Chapter Text
“This land is lost,” William stares out his father’s bedroom window at the stars, face in shadow. “Lambs in need of a shepherd.”
His father grunts, the only noise he seems to make these days. Even when they are alone, he does not speak to him anymore. The man he had thought would lead their world into greatness is now a husk of himself. Broken down by those Sanctists.
“You tried to lead them, Father,” he walks away from the window, towards the bed. “Thank you for your hard work, but you can rest now.”
The knife glints in the moonlight as he raises it. Father does not react. He never reacts anymore. Just allows Forden to do as he wants in the name of a false god. Allows him to move them further from the light of true salvation.
“I will save our people, you can rest in peace,” he whispers as the blade strikes true, right into the heart. “You will smile down from heaven at the utopia I will create in our name.”
He gurgles and William watches as the life leaves his eyes. What little there was left, that is. Most had been eeked out over the years already, William forced to watch his father become a husk of himself.
This was a salvation of its own, he tells himself. No longer would his father be shackled to those who see him as nothing more than a stepping stone. No longer would he have to lead his people astray.
He could simply watch as a new dawn came to Euchronia!
Louis checks his pack for about the third time that night. Some money for the road (that would finally be useful unlike in this infernal Sanctum), a change of clothes, and three books. Utopia as gifted to him by the King of Euchronia himself, a book his mother used to read him when he was trying to sleep, and a book on the dark arts barely saved from the fire that burned their library.
He thinks of the library and grimaces, closing the pack and readjusting his brown gloves once, twice, three times. One arm burned in that fire, when he tried to reach out to his mother who simply pushed the book into his hands. A leg followed suit when a beam of the library fell and burned through the leg of his pants.
And yet the face everyone called oh-so-angelic was fine. He catches himself in the mirror, eyes sunken and yet still called beautiful. Hair long enough it’s becoming a bother, but the Charadrius family never cut their hair so he just puts it back in a ponytail.
The Charadrius family also doesn’t leave the Eldan Sanctum, but he supposes he has to break some traditions. Especially when said tradition came from when they lived in a beautiful forest rather than in the ground. Hiding from the fire and the monks who would happily slaughter them all given the chance. Women, children, anyone they could find…
He shakes the thought away. He is stronger than that, and those who would be at risk will stay here. They will notice he is missing, but they will not come looking for him. Because that would put everyone in danger.
Only Louis would be able to slip away and into the throes of Euchronia’s people without anyone realizing where he had come from. Because he didn’t belong here, among those who were happy to hold the secrets of the world close to their chests.
How would they avoid the end of the world if no one speaks up? If no one tells the people where they came from, what they risk becoming by ignoring their anxiety every day? The elda can hide, but it won’t stop the world from marching towards oblivion.
And Sanctism thought by keeping the people ignorant they would be safe. Ha! All they were doing was smothering their people in their cribs. Not allowing them to grow enough to learn how to protect themselves.
They wanted people weak, but they had to be strong. Strong enough to face their thoughts and feelings. Strong enough to drag others up with them, or be rid of them if they were a lost cause.
He looks over his room one more time and slips out. Down the hallway and up the stairs. Out the doors and he can see the stars in the distance. He sees them so rarely now, but soon that will change. Soon he can see them every night if he so chooses.
The stars will never be taken from him again.
He walks out of the caves and into the fresh air, breathing it in. All that’s left is walking out of this forest, and he’s not about to look back.
Not even as the flutter of wings follows after him and only stops at his pack. Even as a little fairy sneaks into his bag.
His journey’s first step is taken, and maybe, just maybe, it was already too late to go back.