A/N: these past couple-a-months were a fucking joyride and I'm exhausted. I wrote this MONTHS ago, prolly around may but I uh ehh..yeah
The fire was huge.
It brought their village to the ground in no less than an hour or so, and he remembers walking aimlessly amidst the rubbles, his bare feet wounded and painful with every step. But he doesn't pay it any mind. He just wanted to see a survivor.
He can't be the only one left.
There had to be someone.
Then his foot digs into the ashes, warm against his bare flesh from the recent fire. His foot easily sinks into the gray earth, like sand but smoother if not slightly coarse from charred bones. Whatever was underneath the ashes, it was something heavy and sturdy that his foot had failed to lift and he falls instead, on his face again.
He coughs and hurriedly spits out what ash had managed to get into his mouth, afraid at the thought of having their remains on him. He still refuses to believe that they all had perished.
But he couldn't get himself to forget what he had seen. The flames-red and orange and bright. They burn so brightly and how brighter they had become when they devoured his people. His family and friends, devoured whole.
He couldn't help but cry again, looking around and screaming for his parents and the rest of his family.
Silence.
He tries again, and when nothing happens, the wind blowing harshly at his face, he wipes his face with his dirtied hands, the ashes mixing with the wetness in his eyes and tainting his face grey.
He presses his hands in the earth, covered with a very thick layer of ash. He presses hard, until his hands were buried, then he felt something warm. No, hot.
It's hot.
And soft.
In a panic, he jumps and scurries away. Then he notices the black, charred remains that got stuck on his hands, sticking to his skin like rubber. They were definitely human skin.
Someone is underneath the ashes.
He runs back to the spot and digs.
When Alfred wakes up, he finds himself panting and sweaty on the floor. The pillows and the beddings were thrown away from the bed and the blanket was wrapped awkwardly to his body, its end trailing up towards the bed like a distressed serpent.
He was confused for a moment, wondering how on earth he got into what he is in right now, with the memories of the night-or the morning-before returning to him little by little, slowly, but vividly.
He remembers being frustrated and tired from the trip, returning home with nothing in his hands but himself with the feeling of uncertainty lying heavily in his gut. He remembers returning back to his room by sunrise, the glare of the sun doing nothing but make his head hurt and his mood irritable. His weapons thrown roughly on the floor by the door was a clear indication of that.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to act, and doesn't know what to make of what he had just seen. Everything was new. He wasn't sure himself if the usual procedure will work and if it didn't, how will he get out of there alive. There were multiple outcomes running through his head, as he remained in his hiding place, hands shaking and their grips painfully hard.
In the end, he let the witch go.
He watched him, his blood strangely tingling in something he had yet to describe-exalted, perhaps-as the witch coaxed the unicorn into full-consciousness, helped it back to its feet and get its balance back, his eyes sparkling and blinking away shed tears as he does so. The fallen basket was retrieved along with its contents and Alfred notices for the first time that the witch was not accompanied by faeries today, the glowing orbs orbiting around him absent.
Alfred remained in his spot until the witch was gone, his free hand resting on the unicorn's long white neck, guiding it forward, his eyes darting sharp towards Alfred's trap, a veil of suspicion and wariness etched upon his delicate features. That looks bad, Alfred thought just after he heard himself gulp, sweat dripping down his forehead to his cheek.
It took an hour or two before the area changed, terrifying with how the trees appeared to have shrunk and withered, the brown turning into black and grey, its wood crusty and hollow and breakable. The ground seemed to suck the life out of the rest of the plants residing on it, their colours dulling and their bodies shrinking into tiny stubs, weak and brown.
His chance was over.
He finds himself back at the tavern that night, shocked to see Gilbert as well when he thought that the man would have moved on to another place if there was nothing much going on in it.
For once, Gilbert was alone, sitting by the tables located at the dark sides of the tavern for peace and privacy, silently nursing a mug of cool beer-his favourite drink.
Looking around and seeing the tavern's usual patrons gamble and make noise made Alfred feel exhausted, the energy of the tavern's patrons actually repulsive rather than appealing.
