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• • •
It's in Lilith Clawthorne's esteemed opinion that the most efficacious fuck you she can give the long-gone Emperor is to turn the crumbling ruins of his old castle into a school for wild magic. So, precisely one year after the plot to put a stop to the Day Of Unity, six months after the return of The Hexsquad (as local news station have taken to calling them, praising them for their heroic efforts in defeating The Collector, sealing the little chaos god away for good this time) and one week after the newly-formed council elects Lilith for the task, that's exactly what she does.
In the midst of renovation, Lilith comes across a secret archive buried in the depths of the castle — a library containing a collection of books that detail the true history of wild magic, as well as several old leather-bound texts, hand-scribed on faded parchment paper in ancient Deadwardian dialect, exploring darker avenues of magic that Belos clearly wanted to keep hidden from the masses.
One such book, titled The Grimwalker's Grimoire: The History, Lore, and Creation Of Grimwalkers, strikes her interest, and so, instead of donating it to the Bonesborough Library, or keeping it for her future school, Lilith stows it away in her personal collection, making a mental note to take a little detour to her sister's cottage on her way home.
She's developed something of a kinship with the former Golden Guard, the two of them bonding over their love of books and history, their insatiable thirst for knowledge. (Not to mention, there's nothing quite like the shared bond of trauma over devoting your life to a tyrannical monster you used to worship as a god.)
She feels guilty as she looks back on her life in the coven through a different lens — perhaps the little boy who used to follow her around chattering away a mile a minute about this tincture and that battle strategy hadn't been doing so just to grate on her nerves, but to earn her approval, to prove that he could live up to the titles that had been thrust upon him at such a young age: golden guard, little prince, genius teen prodigy. Lilith could certainly relate.
Maybe that's why she tries a little harder, goes out of her way to show him a little extra kindness. She'd always assumed being the Emperor's nephew afforded him special treatment — admittedly, she was jealous — and had been horrified to learn how very wrong she was. So, on her way back home, Lilith stops by the Owl House, pleased to find him curled up in the bay window of Eda's living room, cheeks tinged a healthy shade of pink as he laughs at a joke the little plant witch has just told him, and delivers the book to him.
"I know you've been eager to learn more about who and what you are," she says with a poignant smile, placing the battered old leather-bound book in his outstretched hands, wincing as her gaze lingers on the series of scars that curl around them like brambles. "I'm certain this will give you the answers you seek."
Hunter stares down at the faded cover, fingertips trailing over the embossed title, hand-scribed in a blood red ink so dark it's almost black.
"Thank you, Miss Lilith," he says in a soft, small voice, glancing up at her with genuine gratitude in his eyes, and Lilith wonders how she could have ever thought him so deserving of her contempt.
• • •
Hunter sits with his back to Eda's bay window, late summer sunshine streaming in golden slivers through the half-drawn curtains, Willow and Gus curled in on either side of him, listening intently as he shares bits and pieces from The Grimwalker's Grimoire.
"Galdorstone, for heart and power," he says, pointer finger sliding down the list of ingredients as he reads them aloud. "Palistrom wood, for keratin. Stonesleeper lungs, for…well, I guess that one's obvious. Selkidomus scales…less obvious…though I'm guessing it has something to do with skin? Might be the reason the heat of the boiling sea doesn't seem to affect me. And lastly…bone of ortet."
"Bone of what?" Gus wrinkles his nose in confusion.
"It's a term used in botany," Willow supplies, lips pulling into a frown. "It means 'the original plant parent from which a clone ultimately derives.' In other words…"
"Caleb Wittebane," Hunter finishes her thought, revulsion rising in his throat like bile at the notion that Philip kept his brother's corpse for the sole purpose of creating clones of him.
A gentle weight lands on Hunter's shoulder, soft feathers brushing against his skin as his little cardinal palisman nuzzles his cheek, at his side the moment he'd sensed Hunter's distress.
"Hey buddy," he says, glad his voice only shakes a little as he scritches the spot under Flapjack's chin. "Looks like we're made from some of the same stuff. No wonder you're like a brother to me."
Flapjack twitters cheerfully, giving Hunter's finger an affectionate nibble as if to say turn the page, you have to keep going, and as Hunter reads on, he's pretty sure he understands why.
"It is said that a piece of the soul, wherein lies all of the memories and mannerisms of the ortet, and any previous iterations created in their likeness, reside within the mindscape of the current grimwalker, lying dormant, hidden away beneath the surface," Hunter recites, so entranced by what he's reading his voice is practically a whisper. "These dormant memories can indeed be accessed, and become available to the current grimwalker — but be warned, for it involves invoking complex, dangerous magic."
"Mindscape magic," Willow surmises, and Hunter's gaze snaps to meet hers, stunned to discover she's as well-versed in this subject as he is.
"Only those the grimwalker trusts implicitly may enter the mindscape and gain access to the hidden levels," Gus reads aloud, taking over in light of Hunter's sudden inattention. "While the journey may be perilous, it is the ultimate act of kindness—"
"—for doing so will allow those last remaining pieces of the ortet and subsequent grimwalkers' souls the freedom to pass fully into the afterlife, so that they may finally be at peace," Hunter finishes in a small, awed voice, glancing up from the page to find the two of them staring at him, wide-eyed and enraptured.
It's clear what needs to be done, though Hunter would be lying if he said he didn't feel at least a little apprehensive about the idea of Willow wandering the depths of his mind, privy to all of his innermost thoughts and feelings, all of his flaws and insecurities and deepest, darkest secrets laid bare for her flip through like the world's worst jukebox.
