No. 5: SUNBURN

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | “If my pain will stretch that far.” (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.5 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Those two OC are siblings with a less than happy childhood. To put some perspective, the Ensorceleur was 16 when he broke his promise. Donovan was 9. Lucien, Donovan’s son, was in the care of his paternal grandfather for most of his childhood (the grandfather is doing much better with him than with his sons).

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

The two brothers look equally surprised. They stare at each other in silence on the porch for long seconds.

Donovan is the first to catch himself.

-What are you doing here ? he growls, tense and aggressive. His posture has straightened and his grip on the doorknob is deadly.

-Ah. Um, stammers the Ensorceleur, and Donovan doesn't know him well enough to know how rare it is to catch him off guard. I've...come to drop some things off.

He raises the backpack he's holding at arm's length as proof. Donovan squints.

-These are Lucien's things, clarifies the mercenary. He left them at Silver and Lea's place and I came to bring them back...as I was passing by...

The mention of his son only creates more tension for Donovan, but he simply reaches for the backpack.

-I'll take them.

-Oh, yes, of course, says L’Ensorceleur. He makes no move to hand the bag to his brother.

-Just like that, what brings you here ?

-What's it to you ? snaps the other man instantly.

-Wow, calm down, I'm just curious !

L’Ensorceleur steps back, the bag dangling from his arm.

-Just give me the bag !

-Answer my question ! Come on, it's not like it's going to rip your throat out... !

Donovan closes the gap between them by stepping forward, and the other man immediately steps back to maintain the distance. The younger freezes, his features twisted with anger, then takes a deep breath and forces himself to regain some composure.

-I came to say hello, but they're downtown. I'm waiting for them.

The Ensorceleur’s face relaxes a little, a softer expression taking its place.

-I see. Did the old man leave you a spare key ?

-He's been hiding them in the same place for ten years. Now give me the bag and go.

-I need to use the bathroom.

-There's a public toilet...

-God, it'll take me 5 minutes, just let me in !

Donovan clenches his jaw and steps aside.

-You'd better hurry.

In his defense, it takes the Ensorceleur considerably less than 5 minutes. He comes back down quickly, and Donovan hates the nonchalant way the other man takes the opportunity to examine the decor and look at the remains of a disparate snack on the kitchen table. The room is small, tiled in yellow and orange to give it a warm feel. The large window lets in the fading afternoon light. The fridge is adorned with a handful of photos of a little then not so little boy. It's intimate and homey. The killer has no place here. Not that Donovan has one either.

-If you're done, you can go, hisses the translator.

The Ensorceleur hesitates. His brother's whole attitude is screaming at him to go, but...

-Actually, I was thinking maybe we should have a little chat. Why don't you...

-Talk ? repeats Donovan, his voice laced with sarcasm.

He pretends to gather the plates, to keep his hands busy and avoid meeting the other's gaze. There are words heavy with meaning on his tongue, but he refrains from adding anything.

-Yeah, says the Ensorceleur finally. About everything. I mean...I know you're mad at me, and I wanted...I wanted to talk about it.

Donovan refuses to answer, his chest constricted by a growing fury. He sweeps away the crumbs with the palm of his hand, giving himself a few seconds to try and gather his scattered thoughts.

-Don, please. I just want to talk to you.

The younger man remains focused on his task. The repetitive motion almost makes him forget the looming presence behind him. Donovan has never been able to do more than a few magic tricks, basic manipulations of the weak aura he possesses. Georges was always more powerful than he was.

-Don. Come on, Don. Come on. Please.

Smarter. Stronger.

-I'm sorry, Don.

More insolent, more selfish, more immature and inconsistent.

-You're sorry ? Sorry for what, exactly ? Donovan chokes, turning to face the monster in the house.

Georges-L'Ensorceleur takes a step back, apparently surprised by what he finds on Donovan's face.

-I don't care about what you want to tell me. There's nothing to discuss. You've made your choices. You took what you wanted and left everything else behind.

-Donovan...

-Shut up ! Barks his brother, eyes flashing with rage. Shut up !

The man takes a shaky breath. There's hesitation on the older man's face, as his brother’s emotions unleashs.

-You abandoned me, Donovan finally says. The words spill out between them, full of sharp edges.

The rage fades away as quickly as it appeared.

