Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wirt knew what fire was like.

Fire was warm, and welcoming. Fire was snuggling close to his mother, in a wool blanket. Fire was gathering sticks for his father, in the hopes of keeping the winter at bay.

Fire was being alive.

But the fire that surrounded him now, that ate up the cabin and breathed smoke into the air, was like nothing he’d known before.

He wasn’t that old, still too young to go into the woods alone. But even he knew that hell had found his family.

He scrambled out of his bedroom window, not daring to listen for the sounds of his parents. The grass outside was dusted with ash.

In front of him was the woods. Awful shadows twisted through it by firelight, illuminating a figure within.

Something stood between the trees. Something with large, shining white eyes, and a lantern hanging still in its boney hand.

The lantern held the same ugly light as the fire behind Wirt.

At first, a surge of anger filled his small body, though it was quickly extinguished when the figure drew closer. The sway of the lantern’s light was hypnotizing.

The creature didn’t speak. It didn’t seem to have a mouth to do so. Even as it got closer to the burning cabin it was still cloaked tightly in darkness.

Its hand touched Wirt’s forehead, brushing away the ash with a cold fingertip.

It was then that Wirt knew he was cursed.

…

Wirt woke up from yet another nightmare, shivering. His pale hands moved like leaves as he fumbled to shield himself from…something.

He sighed, slowly becoming more lucid. He stepped out of his bed, and tried to slow his breathing. His room didn’t have a fire, and the fall was only getting colder.

He briefly drew his fingers through his hair, stopping when he felt the small horns there. They blended in with his brown hair, though they would be hard not to spot if it weren’t for the auburn cone hat he wore.

He got dressed, then went to the mill’s lower level to see Greg waiting at the door.

Greg was like a younger brother to him. He’d been Wirt’s best friend since he was adopted by Greg’s father, the woodsman, all those years ago.

The small farming town they called home wasn’t all that happy about the arrangement, though that was mainly Wirt’s fault.

“Are you ready to see how Hallow’s Eve preparations are going?” Wirt asked, putting on his old gray cloak.

“Yep!” Greg chirped, already on his way out the door.

Wirt was slightly worried about how Greg would fair in the colder season, with just his pale button shirt and worn overalls. At least he wasn’t out wearing a watering can like when they were younger.

The travel to Pottfield’s center wasn’t a long one. The paved dirt road was peaceful and clear.

Once they got past the open fields, they saw the town filled with people, and decorated with ribbons brighter than autumn leaves.

Despite the festivities, Wirt kept himself away from the townsfolk, watching from afar as Greg talked to anyone and everyone.

Even as he tried to stay alone, someone, as always, found him through the crowd.

“Wirt!” Beatrice called, making her way around the people to stand with him by the fence. “I didn’t think I’d see you ‘till the day itself.”

“I just thought Greg deserved a chance to see the community.” He kept his eyes on the younger boy. “Did you help set this all up?”

“Yeah. Me and Lorna have been here since daybreak. It’s not all that often this town gets so active.” She hesitated. “I guess a place like this would be so focused on warding off spirits.”

“You know these things don’t…” don’t work , he wanted to say, though he didn’t want to devalue his town’s old superstitions. “I mean, we all know Lorna wasn’t really cursed last year.”

Beatrice frowned. “Wirt…You can’t just deny everything. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Wirt sighed. He couldn’t argue with that. “Let’s just hope nothing happens this year.”

The tense air was interrupted by Greg waddling towards them, his head in a pumpkin. “Wirt, look! I’m a spirit !”

“Don’t say things like that, Greg. Here, let me get you out of that,” He ignored Beatrice’s giggling.

They helped finish the decor, before making the journey back to the old mill.

The sun was sinking behind the trees. Even while familiar, the woods still made Wirt afraid. It had done something to him that night, years ago. Something awful had tainted his soul.

He shook his head, ignoring his thoughts. He kept his eyes closed, holding onto Greg’s hand for stability as he ignored the whispers . Those figures only he could see, that hummed low tunes through the brisk air.

He wasn’t just tainted, of course. He was haunted by what he could only assume to be devils of his imagination.

