The Fable Of Faelan

The wind that passed through the narrow street could’ve been the heart of a hurricane, and he was certain not one of them would budge.

It seemed as if the world around him had faded into something dull and distant, too far to be anything of significance.

Only one thing circled around in his head, spinning like a merry-go-round over and over until everything was painted in a stroke of motion blur.

Lucian - his Lucian - was nothing beyond a puppet. A facade, an alias. Just a character he was playing to keep himself busy.

But he was one of them.

“I hadn’t pinned you as one to play with your food. How naughty you’ve become,” Kallista giggled out in pure ecstasy. It appeared they’d played right into her open palm again, or perhaps she’d be amused no matter the situation. Maybe she’d known all along about the game.

The appearance of the nine-tailed fox god before them was nothing in comparison to the new revelation.

Lucian and Faelan were one and the same.

His face was different, almost stoic. It was distinctly not the Lucian he’d become so fond of, so distant from the carefree immaturity the man waved around like a feather. This man was cold and seemed to darken in the moonlight, like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the shadows.

If Lucian were free, Faelan was bound to unspoken chains, hidden away by expensive sleeves and gems that distracted from what lay beneath.

“Never food. I am nothing like the animal that you are,” Lucian, or supposedly Faelan spoke, not a waver evident in the stern tone he projected.

In a few wide strides, he slotted his body in front of his companions and the strange child. A hand snaked to the ever closed sheath at his waist, warning fingers running over its length. One couldn’t help but wonder if it might finally be drawn and revealed to the world.

Nine tails flicked in satisfaction at the move, a pink tongue swiping over her lips. Her narrow eyes scanned over the shocked pair behind him, wide-eyed in their confusion. She seemed to lap it up, drinking in the pain like it was an elixir.

“Only when the prey is dead, right? I’d say that’s far, far worse.”

“Don’t speak of things you know nothing about,” Faelan snarled, a degree of aggression that was totally alien evident in his voice.

But she was right, wasn’t she? Sin-eating was a disgusting thing, sucking the soul from whatever vessel it victimised.

It was too hard to bear. Accompanied by a god built on the death of others, they’d vowed to find and conquer whatever evil being had stolen away the lives of their beloved. They’d believed whatever brought them together had been an equal blunder. But this was no fate at all.

Lucian had manufactured his entrance, and perhaps every scene since.

“Master!” The child breathed out, practically tripping over its gaping clothes to launch itself at her. Short and bony fingers latched onto the slacks that hung down, rubbing its head against the woman’s leg.

Only to be batted away by a stray tail.

“Do not touch me, you’re filthy. Horrible thing. Go clear away the body before it starts to smell,” The fox god barked through a half-gag, recoiling in a way that was so contrasting to the infallible demeanour she’d been holding up.

Sparks surprised Kael himself as they flickered at his fingertips, for no sigil had been cast. This kind of person was the absolute worst. Always the first to wipe their hands clean from the same dirt trailing in from their boots, yet unbeaten in their jump to bolstering their own ego.

Before them, the child seemed to crumple into itself, landing upon the cobble in a heap. Unlike what one may expect, it didn’t yelp or weep, quiet as it gathered up its sprawled limbs.

Without a word it crawled away, back towards the lifeless corpse where it crouched. As if this kind of rejection was commonplace, and Kael suspected that it was.

“You shouldn’t be here, Kallista. You know the rules well enough. Especially not accompanied by a child,” Faelan emphasised the last word in a disapproving tone, stretching a hand down to pet the youngster’s head. Slender fingers raked through the long strands of hair, careful to avoid any mats that might inflict pain.

Gentle grace quite accurately described the way the man conducted his touches, calming enough that Kael still remembered the caress back from the cavern.

But there was no such discomfort like unfamiliarity, evident in the child who shied away under his touch, slinking away like a beast on all fours.

Poor thing.

Kael had believed himself and Miria to be rather unlucky, but fortune seemed to smile down at them in comparison to the child. Tucked under the wing of a loveless cuckoo bird, one that takes delight in pawning off her young to leech off another.

The chick could only become the one thing that had kept it alive all this time: a parasite.

A gust of wind swept up from behind the fox, striking in a pin against Faelan’s shoulder, “I thought we all agreed not to pry, no? What I do is up to me, I haven’t interfered with your little pets. You keep out of my business, I’ll try very hard not to stray too far into yours.”

Before Kallista could conclude her speech, the acolyte yanked a blade free, dazzling as it caught against the light and ambition that burned bright inside of her.

Kael’s hand clasped around Miria’s in an instant, forcing the woman and dagger to stay put. His fingers shook as they held their grip, unclear whether it was in anger or pure terror.

Any strike now would be futile. Civilians cowered all around them, directly in the firing line of any counter attacks. Even if they were mindful not to involve innocents, it was clear that gods did not share the same concern.

They held the power of aether afterall. A blade could slice through skin and bone, but it could never cut through the length of a city. It could never pulverise a village into ash, grind a person into dust. Gods didn’t play by the same rulebook, they defined their own.

“You are already far into my business,” Faelan emphasised, throwing his head back at the mess behind him in jest, “I wouldn’t want to involve Alistair.”

