Stop and consider the fact that Damien kept the scarf he received when he was a small child all the way to adulthood spanning several centuries. Consider that he kept it through the tragedy of his mother's death, through Tynerum, and through Arkarium and that the scarf was the only comfort he had. Now proceed.
"Happy birthday, Damien!" his mother gushed, placing a small, colorful cake in front of Damien after a long, eventful day of romping about Leafre's thick forests with his brother to his heart's content. He was normally banned from venturing very deeply in, much less into the dangerous, monster-infected territories that lurked beyond the borders of their home, blind in one eye and weak in body as he was, so it was a special treat to be able explore a bit, albeit under supervision and within safe boundaries. Even then he didn't really mind because it meant spending time with his brother.
His birthday dessert was mostly made of simple sliced fruits and nuts found around the forests decorating a plain cake only a few inches high since sugar was scarce and frosting was almost unheard of.
Still, Damien gave a cheer of delight and danced in his seat. He couldn't seem to keep still. The whole day had been making him hyperactive.
"Happy birthday," his brother echoed right next to him on the bench as he stared transfixed to the flickering flame lighting up seven thin beeswax candles.
"Close your eyes and make a wish, love," his mother ushered, pushing the cake a little closer to him.
Damien squeezed his eyes tight and as loudly as he could project his wish, for mother and brother to stay in good health and be happy, to the wish-granting deities, he blew out the candles to their applause.
They cut up the cake and ate it, Damien with great gusto for his mother's ability to make something so tasty with a plain cake and some fruit. There were berries inside as well and maybe even a dash of some vanilla that Damien tasted only a few times before and he was caught between savoring it or putting as much of it in his mouth to taste it better, to drown in the sweetness that flooded him.
"Don't eat it too fast or you'll get a stomachache," his mother cautioned and his brother nudged him a little with a quirk of his lips.
Damien slowed but only as much as it took to satisfy his family, just as excited for the taste of the cake itself as what came after. His brother had promised him something special.
His brother's gift came in an orange box decorated with nice, silky yellow ribbons that gave it the illusion of being tied.
Damien lifted the cover off, taking a moment to stare in wonder at what lay inside before taking it out.
The scarf was a brilliant, vivid scarlet that reminded Damien of his brother's eyes when he was infused with power, a color he had come to associate with the safety his presence brought.
It was fluffy and soft to the touch, practically luxuriant in opposition to the slightly rough, thin cotton shirt and pants that while not uncomfortable, still itched at his skin at times. It was probably the softest thing that Damien had ever touched in his short life and he indulged in the sensation of rare, soft fabric against his face and hands as he rubbed and grasped it. He had never touched something so fine and smooth before and he already loved it. He didn't think he'd get enough of it. With the clime of Leafre, scarves were seldom sold, let alone ones of this quality, which meant his brother must have saved for a really long time specially to buy it from a travelling merchant.
There was a flash from the old camera they managed to salvage as he felt his brother's hand patting his head and he turned to give him a big hug, squeezing for all he was worth.
"Thank you, brother! I love it!" he exclaimed, almost squealed in his excitement.
He let go and wound the scarf around his neck.
The length was much too long and the insulation around his neck made it instantly warmer, but Damien nonetheless relished the softness against his neck.
His brother adjusted his sloppy work and tied a bow behind him to rid of some of the length and Damien beamed.
"I'm glad you like it," his brother replied with a smile, light dancing in his wine-colored eyes at Damien's delight. "That scarf is a promise. One day, I will take you outside Leafre to see more of the world. Of course, since that includes colder regions, you will need appropriate wear. Until then, I hope you will grow into that scarf so that you may wear it well."
Outside Leafre? To the places that was even hotter than it was here, covered in sand as vast as the forests? And the places where he could walk on clouds in the sky and the ones covered in nothing but water? Places where he could experience "cold"?
"When'll that be?" Damien asked, a little too loudly, but he couldn't stand this excitement; he thought he might explode. It had to come out in some way and he was just barely restraining himself from bouncing in his seat, something his mother disapproved of.
"Maybe when you've grown a few more feet," his brother teased. "Tall enough so that the snow drifts of El Nath will not instantly engulf you the moment you set foot in them."
Damien put on his most determined face and declared, "Fine! Just watch me, brother! Someday, I'll grow even taller than you!"
His brother laughed. "I look forward to that day."
...
Damien wore the scarf everywhere he could get away with. He ate in it, played in it, and helped around the house in it. Perhaps the only time he wasn't wearing it was when he was washing.
"Damien, aren't you hot?" his mother asked in concern one day as she caught a streak of red racing past her on its way towards the door to the yard as she worked on her embroidering.
"Brother bought it so I wanna wear it!" Damien answered stubbornly just as he burst outside.
The thwacking sounds of splitting wood could be heard in the far corner and he ran over just as his brother was lifting the axe once more, calling as he did so, "Brother! Let me try!"
His brother paused at his voice and put down the axe on its head, turning around to meet him with a faint smile.
