Chapter Text
“Do not have fear. Heaven is above. Heaven is the answer,” his creator prayed to the large statue.
Barrow looked up at the ugly thing with apathetic eyes. Its face was twisted in a “smile,” yet he saw it as anything but. Its eyes were too big and not crinkled, its mouth flaps stretching inhumanly wide.
Yet, Barrow's creator still prayed to it daily. He tilted his head at his m̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ creator. How curious. She kept her head down, pressing her forehead to the ground. He frowned. The ground was dirty. Why would his creator do that? Creators should be wiser than their creation.
So why does it seem like everyone around Barrow is as foolish as a mere dog?
On the way back to his accommodation, Barrow spotted a large white castle. It is supposed to have 2 dragon eggs inside. Why is no one stealing them? A “thief” is a mere title. The curse? Only benefits. Immortality is a gift. Pain is a trick of the mind. A pact? Words mean nothing. They are only lies spoken by the dirty mouth. Barrow touched his lips.
“Hm.”
Back at home, he stared at his measly rag of a resting place. It’s pathetic, like the rest of the stupid beings here. There is an opportunity. No one has taken it. Barrow flexed his fingers. Yet. No one has taken it yet.
...
THUD!!
Barrow climbs over the walls with relative ease, landing with a thud on his feet. Sprinting from room to room, he peeks at each and every one of them. They go from larger to smaller, the rooms varying in items. Almost like it was made with a purpose. With care. Barrow slows down to take a closer look at one of the smaller rooms. Care. Care is nothing but sweet talk from one to another. He must keep that in mind. In a world full of deceit, it’s kill or be killed. “Care” does not exist.
Barrow kept running. He skidded to a stop in front of a smaller quaint room. There, laid a giant red egg and a smaller black egg in a soft nest. He can carry the black one with ease, but the red one might bring him some issues. Barrow took both of them, needing to slow himself to a slow jog. He exited the castle and paused.
..Was that a woman’s scream he heard? Barrow looked back. It was still dark out, and he couldn’t see far behind him, but Barrow was absolutely sure that there was no one behind him.
He climbed the wall, struggling to alternate the eggs on each arm. Barrow reached the top of the wall. The rope he used to initially enter the useless building looked too thin to support both him and the heavy eggs.
Barrow reaches a hand down and calculated the distance. It’s a relatively smooth surface with no gaps, so he can’t climb down. The front gates are locked as well. The walls surround the castle on all sides. No opening. Barrow was not prepared for the weight of the eggs, and thought he could slide down the walls with the rope just as he had entered the castle. Fatal mistake.
The bricks are sturdy and will not crumble with what little materials Barrow has on him. He stared back down at the steep walls, and made his move. Once he left the castle walls, the curse would activate. Perfect.
Barrow stepped off, shielding the eggs with his body and rolling on the ground. He put one leg in front of the other, sacrificing it. Better for one leg to be broken than both. The sharp pain rippled through the leg and Barrow hissed in pain. His vision blurred, and the pain spread, burning flames seemingly spread across his whole body, charring his skin.
Barrow grinned. Through the agony and the following numbness, He smiled madly, matching the statue his now inferior creator worshipped. He had power. A rare spark of raw emotion, excitement coursed through him for a split second before being muffled by something. Barrow’s body throbbed and it hurt to keep his eyes open.
A small price for the coming benefits. His arms gave out and the eggs rolled a few steps away. Barrow kicks them to a shaded corner, making sure they stayed out of sight. The pain clouded his vision and his ears rang loud enough to make them burst, but Barrow’s mind was intact.
It was intact and working. So he had no reason to stop. Barrow took a step, and stumbled. His limbs felt like useless baggage, heavy as lead and constantly pricked by needles. He would need to get used to that eventually.
For now, Barrow would need to check the village. Would everyone be dead? The curse was supposed to take any and everyone whom he cared about. Barrow did not “care.” He took what was needed and used what was useful. But he felt somewhat compelled to check his own home first. He did not know why. Barrow’s limbs led him to sluggishly crawl to the familiar house. He kicked the door open.
The interior was entirely devoid of life, with it being unusually silent. Barrow felt something. He was not sure what. Something that made his body feel weak and his heart sink. Strange. Barrow limped away, a little slower than the pace he could probably go at. He found himself occasionally looking back to a place he could once call home.
But Barrow did not feel regret. He could not feel regret. Barrow was reduced to something equivalent to a machine. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, he dragged himself to and fro the homes and huts.
He found no one. Barrow expected this, so why was he disappointed?