-It's been over 25 years. There's nothing left to say. I don't need apologies or explanations. Just stay as far away from me as possible. And, the translator quickly adds, I may not be able to protect Lucien from your lies, but I'll be there when you betray him the way you betrayed me. To bear the consequences of your actions for you.

The Ensorceleur turns pale and he straightens up :

-I would never hurt Lucien !

-You promised him the same way you promised never to leave me ?

-You think that's what I wanted ? I didn't know how to go back, Don ! I just didn't !

-But you found out a way, eventually. And you chose to never come back. You chose to leave in the first place.

The mercenary clenches his fists, struggling to maintain his composure as his brother turns away again.

-Get the hell out.

-You think this was easy for me ?  You think I didn't suffer while I was out there ?

Donovan pauses, stunned for a second. Stunned that the Ensorceleur, or Georges, or whatever name seemed most appropriate, would allow himself such a reflection.

-You think this was easy ? You think I wanted to leave you behind ? You think I wanted to leave you behind, in that fucking house with...with him ? continues the Ensorceleur. A violent anger surges through him, and he sweats in a way that's completely excessive for September.

-You think...

-You promised me just one thing ! shouts Donovan. One damn thing ! The only thing you were ever going to do for me ! Fuck you !

-Fuck you ! What, you think she never hit me ? You think I had it easier than you ?

-You've never been home enough to make it hard ! Always outside whenever you didn't like something, telling me you'd be home soon and pretending not to see my bruises, apologizing and doing it all over again the next day ! Even after she was dead ! Am I supposed to feel sorry for you and  pity you ?  

The dam breaks and the Ensorceleur lunges forward.

Donovan has no time to do anything but flinch. The Guardian grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall, eliciting a muffled scream. The Ensorceleur shakes him, panting heavily inches from his face, closer to losing control than he'd been for months.

-Shut up ! Shut up !

Donovan remains silent, breathless and shoulders aching. And if this silence is due more to years of learning than to violent shock, no one can tell the difference. Or almost nobody.

The Ensorceleur's blind rage subsides a little, enough to look at his little brother's fear-twisted face, held in the hands of someone who was supposed to protect him and who had already broken the most precious promise between them. Ordinary terror, so similar to that of so many before him.

No. Not him. He can't...he can't...Donovan...

-You're just like her.

The Ensorceleur widened his eyes and hurriedly released Donovan. He takes a faltering step backwards, horrified by his own inability to control himself, the weight of his actions made even heavier by his younger brother savage gaze.

The latter straightens a little and pulls at his shirt collar with one hand. His neutral, composed face holds firm, but his trembling hands bear witness to his shock and fear.

-You think I don't know what you've been doing all these years ? All those people you killed like dogs ? he spits.

The Ensorceleur stares at him, his stomach turning. How informed was he ? Who had informed him ?

He almost missed his brother's final verdict.

-Whatever happened to you, you deserve it. You deserve every bit of it.

It's strange, this need for recognition you feel from your family. This need for love, forgiveness, understanding. It's been a long time since he and Donovan shared anything. Today, the only thing forcing them together is a child who should never have learned anything about his paternal family and about whom they know almost nothing. Not much. Hardly more than the little they had all those years ago.

The Ensorceleur feels as if his chest is being crushed.

His brother looks straight into his eyes. It's empty and dull, the anger and pain purged by the passage of time.

For days, he'd been trying to find the courage to talk to Donovan. The courage to reopen the old wound and drain the pus. He'd never thought he'd find anything but a scar. Testimony to a past suffering, erased and now almost painless.

- It's been over 25 years. There's nothing left to say. I don't need excuses or explanations. We don’t share anything anymore, if we’ve already did so. I just want you to stay as far away from my life as possible. I'm tired of always being the one to suffer for others. I'm tired of having to sympathize with others, of having to be understanding, of having to be grateful for my easy life. I don't have what it takes anymore.

The Ensorceleur manages to take a strangled breath. The air passing through his lungs is pungent and irritating. He forces himself to relax his arms, a reflex movement. A fighter needs to take it easy in preparation for combat. An assassin needs to keep his flexibility.

-I'm tired of having to be the forgiving one.

A monster must abandon the idea of forgiveness.

Two strangers face each other in silence.

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIESUnconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | “It’s us or them.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.7 for Whumptober !

