to extend their fight a little longer.
But if he doesn’t know why… Keras doesn’t know what to think. Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he’s just playing a big joke on him, he wouldn’t put it past him, but — swords don’t just jerk away like that. It shouldn’t be possible.
“Trade secret,” he ends up saying before he can think it out fully. Taer’vys raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t reply.
Res’vaye is still watching him when he walks out the door, thoroughly disturbed.
The stars, the Givers and the Takers — they aren’t the only legends people tell about Mythralis. The myths claim that magic used to exist — that once, people could shape elements of the world, even manifest it from their own power. That once, the world wasn’t a modern, capitalistic place full of pollution, but a place of magic, of legend. A place where gods walked the earth.
Keras knows he’s not exactly normal. His parents are some of the richest people on Mythralis — hell, maybe even the entire world of Venaya as a whole. He trains at night with criminals so he can learn to fight with a sword, of all things.
None of that makes him feel like this. Not in the slightest. It’s who he is.
But the idea that he might really not be normal — that he’s strange, that he’s other — that doesn’t scare him.
It sets his heart beating faster, sends energy thrumming through his veins. It makes him feel like he’s great. Like he’s special.
If I had that kind of power…
Honestly? It would be amazing .
So, monsters to fight? Evil world-ending creatures to destroy? He wants it.
Even if there’s nothing to prove that he can ever have it.