Gritted teeth bared at the demons, Kallista faltered ever so slightly, her tails stilling to a halt.

“You best watch yourself, Faelan. Sooner or later there will be nobody to cower behind, and when that day comes, don’t think for a moment I will spare you any forbearance. Pathetic god, only calamity awaits you.”

Bent knees sprang the woman upwards, landing in stealth upon the roof above them. A blur of fur obscured her silhouette and she dashed off into the night.

A clatter behind them alerted the child’s movements. Where the body had once lain was replaced with the outline of a wooden doll, petite enough to tuck right under the child’s stubby arms. It shot forwards after the fox god, catching a cheek against Kael’s legs as it ran.

No more distractions.

Four unyielding eyes locked onto the man - or god - that remained, transformed from the companion they’d believed to have known just moments prior.

“Kael. Miria,” Lucian stuttered, tight lines of his face collapsing into something desperate, like the sinking shadow of a pebble, over with its skipping and left to brave the plunge, “I can explain.”

But there was no pity or patience to be felt.

“Who are you?” Kael murmured, mouth opening and closing as if the words themselves were too afraid to speak.

The hairs impaling the skin of his arms stood up in interest, equally eager and anxious for the truth. A part of him drifted to the thought of Miria, and to whether she might possess something in her alchemist’s bag that could force him to forget.

What if the weight of the truth was too heavy? Too difficult to swallow without tearing apart the flesh of his throat, too strong to drink down without fear of throwing it back up?

Even if he clashed heads with Kallista, a sin-eater was far beyond any definition of innocence.

Would the duty to cut down the man fall into Kael’s hands, just as he had once fallen into Nico’s?

To see to his death, Kael wasn't sure he was capable.

“Is it true? Are you really Faelan?” The acolyte asked in a glow of innocence, eerily reminiscent of the shaman that had once taught her to revere this figure, that had dedicated her whole life to the study and praise of these gods.

One of which, associated with Faelan, had orchestrated her death for a reason she wouldn’t disclose.

Would those hands dip into her sleeves, pull out a blade to threaten?

“I am more Lucian than anything else,” The man mumbled, a booted foot nudging the stone paving in a way that was strictly not like the god he claimed to be.

A wound deep in the chambers of his heart throbbed.

“When? I mean, How?” Kael spoke simply, before adding, “...Why?”

“My parents weren’t the innocent kind of demon. Town to town, city to city, they took whatever they desired, pillaged homes and temples alike. It was indiscriminate. So long as they would benefit, it never mattered who was left squashed in their path,” His voice wavered as he looked up at the two demons for a preliminary reaction.

Back pressed against the bricked wall caging in the street for stability, careful not to step in the blood that had already begun to dry into the cracks of the tiles.

Neither dared to interrupt, even if they were afraid of what might be said next.

“I could spend ten lives trying to fix what they did, repay all of their bad deeds. But I never saw any wrong in it, not back then. It was just survival of the fittest, a natural domination that was only to be expected.”

Miria released herself from Kael’s forgotten grasp, folding an arm over her chest.

“You cannot atone for a crime you never committed,” Miria stated, her eyes back to the harsh, clinical stare they’d become so used to.

Kael wished that were the case for himself, too. If only he was certain that Daphne wasn’t his doing, wasn’t some depraved act of a demon fledgling.

At some point or another, the blades had returned to the safety of her sleeves.

She didn’t appear to view the god as a threat at all. Had the claws of doubt not crept their way up to scrape at her spine?

“One morning, we woke up to find my mother dead. My heart split in two, for the first time I’d ever witnessed my father weeped for the woman he loved. But the villagers celebrated, viewing their victory as a great blessing upon the land,” The man’s head weighed down like a burden that couldn’t be eased, a guilt that could never be laid to rest.

He couldn’t recognise this forlorn creature, weakened and dulled by the blunders of life. The Lucian he’d come to know could overshadow whatever dim light the god clung onto.

This Faelan couldn’t face the past, let alone look to the future.

“Only then did I realise how much agony our own thorn could cause. My mother wasn’t someone to be admired, she would never be mourned or lamented. If nature gave her power, she abused it, and no matter how she’d lived she would die a disgrace. But I wanted her to be forgiven, if she wouldn’t atone, I’d take on that responsibility for her. That’s why, that’s why I did it,” His voice had begun to shake as if one more word might break it.

Forbidden.

A secret that should not, must not, be discovered.

“Did what?” Kael asked bitterly, but he knew.

“Please understand me,” Lucian faltered, gloomy shadows clawing at his undereyes, desperate to leave their mark.

Ever so meek. Delicate like the wings of a moth. Just one touch and it might crumble into dust, a beauty never to be seen again.

“He ate her sins,” Miria uttered, barely above a whisper.

Why?

Why liberate a monster from its tyranny? Why take on their wrongdoing, carry it like a personal damnation?

Because the heart was too tender, too malleable for finalities.

In the moonlight, shadows embraced the minor god like a blanket. Like a child wrapped away from the world’s woes, hidden away from the harsh truths of a cruel place.