But the need to know more about the previous Golden Guards, and more importantly, to free them (Hunter shudders as he remembers all those weepy palismen souls trapped inside the depths of the Emperor's mind) far outweighs any personal objections he might have.
"We have to free them," he says, mind made up. "Would you— I mean, there's no one I trust more in this world than you two."
Willow's lips part in surprise, while Gus's face takes on a slightly stunned expression. Hunter falters, suddenly apprehensive. He'd been so preoccupied worrying over his own reservations, he hadn't stopped to consider whether they would actually be willing to do this for him. After all, this is one hell of an ask, and it's not like he's worth risking—
"Of course we would," Willow's reply comes instantly, unreservedly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on the junction between his neck and shoulder. Hunter blames the induction of heat that blossoms in the spot where she'd touched him on the cozy afternoon sunlight streaming through the bay window, hoping like hell she can't feel the sudden jump in his pulse.
Laser focus set on her new task, Willow springs up from their little makeshift reading nook and heads for the kitchen, where Eda and Amity have been busy showing Luz how to bake a fairy pie for the upcoming Hexside bake sale. Though she's researched the subject extensively, she's never performed the spell herself, and they have to be smart about this.
They'll need someone to cast it — someone like Eda, whose magic might not be fully functional anymore, but who can still whip up one hell of a potion — someone to watch over Hunter while he's under the sleeping spell, and someone to perform the teleportation spell to bring them back to the physical world when the time comes.
"We'd do anything for you, dude," Gus reassures him, holding out his hand for their signature fist bump. "And don't worry," he adds in an undertone, waiting until Willow is out of earshot. "Your secret's safe with me. I'll do everything I can to make sure Willow doesn't find out until you're ready to tell her."
"I— wha— tell her? Tell her what? I'm not— there's no secrets. I—" Hunter splutters around a voice-cracking chuckle, a dozen half-assed excuses and outright lies queuing on the tip of his tongue. Gus levels him with an arched eyebrow, as if to say, Really? This is the hill you want to die on? and Hunter deflates, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Thank you," he says in a small voice, smiling when Gus offers him a sage nod in return.
A couple of loud bangs, odd aromas, and colorful curses later (mostly from Eda, but there's a few from Willow thrown in there as well) the potion is finally ready. Willow fusses over the number of pillows propping up Hunter's back while he gets situated on the couch (which is fine, he feels totally normal about the fact that Willow is doting on him, concerned for his comfort while he's under the sleeping spell) before joining Gus in the center of the spell circle that Luz has carefully drawn in the middle of the living room floor.
"You kids ready?" Eda asks, looking wary. While it had ultimately worked out fine in the end, the time she'd sent Luz and Amity in to repair Willow's mindscape, it had still been a dangerous, almost life-threatening task. Entering the mindscape of one person is risky enough; entering the mindscape of someone who shares the space with multiple past versions is on another level entirely.
But it's Hunter, and Hunter is worth the risk.
"Ready," they say together, clasping each other's hands and turning to give Hunter one last reassuring smile before Amity puts him under the sleeping spell.
"Okay, here we go. Three…two…one!" Eda chants, throwing the potion into the spell circle, where it ignites, bathing the room in a golden glow. A thousand tiny balls of light swirl around them like shooting stars, growing brighter and brighter, until it's almost blinding, until one moment they're here, and the next, they're gone, vanishing from the physical world in the blink of an eye, Hunter fast asleep on the couch above the active spell circle.
• • •
They wake in a forest filled with wildflowers and tall, waist-wading grasses, soft summer sunlight pouring through the surrounding thicket of towering trees in misty slivers. Beautiful is the first word that comes to mind when Willow takes it all in, a feeling that intensifies tenfold when her gaze lands on a figure sitting in the shade of a magnificent tree, feather-veined leaves spilling from long, lithe branches like rainfall frozen in time. It doesn't escape Gus's notice that the inner Hunter has chosen a willow tree as his sanctuary, chuckling to himself as the two of them approach him.
"I was wondering when you two would finally get here," the inner Hunter affectionately teases, glancing up from the book he'd been reading — From Bones To Earth: A Study Of Wild Magic — to greet them with a radiant smile.
He vanishes the book with a simple flick of his wrist, springing up from the ground in one quick, fluid motion, only to be nearly knocked back down by the force of Gus and Willow's tackle hug. The inner Hunter lets out a soft, surprised chuckle, hugging the two of them back even tighter.
"So, journey to the center of my mindscape," he prompts, squinting in the direction of a winding path leading through the denser, darker part of the forest. "Well then, we'd better get started."
They make their way through the arboreal labyrinth, the inner Hunter guiding their way, blushing and preening as Willow gushes about how beautiful his mindscape is, pausing to admire the flowering vines that twist and turn through the undergrowth, watching as birds and bumblebees soar through cloudy blue skies just visible through the canopy of trees overhead.
Along the way, they pass a collection of Hunter's memories, their portraits embedded into the cores of trees or propped up by flowerbeds and tangles of vines. Gus makes a valiant attempt to distract Willow from all the portraits featuring memories of her, but it's hard when there's so many.
Portraits of memories as recent as the past few months, featuring the three of them huddled together around a crystal ball on Willow's bed, catching up on the latest episode of one of their favorite CB shows — sitting in a booth sharing a massive ice scream sundae split between all five of their friends — sprawled along the edge of the beach, the one spot on the Isles where the sea doesn't boil, saltwater-kissed breeze carding its fingers through their hair as they dug their toes into the sand — the day he'd met Willow's dads, eyes misty as they'd pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, voices quavering as they'd thanked him for keeping their daughter safe.
