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his mother and father were simple people who followed simple rules. rules that he had internalized from a young age, rules taught to him by his charming mother and father. they were able to show him the good in things, make the best out of a worse situation, and mapicc was only seven years of age when he lost them.
his mother was a beautiful woman with long brown hair down to her waist that she often kept in a braid. her features were soft and gentle, eyes wide and purple. his father was a slim man with a solid jaw and big, protruding horns, contrasting his wife's smaller ones, which jutted out just a little bit over her hair. she was able to cover them with a hood, but her husband was not as lucky. however, pointed ears, sharp teeth, unusual eye colors and tails made it very clear what they were: tieflings. every tiefling was half human, half something ‘sinister’ — be it a demon, devil, and other things considered by most to be evil, unlawful, or fiendish. mapicc was never sure what his other half was. what his parents' other halves were, with his mother's slight purple skin and his father's white complexion, bright purple eyes and deep red, mapicc inherited most of his father's traits. he holds memories of his mother, calling mapicc a handsome boy, and his father patting his head. mapicc had longer hair when he was younger, and his father often braided it for him, just as he did for his wife. these memories, while lovely in the moment, were held with low regard to mapicc, who had learned at a very early age — and at the same time he lost his parents — that loving memories would not change the fact that the people in them were dead, gone, and buried.
(unfortunately, his parents weren't buried. their bodies were burned while a paladin read out a passage from the book of swag, and mapicc had constructed them shoddy graves in the forest outside of the kingdom.)
mapicc may not remember his childhood very fondly, nor very well, but he does remember vividly the day they died. "died" is such a small word for something so large, something so impactful and life-changing, although he hates to admit it affected him at all. regardless, no matter what he does now, they are dead and he is still breathing, and he aims to keep it that way.
he grew up dirt poor. living in the slums, born two years after the sunshine prince, after the solar eclipse that brought about the new heir. mapicc was born exactly two years and six days after prince zam. this did not change the fact that his life did not matter to the kingdom, and that he would never contribute anything as noteworthy as the prince just existing.
being poor, his family had to make do. his parents would steal and cheat just to feed mapicc, often going without food themselves just so the boy could have an illfully obtained piece of bread. that is one thing mapicc can give them credit for, that they were resourceful, and did what they had to. it does not stop the blame and the anger he feels, however, feelings that he refuses to share, feelings that simmer quietly in his gut, towards his parents. maybe if they had been smarter, quicker, he would not have lost them and they would not have left behind a child who had not yet learned how to navigate the world, let alone by himself. but what's done and done, and to mapicc, there is no use in crying over spilled blood.
his parents were killed on an ordinary day, surrounded by ordinary people, and mapicc can remember vibrant, obnoxious pieces of it. he was seven years of age when he watched his mother get beheaded, and he had never felt so small as he did when he watched his father follow suit. he remembers the way his parents had pleaded for mapicc to stay hidden, the boy having slipped close to the barred window of the cell, crouched low to the ground to meet his parents' gazes, and taking his mother's hand in his own. he also remembers the way he had resolved to try and stay by their sides even as they lost themselves, even as mapicc lost them. he remembers locking eyes with them, tucked away in the crowd, and their silent, desperate pleads for him to look away.
and for the first time in his life, he did not listen.
he met ro shortly after he lost his parents. ro was an elven boy with hair that covered his eyes, and despite being taller than mapicc, he was always wearing clothes too-big for himself. they clicked almost immediately, ro's ability to make things funny and mapicc's ability to think on his feet, they made a decent pair and even better friends. ro was someone who helped ground mapicc, and vice-versa, being anchors for one another. ro had lost his own family years and years ago, but they never liked talking about it. they'd skirt around the topic, laughing it off and waving their hands, and that was that. mapicc remembers when the two of them became three, and then four; a boy named parrot, who had fled from another kingdom because of rising tensions, with wings so bright and beautiful but so useless — and another named spoke, predisposed to magic but clueless on how to use it. they four of them stuck together, though mapicc cannot deny just how much closer he and ro were to each other than parrot or spoke. but that was alright, as they had also found solace in one another, but the boys fended for themselves, together. it was enough.
