Le Jeune Guilavene

Author\'s notes: Don\'t know why the format is funky, but don\'t blame me. I sure didn\'t type it that way. This is an Escaflowne AU, even though its set in another Fantasy World, don\'t expect it to be like Gaea. Van and Folken aren\'t related in this, so its not really incest. Most all of the characters of the show will be in here, and hope I kept them fairly IC. Enjoy, review if you like it or don\'t (not including ranting flamers).

Prologue:

It was towards the end of the second season of Transition and the air was still pleasantly warm and the breezes refreshingly cool. There were a few clouds about, but nothing that indicated rain. The citizens took advantage of the fine weather, filling the streets to sell or buy, work or play. The priest of the Qurian temple, the only two story building in the area, rang the steple bell exactly midway between dawn and noon. Children played tag in the villiage square while their mothers and fathers haggled with the merchants or shopped the small specialty shops. Magrin the forester led his rickety old cart to the doctor’s clinic to trade for herbs, his white Breccian gour groaning and snorting under the strain of its load. Nothing appeared out of place, nothing hinted at something special was happening in the little village of Fanelia.
But a little ways from the small town, nestled with in the Fanelian Forest, something was happening. Something special, though no one would recognize it as such at the time. Inside a plain little cottage, sealed from sun and noise, a sort of drama was playing itself out.
A woman lay panting in exhaustion on the coarse fervem blankets. Her small sweaty hands tightened around her husband’s as another contraction brought the pain of her difficult labor.
“Gaou! Help me! Oh Gaou,” she screamed, and the knowledge of her emminent death became apparent to her.
Varie was no fool. She knew she was dying. Her eldest sister had died in much the same way. So when the midwife, plump and haughty with authority, pulled her husbandthe the other side of the room she knew exactly what the woman was saying.
“Gaou,’ the midwife began in a soothing tone, ‘You have probably already noticed, but your wife is dying.”
The man, as large and proud as he was, let out a weak desperate sound and looked to his wife with her pale waxen features and brittle stringy hair. Of course he knew, but her admission shattered the lingering hope that something could be done. That something all midwives knew, a professional secret, that would save her.
“Calm yourself, young man,’ she scolded, ‘I have not finished. Your wife can not deliver the baby and she’s dying under the strain of trying. The baby itself is still alive, and I have hope that we can save it. However..,’ The midwife turned from Gaou for a moment, not able to stand the hopeful look in his eyes, and pulled a large silver dagger from the folds of her apron. ‘Either way, she will not live another hour.”
Gaou pulled back at the sight of the blade, disbelief etched across his face.
“We will, of course, have to be quick if we do not wish her suffer. If we kill her quickly, we will onl only a short time to-”
He stepped forward in one quick stride and slapped the dagger from her hand. It flew across the room where it embedded itself in the earthen wall. The midwife clutched her hand and stared shocked at the man she had assumed a weakling.
Gaou seethed in rage at her antapathy and heartlessness. How could she propose murder to him and act like they were merely going to slaughtering an animal? This was his wife she was talking about! His first and tru true love!
“Get out.”
“I-” the woman stammered.
“GET OUT!” he roared and she ran as quickly as her portly legs could carry her, abandoning her silver dagger and all her tools.
He slammed the door behind her as she fled, sending simple wood latch that had never been used falling into place. Silence fell with the latch, sending pervasive sense of finality and dread throughout the little house.
“Gaou?” Varie’s soft voice called from bed.
His anger instantly forgotten, an tan to her and knelt beside her, taking her clamy hand in his. She smiled weakly at him and touched his face, running her fingers through the stuble of his three day old beard.
“Oh Gaou. You should have just let her.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“No. Never. I could never do that to you, Varie.”
“I am dying, Gaou. At least her way, I could have left something for the world. Someone for you to love. Oh, husband, I love you so,” she said, the happiness in her voice ininining against her pain.
“Stop it, just stop it. You are a strong woman, you can make it. You just have to hold on a little longer. Try a little harder. Please, Varie, just try. I know its not fair to ask. I’m just a big stupid man with no understanding of what a pain it is to be a woman, but please,” he begged her.
She smiled a little more easily at him this time. “It’s nice to hear you finally admit that.” Then she stiffened with a final contraction, her smile lost as her face twisted with anguish then relaxed with the rest of her body.
“No, Varie, stop it. Don’t you dare give up. Dammit, Varie, stop it!”
But she did not listen nor acknowledge him, already slipping away into oblivion, her hands becoming limp in his.
“VARIE!”