"You want to try, Damien? You've become quite bold," he mused.
Slightly out of breath with his excitement, Damien nonetheless huffed and put his arms on his hips, planting his feet firmly to the ground. "I'm seven! That means I'm not as weak as I was when I was six! I've had a whole year to grow up and get stronger!"
His brother thought about it for a moment, during which Damien let his eyes go wide with expectation, before he nodded. "Alright. I will let you try to lift the axe, but not over your head," he quickly cautioned. "That shall come later."
Damien let out a short cheer as his brother moved aside to give him access to the handle.
Wrapping small hands around the smooth wood, he took a deep breath and pulled.
The axe didn't budge.
Furrowing his brows, he pinched his lips and heaved another deep breath, tensing his entire body before making a mighty heave.
His efforts garnered him an inch above the ground, but he wasn't able to hold it for long before it fell onto the earth once more, leaving him huffing and puffing with the effort, his heart beginning to feel a little tight. It vexed him that something like this could defeat him and he was ready to try one more time with gritted teeth when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"That's enough, Damien. You will hurt yourself."
His brother's worried tone had the immediate effect of deflating him like a balloon, head drooping and shoulders sagging with disappointment. He thought he could do it. He felt like he could. Wearing his scarf, he felt like he could do anything.
The hand on his shoulder tightened and then his brother was in his field of vision, kneeling in front of him with a reassuring smile and a kind of subtle pride that had Damien too surprised to linger on his failure. "You managed to lift it, however. Surely that proves you've gotten stronger. It was wonderful."
Damien flushed with pleasure at the praise. "O-oh, yeah!"
"Since you've gotten so much stronger, why not help me move some of these logs inside instead?" his brother suggested.
Damien beamed. He loved helping his brother on physical tasks though the chances to do so were far and few in between since, unlike Damien, he was a pureblooded demon with many times the strength of any ordinary twelve-year-old and could handle most things even their mother couldn't.
"Okay!"
So saying, Damien went to the wood pile and began to load some of the split logs into his arms, aware that his brother was watching in case he tried to overburden himself.
Hefting the weight in his arms, he tottered back to the house while the sound of an axe cracking through wood resumed behind him.
"Oh, are you helping your brother carry that in? My little boy has gotten so big. Be careful not to trip and fall, sweetheart," his mother said, looking up with a smile.
"I won't," Damien chirruped in promise.
He made two more such trips before stopping after dispensing his latest batch by the fireplace when he spotted his mother rooting through her box of sewing supplies, various spools of thread taken out onto the table.
"What're you doing?" Damien asked in curiosity, coming over.
"It seems I've run out of some thread," his mother sighed. "But I need them if I'm to finish this order by tomorrow. I suppose I'll have to go into the village to buy some."
Damien lit up at that. "Let me go, mother!"
His mother pursed her lips as she looked at him, uncertain, worry lining the edges of her eyes.
"I don't know, love," she said, hesitant. "All the times you've tried going into that village alone, you've had nothing but trouble."
"I can do it, mother. It's just an errand," Damien pressed, trying to convey his determination through his eagerness. "I'll be in and out, quick!"
His mother looked away briefly, putting a hand to her mouth in thought before turning back to him, expression brimming with apprehension despite which she said, "Alright, Damien. I'll let you go. But if you're not back by the hour, I'm coming to find you, okay?"
"Yes!" Damien cheered, jumping in joy. "Okay, mother!"
His mother had a faint smile as she watched him, easing some of the tension on her face. "I'll give you some money. Be quick and don't dawdle, alright?"
"Yes, mother," he chimed obediently.
His mother went into their shared bedroom and came back out with three mesos.
"Please get me some green, white, and blue thread," she instructed, handing the pouch over, which Damien immediately tucked into the pocket of his trousers.
"Green, white, blue… Okay. I'm going now!" Damien announced, making a beeline for the front door with a wave.
"Be careful, Damien!" his mother called behind him.
"I will!"
Confident and ready to face what was ahead of him, he hummed a happy tune as he walked down the path leading to the village ten minutes away.
Their home was situated on the outskirts where it was quiet but still close enough to get supplies and earn a little money through their mother's sewing.
As Damien neared, the wood and stone houses of the village began to solidify and grow bigger and the sounds of activity, of children chasing each other and adults working their day, began to reach him.
Hearing them, Damien couldn't help the little anxious leap in his chest, movements flagging a little, so he paused to tightened the scarf around his neck, took a deep breath, and continued steadily on.
He hadn't really had any good experiences in the village. The adults didn't bother him, but the other kids were a different story. They hated him even though some of them were half-blooded too, calling him names and playing nasty tricks on him. The first time he tried to make friends with them, he got tricked up a tree with a mean dog snapping its jaws at him as he clutched a branch for dear life, crying until his brother found him.
He didn't understand why they seemed to hate him even though he never did anything to them. He asked his brother and his mother once and they said something about how it was because he was different and about jealousy towards his brother. Damien thought it was only because he was weak for a half-demon, and even for a human, that they pick on him.
