Trigger warnings: nightmares, flashbacks, yelling by a parental figure (seriously, if that bothers you, please do not read this chapter)

That soft yellow-golden glow filled his vision. So soft, and yet so cruel. It should have been red. Red for blood. Red for anger. But no, it was yellow-golden, and it burned to look at. Yellow was supposed to be the color of the sun, of flowers, of coins. Not the color of a tomb.

He attempted to break it. He attempted to use acid on it. He attempted to pray that it would miraculously melt. But the yellow-gold crystal, such a warm color, was cold and unfeeling to his desperation.

He looked up into the face of the amber's prisoner, twisted in agony. He looked at the crumpled paper in his hand, unread by anyone save he who had written it. He searched the horrid room, seeking answers, searching for something to make sense of this, to explain why that cold, cold amber had claimed this victim.

In opposition to the cold amber was his burning rage. Rage for the life lost. Rage for those who had allowed it.

This was not natural. This never should have happened. He never should have fallen this way.

And those responsible would pay.

They would pay, if it was the last thing he ever did.

That was his solemn vow. And he never broke promises.

Ever.

O‴O‴O‴

A sharp gasp, almost inaudible against the noise of the waterfall, sounded as he was ripped from his fitful sleep. Sitting bolt upright, he attempted to calm the frantic racing of his heart. Several deep breaths later, he lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was burning up, his chest ached, and the dark rage that flowed through his veins had yet to subside.

Why? Why this? Why now?

Most of his feelings, he tried to shove into a little storage room where all his impertinent emotions resided. This, however, had to be eliminated. He could not afford to let this live. He thought he had killed it already, way back in Corona. So why was that anger sticking its nose back into his life again?

Never again. Never again. Never again.

He wasn't angry anymore. He hadn't been in months. But this most recent nightmare had dredged all of that back up to the surface, just so he would have to fight it all over again.

So he would.

He would fight as long as it took to destroy the last remnants of that bitterness and hatred.

Especially when the target of that past anger was at his mercy.

The soft patter of bare feet came from the hallway. Hector's heightened sense of hearing caught it beyond the noise of the waterfall. Instinctively, he reached for the dagger under his pillow. Then he remembered there was another person living here now and replaced the dagger. It had been a week since they reached the Tree, and he was still trying to get used to that.

The aforementioned other person suddenly burst into the room and dove into the bed beside Hector, burying his face in the warrior's chest. He hesitated only a brief second to determine if Varian would be okay with a hug—considering that he had practically tackled Hector, the answer was probably yes—before encircling him in his arms. The child was shaking like a wet bearcat and drenched in sweat.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, his voice raspy.

Varian nodded, not bothering to look up. This one seemed worse than most, if Hector had to guess. Varian had never reacted to a nightmare like this on the way here.

"C-can I stay here tonight?" Varian whispered through his tears.

Hector, not trusting his own nightmare-fueled adrenaline, moved the dagger out from under his pillow and tossed it gently across the room. Better safe than sorry. "Yeah, sure." He scootched over to make room for Varian. "Need to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "N-no."

"'Kay. That's fine. Need hot cocoa? Anything?"

"Uh-uh."

"Right." He leaned back and let Varian curl up next to him. Ruddiger had slipped into the room by this point. He hopped onto the bed and lay down next to Varian's head. Artemis swooped in after him and perched on the mantle of the fireplace.

Nearby, the bearcats were watching, envy written across their features. Hector rolled his eyes. "Come on." They grunted happily and jumped onto the bed, twining around the humans carefully so as not to crush them. "Nice. Anyone else? Kubwa? Artemis?" The bird looked up disinterestedly from her perch. Next to Hector, Varian giggled softly. Good. If he could laugh, he would probably be fine.

Hector waited until he heard Varian's breathing shift. Guessing he was asleep, he turned to the bearcats, who were relatively light sleepers. They'd notice if he got another nightmare and started to go on a rampage. "Don't let me hurt him, 'kay? I can't take that chance."

