Chapter Text
Icarus found themself deep in a forest, unsure how exactly they got here. Their back aches as they pull themself off the ground, their attempts at orienting themself prove fruitless. They don't recognise this forest even a little bit, but they do notice a path. What to do but follow it.
They reach what appears to be an abandoned town, the walls charred and left in a state of disrepair that only comes from years of abandonment. Without their tools, armour or wings, they have no option other than to find a safe place to hide come nightfall.
The town is just as ruined as it's walls suggest, but not nearly as abandoned. A couple groups of people all mingle with each other, all looking different, but starkly human. They tuck their winged ears against their head, as if that will do anything to hide the bright yellow and purple plumage against their dark brown hair.
Overall they feel far too brightly coloured to be in a place like this. Something in their head tells them this isn't right, their eye aches dully, the never ending stream of blood dripping onto their coat; they don't press the thought.
Faces turn to them, as they approach, the first to introduce himself does so as one Doctor Legundo. That amuses them, briefly — finally, a real doctor. "Are you alright? Does that need to be looked at?" He gestures to their face.
"I don't think there's much to look at unfortunately. It just bleeds."
"Constantly? That can't be good for you, you'd be losing a lot of blood- how long has it been doing that?"
They hesitate, unsure how exactly to explain the situation to someone unaware of the nature of their situation. "As long as I can remember, but blood loss shouldn't be a worry- It's not exactly... my blood. It's nothing to worry about, I just accept it."
"Have you suffered a head injury recently?"
"No, it's been bleeding for a while. Trust me, if blood loss was going to get me it would have by now." They joke, not particularly excited to go through the whole song and dance of their eye all over again. Especially not after so recently finding out it's not exactly.. theirs. Someone else joins their conversation.
"Another newcomer? What's wrong with your face?"
They sigh, already sure this will get exhausting fast "It just does that. It's fine. What's your name?"
"Martyn Woodhurst, and you?"
"Icarus Morningstar-"
Another man seems to overhear them, joining them, interrupting them before they're able to say anything more "Morningstar? That be the devil's name, don't'cha know?"
His words are a little difficult to decipher, his accent heavy "It was my mother's name." They reply
"Not your father's?" Martyn asks, surprise in his tone.
"My mother's." They don't think their father has a last name for them to take. They wonder briefly if he became a Morningstar when he married their mom, they'd never considered it much before, but they suppose its much more important for their mother's kingdom to have an heir than their father's.
They learn the man's name is Renhardt Dogmourne, but it seems the other's have quickly taken to calling him Ren. With that the introductions end; the small gathering disperses to mingle with others, and a small selection of people gather around a beacon-like structure in the centre of the town, only it's light is faint and grey, no beam emanates upwards from it, and nothing seems to be powering it with any particular effect. They all place their hands upon it, and it begins to hum faintly in response. It's fascinating, they wonder if it acts in any way similar to beacons back home or if the relations end at how it appears. They make an effort to keep their distance, this in particular seems too important for them to risk changing or otherwise effecting. Still, it does stutter, and the gradually increasing glow fades and the small seed of yellow light that'd begun to form is swallowed by the grey. They're not sure what caused it, but there's concerned murmurings from the group, notably one especially loud voice of concern, they think they recall his name as Avid.
He points a finger at another man that'd just approached, Scott, who points a finger at a woman with thick red hair who'd taken her hand off the object the same time the light had faded. They can't tell if it'd been in response to that or the cause, it doesn't seem to matter. The original accuser's attention shifts to them.
"Hey! What's up with those.. wings? ..Ears?" He practically marches up to them, making him slightly less intimidating as it becomes much more apparent how much shorter he is. "What are you?" He demands
They hesitate, they've never needed to question that part of them before, surrounded by a town's worth of people with similarly not-human features it was simply something they've been able to shrug off. They're not too sure how to explain it away when it's clearly so out of the ordinary here "I was born with them, I think."
"You think? Also- how?" He narrows his eyes in suspicion "What's up with your eye- What is your deal, hm?"
"I don't remember being born?" They offer "I'm..." What is their deal? They have no idea why they're here, how they're here or where exactly here is. How are they supposed to explain something they don't have an answer to? "I'm an alchemist?" They try, if nothing else they can return to their roots. "My eye is just like that. It bleeds. It doesn't hurt me. It's fine!" They add a small chuckle to the end, an attempt to make it sound a little less blunt.
His eyes glint with something at the mention of alchemy, but his gaze soon hardens "Were your parents strange bird creatures as well?"
