Chapter Text
Blood drips down the boy’s palm. He feels the glass shard embedded within as the cause, but the pain of it is overshadowed by the guilt of breaking something so precious.
He shakes his head. No longer is he a child, but a man, having been graced with a title to replace his birth name. Now that he has seen his tenth winter, he is henceforth only to be referred to as “The Wylder.”
The title is one he has chosen for himself, and it was suggested by his dad. He won’t be left behind during hunts anymore, nor will he be told to stay back while watching his dad tend to his weapons.
His mom gave him a special compass as a ceremonial gift to commemorate his first step into manhood. The heirloom has a twin – apparently a pocket watch – but Wylder has never seen it.
He was running through the snowy woods just outside the camp when he’d felt it slip from his pocket and shatter on a particularly sharp rock. Usually, his instincts are impeccable, so it’s unusual that he wasn’t fast enough to catch it after it slipped.
Guilt washes over him as he looks at the old compass, shattered on the ground. He picked up a few shards of glass before he felt one bite into the palm of his hand. His blood drips onto the remains of the glass, staining the inside of it red.
Carelessly, he attempts to pick up the pieces of a precious gift. He is now a man, after all. He can shy away no more from the horrors of broken glass. However, in his haste, Wylder once again shoves the pieces a bit too hard in his palm, and the blood starts flowing anew.
Wylder ignores the pain and continues picking up the rest of it. His mind wanders to what he’ll tell his parents. Perhaps he’ll regale them with a tale depicting one of the wild dogs outside their encampment chasing him, and in his haste to get away, the poor compass was a necessary sacrifice.
Or, maybe not. Something like that happening would draw unnecessary attention. Maybe he can say he gave his baby sister the gift to play with for a little while, and she thanked him by shattering it on the ground.
Wylder sighs. ‘Maybe I should just tell them the truth.’
His mom always told him that the truth only needs to be said once, while a lie would always require more to cover it up.
Resolve renewed, Wylder picks up the final pieces of the compass. He takes a step back towards the main camp before a strange phenomenon washes over him. A headache begins to form, and he grips the pieces tightly, not willing to drop them a second time.
His hands feel tingly now, as if thousands of tiny sparks were lit just under the skin of his palm. Although not painful compared to the actual cuts on his hand, Wylder winces at the foreign feeling. The sparks travel up his arms quickly and spread to the rest of his body.
Wylder squeezes his eyes shut, unsure of what else to do. But almost as soon as it came, the feeling fades. The headache is gone and the sparks have ceased.
He opens his eyes and beholds a place very unlike the snow-covered forest he was just in. Instead of being among leafless trees and treading on fresh snow, the Wylder now seems to be in a small room. The walls are made of wood and the floor is covered in flat stones. There is a bed and a small table next to it. No window is visible here, the only source of light being a candle atop the table.
The room is bare, and the shadows of the minimal furniture dance across the walls.
It reminds Wylder of the buildings in the towns that his tribe comes across occasionally. The solid wooden structures, the beds being off the ground, everything. Everything feels unmoving, stagnant. It feels strange to him.
“Wylder!” The child in question violently startles at the sound of his new name coming from an unknown voice. He stumbles forward and turns around quickly to the source.
The man holds his hands up, as if not realizing that calling out to a kidnapped child would startle him. He is still in the shadow of the doorway, unlit by the solitary candle in the room.
“Woah, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The man’s voice is gentle this time.
“I’m not scared!” Wylder would not stand for this slander, not even in front of a suspected kidnapper. He is the son of the tribe’s chief and now a man, he is not scared.
“Right, right. Well, I’m sorry either way.” The man steps through the doorway and Wylder takes a step back. “Do you recognize me?”
Wylder scrutinizes the stranger as he is now exposed to the light. He is clad in green leather armor that is intricately designed. Throwing knives, pouches, and other tools are stored on a complicated belt at his hip, and his hood is topped with feathers. The man wears a mask and there is a white cloth covering most of his face.
The only part left exposed are his eyes. They are the brightest blue that Wylder has ever seen. The color of the ocean, as he imagines it. He’s never actually seen it in person.
The man also has a bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to his back.
Everything about this man’s appearance screams ‘danger!’ to Wylder, but he feels strangely calm at the sight of him. His instincts serve him well, and they have not sensed an intention to harm from this man.
Still, it would not do for Wylder to trust this stranger, who may have poisoned and kidnapped him.
“I don’t recognize kidnappers.” He spits out. He clutches the compass and tries not to flinch at the feeling of glass digging into his palm. “You are not part of my tribe. Who are you and how do you know my title?”
The man sighs. “Well, it had to be your first time at some point.” He slowly moves his hands to one of his pouches. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. But would you let me take care of your wounds first? You’re getting blood all over my floor.”
