Messenger, Hunter, Prince & Thief

Raph didn’t notice the approaching storm.

Well, he did, but he acknowledged the soft thunder the same way one acknowledged a tear in one’s shirt,: a minor inconvenience, but one that could be ignored. As he tries to figure out how far they would get before the storm officially set in, Leo stomps into his line of vision, barely giving Raph time to slide to a stop.

“Um,” Raph starts, confused., “You OK?”

“I’m tired of walking for today. We need to stop.”

Raph blinks, first in confusion, then to process what Leo is saying. “We barely started out. We need to make it a few more miles before we call it quits for today—”

Leo rolls his eyes in an almost exaggerated manner before snapping out his fan and airing himself off. “No, you promised that you would stop pushing us so hariously hard and I refuse to get my new clothes wet,” he says, gesturing to histhe long sleeveless hooded tunic he had procured in the brief time he and Doniel had been separated from Raph and Mikey.

It had taken them a few days to reunite (a few days he was struggling not to think about). When they had met up again Leo had traded in his royal garb for some traveling clothes, which had been surprising nonetheless; he had half -expected to find the two turtles tearing the other to shreds, not giving each other free clothes. But there had been a definite change since their separation. The stoic silence that he had come to know from Doniel was somehow more pronounced, his razor-sharp focus replaced by a more tired one that often had him asking people to repeat themselves. Leo seemed to hover closer to Doniel’s side when they were traveling. And at night the prince didn't seem to have any more problems sleeping closer to them. Some nights Raph could swear he heard Leo and Doniel talking to each other.

Raph looks back to the group, who have now stopped walking as well. Mikey is happily riding Infinity’s back, swinging his legs and giving Raph an even bigger smile when he looks at him; Raph makes sure to offer one back. Buddy seems fine as well. He looks to the back of the group to where Doniel normally stood (usually they took turns being at the front and back of the group since Mikey and Leo diddo not have as much fighting experience). At first, nothing seems different, but then he notices a tightness to Don’s shoulders that was not there before. His staff was summoned and hanging from his hands, which was not unusual, but held with a tightness a child would have with a safety blanket or an item of comfort.

He is barely given time to explore Doniel’s strange posture when Leo steps directly in his line of vision. “Well??” he demands, “Are we stopping or what?”

The bounty hunter lets out a tired sigh. “Ok fine, we’ll stop for the day.” He cannot quite cover the irritation in his voice as he tries to ignore how little ground they covered. But Leo’s haughty stance suddenly relaxes and Raph could swear a relief not matching the situation fillingfills his eyes.

“Positively blipherous! Let us see if we can find a barn to sleep in—”

“What? No, we have tents now, we can just sleep outside.”

“You’re more than welcome to depend on those tissues to protect you, but I’m finding shelter.” Leo turns towards the Phoenix and her rider. “Do you agree, Michael?”

Mike’s face twists in contemplation before smiling sheepishly at Raph. “Sorry, but Infinity gets cranky when they sleep in the rain. I think Leo’s right on this.”

Raph lets out a loud growl before dragging his hands down his face.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

It takes another hour for the group to find a large, abandoned barn to sleep in. The purple spider painted on the outside wall shows it has been foreclosed recently and therefore will have little to no damage to it. Like every time they see anything with the Matriarch’s symbol on it, he expects Doniel to look at it for longer than is expected. But this time, Leo steps in the thief’s line of vision, and surprises Raph by gently pushing on his shoulder, guiding him inside. Raph looks to Mikey to make sure he is not seeing things. But whereas Raph is confused, Mikey has a big smile on his face and shrugs.

“Maybe they’re finally friends!” he concludes with the optimism of a child as he guides Infinity and Buddy inside.

The large bounty hunter usually finds it wiser to be more suspicious, especially when Mikey is the voice of optimism,. As he ducks inside, he looks around in confusion. The barn is thankfully larger than he expected and has plenty of room for all to lay around comfortably,. The walkway overhead and door seem to indicate that the barn had also housed farmhands. Raph does a mental count of the group.

“Uh, where’d Doniel go?”

“I asked him to look around to make sure no one else is here,” Leo says.

“I- “—” Raph shakes his head. This is bossy even for the Prince, but Raph s too tired to argue. “OK, fine. Leo, Mikey, go —” - “

“No.”

Raph’s fingers instinctually twitch into a fist, as he barely keeps his growing anger at bay.

“Let me guess, you don’t want to ruin your nails?!” Leo turns to say something, but Raph already has his hands held up. “You know what? Fine! You stay here in your precious palace! Spend time with yourself since that is the only person you care about!”

Raph snatches up his cloak and storms out the door, slamming the barn door after him with more strength than necessary. He barely acknowledges the door opening behind him and Mikey’s small footsteps scampering after him as Raph stomps deeper into the woods, yanking branches off the ground for kindling with more force than necessary.

”D- don’t you think that was a little mean?” Mikey asks in a quiet voice.

“A little mean?!” Raph snaps, harder than he means to,. He mentally berates himself as Mikey jumps back in shock, looking at him with confused, soft eyes. He takes a deep breath, and picks off another branch. “Leo hasn't exactly been the easiest guy to get along with today, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t bother you when he talks to Doniel that way.”

Raph goes to pick up another branch and hesitates, closing his eyes as he sighs. “It — it does. Just because- —” he stops himself. He’s unable to find a justification either for why he lets Leo talk to the thief that way or for anything else. Leo wasis a Prince after all. Royalty means power, and even the idea that heLeo is somehow related to Raph makes him jittery with anxiety. But it's that same anxiety that overcomes him when he thinks about being related to Doniel.

A criminal.

He twists his face in pain as he tears off another branch, but hides it with a smile as he looks at Mikey.

“Mind helping me collect kindling, little man?” The child gives him a big smile as he scampers off to do as he is told.

It doesn't take long for them to gather enough firewood, but by the time Mikey waddles back into view with an armful of wood bigger than his body, it has already begun to drizzle. It becomes a full-on tempest that nearly takes Mikey with it. Raph has to grab the child by the ankle and pulls him along like a kite (all while Mikey flails his arms and shrieks in panic). By the time they make it into the barn they are both thoroughly drenched, and Mikey has the faraway look in his eyes of a battle-weary warrior.

Raph does not hesitate to close the door after them and drops his heavy rain -drenched cloak. “Leonardo? Doniel?” he calls into the barn. When he does not get an answer, he growls in irritation as he takes up his bag from where he set it earlier and pulls out one of his blankets, kneeling in front of Mikey. “Here, squirt,” he says, wrapping the blanket around him.

The youngest immediately brightens up as he pulls the ends of the blanket around him. “Thanks, Raphie,.”

Raph makes sure to rub his scalp before standing up again, looking around to make sure that the two are not swaggering into view grumbling. This time the sigh he lets out is more tired than angry.

“Let’s go find them, make sure they aren’t killing each other,” he says, turning slightly and letting Mikey scuttle up and rest on his shell.

He searches the top floor, which is mostly bedrooms and an eating area (where they should probably sleep later), before he goes back to the ground floor. The first door leads into a large empty space with tables and counters, probably the farmhands’ kitchen at some point. Raph tries not to think about all the people who lost their jobs here, lives ruined by an unforgiving tax hike. He sees another door with the sign ‘feed’ above it and walks over to it, raising his hand to open it.

A shaky breath reaches him.

Raph hesitates, his hand drawn back, looking over his shoulder to Mikey’s bewildered, but otherwise calm , expression. He blames the noise on the pounding wind outside before he pushes the door open.

“Would you shut that!?”

The giant jumps at the harsh tone and steps inside, closing it after him. It takes his eyes a minute to adjust and when it doesthey do, he freezes.

Doniel is sitting on a bag of feed, with Leo sitting directly in front of him, Doniel is doubled over as though doing his best to hide within his own body. Leo’s hands are holding his trembling forearms as his gold eyes glare at Raph. He presses his forehead against Don’s scalp. “It's OK, buddy, it's OK,” the prince says in a gentle tone that makes Raph openly flinch in surprise.

“-W- — what’s going on?” he asks, stepping forward. “What’s your problem, Doniel? Are you sick?”

In a flash the trembling stops, and Doniel turns away, pulling free of Leo’s touch and pulling his hood down further over his face.

