Sorry…
WARNING: angst along with graphic injury description, involves little Hero.
Beor nervously paced in front of his house, from time-to-time glancing at the sun relentlessly rising in the sky and then looking toward the woods. He tried to get some work done, but… He looked again to the woods.
Where was she?
She should have been back by now. She said that Hero would be back by noon! It was already two hours past that. In another hour or so, his uncle and brother would return with his little ones, and he would be forced to make up a false tale.
His uncle would lose all confidence in him again if he told him that he lost the child again. Unless… maybe he could blame it on the Enderman? It wasn't as if the mob could talk and say that he didn't do it…
The memory of the tall being immediately appeared before Beor's sight, where the being carefully stacked cubical blocks of dirt into a small pyramid while Hero, Margol, and Tnul clapped and laughed, all three of them sitting in a small, sunlit meadow in the woods right beyond the village Boundary. At that moment, the tall End creature did not appear dangerous at all and Beor almost smiled, despite his younger brother's gasp of alarm. Rangil had grabbed on to his arm, almost shaking with fear, while Beor himself merely watched the scene with amusement. Somehow, he felt no harm at all in that creature's intent, only curiosity and interest.
It had also never taken Hero away before, except that one time when Beor and Rangil pushed him out in a basket as an offering to the creepers. Now, Beor thought that the strange mob took him away at that time was simply to protect him – unlike the Traveler, the creepers remained dangerous and unpredictable monsters from the Wild despite their interest in Hero.
Guilt rose up in Beor's heart and he immediately abandoned the thought of blaming the innocent mob. Somehow blaming him felt even worse than just claiming that it was his own fault. In a way, it was his fault that Hero was not here. So, he would have to take the blame for it.
Both his uncle and his brother will come to full conclusion that he was hopelessly careless. They already believed this, Beor could see it in their eyes, whenever he promised to take care of everything when it was his turn to take of the affairs at home. He only tried to do what was right!
Beor let out a discouraged sigh. Lowering his head, he resumed taking the ground with his hoe, preparing the far stretch of the field for the next crop. Wheat already lay in neat stacks next to the side of the barn. Nearby, already well-fed chickens idly pecked at the grain he scattered for them in their pen.
The young villager stopped to take a breath, his body aching from the work he forced himself to do to keep worries from his mind. Stepping over to the shade of the tree on the edge of the field, Beor put out a bucket. Dipping in a wooden plough to scoop up cold water, he brought it to his lips to drink.
Cold feeling of dread suddenly flared from the woods and made the villager freeze. The feeling that overwhelmed him came so intense and full of fear along with a desperate plea for help, spreading around him in waves, that for a moment he made a few unwilling steps toward the forest.
"Hero?..." The villager whispered. Somehow, he was sure that this had something to do with him, even though it was far more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, even when Hero got upset. He could swear that in this voiceless plea for help, calling to him from the woods, he heard the toddler's frightened whimpers.
The feeling dissipated, growing weaker, indistinct, releasing his will. Shakily, the villager lowered his arms and blinked, at a loss of what just happened.
Something was wrong…
Pop! Pop, pop, pop! Pop, pop!
Beor startled at the distant, dry sounds not too different from clapping. Dry sounds like crackles of something exploding came from a distance. Squinting his green eyes in that direction, the villager noticed thin trails of smoke rising up in wisps between the tops of the trees.
Wasn't that… where the Witch's hut was? Beor still stood, blinking in that direction and wondering, when a familiar whuzzing sound came from his left.
Finally! He looked around in relief.
The hopeful look on Beor's face slowly morphed to that of shock and horror after he took a good look at the mob that stood not far from him in the field. The being from the End stood hunched over, as its entire body shook. Its arms protectively clutched a limp cyan and blue form. Seeing the toddler's small hand hanging, something red staining it, Beor stumbled toward the mob.
"Hero?" He asked fearfully.
"Rhaaaah!" The End being screeched in warning, throwing up its head as it gave him a wild look. Beor stopped in his tracks, blinking helplessly in the threat that flared from the being. His eyes widened at the raw, purple discolorations that covered the mob's torso, heavily splotching its back and spreading around his arms. They looked an awful lot like bad burns. The creature itself appeared to be in pain. Its lilac eyes returned to stare at its lifeless burden. Seeing the thick, red drops falling and landing into the grass beneath the mob's clawed arms, Beor lost his fear and desperately dared to step closer to the mob.
