Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hunter found he could breathe easiest when he was copying those around him.

It was a skill he’d picked up at an early age; at first it’d simply been a childish game to while away the dull hours of Coven Meetings, but over time, and with discipline, he nurtured it into a skill, one that he found had many uses.

He didn’t have to worry about being somewhere he wasn’t meant to be if he held his head high and smiled confidently like Terra. He didn’t have to be nervous about saying the wrong thing if he spoke like Lilith, using her haughty and matter-of-fact tone. He didn’t have to feel scared if he acted as fearless and steadfast as his Uncle.

Eventually, others noticed the habit, always with a mixture of amusement and nervousness when he managed to copy them effortlessly. The Coven Heads went so far as to nickname him 'little echo mouse', though it wasn't the kind of nickname that was said with any affection. But it was a nickname, at least; it was better than ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ or ‘that one’.

Darius was the only one who didn’t call him by the nickname. Darius preferred not to acknowledge him at all, really. Of all the Coven Heads, he was the hardest to copy. Most times, Darius was fussy, condescending, and had a perpetual air of boredom about him. But other times, often when he believed he was being unobserved, his smiles were softer, his movements looser.

Hunter wondered why even an adult like Darius felt the need to pretend. But he never wondered about that for long.

After yet another long and tedious Coven Meeting, Hunter decided to follow Darius, hoping to pick up a few more of his mannerisms. He arranged his footsteps until he was copying Darius’ exactly, matching it so perfectly that his own footsteps got drowned out. As Hunter followed, he realised that this would be an excellent test of stealth. His Uncle had said recently that he needed to learn to be neither seen nor heard; this could prove how good at being quiet Hunter could be!

Hunter widened his steps, making sure to keep to the same rhythm as Darius so his steps remained unheard, and the gap between them shortened until Hunter was only a few paces behind Darius. He eyed the sweeping white cloak, deciding that it would be his target. If he could touch that and then escape unnoticed, then he would accept that as a mission accomplished.

Though, the problem was how to prove to his Uncle that he’d accomplished it at all. Maybe if he left some mark behind, one that could go unnoticed until Hunter needed to point it out? He had a cut on his arm that hadn’t scabbed over yet; maybe a drop of blood from that could work. 

Before Hunter could even reach over to the cut, Darius turned around with a glare. "Don’t you dare put your grubby hands on my cloak. I just had this cleaned."

Hunter fumbled back, shocked and, admittedly, a bit embarrassed at being caught at all. He hadn’t made a sound! There was no way Darius should have noticed him. Not unless... 

“You heard me?” Hunter said.

“Of course I heard you,” Darius said, with a roll of his eyes. “What do you take me for?”

“...a Coven Head?”

Darius pinched his forehead. “Sweet mother of Titan, I am not in the mood for you today. Is there anyone else who can babysit you?”

“Hey! I’m not a baby,” Hunter said, hackles rising.

Darius eyed him. “If it squawks like a bird...” He trailed off, but the meaning was all too clear.

“I’m not!”

“You’re really not helping me think otherwise.” Darius turned away and began to wander off. As he did, he muttered, “But what else should I have expected from a child.”

Hunter scowled. “I’m not going to be made fun of by some, some abominable goo-man!”

That made Darius freeze. He turned slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. "He used to say that."

Hunter frowned, his anger fizzling away at the strange response. He cocked his head, like Eberwolf did. "Who? What?”

Darius didn’t reply. His eyes tracked intently across Hunter’s face, seeming to search for something, his expression strangely open, almost vulnerable. Hunter stared blankly back, unsure how to react. He wasn’t used to being paid attention like this; aside from parading Hunter's skills of copying others to make fun of each other, or their occasional attempts on his life, the Coven Heads generally tried to ignore him.

Whatever Darius was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. His expression closed off once more, and he looked away with a sigh.

"You aren't him. You're just a bad reflection. Copying like always."

Hunter flinched at the insult, but quickly clenched his fist. "How dare you! You could be thrown into the Conformatorium for saying that to me!" he snapped, trying his best to sound as authoritative as his Uncle.

But Darius only laughed, undeterred. "There you go again. You can't help it, can you? You don't even know how to be your own person."

Hunter's face went red. "That's not true!"

"Isn't it?” Darius raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, who are you outside of being Belos' nephew? Who are you, Hunter?"

The question threw him. For a moment, he floundered. "I, I'm the Golden Guard,” Hunter stuttered out.

Darius tsked. "Not yet you aren't. And you are only promised that role because you are the Emperor's nephew. Try again."

Hunter swallowed, unsure of what to say. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t the Golden Guard yet, he was going to be. That was his role, the one that had been decided for him, and that meant his whole life would be spent fulfilling it. It was who he was and who he would be. What was more important than that? Why wouldn’t Darius accept that as an answer? And what other answer could he possibly give?

Hunter stayed silent, and glared at the ground, angry that he could not find the words Darius wanted to hear.

Darius hummed, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

That only made Hunter’s face heat up more.

“You’ll regret treating me like this,” he hissed. “I’m going to—”

"Here's some advice, little prince," Darius cut in, raising his chin in that superior way of his. He took a step forward, and without meaning to, Hunter took one back. "Stop trying to be someone you aren't."

“But...but...” He wasn’t. This was who he was. The nephew of Belos. The future Golden Guard. What else was he beyond that?

Hunter hugged his arms to his chest and looked away. He didn't know what to say. 

Darius turned away with a dramatic flip of his cape. "Now if you excuse me, I have actually important business to attend to. I'm sure you'll find something to amuse yourself with. Maybe something other than a game of pretend, hm?"

Hunter watched him go, quiet and still in the absence of a person to reflect.

There was a bird caught in Hunter's bedroom window, and it was struggling with all it had to get free. It was clear though, from its exhaustion and the cuts over its body, that all it was doing was hurting itself more in the process.

The sight made Hunter's stomach tighten and—despite being exhausted and sore from training—he didn't hesitate to rush over to the trapped creature. 

The sudden motion only frightened it more. Hunter stopped mid stride, and held up his hands. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he said. "I'm a friend, see. I'm not going to hurt you."

The bird stopped struggling at the sound of his voice. It had a strange, blue glow to its eyes as it stared at him, but there didn't seem to be fear there anymore, so Hunter took another step closer.

He gently pried it from the window, making sure to nudge the windows upwards as he tugged at the bird's foot. It didn’t react to the motion, not even so much as a peep, but on instinct Hunter petted his finger along its feathers, hoping the gesture would soothe any panic it was feeling. The bird's foot, thankfully, wasn’t too stuck, and it wasn’t long before he managed to pry the bird free.

"There you go," Hunter said. "You're free now."

It hadn’t come away unscathed however; there was a break in its leg, purple blood leaking from the open wound. The bird's toes twitched sporadically, as if it was trying to move them but the signals were getting mixed up.

Hunter made a face. “That must hurt. Hold on, I have some bandages.”

He went over to his bed and reached under to pull out his secret stash of healing tools. He was running low on supplies and would need to get more soon—which was always a difficult task, and was more often than not unsuccessful—but for now there was enough to treat the bird.

With as much care as he could, he wound bandages around the break, securing it with a sewing needle. It wasn’t perfect, and the bird probably would require a witch from the Beast Keeping Coven to truly heal the wound, but for now, it would be enough.

"That should do it," Hunter said.

The bird immediately perked up, leaping to its feet and hopping around the table as it’d never been hurt at all. Hunter beamed, surprised but delighted. Bandages really did fix everything!

As the bird tested its fixed leg and inspected the desk, Hunter looked it over. It had pure black feathers, and it wore a bandana around its neck that was also black, the shade similar enough to almost blend in. Apart that from that one peculiarity, and of course the glowing eyes and blood, there was nothing really odd or off putting about the bird, which in of itself was pretty strange.

“You don’t look like any bird I’ve seen before,” Hunter mused. “They usually talk a lot. And are kinda mean.”

They were, however, fun to copy. He’d picked up quite a few colourful phrases from the local birds.

He inspected this one closer. It reminded him vaguely of some of the Human Realm bird species he’d seen once in a book he'd found in the castle's library. Maybe this bird could be one of those? Uncle had told him that sometimes there were leaks from the Human Realm. Plants and animals—and on rare occasions, even humans—often stumbled into the Demon Realm because of them. It wasn't impossible for a bird to have found a way through.

“Are you from the human realm?" He reached out and petted its head. "I read that birds there migrate due to the fluctuating temperatures during the year. Were you migrating and ended up here instead?"

The bird glanced at him, before stretching its wings and flying over to the door. Hunter leapt to his feet, surprised.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

The bird paid him no mind, and Hunter was left with no choice but to race after it. It navigated the halls with surprising skill, as if it instinctively knew where to go. It was as the bird made its fourth turn that Hunter realised where it was heading.

