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Xiv gazes longingly out of a tall stained glass window (they wish they weren't small enough to fit through). The window is the only glimpse of freedom, the world outside of his little secluded tower, that they have. They think of a better life, of a scenario in which they were good enough. Good enough for Father to love them, enough to leave their tower.
The outside is too dangerous, though, and Father always tells Xiv of the dangers lurking in the outside world. If only Xiv were competent enough not to disappoint Father. If only Xiv had more control over their magic. (If only they were not a disappointment.)
Love me.
The tiefling eventually tears themself away from their only view of the outside world, choosing instead to train their (useless) magic. They slash the air with bright violet magic, spark up flares, and shoot out burst after burst of purple sparks, but none of them have the smooth, controlled flare that Father has. Although Xiv’s technique is refined, it simply isn’t enough.
Father’s magic is beautiful, and Xiv’s magic is wild in nature, uncontrollable in definition. Xiv tries to avoid thinking of a future where they never learn control of their magic, never leave the tower, and never gain Father’s affection.
Love me I say.
Although Xiv gets increasingly more frustrated with their lack of progress, slipping up more and more, they persist. Father is taking longer than usual to check up on Xiv this week, but the tiefling knows better than to question Father. Father is absolute, and no one, especially not Xiv, is allowed to question his judgment. Sometimes, Xiv just wishes that Father would talk to Xiv more outside of his weekly visits to measure Xiv’s progress. (They all end up the same. Xiv gets tired of them)
(At times, Xiv finds that Father cares more about their raw power than their control. At times, Xiv finds that Father doesn’t check on them for their control but rather for their power.
They don’t know how to feel about that.)
The young tiefling pushes the negative thoughts away, instead opting to tediously repeat their routine diligently. ‘For control’, they think. ‘To gain Father’s approval’, they think. ‘To have enough control to finally leave their tower’, they think.
“You still don’t have enough control,” Father would say. “Remember, the outside world is a dangerous place. You need control over your magic to be able to survive out there. This is for the best.”
On bad days Xiv finds themself doubting Father. The doubt would wear away at them, eventually vanishing entirely when Xiv casts their magic. Their magic, wild in nature, would always fail them. They’ve learned to not doubt Father, though they still find themself doubting him on some days.
(“You’re not enough”)
When Father finally arrives, Xiv is caught off guard. They hurriedly stop their training, snapping upright when Father’s voice hits his ears. Their tail goes rigid behind their back, betraying how nervous they feel despite trying their best to keep a straight face.
Per usual, the little tiefling conjures a flare, as small as they can manage, and for as long as they can manage. The little flame dances on Xiv’s palm, a brilliant violet in color, as all of Xiv’s magic is. Suddenly, it explodes, bursting forth into streaks of violet extending in all directions, conjuring strong winds that woosh their hair back, threatening to blow them off their little cloven feet.
They close their palm, snuffing out the brilliant display of raw magical prowess. Xiv knows they didn’t pass.
Father sighed, sensing that Xiv didn’t want it to be sugar-coated, and cupped Xiv’s hands in his. “Hopefully you’ll get it next time”, he said.
(“You’re not enough”)
This time, Xiv decides to speak their mind. The tiefling opens their mouth to protest, about to tell Father that their magic was not meant to be controlled, that their magic was created wild, that their magic was impossible to tame.
Father raises his palm out in a ‘stop’ gesture. Xiv freezes in their tracks and, unable to stop him, they watch Father leave their tower without a word, leaving Xiv in solidarity once again.
Take what you want of me.
Xiv gazes longingly out of a tall stained glass window (once again). They think of a better life (once again). Then, they continue training (once again). The youthful tiefling swiftly moves through the air, wielding vibrant violet magic. With each burst, each slash, each spell, their magic grows more and more violent and explosive.
Xiv loses their balance due to overexertion, and one of their hooves lands on a little purple wisp, causing them to trip while conjuring another burst of magic. Their arms shoot up as they fall, sending the burst of magic straight into a wall, kicking up clouds of dust. The tiefling lands on their tail, their clawed hands doing little to soften the damage.
They slowly pull themself up from the ground, extremely worried about the possibility that they had broken the wall. As Xiv stressed over how mad Father would be, the dust finally settled, and they saw lights beyond the hole they made in the wall. Oh goodness, they had broken the wall.
Xiv suppressed their panic and stepped through the hole in the wall that they created. They looked out at the previously unknown room with horror and disbelief. Their arms trembled at their sides, and their eyes widened as they observed the sight of eerily similar young tieflings, around their age, trapped and floating in giant glass tubes filled with viscous green liquid. The tubes were hooked up to a magical battery that powers… something.
(They refuse to admit that Father did this.)
They take shaky steps forward as they read each of the golden plates on the top of each tube. ‘I’, ‘II’, ‘III’, ‘IV’, and counting up further with Roman numerals, stopping at 13. Xiv stops at an empty tube with an equally disquieting nameplate. ‘XIV’. XIV’s breathing quickens, and they take slow shaking steps backward as their magic goes wild. They try to keep themself together as their entire world falls apart around them.
GIVE ME YOUR LOVE
They hate how their nameplate gleams.
They hate that their entire purpose was to serve as a battery for a madman.
(Their magic roars around them. They can’t bring themself to care.)
They hate Father. They hate Father. XIV screams. Xiv expresses their anguish of trying to impress Father, of being raised just to be another battery, another power source—the fourteenth.
Their magic roars, the violet flames go more and more wild, going higher and higher. Tears fill their eyes as their screams of anguish fill the normally silent tower. They cover their face with their palms, quickly retracting their hands when a sudden searing pain overcomes their left eye. They feel uncontrolled magic fill it, corrupt it.
They gaze at the thirteen tieflings turned arcane batteries Father raised himself. With a strange sense of freedom, they let their magic loose, sparks thrashing about. They feel power from their newly corrupted left eye. Using their surge of power, they unleash forth a powerful burst of magic through wall after wall, bolting through the holes they made.
Eventually, XIV reaches the outside. Unfortunately, though, the newly freed tiefling was too in shock and full of adrenaline to fully enjoy their newfound freedom. They ran through the woods, running until their tower was out of sight, and kept running until their legs gave out. Finally, their legs gave out, sending them tumbling and resulting in them being sprawled out on the grass, their tail twitching in distress.
It’s over. Xiv is free.
…………………
Xiv has been wandering for some time, basking in the outside world. Suddenly, their ears picked up a strange noise coming from above, and they looked up. Xiv, in surprise, thinks out loud, “Holy shit, is that a flying ship-”
*And they get kidnapped and get a worm inserted in them. And then the story happens, yay*