"Uh..." How to explain their parents to these people "No? My mother was completely human- is." They correct.
"Just your mother?" The red-haired woman asks, they believe her name was Cleo, arms crossed, eyes studying them with something they can't name.
They stammer, really not wanting to attempt to explain their father to these people. "He's human?" It comes out far less sure than they were hoping it would.
"There's nothing wrong with a little diversity!" Scott interjects, "They're just a little different, nothing dangerous to come from some feathered ears, is there?"
"Are you some sort of supernatural creature!?" They remember someone told them her name was Shelby, and that she was crazy. "Like some kind of harpy? Or like some kind of siren? Or are you related to any of those in any way? Or maybe are you like an angel?"
"I think this one be far from God's graces with a name dark as the Morningstar, don't'cha know?"
They think it would be best not to tell them just how close to the truth they are. Though they're certainly no angel. "I'm human, and I'm still not the devil. It's just my last name." They add to Ren.
"Not a vampire then?" Avid squints at them
"A... vampire? Uhh.... no?"
"Then you need to be careful! You'll be a bigger target with an eye blood and stuff! They can smell it on you. You should wrap it with a bandage."
"A target for vampires? Vampires... aren't real?" They make an effort to be hesitant in that assumption, conscious that they're somewhere unknown to them. Still, while their mind has been forced open by Rae and his research, they can't help but be sceptical of something like vampires.
"Some sense, thank goodness! What was your name?" Scott asks, still standing near beside them after defending them.
"Icarus."
"A respectable name, your parents had good taste. Are they noble?"
"Technically, yeah." Remaining vague is probably for the best here.
He tuts "A shame you can't tell from looking at you."
They choose to ignore the obvious dig, the rest of the people have dispersed from the commotion, some returning to the beacon, others seemingly investigating the ruins. Likely looking for a shelter in preparation for night. They should do the same, probably, but they can't help their concern at sleeping so near so many other people and they'd much rather not have to explain the wack to so many people that were so freaked out by their ears.
To their surprise, Scott invites them to be his roommate, though it seems more like he's attempting to convince them to build a house for him. Regardless of his reasons, Icarus doesn't intend to settle in the town, there's still plenty of daylight left for them to get a house up and with this amount of people in such a small place there's no chance they are going to risk hurting any of them.
So they make their way to the forest, not too far in, just enough to fell a few smaller trees. They get tools, and find a small cave entrance. It doesn't take long for the wound on their back to make itself known, it aches as they swing their pickaxe at the stone and they feel the scabbed over wound tear open as they swing their axe. They're sure it's bleeding, they can practically feel the bandages starting to stick to the blood. They need to mend the hole in the back of their coat, need to change those bandages, need to rest. Unfortunately for them, the same cruel god that inflicted that wound upon them decided to bring them here where they have nothing.
They mutter under their breath a small "Screw you, Quixis." As they wince through the pain to continue collecting the wood for their house. A house they're sure they won't get to keep either.
This time, they want it to be familiar. Something so painfully them that they might be able to imagine they're still home. They'll have to keep it small though, they realise very quickly. Constrained both by time and by their own injury. They don't mind building in the dark, they're just not sure how well they'll be able to hold a sword to the creatures that come out at night.
The house they make is small, circular and much shorter than they originally wanted it to be. They're short on supplies yet again, but their back protests at even the thought of collecting more. They'll have to settle with what they have, which is not much at all. They still don't have a bed, and they see the sun beginning to sink lower in the sky. One of the townsfolk comes up to their makeshift abode — its visible from town, they weren't attempting to hide themself away, just located far enough from anyone that they don't think any of their strange-ities will affect anyone else.
The man that comes up to them is Owen, "What are you doing all the way out here then?" He stares openly at their eye as he talks, not making eye contact, but watching the blood drip down their cheek.
"I'm not the most sociable of people, I'd prefer to keep away from the town when I can." It's not entirely a lie, just conveniently omitting the full truth.
"I can understand that. It's quite dangerous out in these woods you know, the wolves are migrating east this time of year."
They did not know wolves migrated, to be wholly honest. They're not sure they believe it. "I can defend myself quite well." They give a small flourish of their stone sword and return it to the sheath beneath their coat.
"A fighter are you? An alchemist as well, I heard?"
"I have many skills." They straighten a little in their pride.
"Never met a noble so willing to get their hands dirty."
"I wasn't really raised super fancy or anything. My parents were just both... influential, I suppose. I made my own way well enough."
"Interesting, lots of mysteries with you aren't there, Icarus?"
