Chapter Text
The Swordsman’s heavy footsteps were muted by the leaf-covered and soft forest path as he walked forth. He remembers seeing a couple of mushrooms on his way, and after setting up camp with the rest of his party, he had come looking for them -they might be nice in a stew-. The surroundings were peaceful and the sun was making its slow descent into the afternoon sky; leaves rustled above his head and the fresh breeze almost acted as a soothing balm to his troubled mind, yet he couldn’t bring himself to lower his guard one bit. He unfortunately knew all to well the dangers he was most likely to be subjected to if he so much as relaxed while on his own. His eyes skimmed over the roots of each tree he passed, hoping to spot the brown-capped mushrooms, yet he didn’t find any for a whole ten minutes. Strange, he thought, he was certain to have seen them around here. Could he have taken the wrong path? Nay, that was very unlikely. He spent a considerable amount of time in the wilderness, the possibility of him walking down the wrong path was very unlikely… Or was it? He was tired, after all, weary from travel and hardships, so was it not possible that he had confused two paths? Guts grunted, shaking his head. Now was not the time to brood, he had mushrooms to find for supper – it was a relatively mundane endeavour, granted, but he knew very well that even such a harmless little adventure might cost him his life if he wasn’t watchful. Such was the life of the Black Swordsman, doomed to watch out for great peril everywhere, at all times, forever…
He eventually stumbled upon a small clearing, and, relieved that he recognized the spot, approached the tree near which he had spotted those blasted mushrooms. He sat down with a huff, his massive frame hunching over to examine the brown-capped mushrooms. He gently flicked off a bug or two before he began picking them, careful not to crush them under his large fingers and often too-powerful grip. His mind wandered a bit as he executed the task, despite his best efforts to focus solely on the forest floor – it started going over everything that had happened, like it had so many time before and- crack.
He immediately froze, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. His hand reflexively flew to grip the handle of the Dragonslayer warily – the sound seemed to have come from above. He tilted his head up curtly, his eyes rapidly skimming over the canopy… For a moment, only the rustling leaves answered his worries, as well as the occasional chirping of a bird. It could very well have been an animal, or a branch naturally falling off, but his sharp instincts told him otherwise. Snap. The sound originated from further away this time; whatever was up there was moving away. He should’ve been relieved, but instead of going straight back to camp, he decided to investigate – it was always best to eliminate a threat. So he stood up, drawing his sword from the flimsy leather strap that held it -gods knew how- to his back, and marched forth again, doing his best to prowl despite the meagre covering the forest bushes and tall trees provided. He heard some more noise: it sounded like flapping, rustling… Struggling. His brows furrowed as he focused some more to pinpoint its source, and came to a halt as he stumbled upon another little clearing. He quickly ducked down, laying under one of the nearby bunch of berry-bushes. When his gaze finally landed on the source of the noises, his heart sank into his stomach so violently he could’ve sworn something had forcibly squeezed the air out of him. He scarcely heard anything aside from his own short breaths and his beating heart, felt nothing but the burning tension in his muscles, and the sudden tightness of his skin where it bore the Brand of Sacrifice. There he was, he was certain of it! Images flashed in his mind, each one more horrifying than the last – blood and innards in the palm of his hands, limbs flying, comrades falling, screams, so many screams of so many damned souls before him-
“Hold still! I promise I won’t be long-”
The sudden, strangely gentle command coming from the figure unexpectedly snapped him out of his haunted daze. It was… A voice he was not able to reconcile with the silhouette he saw. It was not the same. It was not his voice. But… It made no sense- wasn’t he right here, in the flesh, the demon that had broken him down into so many pieces? Wasn’t he sitting right there, holding… A fussy mourning dove, gently prying it out of a net-trap, and whispering apologetically to it…?