“It's nothing, I'm fine,” he says in a gruff, thick voice. Leo turns and glares at Raph with such anger that when the prince storms up to him, Raph cannot help but step back. Leo grabs him by the bicep and forces all three of them out the door, closing it and leaving Don alone.

“What is wrong with you?!” Leo demands in a hushed tone that barely masks his anger. “Do you know how long it took me to convince him to let me comfort him!?”

It's only then that Raph notices that Leo’s normally clean clothes are covered in pieces of hay and grain and his hands are filthy.

”What do you mean, ‘comfort him’? He’s fine- — “

“He’s not fine! How can you see him looking like that and say he’s fine!?”

“I- —” Raph’s not sure what to say. “Why’s he so-...”

A particularly loud thunder strike catches his attention. Leo visibly flinches and glances back to the door. Raph sees the pain and guilt that fills Leo’s eyes and lets out a surprised laugh.

“A — -are you kidding? It’s the storm- ?”

Leo jabs a finger into his chest. “Don’t you laugh at him. Don’t you DARE laugh at him!” he snaps.

“I- — I’m not! But this is Doniel, — I’ve seen him jump off giant buildings and fight off twenty guards and you’re telling me this is what he is afraid- —”

Another clap of thunder cuts him off, far louder than the previous ones. The barn shakes so abruptly that he doesn’t have time to brace himself and falls on one knee, reaching back to catch Mikey before he falls. He looks around the room to see the tables and chairs have all been overturned.

“Who- — what was-“—”

The Prince squeezes his eyes shut before turning to grab the door handle again. Raph cannot stop himself from grabbing his arm.

“Was that Doniel?!” Raph hisses, “I thought he didn’t have any magic-”

“It’s... complicated. And right now, I must be there for him ’cause I’m all he has now.” Leo yanks his arm away and slams the door after him, leaving Raph to stare at the door in shock.

He takes several steps back and sits down on one of the few right-side-up chairs. “He’s kidding, right?” Raph asks as he feels Mikey slide off his shell and move around. “There’s no way someone like Doniel is afraid of storms-...” He looks to Mikey in hopes of verification, but Mikey’s thoughtful , yet sad expression sends that hope away.

“I always wondered why Don goes off on his own when the weather gets bad, but the last time we were all trapped in that little cave, I- — I remember sensing an intense fear. At- — at the time I thought it was some animals nearby, but it was so intense. I thought I was going to melt down without delay. Remember? You let me cry in your arms ’because I could not control my emotions. It didn’t occur to me that it was Doniel.” Mikey looks at Raph. “But it was him, wasn’t it?”

Everything in Raph wants to deny what Mikey is saying, but he thinks back to the storms they had encountered since they had started traveling together. Every time they would find shelter beforehand and Doniel would go off on his own under the excuse of ‘"needing non-jerk air’" and wouldn’t reappear until the storm ended.

Was he so scared of storms that he refused to let anything be around him out of fear of these powers Raph had no knowledge of? Or affect Mikey?

His question is answered when he hears a shaky sob escape the room. He leaps to grab the door handle but stops himself from opening it. He looks back to Mikey who is now watching him with the fragile eyes of the child he claimed he wasn’t. Raph knows his next action will help shape Mikey’s view of him for the rest of their lives.

He hurries back to the main room where the animals are resting comfortably, oblivious to the tension and the storm outside. Even so, he makes sure to give Buddy a pat on the nose before hurrying back with his and Mikey’s bags. This time, he makes sure to give the door a gentle knock before stepping in. He’s not surprised that Leo is sitting back at Don’s side with his arms wrapped around him, glaring at them as they enter. Raph makes sure to raise his hands up slightly to show he means no harm. He looks around the room at the stalls of hay and feed and realizes that Leo had been trying to muffle the noise by moving the feed around (and failing horribly). He hands off his bags to Mikey and starts stacking the hay against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Raph sees Leo let out a small sigh of relief before turning his attention back to the trembling thief.

The pounding of rain already seems more muffled by the bales of hay and feed and as he steps back, he cannot help but feel satisfied at his work. When he turns to Leo and Doniel, he sees that Mikey has taken up Doniel’s other side, with the top half of his body curled up on Doniel’s lap like a cat. Raph isn’t sure if that will help until he sees Don’s free hand take the youngest’s and holds him tightly. As he is trying to think of how to help next, he watches Leo’s hand rub Don’s bicep again.

“I wish your dad was here too.,” Leo whispers.

Dad? Immediately guilt replaces the satisfaction he had felt for his ‘soundproofing’ idea. Why did it surprise him so much that Doniel had a dad? He squeezes his eyes to quell the overwhelming urge to disparage himself in favor of finding another way to help. He sighs and moves closer, kneeling in front of Doniel and reaching for his cloak.

Leo’s hand suddenly grabs at his wrist with the same speed and viciousness of a viper. “What are you doing?” Leo hisses.

Protective Leo - — that was something Raph would probably never get used to. Even so, he gives Leo what he hopes is a comforting smile. It does its job and Leo releases his grip. Raph reaches up slowly and undoes the clip- on Don’s cloak. Leo finally understands what he is trying to do, and he reaches up and holds Don’s hood, so it does not uncover his face as Raph wraps the other side of the cloak around Leo’s shoulders as well. Raph had figured out a while ago that Doniel’s shadow cloak had the added ability to expand when he used it to shield Mikey from a sudden downpour. Leo gives him a soft, grateful smile before rewrapping his arm around Doniel and rests his temple on Doniel’s scalp without the separation but the comfort of the cloak.

It does its job, and Doniel lets out a small sigh as the tension leaves his body,. “T- — thanks guys,” he whispers.

“Anytime, Doniel,” says Raph soothingly.

The thief lets out a weak chuckle, and for the first time since they arrived, turns his head to look at Raph. His swollen pink eyes are filled with a gratitude that makes Raph’s heart hurt.

“You guys can call me Donnie, if you want.”

Raph gives him a shaky smile, and picks up the large blanket again. He manages to wrap it around himself and the younger turtles before settling in behind them like a protective barrier. He feels them relax against his chest and it is not long before the three fade off into a well-deserved, albeit way too early, night's sleep. It is only a little later that Raph joins them.

Draxum didn’t believe in introductions. He didn’t believe in emcees going ahead of you and announcing your presence. That way, when he walked down the halls of one of the few remaining Matriarch outposts without warning and watched each new guard that came into his line of vision look at him horrified and pressed themself against the wall with the stiffness of rigor mortis, Draxum knew it came from his presence and reputation.

That knowledge alone made it very hard to keep a stoic expression.

About the only thing that could ruin that for him was what felt like the tenth scoff of the day. Draxum breathes out a trickle of irritation before he gives a sidelong glance behind him. “If you can not hide your disdain for even a few hours, then you are even more spoiled than I initially thought. And that is saying something considering my impossibly low standards for you.”

Said Prince, who was gussied up in his finest traveling clothes (which looked like they had never seen an inch of travel in their entire lives), let out an even louder scoff. “Well, excuse me! Here I was thinking that your lovely invitation to tour one of Mummy’s outposts was purely out of a desire to spend time with your superiors.”

“On the contrary, your mother’s few military forces leave much to be desired.” Draxum looked again at one of the guards pressed against the wall. They were now trying even harder to stand at attention. A vine grows from the wall, grabs him by the chest plate, and drags him over. Despite the small shriek the guard lets out, Draxum pays the guard no heed. But instead, he looks to the small dent left by his vine in the armor. “What do you see, boy,” he asks without looking at Leonardo.

“Uh, a guard about to wet himself,” Leonardo says with no small amount of disgust.

“If you had any attention on anyone but yourself, you would know that the new armor handed out to your mothers fighting forces are, in fact, ceremonial armor pieces that have been repainted to look new. They are from more than a century ago and have no actual protective capabilities. These pieces will do nothing to protect the soldiers if there is an attack. Obviously your highness,“ Draxum emphasizes with enough disgust to rival Leonardos, “has been cutting expenses. Not to her own personal protection detail or to yours, but to the ones who are supposedly assigned to protect her citizens. Probably for her next frivolous venture, whatever that might be.” There's a sound of a snapping fan, and Draxum is not surprised to look and see Leonardo fanning himself off with a bored expression. ”As a supposed future ruler of this country, that should trouble you.”