Silently, he approaches Gilbert's table and roughly pulls a chair for himself. Gilbert barely reacts, red eyes rolling to meet his. It's a look Alfred couldn't read.
To stop Gilbert before the other gets the chance to start a topic of conversation, Alfred blurts, "I want you to tell me everything you know about the resurgents." His face is grim, if not desperate. The information gathered on resurgents were rare, if not few, with their rarity and all, not to mention how their kind managed to be so elusive throughout the years. Gilbert and Francis are probably the only ones lucky enough to have as much as a close encounter with them to actually provide reliable information: Anything from usual traits to actual weaknesses. Alfred is desperate for anything at the moment. His mind is running in circles, seeking for anything, but his body was not.
In fact, it was still screaming at him to return to his bed to rest.
But his mind was insistent, and it would not allow his body to rest until it gets its own peace, some kind of closure, to reassure Alfred that the witches are still one way or another vulnerable to things such as death.
At the question, however, Gilbert's sombre expression did not change, eyes glued to Alfred's still. Then he cups his chin with his free hand, turning away to look towards the window.
"They're a pain." He mutters, dismissive, taking multiple gulps of his drink then wipes at his chin when the liquid dripped out. He doesn't seem as energetic as usual, and it strikes Alfred strange. Somewhat. If he hadn't known Gilbert for as long as he had, he would've accused the man to be bewitched with how out of character he was being. But Alfred knew better.
It was true; Alfred was raised by Gilbert—in a way. He had been there to see Alfred grow from a toddler into an adult, had given him good advice and guidance when it comes to being a skilled hunter. Been Alfred's some kind of older brother figure in times Alfred needed one.
Gilbert had seen every side Alfred had and Alfred could say for himself that he had seen Gilbert's as well. Or some of them, considering how old Gilbert truly was. Alfred thinks he could never truly be Gilbert's equal anyway, with age and experience keeping them apart.
There were times, just like these, that Gilbert suddenly becomes strangely quiet, spending nights and days in taverns to drink by himself. Francis had told him to let Gilbert be when he starts acting strange like this. Gilbert would prefer not to speak and keep to himself with his good beer by his side, company-friendly or not-unwelcome.
Nonetheless, Alfred tries again, "I'm serious, Gilbert." It's an emergency, so maybe this will could be an exception.
"Well, so am I. And I'm telling you that resurgents are fucking pains in the ass. Now leave. I'm busy." Another gulp.
Gilbert's dismissal and Alfred's irritable mood and exhaustion fuelled Alfred's temper.
"What? Busy looking like an aloof asshole as they drink beer by themselves? I don't think so."
He hears Gilbert sigh deeply, his brows burrowed deeper than usual and his eyes just as blank as they turn to focus on him again. Gilbert opens his mouth but closes them again not a moment later and simply sighs.
"Just go, Alfred. I'm not in the mood to talk." He says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping and his head turning down to gaze into his drink.
"It's just a question, Gilbert, and I need answers now."
Gilbert looks away, "Not now," his hand waving Alfred off. "Just go sleep or something. We'll talk later." Then he takes deep gulps of his beer again.
By "later", Gilbert meant whenever he manages to get off this strange phase. It could be tomorrow or next month, for all they know. It just added fuel to Alfred's fire.
"Must be nice to be immortal huh? Had all the time in the world to do whatever the fuck they want."
At Alfred's words, Gilbert visibly stilled. He slams the mug hard on the table that it shatters, surprising a barmaid nearby, making her shriek and gather the entire tavern's attention on them. Alfred knows he had hit a nerve, but he doesn't feel sorry in the least.
Instead, he continues.
"So what was it? Resurgents are some kind of hunters? They can enslave people with immortality as a leash and make them do anything they want with them with the promise of death? Or was that a permanent thing? You killed a resurgent before, right? Was it the same one who cursed your ass to immortality-"
Alfred crashes to the floor, his cheek burning with pain. He tests out his jaw for injuries, and was glad to find none save for a bleeding tongue when he accidentally bit on them when Gilbert's fist collided with his face.