Beyond those are portraits of their time in the human realm — learning how to make flapjacks with Camila, his little cardinal palisman perched on his shoulder, twittering happily as Hunter fed him small bites and berries — big group sleepovers in Luz's living room, movie marathons and game nights, blanket forts and popcorn wars — Willow, curled up on the living room couch, reading passages aloud from a book on human realm plants that Hunter had gifted her — Willow, smiling brightly as she'd worked in Camila's backyard helping her build a garden, patches of dirt smudged across her sun-kissed cheeks — Willow, sitting across from him at the local diner they'd haunt on the weekends, head thrown back in laughter as a red-faced Hunter swelled with pride at having told her a funny joke.
Willow notices them all, but doesn't say anything, just walks along with this big, beatific smile on her face, the inner Hunter's face turning redder and redder the more Willow-centric memories they come across.
But as they walk further, her smile starts to fade, happy memories becoming fewer and farther between the deeper they trek through the swiftly darkening forest. It's like seeing his life play out in reverse, like the forest itself feeds off the emotions tied to the memories, changing its shape to match the mood. The older the memory, the darker the forest becomes, closing in around them until it's almost too dark to see.
Dark, thorny vines twist and curl like barbed serpents around the edges of most of the portraits of Hunter's time spent at the castle, in the company of the monster he used to call uncle, glints of polished gold and a sickly, luminescent blue just visible between the brambles, threatening to pierce the canvas. Though there are still some portraits that remain relatively unscathed, small clusters of flowers blooming in spite of the prickly thorns surrounding their edges.
A portrait of the Day Of Unity, the comforting warmth of Willow's care and protection dulling the agony of the draining spell as it lit up his veins in bright, blinding gold — the look of blissful relief on her face the moment she'd realized that the spell had been deactivated, that Hunter was safe again.
A portrait of the battle at Blight Manor — a flash of gold as Hunter disguised as an illusion of Luz dashed forward to push Willow out of harm's way, his first instinct always to protect her — vines bursting to life like a leviathan from the rage fueling Willow's magic as she'd chased down Hunter's captor, first to rush aboard the airship, frantically trying to figure out how to work the controls so she could go after him — the sob of relief she'd made as the illusion lifted, and there stood Hunter, looking rattled but very much alive and safe — the way she'd rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him, voice trembling as she'd whispered, "I'm so glad you're okay."
A portrait of Hunter standing in the halls of Hexside, dressed in a patched and mismatched outfit he'd pilfered from the lost and found, gloved hands gently cupping one another as he'd stared into the distance, captivated by a subject she can't yet see, a faint pink blush blossoming in the apples of his cheeks.
"That's not the captain," Hunter's voice echoes through the portrait, and all at once, Willow remembers a conversation she'd had with Gus later that night, when she'd called to ask how Hunter was settling in.
"He knew it was an illusion almost instantly," Gus had told her, sounding equal parts incredulous and impressed.
"Well, I'm not surprised," Willow had replied, stifling a giggle. "They don't call him 'genius teen prodigy' for nothing."
Gus arched an inquisitive eyebrow but made no further comment, conspiratorial smile tugging at the corners of his lips like her reaction had just confirmed a running theory.
"I'm not talking about knowledge of the craft," he said as he shook his head. "I'm saying that he recognized that it wasn't you, specifically. The moment your illusion acted out of character, he knew. He saw right through that imposter, because he knows the real you."
Heat rises in Willow's cheeks, a perfect match for the sunburnt scarlet that radiates from Hunter's cheekbones to the tips of his ears as she passes by a portrait of her pulling him into a hug alongside Gus. Willow remembers that day so clearly, the way he'd rushed to defend her, fought his own former allies to protect her and her fellow classmates from being branded with coven sigils.
The sunlight ends after one last portrait, casting the path up ahead in shadow. Vines twist around the edges of this portrait in equal measures of barb and blossom, joy and sorrow.
A portrait of the day he first met her — bright green eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses and a smile that made his heart skip a beat — panic and anger surging through him as he'd watched that vile cheat knock her off her broom, instinctively reaching out for her, fingers interlocking with hers for the briefest of seconds as she'd handed off the other team's flags, the look of horror in his eyes as he'd hesitated, ready to swoop down and catch her, needing to make sure she'd landed safely, needing a literal push from Gus to get his head back in the game — cheering with streaks of green face paint as she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a group hug with his fellow teammates.
And here the vines grow darker, more menacing, a manifestation of guilt and shame — back turned to him in the cells, head hung low as she'd called herself Half-A-Witch Willow — tears in her eyes as she'd glared at him in defiance, refusing to budge even as he'd begged her to go.
Even a year after it happened, after countless apologies and countless more reassurances that she forgives him, Hunter is still haunted by the memory of hurting her. She wants to say something, wants to reach out and offer him comfort, find a way to fix his memory of the day they first met — only there's nothing to repair, no burned or torn canvas, no cracked or splintered frame. This memory, like all those thorn-riddled portraits of his life as the former Golden Guard, is something only time can heal.