He sighed and wrapped his arms protectively around his kid. He could never hate Varian. All that darkness that had come over him upon seeing his brother, all the thoughts he held of vengeance, had left him as soon as he saw the little almost-corpse in that cell. All that had been left was skepticism, and that had given way rapidly to the desperate need to protect and shelter him. His nightmare had been born from events and emotions long since left behind, and that which he had left behind he had no wish to reclaim.

O‴O‴O‴

Varian followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen. Hector was already awake, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his slower-than-usual movements, he hadn't slept well at all.

"Good morning."

The only response Hector gave was a noncommittal grunt.

"A-are you okay?"

"Hm?" Hector looked up from the pan of bacon. "Yeah, sorry, I just—sorry."

"Didn't sleep well?"

"More or less." He finished making breakfast and sat a plate in front of Varian. "Listen, I'm heading out today. Need to go pick up some stuff. I'm taking Kubwa. Hang out here. You know what not to touch. I'll be back later tonight."

"'Kay." Varian wrapped his arm around himself. "D-did I do something wrong? Is this about last night?" He was slightly shaken from his own nightmare, but running to Hector had helped. He had woken that morning in his uncle's room, only distantly aware of how he had gotten there, but with the harsh reminders of his bad dream written across his own dark-circled eyes. It had only occurred to him upon waking up that maybe Hector wouldn't be thrilled with that. At the time, it was the only thing he could think to do.

"Nah. You're fine. That's not a problem. I just need to pick up some milk and eggs and such. I can't keep cows and chickens and such here since I'm not always around." He smirked slightly, looking more like himself. "Don't tell Adira or anyone. She thinks I'm here permanently." He held out an arm to Varian. Hesitant, inviting. Varian leaned into the hug. Hector was very clearly tense and upset about something, but he was also very clearly not going to say what it was. He hardly ever talked about what was wrong with him.

After his uncle left, Varian and Ruddiger crashed in the scroll room with mugs of hot cocoa (not as good as Hector's, but their attempts were getting closer every time) and started scanning the papers scattered haphazardly from where they had left off yesterday. In between training and exploring, this was where they spent most of their time. The mental challenge was invigorating, and Varian welcomed it after so long without it. In any space where there were not shelves, notes stuck to the walls and colorful chalk drew lines between connected points. The room had shifted from archaic library to workspace in the span of a week (with Hector's approval, of course). Comfy chairs and cushions had been added at Hector's insistence, though Varian assured him all he needed was a few desks. He tended to walk around a lot when working.

A few hours after setting to work, Varian was doing push-ups over a scroll he was translating—just because Hector wasn't here did not mean he was allowed to slack off for a day—when an oddly-familiar word jumped out at him. He tilted his head slightly to see it better from his left eye, then jumped to his feet and ran to a nearby table to compare the scroll to another he had found yesterday.

"'Ally'?" he murmured. "What? That doesn't make any sense…" He double-checked his translation, then compared the first two to a third scroll. "Yep, that's 'ally.' But that doesn't make any sense! Zhan Tiri and Lord Demanitus were enemies, weren't they? Why would they be described as allies?" He glanced to Ruddiger, who shrugged.

He started digging through the archived scrolls. Could Lord Demanitus not have at least been organized? He thought of the state of his old lab at any given time and laughed. Far be it from him to criticize the shoddiness of a genius's filing skills.

"Here we go!" He unrolled one of the scrolls and placed it on a desk. "This looks like a history of his research. Hm… meh, machines, alchemical stuff…" He flinched involuntarily. Demanitus had been an alchemist, and a brilliant one at that; but every reminder was just salt in the wound, and digging through his papers brought up plenty of bad reminders. Fortunately, most of his work had been in engineering. Some of it crossed with his alchemical pursuits, but not all of it. "I'm just seeing a history of his inventions and stuff. Not much about—hold up!"