“Why? There hasn’t been a real war in centuries. If anything, I’m upset we wasted time repainting them.”

“There has not been a conflict that reached your attention because I take care of them.” Out of his peripheral vision, Draxum watches the guard he had forced look down at his chest plate in surprise and fear. Clearly, he, and the other guards looking at each other in alarm, had been unaware of this fact.

Leo crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg, rolling his eyes so hard it gave Draxum the impression it was the only muscle he used daily. “Uh, yeah, cause you’re a nobody who thinks he’s way more important than he-”

The candles on the wall suddenly flicker and die. Before anyone present could realize what that meant, the guards and Leonardo suddenly gasped for air. The guards manage to collapse against the wall, but Leonardo fully drops his fan and falls to his knees, gripping his chest. He looks around and finally realizes Draxum is still standing. The man takes three steps closer and almost feels satisfied when Leonardo tries to scoot away from him. But not far enough as Draxum reaches down and grabs him by the front, yanking him back up to his feet and putting his face an inch from his. “I think you forget your place sometimes, dear prince. I saw all your potential when I first met you as a child: your innate magic abilities and the fact you were born with two gifts. I saw everything you could be. I offered you the chance to reach your full potential many times, but each time you threw it away in favor of desperate parlor tricks to keep your mother’s amusement a moment longer. Because you and I both know what will happen when she grows bored of you. You are nothing without your abilities, her to hide behind, and the false crown you wear. The only inheritance guaranteed to you is the fate that has fallen every prince, princess, and princeps after you. And if you are fortunate, you will only have a life of destitution to look forward to.” Draxum releases his grasp and sends Lenardo back to the ground.

Draxum released his spell, and with it, he heard the gasping of guards and prince alike as their magic returned to them, “Back to your feet, your highness. You can use your imagination to think of the repercussions should I hear another scoff from you.” And with that, Draxum turned to go.

The only one who hadn’t completely fallen over and started gasping like a fish was the guard he had pulled over, who, other than looking a little dizzy, managed to stay on his feet. Draxum stops by him (barely giving the soldier time to snap back to attention) and, without looking at him, says, “Name.”

“Ra-Ravencrest. Of the Soothing South.”

“Tell your commanding officer you are receiving new orders. I expect you at The Baron’s Crest by noon tomorrow. If you prove yourself, you will find that you can actually use your potential as something more than a figurehead.”

The soldier's eyes widened before filling with the gratitude he had seen a hundred times over. But he also catches the water dripping on the wall (even the building itself was as ill-decrepit as the guards' armor). The light reflection on it gives the barest of trembles Draxum doubts anyone else can see. He moves on, ignoring one of the guards reaching to help the Prince to his feet only to have his hand swatted away. Leonardo scrambles to his feet while desperately trying to brush off his clothes as he hurries after Draxum. The Baron doesn’t hear a sound from the prince for the rest of the trip, but he can feel the self-righteousness and anger burning behind him. Not that it mattered. He would be gone before long.

And Draxum had a kingdom to save.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

(Present)

Draxum doesn’t find there are many benefits to his role as Baron. At least not socially.

He hadn’t made an appearance at any public function in ages. Much less one that expected its guests to wear fine gilded clothes. Draxum didn’t understand how armor was not required at a function full of spoiled social piranha. Thankfully, he still had his contacts that he made in secret and in the dark corners of inns. Some were older even than his title as Baron and more valuable than most of the resources that title gave him. They were unrestrained by the borders of the Gilded West. A blend of other alchemists, wizards, mysticians, and those who dedicated their lives to the craft rather than monetary gain. And though he did have a few political contacts who held titles before the union of the Kingdom and who retained a public standing afterward, Draxum was little more than a puppet to them.

To those who had claimed loyalty to the Matriarch but knew who they could depend on in a crisis.

Reports that were now lying across his already messy desk. His hands are braced on either side of the surface to understand the gathered information better. Draxum takes his hand to run across the words, often the only way he can slow down his data consumption as he takes the words in. His free hand goes to pick up his coffee when he sees the long cold liquid give off a slight, barely noticeable tremble. Any other eye would have missed it, but Draxum could tell it was stronger than the last. He closes his eyes in an angry growl before taking the coffee up and draining it. “Speak,” he says before the soldier at his door can say anything. After a moment, the soldier does as he’s told. “How long ago did he escape,” Draxum asks without looking behind him.

The one known as Dernhelm jumps in place. “I-I’ll never know how you do that, Captain,” he says in a voice of admiration before he clears his throat, “Tw-twelve minutes ago. As soon as we got free, we came to tell you.”

“How,” Draxum asks without aggression. He’s already gathering up the reports into three separate piles. He was mentally categorizing them into ‘read,’ ‘to be read,’ and ‘why the hell did they send this to me, this is why I don’t send thank you notes when you send me birthday presents, and I swear if you send me another ‘update’ on the family, I will flatten your homestead.’

“I-I wasn’t sure. I took Oaken with me to heal his wounds, as you instructed. And he was less recuperative of the idea than other patients. So-So, Oaken said he was going to pin him down, but before I could talk him out of it, the child managed to use the table to knock him over, and next thing I know, there was a stabbing pain down my side, and- and it felt like I had been stabbed. Oaken hurried to check on me, but it must have just been a nerve pinch. But the child had already grabbed my key and got out. Locking us inside until someone heard our shouting, and we came straight here.”

“Hm.” Draxum reaches into one of his pockets and draws a silver pocket watch. Unlike most of the metal he owned, this one was polished beyond necessary for maintaining its quality. Painstakingly small vines and flowers flocked by dark tiny birds and dots. A passerby with barely a glance might only appreciate details, but with his eye, he sees the differences between the tulips and roses. He sees the ravens through the crows. He sees the effort and care put into such a small item. Every time Draxum pulls it out, he takes a moment for the details before he clicks it open long enough to check the time. “That was sooner than I expected. Return and wait outside the thief's cell with Oaken.”

“Y-yes, Commander,” Dernhelm says with a half bow of his head and ducking out. Draxum knew Dernhelm’s respect came from a genuine sense of reverence and not an attempt to further his ranking. It was the reason he kept him around (and the fact he was a talented healer, considering it hadn’t been his innate gift), lest he be surrounded by a bunch of ‘yes men’ like the Matriarch was.

Draxum turns and waves his hand in the air. Like a dealer spreading out cards, a line of mystic mirrors appears in front of him, outlined in purple mystic energy. Through their lenses, he saw several different parts of the castle. He waved through the images as his free hand picked up his cold coffee again before he saw the east wing. A guard was walking past the bottom of a set of stairs when something jumped down from the top of the stairs. It used the momentum to slam the guard into the opposite wall, and they crumbled to the ground, unmoving. The Twilight Thief looks around to inspect his surroundings defensively. Judging by the way his shoulders are heaving, he has been running nonstop for some time. The Twilight Thief looks around once more before dropping to a knee and searching the guard's unconscious body. He picks up the guard’s now broken weapon and tosses it to the side. Judging by the frown on his face, he doesn’t find what he’s looking for but manages to take a piece of paper and pencil from him before he does one more inspection of his environment and hurries down the left hall opposite where the guard had been heading.

Draxum leans back on his desk, and with a small surge of energy, his coffee is reheated. Draxum gives his first grin of the day and walks out of the office.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“What do you think they have in the Cantina today?”

Luke Gout, who had just finished lookout duty, thought for a moment (this being the first question that required his opinion of the day). One of the upsides to working at the Baron’s Keep was the inherent safety (no one was foolish enough to attack anything with the Baron's name on it), and it was kept to a much higher standard of upkeep than the other fortress and barracks of the Matriarch. It wasn’t as though the Baron didn’t have high standards for those under his leadership, but he did have his priorities in order. And one of those priorities was making sure there was quality food in the cantinas every day. You were pretty well set as long as you kept up with training, sought to improve yourself, didn’t slack in your duties, and held your role respectfully. “I dunno, it’s cold out. I kinda hope it's stew.”

Luke thought for a moment like it was an interesting question or at least the most interesting one he had received all day. “I think I like beef stew, carrot stew, seafood stew, chicken stew, chicken cacciatore-”

“Ain't that the same thing as a chicken stew?”