Once he got home, though, the night air was as it was supposed to be; silent. The old mill’s door creaked open to reveal the woodsman tending to the fire.

“How are you boys?” He asked, his rough voice somewhat cheerful.

“Good, Sir.” Wirt answered politely.

“We brought back food!” Greg exclaimed, holding up a bag from the ongoing harvest.

“Well aren’t you some good lads. Come over here and warm yerselves by the fire. I’ll make us a nice supper.”

Even the strong fire and hot food couldn’t take the chill from Wirt’s thoughts. Staring into the fire, he found he dreaded the comfort given to him.

But he could ignore that feeling, for Greg’s sake. He deserved a good Hallow’s Eve tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“Remember what I told you, Greg.”

“Not to stray too far, not to talk to strangers- Oh, and no messing with spirits!”

“Right.” Wirt said firmly. “And please be careful.”

“You’re such a worry, Wirt.” Greg giggled. “I’m not going to get lost or anything. Besides, it’s Hallow’s Eve, we’re warding off the spirits anyway!”

Wirt bit his lip. “Right…” he adjusted his hat, then stared off into the crowd of townsfolk. It was already dark, though lanterns were scattered like stars around the warm atmosphere.

He looked back to Greg, only to find him already wandering off. He sighed.

“Well isn’t this a treat.”

Wirt jumped at Lorna’s quiet voice. “O-oh, hey.”

“You know, Beatrice is in the woods, waiting for you. She knows you don’t like…” She motioned to the celebration.

“Right. Thank you.” He hesitated, his eyes searching for Greg yet again, before giving up and going into the woods.

…

Wirt hated the woods. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he stumbled through the thick roots and twisted trees. There really was something terrible about the way the moon eyed him through the leaves…

Looking up to the branches, he saw Beatrice perched above the ground, her bright red hair untied and dancing in the moonlight.

He struggled to climb up the tree to see her, his nails digging into the bark.

“You came all the way out here?”

Beatrice turned to see him, a small smile adorning her face. “We’ve all seen the Hallow’s Eve festivals, but no one really goes out here.”

“There’s a reason for that.” He muttered, taking a spot on the same branch.

“Do you even believe in spirits? I mean, you sound like such a skeptic.”

“I just think they’re a lot more dangerous than people like to believe. A good harvest and a couple lanterns won’t ward them off.”

“…Maybe that’s all right.” Beatrice said quietly. Seeing Wirt’s confused expression, she quickly explained herself. “I mean, I’ve heard tales of good spirits. Angelic creatures, that bring joy and grant wishes.”

Wirt’s incredulous look didn’t leave. “…I wish I could be that hopeful.” He turned back towards the town, hearing the shouts from the festival. “I should probably go back to check on Greg.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Beatrice offered. She climbed down the tree first with ease, then helped Wirt down.

Wirt doubted benevolent spirits existed. But, like how he bit back arguments around the effectiveness of Hallow’s Eve, he could entertain the idea.

“What would you wish for, if you met a ‘good spirit’?” He asked as they walked back to the celebration.

“Hmm,” Beatrice thought for a moment. “I think I’d like to fly. I’ve always looked up at those migrating birds and wondered what it’d be like to join them.”

“You wouldn’t just leave this old town though, right?”

“Of course not! Actually, I’d bring you and Lorna and Greg with me. Then we could all go somewhere better, where the winters aren’t as cold and the summers are long.”

Wirt smiled. Despite his best efforts, he was beginning to hope. “I’d like that.” He said as they passed the arch back into Pottfield.

“I think we all would.” Beatrice agreed, before taking his hand in hers.

There was a chill breaching through Wirt’s cloak, though it felt like it had spawned from his own soul. He tried not to shiver as it pricked his skin, and spread to his fingertips.

“Wirt,” Beatrice’s voice sounded drowned out. “Your eyes look funny.”

“What?” He moved his hand away from hers.