This time was going to be different though. Damien was seven and he was going to march into that village with pride because he had a right to be there too. His mother and his brother said so so it must be true.
He entered the village with no problems and though some adults eyed him as he walked by, there were no hardships on the way to the shop and he managed to buy the three spools his mother needed.
It was only as he was halfway back out of village that he came face-to-face with trouble.
Ruthie, with his oval head and leery eyes, immediately grinned a wide, nasty grin upon spotting him, giving a whistle to get the attention of his friends.
"Well, lookie here. It's him, you guys!" he said as three more boys joined him.
They were all older and taller than Damien and their work helping their fathers with manual labor meant they were much stronger as well. They were usually his main tormentors, turning all the other kids against him, though they usually didn't act unless Ruthie or one of his close friends was near.
Damien clutched his scarf and tried to draw strength from it.
"What do you want?" he asked as demandingly as possible, a bit proud that his voice didn't tremble.
Ruthie exchanged a look with one of his friends next to him and sauntered closer, but Damien held his ground, glaring defiantly back at him.
"Nothing much. We just don't see you around a lot anymore, so I was wondering if you wanna play ball with us," his bully proposed, stopping in front of Damien and blocking his way.
"No thanks. I have to get home," Damien muttered shortly, turning to the right to take another route out.
"Come on! We're just trying to be friendly!" Ruthie called after him, following with his arms spread open in a gesture of his supposed goodwill, as if Damien was dumb enough to fall for it. "We've learned much better since last time, okay? So let bygones be bygones. We really want to make up with you!"
Damien ignored him as he walked quickly down the streets, focusing on getting out as fast as he could. These chickenheads wouldn't dare step outside the village.
"Hey… Hey!"
In a moment, Ruthie had grabbed him by the arm and twisted him around so Damien could get a good look at the ugly thundercloud that hovered behind the bully's expression.
"We're just trying to be friendly. Don't you want to be friends with us?" he growled, low and threatening.
"I don't wanna be friends with you!"
A blinding pain on his right cheek had him reeling and stumbling to the hardened dirt ground in shock, trying to figure out what happened through the spinning in his brain.
"We tried!" Ruthie announced to his friends. "But the wimp doesn't want to be friends with us! Fine then. No one wants to be friends with a weakling anyway!"
The heat of Damien's anger slowly suffuse his aching head as he managed to sit back up and glare at his bully, who simply smirked at him, arms crossed as he towered over him.
"But you know what? It must be nice being your brother, acting all high and mighty just because he's lucky enough to be pureblood. I bet he gets some kicks out of looking down on all of us, even you."
Damien felt lava in his veins, his breathing quickening seconds before he screamed, "That's not true! Don't talk about my brother like that!" and lunged to tackle the bigger boy but got a kick to his stomach for his troubles instead.
Damien cried out in pain as he landed on the hardened dirt ground, curling arms and legs around his abdomen as a roaring pain pulsed from the point of impact, blanking out all thoughts from his brain.
"You think you could strut around our village looking all cocky even though you're a wimp?" Ruthie sneered down at him as Damien got his breath back.
"Hey, Ruthie! Check out that scarf around his neck!"
Damien froze, the agony in his stomach dulling in favor of the rising apprehension burgeoning into panic.
"Looks new! Let's grab it!"
"NO!"
Well and truly seized by the panic of losing the gift and the promise his brother had spent so long saving for, Damien scrambled away on his hands and knees, stumbling as he got to his feet, and ran.
There were shouts and the sound of running footsteps chasing after him and Damien pushed himself to go faster.
He blindly ran through the streets and ducked around corners, but Ruthie and his gang were never too far behind, as persistent to give chase as the monsters in Minar Forest.
At last, he swung into narrow lane between two houses and hid in the shadow of some barrels, squishing himself against the rounded wood behind him and the stone of the wall next to him as his tormentors thundered past in a whirlwind of noise.
Too exhausted to move, his stomach throbbing, and his chest constricting painfully for air, Damien folded tightly into himself and listened in anxious anticipation for any sign that the bullies were coming back.
A minute dragged into two and two into five and five into ten until he had no idea how long he stayed there, waiting. The tears he had been too terrified to shed earlier overflowed into messy sniffles and sobs, the force of them making his whole body quiver.
Why did he have to run? Even when they insulted his brother, he couldn't even do anything to make them take back those words. He was too weak to do it.
He bundled his scarf around his head and clutched at its ends in a hard grip, his tears dripping onto the red fabric.
"Damien?"
Damien's head snapped up at the familiar voice.
There, his brother stood at the mouth of the alley wearing such relief in his visage that it made Damien forget some of his fear, frustration, and shame.
He ran to him. "Brother!"
His brother returned his shaky hug and Damien felt instantly better. His brother held him for a moment longer before breaking away so he could crouch in front of him, sliding off the scarf on the crown of his head where a gentle hand ruffled through his hair.