Luke knew the difference between chicken cacciatore and chicken stew. It was one of the few things he actually knew. But as Luke opens the fact to regale his companion on the differences in one of his few fields of expertise, they pass by a window when something flies past him and hits his companion square in the snout. He hits the wall hard. Luke barely has time to turn halfway before his halberd is yanked out of his hand, and the end is pressed to his throat on the receiving end of his own weapon. It was held in a practiced stance by a softshell turtle in tattered clothes. The turtle couldn’t be older than seventeen, but his dark pink eyes bore at him, ''Say a word, and you’ll wear this halberd as a necktie. Understand?”

Luke nods quickly with his hands in the air. He’s too scared to look at his companion, whose name Luke suddenly realized he didn't know, but he does know he’s knocked out cold. Without taking his eyes off him, the turtle takes out a pencil from his pocket, “Bite this,” the soft shell demands, shoving the eraser end against his mouth. With some difficulty (in no small part due to the turtle's aggressiveness), Luke manages to hold it between his teeth. “Show me three paths to the nearest low exit,” the attacker says.

The guard, through trembling lips, shifts his teeth to make a somewhat decent path. When he’s done, he drops the pencil from his teeth. The turtle looks over the path. How he could read it without a map, he didn’t know. But thankfully, he seems to understand and puts it in his pocket. “Thanks. And good night.” Before Luke Gout could comprehend what was about to happen, the turtle flipped the weapon around to the blunt end and slammed it against his face.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

Not being the most robust turtle, it takes Donnie some difficulty to shove the unconscious form into the nearest closet. It was only a matter of time before they discovered his escape, but this would at least throw him off his path. He does one more inspection to make sure no one is present before he leans against the wall and slumps down to the ground. He needed to rest before he ran out of energy at the most inopportune moment.

He took out the discarded torn shirt he had found (stolen) and was using as a makeshift bag. He dumped out all the stuff he had managed to take off the guards he had knocked out. There were several weapon parts (he wasn’t strong enough to use the heavy weapons favored by the guards), some fabric, some broken arrows, and a piece of crumbled bread (I mean, he was hungry. No one could blame him for that). He rolls up his pant leg, though a far cry from the leg brace he had lovingly crafted and updated with Mikey over the years. The one he had cobbled from weapons, and every scrap he could find was effective enough to run without too much pain. It was basically melded together with the broken pieces of a staff, mismatched fabric, and a small wheel he had broken off a cart. Even with his skill, he didn’t have the time to make any substantial changes he needed. With an irritated growl, he packs everything back up (he’d find a use for them later). Donnie uses the wall to climb to his feet and looks at the paper, trying to make sense of the squiggly lines and streaks. But to be honest, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to expect when he said, ‘Hey guy, can you show me three paths out of this giant castle with just your mouth?’

As he puts the paper away, he uses the wall to stand up, but before Donnie pulls his hand away, he feels the wall vibrate with a rush of energy. He considers it might be a minor earthquake, but the overhanging torches flare, and the natural orange starts flashing to a bright red coupled with a deep horn that, as a thief, Donnie recognizes easily as a siren.

He runs.

As Donnie turns the corner opposite where he had come, he sees a bunch of Baron Guards heading in his direction. As he tries to stop, his feet slide out from underneath him. But he grabs at the ground and uses the momentum to swing his body in the opposite direction and run back the way he came, putting the halberd (the lightest weapon he had been able to carry with him) in the makeshift cloth sheath he had put together on his back.

Had it been Matriarch Guards, Donnie would have easily gone undetected. But the Baron Guards were much better organized. There was a reason he avoided stealing from places with a strong Baron presence. Donnie mentally recounts the mental map he had before he takes a hard left down another corridor. The turtle sees the giant mezzanine balcony he had passed earlier and the hall it opened up to. And, most importantly, he sees a large banner dragged across two pillars with the Barons Keep golden four-point crown sewn onto it. Finally, he notes the location of the descending stairs just off to its right and sets off a burst of speed.

Donnie runs just close enough to the balcony to grab the edge of the banner and run for the stairs. Just as he reaches the top, his levitation kicks in, and he swings out over the hall and back the way he came, just as the soldiers appear at the foot of the stairs. The guard in front of him was throwing his arms up to keep the rest from falling, but not in time to see Donnie swinging behind them and giving the one in the back a hard kick. The force of sudden kinetic energy sends the guards all screaming down the stairs in an almost domino-like manner. The banner swings his body out close enough to the wall, and he manages to kick off and back over the hall. He releases the banner and starts to fall again with the aid of levitation. He feels the magic swell again and forces himself to drop it before it gets out of hand. Gravity returns, but Donnie does a quick, trained fall to avoid hurting his leg. He rolls for a few moments before he manages to stop and get back to his feet. He recounts the makeshift paper map and runs for the hall under the stairs. Ignoring the sound of guards growing at the foot of the stairs.

Now he can follow the map. That, mixed with what he already knew, might be his best chance at getting out. He can swing back around and throw them off his tracks. That was the plan. Get out, get as far as he can. Lay low, find some new clothes and head back to the last spot he saw his brothers. Where are they, alright? He didn’t want to think about Raph laying unmoving, seeing Mikey’s eyes roll into the back of his head, or Leo screaming in pain as his leg was crushed. He forces the thought back with a single tear. He’d find them. It'd be ok. It’d be ok-

Donnie is so wrapped up in his thoughts the only thing that brings him out of it is something catching him by his good ankle and sending him to the ground, knocking the wind and logic out of him. For a moment, his senses are wrecked asunder, the sound fades, and all he’s left with is the blaring lights. He rolls over onto his shell to see down the hall.

At first, it is dark, but the blaring lights illuminate a familiar tall form with a four-point crown and pointed armor before the light fades again. Each time the light flares up, the figure is closer. All until it's standing directly in front of him, speaking just in time for his hearing to come back, “I’ll admit, I did expect an escape attempt. But I didn’t expect you to get so far. So I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.”

Donnie grabs the halberd, but before he can throw it, a vine snaps over his hand viciously and causes it to crash across the ground out of his reach. He reflexively pulls his hand to his chest and glares at the figure with all the venom a cornered beast can muster. But all it does is bring a smirk to the Baron’s face, “Good. Keep that anger. Keep that fire. I’ll get used to it.” Donnie looks at the Baron’s shoulders. There’s a flash and twist as the two gargoyles Donnie had seen earlier pop back into existence, “Go and find any uninjured guards and take them to any injured person to the infirmary.”

“Got it, Boss Baron,” exclaimed the one with the rounder jaw. He saluted as he took off with the other. Before Donnie can take advantage of the Baron's lack of attention and grab something from the bag, vines grow out of the wall and wrap around his torso. Draxum walks closer, and he hides the object in his balled fists. The Baron grabs him by the front of the vines and quickly lifts him off the ground, wrapping his arm around Donnie’s torso laterally and starting to carry him back the way they came despite Donnie's squirms. When they reached the landing of the stairs, they saw the guards that Donnie had shoved down the stairs. They were moaning in a twisted pile, and Draxum paused, “Raise your hand if you’re dead. Moan if you’re alive.” The group lets out another collective moan, “Good. Get back to work when the healers are done with you,” and he walks on.

They diverge from the path that Donnie knows will take him back to his cell and instead down a separate path entirely. Down the way he came, Donnie could still hear the guards groaning from the landing. He tries to peer around to get as much layout as possible, but as soon as he tries, the torches down opposite tunnels flicker off. For all but the path, they were on. He suddenly hears the sound of running footsteps,

“Baron, you found him,” yells an annoyingly familiar voice. Donnie squirms enough to see the Albatross who had tried to heal him earlier (Dernhelm, was it?) with relief on his face, “Thank the Moon. I was worried he had injured himself further.” Behind him, Donnie can see his companion also came with him. He had already assumed that Dernhelm the Albatross was a healer of sorts. His dad had taught him how to discern guards apart. He pointed out that healers under the Baron’s employ sported soft lavender robes with hoods outlined with black stitching of a meaning he didn’t understand. His companion, who gave Donnie a more than venomous look from behind the shorter Albatross, sported the darker robes outlined in a much heavier armor set and a square nose. Donnie recognized them as a guard of higher ranking.

(Oaken? Right? What kind of name was Oaken.)