Mad and desperate, he seized her by her shoulders and shook her. Gently at first, but then with increasing violence when her chest stopped rising and falling until finally he had to drop her, terrified he would break her neck if he shook her too hard. A strange, hollow pain constricted his chest and traveled down to his stomach and spread into his limbs, as if feeling her death within his very being. In his life he had faced things most men would never dream of, things children feared lived under their beds and in unlioms.oms. It would be a lie to say he had not been afraid, but he would have traded an eternity of those experiencces to stop this horrid ache. All his screaming for his love and all his half formed prayers did nothing but spread the feeling faster.
“She cannot hear you.”
The voice cut through his desperate cries, echoing impossibly in the little wooden hollows of the room. Gaou lept up, swinging his arm out as if he expected someone to be right behind him, but struck only air. He spun around, dazed and still frightened, but there seemed to be no one. He scanned the room more slowly. It was dark with the windows closed, a few latterns hung from the support beams just above Varie, sending the rest of the house into shadows. However, the man knew his own home, and peering at the darker shadows that was his furniture and personal artifacts, who could pin point nothing out of the ordinary. The little door leading to the kitchen was shut, and still barred. Had he been dreaming?
A creaking sound drew his attention upwards, and he made even greater leap of surprise than before. Just above them, looking down from his perch on the dimly lit rafters of the ceiling, sat a man. But a man like none Gaou had ever seen. His skin was very pale, what little he could see of it, for despite the warm weather he was wrapped in a long dark cloak. His hair appeared gray in the dimness, but he was certain it was either very light blonde or white, and cropfashfashionably short. His was was delicately featured, aristocratic minus the usual chubiness in the jaw and a pointed nose. His sharp cheek bones, however, gave him a foreign look he was unfamiliar with.
“Who- who,” Gaou stammered.
“Who am I?” the dark figure offered, his voice cutting through his once again with all the sharpness of a doctor’s blade. There was a definite accent. Though his words flowed smoothly, there waderlderlying lyrical tone to his pronunciation he had never heard, even in the cultural bazaars of the cities of his youth.
“Do you not think, that the better question would be ‘what am I’?”
Slowly, the stranger shifted, unable to stand on the support beams of the low ceiling , and lowered himself to the floor with one arm. Gaou realized he had been mistaken when he assumed the man was wrapped in a cloak, for when he started moving a pair of immense black wings unfolded themselves from arounm. m. They stretched themselces wide until their ebony feathers were brushing the wall on either side of the room, before folding them again behind himself this time. The shimmering of chain mail and sharp cut of leather, now revealed the man to be dressed in the garb of high-ranking soldier. A standing white against the dark material of the stranger’s tunic was a something the man finally recongized. An emblem in gold and red of a dragon.
Gaou leapt back, more to shield Varie than to run away, seizing a nearby chair and made ready to bash the intruder with it. The demon did not try to approach them though. Instead, he stared at the husband and wife as if sizing them up, his head tilting side to side though his eyes never moved. It was then, Gaou noticed his eyes were red.
“Who are you? What do you want?“ the human demanded.
The demon gave him a reasuring smile that made him scan the room quickly for potential weapons.
“To help you, of course. Unless you want her to die,” the stranger said.
He tilted his head toward the unconscious woman, her lips beginning to turn blue before his very eyes.
“Why would you care?” he spat, but his eyes brightened with the possibilty of new hope. Anything, it did not matter what, so long as his beloved lived.
At his question, the demon’s reasuring smile became sinister, his canine slipping over his pale lips.
“I do not. But you have something that I want, and I am willing to trade you her life for it,” the albino explained.
“And what is it you want so much?”
“Your child.”
“GET OUT! GET-”
Gaou angry bellowing was quickly shut off by a powerful metal gauntlet clamped over his mouth. The demon glared dangerously down at him, the different shades of red standing out vividly as he hissed a warning in his captive’s ear. His movement across the room so impossibly fast the human was not certain he had not been standing their the whole time.
“Is your self-righteous hypocrisy so much more important to you than your own
wife?” the demon growled. He removed his hand from Gaou’s mouth to he jerk the man
around to face Varie and shoved him down to his knees to see her pale face so close to his own. “A life for a life. It is a fair trade. If you do not agree, she will die and so will her babe and you will be left alone with the guilt of knowing you could have saved them both. Can you live with that,
Gaou? Would you want to?”
For a long time, he could not answer, but merely stare helpless at his poor Varie, whom he had loved the first time she had smiled at him. He had never had a day where he had not planned Varie to be apart of it, how could he live the rest of his life without her?
“Do it.”
The demon smiled again and realeased him, allowing the man slump to his knees on the floor. He strode to the other side of the room and pulled the midwife’s dagger from the wall.

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Chapter 1:

16 years later

Van stalked through the silent forest, his arrow held ready in his bow. Carefully, quietly, he made his way along the animal trail and reached out with all his senses to find his prey. A light breeze carried the faintest scent of animal musk and urine, but it was lost as the wind stopped or changed directions and left only the smell of decaying leaves and honey whites. Above him he could hear the flapping of scraw’s wings. They would not call out, however, and reveal him. It was in the scavangers’ best interest that he caught his prey. So he did not look up to watch them, but kept his eyes glued to the forest ahead, unblinking.