This one doesn’t need that much lore to be understood, but if you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Brian was normally very good at saving his strength. For any lightning magician, this was absolutely vital, and a large part of the training of the members of his guild, mostly made up of lightning mages, consisted of learning to carefully control the flow of energy and determine the minimum level necessary.

There was a blur of movement to his right and he let his magic enhance his reflexes, the shortened nerve impulses enabling him to move in time to dodge the hammer that smashed the ground where he stood just in time. A splinter of rock cut into his cheek without him even feeling it, completely focused on his opponent's next moves. There was an opening !

Brian threw himself forward in a burst of white light, aiming for the vital points.

The man he was up against straightened up, too quickly for it to be natural, and ploughed through the air with his weapon.

Brian leapt back with a cry of rage, forced to retreat again, skidding on the wet ground. He barely recovered and put a few more steps between himself and the enemy.

The latter, instead of continuing his attacks, watched him with a hallucinatory gaze, a euphoric sparkle in his eyes.

For God's sake, a guy of his build wasn't even supposed to be wielding a war hammer ! He was skinny, weak and obviously barely trained to fight ! Not even a challenge for a certified guild leader !

Brian gritted his teeth as the faint metallic taste in his mouth became more noticeable. In theory, the guy should have been on the ground by now, yes. If he wasn't the worst kind of opponent for a lightning mage.

A Berserker. Or at least, a pale imitation of one. Completely drugged with black henbane, insensitive to pain, endowed with enhanced strength and, worst of all, delirious stamina.

Brian's grip on his sword had been trembling for a good two minutes. He tightened it as best he could and tried to think above the panic that was beginning to mount. They were in the sewers, narrow and shifting spaces, in which using his increased speed was difficult and dangerous, especially when relying only on his imperfect night vision. Running away was not an option, and the very thought of it stirred a deep revolt within him.

But so was continuing to fight against such a resilient man.

Mages with an affinity for lightning essentially fought in two ways : by using their ultra-speed in a refined way to beat the enemy in a matter of seconds, or by unleashing huge discharges of power in just a few bursts. Brian couldn't count on the latter after putting his powers to work all the day, especially given the state he'd been in the week before, right after another seizure. As for the first...part of the problem stemmed from the Berserker's own reflexes.

The other came from Brian's deep-seated fear of what would happen if he missed. Or if the Berserker got up as if nothing had happened.

If the guild leader went all out, he could certainly give him one hell of a beating. But the price to be paid for this success...

The madman rushed at him with a scream, and Brian felt his power roar through his veins, tingling in his fingertips, in his legs, vibrating in every muscle. He barely dodged, swollen with adrenalin mixed with indecision. He pivoted and in a second of quick thinking lacerated the assailant's flank. He was rewarded with a satisfying spurt of blood. The man didn't scream or even slow down : he stretched out his leg to trip Brian. The lightning magician moved to dodge it too...

...And a sudden muscle contraction in his calf caused him to stumble anyway. He barely recovered, compensating with his good leg to transform his fall into a roll that allowed him to get up hastily and unleash a bolt of lightning from his fingertips that kept his opponent at bay. His outstretched fingers twitched spasmodically, as did his right leg. He'd dropped his sword in his fall, his strained muscles unable to keep a firm grip on the movement.

Oh shit, he was absolutely losing this duel, wasn't he ?

The gunman stared at his fingers for a second, then a delighted smile stretched across his face. He raised his eyes, staring at Brian.

-You're dead, you bastard.

The voice was hoarse and the words garbled, painfully extracted from the depths of a brain clearly not at its best when it comes to word.

The guild leader didn't reply, his heart in his throat, unable to think of an answer at the same time as his survival.

This wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this situation, and each time it felt like the last. And maybe it was the last, Brian mused, his leg and arms twitching spasmodically and unceasingly. A dull terror gripped his throat, soaking his palms with a sweat that had nothing to do with the effort. How many times had this same terror pressed against him in recent years?

Saving his strength, planning every necessary move, retreating as soon as possible at the slightest doubt. The daily routine of a lightning mage, the precepts that all those who employed these particular spells had to follow. He knew this. He knew exactly what consequences he was exposing himself to by neglecting these basic precautions.

And yet, he continued to end up in this position, always.

Brian exhaled slowly, the breath trapped in his lungs.

This wasn't the first time.

The Berserker launched a final charge to finish off his enemy.

