V.E. Schwab's Osaron Backstory Chapter 2
***Note*** This is not an actual VE
Schwab story. This is my
own depiction of
Osaron and
his life.
"When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever."
-Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Killing
March 21, 1770 C.E. Black London
It had been over a week since Duke or Thomas had contacted Philip about the rebellion. He went every day to the Black Coup to try to find them or to get information. He also went as Philip, not Osaron, because he was afraid of getting in trouble with his family.
As much as Philip wanted to go to the Black Coup to try to meet up with Duke and Thomas, the wind was bleak as the wind swept through the orchards. As Philip once again looked up to see the weather, he saw booming thunder clouds rolling over the horizon.
The border from Black London to his neighboring country, Osoro, was quite close to where he lived and close to the Black Coup. The downpour, Philip assumed, would start in around fifteen minutes, and Philip started to leave his dusted, run down house. One step away from leaving the porch, his father caught the back of his dusted shirt.
"Where do you think you're going?" his father demanded.
"To the tavern," Philip answered.
"You aren't going there today young man!"
Philip simply laughed it off.
"You think this is funny? I am…"
Before he could finish, Philip produced a new, clean, silver knife from his pocket. He had slipped it from a drunk yesterday.
His fathers magic was fire, but he knew how much stronger Philip was than him and he didn't want to fight his son when he had a knife.
When Philip was halfway to the Black Coup, the rain started. The dirt path started to go brown with mud, and his black curls got wet, dripping heavily onto his stained shirt. As he reached the Black Coup tavern, he saw two familiar faces. One belonged to Duke and the other belonged to Thomas, two rival gang leaders who joined forces to overthrow the Black London government.
"There he is," Duke said, with a warm welcome.
"Nice to see you," Thomas greeted.
"What's new and why haven't i've seen you guys?" Philip inquired.
"Well, Phil- Osaron. We've been doing some research, and we both have found an ancient prophecy," Thomas told him, bringing forth a slip of paper.
"I wrote it down," Duke started, "'The magic user with two elements will earn great power on the ninth of December, a millennial from now [1770]. Thou shall use this gift in anyway, but thou shall be defeated in a disappointing battle against a woman masked with a demon and an antari.'"
"Well?" the now Osaron continued.
"We got kicked out after writing that much, and we can't remember the rest, but basically you get a lot more power." Duke replied.
"What type of power? A new type of magic or do I become an antari?"
From the bar, Osaron could see a man in a red cloak shake his head. He had seen him in here before getting drinks. He walked over, and sat down.
"You don't become an antari. The gods choose when you're born," the antari laughed, the red silk cloak sweeping the floor like a big hug. Osaron had had enough. His father and family, now this heckler. Osaron stood up, with anger fuming in his eyes.
"Do you want to take this outside?" Thomas suggested, looking hopeful.
The antari shrugged it off.
"Me, against this peasant," he replied, "I would rather fight a no…"
Osaron stopped listening to the antari, but instead listened to the weight of the knife in his pocket. He had had enough. Years of listening to this gloating that he would be nothing, but he was going to show this man, no matter what it took.
In one, swift movement, Osaron pulled out his knife and slit the throat of the antari, the blood pouring onto his white linen shirt.
The bartender was shocked. His face hung open in horror. He red limped down Osaron's shirt and onto his chest. The once white shirt was now half crimson, half cream colored. The tainted fluid now dripped from his shirt.
He had killed someone. He had killed one of the most important piece of a magic world. An envoy, of sorts. He had sliced his neck. The bartender's face was white. Everybody in the bar looked Osaron's way.
The first man he had killed was an Antari.
He wasn't sure who screamed first, the bartender, someone drinking, or him, but after that scream, chaos unused. Chairs flipped over, glasses smashed. Osaron wasn't sure why every one was causing chaos, until he saw Thomas leaving through the front door. He looked at Thomas, and he tilted his head as if saying follow me.
It took time to leave. Glasses shattering against the old wooden walls. Beer, whiskey, wine staining everyone's clothes. As Osaron stepped outside, Thomas pushed him against the side of the bar with his hand on Osaron's throat, choking him.
"Why in fucks sake would you kill an Antari? Do you want to fuck this entire operation up? Do you want to be a part of this? Then stop aching like shit. You have nothing to prove!"
It was the first time Osaron had heard Thomas swear. His fingers released on his throat, the pouring rain once again drenching Osaron.
The walk home was a walk of shame. Sure, he had killed an Antari, proving he could kill. On the downside, if King Keaton found this, the rebellion would be destroyed.
His father was waiting for him on the porch when he came home.
"About time," he said.
Osaron sighed.
When he got onto his porch his dad stopped him.
"What is it?" Osaron asked.
"I have something for you," his father replied.
He knew his dad was lying. Out of all his brothers and sisters, he was liked the least. He refused the idea that his father had any gifts for him.
"What is it?" Osaron asked.
"This," his father replied, retrieving his knife that his father never let anyone touch.
"It's for you," he said, smiling, before pushing it into his chest.
Osaron's vision started to fade. He couldn't feel his hands. His vision started to blur. He moved his hands toward his chest, trying to feel the blood on his already blood stained shirt.
He started to lose touch. Started to lose consciousness. The last thing he heard was his father laughing.