“I know, I know, I’m sorry but I swear I’ll be just a moment…”
Confusion now mingled with the Swordsman’s anger. His mind could not make sense of the scene before him; anything that was happening was so very unlike what he would do, yet he was sitting right there, wasn’t he? This conundrum only served to heighten the boiling rage simmering right beneath his skin, confusion fueling fury and threatening to break out into an all-consuming, uncontrollable bonfire – he could feel his teeth grinding uncomfortably together, his vision blurring down to almost nothing but darkness, his heart racing and his veins singing – “Revenge! Revenge!” they exclaimed in an unholy choir, their tunes begging to be heard and soothed, calling for his black blood to be spilled… But something snapped him out of it – he has no idea what. Maybe it was the silhouette’s voice again, but regardless, he felt inclined to pay more attention, if only to figure out if his sudden aversion was justified. He took a deep breath, stilling under the bushes, and turned his attention to the silhouette’s hands. They seemed… Not duller, no, they were just as sharp as his were -he could see their shiny claws-, yet he could feel in the way they were holding the dove that they had no intent to harm it. With one hand, the silhouette carefully -but not without struggle- held the mourning dove in place, gently keeping one of its wings outstretched.
“Right there, just a minute…”
Guts forcibly slowed down his breathing. The silhouette’s other hand then went to grab what looked like a piece of paper and a small stick of charcoal, and started tracing something down onto the paper. The stranger looked between the outstretched wing and the paper, and after a little while, released the dove altogether. The bird flew off right away, wasting no time in reaching for the sky, letting out little coos of effort as it rapidly flapped its wings. The silhouette looked at the bird go, contemplating its leave for a moment, before it held up the piece of paper to eye level. The Swordsman noticed they had actually sketched out the bird’s wing – for what purpose, he knew not, but the still-tingling Brand of Sacrifice told him it probably wasn’t a good one. Guts moved with the intent of drawing closer, but a twig snapped loudly under his weight, and the stranger’s head whipped almost unnaturally rapidly towards the source of the noise. Striking, bright blue eyes met the Swordsman’s dark ones, and he found himself freezing again. Those eyes… They were like his, yet so unlike them at the same time… They shared the same captivating intensity, yet they lacked the cunning and calculated aspects his had. This stranger’s blue eyes flickered with untamed life, with a purpose devoid of any ill intent, an untainted sharpness and a wit that differed so much from the endless scheming and plotting he used to do… But Guts wasn’t able to stare for more than a few seconds, as the stranger swiftly dashed away into the under-bush, disappearing from the Swordsman’s sight. In something between disbelief and frustration, Guts stumbled up to his feet, but held back from calling after the now-vanished stranger. He could not mess up now – this was a delicate situation he found himself in. He’d just been presented with a mystery stranger than the ones he was usually confronted with, and he was lost on how to even begin to approach the issue. He was missing so many elements that he was sure if he reflected on the matter any longer, it would drive him even more mad than he already was.
The Brand stopped itching then.
◇
Later that evening, Guts couldn’t bring himself to eat anything, or sleep at all. His mind was far too preoccupied with the encounter back in the forest, the brief glimpse of the stranger’s blue eyes now another image haunting his troubled mind. The others had noticed, of course, and tried to get him to speak about what he’d seen back there, how he was feeling… In vain. As impenetrable as ever, his thoughts and feelings remained a mystery. It was clear that whatever had happened had troubled him far too much, and that for the moment, there wasn’t much the party could do. They could only trust Guts to open up on his own terms… It was night. The Black Swordsman was sitting in his tent, eyes staring into the void and brows set in a permanent, confused frown. He was still trying to make sense of what he’d seen – but he didn’t feel ready to go back out there and investigate. What exactly had he seen? It wasn’t him, now that much was certain. Things would not have gone down the way they have if it had been, no. Guts would’ve sliced him in half right then and there. He was torn, still, between feeling thankful that he actually didn’t act on pure impulse and murder another potentially innocent soul, but on the other hand, what was up with this uncanny resemblance? This dreadful sense of familiarity accompanied by this striking and undeniable difference… He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t go head-first into it this time, he needed… A plan, whatever it may be.