She gasped, then clutched her hand. It was…twisted. Quickly turning gray and small as the rest of her arm bent-

“O-oh-“ Wirt turned towards the townsfolk in the distance. “Help! Someone, Beatrice is-“ He looked back at her briefly. Now her face was getting narrow, her eyes going black- “ She needs help! ”

A couple farmers came to check out the commotion, though more quickly gathered when they saw what was happening. The young girl was shifting horribly and painfully, feathers of blue, peach and cream sprouting from her skin as she fell into herself. In one fatal moment, she crumbled, becoming something small and fragile, clearly inhuman.

Wirt stared, in complete shock. It was like watching a fire spread. He was useless to stop the transformation.

All that was left was a small bluebird.

…

The townsfolk exploded in- Well, not quite rage, not quite fear. There was a determined superstition in the air, and all theories sharpened into a blade of fault pointed at Wirt.

“What did you do?!” One of the farmers yelled, while another one dragged Wirt off his feet by his cloak collar.

“N-nothing!” He stuttered. “I didn’t- I couldn’t have!”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you? A wretched spirit?!”

“I didn’t-“ His please were ignores as he was thrown to the dirt ground, hitting his head against the rocks embedded there.

He felt his hat roll from his head.

At first, no one seemed to notice the horns, though a low confused mutter eventually led to pure, awful silence.

Wirt squeezed hushed eyes shut, and prayed they’d just end him. He was caught and surrounded. It should have been over.

But instead, he heard a painfully familiar voice, low and rough with disappointment.

“Leave this place, boy.” The woodsman said.

Wirt struggled to sit up. He couldn’t look his former guardian in the eyes, so instead his eyes wandered to something equally terrible- A small bluebird, hugged in her mother’s arms.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“ Leave , before I have yer head.” The woodsman’s voice had only gotten colder.

Wirt nodded, and got to his feet, ignoring the ache in his head. He took his hat from the dusty ground, but didn’t even try to cover his shame.

Then, a small boy rushed past the crowd, and grabbed tight to his cloak.

“Wirt! Wirt, why are you going?”

“I’m…I’m no good, Greg.” He tried to move away, but his friend moved with him.

“T-that’s okay! I’m not good at a lot of things, I could go with you!”

Wirt gave him a pained look. “No, you should stay here. The people here want to protect you.”

“But who’s gonna protect you?” Wirt didn’t answer, and somehow Greg smiled. “I will! That’s why I’m staying with you!”

Wirt looked back to the woodsman. He looked…betrayed.

“Alright.” Wirt said to Greg. “But only if you want.”

Greg didn’t look back as he made his way to the woods, skipping and mumbling something about adventure.

Wirt, on the other hand, had to lock his eyes on the moon as to not show his hurt to the world that had banished him.

Chapter Text

Wirt walked slowly, his eyes on Greg as the night dragged on.

“How long till we get there?” The younger boy asked, his own gate growing weary.

“We’re not going anywhere in particular.” Wirt answered with a sigh. “With luck, we’ll find another town soon. If not…”

They shared a small moment of dread, before Greg piped up again. “That’s not too bad! Besides, these woods go on forever, I’m sure there are some friendly folks out here!”

Wirt doubted that, though he did feel a sort of…presence, between the trees. He hated how normal the chill felt against him, as each shadow cast a new friendly face that darkened the ground.

They kept walking, till the dreaded forest cleared, giving way to a muddy hill with a tavern resting atop, a stable connected at its side.

“See? I told you there’d be people here!” Greg started running towards the door, but Wirt stopped him.

“Remember to be cautious, okay? People who live this deep in the woods can’t be normal.”

“Alright!” Greg answered dismissively, before entering the place with a smile.

The tavern was warmer than the woods, at least. The people inside had a strange look, though. Some of them danced with a manic looking cheer, while others kept to the rooms corners, glaring at every passing face.

Wirt kept his eyes on the ground as he found a table.

The tavern keeper made her way to them. “Well, looks like we have newcomers! What will you boys be having?”

Wirt gave her a weary look, before glancing at Greg, who wasn’t paying attention. The younger boy was singing along to some tale the musicians were spinning. “What’s your cheapest meal?”

“You know what, I’ll give you a good one, on the house.” The tavernkeep smiled. “It’s not too often kids travel through the woods. How about you tell us your story as payment?”