He slowed down, nervous now, but did not stop. He lost sight of the bird quickly after that, but he no longer needed to, taking the route he knew even with his eyes closed. Of course, closing his eyes never changed the destination, or made it any easier.

The bird was waiting quietly when Hunter finally reached the doors to the Throne Room.

“Hey,” Hunter said, making sure to keep his voice low. “We shouldn’t be here.”

The bird tapped its beak against the bottom of the grand doors.

“No, no,” Hunter said, scooping the bird up, “you can’t go in there. That’s Uncle’s room. Come on, let's go to the library instead. It's much more fun there! Maybe we can even find a book about what kind of bird you are."

The bird squirmed and with a caw, it scratched his palm. It wasn't particularly painful, but it was surprising, and it was enough to get Hunter to loosen his grip. The bird flew towards the door, but it did not land and try to peck at it again, or use its wings to flutter against the surface. It did none of those things. Instead the bird, with reckless abandon, slammed its whole body into the wood.

Hunter gasped as the bird fell to the floor with a low thud. He rushed over to it, and hesitated only for a moment to stare at it in horror before he scooped it up. The bird spasmed, a strange jerky movement that came in pulses.

“Why would you do that?" Hunter asked it desperately. "Why did you hurt yourself like that? Why—”

“Why do you have that, Hunter?”

Hunter went still, the voice enough to steal his breath. But it was not out of fear. He wasn't afraid of his uncle. It was... it was alertness. Everyone had to be alert around the Emperor. It was what was expected.

Hunter rose to his feet in haste, and turned to face the shadow.

“Uncle,” Hunter said, bowing his head. Today, he copied Lilith’s way of doing it, the slight bend of the knee, the closed eyes, hoping that by copying her—the most favoured Coven Head—his Uncle would be more inclined to forgive his transgression. “My apologies for disturbing you. I—”

“I asked why you have that.”

Hunter blinked. “The, the bird?”

Uncle sighed tiredly, the noise enough to make Hunter’s stomach tighten with shame. Uncle didn’t like when he asked stupid questions. He didn’t have time to explain before Uncle’s staff lit up and the bird was tugged out of Hunter’s hands and deposited into the Emperor's. He inspected it, though with his mask on it was hard for Hunter to figure what he was thinking. As the silence lingered, Hunter tensed up even more. Silence was never good. 

"Hunter," Belos said, slowly, "did you know this was a crow phone?"

Hunter frowned. A crow phone? “No, I didn’t. I don’t know what that is.”

"Do not play ignorant with me,” Belos said. “You would let a spy into our midst?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what danger this could’ve put us in, if I hadn’t stepped in? They could have used this to get past our defences, to assert their wickedness into this hallowed halls.”

“I, I didn’t know,” Hunter said. “I swear, Uncle. I thought it was just a bird.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Belos tightened his grip on the creature, and it let out a peep of distress. Its cries only grew worse when green sludge poured from Belos' hand and began to entwine the small creature's body tighter and tighter and—

There was a crack, and Hunter clenched his eyes shut, his shoulders hunching up at the sound. He stayed still and waited until he was sure the curse had faded away again.

When he opened his eyes again, the crow was shattered on the ground. And yet, despite its ruined state, there was still the lingering sound of its screech. Uncle found the source of the sound and crushed it under his heel.

Only then did it become quiet in the hall, a quiet so deep Hunter could hear the beating of the heart in the Throne Room. Or was that his own? He wasn't sure anymore.

Belos brushed the last of the shards from this finger and made his way over to Hunter. 

"I do not like having to reprimand you," Belos said, brushing his dirtied hand along Hunter's shoulder and leaving behind a trail of cold blood. "I hope you've learnt a lesson today."

Hunter regarded the shards upon the floor. "Yes, Uncle."

"Good. Make sure not to forget it. We wouldn't want to repeat history, would we?"

He didn’t know what Uncle meant by that. Still, he answered: “No, we wouldn’t.”

Hunter was making his way through the marketplace when he heard a very familiar, very annoying voice.

“Hey! Hey Hunter!”

Urgh. The human. Hunter marched on, making sure not to even turn his head, holding his head up with the same aloof derision that Darius did. If he didn’t show any sign he’d noticed her, maybe she’d go away. And then he would be able to finish his mission with some semblance of peace and—

"Hey, I know you can hear me!”

Hunter clenched his fists, and quickened his pace. The footsteps behind him only got faster.

“Hey—”

Hunter turned around and snapped. “What do you want?”

If Luz was startled by his tone or sudden stop, she didn’t show it. She smiled, in that wide, way too happy way that made Hunter wonder what was wrong with her. “It’s me! Luz the—”

"Human," Hunter said, distastefully. "Yes, I remember you. I asked what you wanted.”

“Oh, nothing, really. I just saw you walking around and thought we could talk.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “...talk?” he asked sceptically. She couldn’t be serious.

“Yeah. Y’know, like people do. Soooo,” she drawled, leaning in with raised eyebrows. “How are things? Learn anything cool lately?”

Titan, why hadn’t he just teleported away when he had the chance? He pushed past her, just to make a point of how disinterested he was in her attempts at conversation. "I don't have time for this."

Instead of letting him go, Luz ran after him. "Aw c'mon! I know things didn't end well last time we saw each other, but I thought we bonded, at least a little."

"I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," Hunter muttered. “If I hadn’t been nice to you, you wouldn’t have helped me. It was a means to an end.”

"Well, I don't believe that," Luz said with a decisive harumph. 

"Believe whatever you want, just leave me alone.” He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t left already; acting like Darius normally made the scouts steer clear of him, to the point that he only had to say one word in that annoyed tone of voice Darius used to make them scurry off. 

Luz pouted, clearly put out, and Hunter’s act faltered, something like regret passing over him before he shook it off. Why was he sad at the thought of actually scaring her off? He wanted her to leave. Didn’t he?

After a moment Luz brightened back up—and no, Hunter was not happy that she had such an obnoxiously, undeterrable sunshiney attitude—and reached her hand into her pocket. Hunter didn't waste any time to see what it was she pulled out, sharply turning a corner into an alley in the continued hopes of shaking her off.

Of course, she continued to follow, going so far as to skip ahead of him and begin to walk backwards so she was facing him. 

"Want some?" she said, waving something in his face, too quick for him to make it out.

Hunter rolled his eyes. "I don't want any of your..." He stopped, and frowned at the object in her hand. "What is that?"

"Chocolate!" She held the rectangle slab up, giving him enough time to look at the glossy sheen of the packaging and the word ‘milk!’ before she pulled it away and ripped it. "You want some?"

"Chocolate?" he said, baffled.

"Yeah. It's a Human Realm treat we have. It's made from—"

"I know what chocolate is, human," Hunter said with a huff. "I've...read about it."

“Oh? In what book?”

“In...the Chocolate Book. About chocolate.”

Luz nodded, clearly not believing him. "Right. Well, ‘reading’ about chocolate is nothing like eating it! Come on, Hunter, just give it a try. It won't bite. Trust me, human food doesn't do that."

Hunter still wasn't sure. He shouldn’t even be considering trying it at all, but something about the treat seemed to draw him in. He squinted at her. "Why are you offering it to me? It isn't poisoned, is it?"

"Pfft. Seriously? Why would I do something like that?"

Hunter crossed his arms and nodded at the ‘Join the Emperor's Coven’ poster on the wall behind him, and to the Hunter shown there, his arms crossed as well. Luz grimaced.

"Okay, fine, I guess I can see why you'd think that," she said, "but I swear this is just good ol' friendly, un-poisoned, chocolate."

Hunter took off his mask, just so that the full weight of his suspicious glare could be applied. Not because he was tempted by the offer. Because he wasn’t. Did he look like an idiot? Ha. He was way too smart for this human’s tricks. He wouldn’t ever even consider...

...huh. What was that? He sniffed the air, and was hit with a sweet smell, strong enough to leave a trace of it on his tongue. It had to be the chocolate, which Luz was not-so-subtly waving around his face. He hated to admit it but it smelt...nice. Which was unusual, because most foods didn’t smell nice at all. Or taste good. There wasn’t really much food he actually enjoyed, and there were even less foods that he could eat without getting sick. Allergies and all that. Uncle had them too.

But this...He swallowed back the saliva in his mouth. “It won’t make me sick?”

“Not unless you’re lactose intolerant.”

Hunter thought about it. “I don’t mind people who don’t have toes.”

Luz opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. With an amused shake of her head, she snapped a piece off the chocolate block and held it out to him. “Here.”

Despite knowing better, Hunter reached over and tentatively took it. He held it up, inspecting it from every angle. It didn’t have any blinking eyes, or any moving bits. Nothing about it seemed deadly. 

“It's the last of my supply, by the way,” Luz said, “so you better appreciate it fully."

“I’ll appreciate it as much as I want to,” Hunter said hotly. Then, with an air of feigned disinterest, he nibbled a small piece off.