Barely had he completed his first step when a flash of white blinded him. Then, a detonation, so powerful that he screamed in pain as his eardrums exploded, the destruction of delicate organs enough to briefly overcome even the insensitivity of the Berserker trance. In the confusion of the moment, he felt something going through his neck.

The afterimage on his retina finally dissipated. He wobbled, blinking wide-eyed to take stock, warm liquid dripping onto his shoulders from the two points of pain on either side of his head and on his chest.

The magician had disappeared.

For a second, he just stared at the last place he had stood. Gone...gone...a flash...

He turned around.

Crouched in the dust and leaning his shoulder against the wall to keep from collapsing, the man was staring at him with something that could only be terror on his blood-spattered face. And a kind of disbelief. Clearly, he hadn't expected to lose to a guy with almost no experience. His little escape attempt had failed.

The Berserker stepped forward to finish him off. Then the world turned, his legs gave up and he collapsed. He grunted in bewilderment, tried to lean on his arms to get up, but they gave way too, and he found himself flat on his back. His extremities were strangely numb, and for some reason his top was soaked through. He couldn't move enough to see, though. All he could do was growl at the mage, because the bastard had done something... !

He growled, struggling as he rapidly weakened, and as he flailed his gaze landed on an object on the ground beside the guildmaster. A small, blood-stained dagger.

His mind was no longer clear enough to make the connection, and he bled to death in a matter of seconds.

Brian could have fainted with relief. He had sincerely believed that this madman would manage to get up and kill him. But apparently, even Berserkers needed blood to live.

He'd managed to use what little stamina he had left in a final, full-speed thrust, pulling out his dagger to slit the man's throat. He'd finally won.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Another violent muscle spasm painfully contracted his leg for a few seconds. Teeth clenched, Brian managed to tear his cape from around his neck quickly. Fortunately, the pin had been specially designed to detach easily. Better to lose a cape than a man. He threw the pin on the side, then maneuvered his body shaking with tiny uncontrollable tremors to the side as fast as he could, clumsily putting the cape under his head. He only had a few seconds left before the worst of the crisis struck. He lay on his side as comfortably as he could, his vision devoured by dazzling white flashes.

Reinforcements were on their way. A location enchantment was bound to the cape pin and he'd gone deep into the tunnels hours before. They were probably looking for him now. This wasn't the first crisis he'd suffered after overusing his powers.

He was still repeating these thoughts over and over to himself when a sudden wave of muscular contractions seized him.

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You’re still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.4 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : When he was younger, the Ensorceleur fled his home and met a man who drew him into his mercenary army. He trusted this man completely, without realizing that their relationship was anything but healthy. After years of committing atrocities on behalf of his mentor, he finally opened his eyes and left. But the experience have definitely left a mark.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

The world moved around without him seeming to belong to it. His body seemed to be in a different space-time, heavy and slow, while a complex choreography of fluid movements seemed to take place around. A thick, heavy fabric limited his movements and separated him from the rest of the world. On a deeper level, the Ensorceleur recognized the effects of an active substance, probably an opioid administered to calm the raging pain that had taken hold of his decomposing right arm. This recognition, however, didn't allow him to act on the consequences, which didn't help the swarm of agitated persons next to him to calm down.

Standing next to his shivering friend who was clearly in a state of shock, Api struggled to retain any vestiges of composure.

 -If there's one fucking piece of information that's correct and accurate in his file, it's that he reacts badly to opioids !

-It wasn't in his file, sir ! Retorted the young apprentice on the verge of tears.

-Then who messed with the files ?!

-I did the best I could with what I had, sir !

-Damn it!

At his wits end, the healer turned away and took a deep breath to calm himself. Well, at least the drug seemed to have greatly reduced the physical pain, which was the primary objective. On the negative side, the mercenary looked more distressed than Api had ever seen him.

The Ensorceleur buried his head in his knees with a moan, drawing his attention. The man who treated a show of weakness as the worst thing that could happen to him moaned. The healer dropped to one knee, hesitantly bringing his hands up to the other man. The problem with trying to heal an Entity completely drugged and trained to kill was that the slightest miscalculated gesture could have dramatic consequences.

-Easy, breathed a voice behind his ear before he could make contact with his friend.

Crouching beside him, Bryan regarded the Ensorceleur with a worried expression.