Wirt went pale. Greg had somehow picked up on the conversation, and was unfazed. “Oh, we’re from Pottfield! We had to leave because the people there were mean to Wirt.”

“Really?” The woman hummed. “That’s odd. I always hear that town’s a pleasant and quaint place.”

“Do, um, do you know where someone might find a person who can…remove curses?”

The music stopped. The tavern wasn’t quite, though, a low hum of murmurs keeping suspicions lit.

“Now that’s sure a question.” The tavern keeper chuckled nervously.

“Can you just tell us where we’d find someone like that?” Wirt tried not to be too demanding, but he was starting to hate this place.

The tavernkeep stilled. Her eyes glazed over, swirling yellow, blue, and pink.

The chill in Wirt’s soul returned.

“There…there’s a woman of the pasture, named Adelaide. She has special scissors that can trim the branches in your heart. But be warned, she preys on youth like you.”

…

“T-thank you.” He breathed. “I’m sorry if you…um…”

“I didn’t say that.” The woman’s voice was shaken. “I-I didn’t know that. What are you?!”

“I’m leaving.” Wirt stood, and took Greg’s hand.

“Yes, leave. I don’t want beasts like you at my tavern.”

Wirt hesitated at her comment, but brushed it off. Maybe he’d just have to get used to names like that.

He led Greg out of the tavern.

“W-Wirt, can you let go? Your hand is cold.”

“Right, sorry.” Wirt let go. He sighed, then moved towards the stables.

A horse stood there, pale beige in color. It was already equipped with reigns.

“Are we stealing?” Greg asked, a twinge of excitement in his voice.

“Yes, Greg. But only because we won’t get to Adelaide without one.” He helped the younger boy onto the steed.

Once he got on himself, he spurred on the horse, and prayed he remembered enough about horseback riding.

…Maybe his prayer had been answered. The ride was anything but smooth, but he was at least going straight in one direction, towards the river.

“Well aren’t we lucky.” He muttered under his breath.

“Not luck. Talent .” Corrected a new voice.

Wirt tried not to freak out when he realized the horse had talked .

He looked back to Greg, and saw him leaning against him, asleep. He must have been exhausted from all the walking.

“Um, I’m sorry for…taking you, horse.” Wirt apologized awkwardly.

“It’s alright. I hated it at that old place. Now I’m free!”

“…You’ll be free once we get to the river.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m not forcing you to do this, right?” Wirt asked hesitantly.

The horse didn’t answer.

Wirt sighed, blinking away the night air flowing past his face. “I don’t mean to be like this. I wasn’t born to be like this. I just…I just broke.”

Nothing answered.

“What might be our time of arrival?”

“Early next morning,” the horse sounded monotone. “if we go all night.”

“We will.”

He hummed a small tune as the night dragged on. Something the woodsman had taught him while collecting firewood.

Chapter Text

The horse didn’t last long.

Wirt somehow wasn’t fazed when the creature decided to leave. Although it had spoken clearly of its will for freedom, its eyes flickered with fear.

Wirt didn’t try to stop him. Maybe if he gave the horse freedom, it would make up for the worse curses he’d placed. Then again, the horse would probably just go back to the safety of its stable eventually.

He continued his walk, the smell of water leading him through the crooked path to the river.

“What’ll we do when we get to the river?” Greg asked with a yawn, stumbling behind him.

“We’ll get on boat or something.” Wirt answered quickly. “I’m sure I can convince someone to let us on.”

His tongue felt cold in his mouth.

“Okay.” Greg smiled obliviously. “I bet the river’s really pretty, and goes on forever…”

Wirt was already starting to tune him out.

Once they reached the river; they found a dock filled with people. A barge was resting on the river, established-looking people filling it and chattering about. The accommodation ladder was blocked by one such gentleman.

Wirt walked up to him with what he hoped was a confident demeanor. “Hello fine Sir. Me and my friend require a ride.”

“I’ll need two pennies then.” The older man frowned.

Wirt matched his scowl. “Let me rephrase that. You will let us aboard, or I’ll turn your crew into frogs. Do you want an example?”