Oh. Oh wow. He pulled it away to a stare at the piece in awe. Titan, where had this been all his life. It was delicious. Before he could even consider pretending he didn’t care for it he was plopping the piece in its entirety into his mouth. Instead of chewing it, he let it melt on his tongue, and he let his mind focus on nothing but the taste.

Luz nudged him in the side. "Good, right?"

Hunter hummed. The taste was...almost familiar, like something he'd had a very long time ago. He wasn't sure why though. He'd never had anything like this before. Nothing that he could remember. He rolled the piece around his tongue, letting the last of the chocolate coat his tongue before it melted away entirely. 

"It tastes way better now."

Luz eyed him. "Now?"

Hunter blinked. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. He wasn't even sure why he'd thought it at all. "Uh. Yeah. The, er, books always said it was...spicy. Bitter."

“Oh. Well, it used to be. And it still can be, if that’s how you like it. They're so many varieties. I'd offer you some but all I got is classic milk choc."

Hunter tugged at his gloves, and cleared his throat. "Can I have another piece? Uh, for the bird,” he added quickly.

“Bird?” Luz questioned.

With a sigh, Hunter pointed up to the lamp post upon which the bird palismen was perched. The bird had learnt to keep his distance, but no matter how much Hunter shooed him away, the bird never went away entirely. Rather than joining in Hunter’s annoyance, Luz placed her hands on her cheeks and made a weird face.

“Aww, Lil’ Rascal,” she cooed. “He stuck with you.”

The bird took that as permission to flutter down and land on Hunter’s shoulder. Luz reached out and gave the bird a scritch under his beak, which made the bird chirp appreciatively. Hunter watched the whole interaction with a frown, but made not move to shoo either Luz or the bird away.

“He won’t stop following me," Hunter said. "You might as well feed him.”

Luz winced. "You probably shouldn't," she said. "Chocolate's bad for birds."

Hunter chewed his lip and said nothing. Luz squinted at him. 

"But you knew that already," she said, "didn't you?"

Hunter huffed. Why had he asked? How stupid was he to think her generosity would stretch that far? If he’d asked his Uncle such a question, he would have been rightly reprimanded. 

Hunter turned away, pulling his cloak around him as he started to march off. "You know what, nevermind. Forget I asked.”

"No, no, wait," Luz called out. “Here. You can have it.”

Hunter stopped in place, and looked back to her, his surprise only growing when he saw what was being offered. She wasn't holding out a single piece, or a line. No, she was holding out the entire block. When he did nothing but stare at it, she shook it, gesturing for him to take it.

"But it's the last of your supply," Hunter protested. 

"I know," she said. "I want you to have it."

Hunter reached out hesitantly, watching her all the while in case this was some sort of trick, like the handshake had been the last time they'd met. But she did not withdraw her hand, or slap his hand for failing some secret test. He took the chocolate, and once he was sure she truly meant for him to have it, he pressed it to his chest. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked, unable to meet her eyes. He wasn't sure how or who to act like, having never really been in a situation quite like this, and so he fidgeted in the absence of anything else to do. "We're not friends. We're not even on the same side."

Luz shrugged, a gentle smile on her face. "If I was only nice to my friends, then I wouldn’t have many, would I?”

Hunter was quiet for a moment as he struggled to push down the strange, buoyant feeling in his chest. When his face was no longer threatening to break out with a smile, he looked at Luz with a scowl. “This doesn’t mean I like you, human.”

She winked, and pointed her finger at him. “Not yet.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, but did not argue. “Whatever,” he said. “Now leave me alone. Unlike you, I actually have important things to do.”

Luz sighed, clearly disappointed by his answer, but smiled all the same. “Well. See you later, Hunter.”

He nodded dismissively, and said nothing as she walked away. Finally, he would be rid of her and actually get some work done tonight. He really hoped she wouldn’t come back and bother him again.

But just before she left the alley, he found himself calling out, “Luz!”

She stopped, and looked back at him with a frown. “Yeah?”

Hunter wrapped his cloak around himself, hoping it would hide his nervous fidgeting. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “For the chocolate.”

Luz beamed. “It was my pleasure.”

Hunter was on a mission, but like many of his missions lately, he wasn't doing it alone, the increasingly familiar wing flaps of a certain palismen following not too far behind.  

It was strange, having Flapjack around. Hunter wasn’t used to having someone around to speak to, let alone someone who wasn’t playing some mental Hexes Holdem with their words, waiting for him to make the wrong move. With Flapjack, there were no expectations or rules to follow, no roles to play or chain of command to keep in mind. It was... simple. Comfortable.

Which was what made it so hard for Hunter to figure out how he was supposed to act. 

Flapjack didn't like when Hunter pretended to be someone else. He'd nip at Hunter's skin whenever he used someone else's words or held himself differently, and would do so until Hunter dropped the act. 

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Like you, Flapjack said. You.

"Hey! I'm not nipping at your head! You're not acting like me at all."

No! Like you! You!

It’d taken Hunter a while to realise what Flapjack meant, but even then, it'd confused him. Why would anyone like him? 

There were other times though, that Hunter would say something that didn't quite belong to him, that didn't quite fit in his mouth right, but had no source of origin that he could remember. Flapjack would go quiet when this happened, oftentimes going as far as reverting back to his wooden form for hours at a time, but he would never explain why, no matter how much Hunter asked.

Flapjack had many secrets, Hunter had realised quickly, and a lot of them weren't very happy.

Hunter had just made it out the other end of the Carpal Tunnel when Flapjack tugged at his forelock, hard enough to make him stumble. Instead of letting Hunter steady himself, Flapjack kept tugging and tugging, growing more and more insistent.

"Hey, stop it," Hunter said, batting Flapjack away.

Come, Flapjack said. Follow me.

“Follow? Follow you where?”

Instead of answering, Flapjack tugged at his strand again, even harder than before.

“Hey, would you stop that!” Hunter snapped. “It hurts.”

Flapjack did stop tugging, but he didn’t stop trying to get Hunter to follow him. He instead changed tactics, flitting off to a far away branch.

“Come back here!” Hunter called, stepping forward to follow before stopping himself upon noticing just where exactly Flapjack was trying to lead him. He huffed. “Fine. Stay there. I don’t need you. I’ll go on my own.”

Despite his words, Hunter made no move to leave. He should, he knew he should, but annoyingly, the idea of leaving Flapjack behind made him uncomfortable. Urgh. Stupid bird. He crossed his arms and glared at Flapjack, who was still urging him to follow.

"We can't go in there," Hunter said. "That's unholy ground. The Titan will get angry."

The Titan? Flapjack asked, pointedly. Challengingly. 

"Yes, the Titan," Hunter said, angry now. "Or did you miss the bit about unholy ground?”

Flapjack still didn’t look convinced. He hopped to a branch ever further away and pecked at it. There was something almost anxious about the way he kept looking between Hunter and the forest.

“Why do you even want to go in there?”

Flapjack was quiet. He pecked at the branch again and nestled down. 

“Fine. Be stubborn.” Hunter turned around and sat on the ground, arms crossed. “But I can be stubborn too. I’m not moving from here. I don’t care how long it takes for you to stop being foolish, but I am not going in there. We're here to get galdorstones. Not to get into trouble.”

Hunter, Flapjack twittered. Please.

“No. I’m not going.”

Silence followed. It was enough to make Hunter worry, and wonder if Flapjack had left him behind, but he stopped himself before he could look back. Flapjack was fine. Hunter wasn’t going to fall for this trick. Flapjack was fine, he was fine, Hunter was fine, everything was fine.

A minute passed, which Hunter spent fiddling with his gloves and trying to keep his breathing even, before he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, along with a soft chirp. Surprised, Hunter glanced at Flapjack, but the palismen wouldn’t meet his eye.

Hunter wanted to yell at him for not listening, for pushing Hunter to do something so wrong and unforgivable, but he couldn't find it in himself to be so angry anymore, not when Flapjack looked so sad.

"I'm sorry, Flapjack," he said with a sigh. "I just...I can't go there, okay. It's not right."

Flapjack nestled down and didn't say a word. 

Hunter knew this was going to be another of Flapjack bouts of silence, and experience had taught him that pushing would only make Flapjack retreat more. It was one thing they had in common.

As Hunter started to make his way along the track, he paused for a second—only a second—to glance back to where Flapjack had been leading him. And in that second, he wondered why the faint trail that weaved through the trees looked so out of place. There were supposed to be flowers there, he was sure.

Then, with a blink, the thought was gone, and he turned away. 

He wasn't sure how to feel about being called Caleb. It wasn't his name, not in the slightest, and yet his ears still pricked up when he heard it. Like a half forgotten instinct, or a unremembered memory from his childhood told to him by someone else, something that he could consider his own but never feel truly connected to.

After, when everything had settled and Hunter was back in the castle, he asked the question that he’d been wondering all day.

"Why Caleb?"