His earth toned pants clung snugly, but comfortable to his slender legs protecting his fragile skin from foliage and the more viscious varieties of insects. His bright red shirt hung loosely, allowing cool air to flow over his sun-warmed skin. He would not bother wearing it all during this hot summer morning, but the bright red cloth served to alert other hunters that he was not in fact a wondering garuuk or a prowling basha. Experience had taught him the dangers of neglecting this important hunting rule.
With a sigh, the young hunter straightened and relaxed his tense muscles. There was nothing here. The garuuk had finally figured a way around him and he would have to find their new path if he expected to b any any meat home. Van gave his surroundings one last scan and convinced that there was truly nothing there worth shooting he returned his arrow to its quiver and unstrung his bow.
Looking up he could tell it was almost mid morning and he still had some time before noon struck, which left him with time to kill. So he continued down the garuuk trail and searched the coniferous forest for berry bushes. After all, he did not like to return home empty handed as his father w lik likely berate him for laziness. Van snorted. His father could not catch a fish on dry land, let alone hunt a fowl or buck, so who was he to complain?
He snatched a large honey white blossom, a poofy flower the size of his fist, and started plucking a few of the thin pedals out so he could suck on the nectar sweetened tips. Forest candy it was called, and it was from these that Van’s sweet tooth had developed. They were also good sources of a quick energy, and he needed that if he planned to trudge all over the hilly forest.
He made his way westward, covering the more scenic areas of the wood such as Silver Falls and the Rock havens in his leisurely quest for sustenance. After a short while he removed his red shirt to let the breeze cool him better. He need not worry about hunters now, since none other than himself dared to travel so close to the Silver Forest or Demon Wood, depending on who you asked.
The hunter himself, had never seen a demon once in all the years he had hunted these woods and if anyone would have witnessed one it would have been him. While he was skeptical of demons living there, he remained cautious when he neared the place. It was impossible not to know when the Silver Forest began and the Fanelian forest ended. The most obvious reason being that the second you stepped into the cursed land you were no longer surrounded by the thin lodge pole Ruao trees, but silver furenze trees with trunks the size of small cottages and roots and limbs the as thick as a man sticking out everywhere. There was no transition, but a perfect border that neither type of tree crossed in some strange defiance of natural law. Van had never been through those great trees and he knew he never would, as his parents had strictly forbidden him. By rumors from the village that no one returnece tce they had entered, he guess they had good reasons. Never the less, the border between the forests was a prime spot for finding berries
and hunting Sprig geese and he was a not one to waste what the land had to offer.
The young man knelt at a promising looking shrub, heavy with red pippits the size of arrow heads. They were disappointingly small this year, but they still tasted fine. Using his shirt he began gathering the fruit that had already fallen recently in his red shirt, having nothing else to hold them.
Van was almost done when something happened. He was not quite sure what it was. Perhaps a change in the wind or the sudden silence of the birds. Whatever it was, it made him still and look up cautiously.
At first, he did not even notice that it was even there, it stood so still. And then the garuuk turned its head to the side and flicked its ear to listen, drawing his attention quickly. The young hunter’s heart skipped a beat as it looked right at him, knowing he had been seen. It did not run away, however, like he exp expected. Instead, it shook itself from its previously tense position and continued on its business of marking its territory. The great deer brought down its two pairs of antlers and thrashed its head on the ground, completely ignoring the odd bipedal creature behind the bushes.
Van was at a loss for a while, but then he noticed the animal was standing in the Silver Forest and it became very clear. It had never seen a human. Never known danger within the secluded lands. How sad, he thought to himself but for life of him could not think why. He laid down the berries and slowly began to restring his bow. If the garuuk noticed, it did not give
any sign and merely wandered closer to the border of its haven towards the fruit baring shrubs.
He had his bow notched by the time it had was with in ten paces of border and thirty paces from himself. He did not fire, though. If he was going to kill the beast he wanted it within the Fanelian Forest or he would never be able to retrieve the carcass. So he waited with his bow drawn and in a ready stance. And he waited.
Van glanced at the sun and calculated that it was a little past mid day and the buck still had not moved any closer or further from the edge of the Silver forest. He was beginning to feel the strain and frustration of the wait. His arms and legs ached and soon he knew he would not care if the beast went back to its forest or came into his, just so long as it did something. Anything besides standing there and watching him with those unreadable black eyes.