The last of Hunter's earliest memories pass them by in a blur, and Willow's heart aches for the little boy who'd limped and winced up to the gates of the castle covered in cuts and bruises from coven scout training, under strict orders not to go to the healing ward lest they find out what he is — for the little boy who'd sat all alone up in his room in the tallest tower, gazing longingly at the sunlit forest in the distance, wishing he could go outside and play — for the little boy who'd fallen asleep every night clutching the little pink frog that Big Brother Steve had bought for him, one of the few memories Hunter has of someone in that castle showing him an ounce of kindness—
Until finally, they reach the end of the path, where a magnificent old palistrom tree stands at the very edge of the forest, three hundred years old at least, with deep swirling grooves embedded in its pale blue oak, making it difficult, but not impossible, to locate the secret door carved into its side, so seamless it's easy to miss. It unlocks at Hunter's touch, swinging open to reveal a long, dark tunnel leading into what can only be the hidden lower levels.
One by one, they climb through the doorway, and without warning, find themselves sliding down a dark, twisting tunnel, kicking up speed the further down they go, until finally, they land in a room illuminated by flickering candlelight, Willow quick on her feet to conjure a soft, plushy flowerbed to cushion their fall.
Gold plated fixtures, polished stone, roaring sconces, and dusty old tapestries adorn the seemingly never-ending labyrinthine corridors of the Emperor's castle, and for a moment, all three of them panic that they've somehow ended up back there, until they notice the portraits that line the walls of each corridor, each one depicting someone who looks like Hunter, only…different. Here, lining the walls of some twisted recreation of the Emperor's old castle, live a series of memories that pre-date the Hunter they know, each wing dedicated to a different former Golden Guard.
"How many do you think there are?" Hunter asks, casting nervous glances at Gus and Willow.
"Well," says a voice that's so familiar, yet softened at the edges with an airy sort of formality, as its owner rounds the corner — a young man no older than seventeen, dressed in faded brown trousers and a plain white farmer's shirt rolled up to his elbows, with fluffy, light blond hair that sticks up in gravity-defying tufts, one loose forelock dangling between a pair of dark red eyes.
"Philip Wittebane—" he spits the name with no small amount of disgust, "found his way to the demon realm during the Deadwardian Era — one of his earliest recordings in that damnable journal of his is dated somewhere between 1660 and 1670 — and created me not long after his journey to Eclipse Lake. So, assuming that Hunter here is the last grimwalker Philip ever created, and assuming we all defected around the same age, give or take a few years in either direction, that would mean that there are—"
"Twenty-two of you," Willow supplies, doing the math inside her head.
"Wow," he says, gazing up at her in reverence. "Very clever of you."
He steps forward into the light so that he can get a better look at her, and his expression grows fond.
"Willow," he sighs her name like it's a breath of fresh air, reaching out to take her hand and press a gentle kiss against the back of it, startling a bashful oh wow out of her, and something sour twists in Hunter's stomach as he watches the interaction. "How lovely it is to finally meet you."
He stares at her for a beat longer, gaze soft and longing, before turning his attention to Gus. "And of course, Gus," he says with a warm smile, moving forward to shake his hand. "Our true brother, as far as I'm concerned."
Gus beams back at him in response.
"Hunter?" Willow asks, uncertain, fingertips absentmindedly tracing over the spot where he'd kissed her.
"Caleb the second, as it were," he replies, fond smile fading to something more bitter. "Yes, it seems dear Philip didn't start getting creative with our names until he had to make more of us. I was the first, you see, named after the very brother he sought to recreate. Sentimental, murderous old bastard," Caleb sneers, glaring at a tapestry of the late Emperor Belos, embroidered in fine gold threads.
"How did you escape?" Hunter asks, shaking him out of his spiteful musings. "I've been reading up on…our kind. According to the lore, you're all supposed to be trapped inside your portraits. How did you get out of yours? And if you were able to get out, then why haven't you…you know, moved on?"
Caleb's smile turns wistful. "You're not the first friends of grimwalkers that have attempted to help us," he says, nodding at Willow and Gus. "Darius managed the spell only once, found his way down to these hallowed halls with—"
"Me," another voice sounds from around the corner — bold, brazen, confident to the point of arrogance. "But Belos caught us before he had the chance to free us all…at which point, I was branded a traitor, and…well, you know what he did to us."
Hunter nods solemnly. "And Darius?"
"Terra gave him a potion to make him forget what we are. As far as Darius knows, I died in combat, on a mission gone wrong," he says, his expression sour. The moment his eyes land on Willow, however, his gaze immediately softens.
This new grimwalker is a little bit older than Caleb and Hunter, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with sharper features bearing about a dozen more jagged facial scars, dark blond stubble peppered across his chiseled jawline, and slightly longer, devil-may-care hair pulled back into a ponytail, signature forelock thick enough to be a set of bangs, casually swept to the side, partially obscuring one of his dark red eyes.
He wears a fashionably shredded version of the old Golden Guard cloak draped over a black tunic, form-fitting trousers, and knee-length boots. He wouldn't look out of place in one of the photos Willow's seen of pop-punk boy bands back in the human realm, the kind Luz would refer to as teenage heartthrobs.
"The name's Jasper," he says, striding toward her with a graceful swagger, leaning down to press a kiss on either cheek. "And what an absolute pleasure it is to meet you, Captain."
"Oh, well it's, um…very nice to meet you too, Jasper," Willow giggles, a furious blush blossoming where Jasper has just kissed her, and Hunter's stomach writhes like a pit of snakes. As if things couldn't possibly get any worse, Jasper winks at her, flashing her a dazzling smile, before turning to address Gus.