"There you are, Damien," his brother said with a kind lilt.
"Brother…" Damien murmured and then remembering the tears in his eyes, he hastily moved to wipe them away with his sleeves.
His brother took out a handkerchief from his pocket and tilted his chin up so he could wipe his face.
"There's no need to worry. I've taken care of those bullies. They will not bother you again," his brother reassured and Damien believed him whole-heartedly.
"I'm sorry, brother…" he apologized, head bowing in misery at his inability to strike back after they insulted his brother, threatened something important to him, for causing his family to have troubled themselves into coming to pick him up when he was only going for a simple errand.
He chewed his lip, hesitant in his uncertainty if his next question was even worth asking.
"Do you think I'll ever be strong like you someday?"
He didn't want to be just strong. He wanted to be as strong as his brother, the strongest person he knew who, at his age, was already a match for some of the monsters festering the forest. A part of him thought he was in over his head to even ask that. It was like hoping he'd sprout wings. But another part of him couldn't help but hold its breath because even though his brother was born pureblood, they still shared the same blood so maybe…
But his tumbling doubts ground to a halt with what his brother answered next.
He smiled, gentle yet firm, taking a hand in his own and said, "Don't worry yourself over that. I will always be by your side."
Damien's eyes widened.
Always? But… was that okay? Was it really okay for Damien to remain such a burden?
His brother stood and offered a hand to him. "Come, Damien. Let's go home."
Damien sniffed one last time and took the hand, mouth turning a bright beaming smile at his brother. "Yeah!"
...
The first time Damien tore his scarf, he didn't quite lose his head, but it was close.
A stray flap of warm wind catching one of the tails of his scarf onto a jutting nail in the fence and when he took a step forward…
It was no use running the scenario over and over in his head, wishing if only he had noticed or if he had walked faster or if the wind hadn't blown. One thing he did know while he frantically, but carefully, unsnagged his scarf was that his brother mustn't know. It wasn't any particular, solid fear that motivated that urge, but he didn't want his brother to think he'd treat his scarf so carelessly.
His mother could probably fix it for him, but he was the one who ripped it so he had to fix it himself. Besides, he didn't really want her to see what he accidentally did either.
What this meant was that Damien couldn't wear his scarf and he'll have to get into his mother's sewing kit without anyone noticing. This was a bit of a challenge since he had to wait for his mother and his brother to be out before he could attempt to reach it.
"Oh, Damien, you're not wearing your scarf. Did something happen to it?" his mother asked as Damien attempted to sneak by her and into the bedroom where he hoped he could hide it.
"N-No," he managed to deny, his head in a flurry as he tried to think of an excuse. "I, um, just… Nothing. Nothing, bye."
He fled into the one other room of the house, leaving his confused mother behind at the table with her shelled and unshelled peas.
Their shared bedroom was rather bare save for a dresser, a wardrobe, a full-length mirror, a single bed, and a straw pallet. He and his mom shared the bed while his brother slept in the pallet. They hadn't been able to afford another bed just yet, but even if they did earn enough from their mother's sewing and handmade jewelry, it'd probably go to other things such as clothing or food.
Should he hide the scarf under the bed? But it was kind of dusty under there. He didn't want to get his scarf dirty. He could hide it under his pillow then.
So decided, he went over and stuffed his scarf under the pillow on the left side of the bed.
Perfect. Now all he needed to do was wait for his family to leave the house before he got the sewing kit from the mantel, which he couldn't reach without a chair to stand on.
"What are you doing?" an amused voice asked, causing Damien to jump and swivel around.
His brother stood in the doorway, watching him with an interest that made him fidget uncomfortably before he could stop himself.
"Nothing…"
His brother raised a brow at him, clearly not believing him. "Nothing is it? Then you wouldn't mind if I looked, would you?"
"No!" Damien leapt to cover the pillow before he could think about it. Too late.
His brother folded his arms against his chest with a quirk at the corner of his lips. "Damien, I've just watched you cram your scarf under your pillow. Now tell me what this is about."
Damien deflated and slowly slid off the bed, dejected.
"I will not be angry," his brother reassured, but what Damien was afraid of wasn't his anger. It was his disappointment.
Biting his lip, he withdrew the scarf from underneath his pillow and tentatively showed him the tear.
"Ah, I see."
"I'm sorry, brother," Damien mumbled, looking at the floor. "I've been taking good care of it, I promise. It was an accident. The wind blew the end on a nail and it ripped."
He felt his hair ruffled and he looked up to his brother's smile.
"There was never a doubt in my mind that this wasn't an accident. I know how you treat this scarf and I know how you cherish it. Were you afraid I would think otherwise?"
"A little…" Damien confessed, heartened.
"Then there's no need to worry. Your efforts are plain to me. As for this tear," his brother took the scarf and examined it, "this could be easily fixed. It would take a lot more than a simple tear to unravel it or render it unusable."
"Yeah! Thank you, brother!"
"There's no need to thank me. Let's mend it right away," his brother said, leading the way out.