The man hesitated, his expression souring. “You can’t be serious-“

Wirt changed his gaze to the closest person boarding- The last member of what looked like a band -and let the chill of his soul overtake him. His eyes ached slightly, like looking at snow for too long.

The band member lost their footing, and fell back to the docks. By the time they hit the ground, their body had already started shifting, their legs and arms bending as their skin crumbled and coated with green.

Wirt finally blinked, and looked back at the gentleman. “Let us on.”

“Yes sir.”

Wirt ignored the whispers of the barge’s crowd as he made his way aboard, Greg following behind. It would all be worth it once he was cured.

He leaned against the rail, then turned to his friend. Greg had the small frog in his arms. The sight almost made him sick with the memory of Beatrice.

“Why do you have them with you?”

“He’s our frog now. We should care for him, after what you did.”

“Should we?” Wirt muttered. “We don’t need a frog.”

“I want one.” Greg’s voice sounded a lot more…shaken than Wirt first thought.

“Okay. He’s our frog then.” Wirt turned his attention back to the water. The barge had started moving.

…

“You didn’t have to threaten someone.” Greg said after a while. “You could have just asked nicely. Father always said-“

“I don’t want to hear about your dad right now, Greg.” Wirt interrupted.

Greg looked hurt. “I don’t want you to be mean. Just because you’re like this, doesn’t mean you get to hurt people.”

Wirt knew that. He’d been taught the same old morals as him. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s not like this will get better on its own.”

“Maybe it could.” A spark of Greg’s old innocent hope relit itself. “You could use your powers for good!“

“This curse can’t be used for good.”

“Have you tried?”

…

Wirt sighed. “Greg, if I stay like this, more people will get hurt. It’s best we don’t entertain the idea of this being used for good.” He rested his head in his arms, watching the water below drift away. “I’m no good spirit.”

“…Yeah, maybe not.”

…

The music sounded empty without a vocalist.

It was obvious the bystanders aboard were only pretending to enjoy the pleasant dances. Even the musicians looked at each other with a sense of…grief, maybe.

The frog in Greg’s arms didn’t seem to have any opinions of the matter, though. It was shivering slightly, stuck in Greg’s front pocket.

Wirt wondered if it even knew who it was before. If it was someone. But that only brought him back to Beatrice, and other dark corners of his mind.

He didn’t have time to care for a frog.

…

When the barge stopped, Wirt and Greg, and the frog, got off.

The air had somehow gotten colder. Wirt tried to keep up his pace, to stay warm, though it was hard with Greg following behind.

Chapter Text

Wirt knocked on the cottage’s door. It looked dusty, and old, so he was gentle.

“Do you think she’s home?” Greg asked. “This place looks empty.”

“She’s home. She has to be.”

After a couple more knocks, someone answered the door. It was opened by a boney hand, with long nails.

“Come in dears, quickly. The cold air out there does horrors to my health!”

The two boys obeyed, entering the small hall leading into the home.

It was…very dusty. And a bit claustrophobic. Old yarn trailed across the floor like worms, snaking under furniture and across the ceiling.

The woman before them was short, and pale. Her skin definitely showed her poor health, though her smile was probably the worst part. It was…unnerving.

Wirt swallowed his anxiety, and held Greg’s hand tightly.

“Are you Adelaide?”

“That I am! And you two are in need of my services, I presume?”

Wirt nodded.

“That’s lovely!” She moved closer to them, fidgeting her old hands. “I’ve been waiting to help some strong boys like you?”

“What-“ Wirt was silenced by Adelaide’s gray hands touching his face.

“Very strong, and full of youth!” Her smile widened. “You’ll do nicely! And,”

She reached for Greg, but Wirt moved her hand away, going between them. “I’m here to get my curse cured, ma’am.”

“Right, yes! I’m sorry dears, please, follow me.”

She lead them into the main room of her home. It looked like a living space and bedroom, covered in cotton and string.

“So, let me get a good look at you.” She took off Wirt’s coat. He tensed, though said nothing. “What’s your names?”

“Um, I’m Wirt. And that’s my friend Greg.” He kept his eyes on Greg. He didn’t want to look the woman in the eyes as she stared into him. He also wanted to make sure Greg was okay.