"Darius and Gus, the two greatest — and only — brothers we've ever had," Jasper proclaims, tugging him into a one-armed hug, which Gus happily returns.
"How many of you managed to escape before Belos found you out?" Gus asks, casting a concerned side-eyed glance at Hunter, who looks like he's about to have an aneurysm.
"Just three," Caleb replies. "Myself, Jasper, and—"
"William," says a third grimwalker, leisurely strolling into the room.
There's a gentle, quiet grace about this one, nervous hands carding through thick, loose curls the color of orange blossom honey, a dusting of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose like brown sugar cinnamon.
Where Hunter and Jasper are all hard lines and sharp edges, William's features are softer, more rounded, like Willow's. He walks in looking like the cover of a regency-era romance novel, dressed in a loose-flowing white shirt, dark lace-up trousers, and tall leather boots, coming to a sudden stop in front of Willow, pupils blown wide as he drinks her in.
"You are, if possible, even lovelier in person than you are in Hunter's many recollections," he says, soft-spoken and utterly besotted. "How wonderful it is to make your acquaintance." He, too, kisses the back of her hand, before sweeping into a low bow in front of her.
Willow's eyes widen, cheeks tinged pink as she stutters out a stunned, "Oh, um…thank you. It's wonderful to meet you, too."
"All of you," she adds with a flustered smile, glancing between the three Hunter lookalikes, who all beam back at her with his signature gap-toothed grin. Meanwhile, the inner Hunter simply stands there, watching this quaint little interaction unfold, feeling totally normal about it.
It's not like he could actually lose his chance with Willow to a better version of himself, right? That would be crazy.
He's fine.
Fine and normal and not at all jealous.
Of himself.
Fuck.
William gazes adoringly at Willow for another moment longer, before turning to smile at Gus.
"Gus," he says fondly, striding forward to shake his hand. "I so wish I'd had a friend like you in my time. I can't thank you enough for keeping this one company."
"Of course," Gus replies, offering William a warm smile before turning it on Hunter, reaching out to place a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. "He's one of my best friends, the brother I always wanted."
Hunter looks at him, some of the tension in his shoulders unraveling as he gives Gus a grateful smile.
"I hear you've also reunited with the original's palisman?" William asks, snapping Hunter's attention back to him. Hunter gives him a curt nod.
"Excellent," he says cheerfully. "A palisman should never be without their witch."
"Are you feeding him goreberries?" Jasper inquires with an arched eyebrow, and Hunter can tell by the faux criticism that he's being issued some kind of test.
"And crabapple claws," Hunter answers with a small smile. "Those are his favorite."
"I know," Jasper replies, returning Hunter's smile with a self-satisfied one of his own.
"Well then," Caleb announces, striding forward into the center of their little coterie so that all eyes are on him. "Now that we've all gotten acquainted, and, most crucially, that there is no longer a monster masquerading as a man to stand in our path this time…shall we endeavor to liberate the others?"
"Let's do this," Willow nods, slipping easily into that cool, confident captain persona that's been making Hunter's heart stutter since day one, a look of fierce determination in her eyes.
One by one, they enter the portraits of all the previous Golden Guards, and get to work setting them free. For most of them, all it takes is the knowledge that Belos has finally been defeated, that no more grimwalkers will ever be created, that the very last of them is alive and well on his way to living a good life. For others, all they need is the right guidance, for the inner Hunter, Willow, or Gus to take them by the hand and lead them out of the portrait, eager to finally be free.
At first, Willow worries that their efforts won't be enough, that they'll all end up trapped just like Caleb, Jasper, and William, doomed to roam these dark, depressing corridors for all eternity — until she sees the first transformation.
As each grimwalker steps into the candlelit corridor, all of the portraits in their wing burst into a flurry of bright red cardinals that soar over the tops of their heads, up through the tunnel, and out through the little door carved into the side of the palistrom tree to join the others in the forest of Hunter's mindscape, their memories a part of Hunter's now.
Once their memories have taken flight, a path opens up at the very end of the wing — a doorway leading to a bright, open landscape — sometimes of a forest, sometimes of a beach, different each time, but equal in their tranquility — and as each one steps toward it, they turn back to offer the others a grateful smile, before disappearing through the doorway, swallowed in a burst of light as they pass on into the afterlife.
It wouldn't be fair to say that Caleb, Jasper, and William hinder their efforts, but they're not exactly focused on the task at hand either, all three of them utterly enchanted by Willow, spending the majority of their trips down memory lane following her around with hearts in their eyes, tripping over themselves to impress her.
Caleb picks her a bouquet of pretty flowers from one of the other grimwalker's memories, fashions it into a crown, and places it atop Willow's head, lovingly tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear as he beams down at her and says, "There now, that's better. A queen should never be without her crown."
Jasper, on the other hand, expresses his admiration by continually trying to show off his strength and skill, regaling her with spirited tales of his many perilous, daring, and death-defying adventures with Darius, and offering to bridal-carry her across any even remotely muddy or dirty pathway.
William woos her with his words, reciting flowery poetry about how her eyes sparkle like emeralds and her hair is like the midnight sky, how he could happily lose himself tracing star patterns in the freckles that dapple the bridge of her nose.
Meanwhile the inner Hunter trudges along at the back of the queue looking like he's just sucked on a lemon.
Gus does his best not to laugh, not wanting to come off as insensitive, it's just…for a genius teen prodigy, it's amazing how utterly dense Hunter can be sometimes.