He sat there until the moon was high in the sky before he grabbed his sword again and walked back into the forest. Puck, the little elf, had noticed -of course he had-, and fluttered closer to Guts, who promptly ignored him. The Swordsman kept walking forth, the trees on either side of the dirt path passing by in a blur. Puck had a bit of trouble keeping up, but he started chattering anyway:
“Where are you heading so late, huh? Is it about what happened in the forest? We’re all very worried, you know. You haven’t tried the soup! Those mushrooms you picked were quite good…”
Guts continued to walk, eyes raking over the forest in an effort to find the same clearing as earlier today.
“You could slow down a bit, you know!” Pucks panted. “What’s the rush? Did you spot a deer or something? Some… Some wolf you want to sell the fur of- what’s gotten into you?”
The former mercenary kept walking, ignoring Puck’s occasional whine of protest at the speed at which he progressed. The little elf briefly lost sight of the Swordsman, who blended into the forest shadows… A little panicked, he picked up in flight speed, only to crash into Gut’s shoulder a bit further ahead. Before he could protest, Guts quickly caught him in his hand, his eyes riveted onto a silhouette up in the trees. Puck peeked over the man’s large fingers to catch a glimpse, and fairly enough, there was someone up there, perched in a pine. He couldn’t make them out very well, except for their blue eyes, that shone unnaturally in the dark of the night, with a colour that reminded the fairy of the moon. His tiny wings fluttered anxiously, as the figure stared at them so intently from their perch.
“… Is that… What you were so worried about, Guts…?”
Puck whispered, looking back at the Swordsman. He noticed his face, set in an intense expression that betrayed nothing but his tension. The little elf looked back at the silhouette. If it weren’t for the slight sway of the pine tree in the wind, they would’ve been completely immobile, and nearly invisible. Whatever they were wearing made them melt into the darkness of the night, shielding them from nearly any observer… Yet those eyes betrayed them. They were impossible to miss, their eyes. Piercing, icy… Like an animal studying the whereabouts of its prey. Puck swallowed nervously. Guts, meanwhile, could feel his thoughts racing as he tried to figure out a way to assess if this person -or thing- was a threat or not. There wasn’t really any way to tell while they were perched up that damned pine. He tried to think of a way to get them -or it- to come down, closer… He took a few steps back, and, seeing they weren’t moving, walked back into the forest. He had a feeling he would be spending the rest of the night pondering the issue… So he decided to make himself a small fire. Keeping Puck in his left palm -he didn’t trust their surroundings to be safe enough for the fairy to fly about freely for now-, he started gathering a couple of fallen branches, and went back into the clearing. While keeping a close eye on the silhouette, he fashioned a couple of stray stones into a circle, positioned the branches in their centre, sat down on the forest floor and hunched over them to start the fire. This was the only time he took his eyes off of the mysterious figure for more than a couple of seconds, but it was enough for them to disappear out of sight once more. Once the fire properly started, Guts swore under his breath when he looked back at the pine and noticed that the stranger was gone. He let out a frustrated sigh, sat up a bit straighter, and stared into the flames, as if they might be of any help. Puck took that opportunity to flutter around, he too feeling a bit anxious to have lost sight of the silhouette. He didn’t stray further than the light provided by the fire… At first. When Guts looked back at the forest, and saw Puck’s absence, his heart started to race. Damn this moment of inattention. He grabbed his sword and started looking around, sharply calling out the fairy’s name.
“Over here!”
Puck replied. Relieved, but still anxious, Guts trotted over to the source of the noise, and indeed spotted Puck flitting about a berry-bush. The Swordsman’s shoulders were just about to relax when the little elf disappeared from sight again, in a swift motion, and with a tiny yelp. He roughly shoved aside the berry-bush only to notice the mysterious figure staring at Puck curiously, who was trying to pry himself out of their grip. They perked up as soon as they noticed Guts, those piercing blue eyes meeting the Swordsman’s dark ones yet again, and quickly ducked away, letting Puck fly free… But Guts wasn’t about to let them get away this time. He started running after them, following the rustle of leaves and cracking of branches as they hopped and slipped away with an ease that betrayed they’d probably done this before. Guts would swing the Dragonslayer against the roots, ferns and bushes threatening to make him trip, determined to catch up to the stranger. The figure then did a sharp one-eighty, and headed straight for him – surprised, Guts halted in his tracks, and let out a grunt of slight disbelief at the speed of which the stranger moved. No sooner had he raised his sword in a defensive position than the other person hand gone over him, using his shoulders to jump higher into the trees. His hand flew up reflexively in front of his face, briefly brushing against the stranger, but he cursed at himself for not having thought of getting a hold of them then. By the time he’d turned around, the figure was already far away, and had almost reached the clearing. Guts gritted his teeth and resumed his pursuit. He knew he was at a certain disadvantage – it was night, he had only one eye, and to top it all off, he was slower than this mysterious opponent -or, rather, yet to be opponent-. But he was not about to let them slip away. He was there to understand, and understand he will. He forced his legs to move faster, and noticed the figure up ahead-
“Boo!”