He examined a date on the paper, then ran back to the shelf. "I saw this somewhere! Oh, which one was it… come on…" He scaled the shelves, grabbed one of the papers, lost his footing, and fell flat on his back. Unfazed, he jumped back up and lay the scroll next to the others, pointing to the historical record. "'Kay. This mentions a portal he built to fight Zhan Tiri. The date is the same as this—" here he pointed to the text he had just grabbed— "and this talks about 'a dark day.' There's not a lot of details, but the word 'ally' is used here again. I see… 'heartbreak'? No, 'brokenhearted.' And 'banish,' I think. 'Trusted'… Okay, I think it says, 'This is a dark day. I am brokenhearted at having to banish my once-trusted ally." He ran his hand through his hair, accidentally knocking the pin holding his bangs back. "Crap." He picked up the pin, readjusted his bangs, and kept working. "So if the portal was built to banish Zhan Tiri, and Demanitus had to banish a 'once-trusted ally,' either he banished two people through the portal, or he and Zhan Tiri used to work together. It was probably the second, since he doesn't mention two people getting tossed through the portal."

Ruddiger gave him an unimpressed look as if to ask why this was at all relevant.

"This is incredible," Varian breathed. As he spoke, his voice got faster and faster. "Zhan Tiri was a legend. A scary story parents told to their kids. But this… oh, if she—and I think Zhan Tiri was a she, considering that's what the scrolls say—if she was working with Demanitus, then we know so little about who she was. About who they were. They worked together! Was she an alchemist, too? No, the scroll uses the word 'magician'…" He pulled four more scrolls out and added them to the rapidly-growing pile. "Imagine what this means! Demanitus was a genius, but that means Zhan Tiri probably was, too. What did they work on together? Did they combine magic and engineering? Demanitus worked with magic, too."

Suddenly he froze and turned to the raccoon. "Ruddiger, if this is true, if they worked together and Zhan Tiri went bad, that means Demanitus had to fight a friend. Someone he trusted. Argh, I wish I could finish decoding these! I'm only getting a few words here and there. What was that like for him? To know he had to banish a friend?" He winced. "It probably hurt. She betrayed him."

With a deep sigh, he collapsed in one of the chairs. "I know what that's like. From both sides." Ruddiger hopped up in his lap and purred softly. Varian buried his hands in his fur. "I messed up. So did she. We've already had a confrontation. Was her letting me get thrown in jail the same as Demanitus building that portal to stop Zhan Tiri? I mean, I definitely deserved it, but she's not innocent, either. And she never had to face what she did to me." He picked Ruddiger up and looked into his eyes. "Am I just reading too much into this? Being overly dramatic?"

Ruddiger tilted his head. Then he reached out and tugged at Varian's hair, causing it to come free from the pin again.

"Point taken. Moving on to new, less depressing topic." He stood and went back to the scroll he had been working on in the first place, putting his distracted thoughts of her behind him. Enough time to stress about that when she got here.

O‴O‴O‴

As Hector and Kubwa raced back to the Tree, the warrior tried to let the rushing wind and rocking motion of his rhino relax him. It was a beautiful day, nothing was wrong, everything had been going wonderfully for a while now, and yet he was still tense and stressed. Maybe it was the impending arrival of the girl who had hurt his nephew. Maybe it was the relative calmness of the last few months, a calm before a storm, and all of it was about to come crashing down.

Maybe it was his nightmare.

He gritted his teeth angrily. He had never given free rein to his emotions before. A warrior could not afford stray thoughts or reckless attitudes. He must always keep himself in check. Had the years of solitude erased his mental training to the point where he could not get rid of the lingering remnants of his misplaced rage all these months later? And all because of a stupid nightmare?

He was just shaken, that was all. There was nothing wrong. No, everything was just fine. He had been telling the truth that they needed more food, but the main reason he had come out here was to clear his head. He would be just fine. He'd spend some time meditating when he got back. This was nothing he hadn't experienced before. He'd just had to get out today to take time and think things over.

By the time he and Kubwa made it back, it was nearly sundown. He slid off the rhino's back and grabbed the waterproof, ice-filled bags he used to store supplies. "I'm back, V," he called, stepping through the archway. He petted Kubwa's head fondly and headed to the kitchen to drop off the bags, storing the cold foods in a small cave behind the frigid waterfall that doubled as a cooler. The bearcats ran in and twisted around him playfully. He petted them and went to find Varian. "Kiddo? Where'd you go?"