Wylder looks down and the man is correct, red now stains the otherwise clean floor. Still, he is being awfully suspicious. Wylder looks back up to see that the man has a roll of bandages in one hand and a shell with what appears to be a balm inside it in the other.
“Answer me first!” Wylder demands, even though he is not in a position to be doing so. Despite his outward hesitance, he knows if this man wanted to harm him, he would have done so already. His eyes are soft, there’s no malice behind them.
“You can call me Ironeye.” The man acquiesces. “Wylder is the title you chose, right? Ironeye is the title I was given.”
Wylder briefly wonders why he didn’t get to choose his title, before shaking the thought from his head. He has more important things to worry about, after all. “Why did you bring me here?”
Ironeye shakes his head. “I didn’t. You were the one to come here.” As Wylder’s head tilts in confusion, he continues. “I know that doesn’t make much sense to you, but I’d like to explain as I treat your wounds. They look deep and can scar if we don’t act fast.”
He still hesitates, but ultimately Wylder nods. Ironeye steps closer and kneels in front of him. As he unravels the bandage, he nods towards the table. “Put whatever is in your hand over there so I can see the wounds.”
Wylder complies and carefully places the compass and various shards of glass onto the table. He turns back to Ironeye, who has shifted his attention to his hands. Wylder holds them out.
A gloved hand gently opens his fingers and Wylder resists a wince. The blue eyes flick up to his reaction. “You really did a number, huh?”
The reminder has the guilt washing over him once more. “It was a gift from my mom. I thought… maybe if all the pieces could be picked up, that everything could be fixed.”
“Your mother gave that to you…” Ironeye hums as gloved fingers gently pry glass out of the cuts. It hurts, but the man’s grip holds firm. “Stay still. It’ll hurt more if you move.”
Wylder tries his best, but his hands instinctually flinch. Ironeye’s grip remains steady. He wonders if the man is used to doing this.
As Ironeye digs another shard out of his palm, he starts to talk. “This may come as a shock to you, and you may not believe me but…” The man meets his gaze. “You are a time traveler.”
The pain of his palm and the guilt of the broken gift are suddenly overshadowed by confusion. “What?”
“You travel through time.”
“I heard you the first time…” Wylder squints at him. The man’s gaze flicks back to the injury and focuses on getting the rest of the glass out of his hand, as if avoiding his confusion. He’s picking at the really really small pieces now, so it doesn’t hurt as bad. But his eyes, as pretty as they are, appear sunken. Like he hasn’t slept in a long time. “I think you’re a weirdo. My parents told me to stay away from people like you.”
Ironeye chuckles as he pries off one of his gloves and scoops a little of the jelly substance from the shell he was holding earlier. “They’re more right than you know. Unfortunately, I’ve seen you my whole life so you’re stuck with me.” Ironeye rubs the gel between his fingers. “This might sting a bit. Don’t bite your tongue.”
“I’m not going to–” A searing pain emanates from his hands as Ironeye firmly rubs the substance onto it. Wylder hisses and tears poke at his eyes, but he refuses to give the man the satisfaction of being right, so he refrains from yelling.
“It’s antibacterial ointment.” Ironeye supplies, continuing to rub away at the cuts. He pretends not to notice Wylder’s twitching, nor his glassy eyes. “I got it from a ta– a village. That I visited. Recently.” Wylder’s in too much pain to register the choppy sentence or really question it. “It’s supposed to prevent infections.”
At some point, Ironeye deems the wounds to be coated well enough. The stinging sensation starts to subside. The mysterious man starts to unroll the bandage. He tears it in half and starts to wrap one of his hands up. It’s tight, but not constricting. His mom puts bandages on his dad when he comes back from his hunts wounded, and he’d complain that she always wraps him up too tight. Wylder feels like he doesn’t have that issue here, since Ironeye seems far too good in the art of medical attention.
“As I was saying…” Ironeye began again, picking up the other half of the bandage after securing the first one. “You travel through time. This seems to be the first instance, but every so often – it can be days, weeks, or months – you leave your own time period to visit a different one.”
“That’s impossible. There’s no such thing.”
“So you say, and yet here you are.” Ironeye secures the second bandage. Wylder inspects it and notices the wrap looks neat. He can still move his fingers individually with the way he did it. “In reality, we are the same age. But between the two of us, I am clearly older than you.”
“I know you’re lying.” Wylder insists.
The man shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t really matter if you believe me. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
Well, he gave up quite easily on convincing him. But the more Wylder thinks, the less sense it makes. Why would a stranger go through the trouble of making up this elaborate story? If he kidnapped him, wouldn’t he just come up with something simple and easy to believe?
‘He hasn’t told me that I can’t leave, he’s dressed my wounds…’ Wylder muses. ‘And if he really wanted to kidnap me, he probably would have come up with a better story.’
“Why do I time travel?”