Flapjack was quiet for a long time, long enough for Hunter to think he would answer at all. But then he pressed into Hunter's cheek and cooed sadly.

Old friend.

Hunter blinked at the ceiling, feeling a strange sadness of his own at the admission. "Oh." 

He considered the answer for a moment. Despite Flapjack's efforts to keep his past a secret, there were still things that slipped through, gaps that were made obvious by the edges around them. One particular gap, however, stood out.

There was a long period in Flapjack's life that he didn't talk about. That he'd always skip and flit around. But what came before it and what came after it didn't make it hard to guess what lay between. 

Flapjack had lost someone. Someone very important to him. And Hunter was starting to think that maybe that someone had been named Caleb.

"Was he your witch?" he asked, as gently as he could. "Before me?"

Flapjack nodded. 

"Do you miss him?"

Always, Flapjack said. Gone now.

"I don't like thinking of it that way," Hunter said. "Uncle always says that even when someone dies, they're not really gone. Parts of them live on. In us. So Caleb might not be here anymore, but you are, which means a part of Caleb is too." 

What he'd hoped would soothe Flapjack only seemed to unsettle him further. His feathers puffed up, and he nuzzled closer to Hunter, something almost desperate in the motion. 

Hunter. Hunter, he said, almost insistent. Not Caleb.

Hunter frowned, and he churned the words in his head for a minute, until all he could hear was what hadn't been said. You'll never be as good as him. You're just Hunter .

"I...I'm sorry I can't be him," he mumbled. "I'm sorry I'm not as good a friend as he was."

Flapjack pecked his cheek, hard enough to make Hunter yelp. 

"Hey! What was that for"

Idiot. Love Hunter. You. 

"Oh." Hunter softened then, realising now what Flapjack meant. Caleb was gone, and Flapjack would always miss him, but this friendship wasn't a replacement. It was uniquely theirs. The thought made Hunter smile. "I love you too."

He wasn't real. He wasn’t real. He wasn't real. 

That was all he could think as he paced back and forth amongst the trees. Hunter fretted at his collar, and then at his skin, picking at it anxiously.

Not real, not a person, no no no, he was a thing, a creation, a freak.

Anxiety turned into anger, and he started to scratch deeper, desperately. If he dug deep enough he might just find whatever spell kept him together, whatever spell made him think he’d ever been a person at all. Just needed to find it, needed to get it out, get it out, get—

He was interrupted by a frantic tug at his hair strand. The touch made him yelp and leap back. For a moment, the shadowy limbs of the trees around him looked too much like hands, clawed and imposing, and he sank to the ground fearfully, flinching at a blow that hadn’t even landed. His fear abated, however, when a familiar flash of red caught his eye.

Sorry, Flapjack said, settling down on a patch of grass close by. Please. Don’t hurt.

The words made Hunter’s stomach drop with terror, and he edged away. “I, I wouldn’t hurt you, Flapjack. I swear.”

Flapjack shook his head. You. Don’t hurt you.

Oh. At the whispered plea, Hunter looked down at his chest. It was scored with scratches, not unlike that of a wild animal lashing out. He traced his finger along one of the marks, wincing at the touch, but did not withdraw his hand. It hurt, but he wanted it too. Part of him hoped that they’d scar; at least then some part of his body would be of his own making.

Flapjack hopped forward. Hunter. You—

“Did you know?” Hunter whispered, voice hoarse.

Flapjack shuffled his feathers but did not speak. It was all the response Hunter needed really, but he still wanted, needed, Flapjack to say it.

“Did you know?” he said. “Did you know I was a Grimwalker?”

Yes. Flapjack looked down and sighed. I did.

Hunter whined, the sound somewhere between a sob and a cry of pain. Flapjack tried to nuzzle against this knee, but Hunter drew back, unsure if he was angry or just simply, miserably hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Protect you.

“How? How did not knowing protect me? He was lying to me all this time! He...he...”

He made Hunter love him. He made Hunter fear him. He made Hunter call him Uncle.

Hunter tugged at his hair, his breath picking up once again, though he wasn’t sure it’d ever really settled since he’d discovered the truth. He didn’t think he’d be free of this panic, this horror, ever again.

He'd spent his life sure of what he was: he was a powerless witch, who’d lost his family when he was too young to remember them. He was the Golden Guard, nephew of the Emperor and a prodigy. He was doing good deeds for the Emperor. He was Hunter.

But none of that had been true. None of it. Everything about his life was a lie. He wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t even a person.

Hunter sunk to the ground with a sob. “I’m not real. I’m not—”

I am not palistrom tree.

“What?” Hunter croaked, the unexpected words enough to throw his mind briefly out of the spiral. He lifted his head to look at Flapjack, who was lying his beak upon Hunter’s knee. “I don’t understand.”

Carved from the same tree as many others. Carved by same hand. But not them. I am me. Made, like you. Am I real?

Hunter rubbed his palm against his cheek, and sniffled. He felt the urge to scratch at his skin again, but instead he reached out to Flapjack and brushed his fingers along the red feathers, gentle but not without desperation. “Of course you’re real, Flapjack. But this is different.”

Flapjack nuzzled into the touch. More than what makes us.

“Then what am I?”

Still Hunter. Flapjack cooed. Still my friend.

'Out of all the Grimwalkers, you looked the most like him.'

In everything that had happened lately, Hunter could almost forget those words had ever been said. Okay, so maybe not forget—he could never truly forget that night—but definitely ignore, just like a whole bunch of other things he chose not to think about.

But then he saw the statue in the park, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About those familiar eyes, that familiar nose.

'You looked the most like him.'

“Hey, Hunter,” Gus said, “you good? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

Hunter blinked, and shook his head to clear away the thoughts. “Uh. Yeah. Fine.”

He looked up at Gus, who was settling in for the night on the couch. He looked so tired. Then again, all of Hunter’s friends did nowadays.

Hunter rolled onto his side and tugged at his hair. It was getting long, longer than he’d ever been allowed to have it. Belos had always been strict about the length, always quick to anger if Hunter so much as let it grow below his chin. Hunter had always thought it was a matter of respectability due to his status, though he’d never thought to question that particular logic whenever he saw his Uncle’s long hair.

He knew better now. He would have looked too much like Caleb then.

It made him wonder sometimes: would Belos have loved him more if he looked more like Caleb? Or was it the similarities that made Belos hate him so much? Had any of that anger ever been directed at Hunter at all, or was it simply Belos’ twisted way of punishing his brother even more? The questions ran wild around Hunter’s head, and he scratched idly at his chest.

You looked the most like him. You looked the most—

“Gus,” Hunter whispered. “Can you make me look different?”

Gus sat up in a rush. In the dim light of the lamp, his expression was half hidden in shadow, but even Hunter could see the alarm.

“What?”

“Your illusion magic.” Hunter turned his head away, unable to bear Gus’ expression. “Can it make me look different?”

Gus was quiet for a moment. “Illusion magic doesn’t work like that, Hunter.”

“Then what about a concealment stone?” Hunter said, pushing himself up. He wasn't sure if it was excitement or nerves that was making his chest feel so tight. “That can make me look different, right?”

“They're only meant to hide things,” Gus explained. “They can’t change the way you look. And I don’t have any of those on me anyway.”

Hunter pulled his bed roll up his chest, squeezing at the fabric desperately. “There has to be something!”

"I'm sorry but there isn't—"

"No, no, no, no—"

“Hey, Hunter, Hunter,” Gus said, forcefully, not without any anger. He held up his hand, and pointedly slowed his own breathing. “Breathe with me okay.”

By now, the ritual was beyond familiar, the two of them having been on both sides of the interaction more times that they could count since getting trapped in the Human Realm. Hunter forced his attention to rest on nothing more than Gus’ fingers and on the rhythm of his own breathing, and kept going even when the fear had abated to something more controllable. Gus, patiently, continued through the calming routine until Hunter released his frantic grip on his comforter.

“You good?” Gus asked.

Hunter nodded mutely. Gus sighed, and pulled himself to the edge of the couch, closer to where Hunter was but not too close as to make his heart rate pick back up again. He risked a glance at Gus’ face before turning away. Gus wasn’t just tired, he realised; he was red-eyed. He must have been crying earlier, hidden away like usual whenever he got too sad about his dad. And now here he was, forced to deal with Hunter’s crap, when Hunter was never around or in the right headspace to help with his.

It wasn’t right. Hunter was the eldest, he should be helping Gus and the others. Instead he was only adding to all his friends' worries. All because he was being stupid over something that couldn’t be changed.

Gus fiddled with his fingers. “Hunter, I know that y—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hunter snapped. “Forget I said anything.”

Because it really didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he changed how he looked, it wouldn’t change what he was, who he was. He would still be him, Hunter, the duplicate who couldn’t even get that right.

“I really think we should talk about this,” Gus said. “I’m worried about you, Hunter.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be.”