"Okay!"
...
"I plan to join the Black Mage in the war."
A clatter of wood thudding against the floor and a bang that shook the table rattled their tin tableware before Damien even managed to process the words, much less react to them.
"You will not!" his mother yelled, having shot up from her seat the moment his brother had delivered the news as plainly as if he were announcing he was buying bread. He sat there in perfect repose, unfazed even in the face of their mother's wrath, but Damien only knew with a dread that drained all heat from his body that that calmness was the tranquility of his brother's mind already made up.
"Mother," his brother began, folding his hands on the tabletop, voice deep and unwavering, "I implore you to please look beyond his actions. Though they are cruel, his cause is fair. Without the divide between worlds, do you not think it would make for a fairer world?"
"I don't care about a fairer world!" his mother cried. "The Black Mage is an evil man, whatever his intentions. It doesn't outweigh everything he's already destroyed and the lives he ruined for his ambitions! And what do you think will happen once he achieves his goal? Do you truly think his evil deeds will ever bring about a just or peaceful world? Our lives are nothing but ants to him! He will see us all crushed!"
His brother was solemn and unyielding but his mother looked tired. Had they had this conversation before?
Damien's breath hitched.
When? Why didn't he know?
"I have considered it and in all fairness, I cannot deny that possibility, however," his brother's hands tightened against each other, "that only means I also cannot deny the possibility that this could bear fruit. I wish to see for myself where this could lead."
His mother shook his head, eyes wide and lips trembling though the rest of her remained steady. "My foolish son, do you really trust such an evil man? He won't uphold his promises! And you are speaking of staining your hands, your very soul in blood! I cannot let you!"
"I'm aware. I've been thinking of it for a while now," his brother said slowly, staring down at his hands, his gaze faraway. "I have thought of the risks, but also the gains. In the end, however much I thought about it, I…"
His brother fell silent and Damien inwardly urged him to continue, to help him understand this madness that was spilling out of his usually cool-headed brother's mouth.
"You are my son!" his mother screamed and Damien jumped in his seat. His mother had never shouted with such force and volume and it sent his heart racing with the enormity of the situation. "I have not raised you to sully yourself and your future and I have not raised you this long just to outlive my children! I forbid you to go!"
"I'm sorry, mother." The apology rang with a finality that made Damien's chest twinge. His brother got up from his seat. "I have already decided."
He walked away and out the door, the gentle way with which it closed was almost absurd against the violent crash of the plate their mother hurled to the floor, sinking back in her chair sobbing.
"Why must he be so stubborn?" she murmured through her tears. "Why must this be the one other trait he inherits from his father?"
Damien put an arm around her in comfort, but it was more reactive than a conscious thought. He was too lost and numb.
He was too old to be clinging onto his brother any longer and too old to depend on him for everything, but the thought of him, the constant he trusted would always be by his side, truly leaving was like grasping thin air where solid rock used to be.
He couldn't even muster any anger, at least not yet. Instead, there was only the feeling of smallness, of a future that was no longer as straightforward and translucent as it used to be. He was being left behind.
"I'll be right back," he thought he had said, but he couldn't even hear himself over the simultaneous cacophony and blankness of his mind. Between one moment and the next, he was somehow at the door, then outside, then standing beneath a tree, looking up at his brother's barely visible silhouette in the night shadows of its leaves and branches.
Even in the darkness where he could hardly be seen, his brother held a presence Damien couldn't help but be aware of every time he was nearby. It wasn't something overbearing or even weighty, but calm, like a storm in the distance. It was a presence Damien had learned to admire and associate with safety, comfort, and love, even now, which only made his brother's decision all the harder to bear. Why was he leaving them when they needed him the most here and now? No matter how Damien cut it, it still didn't make sense. He couldn't make sense of any of it.
The night air carried his brother's voice down to him, beckoning. "Damien. Come, sit with me."
Damien felt around the trunk and began to pick his way up until he had made it to the branch his brother was sitting on. He had moved to make room for him and Damien slipped in the space next to him.
How many times have they sat together like this? Would those days ever come again after this?
"I have a lot to apologize for with mother, but I also have a lot to apologize for with you, Damien. I will be leaving you with a lot responsibility when I'm gone." It was regretful and heavy and Damien knew he didn't want to leave either. But even still, an apology wasn't what he wanted to hear. He could take on whatever responsibility came his way and he'll master them whatever it took. What he wanted was a reason.
"Brother, I don't understand your leave. Wouldn't it be safer with you here? Mother needs you."
He needed him, he didn't say but nonetheless thought. Didn't they matter?
His brother sucked in a breath, almost as though he heard his unspoken heartbreak and the words were spikes through his chest, causing Damien to whip around to stare-wide eyed at his brother, opening his mouth with an apology at the tip his tongue and an amendment at the ready, but his brother was already speaking.
"I know," and the simple statement was thick and heavy with meaning. "But all I can think of is the future. Damien, where do you imagine yourself ten years from now?"