Irritation welled up in him. Why won’t the damn thing move? Why can it not come over here? Or why can’t I go over there? re. re. The question was posed and Van quickly forgot all the reasons why that forest was forbidden and no one entered. He forgot the rumors and the fears and the pure strangeness of the land. All he saw was that garuuk whom he was suddenly
convinced was mocking him, standing there with all the confidence in the world that it has nothing to fear from the young hunter.
The breeze picked up a little, making the leaves of the trees rustle and the branches creak. And in hushed voices he could hear the wind tell him to release his arrow, he could never miss, and take the animal from the silver grove and ignore the foolish superstitions of the villagers.
Slowly, Van took a step forward. And then another and another. The garuuk seemed to watch him, but did not back away or tense its muscle in preparation for flight. In a trance, the young hunter approached the buck, moving closer and closer.
Why shouldn’t I? he asked himself.
Closer. Closer.
Why?
He drew his arrow back.
Why?
Aiming it directly for its heart, he held the beasts dark gaze, unable to look away.
Because I promised mother.
His trance broke, his arreleaeleased in the jerk he made upon returning to reality. But it missed the garuuk, and flew astray and was lost in the trees. The buck jerked in alarm and sprinted away, leaving Van shg whg where he stood. Only a dozen steps from the nearest silver furenze.
“What was that?” he asked himself. Shakily, he dropped to the ground to reorient himself. It felt like he had been in a drunken sleep and suddenly awoken before he had had a chance to sober. Taking deep breaths, he climbed back to his feet despite the weak feeling in his knees and gathered his things- minus his lost arrow- and headed back down the trail towards home.

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He got off light. Normally, if he returned late both his parents would berate him for hours and make him do the worst chores they could think of until it was nightfall. However, today was his sixteenth birthday and a little leniency was in order. He got off with a good wailing from his mother and cuff upside the head by his father.
His birthday was celebrated simply. His favorite dishes were made by his mother, and she would tell him about the day he was born. On a bright sunny morning inside that very same cottage. She would smile and laugh when she told him about his father scaring away the midwife and how he was born without the old pompous witch. His father, as usual, would just stare at his
plate seemingly uncomfortable with the tale. It always seemed he was embarrassed when his mother told Van about his more foolish behavior and so the young hunter never thought anything of it.
When the story was over, his father presented him with a new bow. It was made of much stronger wood than his Ruaon bow and longer, as well. The shaft was covered in ivy leaves that wrapped elegantly around the frame until it came to the center where it encircled his family coat of arms. A gold dragon pierced with silver sword against a black shield. It was magnificent.
Then, after thanking them both, he climbed into the loft to sleep just as he always had since he could remember and went to bed. To him, it was just another day. Nothing special. Nothing special at all.

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He awoke to sound of his father arguing. No matter how low the man tried to talk, if he was angry the sound carried easily to his little sleeping area. He did not move at first, instead listening to theue rue rumbling sound of the man’s voice to see if it was worth staying awake for. He was used to his parents little spats and knew they were rarely worth worrying about.
And then another voice carried to him. This one smooth and cultured with
a slightly foreign accent. The first thought that popped into his mind was ‘tax collector‘. No one with that much breeding came out here unless it was the rare hunting party or the rich coming to get richer. So he listened with his eyes closed, hoping his father would just scare the little prick away and they could have a good laugh about it in the morning.
“Get out, Strategos,” he hissed, shing ing his wife behind him as he held up his sword.
The stranger chuckled.
“Gaou, I am more than willing to go. Just as soon as I retrieve what it
is mine,” he said, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his own sword, but not
drawing it.
“Husband, what is he talking about?” his mother questioned, in a
frightened tone.
“Varie, I will explain later. Just stay behind me for now.”
“Hn. It may be a little late for explanations.”ShutShut up! It does not matter what happened all those years ago. You are not taking him!”
Van’s eyes snapped opened. Did he just say ‘him’?
“Come now, you knew this would happen. That one day I would come to
collect on your debt,” the man called Strategos admonished.
“Gaou, what is he talking about?!” Varie asked, nearing hysteria.
“Tsk. Tsk. You mean you never told her? That is rather cruel of you.”
“Shut up! If I kill you it won’t matter! And don’t think that I can’t. I’ve killed hundreds of your kind before,” he barked, no longer even trying to keep his voice down. His words seethed menace like nothing Van had ever heard before, making him hesitate as he crawled silently to the peer over the edge of the loft.
He could only make out his parents for the intruder was underneath the platform and only his long shadow could be seen. The stranger laughed softly.
“Ah, yes. Gauo Gailavene of Fanelia, the great demon slayer. I am well aware of your reputation. I am unimpressed.”
The young spy watched the shadow on the floor pull a sword from his scabbard in his cloak.
“Call your boy, Gaou. It is time for us to be going,” Strategos commanded.