Rather than answer him, Draxum goes to a door that is only distinct by the carved symbols cured around the top of the door as he pushes it open. Being a Baron of only name, it was often rumored that the Baron had a political power that was only second to Big Mama, but you’d know it by his space. Sure it was impressive. While its radius was big enough for a modest one-family home, it also housed a second story. Both were wrapped with books and a few sparse chalkboards, and a small ladder led to the open second story with even more books. There were charts on any available surface that marked stars and other phenomena. There was nothing an untrained passerby would think was worth stealing, and in fact, it looked like this had formerly been a private library that he decided would serve more use as an office. Again, an untrained eye would think nothing was of value here (even the desk under the large window in the back was well kept but very simple. Other than the books and letters strewn about it and a tiny succulent-looking plant on the corner). But with a trained thief's eye, Donnie can see the rough edges and coloring that mark papyrus ( a book-making technique that hadn’t been seen in a few centuries, and even then, only rarely. With writing in a language that he can only imagine went extinct even before the Descent. A collection of books older that were probably older than the Kingdom itself.

He sees what’s not there.

As Donnie dropped onto the floor, he could see a set of two sets of four-legged drag marks. One by the window near Draxums' desk and the other at a more crooked angle by one of the pillars that marked they had been done wavy from the space for one reason or another.

His thoughts are interrupted as Draxum drops him from his arm and onto the ground, “Heal him.”

“Y-Yes, Commander.” The healer steps back into the office. Donnie instantly bares his teeth at him and growls slowly in a way that would make his dad proud. The healer raises his hands, ‘It's alright, it’s alright, little one. I promise not to hurt you,” the healer says softly before he starts to move closer.

Donnie squirms to get out of reach when he bumps into the Baron's legs. His knee presses on Donnie’s shell and pins him to the ground with considerable strength. “Hold,” he says. But before Donnie can figure out what's going on, he feels Draxum grab his fist and, despite Donnie’s best thrashing, peels his fingers back and pulls out the piece of broken metal he had tried to hide. “Clever.”

The Baron must have given Dernhelm some sort of signal since the Albatross kneels, and soft green energy spreads from his hands even as Donnie tries to turn his head away. He can feel the numerous bruises and gashes he had received from his fight with Draxum, and his escape attempt recedes from his skin.

He feels the makeshift bag he had stolen get pulled free from his side. “Let’s see what you managed to get,” Draxum says. Donnie twists up to look at the Baron as the Baron starts poking around inside. “Mostly broken pieces. I assume you used the best stuff to make that thing,” He says, gesturing to his new brace. “Honestly, not sure what I expect-” A frown forms on Draxum’s face as he reaches into the bag again and pulls out the now half-crumpled piece of moldy bread. He looks at it for a moment before he tosses it to Oaken, who seems to understand what to do with it. The healing green energy fades as Dernhelm stands back up and takes his place by Oaken's side. “Leave us,” Draxum says.

The two do as they are told, and the door closes after them. The pressure not only disappears from his shell but as do the vines from his body. Donnie rolls away and gets into a crouched position with his arms raised when a circle of purple energy forms around him. A moment later, a secondary circle forms in front of him, and a plate of fresh bread, water, and a bowl of some sort of chicken-based cream appear. He looks back at the Baron in confusion, who is leaning against his desk.

“Now we can finally talk.”

“Uh oh, looks like someone's trying to bribe Len again”.

Donnie puffs up his cheeks before glaring over his shoulder at Mickey and Danny coming down the stairs. Danny wrapped up in his favorite satin bathrobe (he always stole one whenever they broke into a nobleman's house, he refused to sleep like he was poor) and Mickey in his long nightgown that reminded him of the one play with three ghosts. He hadn’t meant to wake them but stands straighter, “SCOFF, how dare you imply I would ever try to bribe my father dearest. This is simply a gift from the greatest son on Best Parents Day.”

“Is ‘Best Parents Day’ usually celebrated at-” Danny peers out the window, “Whatever sun forsaken hour this is?”

“The earlier the better!” Donnie says, making a point to down the last bit of coffee directly from the iron kettle. He reaches behind him to two plates he had set aside, “Don’t worry my beloved Uncles, I made enough for everyone.” he says carrying the plates over to the table and setting them down. “Cheese Omelet for you.”, he says setting a plate in front of Mickey who rubs his flippers together eagerly, “and White fish for you.”, he places that one by Danny. He makes one more turn and picks up a plate of freshly cooked Tree Bacon and sets it between them. Trying not to think about how much of his own money he had spent to make this possible. And judging by Danny’s eye quirk he seemed to understand that too, “Did you make anything for yourself?”

“I’m going to, I'm saving it for my victory breakfast.” Donnie says going back, he scoops the last omelet onto a plate and picks up the tray. Doing a quick mental checklist to ensure he had everything he needed before he tucks a flyer underneath the plate to be within sight but un- and noticeable ,”next time you see me I’ll be swimming in the sweet embrace of victory!” he says. Before he can skip for the stairs Danny reaches out and takes him by the arm, “Don, you know he’s never said yes in the past.”

Donnie’s shoulders sink, “I-I know, but it’ll be different this time. I know it will be.”

His Uncle holds his gaze a moment longer before reaching up and placing a hand on the side of Donnie’s neck, using his thumb to rub the side of his face, “We love you Tesorino and he loves you, don’t forget that.”

Don smiles weakly, trying not to think about how his Uncle was preparing him for what he considered to be inevitable “I never do.” he says, and hurries on his way back up the stairs.

He stops outside of Len’s door and bounces on his toes for a moment before bringing his good foot up and kickin the door open,” GOOD MORNING PAPA!!” he sings.

Said “Papa '', who had been in a deep sleep, jerked awake with a small shriek, sending his sketchbook falling on the ground as he grabbed the staff by his bed, looking in panic through his long messy black hair, and jumps to stand on his mattress “Wazz going on?! Is it the cops?! Is it Brownie Scouts??” he said with bloodshot panicked eyes looking around the room til they fell on him,” D-Donnie? Wha- what time is it?”.

Donnie, who had woken his father up in this manner enough times to be undeterred, puts up a big smile, “It's time for a wonderful breakfast made by your loving caring son for a wonderful parent on Best Parents Day!”

Len blinks at him groggily, “Best Parents-” he translates and pushes the curtain aside by his bed to peer outside, “Donnie the sun isn’t even up yet! Did you not go to bed? Again?”

“Who can sleep knowing they have the World Greatest Father?” and so much coffee in his system he could swear the faded flowers on Len’s curtains were dancing. But he makes sure to wiggle his magic markered eyebrows at him. Len gives him a tired look and for a moment Donnie thinks he's heading for a grounding. But Lens' tired, exasperated face breaks and he lets out a chuckle, “Alright you menace, whatcha get?”

Donnie beams again, revigored. “Sit sit and you shall see!” he says as Len climbs down and does as he’s told. His stretched out sleep shirt barely fit on his shoulders as he yawned widely and rubbed his face. Donnie wastes no time in putting the tray on his lap, “I made your favorite!”. Unlike the ones he had made for his uncles, this one was square in nature and took a specially crafted pan he had finished making the night before all with a side of bacon and a purple radish (the radish had been the hardest thing to find, but worth it). “Because I treasure you dear Papa, I even made you fresh coffee with it.”

Len curls his eyebrow at him and picks up said cup, “This is empty.”

Uh oops, “Because-” he thought quickly, “Coffee is bad for growing young men such as yourself?”

“That's what I tell you, but it does look good.” Len blinks tiredly at the omelet before his eyes light up in recognition, “Aw, I haven’t seen one of these in a while. Your Grandma used to make these for me all the time between her adventures. And I used to make them for you when you asked for them.” he reaches out and rubs Don's scalp the same way he would ruffle his hair if he had any, “it looks great.”. Len picks up a fork to start eating when his eyes fall to the piece of paper strategically poking out under his plate, “Ah, the bribe makes more sense now.”

“Oh what is *that?*”, Don dramatically sits by his father and leans over with all the innocence his heathen soul could muster, “Gasp, is that a pamphlet for a school? How did that get there?”