-If possible, avoid touching him. He sometimes reacts...violently, when he's not in his normal state.

-Has anything like this ever happened before ? inquired the healer cautiously.

The guild leader hesitated visibly, because...

-With his metabolism, yes, from time to time...Don't look at me like that ! he quickly defended himself against the healer's glare. We tried to get his cooperation on several potential treatment plans when necessary, when he was in top form, and he always refused ! Except that once he was injured, we had no choice but to try and treat him with what little medical history we had. So yes, sometimes things got out of hand, and I've seen him in that kind of state before.

The Ensorceleur muttered a series of garbled words incomprehensible to them, and Bryan winced.

-Well, maybe not like this. His reactions to opioids are one of the pieces of information he's shared with us on his own.

-Hey. I need you to focus on us and try to communicate how you're feeling. I have a drug with an antagonistic effect that may help you feel better, but with your strange metabolism, I'd rather we let the effect wear off on its own. But I need to know how you feel, Api said slowly and distinctly to his patient.

The Ensorceleur could have answered him. He could have told him immediately to give him the strongest possible dose of his magic product. In fact, he would probably have begged him to do so, had he been able to hear what Api was saying.

But the ghostly hand resting on the back of his neck like tthe executioner guillotine had ensured that his undivided attention went to the only person in the room worthy of it.

Didn’t I taught you that showing weakness is the best way to get others to stab you in the back ?

Not real. He wasn't. He was drugged, and he absolutely had to hold onto that thought. At all costs.

You've never been one to hide behind lies. But I guess that's what you needed to keep hiding behind Silver Shein's back like a scared child.

The hand had more weight now, nails digging into flesh.

It's pathetic. You look like a beaten dog. But I suppose my disgust is normal. Few artists are ever satisfied with their creations.

The Ensorceleur exhaled the liquid lead in his lungs in a long, hoarse hiss and tried to convince himself that the hand on the back of his neck was more reassuring than terrifying, whether it belonged to Api or Bryan, or even Freya, who distrusted him but wouldn't hurt him for no reason, least of all in front of Bryan's eyes.

He forced himself to open his eyes and stare at Api's anxious face hovering in front of him. Whatever he felt behind him wasn't real. Just a hallucination brought on by the painkiller. Nothing that could hurt him, just a conspiracy from his brain and senses. If he concentrated on Api's features, on his reassuring presence, then the hallucinations would have a harder time dragging him into the dark corner of his consciousness where they resided.

Except that a pale face burst into his field of vision, blocking out his friend's view. The Enchanter gasped and threw himself backwards. His skull hit the wall with a thud and a flash of white flashed into his retina for a second, just a second ; that was enough.

A leather-gloved iron fist closed around his neck, strangling the scream. A weight much heavier than it should have crushed his hips, pinning him to the ground, and Magister leaned over him, smiling broadly, his pupils two black holes dripping ink onto his face.

Perhaps your brother's son would make a better canvas...or a better receptacle !

The man's face melted, lengthened a little, and his hair grew and lightened until a mass of curls frame familiar features. A grotesque parody of Lucien laughed in his face, before vomiting black, stale blood onto his chest. The Ensorceleur received a few drops in his mouth and audibly choked, struggling to free himself from his mentor's grasp.

-No. N-no...

He’s choking

Even now, you don't beg. Is there anything that could make you give up your misplaced pride ? Are they so insignificant to you, those you claim to protect ?

-Nooo...

We'll see, whispered the abomination with his nephew’s face. We'll see how quickly you fall at his feet...

When I've repaired your mistake and got my new suit of flesh, finished Magister, his mentor, master, friend and executioner.

Through the delirious terror (not for himself, never for himself, because his master would never hurt him, but the others, the insignificant...) that clouded his mind, he became aware of an increasingly acute pain in his arm. He resumed his pitiful attempts to free himself. He was the Ensorceleur, he had to fight, to keep going, to do the only thing he was good at...

But he had never been able to make even a violent gesture towards Magister.

You love me more than you've ever loved anyone.

Warm breath on his nose. Ice-blue eyes, punctuated with shadows and shades, so close he could almost see the constellations formed by the black flakes in the iris.

I'll try to sedate him

Watch his arm

Moist warmth on his cheeks, distant and impersonal. Emotions blunted and others too vivid to comprehend that clash and leave him torn, barely able to put together the pieces that make him the Ensorceleur.