Of course Willow is a flustered, giggling mess, blushing so hard she's practically glowing red — anyone would be, if they too were surrounded by three versions of the guy they've been head over heels stupid for for the past year, dark red eyes identical to Hunter's gazing at her in smitten adoration, voices that sound just like Hunter's flirting and impressing and romancing her.
And all the while, Willow's gaze keeps flitting back to him, to her Hunter, willing him to look her way.
They make their way through each of the grimwalker's wings until only three remain — Caleb's, Jasper's, and William's — and though they try everything in their power to set them free, combing through every portrait lining the walls of each of their corridors, searching for something to repair, some form of a catalyst to spark, nothing happens — no sudden burst of cardinal wings, no long-lost memories added to Hunter's mindscape, no doorways opening at the end of the hall to welcome them into the afterlife.
"I don't understand," Willow frets, glancing between the three of them with an apologetic frown. "Did we do something wrong?"
"Of course not," Caleb reassures her with an encouraging smile, taking both of her hands in his and giving her palms an affectionate three-pulse squeeze. "You've done beautifully."
"Then why are you all still here?" Hunter asks, perhaps with a little more venom than is strictly necessary.
"I suppose it's because our transformations were interrupted," William ventures, looking pensive. "I'm beginning to suspect that none of us will be able to pass on until we've joined the original."
"You mean—" Hunter starts.
"Caleb Wittebane," Jasper replies, and it's the first time any of them have ever heard him sound humbled. "The human."
"Where is he?" Hunter asks, equal parts nervous about the prospect of meeting the blueprint for his very existence, and yet dying to know what he was like.
"We're not sure," Caleb II answers. "In all the years we've roamed these halls, we've never once been able to find him."
"We must have overlooked something," Willow says, renewed determination sparking to life in her eyes. "Come on, he's got to be around here somewhere."
"You go on ahead, ma chérie," Jasper says with a flirtatious grin, and oh, of course he knows French, the charming bastard. "We'd like to have a chat with our little brother," he explains, inclining his head toward Hunter, whose face breaks out in sheepish bright red blotches. He waits until Willow and Gus are out of earshot, smile slipping from his features as he turns to face Hunter, one eyebrow arched in silent accusation.
"I just have one question," he says, his tone even and unassuming as he presses the tips of his fingers together in that same quiet contemplation Hunter has seen of Darius, right before he levels someone with a scathing remark.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jasper explodes.
Aaaaand there it is.
"What?" Hunter splutters in response, torn between defense, offense, and utter confusion.
"Willow," Jasper says with emphasis, like her name is all the explanation needed.
"What— what about Willow?" Hunter asks, hackles raised.
"She is amazing," Caleb states it like it's an irrefutable fact, like he's explaining something very simple to someone very stupid. "Why have you not yet told her how you feel?"
Hunter's face turns about fifty different shades of red. "I— well, I—" he stutters.
"Were I in your fortune-favored position, I would have already asked her to be my wife," William says, like that's a perfectly normal thing to expect, and Hunter is just woefully behind the times.
"We're sixteen!" Hunter exclaims, face reaching critical levels of ruddiness, to the point where he genuinely starts to worry he's going to give himself heatstroke from the temperature of his own skin.
"Well, okay. Willow is sixteen. I'm seventeen," he amends, running a nervous hand through his hair and wincing when his forelock snaps back and hits him in the eye. "Which is still way too young to be thinking about any of that! Mother Of Titan, I'm having enough trouble working up the nerve just to ask her to be my girlfriend, let alone my—" Hunter chokes on the word, terrified that if he says it out loud, the ensuing blush will start a forest fire.
"Ah yes, of course. My apologies. Different customs for different time periods," William amends with a casual wave of his hand. "Although," he adds, lips pulling into an amused smirk. "You have already thought about it, haven't you? Or at the very least, doodled it in the margins of your school notes: Mr. and Mrs. Hunter and Willow Park. Remember, we know everything that goes on in your mind."
"The point is," Caleb interjects before William can reveal the extent of everything they've witnessed wandering the depths of Hunter's mindscape all these years, not wanting to embarrass him further. "You have been in love with her for nearly a year. You should have asked her to be your something by now."
"I—" Hunter falters, heart hammering in his ribcage, terrified that at any minute, Willow could come back and overhear everything. "I just haven't found the right moment to—"
"If you don't, I will," Jasper threatens with an air of impatient boredom, shoulders rolling in a casual shrug as he crosses his arms over his chest, and if Hunter wasn't busy spluttering in indignation, he'd be laughing at how much this previous version reminds him of Darius. Luckily, he's saved the effort of having to come up with a response, the other two rounding on him before Hunter gets the chance.
"How?" Caleb scoffs, rolling his eyes like Jasper's mere presence vexes him.
"You are literally a memory," William counters with an incredulous laugh.
"I'll make it work!" Jasper exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. "Long distance? I don't know! She's just so…" he trails off with a lovesick sigh.
"I know," Hunter bites out, frustration allowing him to find his voice again. "I know she is. And that's exactly the problem, isn't it? She's so amazing, and I'm just…me." Hunter frowns, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Oh I see," William stage-whispers to Caleb. "This one's got self-esteem issues."
"Excuse me, asshole," Jasper scoffs, full offense, ego bristling. "We're you, and we find that insulting!"
"What he means to say," Caleb heaves a long-suffering sigh, casting a withering glare at Jasper. "Is that you should give yourself a little more credit. Think of how much you've overcome, how much you've had to endure."