A dark shudder passed through the Tree. He brushed it off; that happened every so often. An unfortunate side effect of the Heart. He started towards the scroll room, as that was where Varian spent most of his free time when he wasn't training. A second shudder tore through the Tree, this one harder and longer.

That got his attention. Usually the Tree only acted like that if an animal or something got too close to the Heart. Probably nothing, but it couldn't hurt to check it out. Make sure nothing was bothering it. He switched direction and started for the pit. The closer he got, the more he could feel the effects of the Heart. It was like a monster, clawing at the very air, fighting for dominance in his lungs and chest, setting his already-tense nerves on end. Or maybe the monster was inside him, and the Heart was bringing it to life.

The pit yawned wide open before him, dark and deep and barren. The light didn't reach down there, at least not a lot, and the only way to see what was going on was to go down there.

Hector slid easily down the narrow pathway leading to the bottom of the pit. The closer he got, the heavier the dark force seemed to press on him, weighing him down. Once on the ground, his yellow eyes bore through the darkness towards the soft-blue glow of the spear lodged firmly in the crystalline, flower-shaped Heart. Something stood near it, watching it.

He creeped closer, sword at the ready, preparing to strike the figure. It was small, humanish, its head tilted at a peculiar angle—

Wait a minute—

"VARIAN!"

The boy turned in shock. He started to speak, but Hector didn't give him the chance. The monster in his veins flooded his mind, filled his thoughts, made him see red. Or was it yellow-gold?

"What the CRAP! You know better! I told you this was dangerous and you weren't supposed to get near it! What were you thinking? You could have killed us all! Is that what you wanted? Is it?" He could see Varian's wide blue eyes in the dim light, filling with tears, his mouth open in a surprised O. Vaguely Hector was aware that he was yelling, but he didn't stop. "When I tell you not to get near something, I mean it! It's hard enough watching everything that goes on around here; I don't need you doing stupid crap like this making my job harder!"

The instant his mouth stopped moving, his brain started moving, and the implications of what he had just done hit him. Varian was shaking, staring up at him in fear, tears now spilling down his face.

"I—I'm sorry—I didn't—" A strangled gasp escaped his throat; his eyes darted around the way a wounded animal's did when cornered. "I'm sorry!"

Hector wanted to kick himself. What had he just done? "Oh, crap, kid, I'm sorry! I didn't—I shouldn't have—"

Before Hector could finish the thought, Varian darted to the right, dodging around him with an expertness born from hard experience. His short legs had carried him halfway up the path by the time Hector knew what was happening.

"Varian? Wait, Varian! I'm sorry!" His words fell into silence, their intended recipient too far away to hear. "Varian, I'm sorry!" The air left his lungs, and his head pounded with the realization of his cruelty. In desperation, he ran after his nephew. But Varian had disappeared by the time he reached the top of the hole.

What have I done?

What have I done?

What have I done?

O‴O‴O‴

The blood was rushing in his head, the pounding of his footsteps sounding like thunder, blocking out any other noises. Someone was yelling behind him, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

Not "someone."

Hector.

Hector was yelling.

You could have killed us all!

Murderer.

"VARIAN!"

Monster.

"Wait, please!"

You deserve to suffer.

He was back in prison, his hands over his ears to block out the sound, the words of his abusers, that infernal yelling, ringing, hurting his ears, head throbbing, everything hurt, why wouldn't it stop, why couldn't they stop yelling—

Chittering.

Something was chittering in his ears, a weight had settled on his shoulders, he flinched away from the sudden weight they were touching him and they were going to hurt him and they were yelling—

The chittering continued. He forced himself to turn and look, spotting a familiar furry face near his own.

Ruddiger.

Ruddiger was here.

The raccoon hopped off Varian's shoulder and motioned for him to follow him. His breathing constricted, his head feeling like it had been introduced abruptly to a brick wall, all he could focus on was following the ringed tail in front of him. Ruddiger was good. He would help him. He wasn't dangerous like the guards.

Like Hector.