"Please, let me see…" He begged. Grake's foundling appeared to be badly hurt.
This time, the being complied, making no threatening noise as Beor cautiously stepped even closer to it and reached out his slightly trembling hands to Hero's small body. This time, the being didn't react, allowing the villager to take its burden.
"No…" Beor's heart fell, dismay overwhelming his body. He stared at Grake's foundling, whose body hung like a rag doll in his arms. He could feel sticky wet all along Hero's back, where blood soaked into his t-shirt. Hero's face, his hair, everything was stained with blood and it was still leaking, slowly, from numerous slashing wounds across his arms and legs. Iron scent badly hit Beor's nostrils.
Swallowing, his eyes searched the child's chest and he slightly slumped with relief to find it shallowly rising and falling. The child was still alive.
Startling, Beor hurried to lower his small form to the ground and pulled out a potion, which he threw next to him and waited. The flash of brief light left behind particles, swirling around them both in a cloud. Some settled on Beor's skin like snowflakes, leaving behind a cool, tingling feeling. Others swirled, as if drawn toward the unconscious child.
The child's body arched, his face suddenly grimacing in pain as a small whimper broke through. The mob next to Beor shifted in worry, while the villager himself tensed, gaping at the strange, ropelike trails that suddenly expanded from the child's body into the air, ghostlike and glowing a menacing red as they lit up in the presence of potion particles, which began to draw toward them as well. Only a few reached the child's skin, leaving small silver glowing spots before vanishing. Beor's widened eyes held on the ropelike patterns, which shifted, coiling and uncoiling, as they began to retreat to the child's skin, until they settled there, leaving behind a faintly glowing burn-like traces that wrapped across Hero's wrists, his neck, and feet, some glimmering under his strained shirt. His eyes still thankfully closed, Hero's body continued to tremble in pain, small hands flaring out and small fingers trying to clench on the grass.
Bindings…
But she promised that he wouldn't be hurt by this!
Beor looked at the process that should have healed the child, instead of causing him pain. It was the highest-level healing potion that he always carried with him just in case. And it… was working.
Despite causing pain, the deep, open wounds slowly pulled closed until becoming scars, which quickly disappeared entirely. Nearly all of them.
Another painful jolt stabbed the villager's heart when he noticed other scars, already there, forming half-moon shapes across the child's wrists – evidence of his previous injuries, already healed. Only, unlike the new ones, which continued to disappear as the potion took hold, those remained without change.
Deathmarks…
She lied! She promised that she wouldn't hurt him!
Beor grinded his jaw, guilt and anger filling his heart to the brim. He made a terrible, terrible mistake. That Hero was still alive was a miracle. Throwing up a dark look, Beor glared at the far woods, where the trail of smoke now rose darker and higher, and sincerely hoped that the deceitful being paid the full price for her breaking her promise.
Was her desire to take Hero's power so great that she decided to take the risk of falling under a permanent Curse that would follow her from Respawn into Respawn? Surely, even her kind would not dare risk such a fate! Or was this her plan all along and she misled him to believe wrong things? Was anything that she showed to him true? Those visions of grown-up Hero being a Monster?
Beor's gaze returned to the now unconscious child and his face twisted, ready to cry. Instead, he tensed, his eyes opening wide again.
Hero's chest was still.
"No… No, no, no!" Quickly pulling out another potion, Beor threw it next to the child. What happened? It was working! The potion was working! He could see that! Now, no injuries at all remained, except for those red coiled burns, but they were also quickly fading. The healing particles swirled around them both again. Only this time, they faded away, ignoring Hero's form, as if they no longer saw a target to restore. That meant…
"No!" Beor exclaimed helplessly, staring at the small, unmoving form. He then shakily lifted his own hands and stared at them. Blood smeared along his spread out and shaking fingers.
They will never forgive you for what you have done.
His heart thumped loudly in his ears and he could hear his own panicked breaths as the world around him hazed in and out of his vision.
"You w-wont... hurt him…Promise! On your hope of rebirth!" His own voice exclaimed in his memory.
"Do not fret. Expect him back to you by this afternoon, safe and sound." The Witch's scratchy voice responded, calm and mocking.
He had taken it as reassurance, then. He was such a fool!
