[Solo/Self PRP] Dark Souled One (Kieran)

[Seussi]

“Little Dark Souled One.”

The name had been, ironically, like a prophecy in itself. From when Kieran was born, something ominous had awoken, which twisted and flowed around his essence. Perhaps it might have stayed dormant had Grendel not spoken the words or brushed him with his power.

Or maybe the God had known what he was doing all along.

Whatever the case, as Kieran grew, so did the darkness, though, for most of his young life, it had quieted and stilled as if lying in wait.

What was it waiting for?

That night in the courtyard had changed everything for the child. He had stood at that fountain with Vadoma, and suddenly, he had seen it so clearly. A vision of his own hands reaching out and pushing her in. He could feel the slight give of her body as he shoved, see the shock and surprise in her vibrant red gaze, hear her cries echoing in his head, how she called for their Papa…

The world had come back in shocking, stark clarity, and he could see that he had done nothing. But it did not matter. He knew he would do it. The desire curled around him, the darkness filled him, and with one glance over his shoulder to make sure Ravnos was looking the other way, he pushed her in, satisfying that overwhelming sense of necessity that had overtaken him.

He fulfilled his own prophecy, though it was just a tiny one.

But didn’t everything start small?  

[Seussi]

The visions came and went.

They flickered in his mind sometimes, but just snippets, nothing substantial. And they never again, at that young age, occurred when he looked at Vadoma. No, it was only the occasional temple visitor that he sometimes caught glimpses of, and that was not often. His papas kept him and his sister safely tucked away in their part of the temple most of the time, and when not there, they were outside in the courtyard.

There was a man once with long dark hair and a cold, dead gaze. He had come to see Grendel, and Kieran remembered the God seeming irritated at the time. Not that the man had come to see him, but how he had come and managed to easily infiltrate the defences Grendel had set up to keep his family safe. Kieran overheard him talking about it to his other papa later in hushed tones.

But there had been something unsettling about that stranger. It was not just in how his smile did not warm his gaze but in how, when Kieran looked at him, the young vampire began to feel instantly nauseated and dizzy, his head a jumble of sights and sounds that were not his own. It was a cacophony that grew louder and more intense when the Disciple turned his dead eyes down toward Kieran as if he somehow knew.

Usually, when Kieran saw anything, if he saw anything, he inherently knew that it was a glimpse of some dark fate, of some grim future, but this was different. This man was different. It was as if his future was somehow linked to a past he had not experienced, and it was too much, too fast, especially for a child's mind to handle.

The young vampire's head seared with unbearable pain for the briefest moment, and his ears began to ring.

It was over in seconds. The dark-haired stranger and Grendel had left to talk elsewhere, away from Ravnos and the children.

Shaken, Kieran sat heavily on the ground; warm, bloodied tears trailed slowly down his cheeks as he stared despondently after them.  

[Seussi]

After that, Kieran began to seem different. He had always been a quiet child who seemed to view the world around him with a studious curiosity and broodiness, not unlike the God who fathered him. But now, he had become even more reserved, more inwardly drawn. Sure, he could still laugh with his family at times and play with Vadoma when it suited him, but something just seemed off.

Today his sister was having a tea party. She had been obsessing over it for what felt like ages. Kieran wasn’t allowed to go, it was just for her, and that suited him just fine. Why would he want to go to some stupid, fancy, girly tea party anyways?

Of course, that wasn’t true. He had wanted to go and felt quite disgruntled over the fact that he couldn’t.

So, he had done what any child might do in the same situation. He had snuck down through the temple and to the outskirts of the courtyard, with every intent on watching, lurking, and, when the timing was right, rushing in to pilfer some of the snacks that were laid out on the table.

He never got that far.

Two of the guests had arrived, hand in hand. One, he recognized as his grandmother, Lilith. He had never before seen the other, and he was sure he would remember if he had, especially if they regularly wore a tablecloth over their head, dressed up like a ghost.