“You don’t think I should be worried about you? I’m your friend, Hunter, it’s part of the whole deal.”

“That’s—urgh! That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing to worry about!”

Hunter got to his feet and stormed over to the staircase. Gus pulled back his blanket, and moved to follow, but stopped when Hunter whirled around to glare at him.

“Don’t follow me,” he said.

Gus faltered, but did not back down. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice strained.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Hunter said tightly.

“Is that all you’re doing?”

And of course, of course, Gus wasn’t angry. No, there was only pity there, concern, and that was somehow even worse. Hunter knew how to deal with anger, had years to learn. But this? This twisted, unwarranted kindness? This only made him feel uncomfortable, out of place.

“Yes,” he said, softer now, copying Gus’ tone of voice. “I just...need some space right now.”

Gus settled back down, not quite assured, but at least mollified. “Okay. Don’t be gone too long.”

Hunter turned away, and hurried up the stairs and to the bathroom. Only once the door was closed behind him, and he was sure he was completely unobserved, only then did he drop the calm expression on his face and wrap his arms around himself in a futile attempt at comfort.

There was a mirror in here. A part of him didn’t want to look, scared of the reflective surface as if it was hot to the touch, but another part, the stronger, jagged-edge part of himself, needed to look. Needed to see the face of the person who haunted him. And so he stepped forward and stared. He stared for a very long time.

Caleb had been human. Which meant he was too. Or...he was supposed to be. 

He touched the tips of his ears. They weren’t rounded like a human’s should be. His eyes weren't right either, weren’t normal. No witch or human had eyes like him. But he wasn’t either of those things, was he? Not human or witch. Barely even himself. 

He was just a bad copy. 

Shopping for his own clothes was maybe one of the hardest things Hunter had ever had to do. Harder than being left at the top of a mountain and getting back to the bottom alive. That was practically a cakewalk in comparison to this.

The first time they’d all gone shopping, he managed to find a cardinal costume. He'd all but squeed with delight when he found it, as did his friends once he put it on. Flapjack had loved it, because of course he did, but he had also been quick to urge Hunter to find clothes that were his own look. 

"My own... look?" Hunter had asked, confused. “Why? I like your look."

You can choose. Own clothes. Be you.

It was a request that should have been simple, but Hunter was now on his third shopping trip, and he’d still not found any clothes for himself. Flapjack had stayed home this time, leaving Hunter alone to figure it all out on his own.

Well. Not entirely on his own.

Luz peered over the clothing rack. She already had a small pile thrown over her arm, ready to be tried on. “Still no luck?”

Hunter flushed and looked down to sort through the clothes. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted quietly. “I always just wore my uniform. I never had to decide.”

“I can help if you want.” Luz rounded the rack and sidled up beside him, and with deft precision started to go through the rack as well. "Okay, so what vibe are you going for? Are you goth? Prep? Nerd? Cottagecore? Oh, or steampunk? Yeah, I can see you being steampunk."

"I don't know what any of those words mean," Hunter said flatly.

“Well, okay, so me, I’m.” She paused, considering her outfit. She was wearing her favourite orange beanie and a purple flannel littered with badges and pins. “Huh. Now that I think about it, I change my look all the time. I guess I don’t fit one box. Actually, forget I said any of that. Boxes are stupid.”

If not even Luz had her own look, how was he supposed to decide? He told her as much.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not really helping, am I?” she said with a laugh. “It’s up to you, really. Just go with the clothes you like the most.”

Hunter grimaced. That was half the problem; he didn’t know what he liked. He’d liked his Golden Guard uniform once, but he knew now that that was only because he’d never had much of a choice to wear anything else. And when he'd had to disguise himself, he simply chose what was on hand. 'Like' wasn't something that had come into it.

His silence must have gone on for longer than normal because Luz nudged him. 

"Is there anything that you're drawn to? Any colours or fabrics?"

Hm. What was he drawn to? He considered it for a moment, looking around the room. Nothing caught his attention. He went to shrug and tell Luz he wasn't sure, but then he stopped.

He liked Luz. That he knew for sure. Which meant he probably liked what she liked, right?

New goal in mind, Hunter went around the store in search of a beanie, flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He returned with his score, holding them up to Luz proudly. But instead of looking happy for him, she frowned, looking between the bundle of clothes and her own get-up.

"Are you copying my look?” she said. “I mean, you can do that if you want, but don't just choose it because I'm wearing it. You don't have to try and fit in or anything with us. We're all weirdos, remember."

Hunter lowered the clothes, uncertain now. “Don't fit in?”

"Yeah. You can wear anything you want around us. We won't mind. Experiment! Try different things. You'll find your style eventually."

“Uh. Right,” Hunter mumbled, setting the bundle aside.

Amity called for Luz from across the store, and Luz shot Hunter an apologetic look before she ran off, leaving Hunter once again staring miserably at the clothing rack in front of him. No matter how much he stared, nothing leapt out at him. Nothing felt like his.

Disheartened, he leaned his head against the rack and sighed. 

He wasn’t going to get this right, was he. He was never going to get this—

“Hey Hunter,” Vee said from behind him. “Are you okay?”

Hunter scrambled back from the rack wildly. In his haste, he knocked off a few of the coathangers. Instead of picking them up, he kicked them under the rack and turned to Vee with a forced smile. “Yep. I am a-okay.”

She squinted at him, and then at the fallen clothes. “Ah. Do you want me to—”

He waved her off, a bit too frantically. “Nope!” he said, “it’s all okay. I’m okay.”

“You already said that.”

“Did I? Wow. Weird.”

She sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hunter’s smile dropped, too surprised by her sudden touch to keep it up. There was something soft about her expression.

“Hunter, I...I overheard a little bit of what you were talking to Luz about. About figuring out your look.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said awkwardly. “You sounded like you were having trouble with it.”

Well, no point in lying. Hunter’s shoulders drooped, and he crouched down to collect the fallen clothes, the activity a good reason to keep from having to look at her.

“Luz said I don’t have to fit in. But fitting in is all I’ve ever done. I always acted the way I needed to act, wore what I needed to wear. I don’t know how to...be myself.”

Vee laughed wryly. “I know a thing or two about that.”

Hunter glanced at her. He supposed she would, wouldn’t she? She was a basilisk, after all. She’d been copying Luz’s appearance up until a week ago. 

"How did you decide on your look?" he asked.

Vee paused, considering the question. "I just went with what felt right. What felt like me, y'know."

Wow, it really was Unhelpful Answers Day today. Hunter stifled an annoyed groan. "But how did you figure that out?"

"What felt like me?"

Hunter nodded. 

Vee paused, hesitant, and looked down at her hands. She fiddled with her sleeve, and did not meet his eye as she spoke.

“It was hard. I spent most of my life in a cage, doing things I didn’t want to do. All I knew about myself was that I was scared, and angry, and that I wasn’t supposed to exist. And then I got out and came here. But I still wasn’t...free, exactly. It wasn’t safe for me to be myself. I had to pretend, all the time, to stick to the role expected of me.

“It wasn’t until Camila found out about me that I finally had some room to breathe and figure out who I was when I wasn’t being someone else. Even then, it wasn’t an immediate, 'ah, of course, that’s who I am' moment, you know. It took a lot of time and trials for me to find the shape of who I wanted to be.” She smiled then and looked up at him with a brilliant smile. “Turns out I really like soft things. I—Hunter? Oh jeez, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

Hunter hadn’t realised how blurry his vision had gotten until she pointed it out. He rubbed at his eyes furiously. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hunter,” Vee said softly. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you can talk to me.”

“I. I’m not very good at that.”

“Still, you don’t have to hide with me. Any of us.”

Hunter's stomach tightened, though he wasn't sure if it was because of guilt or because of fear. Maybe it was both. He still wasn't sure what was worse, lying to his friends about who he was, or all of them knowing and no longer seeing him as anything but the monster he was.

He crossed his arms, and squeezed and unsqueezed his fingers as he tried to stay calm. “I. I’m not. I’m a.” He swallowed, and shook his head. He still couldn’t say it. He wasn't ready. “We just have a lot in common. It made me sad to think you went through that too. That’s all.”

Vee watched him quietly for a moment, some expression he couldn’t identify crossing over her face. Then she nodded. “I think you might be right.”

She turned around then, and began to rifle through the clothing rack. Before Hunter could ask what she was doing, she pulled out a plain black t-shirt and held it out to him.

“You know,” she said, “if nothing here is ‘you’, why don’t you try and make something for yourself?” She gestured at the sewn up rip on the shirt he was currently wearing. "You can sew, right?"

"Not well," Hunter said, digging his thumb into his palm. "I can't keep the needle steady."

Vee beamed. "Then it's a good thing Camilla has a sewing machine."