Greg seemed to just be fidgeting with an unfinished yarn project, not paying much attention to anything.

“Those are lovely names! Lovely names for lovely boys-“ She placed her boney palm on Wirt’s chest. He froze. “Yes, there’s a cold here. Darkness to. You’ve been greatly damaged.”

Wirt’s heart sunk. “Can you help me?”

“Of course I can, dear. All you have to do is pledge your soul to my service.”

Wirt tried to take a step back, but the woman’s nails clutched his shirt. “N-no, I’m not willing to do that-“

“You can’t say no, dear. I’ll make it so that you’ve only known my service, and you’ve only heard my voice. I-“

She screeched as Greg kicked her hard in the ankle.

“Get away from Wirt, you hag!”

Wirt wanted to run, and get Greg to saftey, and do something - But he just. Couldn’t breathe.

“You devilish child!” Adelaide yelled. “I’ll make you as you should be, don’t you see? Soft and willing like sheep, your souls strung to my own!”

He needed to do something he needed to- “You’re the only devil here!”

His breath caught awfully in his throat when her eyes fell on him.

“Does my doll think he can talk back?” She sneered. “Don’t you realize? I’m the one in control .”

“N-no.” He was shaking now. The only thing that kept him talking were the stabs of cold in his head. “You’re just an ailing witch. A-and from now on, you serve me .”

…

She froze. Her once gray face had paled to white. “…I serve the Beast.”

Wirt felt something awful claw at his soul at the name. “Yes, you do.”

He turned to Greg, who had taken to hiding in the corner. “Come on Greg, we’re leaving.”

“B-but your eyes-“

“ Greg .”

…

The two left the dusty cottage.

Outside, it was snowing.

“Why didn’t you take the scissors?” Greg asked, his voice shaken.

“If they even worked, I would have lost my control.” Wirt frowned. His head still hurt like hell. “It’s better this way.”

“You look different, Wirt.”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about that.” He snapped. “What do you want me to do now, Greg? We have nowhere to go, and no one to help us.”

For once Greg was silent. He just held onto the frog, that had somehow survived their journey.

…

They reached the river. It was partially frozen over, and empty of any boats.

Wirt looked into the icy water below. Someone with twisting wooden horns and eyes colored with madness stared back. The horns looked more like the beginnings of antlers now.

…

He wished the sight scared him. Instead, he felt a wave of relief.

He was still in control.

Chapter Text

Greg no longer asked when they would reach a new town, or get shelter. He just shivered more as he followed Wirt deeper into the unknown.

Witt occupied his time with worry, wandering in any direction that seemed familiar. The woods hadn’t broken him yet, but they seemed close to victory.

After a while Wirt gave Greg his cloak. It was more of a gesture than anything. It only partially blocked out the cold winds.

Time passed. Days, maybe. The sun no longer rose above the bare branches.

“As soon as we find someplace safe, we’ll rest.” Witt reassured, trying to keep his voice over the winds.

Greg didn’t smile. He just stared up at him. “Wirt, can’t we stop to rest now? I can’t walk much longer.”

“No, I won’t have this weather getting you.”

He gently picked Greg up, and carried him in his arms.

He continued to walk. It felt more like a doomed march, though. Each step was a struggle as his feet sank deeper into the snow.

Strangely, he didn’t feel much fatigue yet. He felt almost hugged by the cold.

Greg, on the other hand, looked like death, his lips going purple as his body shook fiercely.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it Wirt.” His voice was quiet. “I need to ask you to…do something for me.”

“What? No, you’re fine, we’re going to be fine!”

He held out his frog, curled up in his palms. “I-I need you to take care of the frog for me. G-give it a good name, and a good h-home.”

Wirt hesitated, then slowly took the frog. It was cold as ice and dead as a rock.

“I’ll take care of it, just till you come back. Don’t you worry, Greg.” He stopped walking, then kneeled down, holding Greg close in a desperate attempt to keep him alive.

“You were great brother.” Greg managed, before his breathing slowed to a halt.

…

Wirt knelt there for a long while.