"Gruuuuh…" The mob's soft sound drew the frazzled villager's attention. Noticing lilac eyes, quietly looking down at the still form, Beor unwillingly glanced there as well.
Faint, silver light was rising in waves all around the child. Glimmering white particles, not unlike the light Beor saw glowing softly in the child's eyes, grew brighter as they floated past the villager's astonished face.
Light increased, flaring out in an intense wave, and then receded again, withdrawing through the child's body into the ground where he lay. The blood was disappearing as well, fading as it turned into silver clouds that melted away into nothing, leaving behind unblemished skin. Even his clothing became clean. And the blood marring Beor's hands also vanished away as he watched it all with disbelief.
It was like some sort of a strange, vivid dream.
Hero's body shifted as he drew in a deep breath, and then settled again into a steady, strong pattern. Another moment and his arms jerked, small hands curling into fists which the little boy drew to his eyes as he made another small whimper. His eyes remained shut.
Respawn… He could respawn! This is what Beor had just seen!
So much relief ran through Beor's heart that he didn't hesitate, abruptly leaning and gathering the child into his arms as he pressed him tight to himself.
"You're all right. You're alive! I'm s-so s-sorry." Beor's voice caught as he began to sob, rocking the child, whose whimpers once again began to quiet. Worriedly, Beor checked him again, but found the child still breathing steadily. He seemed to be only slipping off into an exhausted sleep.
"Gruup grurp." The mob concluded softly. Glancing at him again, the villager noticed the satisfied calm look settling on its face as the being looked up, staring off somewhere in the distance. The movement still caused it pain and it jerked, as if confused again, and vanished out of sight, leaving the usual purple flakes behind.
Anxious, Beor looked again at the child he held. Hero remained quiet. Small hands relaxed and fell away from a face, where a small pout smoothed. There was no sign of the horror that Beor witnessed just moments earlier.
It really was like a horrifying, bad dream, which had come to an end.
"She will only tell you lies...Do not trust her!" Beor's uncle warned in Beor's mind.
Making a small whimper, Beor again pressed the child to his chest as if that could shield him from what already happened. His heart bled. How could he have allowed that wretched being to deceive him like this? Why didn't he listen?
"Sh-h-h… It was just a bad dream… You're safe now… Just a bad dream…" Beor said weakly and struggled to get up to his feet. Ignoring everything around him, he stumbled toward the house. Carefully laying the child back in his bed, he noticed that Hero's favorite blanket was missing.
Leaning down, Beor pulled a spare one from the chest next to Hero's bed, where uncle Grake kept the child's things. His eyes held briefly on the strange silver cloth that lay folded there as well, but he ignored it, forgetting about it the moment he looked away. Spreading the soft, teal blanket over the child, he gently tucked it in.
Then, he again hunched over and hid his face in his hands. He wanted to cry, but his heart was quickly going numb. He was such a fool to have trusted that treacherous creature!
"You w-wont... hurt him…Promise! On your hope of rebirth!"
"Do not fret. Expect him back to you by this afternoon, safe and sound."
She didn't lie to him. Not at all. Now he could see that. Those red magic trails that settled around the child when he used the potion on him – they were the promised Bindings. She never promised not to hurt Hero, though. He had only assumed that because of what she said. She never said that she wouldn't tho! Only that he wouldn't feel it.
Desperately, Beor hoped that that was the case. Hopefully, the child slept through it all and wouldn't remember what happened. He had always seemed fine after returning home before. She said… that he respawned many times before.
But… that terrible feeling that he felt from the woods…
That had to be Hero. Did he wake up and call for help? Did his mobs come to help him? Beor suspected that he already knew what he would find if he went to check on the Witch's hut. His eyebrows grimly came together as anger flared again.
Well, good riddance! She deserved it!
His eyes helplessly drew to the calmly sleeping child, checking him over. There was no outward sign that anything was different about him. His respawn had restored him to his full health, so even his cheeks were now ruddy and clothes clean. Even his hair appeared to be shorter and clean cut again for some reason. The only evidence of what happened, of Beor's wrongdoing, were those faint marks on his wrists.
Beor's eyes held on the barely noticeable scars, and he again hid his face in his hands, slightly shaking as another wave of guilt overwhelmed his thoughts.
He was such a fool.
He also had no idea what was going to happen now. What will the consequences of his terrible mistake be?