All his life Hunter had wanted to be anyone but himself. It wasn't that he hated who he was; he'd simply found that everything was easier to deal with when he could hide behind the mask of someone else. Sometimes, on his darker days, he'd wished more than anything to not be himself anymore. Lately, however, he'd started to feel happy with who he was, and for a while, it'd almost felt like he'd finally figured out who he wanted to be.

But that hadn't lasted. Why would it?

He'd got his wish, of course. He wasn't himself anymore. Belos was.

If he thought the idea of Belos being alive was bad, having that monster choking him from the inside was far, far worse. It felt like he was being held underwater, pushed to the edges of his patchwork body by a force far too big to contain it, and would break it if left unrestrained. Belos didn't care though; to him, Hunter was nothing more than a resource, one who hoped to use until it ran its course. It was something Hunter had suspected since he'd discovered the truth, but he now had no choice but to confront it, because between his own desperate thoughts, he could hear every dark one Belos had.

It was within those thoughts that he saw Belos' cruel imaginings of destruction and, more horribly, his joy at the thought of killing Hunter's friends. It was more than Hunter could handle, and he frantically clawed again and again for control, only to get pushed down each time with a chiding, condescending tsk tsk.

Things only got worse when Luz arrived. Hunter could do nothing more than press at the corners of his prison as his mouth said words he had no part in saying.

See me, Hunter begged fruitlessly, please see me!

But she didn't, because what was there to see? Hunter was only a mirror to those around him; nothing about himself was his and his alone. Why would he expect her to know that the person speaking to her through his mouth was not him at all, when he didn't even truly know who he was either?

It was discomfiting, seeing Belos copy him, after all the years Hunter had spent copying him. Only now did he see why it had made the Coven Heads so nervous when he'd mimicked them so flawlessly. It was wrong, on a fundamental level, to see someone talk like you and move like you, but have it be just off enough, uncanny enough for your instincts to flinch back and think 'that's not me'.

And then, as most things did in Hunter's life, it took a turn for the worst. His head became filled with more foreign, unwanted thoughts as Belos switched tactics, and once more Hunter could do nothing as his body stopped being used as a disguise, but rather as a weapon.

Hunter watched on in horror, a passenger in his own body. Or...no, not a passenger anymore. A fragment. It was getting harder to tell his own thoughts apart from Belos', the line defining them blurring as the monstrosity inside him asserted its authority over him. Hunter struggled and struggled, but it was no use. Belos was too strong.

Belos was...Belos was doing the right thing. This was necessary, for the betterment of mankind. What good was it, really, to let a Grimwalker live? He'd always been more trouble than he was worth, always an annoying brat, the little echo mouse no one wanted around, a lost cause, just like the stupid fool he'd spawned from. But now, Belos would make things right, starting with destroying the last of that cursed witch who had started all of this, once and for all. All it would take was a bit of force—

Hunter, Flapjack cried, as the hand that would pet his feathers tenderly now squeezed too tight. Hunter. 

(Hunter...that was him. That was him, he was Hunter, he was—)

Squeezing his hand around the palismen, just like he'd done to so many before, but this time it felt righteous, satisfying, and he couldn't help but grin as he felt—

(Anger like he'd never known before, and grief deeper than he ever thought possible. No no no, not Flapjack, not him, how dare you how dare you, get out of my head, get out, this is my body, this is mine!)

Hunter's thought sharpened into focus, and with a growl, he stabbed out into the creeping parts of his mind that didn't belong, that were and would never be his. Belos cried out, surprised at the strength of the assault. He struggled to keep what he'd stolen, but he was on enemy territory, and it wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. This was Hunter's mind, his body, his life, and he was going to fight for it.

All his life he'd wanted to be anyone else, but right now, in this moment, he'd never wanted to be himself more. 

The palismen wouldn't stop following him. He’d go one way, and they’d scurry after him; he’d sit, and they’d press into his sides; he'd push them away, and they'd react with only a blink before creeping back into place. No matter what he did, there was always a palismen nearby to annoy him.

Eventually he had enough, and he whirled around. "Leave me alone!"

The palisman shied away. They whispered hushed words between themselves, not meant for Hunter's ears, but the worried, unsettled tone was not hard to miss. Immediately, guilt flooded Hunter's stomach, heavy and hot. They were scared. He'd scared them, he’d...

Titan, he'd sounded just like—

He flinched at the thought, breath catching in his throat.

His skin wouldn't stop aching. It was too tight and too itchy and it wouldn't stop tingling, as if something was under the skin wanting to get out. He couldn't even be sure he was just imagining that, or if Belos had left something behind. Was this anger inside of Hunter even his? Or was...or was...

Hunter clenched at his hair and shook his head frantically. No, no, no, He couldn't think that. He wasn't going to think that. 

It was too late, of course. No amount of pleading could keep the darkness inside his head from rushing forward to pick at the wound, shoving images of him hurting his friends, of his hand crushing Flapjack—

"No, no," Hunter mumbled frantically. He scratched at his chest, as hard as he could.

The palismen drew close again, but this time Hunter did not yell or shoo them away. He didn't want to scare them. He didn't want to be a monster.  

"Please," he whispered, hugging his arms to his chest, "I don't want to hurt you."

The palismen did not waver. They crept closer and closer, and once they were sure he would not react badly, they pressed up against him, and hummed gentle songs. 

Not a monster, they whispered amongst the songs. Friend.

Hunter closed his eyes and, for a moment, let himself believe them.

A week after Belos was gone, and the Collector had ended their reign over the Isle, Hunter dreamt of flying. Not the kind of flying he did on the staff. It was just him, arms spread wide as he caught the wind. 

He woke to find Willow and Gus' beds already empty. They must have gone down for breakfast, and from the smell wafting through the room, they were still in the process of eating it. He'd join them soon. First, though, he had to make his bed. It was an old habit he still hadn't grown out of, and especially now, staying in the temporary shelter of Willow's house while the Isle rebuilt, he felt inclined to maintain his manners. 

He smoothed his hand along the sheet, making sure it was free of creases before he pulled the comforter along and tucked it into the sides. He smoothed that down as well, until the bed looked as if it hadn’t been slept in at all.

Hm. He stared at it, cocking his head thoughtfully. It wasn't quite right. Without much thought, he took some pillows from Willow and Gus' beds and arranged them neatly on his. But it still wasn't right. He searched around the room for as many blankets as he could find and then began to arrange them all on the bed.

A knock came at the door, and he turned to see Willow standing in the hall, the door already open. She leaned up against the frame and eyed his bed with a smile.

"Hey Hunter," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Whatcha doing?"

Hunter frowned. Wasn't it obvious? "Making my bed?"

"Uhuh." Willow made a sweeping gesture at the room. "With all the pillows and blankets we have?"

"Oh. Uh." Hunter flushed, and glanced at the now bare beds beside his own. Okay, so he might have gone a bit overboard. "Sorry. I'll just—"

"No, no, it's fine. Keep it. It looks cosy." She hummed and smiled, still amused. "Kinda like a nest, actually."

"The Owl Lady does it too," Hunter said defensively. 

"She does have the Owl Beast," Willow said. "And I think she does it for the 'brand'."

Hunter went to speak, but thought better of it. He'd probably only dig the hole deeper if he kept protesting what was probably just an odd compliment, so he turned away to fluff the pillows some more. “Did you need something?”

“Not exactly,” Willow said. “I was planning on going on a walk to give the plants some love and care. Might even swing by the Owl House too, if I have time. I want to see how Luz and Eda are going with the repairs.”

The silence hung in the air, and it took Hunter a moment to realise he was meant to say something. “Oh. Nice.” He gave her a thumbs up. “Have fun.”

She laughed quietly and stepped into the room. “Hunter, that was me asking you to come with me.”

“Oh. Oh!” Hunter scrambled over to her side. “Yes. I want to do that.”

“Come on then.”

She led him out to one of the nearby tracks, and together, they made their way into the forest.

As Willow used her magic to heal broken branches and encourage some seedlings, Hunter watched the birds flitter past. He went to point them out to Flapjack, but stopped with a flinch. Even now, he still reached out for Flapjack. It was one of far too many habits he kept that reminded him of his grief, but even though they hurt, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to grow out of them, because then he wouldn’t have anything left of Flapjack aside from his memories.

A glint of light on the edge of the track caught his attention, and curious, he made his way over to see what it was. As he neared, he realised it was a pile of rocks. They were all ordinary, barely distinguishable from the surroundings, but he found himself enamoured all the same. 

He crouched down and picked one of them up, playing it through his fingers. It was smooth in his hand, and as he turned it around, it caught the light and shimmered in a faint blue. Huh, how about that. They weren’t as ordinary as they looked. He picked up another, and found that it shimmered just as well, though the light was more green.

They were pretty. Really pretty.

“Hunter,” Willow called. “Did you find something?”

Hunter grabbed a few more of the rocks and skipped over to her, bubbly with excitement. "I found these rocks! Aren’t they amazing? Here, you can have them. They match your colours."

