#ghost-stories

7 - A Promise Kept (Kinda)

@monthlywritingchallenges

-

The Spirit smiled, the twinkling glow from her eyes like a dying star's last breath slowly dimming. "Take him."

Khenan gasped, a hollow, choked sound. "I… I can't. He's…" so small. The words died on his tongue as he stared down at the baby, with his mother's starlight eyes, and serene expression. What things he didn't yet know. Not just a baby. His son.

"Take him, Khenan. Keep him close. I know by law he should not be yours, so keep him as a servant in your home if you must. Don't abandon him." Her words strained as she struggled to swallow.

"But I…" The nobleman chased the light in her eyes, desperate for more of her voice to signal she wasn't yet gone as he grasped her hand, cold and clammy in his. Their child lay still and quiet on her lap, the sounds of his soft, calm breaths in time with his mother's fading wheezes. "Lucia! Luce, Don't leave me… please… H-he doesn't have a name yet! I… I don't know what to do without you…"

Khenan pressed his forehead to her shoulder, squeezing her hand as the raspy wheezing grew more shallow and strained. "Please… please, please, please, please. Don't leave me Luce… I'm not ready, I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"

"H…im…" Lucia pulled her shaky hand from Khenan's, pushing the baby toward him as her voice failed and her breath hitched, body beginning to tremble as she struggled for breath but none came. Khenan stared at her, eyes wide and terrified as he cradled his son close to his chest.

"No… no, no, no, no! Luce?" The noble reached for her with a shaky hand, but flinched back, jumping as the little boy mumbled a soft noise, blinking. He glanced back toward the woman he loved, still and growing colder by the second, her choking already fallen silent. His face contorted as he stared at her, breaths quick and shallow as he hugged his son, chest burning like the lungs of a man drowned in the center of hell, unable to breathe as the air grew heavy.

But suddenly, the room snapped back to focus as a small, warm hand brushed the tears staining his cheeks. A small gasp, and a giggle. Khenan swallowed nervously, gently lowering a his hand, shifting the damp tears on his son's palm with his thumb, hesitating as the tiny hand closed around his finger. He sniffed, trying to choke back more muffled sobs as the infant's familiar silver eyes found his.

His name.

He needed a name.

Khenan brushed the tiny black curls away from his son's face. "Your mother would have wanted you to know your heritage… Wildrun. A Spirit's call, for where your heart belongs, and where hers should have stayed. For the stars in your eyes and the magic I know you hide in your fingers. I promise, my little Wild Spirit… I won't let them hurt you."

~

[Thirteen years later]

The figure towered over him, the same man he knew, but missing something. Dark shadows made their home beneath his eyes, stare narrow, hands clenched into fists, the cuts on his knuckles replaced with bruises. Wild scrambled back, hands flying over his head, instinctively flickering out of view as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed.

A rough hand caught his wrist and Wild yelped, expecting a slap across the face or some sort of object jabbed into his ribs. But as he envisioned all the methods of torture, anticipated the pain, he didn't notice the shackles' weight gone from his wrists until they clattered on the floor, and he flickered back into view out of shock. The Phantom opened one eye carefully, fully opening the other as the cuff clicked and Khenan dropped to his knees, metal encasing his ankle. His eyes found the floor.

Wild stared, speechless as he gingerly shuffled a few inches away from the other figure, bracing himself. "K-Khenan?"

Nothing.

"…Dad?"

At the word, Khenan scowled. "Don't call me that."

Wild flinched. "Yessir."

"...But... Why?"

"Because you're worthless. They wouldn't want you. Go on. Run along back to your new family. You're free." He scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm as he waved a hand, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Dad."

"I said don't."

Wild hesitated. Khenan pressed a hand flat against the small of Wild's back and shoved him forward, making the boy stumble, "Go! GET OUT OF HERE! What is wrong with you? Don't wait! GO!"

The young Phantom hugged his arms closer to himself as he backed up, tears burning in the corners of his eyes as he turned and ran. He didn't know what he'd hoped, but whatever it was, he was an idiot for hoping it.

~

Wild gasped a sob as he ran, not watching where he was going, and ran straight into Rose, her eyes finding him as he flooded back into view. He coughed, wheezing as the dam broke and the tears wouldn't stop, eyes widening before he buried his face in her shoulder and broke down.

"Woah! Hey, Kiddo! Are you okay?"

Wild squeezed her tighter as she wrapped her arms around him, a hand smoothing his hair as he cried. "I hate emotions."

~

Khenan watched his son disappear down the hall and straightened his posture, the worry returning as he lost sight of him. He hated him. He would never forgive him. Khenan would likely never see Wild again. But he was safe. And that's all that mattered. He didn't even care to worry about excuses as the relief washed over him alongside an overwhelming sense of guilt.