Ten years? Ten years was a long time to consider into the future so he hadn't really thought about it. He had always thought he would live with his mother and his brother, but that ideal was slowly crumbling away right before his eyes and Damien was left gazing into the sudden void in his future.
"I… don't know," he replied, mind whirling so fast it made him faintly dizzy.
He was already just facing the possibility of living the days ahead without his brother. He didn't want to consider such a time so far ahead.
"What does this have anything to do with anything anyway?" he asked, trying to shake off the sticky despair already cloaking his shoulders and reaching for his throat.
"Ten years is but a drop of water in our lives. We'll be living in this world long after even mother has passed."
Damien winced. He didn't want to listen to his brother say that. He wanted to clasp his hands to his ears and wipe out what he just heard from his head, but he refrained because it was childish and he should be old enough to face it now. The fact of his mother's mortality would never change, even if Damien did his best to ignore it, but his brother apparently hadn't, his eyes already looking into the future. How did he find the strength to do such a thing?
"What kind of world do you think we'll have to live in years from now? Perhaps a peaceful one? A prosperous one? But would it be an equal one? Empress Aria's reign is gentle, but how long would it last? Is it the right one? Sometimes I wonder if I couldn't escape my blood heritage after all…"
His brother's voice had gone distant and Damien grew concerned.
"Brother?"
His brother glanced at him and a look of such pain crossed his brother's visage that for a brief moment, Damien thought in panicked shock that his brother was dying. This scared him. He couldn't calm his heart.
His brother turned away and clenched a hand into a fist so tight it shook. "In the end, I realized there are some things I am not strong enough to protect you or mother from, not like this and not as I am now, which is why I decided to use the means available to achieve what I believe in."
Deafening silence.
Damien didn't know what to say or even if there was anything to say. Never in his life had he ever thought he'd hear the words "not strong enough" come out of his brother's mouth. It was a slap to his face. It was the fundamental structure of the world beginning to shift under Damien's feet and he couldn't keep up with it, not on top of everything.
"No… You're wrong…"
His brother turned to him with a furrowed brow of worry at his tone, a bit unsteady and a bit forceful.
"Da—"
"No!" Damien slapped away the hand reaching towards him, faltering at the wounded look that crossed his brother's face, but the words were already spilling out of him like a waterfall almost before he was aware of them. "If you're not strong enough, then what does that make me? A disgrace? An invalid? A weakling? A burden?"
"You are my brother!"
The statement echoed harshly across the suddenly hushed trees, the nighttime creatures quelled before the cry of a cross demon and Damien was much the same.
"You are my brother and I love you," he repeated in a much quieter voice as the first tentative cricket chirp sounded from somewhere in the depths of the forest. "I love both you and mother so much that I'm prepared for anything and to do anything, anything at all," he emphasized, a brief brilliant scarlet flash crossing his irises before they returned to their wine-red color, "I'm even prepared to have you and mother hate me for it. I don't mean to say you're weak. I just wish for the best future I could think of for the both of us."
Damien's anger wavered at that and instead, something in him squeezed as he realized his brother believed that there could come a day they could hate him and how, all alone, he must have borne these terrifying thoughts by himself, uncertain and anxious, but still willing to do it anyway if it meant fighting for his ideals, even if the things he most feared might come to pass; his brother's one act of selfishness. How could Damien deny him that?
He shook his head in denial, looking at his brother in earnest. "No… No, brother, we could never hate you, no matter what you do. I'm sorry, I know you didn't mean it like that. I-I just…"
"It's alright, Damien. I know." His brother beckoned him closer and he hesitated. He was much too old for this, but…
He shifted closer and rested his forehead on his brother's warm shoulder, breathing in the smell of cleanliness on the rough cotton fabric from the unscented soap they used and of the humid nature clinging to the threads.
He felt his brother's arm loop around him to rest on his head as the weight of one of his leathery wings came to encase him whole into a cocoon that shielded him from the world for just this single instant of time that Damien secretly wished would last forever.
"I'm sorry too, little brother," his brother said, voice a bit rough, "for leaving you and mother, for failing to realize you've felt yourself a burden all this time, for breaking my promise to you to stay by your side."
"Then don't break it. I don't want this kind of protection from you anyway. Mother would agree. All we need is you," Damien mumbled into his brother's shirt.
"It won't be enough."
"Then take me with you."
"I cannot. You must look after mother while I'm away."
"Then…" Damien gritted his teeth, willing the heat away from behind his eyes, the bark digging into his skin with how hard he gripped the branch, "at least stay for a little while longer."
His brother didn't reply, but they stayed like that for a very long time.
...
It was emptier now.
The chair his brother sat in at the table was forlorn. Each mealtime, the vacant space next to Damien made his skin prickle.
The absent sound of his brother's activities as he did chores left a strange silence.
At night, where there should be two silhouettes by the fireplace, one reading a book and the other sewing, there was now only one.
Sometimes, he expected to see his brother's figure emerge from the tree line any minute, back from another foray in Minar, but he never came.