Len lets out a sigh, “Doniel-”

“Perhaps we should look at it closer?” Donnie yanks it free and unfolds it directly in front of Len’s face, another piece of paper falling out, “Double gasp! It so happens to come with a list on why *this* is this the perfect school for me? Allow me to read it for you.” he quickly clears his throat before his father can interject, “Number one, it's a scholarship school, all I would have to do is pass a test and I could go for free! Two, when I graduate I can make so much money you and my uncles would never have to work again-”

“No.”

Donnie blinks. It takes a moment for him to comprehend what Len had just said, “B-But, I have this list.” He scoots closer and holds it out in front of him, “I spent all night on it, I drafted it, drafted it again, and laminated it. Do you even want to look at it?”

“You know you can’t go to a school like normal kids. That hasn’t changed. We've talked about this so many times.” Len reaches a hand out to place on the back of his neck but Donnie is already standing up, “No of course not. Because it’s something I want,” he grabs the pamphlet from Lens side and tears it up with his hands, but when he tries to do the same with the list he finds he laminated it too well and ends up just dropping it as tears run down his face. “How stupid of me to think I could ever have anything that everyone else in the world has-’

“That's not what I-”

“You know, forget it. It's fine! I’ll just go back to my cell like the good prisoner I am!” He sprints out of the room as Len struggles to get the tray off his lap without dumping everything on the floor (“Donnie it's not like that-”) but Donnie was already in his room and slamming the door after him. For a few moments he stands there and watches his father’s shadow stand on the other side of the door. A part of him almost wants him to try and come in so he can justify his anger. But instead he hears a tired sigh and the shadow disappears.

Donnie turns and kicks his bed with his good leg with an angry shout which only accomplishes in banging his toe. He instinctively goes to balance on his bed, only for it to fold under the weight and barely give him time to guide his assent to his desk chair. He presses over the sides of his pounding head as he struggles to rein himself in.

No.

Of course he had said no.

He can feel the desk under his elbows start to tremble and forces himself to take several deep shaky breaths. It takes longer than he wants but he feels the trembling stop and the threat fades. With an angry sob, he crosses his arms on his desk and presses his face into them.

Of course he had said no.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Instinctively, Donnie’s hand gives a twitch as though to bat away the person intruding in his sleep. But it's when a soft hand touches his shell that he sits up with a jerk, looking around in confusion with a piece of paper stuck to his face, “whozit, whatzit-” he looks around for the intruder only to find him kneeling by him, a soft smile on his face, “Aw kiddo.” Len reaches forward and gently peeled the paper from his face.

“What do you want?”, Donnie says, puffing up his face in an attempt to glare at him. Well, it was supposed to be angry, but judging by the soft smile that grows on Lens face it does the opposite. “I wanna see my kid get some sleep.” he says reaching forward, one arm around his shell and one under his knees as he carefully cradles him to his chest. Don knew if he had squirmed or said anything Len would have left him alone but instead he leans his head on his Dad’s shoulder and closed his swollen sleep ridden eyes. He feels his dad shift his weight as he pulls the covers back on his bed and carefully sits Don on the edge. “Stay sitting up for me for a bit” Len says, Don responds with a weak raspberry but doesn’t say anything as Len carefully rolls up his pant leg and starts unhooking his leg brace, “can’t keep sleepin in this, you're going to dent the frame.”

“That’d be great for you,” Donnie grumps angrily, “Then I can never leave.”

“Uh huh.” again Len only gives him a soft smile before reaching over to the desk for a clay cylinder mug Donnie hadn’t noticed and puts it in his hands, “Drink this, it’ll help with your headache.”

“How did you know I have a headache?”

“You always get a headache after you sleep at your desk. You especially get a bad headache when you sleep at your desk angry after your powers try to go nuts.”

Donnie looks down at the swirling liquid, “How’d you know?”

“We could feel the effects downstairs, but by the time I got back to your room they had already faded. You did a good job keeping them under control. I'm proud of you.”

Proud. Tears return to his eyes and he takes a sip of the tea. Len had always been an avid believer that tea could fix any headache, and though Donnie had never been sure he felt the same way it always calmed him down. He feels a few more tears run down his face, and a gentle palm wipes them away, “You understand why you can’t go to school, right?” Len asks.

“B-But I”ll be careful! I never use my powers, and-and I'll be good!”

“You’re a great kid Don, I never worry about that.” Len pauses and thinks about that, “Ok you’re a lovable heathen. But you’re my lovable heathen. You have a good handle on your powers now, in a controlled environment. But school is a chaos hormone infused madhouse, so Danny tells me, there are a thousand things that could set you off. Not only that.” Len pauses, and gives off a small sigh, “ I’ve told you before that to officially adopt you and make sure no one could come in and just claim you we had to register your abilities. LIke every kid when they turn five. But we couldn’t let them know how special you are so we lied about your abilities. A LOT. Even for us. If they had any idea how special you really are they’d take you away from me. Hell your intelligence alone does that.”

“I’ll dumb down!”, Donnie says, earning him a eyebrow raise from Len, that makes him pout and sigh, “I can’t dumb down”, he admits.

“And you shouldn't have to. I wish there was just one reason why you can’t go to school. But the truth of the matter is there are too many reasons. I know it seems great for me cause I get to spend so much time with the best kid in the world. But it really is unfair for you.” his hand comes up again and holds the side of his face, “So even if you hate me, even if you yell or kick things or tell me I’m the worst Dad in the world. Even if you need to hate me, I’m always going to do what I have to do to keep my son safe. OK?”

Not a child, and not a man lets out a soft tired sigh and nods. He feels the bed sink next to him as Len sits by him, taking the mug from his hands and wrapping his arms around him tightly. Despite himself, Donnie leans his entire weight against the man who raised him and presses his face into his chest, “I'll never hate you.” he says the best he can without being muffled.

“That's good to know,” Len gives him one last squeeze, “Alright let's get you to bed.”

Donnie pulls away and rubs at his eyes, “What time is it?”

“It's time for you to get some sleep. We can worry about your screwed up sleep schedule later.” Len says. He stands up and gently lifts Don’s legs up to guide him into bed. His warm comforter pulled over him and an achingly familiar plush put on his arm. A soft hand holds the side of his face for a moment before he feels Len give him a gentle peck on his temple, “Love you baby boy.” he says before Donnie hears him leave the room.

Donnie reaffirms his grip on his yeti bear before rolling over to sleep facing the wall. The last of his tears disappear into his pillow as he falls back asleep.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

Len doesn’t immediately go downstairs.

He stands just outside of Donnie’s room. His fingers tracing over the faded drawings made years ago on a rainy day by a bright child. He could remember catching Donnie drawing on the doro and his big dark pink eyes widening in shock. But then gave him a big smile when Len sat by him and joined in. Tears he had barely kept at bay finally ran down his face, “shit.”, he whispers to himself as he presses the palms of his hands over his eyes and takes several deep shaky breaths to calm himself down.

“You ok Lenny?”

Of course he’d have an audience. He scrubs at his eyes before looking at the end of the hallway where Mickey and Danny had climbed the stairs, he takes another deep breath, “I'm fine it's nothing.” he says. He starts to go past them when he feels Mickeys’ fun take his hand and stop him. He almost pulls away but he looks to the electric eel at his side looking up at him and feels new tears form. Len let's Mickey pull him down so they’re both sitting on the top of the stairs and he drops his face into his hands, “I’m a terrible Dad.”

“No you're not Lenny. Donnie made you a ‘best parent’ mug, remember? They don't give those out to just anyone.” Mickey says with a smile. Len can feel Danny join him on the other side.

“If I was a better Dad I’d find a way to make his life better. I’d find a way to get him into a real school, I’d find a way to help him control his powers.”

“First of all, the kids had a top tier education. I made sure of that. Second, Donnie’s powers are nothing like we’ve ever seen. Like anyones ever seen, Len.” Danny puts an arm around his shoulders, “WE’ve known this for years, We searched libraries, broke into universities, broke into the registry. Ain't no one’s seen anything like him before. Even if we knew who his birth parents were there’s no guarantee we’d get an answer. We know he wasn’ manifesting his abilities when the Ma-” Danny cuts himself off and looks over his shoulder at Don’s bed room for a moment before lowering voice, “when the Matriarch threw him out his abilities were prematurely accelerated. If you need someone to blame for why that poor kid will never have a normal life, blame her. You,” the arm wrapped around Lens shoulder “You are the reason that kid even learned to smile. TO laugh. You’re the one who carried him up and down this old rotten house all night when he had horrible nightmares, singing to him and reassuring him he was safe. You’re the one who ran through the snow barefoot to Witchtown when he got sick. So I ain't goin to sit here for a moment and let you keep feeling sorry for yourself because you think you’re not a great dad.”