Suddenly, she was all he could see, everything else falling away into the darkness, the whisper of the tablecloth echoing loudly in his ears as she moved. He knew who she was; he could see her face, her vibrant red hair tipped with black, her shining red gaze, her sweet smile. Happiness seemed to burst from her every pore, as though her unlife could not get any better.

And then it twisted, a cloud of darkness settling over the vision. He saw her eyes full of terror and pain. Saw her writhing as she screamed until her throat was raw. Saw her whispering a name in a hoarse voice as red tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Kieran.” A deep voice rumbled his name.

The child found himself snapped back to the present. Vadoma’s guests were settling around the table, and Kieran sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back even as he turned and looked up toward his papa, who was holding a basket of something in one hand.

“Sorry, papa.” He mumbled. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. The God reached for him, a hand going to his son's back, a slight frown creasing his brows, a hint of concern in his gaze.

“Come. Let’s go find your other papa.”  

[Seussi]

Time passed. Weeks. Kieran and his sister had grown rapidly in that time, as all faekats did. The young vampire was increasingly allowed to explore the world beyond the temple where he’d been raised. More and more often, the visions struck as he came into contact with mortals and other vampires alike.

They were never good. He never witnessed good fortune occurring in the things that he saw. Only mishaps and pain, always tinged with darkness, as if it lay over the scene like a filter. However, he kept what he saw to himself and even grew used to it over time.

Eventually, he even began to derive a sick pleasure from just knowing about the awful things that lay in wait for so many of those he encountered. His darkness continued to writhe inside him, like a living thing, a blight upon his essence that grew and grew.

His papas’ had taught him and his sister how to hunt and survive should they ever choose to leave the temple and set out on their own.

And so day came when the nanny, the regular faekat that Grendel had brought into their home, was no longer needed. She had filled her purpose. It was time for her to go home.

But Kieran knew that she was not going home. The final time he saw her, he had one of his visions. Her family was waiting for her, and he saw them rapidly grow older and die without her ever walking through that door. The scene then cut quickly to her, and he saw her and her simple-minded self. Her mind had been altered to have her serve Kieran and Vadoma while they needed her, and she was standing alone in a wooded area with her typical vacant-eyed stare.

No. Not alone. There was darkness, one with eyes that glowed red, an all too familiar gaze that Kieran had seen many times before. It moved towards here with an air of purpose. It reached out a clawed hand, resting a thumb against her collarbone, the fingers wrapping around the back of her neck.

The sound of bones snapping beneath a vice-like grasp was like nothing Kieran had ever heard. It sent a shudder down his spine and formed a pit deep in his gut, but he could not look away or turn the vision off until it was complete. Her body sunk to the ground in a heap, twitching, then thrashing, then twitching again, and suddenly that gaze was turned directly on him.

Kieran snapped out of it, but the red eyes still looked at him. Grendel’s eyes. They appraised him silently, and then the deep boom of his voice rumbled through the air as he spoke to his nearly full-grown child.

“It is for the best. I can not repair what I have broken, not fully.”

Kieran wanted to flick his gaze away then but found himself unable, his eyes locked on his fathers. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he pursed his lips together for a moment before finally speaking.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Grendel regarded his son for a short time as if trying to decide something, but Kieran already felt he knew what the God would say.

“No. Will you?”

The question was laced with something, with an unexpected tone. It was almost imploring, and when Kieran realized that, he felt something else.

Power. His knowledge had power. Power over other people. Power over a God.

And that felt good.

“I suppose not.” He said, offering his father a crooked smile. “What would be the point?”

“Good.”

The God suddenly frowned then. He had known about Kieran’s ability for some time, had been watching him, had been skimming the surface of his thoughts. Nothing invasive, of course, but just enough to know. He looked as though he might say something else for a moment but seemed to stop himself and gave his head a slight shake.

“I won’t be gone long.”

He left, then. One moment there, the next just an empty space where he and the nanny had stood. Her fate was sealed. Without a doubt, Kieran knew that what he’d seen would come to pass.

And that felt strangely satisfying.

His smile widened as he turned and walked away.