Puck had suddenly fluttered right in front of their face and yelped sharply, making the figure stumble and fall off their preferred path in the trees
“Well played, Puck! Keep ‘em disoriented, we almost got them!”
Guts ordered the fairy while he caught up. He noticed how awkwardly the stranger’s feet moved about on the forest floor, trying to escape Puck’s sudden pestering. Perfect. The stranger only had time to utter a brief, bird-like screech of frustration before Guts was on them, finally restraining their movements.
“Gotcha, fucker-”
He grumbled, using his free hand to hold the stranger up to eye level. He couldn’t feel any clothes to find purchase on, so he opted for the neck instead -which fit into his hand, strangely enough- but he didn’t squeeze hard enough to completely prevent them from breathing. He watched their form writhe and struggle against his grip for a moment, the sound of their claws and talons scraping against his armour mingling with their grunts and laboured breaths. He focused, determined to properly assess them now that they were in his grasp… And so he looked into those blue eyes again.
Everything else seemed to fade away for a moment… But what he saw in them defied his expectations. He had, unconsciously, already conjured up a portrait of them after their first encounter, and had sketched out what he suspected were their character … And yet, they were almost nothing like he’d imagined. He’d expected wickedness, evil, in any shape it might take, to be leaking out of them, and rippling on them, in a disgusting flow of despicable energy like the other countless monsters he’d fought. He’d expected to feel repulsed. To feel spite… But there seemed to be none of that here. He continued to watch as the stranger struggled in his grasp -it was pretty much futile-, how their arms and claws scratched and wrapped around his armoured, muscular limb in an effort to get him to loosen his grip – how their strange, avian like legs pushed against his chest to forcefully break free -they did have a lot of strength in their legs, he’d give them that-… And then he noticed those two, weird limbs protruding from their back, fluttering uselessly, utterly unable to help them… What, take flight? He watched as the stranger’s strength diminished under the strenuous but admirable effort of trying to break free… And he felt something stir in his chest at that moment. It was an utterly pathetic sight. They had no way of breaking free lest Guts decided to let them do so, and the more he looked, the more the Swordsman found himself… Thinking. Despite his best efforts, he could discern no ill intent behind those blue eyes. They might just not be showing it right now, he thought. He knew how different people tended to act when in a desperate situation. And yet, something compelled him to feel… Pity, for this creature. He almost felt … Bad, holding them up like this by the neck. He forced himself to stay focused a little longer, now was not the time to go soft; not when the truth was so close. He had not looked away from those blue eyes for a second …
And despite his best efforts, he could see but one thing: he was holding up a creature, alive, moving, and struggling for its survival.
A being that simply wanted to live.
He barely felt the way his grip had relaxed before the stranger fell to the forest ground with a thud, and he lost sight of the blue eyes. Briefly confused, he watched as the figure dashed away, disappearing in the darkness of the night for good.
He’d let them go.
He should’ve felt frustrated, but, strangely enough, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it. He couldn’t even feel annoyed at the way the mystery only deepened now that they were completely out of reach. He stood there, his arms now relaxed and back at his sides, the only sounds coming from the little campfire next to him, accompanied by the dancing shadows it projected onto the trees standing at the edge of the clearing. He’d not noticed the soft, burning pulsing of the Brand of Sacrifice.