“Never!” his father cried, rushing forward and out of sight with his enemy. Van watched their shadows for a moment, before snapping out of it and searching for any weapons he could find.
The two men raged battle within the tiny confines of the cottage, breaking furniture as they swung their swords and each other wildly around the room. T he sound of steel and Varie’s desperate cries filtered up through the loft, making him shiver. Through small cracks in the floor boards, Van made out the vague shapes of the swordsman struggling with one another.
It did not appear as if his father would triumph. Even without being able to watch the fight clearly, he could spot the r sur superiority Strategos held over the former demon hunter. He was stronger, faster, and had more endurance. Gliding around the room with his graceful, confident movements it was obvious he was just playing with his opponent.
A desperate swing of his sword and a miscalculation and Gauo stumbled forward, dropping his sword, then back to avoid the next strike. Strategos gave him a smug grin and lifted his weapon to finish the battle. But before he could bring it down, something powerful struck the side of his blade and he stumbled to keep from dropping it. He turned his red eyes towards the
other side of the room in confusion.
Van.
The young hunter stood with his bow already drawn with yet another arrow. His dark brown eyes met deep red ones and did not flinch. Strategos’ gaze swept over the archer’s body quickly, taking in his new adversary. The boy was dressed only in a light blue night shirt that barely reached midthigh and gave him an excellent view of long powerful legs and sun golden skin. Equally strong arms held his weapon steady as he aimed directly for his heart.
“I should warn you, sir,’ Van began in a low menacing tone to rival his father’s, ‘At this range and with his bow, I am almost certain I could send at least three arrows completely through your body before you could reach me.”
Despite his words, the young hunter was trembling inside as he stared at the albino. He was like nothing he had ever seen, clothed in black leather and silver chain mail vest, he was like what the almost invincible villain of childhood tales should have really looked like. And here he was, not even a man yet and standing half naked in the middle of tiny cottage with only his bow and arrows and a quickly tiring arm.
The man looked at him curiously for a moment and then smiled softly.
“I am well aware of your hunting prowess, boy, and we both know you only need one,” he crooned in his low soothing voice.
Van blinked. Had he just been complimented?
“Leave,” he said simply.
“Only if you come with me.”
The boy narrowed his eyes.
“You are in no position to be making demands.”
Strategos tilted his head and his smile broadened slightly.
“But you belong to me.”
Van nearly let his arrow fly at the remark.
“I belong to no one. I am not a thing to be owned,” he spat.
“Untrue. The moment I fulfilled my end of the bargain with your father, your life was mine.”
The boy’s eyes flitted to his father, who held a pained expression that was not caused by his wounds.
“Father, what is he talking about? What bargain?” he demanded.
Behind him, he heard his mother move to stand close to him and rest a hand on his shoulder. She said nothing, but he felt eased by her presence and support. The beautiful woman turned her gaze to her husband and silently urged him to speak. His father closed his eyes and nodded in defeat. The stranger did not move or give any indication that he would intercede.
“Van,’ the bearded man began, ‘your mother has told you of your birth many times. How it was very hard for her and that I had kicked out the midwife in a fit of anger. She never lied to you about that day, but there was something that happened that she knew nothing about. Varie lost consciousness at some point and was rapidly dying, taking you with her. I was certain I would lose you both.”
Gaou paused, and took a deep shaky breath. The memory of that day haunted him for sixteen years and the feelings it stirred were no less intense than the year before nor would be a year later. He frowned and grit his teeth, turning his hate filled eyes to the placid albino.
“And then he came. He promised to save both of your lives in return for you, and being the desperate fool that I was, I agreed. And he did as he promised. He delivered you kicking and screaming into the world, and Varie was awake less than an hour later, exhausted but alive.”
No one spoke for a moment. His mother too horrified to say a word and his father too ashamed. There had to be something missing, Van ght ght to himself. If what he says is true, than judging by this man’s age he would have only been a boy himself when I was born.
“Why did you wait till?” V?” Van asked Strategos, refusing to dwell on what his father had just told him and the devastating consequences it might hold.
“What would I ever want with a infant?” he replied flippantly.
“That is not what I asked.”
“Hmmm…”
Deep red eyes traversed the archer’s body again, taking his time to admire his hunter’s physique. He gaze wondered from the boy’s feet, up his legs, over his arms, and to his now very red face. Van took the hint.
“I see,” he spat, “Well, it would seem your waiting was all for not. You are too late to claim that debt.”
Strategos looked amused by his defiance and not nearly as nervous as Van had hoped.
“Why do you say that?” he albino queried.
“Because my life i lon longer my father’s to bargain with.”
The man arched his brow.
“Why not?”