I love you.

A sharp but localized pain in his arm.

I forgive you.

The last image to followed him into the muddy waters of unconsciousness were those icy eyes. Or...warm brown, perhaps?

He prefered this softer brown.

L'Ensorceleur let himself be drawn under the surface, where neither ghosts nor memories can follow him.

You belong to me, after all.

No. 2 : Altprompt / Finding Old Messages

OC Whump

Hi, here is my second contribution for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Edwin is a human who, following a traumatic event involving enemies of Silver (his friend), has made a pact with a god. He became a servant of a god responsible for guiding the souls of the dead and their memories. This gave him the power he needed to take revenge, but the pact also stipulated that with each use of the god's power, he would lose a little more of his memories, his friends, his life, etc...

Also, I just want to specify that « L’Ensorceleur » is the french translation for « The Sorcerer », but I’m way too used to the French word to change it.  

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for any TW and enjoy !

There's a narrow space under the single bed. A dark crevice where nothing lives but dust motes, a few forgotten tissues and a surprisingly clean sock...?

A hand suddenly appears under the bed, groping for something. Finally, after a long minute that only earned the owner a tissue and a sneeze, a body slumped at the foot of the bed and a disheveled brown head with piercing blue eyes peered out from under the bed. The sock was promptly retrieved as soon as it was spotted, but just as the teenager who had just grabbed it was about to get up and go (now shod) about his business, his gaze fell on the last inhabitant of the place.

Edwin raised an eyebrow at the sight of a notebook under his bed. It had probably fallen there by accident. Well, this was no place to keep a notebook. Might as well remove it.

After a series of unsuccessful attempts and the use of a broom to dislodge the reluctant object, Edwin found himself with a black leather notebook, bound with a sturdy red thread. Beautifully designed, elegant, even if the scratches on the weathered leather showed it had lived.

Probably one of the dozens of old notebooks he kept. He'd always been a keen draughtsman, even if he hadn't taken to it as much recently. The cities of the old kingdom teemed with spirits and souls that demanded his attention. He no longer had as much time to do the things he loved, such as drawing, as well as other passions. Fatigue weighed too heavily on his bones.

He thought of taking a look at its contents out of curiosity. But he had a program for the day, a handful of lost souls who needed assistance to find rest and stop mingling with the mortals of this plane.

A servant of the Gods was only an extension of the one he served, after all. Even so, Edwin's situation was nothing like that of a normal servant, left to his duty without guidance, depending on where his own footsteps took him most of the time, when he wasn't spending time with his friends, when he returned to the city where they lived. His friends, like Silver and Léa...

The young man pushed aside the superficial thought and placed his find on the bedside table. He'd have plenty of time to consult it when he returned tonight.

The Beacon left his room without looking back.

*

He didn't think about it immediately on the way back. He was almost ready for bed, mentally exhausted by the afflictions of the ghosts he had assisted.

But a battered leather cover caught his eye. He stared at the innocent notebook for a moment, fatigue heavy on his eyelids. Then he reached out and pulled the booklet towards him, noticing layers tucked between the pages. Pictures ? Photos from Earth ? He was almost tempted to unravel this peculiar mystery on the spot, but Edwin had always been reasonable.

-You look a bit familiar.  Let's see what's into you, murmured the young man, gently turning the front cover.

Disappointingly, the first page of the notebook, velvety if yellowed, was covered with abstract scribbles in his own hand. Little more than a decoration, pretty and eye-catching, a prelude to most of his sketchbooks.

He searched for a date, but couldn't find it. Before he takes on the habit of indicating the date, then.

The second page featured a pencil sketch of a superb trotting horse. The sketch had a raw air, intentional or not, and managed to convey the animal's power.

The next page was a drawing of two people napping in the sun, colored in soft hues. It took Edwin a long moment to recognize Silver and Nathan, or another name in the same style. After all, they weren't that close anymore...

The next following pages were just as normal, people he more or less remembered, people he would probably have to visit soon. They'd drifted apart a bit, but they'd gotten along well at one time. Becoming a servant of a God had forced him to leave the region more often than he would have liked.

Then, on the page following a sketch of a dragon of slightly exaggerated proportions compared to reality (he knew this, even if he couldn't remember the creature itself), he came across a note. Not his own, in airy script, in faded turquoise-blue ink.