Ironeye doesn’t seem to react to Wylder’s question outwardly. Only being able to see his eyes, it’s really difficult to read this guy.
“I don’t really understand it myself. But you somehow have the ability to travel to the past or future at random.” Ironeye shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s more a curse than anything else. Sometimes you have… really bad timing.”
“So… I can’t control it?”
Ironeye laughs quietly at that. “Our lives would be so much easier if you could. But no, you say that you feel a tingling sensation and close your eyes when you travel.”
Wylder nods vigorously. “Yeah! I felt that before I got here! Like there were a thousand little sparks right under my skin. And my head started hurting a little.”
The man tilts his head slightly. “Strange, you’ve never mentioned that before. Maybe it’s a first-time thing only. Does it still hurt?”
He tilts his head side to side to see if his brain’s alright. No pain in sight. “Not anymore!”
“Good to hear.” Ironeye clears his throat. “Can I ask you something, Wylder?”
It’s strange to hear that from an adult. Usually they tell him to do things, or answer his questions. This is new territory, where someone wants to know something from him. “I guess so.”
“How is… your tribe? Your family?” What an odd question to ask someone you just met. But according to Ironeye’s unbelievable story, this isn’t the first time they’ve met. “You always talk about them so fondly. They seemed like… good people.”
Wylder hums. “Not really sure what my other self is saying to you, but my family is good. The tribe moved again recently to a colder area. We’ve had to stock up quite a bit, so I haven’t seen dad in a little while.”
“Is that so? I suppose you are wearing fur-lined clothes.”
“Yeah! My dad made this for me from a stag’s fur. He said the beast was this big.” Wylder threw his arms out wide to show Ironeye how big it was. “But he hunted it with a bow and arrow. He said he only needed one shot!”
One of Ironeye’s eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? I wish I could’ve tested my skill against his. I’m not too bad a shot either.”
He noticed the bow on the man’s back earlier, but he has a closer look now that Ironeye is kneeling right in front of him. The bow is carved intricately, blackened wood delicately patterned with foreign symbols. The arrows look specially made too. Sharper than what he’s used to seeing.
Wylder gets giddy at the idea. “You should visit my tribe one day! I’m not sure where we are in your time, but maybe my other self can tell you! Then you can have a competition with my dad!”
Ironeye doesn’t respond for a little bit, and Wylder wonders if he’s said something wrong. The worry is soon alleviated, when Ironeye meets his eyes. “I would love to meet your family.” He says earnestly.
He nods. “You can meet my mom too. She’s really good at fixing people up from anything. I was about to go to her before you showed up actually.”
“She sounds like a good doctor.”
Wylder doesn’t really know what that is, but he nods along. “And right now my sister is really little, but you can meet her too! She doesn’t really do anything other than cry though.”
Ironeye exhales in amusement and his eyes seem to crinkle, like he’s smiling. It makes him look less tired. “Well, one thing I know about your sister is that she hates carrots.”
Wylder’s eyes widen. “What?! But we have vegetable soup almost every day! How is she going to survive?”
The man shrugs. “Not sure. I also know that she’s very particular about the bread she eats. Apparently, she was prone to throwing it across the room anytime the bread wasn’t made by your mother.”
‘Well, that makes sense.’ Wylder supposes. ‘Mom’s bread is the best.’
“Mom makes delicious pita bread.” If there’s one universal truth in the world, it’s that. “When you visit my family, I’ll ask her to make some for you.”
“That sounds great.” Ironeye hesitates once more before speaking again. “This is going to sound strange, Wylder. But try to remember little things like that, okay?”
Wylder doesn’t really understand, but Ironeye’s gaze and the tone of his voice makes it sound really important. “Remember the little things. Okay, got it. Will that help me out later?”
Ironeye’s gaze is cast to the floor. “... I’m not really sure.”
Well, it can’t be too important then. “Okay.”
Ironeye looks at the floor a little bit longer before standing up and brushing some dust off his armor. “I suppose I should warn you. Sometimes, you leave rather abruptly. One moment you’re here, you blink, then you’re back to where you were before.”
He supposes it’s a good thing that he goes home automatically. But… Ironeye has been fun to talk to. He already treats Wylder like an adult, even though he’d only just seen his tenth winter.
“Will I see you again?”
Ironeye lets out a genuine laugh at that. “I think you’ll see me far too often, actually. Every time you travel through time, you always seem to end up at me. Isolde likes to call you my ‘guardian angel,’ so to speak.” His eyes shine with mirth. “We see each other so much that you’ll probably get sick of my face quite soon.”
“Will I ever get to see your face? I can’t really get sick of it if I never end up seeing it.”
“Hmph. Clever even at your age? I guess I’m not surprised.” Ironeye rolls his eyes. “But yes, you’ll see me without my mask at some point, though I can’t recall how old you were.”