Damien was prepared for his absence, but actually living the moments were different.
His brother had packed everything he had, which was the meager amount of clothing and possessions he owned, leaving nothing of any sign he ever lived there at all save for a photo and one other thing.
Damien touched the scarf around his neck.
Despite the careful attention he put into its care, its brilliant red shade had dulled over the years from repeated wash and sun bleaching. The ends were starting to fray. There was that sloppy stitch work he did when he accidentally ripped it against that stray nail on the fence when he was ten, and a small, inconspicuous stain where he spilled a little bit of food. He hadn't worn his scarf to meals since.
From time to time, he found himself wishing on it for his brother's safe return. It was silly so he didn't do it often, but sometimes, the loneliness got a little too much. It might be sad to say his brother was the only friend he had, but that suited Damien just fine if other options for friends were the ones in the village.
But now, he had no one to depend on and no one but his mother by his side and he needed to take care of her. His brother was able to leave because he trusted in Damien.
As he picked up the axe to prepare firewood, he hoped he could be strong enough for this.
Time passed and Damien and his mother found a rhythm together of just two in their tiny world.
Money started to come in.
His mother disdained the money and Damien wasn't too keen on it either. It was like a sorry consolation prize for his brother selling his soul to an evil an infinite times more a demon than his brother could ever be.
She wouldn't touch the coins and preferred if Damien didn't either, but he understood that even if they hated what it symbolized, the money was there and it wasn't going away, so they might as well use it, not for excessive, extravagant things, but at least for a comfortable living like his brother would've wanted for them: new clothing; better food; proper furniture to the shabby, makeshift ones about to fall apart; another bed. The rest was stashed away.
From time to time, they would also receive letters from his brother.
The letters always began with his brother's well-being and how they're always in his thoughts before expressing things such as interesting sights he saw, his new friend, Mastema, who was a pureblood demon just like his brother albeit weaker, and guessing after Damien's height. But they never talked about the things he did and if there were any mentions, they were vague. It was to shield the truth of his actions, but it was plain that his brother was committing horrendous deeds upon the world.
Damien wondered how much his brother might have changed in their time apart. It worried him. Would he come home no longer the same kind brother who would patiently teach him new words and who was so free with his hugs and affections?
Damien was too old to be clinging to his brother and he was only getting older, but even so, he never wanted that to come to pass. He wondered if that was what kept him weak.
...
Damien awoke in agony. Every part of his body was burning and his head throbbed mercilessly in spikes. His limbs felt heavy and the smell of charcoal and ashes settled so thickly on his tongue, it made gag.
As he lay trying to breathe, a flicker of memory passed in a lull between the pain.
Fire. Heat. Glowing eyes.
With a sharp gasp, he jerked up, but he could only lift himself an inch before his strength left him, leaving him panting and struggling to get his arms and legs to work, dammit!
Attacked. They were attacked. And he'd…
He struggled harder, rolling himself to his side and trying to get his arms beneath him and when that didn't work, he gave up and dug his fingers into the overturned soil instead.
"Mo—" He choked. There was something gritty in his throat and he attempted to hack it out before trying again. "Mother?" he croaked, barely loud enough to go beyond a whisper.
He'd tried to protect mother, but there were so many and they were so powerful. Where did they all come from? Did the Black Mage betray his brother?
"Mother?" he tried again, this time with a little more success.
His arms trembled with the effort to drag his body forward as he next started to move his legs.
Then… what happened? What happened?
Panic seized him in a tight grip.
Snippets began to play before his eyes, muddled and incoherent. The pounding in his head intensified. His vision whited out and when he regained consciousness, he had rolled onto his back, thrashing and screaming.
What happened? What happened? What happened? He needed to know.
Sharp as knives, fear so penetrating that he felt it carve into the marrow of his bones paralyzed him so completely, he stopped breathing. Something deep and instinctive urgently slammed down the memories.
Vaguely, the sensation of softness squeezed between his fingers, trembling so horribly they could scarcely even function like a dying man gripping his own throat.
Stop, stop, don't pursue it, don't pursue it.
But he must know, he must and he pushed until finally all at once, the memories gushed forth like an unstoppable flood.
He wished he was dead.
...
Barren, unforgiving rock met his knees where he collapsed under the strain of the burden on his back and lifeless grays and muted browns was all he saw as he struggled to get his legs back under him, as it had always been for the however many years he had been exiled here, long enough he had almost forgotten what a blue sky looked like or how a wind that doesn't cut felt like.
He was too slow and a sharp pain cracked across his cheek, sudden enough to make him bite his tongue if his teeth weren't already clenched from the effort of keeping the urge to snap at bay.
The first time he did so had not been merciful.
The first time he shed tears was even less so. Damien had the keepsakes, welted and scarred, all over his body to prove it.