He hears a couple of steps, rushing and hurrying towards them and Gilbert growling. He looks up just in time to see Gilbert's eyes flare dangerously, his eyes burning like how a charcoal would, bright and fierce. His face is red and contorted into anger. His fists were raised and he was coming towards him with such dark intents it surprised Alfred that it only took five strong-looking men to hold Gilbert back.
Then another man comes up to join in when Gilbert manages to slip free, his growls animalistic and his teeth bare as he tries yet again to lunge at Alfred, who remained on the floor in stupor.
"I said I'm not in the fucking mood! What the fuck is your problem, Jones!" He roars, the men restraining him shouting for more help when Gilbert managed to throw them off yet again.
Someone helps Alfred up and he hears someone telling him to get out, to leave because they don't think they can hold Gilbert back any longer.
Still in a daze, Alfred nods and leaves, feeling the ground shake beneath his feet.
In the distance, a few blocks away from the tavern, he hears a gunshot.
He doesn't hear anything from Gilbert the next day.
Three nights later, with no news of Gilbert still, he returns to where he finds the witch frequents.
He comes at midnight, waited until he sees the essence of magic that was definitely generated by the witch's and hides somewhere he can see the witch better and hear him clearer. He did not bring anything, no weapons nor tools in his person.
Having next to nothing when it comes to dealing with resurgents, Alfred knows he does not stand a chance against it.
Nonetheless, he couldn't help but be drawn to him.
He waits with bated breath, feeling his eyes shake in their sockets as he watched the familiar essence of magic that he knows belongs to the witch itself. It smells of mint and wet soil and Alfred briefly wonders if the witch would smell the same, of something cool and wet and sweet like morning dew. He wondered if the scent would be stronger if it came from his hair, how those pale locks would feel against his fingers as they card through them. Are they going to be soft and silky or coarse and rigid?
Alfred gets pulled out of his thoughts when he sees him again, walking in that same gait he's so familiar with by now. He silently marvels at how the witch carries himself elegantly in his dirty old robe, a shade of faded brown, its vibrant colour long gone, showing how frequent it was used and how long it has been owned by the witch. Probably as old as he, Alfred supposes. He doubts the witch is as old as he appeared, if he never left this part of the woods where he is safe and hidden from society.
Well, not that safe anymore, was he? Alfred smiles to himself, feeling the side of his lips twitch up.
He hears the witch mumble to himself, slightly smiling as he pulls at his hood, hiding his face in his hand as he does so. The bright lights are present tonight, running around the witch like a protecting ward, glowing in different, bright colors. Some are bursting with them every once in a while, like exploding stars, but the witch doesn't seem to pay any mind. In the contrary, he seemed flustered, laughing low in his breath as he shoves a big ball of glowing red-about the size of the witch's fist-away when it comes too close to his face.
Then the witch was suddenly walking faster, pushed by another glowing orb behind him and Alfred finds himself following him from a safe distance.
But then his body suddenly slams into something hard and powerful, and then he feels himself falling, sinking down to his back, gasping at the after-shock of energy that coursed through him. He found himself on his back, hands behind him that keeps him from fully lying down across the field of grass, of green-of life—staring wide-eyed and surprised, his chest heaving from his breath being literally taken away.
If it were anything else, any other situation he were put in where a witch to be hunted was involved, he would've run and tried his hardest to figure there and then what just happened, but since this was a beginning of Alfred doing new things for something entirely new and almost untouchable, he does what is to be expected in a situation that will suit this one perfectly.
He smiled, followed by a confused exhale of breath that sounded like a laugh, watching the witch's heavy cloak float gracefully with the cool air, away from him and into the nothingness where the glowing orbs of light has led him.
E/N: short, but surprisingly enough, it follows the order I set in my head per chapter so I guess that'sgood enough haha
for some reason, with aph prussia being my weird fave I can't help to have the other half of my brain to fabricate own spin-offs with him as the (main character) of my aus...as you can see (for those who had read my prev works) they arent so prominent, but this one here...you'll get curious.
But I may or may not write it soon. Because SPOILERS. LOL