Willow took them with a bemused look on her face. "Oh. Thank you?"

It was only at her confusion that Hunter realised how weird he was being. He'd just given Willow a bunch of random pebbles. Pebbles! Titan, what was he doing? 

Before Willow could realise how weird he was, he swiped them out of her hands, sending them flying onto the ground. "Ha ha! That was a joke. Rocks are stupid."

Willow put her hand on her hips. "Rocks are not stupid. They are a very important part of the environment." 

Hunter's already red hot face heated up even more. "Right. Sorry.”

She picked up one of the discarded pebbles; it was one that shimmered both blue and green, though it had a chip in the corner, and its surface was rough compared to many of the others Hunter had collected.

"I like this one,” she said, pocketing it. And then, as if the whole conversation hadn’t been one big mess of embarrassment, she walked off and went back to healing the plants around her.

Hunter stayed quiet about the whole ‘I said you reminded me of this rock because that’s definitely a compliment a cute girl wants to hear’ fiasco for most of the walk, but eventually, as the Owl House neared in the distance, he couldn’t pretend anymore that he was totally fine with the embarrassment of it all.

"About the rocks earlier. I...I don't know why I did that. That was weird of me. I'm sorry. You don't have to keep it just because I gave it to you, I don't care if you throw it back."

Willow smiled at him. "It's fine, Hunter, really. I like it."

"But it's just a rock," Hunter protested weakly.

"A rock you gave me. I think it's sweet."

"You really don't have to keep it."

"I want to," she said. "It makes me think of you. And Flapjack."

Hunter shot her a shocked look. "Flapjack?"

"He used to give me rocks too."

That only made Hunter's shock grow. "He did?"

“I think it was his way of letting me know you liked me.” She didn’t even give Hunter time to process those words before she went on. “The fact you’re doing it too means he’s not really gone. A part of him lives on in you.”

Hunter was too flushed to say anything truly coherent. But the more he thought about her words, the more his embarrassment shifted into something more sombre. He thought over his day. He’d dreamt of flying. Titan, he’d even built a nest. And now he was giving the girl he liked rocks. That's what birds do. What Flapjack had done. 

Hunter pressed his hands to his chest. "Oh."

Willow frowned, her smile faltering. "I thought you'd be happy about that."

"I...I don't know." He trailed off, and stared out into the trees.

"Hunter?"

It wasn’t just the rocks and nest. He had brown eyes. Flapjack's eyes.

Titan, even his powers were Flapjack's.

Was he really the same Hunter who'd smiled in the mirror and decided he was happy with who he was? He couldn't even believe he'd ever said the words at all. He wasn't even sure who he was anymore.

Then again, he hadn’t really been sure about that for a long time. Not since...

Willow placed her hand on his shoulder. “Hunter, I—”

Hunter stepped away. "I'm sorry, Willow, I think I need to be alone for a little bit."

“Oh.” Willow blinked. "Um. Okay. Are you sure?"

Hunter scratched idly at his collarbone. “I’m fine, I promise. Just need to think, that’s all. I’ll be back.”

He left before she could say another word.

He didn't mean to head to the Left Arm. It wasn't even close to where they were all staying. But that was where he found himself, without meaning to, without really thinking about it. 

And it was in that haze that he stumbled upon it. 

That path...He remembered that path. And he could remember what had been there before the path, though that memory felt more like a dream. 

It was the place that Flapjack had tried to lead him to, so long ago now, when their friendship was still new and tentative. Hunter knows deep down though, that even if Flapjack hadn't, he would've been able to find it anyway. It was like he was drawn to this place. He could barely believe he'd fought the urge last time, the pull towards it was so strong. 

This time, he gave into the pull, and followed the path.

And as it reached its end, he realised why Belos had told him this place was unholy. 

Ahead of Hunter, there lay a simple grave, little more than a single piece of wood jutting out of the ground. Time had decayed it, and anger had splintered it, and yet it still stood. Hunter leaned down, and brushed his fingers along the name engraved there. 

Caleb Wittebane.

He knew there was no one beneath him. The grave had been dug up, long enough ago that the mound of dirt had become moss-covered, and the body had been desecrated many times over. Belos hadn't even done his brother that simple kindness.

Hunter laid down on the ground and curled in on himself. He didn’t cry; he wasn’t sure what he was feeling right now, really, but it was kind of a feeling that made it hard to move, to breathe, and so he just lay there, still, quiet, and let his thoughts sink away.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there for, but eventually moss-softened footsteps caught his attention, though he had no energy to look up and see who was trudging towards him. He waited until whoever it was came to a stop beside him before he opened his eyes. 

Luz looked down at him, a weak smile on her face. 

"Hey," she said, sitting down beside him.

"Hey," he answered, his voice soft and tired. "Did Willow ask you to find me?"

"No. Actually, it was Stringbean who saw you run off. Said you looked like a sad boy about to do bad things." 

Hunter sighed. "I'm never going to lose that title, am I?"

"Yeah, sorry. I would bequeath you another but unfortunately Disaster Bi was already taken. By yours truly of course."

Hunter hummed, not looking her way. He loved her, her really did, but he wasn't in the right headspace for their usual banter right now. Luz seemed to realise this quickly, thankfully, and laid down beside him. 

"I'll be quiet with you," she said. "Is that okay?"

Hunter nodded and turned to watch the sky overhead. They laid there quietly, and as they listened the wind brush through the trees, Hunter allowed himself to feel the weight of gravity on him. It was comforting, like the weighted blanket Luz had let him use back in the Human Realm. The pressure was enough to keep him from falling to pieces.

Eventually, after what was probably half an hour, he spoke: "I want to give Flapjack a grave."

"Here?" Luz asked, turning her head to look at him. 

"I don't know. Maybe. I just need somewhere to go to remember him. Something I can see."

Luz hummed. "We can do that."

"Thank you."

Luz sat back up and leaned towards him so that he could look up at her face, and at the gentle smile there. She'd lost her obnoxiously, undeterrable sunshiney attitude a long time ago, but that didn't mean that the light that did peak through the clouds was any less brighter.

"I have something for you."

Hunter cleared the lump in his throat and smiled weakly. "Chocolate?"

Luz chuckled. "Your stash is already big enough as it is."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Half price marketing schemes. They make them so vibrant and flashy and then wham, you have a whole cart of chocolate you don't need. But nope, it's not that. It's something way cooler."

Hunter rolled on his side so that he was facing her. "Cooler than chocolate? Now I have to see it."

Luz rifled around her jacket pockets until she found what she was looking for. Then, with her usual dramatic flair, she flung her hand out to present her gift.

"Ta da!" she said. 

Hunter peered closer, confused.

"Seeds?" he said. She didn't expect him to eat them did she? Oh, Titan, did Willow mention the bird stuff to her? When would the indignity end?

"Palistrom seeds," Luz corrected. "Eda gave them to me."

Hunter sat up then, stunned. Palistrom seeds were rare, thanks to Belos. To be offered one certainly would have been a surprise in its own right. To be offered more than one was simply mind boggling.  

"Why are you giving these to me?'

"You said you wanted to carve palisman?"

"I did. I do," Hunter said, his voice quickened by his excitement as he wondered about all the possible palisman he could create. But then he sighed, and glanced at the grave beside them. "But Caleb wanted to carve them too. So is it really what I want? Or just the part of me that's him?"

Luz frowned, and lowered her hand. "Hunter, just because you're a clone of him doesn't mean you're a, well, clone of him."

"You do realise how stupid that sounds?"

"Yes, I do. But you know what I mean right? You're a different person than him."

"Except I'm not."

"Except you are," Luz insisted. 

"No, I'm not. I'm a copy. I've only ever been a copy, a copy of him and of everyone I've ever known. Nothing about me is my own! I don't even know how much of me is me. I thought I did once but...I'm not so sure anymore."

"Hunter—"

"No, Luz, don't. Don't tell me I'm wrong or, or being stupid. You don't get it, okay."

Luz scoffed. "Don't I? Growing up being told something's wrong with you, and that you need to change all the parts of you that makes you you just so you can fit in and be 'normal', it does actually do some damage. It took me years to figure out who I wanted to be because of it. So I do get it, Hunter."

"Not, that's not the same! It's... It's just not."

Hunter looked down, plucking absently at the grass simply to keep his anxious fingers occupied, as well to give himself an excuse not to look in Luz's eyes. 

"Once, when I was younger," Hunter said, "I found an injured crow. I thought it was just a Human Realm bird, so I helped it. It wasn't until later that I found out Belos had planted it. To see what I'd do. To see how much Caleb I had in me. And then he did everything he could to squash that part of me. He made me the Golden Guard. Just like so many others before me."

He hugged his knees to his chest. "I can't even say that pain is mine. He did it to all of us."

Luz reached out, "Hunter," she tried again, but she was quickly cut off again.