“Maybe.” Len wipes his eyes again, “I love my kid so much, I don't want to let him down.” He feels Mickey snuggle into his side and lifts his arm up to pull him into a hug with his other arm hooking around Danny’s shoulders. The three of them sat in silence for a little bit. There was no correct answer to being a parent, and they all understood that. After a few minutes, Danny gives his arm another squeeze and stands up, “I’m going to make some more tea and check our coffee supplies, that kid drinks like a fish.”

Len lets out a weak dry laugh, “He learned it from watching you.”

The Legend of the Noble and the Younger

Even in a kingdom as ancient and strange as this, some legends become lost to the ages or are considered too peculiar to be considered true and become nothing more than fairytales.

Yet it’s the strangest ones, I find, are the ones that shouldn’t be forgotten.

As such, one such tale takes place long before the monarchy. Before the name “Hidden Kingdom” even existed, the land comprised of small kingdoms with no king. Only Nobles who lived in somewhat peace, occasionally, one of the Lords would get in their head that they deserved more power but would quickly be taken down by the other Lords. They loved their small lands and would do anything to protect their own.

But none loved their land more than the Noble of the House of Cutt. His land was small but prosperous, his taxes were not as low as his citizens would have liked, it was their love of the Nobles Younger Brother that kept them at peace. A young man who loved knowledge and nature and would often go off into the villages to talk to the people, seeing to their needs and sharing knowledge. The Noble loved his brother more than anything, so much so that on the day his brother became an adult he threw a massive party of many fine foods and music, a delightful event indeed. The Noble then revealed a gift he thought befitting the occasion. After much negotiation he had managed to purchase a peculiar forest from a bordering lord. Though the Younger was grateful for such a generous gift, a quality he wished his brother would share with the citizens, he was nervous at owning such an archaic and mystic forest. Not because he wasn’t curious, it was his nature to be curious, but he knew the dangers of interacting with something they didn’t understand. But the Noble thought the Younger was being modest and decided the only way to appease his brother’s always anxious heart was to arrange a hunting party to explore its depths.

The journey itself could have been completed with the two of them, but because the path took them along the border of neighboring kingdoms the Noble gathered a huge party of musicians, chefs and knights to come along. Treating the event like a royal parade, waving at the thin working peasants as he rode past looking more like a jester than a ruler, and it was only because the Younger handed out meals and sweets to the children who ran alongside. And at first the Noble was having such a good time he thought maybe they had walked past the forest.

Till they arrived

They were greeted with a faint fog that lapped at their ankles and chilled their skin in spite of the hot summer day, the trees thicker than the legs of giants. The fog was so dense it gave everything the illusion of being a ghost of itself, humming with a long-forgotten melody. The Younger, like many of the guards and servants, only managed to look at it for a few moments before some sense of reverence drove them to avert their eyes. The Noble, more foolish than wise, swung off his beast with a sword in the air, trying to approach the forest’s edge. But before he could breach the forest’s edge, there was a flash of light causing the Noble to stumble back. When the light faded all that was left at the forest edge was a tall being. Too iridescent to make out any true details, what the Younger could make out was that the Being towered over them with knobby knees and elbows dressed in a thin robe that looked like it had been woven from the mist itself, and a long beard that appeared to be vibrating, according to his imagination. But when the Younger looked closer he saw that the Being’s beard was in fact full of tiny bees, treating the beard like a hive. What stood out the most was the Beings bright white eyes that shone brighter than any treasure they owned. Some ancient sense of reverence drove the Younger to kneel to the ground in humility.

Even the Noble understood he was in the presence of something ancient and powerful, but he was foremost proud. He arched his shoulders back, “State your name!” the Noble demanded, “I am the Noble of the House of Cutt! I own this land and therefore I own you as well, Spirit!”

While most Spirits would have reacted with anger at the Noble’s arrogance. The Spirit gave a soft chuckle, for it had seen the arrogance of man far too often to be anything but amused, “I am the Spirit of Honey. I planted this forest long before your ancestors set foot on my land. I sang to the trees to give them strength and protected it from greed far more powerful than your own. You claim to own this land, as you creatures so love to do, but some things can never be owned.”

The Noble had never been told he couldn’t own something and reacted as a child. He grabbed a nearby axe from one of the guards, the first time he had ever touched a tool in his life and raised it overhead in a false sense of superiority, but the axe disappeared in a flash and was replaced with honey that immediately drenched the Noble. The Noble roared in disgust and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, despite the Youngers concerned inquiries and by the time he had wiped his eyes clean, the Spirit had disappeared with a haunting giggle.

Angered and Humiliated, the Noble ordered for the forest to be struck from the earth and a hearty reward for anyone who could accomplish such a feat which drew in warlocks. Foresters, and anyone without sense from around the Nobles land. For the next several weeks they camped and tried just that. Though no one could enter the forest without being hit with a wave of vertigo that drove them out on their knees, they worked on the forest edge. Raised axes shattered in their hands, spells cast by wizards and warlocks were turned against them (fire spells turned into fish spells, anti-magic spells turned in ‘oh no where are my clothes’ spells) no reward seemed worth the humiliation the Spirit seemed to delight in and drove even the greediest opportunist away.

Each failure angered the Noble and it was only through the Younger’s intervention that no punishment befalls the failures. Being the only one left with a level head, the Younger was often seen sitting at the forest’s edge looking in with a sense of peace and wonder on his face, and sometimes he seemed to be talking quietly to a little bee on his palm.

After weeks of trying, the only change around the forest was the fact the Noble had never been so tired in his life. He lay in his tent finally conceding the fact the forest would never truly belong to him and thought warmly of returning home when a sickly-sweet voice whispered in his ear

“How may I be of service?”

The voice was so different from that of his attendants that he sat up and looked around in panic. But after his heart stopped racing acknowledged the fact the only other occupant in the room was a tiny little spider hanging from the roof of his tent, a pinkish purple in nature and no bigger than his smallest cufflink, “Was that you little friend?” he asked in humor

“Who else would it be?” the Spider speaks again, causing the Noble to gasp and draw away. The little Spider lowered itself onto the Nobles blanket, “You have been slighted my Nobly Noble.” the Spider squeaked “and that can not stand. What will the other Nobles think? If you can not even bend a decrepit spider to your will?”

It was only shock that kept the Noble from squashing the Spider where it stood, but her warm silk words drew him in, so his head hovered over her. Gently gathering the tiny creature into his hands to hold her at eye level, he decided this was an exhaustion dream and he might as well humor it, “And what can a Little Spider do for me?”

“You wish for the Spirit to disappear do you not? To prove your superiority?” The Spider tilts her tiny head, “I can tell you how to do this. I can help you regain your pride.”

“And in return?” The Noble asks,” What would you have from me?”

“I merely ask for the One thing you treasure most. Just One.” The Small Spider raised one of her legs to Cutttt off his protest, “Just one, you can keep everything else in your world. I simply ask for your most priceless treasure.”

Even for one as foolish as the Noble, he takes a minute to think thoroughly of his most prized possessions, of which there are many. He remembers that none of this was real, and not binding, “Very well.” He says, “What will I have to do?”

“All you have to do is give me a wittle kissy wispy. Then you will be able to fix all your problems.”

The idea of kissing a spider appalls him but remembered that none of this was real. He raises the spider closer to his mouth, the little creature rising hirer on her little legs eagerly and gives it its desire. There is a flash of light that immediately wakes up the Noble who sits up in panic, gasping for air. A moment later his mind starts swilling with information he previously hadn’t known and runs from his tent.

WITH the fury of a madman, he orders the guards and servants around. Guiding him with knowledge he hadn’t had before with a sense of urgency he had never felt, it takes less than two days for everything to be gathered and during which the Noble works nonstop, he orders the guards to have a nearby Silversmith build him a suit of armor, and a potion to be made from the waters of a dry waterfall and leaves of saffron and sage from underneath a moonless night. As they hurry to carry his bidding, they desperately ignore the feeling the forest is watching them. The only one brave enough to say anything was the Younger who begged on his hands and knees for the Noble to see reason, but the mad man would not heed his words only the weight of his own ego and the silky sweet voice in his ear.

