Hunter CW: familial abuse, minor body horror, spoilers for Owl House season 2
[[ooc: putting this in narrative as it's a bit late, but if anyone wants to witness/interact, I'm game!]]
Sleep wasnât a common occurrence for Hunter. The bags under his eyes were testament enough to that. But back home, before everything, the decision had nothing to do with the actual process of sleep. There just were so few hours in the day and so many things to get done. Yes, the Golden Guard duties and attending to his unc- the Emperor, but also his personal training and research. Doing everything he could to make up for how much a lack of natural magic set him back.
But here. Now. After everything he learned back home, he was actively avoiding sleep. Any time he closed his eyes, his mind seemed fit to try and sort through everything he was trying not to focus on. Trying to just move past instead of dealing with. Especially with all these new âpossible lifeâ memories and⌠that last worldâŚ
When sleep finally found him, he stood in a forest. Not the ones of the Boiling Isles or⌠or that mental landscape, but the wild, green trees of this new home that theyâd all been pulled to. That should have been a relief. A familiar place. But it felt too quiet. Too still. As if all the animals had taken refuge somewhere. As if even the trees were holding their breath.
âHello, Hunter.â
That familiar, sickly sweet lilt stopped Hunterâs own breathing. Thanks to that weird city, heâd heard that voice only a week ago, but this one matched his older memories more. That even if the tone was friendly, there was that hidden edge. That soft toned threat if things didnât go the right way. Not simple. Not genuine. Not like however the city had constructed its version. No, this had the layers that needed to be dissected and sorted and hopefully deciphered correctly.
He spun to face the voice, his shoulders automatically caving in, his whole posture shrinking at the sight of the towering figure. Not Emperor Belos. No. The mask was gone, but still in his robes. The mask would have been kinder. Then all he would see is the glowing blue eyes. Not the look of tired disappointment that edged with amusement when Hunterâs hand grasped at open air, seeking the familiar staff that had become a sort of security blanket over the past weeks.
âNow, Hunter, none of that,â his uncle crooned, his hands clasped behind his back as he started a slow circle of the boy. âYou only embarrass yourself looking for your little friend.â
Hunter gasped, causing the amusement to melt from his uncleâs face to be replaced with cold disdain. His hands unclasped, idly brushing dust from robes. One hand raised so he could better inspect the dust before wiping his hands together. A familiar gesture that sent a cold jolt through Hunterâs body. Palismen cracked in two, crumbling to ash, discarded. Your little friend.
âNo!â He lunged with the cry, though he couldnât be sure if the movement was a fight or flight reaction. Whether he meant to attack in some small hope that maybe this was just another trick or manipulation or the panic rose enough to push his body into fleeing without any thought. It didnât matter either way. He didnât budge from his location, his feet stuck in place. âHowâŚâ
âYou insult me. I see everything, remember?â His uncle shook his head with a heavy sigh. âAlways a disappointment. Did you think I didnât know about it?â A weighted pause. âThat I wouldnât find you?â