“Hey, Eddie ! Just to remind you, the gang and I made you a little memo to remind you a little of who you are. Since we talked about it not too long ago, you and I decided to create this notebook for you. You can use it as a memo of the things we've been through together, what you like and what we like about you, to tell you about us, the memories you may have forgotten. Oh, we've included dates and photos too, so don't panic ! Hope that helps. And remember, we all love you. Kisses and hurry back !”

It's signed Lea, and Edwin's heart beats hard in his chest. He stares at the message for a moment, not knowing what to make of it. Then, fingers trembling, he turned the page.

He was greeted by a photo of a dark-haired man with sun-kissed skin and bright eyes. His smile, on the close-up photo, conveyed an infectious joy.

“Hey Edwin,” said the note underneath. “It's Silver, your friend. Lea said we could tell anyone we wanted, so I'm going for it! Remember when I told you I was a wizard/werewolf ? It was at night, in September I think, and I'd just climbed in through your brother's window...”

What follows is an elaborate description of what happened that night, followed by a quick introspection of Silver's feelings towards Edwin, and ends with one of those “I love you” that comes so easily to him and an invitation to come back soon.

Eleanora is more careful in the way she writes, as she has always been in the way she is. The weight of her father's sins is felt in every word she addresses to him, every apology for what he has become. But the first memory she shares is warm and light, and leaves a longing in Edwin's chest.

The Ensorceleur’s message is hidden by a piece of paper taped over it. Some of the others have done this too, on messages of a more sensitive or private nature. This message is not sensitive, at least not in the usual sense. It’s filled with an honesty that the man rarely shows in the presence of an audience, and reminds him of an old promise. There's an invitation to return and a thinly veiled threat that revives other memories, some scarier than others and some full of reluctant affection. Sounds like him.

(Another message, coded as if it were a secret, is just a long list of colorful, imaginative insults that make him laugh.)

Some are more...difficult. Lucien's, or Valka's, give him a fairly precise idea of the emotions he's supposed to be feeling, but he doesn't actually feel them. It helps him situate their relationship from an intellectual point of view, but without feeling, everything remains cold and clinical. And that fills him with an all-consuming guilt that twists and turns in his stomach. Even the photos don't mean anything to him.

Nathaniel shares personal things about himself and what he's apparently entrusted to Edwin over the years, and hot tears roll down the Beacon’s cheeks.

Kara's page carries a strange smell of burnt wood and ashes, and a tender story of how she fell in love with someone. Tomas talks about the warmth of home and the person who convinced him he was worthy of love.

Kylsham talks about a trip they took together, and suddenly Edwin becomes aware that he's craving for a fruit he can't find here.

The notebook revives faded memories, makes him aware of others that have disappeared, and awakens emotions he now realizes he'd forgotten. The pages are worn, the words faded and the paper thinned by flipping through. How many times did he reread this diary before misplacing it ? How long has the notebook been under the bed, as forgotten as these memories ? What did he miss ? The dates make him dizzy.

All the messages have one thing in common. They all ask him to come back and see them when he can.

His mind made up, Edwin barely takes the time to put on a coat before leaving the inn, notebook under arm and ghost in step.

Whatever the pact with the god has stolen he will never fully recover. But he can try to delay the inevitable as long as possible. 

Edwin heads for home.

Is this a problem?

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

Hi, here is my contribution no.3 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Helios is a delusional, tyrannical and powerful demigod who seeks to build a family by “adopting” (i.e. kidnapping) people. Justine is one of the people he’s trying to adopt. She’s a 14 years-old teenager.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Justine is beginning to think she's good at controlling her reactions. Or maybe she really is getting used to the situation, which is a more unpleasant thought than she can tolerate at the moment.

However, she can't repress herself when the officer who's supposed to bring back a translator invites Helios into his office.

She's never been one to scream when she's in the grip of strong emotion, but everyone has their exceptions, and she throws herself out of her seat to slam against the wall, screaming in panic when the demigod immediately moves towards her, hand outstretched.

-No, no! NO!

The officer studies the scene with a relaxed air, watching as the tall, intimidating man grabs the handcuffed teenager by the arm and pulls her towards him with harsh words in another language. The girl sobs and tries to wriggle free, but the adult's strength is far superior and he shakes her a little, his voice sharp, until she gives up and bows her head, trembling all over.