How old he was? This time travel business is really messing with his head. But there was one thing that stuck out to him.
“You’ll always be there? Wherever I end up?”
“Yup. Why, dreading it already?”
“No…” Wylder says quietly. “It just reminds me of a story my mom tells me before sleeping.”
Ironeye blinks in surprise. Maybe his other self never tells him this story? “What’s the story?”
“It’s about a horse and a crow. I don’t remember the end too well, cause I always fall asleep at that point.” He admits sheepishly. “But this horse always runs and gets lost. He gets really lonely sometimes because of it.”
“He should probably get a map.” Ironeye chuckles at Wylder’s unimpressed stare. “Well, where’s he going anyway?”
Wylder shakes his head. “I think he’s always running away from something.” Wylder couldn’t think of a good reason why, though. But, with recent discoveries about his sister… “Maybe it’s cause his handler’s always trying to feed him carrots and he hates it.”
“Pfft– just like your sister.”
He grins, glad that Ironeye caught on. Wylder continues the story. “But no matter where he goes or how far he runs, there’s always a crow in the shadows to guide him back on the path.”
Ironeye hums in thought. “Sounds… suspiciously nice.”
“No, no, the crow is his friend! The horse trusts him.” Wylder feels the need to insist on this point, but continues anyway. “One day, the horse asks him why the crow always seems to find him when he needs him the most. He tells him… something. And then something else happens.”
Ironeye laughs. “What a really great story. You’re quite the detailed storyteller, you know that?”
Wylder feels his cheeks burn. “I’ll remember it later! I’ll tell you next time!”
Ironeye nods in agreement. “Alright, I look forward to it.”
“But apparently it’s a true story.” Wylder insists. “It’s why my tribe always has a crow symbol on things that gives us direction. Like signs or maps or stuff like that. It’s to help us guide the way.”
“... interesting.” Ironeye mutters. “I guess that’s why you wear… no, nevermind.”
He can’t just leave Wylder hanging! He needs to know if his future self looks cool. “What is it?”
Ironeye puts a single ungloved finger over his lips. “No spoilers. You’ll have to find out for yourself when you grow up.”
Wylder notices that his fingers are long and thin, but they are covered in what looks to be violent scars. He wants to ask about it, but his mom always told him that some people don’t like it when they’re asked questions like that.
Maybe that’s why he was worried that his hands would scar before. He’s probably experienced this kind of cut.
Almost as if in reaction to his thoughts, the tips of Wylder’s fingers start sparking, and it feels completely separate from the pain he felt before. The sensation slowly spreads to the rest of his hands. “I… think I’m leaving. I can feel it.”
“I suppose it’s not as abrupt as I thought.” Ironeye says. “I have one more thing. There’s… somewhat of a tradition that we keep every time you travel… if we remember to do it.” Ironeye looks away for a moment, but then turns back and clears his throat. “This is something that you started, by the way.”
Wylder tilts his head in confusion. “But this is the first time I’m doing it, so wouldn’t it be you who started it?”
“I’m not going to debate the semantics of time travel with you.” Ironeye shakes his head. “Just… indulge me. If you hate it, we never have to do it again.”
Wylder shrugs. “Alright, what is it?”
“Well, it’s…” Ironeye seems to consider something. “I’m just going to do it. No point in dragging it out.”
Ironeye opens his arms and slowly wraps Wylder in them. He realizes that it’s supposed to be a hug, or perhaps a poor imitation of one. Ironeye’s arms are stiff and it feels somewhat mechanical. His arms encircle Wylder, but they’re not really touching him all that much, as if there’s an invisible bubble around him that Ironeye’s arms can’t reach.
“... you’re really bad at hugging, you know?”
Ironeye sighs and begins to unwrap his arms, but Wylder shows him what a real hug is, before he can pull away fully.
He squeezes Ironeye’s midsection as tight as he can. Almost as if startled, Ironeye hesitates a few moments before wrapping his arms around Wylder again. This time, it feels far more natural. The arms are gentle rather than stiff.
Although the hug is oddly cold, Wylder feels like he’s in the safest spot in the world right now. Soon though, Ironeye is pulling away and the sparks travel up his arms, like before.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you work on your hugging next time. Practice makes perfect.” Wylder grins at him. “See you soon!”
Ironeye gives a little wave. Wylder blinks, and he’s back in the forest. He looks around, and sure enough, nothing seems to have changed in the time he was gone. His footprints are still in the snow and small drops of red are at his feet.
Speaking of which…
‘I forgot the compass!!’ Wylder panics. ‘If we’re the same age, then I’d need to wait until I’m an adult to get that back!’
Well, now he really doesn’t know what he’ll tell his parents. If he tells them the truth, they’ll think he lied for sure. He can’t just say that it’s in the future and that he’ll have to wait years until he can get it back…
He just hopes Ironeye can take care of it until then.