“It is simple really,’ Van explained, ‘In nature there is an order to almost all things and rules that all creatures must adhere to. A newly born garuuk, for instance, is completely helpless. It is totally dependant on its mother for all of its needs. The mother therefore has a right to the calf’s life and to determine where and how it shall live. However, when the calf becomes an adult it no longer needs its mother and will leave her to live on its own. The mother effectively loses the right to her calf’s life. And so it is, that my father had the right to bargain with my life as an infant, but now that I can ive ive without him he has lost his right over my life and so have you.”
As he spoke, his tone was low and calm. An argument by a desperate and
irrational person was always over looked, even if it made sense. In his chest, however, his heart beat faster and harder than he had ever remembered while he watched the dark swordsman staring at him with deep consideration. He knew in the pit of his stomach, his speech was not the only thing he was pondering.
“You pose an excellent point, boy,” Strategos conceded, “But there is law in nature that exceeds all others.”
He stood slowly, straightening out his lean body, as he faced him. He was much taller than he had originally thought. Almost a foot taller than himself.
“Stop, t mot move,” Van snapped, pulling his arrow back just a little more.
Strategos did not listen. Instead, he faced him directly and spread his legs just a little, then clenched his fist and closed his eyes. For a second, nothing happened. The occupants of the cottage held in a perfect tableau.
Suddenly, something great and black seemed to explode inside the room. The entire family leapt back in surprise. Van’s arrow was released and struck its target directly over the heart, but the point could not pierce the chain mail vest. It snapped and fell to the floor,lessless. The archer looked up from where he had stumbled to the floor. He was too shocked to try another arrow and his bow hung loosely in his hand.
Where before had stood only a dangerous man, now stood a dangerous demon. Immense, ebony wings spread wide and the tips of their feathers brushed alongside the wall of the small cottage. Perceiving his prey to be too stunned to retaliate, the demon struck. Clearing the short distance between him and Van, he slammed his armored fist into the boy’s unprotected stomach.
Varie, who had been standing right behind him, fell back against the wall and struck her head. She did not faint, but was too dazed to perceive exactly what was happening.
Van, wide eyed and slack jawed, stared ahead and saw nothing but black. The first thought that came was that he had died and what he saw was oblivion. The demon shifted, and the darkness cleared and he realized he had been staring at his wings. Then he collapsed into Strategos’ waiting arms, the blow having sapped all the strength from his legs. He could not move and the mere act of staying conscious was a battle.
“Let go,” the boy whispered, unable to bring his voice any higher.
The albino picked up Van and cradled him in his arms like a child.
“No.”
The demon carried him swiftly towards the door, past his incoherent mother and out the the night. The night birds and insects were silent, and the only sound was that of steady tread of Strategos’ heavy boots and Van’s labored breaths.
“W-why? Why are you doing this?”
His abductor stopped and look down at him. In the moonlight, the boy could see his eyes glow like some night animal when light struck it just right and he shivered.
“Would you believe me if I told you I loved you?” Strategos asked, sounding amused.
Van shook his head.
The demon gave him a wicked smile.
“Then you are a very smart boy. I will tell you later, when we are home,” he said, and continued on their trek west towards the Silver Forest.
They were midway when the young hunter had recovered enough of his strength to begin to struggle again. He squirmed at first, but that only made the demon hold on to him tighter. So he began to kick trees as they passed, the force of it causing his captor to lose his balance on the uneven ground and drop him. He ed hed heavily on the ground and shoved back and away from Strategos. The albino looked vaguely annoyed, but unsurprised.
“Are you going to make this difficult? Because you should know, you are doing yourself more harm than good.”
Strategos stalked forward, pulling his sword from his belt as he did so. Van scurried back, tripping over limbs in the dark, until he realized he had no where to run too. He scanned his surroundings and could see nothing over a half a dozen paces from him. It was not in his nature to surrender so easily, however, and he snatched a stick from the ground. It was from a Ruao tree and therefore long, straight, and sturdy with the thickness of a sword hilt. The hunter held the his feeble weapon before him like a sword, just as his father had taught him.
The demon chuckled at the picture before him. His beautiful hunter standing before him in the barely concealing nightshirt, ready to fight with a stick as his only weapon and a high tolerance for pain.
“Hn. You are really something else, boy,’ he said, ‘And that is why I cannot let you go.”
He fell into a fighting stance, his sword raised level with his eyes and charged forward. Van lifted his sword to meet him, but before their weapons could strike, a form dashed between them and blocked steel with steel.
“Father!” the boy exclaimed.
“Run, Van!” the man shouted, unable to even glance at his son as he fought furiously to penetrate his opponent’s defenses before the surprise wore off. The boy, almost a man, stubbornly refused to move and abandon his father to fight a superior opponent.
“You can not defeat him on your own,” he said.
Gaou snorted.
d whd what are you going to do? Break his knee caps?”
“What’s wrong with that?!”