Caleb places a reassuring hand on either side of Hunter's shoulders and fixes him with a reverent smile. "You come from a long line of brave men who were made to be these perfect little soldiers, raised by a tyrant who managed to fool an entire realm into believing his cock-and-bull belief system, yet your good heart and morals won out every time. You should be proud. I know I am."
Hunter stares at him, the corners of his eyes stinging, lower lip quivering as it pulls into a tentative smile.
"And as for Willow," William prompts with a cheeky smile. "You may not have caught the way she looked at you every time you were too busy sulking to notice, but we sure did, and I'm willing to bet dollars to donuts that she is just as smitten as you are."
Hunter can't even begin to process that right now — Willow, looking over at him? Willow, smitten? For him? — so instead, he latches on to something simpler.
"Dollars to donuts?" he asks, one eyebrow arched in wry amusement.
William shrugs. "It's something I heard our sister — Luz, the human — say once, and I daresay I developed a liking for it."
"Speaking of which," Caleb chimes in with a cheerful smile. "Next time you're in the human realm, do try a donut. For my sake. I hear they're delicious. Perhaps that's where you can take Willow on your first date," he adds with an encouraging wink.
"Or," Jasper cuts in, looking thoroughly unimpressed by this suggestion. "There's this swanky little coffee shop in Latissa that Darius and I used to frequent whenever we were pretending to be out on patrol. I…think it's still around?"
Hunter arches his eyebrows in surprise, and Jasper rolls his eyes.
"Listen," he says, sighing like he's making some big self-sacrifice. "A girl like that deserves the world, so if she can't be with the best version of us—"
"Jasper—"
"Then I suppose you'll have to do," he finishes, lips curling into a supportive, if teasing, smile.
Caleb sighs and shakes his head, while William purses his lips to keep from laughing.
"Despite the arrogant sod's delusions of grandeur, he is right about one thing," William says, lips quirking up into an amused little smirk at the sound of Jasper's theatrical gasp of outrage. "Willow deserves the world. So, when all of this gets sorted, and it's finally my time to pass on, I'll be leaving you with all the memories of the sonnets I used to compose. Do try and remember at least one of them, will you? Willow deserves to be wooed with poetry and love letters."
Hunter swallows thickly, blushing bright red at the very thought, but nods.
"Look," he sighs, glancing between his three well-intentioned (albeit infuriatingly meddlesome) counterparts. "Obviously, I agree with you — Willow deserves all of those things and more. It's just…I think you're all vastly overestimating my chances, here. Willow deserves so much better than—"
"Okay, enough with the pity party," Jasper interrupts, slinging an arm around Hunter's shoulders like a big brother about to dole out sage life advice. "Look dude, we're not out to get you, or ruin your life, or rush you into doing something you're not ready for, alright? We just want to make sure you're not holding yourself back from something potentially amazing just because you don't think you're good enough, or that you don't deserve to be happy."
"For once we're all in agreement," Caleb says, looking sarcastically astonished.
"Beautifully said, brother," William quips, flashing him a teasing smile.
Jasper playfully flips them off, before turning his attention back on Hunter.
"We've been through some pretty traumatic shit," he says, the cocky edge in his tone fading to something softer, wistful. "But you're the lucky one. You're the one who gets to go back out there and live a full life. So go live it. Be happy. Allow yourself to do the things that make you happy."
Hunter stares at him, eyes so very like his own, but with all the wisdom and experience of an older brother. Someone who's really seen the world. Someone with regrets, who wishes he'd gotten the chance to see more of it.
Hunter opens his mouth to respond, to promise him, to promise all of them, that once this is all over, he's going to go back out there and do his best to live the life they all deserved — but before he can get the words out, Willow calls out to them, and all at once, four fluffy blond heads turn in the direction of her voice.
"Hunter?" she calls first. "Caleb, Jasper, William…we found him."
• • •
The wing where all of Caleb Wittebane's portraits reside has been hidden away for centuries behind an illusion of polished stone and gilded gold, visible only because Gus had thought to bring Adrian Graye's old magic amplifying mirror. The edges of the doorway fit inside the wall so seamlessly it's almost impossible to see even without the illusion, locked until Hunter presses his hand against the frame, twisting his wrist to turn an invisible handle.
The inside is a stark contrast to Belos's cold, dark castle halls, corridor lined with handsome hand-carved bookshelves filled with well-loved, dog-eared novels, ticking grandfather clocks, and little wooden figurines that look remarkably like unfinished palismen, portraits framed in polished mahogany across a canvas of handsome scrollwork paneling.
At the very end of the hall, they find him, waiting for them inside a memory of his wedding day, mere moments before he's set to walk down the aisle. He's in his dressing room, standing in front of an ornate mirror, attempting the fool's errand of smoothing back that one stubborn forelock they all seem to have inherited from him, sighing as he casts adoring, misty eyes on a photo of a woman with bright green eyes, dark red hair, and a mischievous smile, tucked into the corner of the mirror, along with a folded letter bearing the signature W. Clawthorne punctuated by a drawing of two cardinals circling a heart.
"After all this time, I can finally join you," Caleb whispers, pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers and placing it on her picture.
Dark brown eyes find the six of them in the reflection of the mirror, lips pulling into a fond smile. "I was wondering when you lot would find me," he says, turning around to face them.
"The others have all moved on, leaving just us four. Are you ready?" he asks, inclining his head toward Caleb II, Jasper, and William, who all give a firm nod in reply.
"Good," he smiles warmly, stepping through the frame of the ornate mirror and out into the corridor, reaching out a hand to help each of them step through the other side of the portrait.