They chuckle slightly "You'd be surprised." All the mysteries these people have clung to are the facts of their life they've come to accept as the usual. They think someone here would pass out at the web of unknowns and unexplainables their life is at this point in time.
A shame they were torn from their world before they had the chance to get any answers from the one person who would know. Their anger seethes, they will never forgive Quixis for this.
Owen laughs in response, its short and hollow "Would I now?" There's a certain edge to his voice that they can't identify. Whatever they were going to say is lost, as they're distracted by the dark crimson the sky has gone and the bright red the moon glows behind Owen.
"Woah-" They point, "What's up with the moon?" They don't see the smile that flickers across Owen's face while he's turned away from them.
"You know, the stories of this place claim the sky is tinted red because every few hundred years there's a massacre, and the blood of the dead has collected in the air and stained even the moon itself. I guess they must be true." His tone is light, a slight whisper to his voice, like he's telling a ghost story. Which he is, it seems.
"Yeah, sure." They dismiss
"They say the last one happened exactly two hundred years ago this very year."
"Uh huh. Where did you hear this? Avid?" They're sure Avid isn't entirely untrustworthy, but he does seem to make a large number of fantastical claims.
He replies with a scoff "God no. I used to live here when I was a boy, some of the old tourist stories seem to have stuck with me."
"It's pretty." They think their brother would like it, sure he knows the actual reason the sky is like this, and if he doesn't they're sure he'd already be taking notes in attempt to figure it out. They wish Rae was here with them, though they think the townsfolk would implode at the very sight of their brother, his pointed ears, singular horn, ender-scarred face. He looks even less human than they do. It's a good thing he's not here with them, they decide. He's far too important to the town to be gone like this, he has far too many people he would miss.
Icarus just has the one.
They don't really miss their dad. They haven't had him back long enough to get used to him being there. They miss their home more, their birds, all their pets. They wonder how long it'll take for Rae to realise they're gone, and not just sleeping for days at a time. Perhaps Fable will notice, he insisted on building his own house, but Icarus wouldn't have minded having their dad stay with them. They have the space for him. Still, with his powers, it was instantaneous. He's still nearby, he still checked on them often. Too often they were asleep, and he left them a note beside their bed. They wish now that he'd woken them up, perhaps they would've had more time together then.
Surely they'll go back soon. It's painstakingly obvious that they're not supposed to be here, but that's sort of Quixis' whole thing, isn't it? Things being where they shouldn't. Their eye, the wack, and now them.
Owen hums in agreement to their observation "I like red."
"It's a decent colour. Not when it gets on every single item of clothing you wear though." They joke, gesturing to the ever present bloodstain on their coat from where their eye incessantly drips down.
"You could get a red coat, that would solve your issue."
"I know you don't understand," They level him with a mock-serious expression "but this is my brand."
"Have you ever tried collecting the blood?" He asks, gaze once again fixated just below their eye.
"Once, recently actually. I had a sort-of friend of mine test it and we put it in a vial for that. I still have it actually, along with a tube of my actual blood."
"Test it how?" He cocks his head in confusion.
"I don't know the details, I just know that he put it in a vial and then spun it around really fast, and looked at it real close and he found out the eye blood isn't the same blood as the one in the rest of my body — or my arm, at least." They shrug. "He's like a doctor slash scientist or something."
"Interesting... Have you ever wondered.. how much you could collect?"
"I think it's infinite. It's been bleeding constantly for years, it doesn't ever stop so I don't think I'd reach the limit on bottles before running out of blood."
"That's so interesting." He hums, glancing to the moon. "Well, you should let me know if you need a hand with materials or anything, though you seem plenty capable yourself. Stay safe in the woods, Icarus." He offers a small wave before turning to the town.
"Thanks." They reply, slipping into their house and allowing a heavy breath to escape them. It's been a difficult day, so many people, so many questions. So many things they have to dance around. They worry they said too much to Owen, about their eye, how they blood isn't theirs. They were hardly even thinking about it.
So badly do they want to curl up with their flock of birds on their big, warm bed back at home but here they are. A hastily built shack, no bed, no birds — and as they only now realise — no food. It's been so long since they've had to worry about food that it completely slipped their mind.
Now, though, they're tired. Their back aches. The bandages stick to the dried blood horribly. It's dark out. They can't bring themself to fight through hordes of monsters right now. They could go to town, ask for food. Surely someone has spare. They sit, on their floor, half leaning against the wall. It's not comfortable, not by any means at all, but they suddenly realise they're so tired. Their eyes fall closed, and they hope that when they wake up they'll be home. In their own bed. In their real home.