The suit of armor is placed within a circle of sacred chalk, outlined with ancient runes the Noble had never known before. AS his brother yells and begs for him to stop, the Noble says three words that had not been spoken in a millennia.

There’s a terrible scream that fills the air, more terrible and sorrowful than any one had heard that brings several servants to their knees in tears. A light trace around the runes of the suit of armor before pouring out of its cracks and holes as though someone had thrown a flame inside of it. The Younger, with tears in his eyes, broke free of the guards holding him back and ran forward. Before the Noble could stop him, the Younger stepped into the spell circle and grabbed the suit of armor.

The air explodes in a mass of furious bees, swarming the unwilling party and punishing every trace of bare skin they can find with a fury of a god. Driving them away from the forest's edge. The Noble, manages to grab his brother and drag him back with him as they flee from the forest. Behind them he can hear the ground scream as new trees burst from the ground and fill in the gaps between the forest, creating an impenetrable wall around the sacred woods.

When the pain finally stops, the Noble desperately tries to wake his brother but finds not a breath or warmth left in his body. Greif tore through the Noble at the loss of his only family as he wept into his brother’s hair, oblivious to the small spider bite that rested on the nape of his brother’s neck. It was only then he noticed the suit of armor was twitching on its own before rising up into a sitting position, the lights that filled its eyes looked around in panic and confusion and it was only then that the Noble realized his spell hadn't been a complete failure. His grief and anger twisting him into a monster of his former self as he ordered the trapped spirit to be locked in his deepest dungeon. Offering a great reward for anyone who could destroy it.

He would only see the suit of armor one last time before it was locked up. But occasionally, he would hear the armor yelling the same thing repeatedly.

“I’m your brother! I’m your brother!”

but after a few decades, even that would fade into a depressed silence. The suit of armor would not see his brother or another soul, at least one that didn’t wish him harm, for many years to the point where the suit of armor was convinced that living in a cold dark dungeon was to be his fate

Until….

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

The Baron had very little use for anything flashy. So, with a snarl he yanked his dark blade out of the unmoving noble. His mood saved a little as he watched the Nobles now severed jewels fall from his fat neck. While some consider any loss of life a loss, he wasn’t of that mindset. He had spent years watching the house of Cutt fall from grace and succumb to ravenous greed that nearly starved their lower class. It was only when they declared war on the rest of the kingdom, did Draxum find need or interfere. The Cutt soldiers, all drafted from farms, surrendered easily. The only real loss of life had been Cunningham Cutt the III, who had been too greedy and ill-mannered to have a wife. In sort considering that there was only one loss of life and one person injured (one of the farmers had dislocated his wrist throwing down his weapon in surrender) this was the shortest rebellion in the Kingdoms history (ok not quite, he reminded himself, remembering the 13:00=19:00 rebellion a few centuries earlier.) He glanced around at the golden ornate walls in disgust wondering how many hard-working farmers starved to pay the taxes for a castle they’d never see the inside of.

Nobility

Royalty

The worst plague of all

Though he can barely hear someone approaching, he turns to acknowledge the ranger approaching with a dark cloak. He tilts his jaw in greeting, “Did you find anything of interest?” The only upside about these old castles was there were usually long forgotten rooms of limitless resources. And considering the House of Cutt had ties that existed long before the kingdom, it made him eager.

“We haven’t finished going through all the rooms yet, but while I was in the dungeon, I found a suit of armor”

Draxum let out a scoff, “Really? Of all the things you could have informed me about. I do not care about some discarded rusty suit of armor.”

“Even if it is talking?”

Draxum paused, turning to look at Tsukino who he could tell was smirking from under her hood,if she wasn’t such a competent warrior, he would have had her fed to Huginn and Muninn years ago. He turned to her fully, she stepped back and gave a half bow with her arm extended. Scratch that, he would have fed her parents to Hugine and Muninn years ago to keep her from being born.

But she was sharp, so if she said she found something significant it tended to be true. They descended several stone cases till they came across a wooden door ripped off the hinges, (more of her work) she stepped to stand guard by the door as he walked in. The lack of a rotting smell told him that there hadn’t been a living thing in many years (though that was probably because the Cutt’s had favored a quick public execution in recent years) He peers into each cell. Everything was cast in a thick layer of dust. There was so much of it in fact he glanced over one cell before pausing and looking back in.

The suit of armor in question was slumped against the wall, the style itself was almost as old as the castle, as though the wearer had promised himself a moment's rest but then lost its will to get back up. At first, he thought that Tsukino had led him astray or was losing her mind when two white lights flickered through the visor looking up at him, “Is that tyrant dead?”

Draxum almost wanted to ask ‘which tyrant’ since the House of Cutt hadn’t seen a respectable Noble in many generations. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tsukino turn her back to him to face the entrance of the hallway. Signifying she would defend their position while they talked Before Draxum was even born, “The Master of this estate is dead.” He may have expected the Armor to be grateful for such news, judging by the giant gashes in his armor he hadn’t been treated kindly. But the lights that represented the armor's eyes dimmed and turned downward, “So the House of Cutt has fallen.” He taped his badly dented forefingers together, with noise that Draxum can only assume is a sad sigh, “I supposed I should be grateful my brother wasn’t alive to see it.” before a laugh escaped him, “I truly am a fool, he dedicated himself and his descendants to destroying me and I still call him that.”

“I don’t suppose it was particularly devastating. I doubt you can feel pain in your form.”

“You’re quite right, I can’t feel physical pain. But to be at the receiving end of such anger and violence for so many years has its,” The metal man paused, “Mental repercussions. I suppose I should be grateful that the last few generations forgot about my existence.”

Draxum’s eyes traced over the Metal Man’s body, entire parts of him had been hacked away or dented beyond repair. The sheen of his armor was lost behind scorch marks. A distinguishing footprint on his badly dented chest armor. As though countless people had stood on his chest and repeatedly slammed numerous weapons on him. He noted the goblin moss on his undamaged parts told Draxum he had been here for many years. He hadn’t noticed that he had been silent, far past what was considered comfortable, “So the legends were wrong. The Youngest Son of the House of Cutt wasn’t killed by the Spirit of Honey,”

“No,” the metal man shook his head, his neck creaking as he went, probably breaking some long settled rust, “Not that anyone listened, We tried to tell them but I supposed my unmoving body was enough to persuade them, I should be dead, but the Spirit of Honey was very kind and when he had been pulled into the suit of armor he pulled my spirit out of my dying body. He was trying to save me. But I’m sure if he had known the fate awaiting up, he would have let me go.”

“We? Is the Spirit in the Armor as well?”

“He was, for a long time. “The Metal Man paused. At first Draxum thought he was gathering his thoughts, but it occurred to him this was the first time anyone had spoken to him without the intent of hurting him, “We were two at first, we kept each other company. Shared stories and knowledge, and for a while I lost strength and he would be the one sharing stories, and courage. My strength returned eventually but he was no longer there. He might have given up his spirit in fear that mine would fade. Or maybe we are one now…. I have memories and knowledge I didn’t have before. But I suppose this is the end?”

Draxum couldn’t tell if the Spirit of Honey and Cutt was remorseful at that thought or perhaps relief. But when he looked at the beaten and battered suit of armor, he saw more than a trapped spirit (fusion or otherwise).

He saw an opportunity.

“If that is what you want, I can provide you a painless end,” he watched for the flicker in the Metal Mans eyes, even after so many years and no body the man still held a small amount of fear towards death, “Or I can offer you sanctuary, we can repair your body, and give you a home,”

“In exchange?”

“Your knowledge,” he extended his hand, “and your partnership.”

The Metal Man, the combined spirit of the Last True son of Cutt and Honey looked at his hands before extending one to him, “I offer you my services, My Baron.”

With that Draxum took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Immediately the Metal Man’s leg severed from the rest of his body and nearly collapsed had Draxum not ducked under his arm and caught him. At the time the one who would become Honeycutt would remember how grateful he was for Draxum’s mercy and his friendship for years to come.