His father did not reply. It seemed Strategos had overcome his surprise and was now attacking with full force. His previous annoyance was replaced by pure fury. There was nothing that infuriated him more than a someone who tried to break a deal, especially his deals.
Again, Gaou quickly found himself outmatched and could do little more than keep himself from being cut in half. Each blow from the demon drove him backwards with its pure physical power. Unlike earlier, however, Strategos was not playing. Now that he had Van in his grasp he would not tolerate the former demon hunter’s interference.
A particularly fearsome attack sent the man sprawling to the ground. Before he could strike his killing blow, however, he was struck across the face with a strong, sturdy, and straight stick about the thickness of a sword hilt. The force of the hit sent him flying backwards and landing less than gracefully. He did not stay there long though. He quickly jumped to his feet to face his assailant.
The boy.
Of course.
“Father, get up,’ Van beseeched his father, never tearing his eyes from the demon. He noticed the slight trickle of blood that ran out from his nose and new hope filled him. ‘So, you are not quite as invincible as you would has bes believe.”
Red eyes narrowed, promising retribution for the boy’s impudence. Van, while not completely fearless, did not flinch or shy away. The hunter waited for his father to stagger to his feet and join him, so they could cautiously make their way back to the house.
“Where are you going, boy?” asked the demon, his voice low and menacing.
“Where do you think, demon?” the hunter spat.
“I think you are going nowhere. Nowhere at all.“
Strategos unfurled his ebony feathers once again. A graceful leap and a few beating of his powerful wing, and the demon was in flight. Up and up and up, until he was over the very tips of the Ruao trees. Father and son watched him apprehensively as he disappeared.
“Van,” his father began.
“Yes, sir?”
“Run.”
“Yes, sir.”
They turned and sped down the darkened path and towards the house as fast as they could. The young hunter quickly sprinted ahead, his legs quick and strong from chasing down difficult prey. He did not pause until the glow of their cottage could be seen. He turned to call out to his father.
But a cry came out instead.
He watched in horror as the dark silhouette of Strategos fell upon him from above. The wet sound of steel sliding in, then out of flesh sent a shock right through him. Then the armored creature leapt from pre prey and returned to the air to prepare for its second strike. T he man crumbled to the ground and lay still.
“FATHER!” he screamed, agony laced into that desperate cry.
Losing all grace, he staggered back to his father and fell to his knees. He touched the man’s shoulder and jumped when he felt him stir.
“Father! Father, please, please, tell me you are alright,” he begged, wetness in his eyes from tears he refused to let fall.
The swordsman gave a heavy groan and using the last of his strength, rolled himself over. He stared up into his son’s dark brown eyes, so much like his mother’s. He gave him a weak smile, but the boy broke out into a sob.
“Stop that, Van. Stop it. You can’t,’ a choking cough to clear the blood filling his lungs before he could continue, ‘cry now. You have to run.”
Tears ran down Van’s cheek and he shook his head, refusing to leave his father. Loyal to the end. Gauo felt so proud to know, that this was going to be his legacy to the world. His brave, loyal, tragic Van.
Weakly, the former hunter took his son’s hand and thrust his sword into it. The boy shook his head, knowing what this meant and could not accept it.
“Van. Run. Run away. Get as far from here as you can. When you feel safe, I want you become strong. And then return and avenge my death, and all those Strategos has damned. That is my dying wish, my son. Don’t disappoint me.”

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A now fatherless boy dashed though the woods, far from the path all together. Not even the demon could fly through the thickly placed trees and their long reaching braches. He followed an abandoned game trail leading towards the little villiage of Fanelia.
His flight felt strangely mechanical to him. The fresh image of his father’s lifeless body evoked only a strange emptiness and his tears had long since dried upon his . H. His emotional numbness extended to the physical, as well. Tree braches and thorn ivy slashed his body and tore at even the thick soles of his feet, but he felt none of it.
In his right hand, he clutched his father’s sword. A magnificent weapon with extraordinarily long blade and golden hilt with his family crest forged into it. It was his father’s most prized possession and he would treasure i muc much as he would treasure his sire’s memory. For now, however, it was merely a comforting weight in his hand and a weapon against a powerful enemy.
Finally, the path ahead of him seemed to clear and he slowed. Cautiously, he unsheathed his weapon and approached the edge of the wood. The town was visible now. A dark silhouette against the midnight sky with only a few torches left lit at that late hour. However, between him and that sanctuary lay wide pasture of grass cut short by the grazing of domesticated damaks and gour. There was no way he cross that stretch of grass unnoticed if the demon was nearby.
But he would not go unnoticed if he lingered there too long either.
Moving cautiously to just outside of the relative safety of the wood, he crouched low and turned his eyes to the heavens. The sky was a dark blue this evening, lit by the dual moons and endless sea of stars. He could not make out dark form of his pursuer against it, but did not doubt that Strategos knew that he would head this way. Really, there was no where else he could go.