"The only reason anything was different for me was because of you. And Flapjack. But that was just luck, wasn't it? Flapjack only became my palisman because I happened to be the Grimwalker who crossed his path."

"That's not true," Luz insisted. "He loved you. He chose you to be his friend. He—"

"Flapjack didn't choose me though," Hunter said. "He chose Caleb. He chose me because of Caleb. Just like Belos hurt me because of Caleb. Because I'm just a copy. And not even a good one at that."

"You are good, Hunter. You're a good person."

"But what if that goodness you see isn't me at all? What if everything that is good about me is just the, the bits of me that are Caleb? Or, or Flapjack? And all the rotten, bad parts are me?" He swallowed, his chest tight. "Or...what if that isn't me either?"

Luz leaned in, eyebrows drawn high in concern. "What d'you mean?"

Hunter sniffed and looked away, too ashamed to meet her eye. "Ever since we left the Human realm, I've just been so... angry." He curled his fists. "So angry at everything. And I'm scared that, that it has something to do with Belos." 

"He hurt you," Luz said. "You're allowed to be angry." 

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I mean..." Hunter pressed his hands to his chest. "I think maybe he left behind more than scars."

Luz seemed to finally understand what he meant. But she did not recoil in disgust, nor did she get angry at him for hiding such a dark secret. It was how she should have reacted, because if even a small part of Belos remained, then he had to be destroyed before it could take over and bring back all the suffering they'd finally brought an end to.

But she didn't do that. She patted her lap. "Lie down."

"What?"

"C'mon, lay your head down, 'cause you're about to get served some big sis advice."

"I'm older than you," Hunter said mullishly.

"Are you though?" Luz said, squinting her eyes. "Like, sure, you're 17, but were you really born 17 years ago?"

Hunter frowned. Then he grimaced. "Yeah, I'm just going to ignore that until I'm ready to deal with it."

"Yeah, I get that," Luz said. "I do that all the time."

"...Should you really be giving me advice?"

Luz grinned. "Probably not. But I'm going to do it anyway! Now lie down."

Hunter sighed, but did as he was asked, laying his head upon her lap.

"Okay," Luz said once he was settled. "I can't promise any of what I say will make sense, but I'm going to try anyway. You ready?" She templed her hands and sucked in a deep breath. "No one is completely original.”

“What?” Hunter said. “That sounds...really unmotivational, Luz. I thought you were all about originality.”

"Well, yeah, obviously. Always be yourself, and all that, that’s my motto. Or, one of them. Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is," Luz said, "we're all made up of the people in our lives. I've got pieces of my mom and my dad in me, and Eda, and Amity and Gus and Willow and King. You. And I've got some pieces from people I don't like either.” She traced her scar, her eyes going distant for a moment. “Pieces I wish I didn't have."

She looked up, and shook the sombre tone away with a smile. "But I'm not any of those people. Because all those pieces come together to something new. Like a, uh. Oh! Like a quilt."

"A quilt?" Hunter echoed blandly. 

"Yes, a quilt. Don't hate on my metaphor. It's got sewing in it. You love sewing." She started to run one of her hands through his hair while the other was left free to make dramatic hand gestures. "Anyway, you're a quilt. Wait, no, actually, that is a stupid way of saying it. Urgh, words are stupid. Hold on. Let me think."

"This is such great advice."

"Shhh, jerk, I'm thinking. Okay. So. How about this. You’re a jacket—”

“Oh wow, it got worse.”

“You’re a jacket,” Luz repeated pointedly, “and the people you’ve met, who have shaped who you are, they’re the patches and badges and tears and stains. You carry them around with you, but they aren’t, you know, the fabric of who you are. You’re you."

She looked down then, her hand pressing into the soil beneath them. "We can't change what's been done to us or who shaped or scarred us," she said. "But what we can do is change. Who we are tomorrow is undecided. It's raw potential.” She nodded her head at the seeds in Hunter’s hands. "Someone else may have planted the seed, but what you grow into is up to you. At the end of the day, only you get to decide who you are, Hunter."

She faltered then, and with clear uncertainty she started to fret at the rip in her jeans. "Is any of this making sense? Sorry, I’ve never been good at speeches. Which sucks, you know because like, they always have such cool one liners in the books, and just can't ever—"

Hunter grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Luz, Luz, it’s fine. I...I think I understand.”

She softened. “Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hunter said. "Yeah, I really do.”

It took Hunter a long time to decide to make himself a palisman. It took longer still to decide on what kind of palisman he wanted. 

He asked everyone around him, about what they thought he should carve. But everyone told him to follow his own heart, to carve what he wanted to carve. Hunter knew they were right, and yet he kept hesitating, kept looking for guidance, because there were just some habits that were harder to shake.

Darius, the unwitting victim of the conversation on many occasions, finally sat Hunter down one day.

"Little prince, you need to stop overthinking this," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "Just go and carve the Titan-damned thing."

"But this is my palisman," Hunter stressed. "I need to get it right."

Darius laughed. "Right? What do you mean right?"

Hunter squirmed. “What if I carve them and they aren’t right for me? Am I in any place to choose who they’ll be when I can barely choose for myself. I...I just want them to be happy with who they are.”

Darius frowned, and leaned back on his chair. For a while he was quiet, long enough to make Hunter squirm in his seat, but eventually Darius spoke.

"When you were young, I asked you who you are. You told me only what you were told to be." He leaned in closer. "I want to hear you answer it now. Who are you, Hunter?"

Hunter entwined his hands together, and thought over the question.  

He was Luz and Vee's brother. He was Gus' best friend. He was Amity's greatest wingman. He was the Clawthornes' apprentice. He was Willow's partner, in both romance and crime. He was so many things now, more than he ever was before, more than he ever thought he could be. 

But those were all things defined by other people, who he was to them. Who was he outside of those around him? How did he define himself? Even all these years, after everything that had happened and every kind word his friends and family had told him through his journey, the answer still eluded him. 

"I don't know," Hunter admitted. "I really don't know."

He expected disappointment. Maybe even frustration, that such an easy question still was way too hard for the likes of Hunter. 

Instead, Darius leaned back in his chair, and sipped his tea with a smile. "Now you're finally getting it."

"Wait, what?" Hunter said, baffled. "Seriously? How's that better than no answer at all?"

"But you did answer, all those years ago. You told me you were the Golden Guard. Belos' nephew. But now? You don't know."

"Not exactly an improvement," Hunter said miserably. 

"Ah, little prince, but that's where you're wrong. You don't know who you are? Well, what do you do when you don't know something?"

"Borrow a book?"

Darius sighed and rolled his eyes, but there was nothing but affection in the gesture. He leaned forward and poked Hunter in the chest. "You figure it out. You search and you discover and you understand. You find the corners and you work inwards. It’ll never be complete, because Titan knows we’re all too mutable for that, but there’s a shape to it. It's the same with your palismen."

Hunter considered the words quietly. "So, you're saying my palisman should be...?"

"A beginning," Darius said. "That's all they need to be. They can grow from there, and so can you."

In the end, Hunter didn't decide on anything. He let his hands lead, just like the Clawthornes had taught him. And as he carved away at the wood, he thought of Caleb and Flapjack.

There were still moments he would do something, or say something, that he knew was remnant of them. They lived on in him, just like so many others. He was the product of those around him and those that had come before. But that didn't mean all he was was a result of them. He was so much more than that.  

In his hands, the palismen began to come together, into a shape that was familiar, but not quite the same as what he’d known. The palisman remained still, colourless. This didn't surprise him; every palisman needed to hear their witch's wish in order to awaken.

A year ago, Hunter would have wished to be whatever Emperor Belos wished him to be. A few months ago, he would have wished to forget he was a Grimwalker so he could go back to knowing who he was supposed to be.

But that wasn't what he wished for now. There was hope in the air now, tentative and new, but beautiful all the same. And it made him hopeful too, in a way he hadn't really felt before, not really.  

The beginning of his life was one he shared with many others, but each and everyone of those lives had been cut short before they could ever pave a story outside of pain and torment. 

He had the opportunity now, to pave something new. To find his own path, making his own story. To be his own person. 

"My wish," he said, "is to make a future that is all mine."

He waited, patient and hopeful. When nothing happened, he worried that his wish hadn't been as true as he thought. But then, underneath his fingertips, there was a glimmer. The faint glow spilled across the palisman's feathers at a slow but steady pace, and as it did so, it left a trail of colour and soft feathers, until finally, there was a breath.

"Hello," Hunter said, brushing the last of the wood shavings from the bluejay's wing. "It's nice to meet you."

The bird fluttered for a moment, and landed clumsily onto the carving board. She got back to her feet and inspected herself, wagging her tail feathers and spreading out her wings. She turned back to Hunter, her yellow eyes bright with curiosity.  

Who are you? the bird said. She quirked her head. Who am I?

"I don't know yet," Hunter said. "But that's okay. We're just going to have to figure that out together."