spoke in particular was a peculiar boy. he seemed aloof, clueless, but mapicc knew the truth. he was calculated in everything he did and in everything he revealed about himself. when a shadow mage had made an appearance in the kingdom of soluna, spoke was quick to become his apprentice. he had not previously expressed any such wishes, in fact, he seemed to not care much about honing his blessing — or rather, curse, as the boy would call his abilities, because they were so unpredictable. but vitalasy had joined the guild of the eclipse, and spoke followed soon after. more and more of his time was spent working with vitalasy, a mage with more knowledge to him than he'd ever let on, and in fact, spoke had started studying necromancy under him. a dark magic, considered evil, because the dead should do nothing but rest.
mapicc cannot say he's never thought about having his parents resurrected, brought back to the plane of the living, but he knows just how selfish an action it would be. and how impossible and far off it is, even if the thought didn't stir rage in him, anger at the idea of putting someone through the process of 'revival' — people were said to be different when they came back, eyes dull, memory in shambles, and body in ruins. he could not wish that upon anyone. let alone his mother and father.
but spoke didn't just study necromancy. he studied all sorts of black magic, magic that was whispered to have been the reason why vitalasy was exiled from the bormethius empire — because word gets around in the slums, as much as the eclipse federation attempted to sweep it under the rug. after all, vitalasy was their strongest member; most knowledgeable in all forms, and said to be impossibly powerful. spoke would humor these rumors, but never enough for anyone to believe him.
so when spoke offhandedly dropped the idea of a blood pact during a conversation around a fire by the forest, it was to no one's surprise. of course he knew about blood pacts, about soul binding rituals, he knew so many illegal spells — but mapicc couldn't pretend like he wasn't intrigued. that he hadn't nearly dropped the piece of bread he was holding, that he hadn't frozen up and gone quiet while the rest of the boys laughed.
(later on, ro would corner mapicc, two arms crossed and the others on his hips — they had gotten them in an accident involving spoke, and a way to reverse it hadn't been discovered yet — and he'd ask him what was up.
"what do you mean?" the tiefling would bite back, and ro would roll their eyes and give a small laugh.
"the blood pact. you're considering it." they'd say, and mapicc would freeze once more, feeling impossibly small again, like a fawn caught in a trap, a dog in a cage — and then ro would start to speak again, and then words would tumble from mapicc's mouth—
"i want to do it."
"tonight?"
and that was that.)
palms were slit, incantations were whispered, and most of it was a blur. but the feeling crept on him slow, a subtle awareness; not of his surroundings, but those of another's, and he felt a heartbeat join his own, a twin flame, sealed by twin scars on the palms of dirtied, cracked hands, and sealed fates.
a plot would be formed next. parrot would tell the boys — apollo must be slain, and that was that. that was all their purpose ever was, topple the crown. start with the one who looked at mapicc with pity in his eyes as he dropped silver and gold coins into ro and parrot's hands, the one who mapicc was convinced had forsaken him, and end with the battered ruins of a kingdom too far gone to save.
they called themselves the leviathan. the one natural right of the poor, brutish and solitary, was that of self preservation, ro had said, and it was what the boys would live by. (until the end, spoke had said, with finality in his voice unmatched by anything else.)
and so, the leviathan launched their first attack. a message, they called it. and a message did they send, one with a shaking boy with sawed off horns — trembling hands, fear in his heart, he had never stabbed anyone before, but he bumped into the prince — the sunshine prince, they called him, born during the crux of a solar eclipse, prince zam, heir to the throne of soluna, son of a great woman and an even greater man, or so they said — oh, how the crown was celebrated, the people convinced of second chances and giving and giving and never taking more than they needed — but they had refused to give his parents a chance, not even one chance, let alone a second, killed at the drop of a hat, loss celebrated by the people — excitement to their days, to their miserable little lives, made miserable by a crown that did not care. and so mapicc, a tiefling with nothing else to lose but himself, and the only remaining memories of parents, people who had loved him enough to give their lives, and a best friend with pointed ears and two more arms than normal, and two other boys who could make it together if they needed to, and mapicc can feel ro's heartbeat in his chest as he digs the dagger into the gut of prince zam. and the world is silent.
that's all there is to it. he flees the scene, leaving no evidence he was ever there, aside from the message he had given. words he had to recite to himself over and over again before he could muster up the courage to say them.
(the boys huddled together that night. fear, they convinced themselves, was simply excitement. accomplishment. no one had any clue what was to come next. but they knew there was no turning back.)