The raccoon found an alcove set high up in a wall of the Tree. Varian scaled the slope and slid into the alcove, curling up in the corner in a tiny ball. His chest heaved with gasping sobs, and salt stung his lips and tongue as tears rolled down his cheeks. Ruddiger nudged him and was immediately snatched into the boy's death grip. Varian pressed his face into his friend's fur, only becoming aware that his teeth were clamped down on his lip now that he was still. The salt of his tears mingled with the metallic taste of his own blood.

He hissed in shock and spit off to the side, trying to rid his mouth of that foul substance, then brushed his hand across his mouth. Ruddiger cooed and nuzzled into his chest, trying to distract him. Focusing on the noises Ruddiger made and the soft texture of his fur, Varian vainly attempted to control his breathing.

"Kid! Varian, where are you?"

He gasped and drew back further into the alcove. Hector hadn't seen him, had he?

"Varian, I'm so sorry. Please, just—where are you? I'm sorry!"

He was biting his lip again, he was vaguely aware. It hurt like the dickens, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't make any noise.

Eventually, Hector's footsteps faded away. Varian uncurled slowly. His grip on Ruddiger didn't weaken. The raccoon was his lifeline, keeping him tethered to reality. That plus the pain and shock of biting himself until he bled. Again. His panic didn't abate, though, but being aware he was having an attack and pulling himself out of an attack were two very different things. Unfortunately, the latter was nearly impossible. All he could do was ride it out.

Why had he gone down into that blasted pit? Had idle curiosity about Zhan Tiri and Demanitus been worth this? He had had no intention of touching the spear, hadn't even considered it, really, but he had wanted to see the Heart, to know what it was like, to understand just what drove a person to banish an ally into another realm. He wanted to know if the history told by the victor was the true account, or if there was more to it than everyone else saw. The fact that no one talked about the alliance itself indicated that the story wasn't what everyone had been led to believe. He wanted to know if he was the Demanitus or the Zhan Tiri of his story. His story had faded into oblivion the same way. Everyone saw their precious princess fighting against the evil alchemist of Old Corona. No one saw the child underneath the mask because they didn't bother to look. But she had betrayed him first. Did that make her evil?

Curiosity. It was always his curiosity that ruined him. Would he ever learn to leave things alone? Did he have to have an answer to every question? Curiosity turned Hector against him. Curiosity led to countless disasters in his short life.

Curiosity killed his dad.

O‴O‴O‴

Hector slowly approached the alcove, the mug of hot cocoa steaming gently. He had seen the boy's foot sticking out, then draw back when he heard Hector speak. To give him time and space, Hector had pretended not to see him. His next stop had been the kitchen to make a peace offering. Now he was back, about two hours later—he had needed time to collect his thoughts, and Varian needed time away from him—fully prepared to offer an apology.

Now to get Varian to listen to it.

"Hey, Varian?"

A soft hiss of shock came from inside the alcove, along with a shuffling that indicated he was trying to make himself smaller. Hector cautiously stepped closer, making sure not to block the entrance, and set the mug inside. "Please, hear me out."

When Varian didn't immediately charge past him, he continued. "I'm sorry. I messed up. I never should have yelled at you, and I never should have said what I said. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He fought past the growing lump in his throat. "I messed up, kid."

A pale hand reached forward and grabbed the mug, quickly retreating back into the hiding place. Progress. Trying to keep his tears inside his head where they belonged, he placed his forehead against the wall, resting his hands on the edge of the alcove, and continued, "As a warrior, I was trained to keep my emotions in check. I was never as good as Adira or Quirin, but I did okay. I failed today. I was tired and stressed and frustrated, and I took it all out on you, and I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm not a great person. I can't promise I'm not going to mess up again. But I promise to try to be better. I promise to apologize when I mess up. This whole 'taking care of a kid' thing is kinda new to me, so would you be okay with being patient with me while I try to learn?"

He waited. Varian was silent, still, giving no indication that he had heard. Hector sighed but didn't move. When a small hand reached out and touched his, he nearly jumped out of his skin but regained his composure before startling the boy. He kept his head down but stretched his hand out further, letting it slide into Varian's.

It wasn't a full answer. It wasn't even forgiveness. But it was progress, and it was more than Hector deserved.

For now, it was enough.

And this is why we don't suppress unhealthy emotions, children!

As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thank you and God bless!