He resheathed his sword. Using a technique his father taught him, he held the dark blue sheath under his left arm to hold it steady and his right hand gripping the hilt for quick removal, he sprinted forward with all the speed of a attacking soldier. The position kept the sword both handy and kept it from bouncing against his body awkwardly as he ran, as well as keeping him aerodynamic.
He was halfway through the field, the sleeping beasts utterly oiousious as he went stealthily by them, when he the snap of a branches behind him. He spared a glance back and made out a winged form springing from the cover of tall tree near the edge of the forest, just a hundred paces from where had just been. The demon had been waiting for him.
The sight of his father’s murderer return emotions to his numb heart. Hatred and rage mingled in explicably into one malignant sensation, wrapping itself around his heart. He stopped his mad dash and turned back to face his enemy, his sword again unsheathed.
“Damn you, you sick fiend! Come down, you foul scavenging bird! Come down and fight me like a man!” he screamed to the approaching figure.
His voice carried through the quiet night, ringing for over the hills, into the forest, and through the villiage. The oblivious beasts were startled from their sleep and bolted away from the noise.
Segosegos stopped in mid-flight and then seemed to plummet to the ground, only to land heavily on his feet. He straightened himself and unsheathed his blade, flashing him a wry smile. He was only twenty paces away.
“Has anyone ever told you that have a way with words? Scavenging bird indeed.”
“You provide me with more than enough unpleasant things to fill my repertoire,” the young man growled.
“Ooohh, such fancy words from a lowly peasant. If I did not know any better, one would think you came from a noble line,” roonrooned.
“My blood is none of your concern. For it will be your blood on this field before the night is over!” Van snapped.
“Your father said similar things, and look where that got him?”
With a cry of absolute fury, the enraged mortal charged, clearing the distance with in seconds and bearing down on the demon. The attack was fast and furious, but not matter how much he put into each blow his opponent blocked it as if he could barely feel all the strength Van put it. it.
The young manreadready weakened from previous fighting and his desperate flight, quickly exhausted himself. Perceiving his ps wes weakness, Strategos kicked the boy in his already bruised stomach and sent him flying back. He landed heavily, dropping his sword and curling over his abused gut. He groaned and pitched back and forth in pain, until finally forcing himself to his knees and then onto unsteady legs.
“Van,” the albino began, moving slowly towards him, “You have put up a valiant effort tonight, and I understand and admire your determination. But this is not a battle you can win, and I do not think anyone expects it of you. Not even Gaou.”
Van’s eyes narrowed at the mentioning of his father.
“Please,’ he continued in a beseeching tone, ‘do not fight me. I promise no harm will come to you.”
Strategos held out his free hand, an offering of peace. An offering of mercy.
Van looked up at him with undisguised hatred and spat at the proffered hand. It barely reached him, but the message was clear. He would never admit defeat. He would never accept the hand of his father’s murderer.
The albino gave an impatient sigh and positioned his blade for an attack.
“Have it your way.”
The movement was quick and strike precise. Before the exhausted mortal could even perceive the movement, the demon’s blade had pierced his right shoulder. He cried out in the initial pain, then clenched his teeth and suffered it silently. He would not give Strategos the satisfaction of his cries. He could no longer stand though, and sprang back with the last of his
strength, dislodging the steel from his body and away from the master swordsman. He was not caught when he collapsed this time.
The defeated boy lay motionless on trassrass, his energy completely spent. Everything hurt. The hole in his shoulder, the bruise spreading across his stomach, and the countless scraps and cuts from his run through the woods. All he could do now was swallow his pained sounds and wait for the demon to finish him. If he was lucky, that would be all that was done to him.
Strategos moved to stand over him, staring down at him curiously. Almost pityingly. He was about ready to say something, but suddenly stopped and look away from him and towards the villiage. After a moment, Van heard it too. Voices.
The villagers had heard them. They were coming to save him. The boy gave a riourious, joyful laugh. The demon looked back to him and leaned down to gather him up, but the
stubborn creature called upon new found strength and tried to kick at him. He missed, but his would-be abductor moved away. When Strategos tried again, something flew dangerously close to hitting him. His red eyes turned back to the villagers fast approaching, many of them armed- evening if the weaponry was crude. “Do not think this is over, boy. You not not won anything, only delayed the inevitable,” he growled to the barely conscious mortal.
Another arrow streaked towards him, but as it seemed to pierce him, the demon dissolved into flurry of ebony feathers. As they began to fall a strong gale streaked through the previously windless night and carried them all away. Van gavotheother delirious laugh, tears falling from the corners of his eyes.
Father, he thought, I will never stop fighting. One day, I will avenge you.

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