The moment they leave the memory, every portrait in the wing bursts into a flock of bright red cardinals, zooming through the hidden door and up to the surface, just as it had done with all of the other grimwalkers' memories. At the very end of the hall, a doorway opens into a forest lit by warm, golden sunlight, birdsong a soothing symphony in the distance, welcoming them home.
"There's just one more thing I've got to do," Caleb tells the others, stepping forward and pulling Hunter into an all-encompassing bear hug, closing his eyes and tucking his chin into the curve of Hunter's shoulder. Hunter freezes for a moment, arms hovering uselessly in the air around either side of him, before tentatively wrapping them around Caleb's shoulders, melting into the embrace. It's the closest he's ever felt to being hugged by a father.
"Hunter," he says with deep abiding affection and pride, punching a startled sob out of Hunter's chest. He doesn't realize he's started crying until he's already soaked Caleb's shoulder. "I am so sorry for everything my brother has done to you. To all of you. Now that he is gone, I hope you can live the life you deserve, the kind of life we all deserved."
Caleb pauses, pulling back to look at him, a hand on either side of his shoulders. Hunter sniffles, taking the momentary lull to wipe his eyes. When Caleb looks at him, there's no judgment, no scorn, no pity in his eyes, only warmth, and something wistful, bittersweet.
"I have spent all this time living in that memory because it was the happiest day of my life," Caleb tells him, glancing back at the empty space where the portrait of his wedding day used to hang. "But I know what my future holds from that point onward. Not long before I died, my wife and I had a child, and I have it on very good authority that he survived." Caleb's lips tug into a hopeful smile. "Hunter, you have ancestors in the Clawthorne line. Find them, reestablish a connection to your family."
Hunter stares at him in awe, fresh tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He swallows thickly, giving him an enthusiastic nod in response.
Eda. He has to find Eda — and Lilith, and Gwendolyn, and Dell. His family.
Hunter can't seem to make his voice work properly, throat tight with emotion, but Caleb smiles back at him like he understands. He gives Hunter's shoulders one last affectionate squeeze before pulling away to address Willow and Gus.
"Thank you for looking after him," he tells them, fixing them with a grateful smile. "I cannot thank you two enough for helping him to finally free us. Hunter is very lucky to have such wonderful companions by his side."
"Of course," Gus replies, beaming up at him.
"We would do anything for him," Willow says, and Hunter feels his face heat from the intensity of her conviction.
He doesn't miss the way Caleb's smile turns to one of fond amusement as his gaze pendulums between his and Willow's bashful, blushing smiles, but is thankful that, unlike the others, he makes no comment.
"Come on then, you three rascals," he says, affectionately ruffling Caleb II, Jasper, and William's hair, embarrassing them like an overbearing father as they sheepishly wave goodbye to Willow.
"And Hunter," Caleb says, pausing just a few paces from the sunlit door. "I want you to know how proud I am of you. Of all of you. To think, I left this world with one son, and now here I am with twenty-two," Caleb smiles, brimming with a bittersweet sort of happiness and unwavering pride.
Hunter's breath hitches around all the words he wishes he could say to him, to all of them, settling instead on a simple thank you and good luck on the other side, watching as the four them — Caleb the first, Caleb the second, Jasper, and William — walk through the sunlit doorway and disappear in a burst of blinding light.
Before the three of them can so much as exchange a single glance, the light expands, washing out the landscape, briefly flickering from the book-adorned halls of Caleb's corridor to the soft green and golden hues of Hunter's mindscape, and then— nothingness.
When they open their eyes, they're back in Eda's living room, Hunter stirring on the couch, Willow and Gus seated on the hardwood floor in the remnants of the deactivated spell circle, and the whole room breathes a collective sigh of relief.
"Hey kid," Eda says with a smile that's equal parts affection and concern, arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe leading into the kitchen. "How'd it go?"
Hunter's attention snaps to her, and a wide smile spreads across his face. He feels like he's looking at her through brand new eyes, drinking in every previously overlooked detail — how did he never notice all the similarities between them before? She's his family. Hunter has a family. All this time, they've been right here, and he never even knew.
But he'll get to that. There's someone else he needs to talk to first.
His gaze falls on Willow, affection spreading through his chest like summer sunlight as she stares up at him with a soft smile and wide, hopeful eyes. Bright green, like the meadows in his mindscape, like flowering vines, like emeralds.
"I'll tell you all about it when we get back," he says in answer to Eda's question, easing himself up from the couch to ensure his balance is still intact, before leaning down and offering his hand to Willow, gently tugging her to her feet. "But first…Willow, will you take a walk with me? There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
• • •
A few months later finds Hunter seated at the table in the Clawthorne's kitchen, enjoying the slightly chaotic atmosphere of another post-family dinner as Gwendolyn breaks out old photo albums to show Luz, Amity, Gus, and King, who all snicker as Eda, Lilith, Darius, and Raine groan at memories of bad haircuts, braces, and acne from their high school picture days.
He's learned to tune it out by now, letting it become a soft, soothing lull in the background, listening intently as Dell tells him tales about carving his very first palisman. Flapjack twitters cheerfully from his perch on Hunter's shoulder, while Willow sits beside him, holding his hand, preening as Dell fixes her with a praising smile and tells Hunter that it's a good thing his girlfriend is so adept at plant magic — after all, he'll need all the help he can get if he's to carry on the family business and learn how to grow his own palistrom trees someday.
• • •