His hands were calloused and blistered from hard labor and exhaustion was a constant phantom over his shoulder, but even that wasn't enough to temper that simmering flame burning hot in his chest. One day, he'll pay them all back a hundredfold. If nothing else, this Damien was determined to realize. No one else was going to do it for him. No one was going to help. The only one who could save him was himself.
Soon, Damien vowed to himself. But right now, he needed to deal with what was in front of him; he needed to survive the day. At whatever cost.
The toils of their slavery ended with scraps of stale bread and a cup of water each. Damien had long since learned to occasionally sneak into the food supplies. He was rarely caught and punished nowadays. It was the most painful in the beginning.
Afterwards, they were sent off to cramped, tattered tents where they slept on the hard ground with nothing but a threadbare blanket and the ratty clothes on their back to protect against the cold of night.
It was under thin roof that Damien slept and rose with dozens of other half-demons like him every night and every morning. Some never woke up.
But underneath the cold and darkness of it all was a long stripe of fabric wrapped around his neck, warm despite its wear and still holding together despite having been slashed into ribbons at its ends with a callous sword.
Now, Damien ran his fingers over it as he lay listening to his brethren's breath, inhaling the sharp sting of bitter cold in the air.
He remembered it was a vibrant red a long time ago, but now, he couldn't even conceive of something so brightly colored. It was strangely this fact that anchored Damien's certainty that he had a past of warmth where he had once been happy; the fact that once upon a time, he had been loved and loved in return.
But though this certainty existed in his mind, try as he might, he could no longer remember the details of those moments itself anymore. He couldn't even remember what his mother looked like. Rage, despair, anguish, and time had eroded it all into oblivion. Her faceless figure still haunted his dreams sometimes, charred and blackened, a featureless mouth wide open in a scream.
His brother he could remember more clearly and the sole reason was because of the deep impression he had when he first received his scarf; that its original vibrancy was the same vibrancy as his eyes. But feelings about his brother were always mixed.
Some nights, Damien thought he hated him for losing, for abandoning him and their mother, for being the indirect cause for his brethren's exile and his own misery. But then he'd feel the warmth around his neck seeping into him trying to get him through the night and giving him strength in the day and he'd wonder if his brother would even still love him if he knew he had their mother's blood on his hands, leaving him with a roiling mass inside him of sadness, longing, guilt, loneliness, and confused anger with no way of knowing what to do with it all.
He knew his brother had loved him the same way he knew he was once happy. He also knew that no matter what his past, it wasn't going to help his situation now.
This thing was beyond repair anyway. It was unwashed and it sometimes got in the way.
But try as Damien might, he found he couldn't let it go because doing so meant throwing away the one evidence of his past that had helped him many times through the unrelenting nights and brutal days and he found that a small, secret part of him didn't want to throw it away anyway even as he himself was forsaken.
Why…?
...
Whispers of a man of unusual coloring and wings eventually reached his ears and it was enough to make Damien's heart jump in anxious staccato, half hopeful and half dreaded.
Finally, after so many years, his brother had returned.
They called him Demon Slayer, as Damien discovered, one feared for killing even his own kind. It was a powerful title, but it wasn't his name. Damien could no longer remember what his brother's name really was, but it was as though he had thrown it away when he joined the Black Mage; thrown away his identity and his family.
But that doesn't matter anymore because I don't need him.
No, it was too early for him to meet his brother. He hadn't redeemed himself yet. Until he brought back their mother, his brother wouldn't forgive him.
Why do you need his forgiveness? I don't need to bow your head to anyone or anything ever again.
But it's been so long. He wanted to see him once more, to repaint the lines and blurred colors in his memories of his brother, who he had once admired.
It should be him who sought you out for forgiveness, for all those years of misery and torment!
He wanted to relive those times gentleness where the longing for something he couldn't even remember made his chest ache some days.
I have no need of those memories!
And it was this yearning that made him afraid.
There is nothing you should fear!
After so long, was he even capable of love anymore? Would his brother accept who he was now?
To hate was easy. To be hated would break him.
I don't need anyone's approval!
It disgusted him.
Yes, it is weakness. Throw it away. Throw it away!
Damien dug his nose into his scarf.
Shut up.
...
There was nothing left for him in this world anymore.
His chance of redemption was a lie. His dreams of returning to those forgotten times were shattered. He had turned his back on the only family he had.
He had nothing left but to embrace the path he forged.
All he had could do was push on.
He had nothing left.
Nothing.
...
Tears.
There were tears in his brother's eyes. His brother was crying.
The world shook, the sky crumbled, and the darkness shrieked, but all Damien could see was his brother and his liquid grief.
He had never seen his brother cry before and he was crying for him.
He was bloodied, a long gash running diagonal across his chest where Damien had slashed, and he was crying for him.
His scarf curled around him, flapping before him in the wind.
He still had something left.
He had never wanted strength for strength's sake. All he wanted was the strength to keep what was in front of him by his side and as his brother's final attack closed in on him, he finally remembered what it was like to be loved again.
He closed his eyes.
Good night, brother. I love you too.
Rest in peace, Damien, for you are loved.