Helios turns away to exchange sentences she doesn't understand with the officer, a member of the militia, supposed to protect and serve the citizens, supposed to hide her and help her join her father. The mage keeps a painful grip on her upper arm, holding her so close to him that she almost has her nose in the light tunic he's wearing.

The officer approaches and unlocks the handcuffs with a chuckle in response to what Helios tells him. Both men's tones are relaxed, even if Justine detects a hint of tension in the mage's. He tightens his grip as soon as the cuffs drop and she bites her lip to keep from letting out a sound of pain.

He's going to punish her. He's going to kill her. No one cares. The militiaman has seen her reaction to the demigod's entrance. It's not the reaction of a runaway child, but that of a girl terrified for her life. He sends her back to her nightmare without the slightest hint of guilt. How much were they paid to ignore their duty ?

Helios turns to her :

-If you behave even a little less than perfectly on the way home, I'll kill everyone involved and make you regret it. Is that clear ?

It takes her a moment to find the words, long enough for him to press his fingers into her flesh, causing her to yelp in pain.

-Is that clear ?

-Yes ! Yes ! I'm sorry ! the girl adds hastily, desperate to find the answer that will make him release the pressure.

His grip loosens as a fresh wave of tears wells up in her eyes.

Instead, he takes her hand and slips the militiaman a few more coins before leaving.

Justine keeps her eyes lowered to her feet until they reaches the carriage, crossing the building without attracting more than a glance from soldiers too busy to notice her distress, unless they actively choose to ignore her.

Helios pulls her up beside him, not in front of him. He still doesn't loosen his grip on her hand either, though it's more cautious than the one on his arm. She doesn't dare try to free herself, afraid of the outburst of violence this might provoke.

The first few minutes of the trip are spent in stony silence. Justine is unable to completely stop her hiccups, let alone the uncontrollable trembling that runs through her. Her quiet cries are the only sound in the cabin.

Then Helios lets out a long sigh and slumps back against the seat. He stays like that for a minute, then turns to consider the absolutely terrified child beside him. Her scruffy hair hides her face, and he leans over to clear it a little. Justine lets out a loud sob at the touch. Her eyes are closed and she tenses in anticipation of a violent gesture.

He doesn't hit her, just looks at her intently.

-I warned you.

She cowers a little.

-I told you I trusted you to behave. I told you that you didn't stand a chance and that you'd be punished if you tried to run away.

-I'm sorry, murmurs the child, almost too low for his superior hearing to pick it up.

Oh, Justine's a smart kid. Unlike some, she rarely hesitates to tell him what he wants to hear to ensure her safety. Unfortunately, he's no fool. She also doesn’t hesitate to try to flee when the opportunity presents itself, and now she has to face the consequences. Learning that their actions have consequences and setting limits is essential in the development of a well-balanced child and in their relationship with the people who take care of them.

-If you must know, the arresting officer didn't even recognize you until he got his hands on you. Normally, they don't bother bringing a thief to the barracks for such a small amount of food, so it's lucky he remembered your face.

She got captured for stolen food ? Is she going back to that hellhole because she couldn't get that potato galette quietly enough ?

The idea nearly sends her into a fit of hysterical laughter, which immediately dies in her throat as Helios leans towards her.

-Every member of the militia knows what you look like. They all know who to contact if you end up in one of their barracks.

The demigod is an imposing, menacing presence hovering over her.

-You never had a chance to escape, a velvet voice breathes softly in her ear.

-I've told you this before, but it seems you learn better from practice than from theory.

Helios straightens up so abruptly that the movement makes her flinch again. The grip on her hand tightens briefly.

-Well, I guess you weren't ready for this level of freedom. It looks like we'll have to give up the outdoors for a while. And of course, probably some extra homework, since you're so full of energy.

And Justine should be relieved that these are her only punishments (if she doesn't count the throbbing pain in her upper arm, which is already starting to bruise), but it's not just access to the outdoors that she's lost. All the fragile freedom she'd gained by dint of obedience has just vanished in the space of a failed test. Almost two months of delicate construction crumbled before her eyes.

-Clearly, the trust between us is more fragile than I thought, comments Helios. A little closeness can only do us good.

His thumb has begun to gently rub Justine's palm in what could be a comforting gesture.

-I can't wait.