He stayed there when Greg’s skin went rough, and his face went gaunt.

He stayed when Greg’s heart grew with wood and sharp branches, till his recognizable form was overcome and broken by the sapling of what would one day be a tree.

With wondered if breaking people was the only thing he could do when he wanted to cry.

He buried the frog- No , he buried…Jason…Funderberker? -at his brother’s side.

Then he left. He didn’t go too far, though, he wanted Greg to stay in his sight, so that he could keep him safe.

He leaned against a tree, and waited for, prayed for the cold to overtake him.

Chapter Text

“…Wirt. Wirt, can you hear me?”

He blinked his eyes open. Had he fallen asleep? Where was Greg?

“Oh child, what have you done?”

He tried to see who was talking to him. He was surrounded by…clouds. Some were fluffy and daylight colored, while others clumped and spun around him, static and storm crackling in the air.

“Where am I?” He asked finally. His breath wasn’t clouded, and his mind felt…calm. Empty.

He stood, and found the sky solid below him.

“You’re in a batter place, though you won’t stay here long.”

Wirt finally recognized the voice. It sounded like Enoch, his pastor. But…that couldn’t be right.

Enoch had died years ago.

Wirt squinted against the blinding lights, and tried to get a good look at the figure before him. He couldn’t name a single feature.

The clouds grayed.

“Where’s Greg?” Wirt asked. “Is he here?”

“Yes.” Voice answered. “But you can’t stay here. I’m sure you know why. Your heart is to the woods now.”

Wirt nodded, somehow not frightened. “At least he’s okay. …What now? Do I…go back to the forest?”

“Not yet. Your brother is a good soul. He had a dying wish, but decided to pass it on to you.”

“What?”

The voice sighed. “There are good spirits above that look down on the woods with grief. They want to give you a chance at…well, what you want.”

What he wanted. What a strange thing. Wirt didn’t think he could hope for anything.

He didn’t deserve this. After everything he’s dragged Greg through, and all the people he’d hurt…

There was one idea he had. It was a far too generous fate for himself, but one that Greg would have wanted.

“I…I wish for a world where Greg and I are safe, and no curses exist. Can you do that? Can you take us somewhere else?”

“We’ll see.” The figure murmured.

The light not far in the distance shown brighter, burning Wirt’s eyes.

Wirt felt his body start to fade away.

“So, just like that? I’m going somewhere new?”

“Becoming something new, I’d say.” Answered the voice.

Something awful split from Wirt’s heart, and burrowed its way out of his soul.

“W-what’s happening-“ He crumbled to his knees, looking down at himself. Holes dotted his skin as parts of him fell to the cloudy floor.

“The spirit part of you is leaving.” They hummed. “You’ll enter your new life fresh, while the old stays with its woods.”

“A-alright.”

His soul, full of hope, was thrust soundlessly into a new unknown.

…

…

…Then there was What Was Left.

What Was Left stood up in the forest, his skin feeling heavy around him.

Parts of him had been torn off, removed, or maybe burned away. Whatever had happened had left him empty, and without a soul.

Without a soul.

…

After a while, What Was Left began to wander.

The world was slow around him. He watched as taverns spun tales and towns died from famine. He watched as a woodsman, his mind clouded with grief, left a lantern unlit among the trees.

What Was Left took that lantern, hating how long his fingers had gotten. His form, thankfully, was cloaked in shadow.

He wandered back to the spot he always returned to, the tree that would had grown unrecognizable among all the others, if it weren’t for the face engraved on the bark, spilling out with inky black oil.

What Was Left took from his brother’s body whatever tainted part of him had been left behind, unworthy of heaven and rebirth.

The lantern was lit once more, with the soul of someone close to him.

What Was Left wandered with the lantern for a long while, till he came to the conclusion that it would not live without constant kindling.

So What Was Left searched for someone who was willing, and eager, and faithless. Someone as desperate as he.

When one vessel died, he simply found another one.

The lantern itself whispered things to him. Pleas for its own fire to be drenched. But What Was Left didn’t listen.

He was the one in control, the only way, the Beast of the eternal darkness.