No. It wasn't his fault. Wild was safe now. Nothing else mattered. They'd find him, he'd be reprimanded, he'd be the one tortured. Not the innocent little boy with his mother's eyes, and the heart of the woman who'd raised him. The little boy who brought death wherever he went.

The Phantom of the Wolves.

Wildrun Talos.

His son.

Please comment your thoughts! It would be greatly appreciated! <3

My goal here is Nuance (tell me if I did a good job, but mind you, it's 2am when I write this, so I may explain it really bad)

-

Khenan is an abusive father, and Wild is the victim, but the moral of these two's story and JoR as a whole is that everybody is human, no matter what they've done, and most people can change.

Especially in this scenario. Abuse Is a horrible crime, and it itself is not to be forgiven or forgotten, but abusers are not 100% evil people and CAN change. It's uncommon, (hence why I have several, multiple of whom do not change) but it is possible and they're not evil and don't deserve to be treated as any less than human. Everybody sins, everybody commits crimes against other humans, and if they see the problem with their actions they can and MIGHT change.

I'm yapping bc I'm exhausted but essentially: "Hurting people doesn't make you unredeemable as long as you put in the effort to change and make it right."

So Khenan's whole theme is that he's driven by emotion and impulse. He was raised Corrupt but he wants to do the right thing, only it's often undercut by bad things he finds himself wanting that he often gives into.

To understand this situation better, you have to understand that Wild is NOT the son of Khenan's wife. However, the marriage wasn't one of love at first, and Wild was the product of this after Khenan's wife (who remains unnamed for the moment but I'll call W) had to return to her home city for political shenanigans

I won't elaborate much on Wild's past for the sake of spoilers, but long-story short, Wild's powers are not natural for someone of his species, and his true mother had something to do with it. She died in childbirth, leaving Khenan without the first woman he truly loved, and Wild without his biological mother.

Now, another detail I've forgotten to mention, Khenan has a younger sister, more cunning and thought-oriented than himself. Suited for the job they were both born into where he wasn't. And what Vimadè loves to do more than anything, is dissect. And what more fun to dissect than the person who in her eyes, stole her birthright from her with only a few years. And because of her cunning and her quiet determination, she catches quick to his emotional cues and learns to yank her poor brother around like a Puppet.

(Not helped by this is that Khenan and Vimadè's parents preferred her because of her skills and Khenan was hit and burned and shut in dark rooms to negotiate his way out as long as he made himself useful to the family)

Now, because Wild was his illegitimate child, Khenan couldn't claim him publicly as his own, and ashamed of himself, would hand Wild off to the servants to be raised in the house. Wild would only be around four when one of the servants leaked that Khenan had likely hinted toward Wild being his son, (Maybe Khenan told his wife??????)

But over those years, when Khenan and W would talk to one another more and would establish more healthy communication, they would begin to truly fall for each other. But the leaked rumors not only got back to Vimadè, who made sure the rumors ended with the servant as she found the information more useful as blackmail, but Wild's two older brothers would find out as well, and would blame him for the injustice their mother received at the hands of Khenan's immediate older family

Skipping more because spoilers, Wild is used as a bargaining chip and a hostage, alongside some carefully-placed poison, to convince Khenan to give up his birthright and promise a bi-monthly meeting with Vimadè, who begins to plant seeds in Khenan's head about Wild's species and his mother's death. W takes an interest in Wild and begins to treat him like a son a little after all of this.

Eventually, things happen, and Wild loses his memory in a traumatic event that also modifies his appearance, causing him to wander the streets at 7-8 years old aimlessly without purpose

He's picked up by W because he 'reminds her' of himself. W becomes ill and later dies, after treating Wild the best he's ever been treated in his life, singing him songs and telling him she loves him and telling him stories, Vimadè convinces her parents to take custody of Khenan's older children from him, and he finds himself alone with Wild. (All Wild remembers is his name, that Khenan is his father, he thinks W is some sort of mother, and he's never been good enough to be considered a noble himself)

Khenan recognizes Wild. And up until now, he's tried his best to ignore his presence, as he looks like his mother and acts like W. And Khenan can't stand to look at him.

Later that Month, Khenan, agitated and unable to keep on as things are, impulsively hits Wild with a fire poker. Thankfully the flat bit so it causes no permanent damage, but it's what starts the downfall. Wild is 10 when his father hits him for the first time.

Now that all that backstory out of the way. Let's get into the real meat of this.

Khenan loves his son. He does. Khenan loves him more than Wild could ever imagine. But he'd angry, and the seeds of doubt and mistrust Vimadè planted in his head caused his emotions to turn darker, into an almost sense of Betrayal and fury. Because after all, hate comes from love.

Wild is terrified of his father. He loves him, but he fears him more. All he wants is to escape, he's been stripped down to his bare survival Instincts, suppressing all emotion but fear as he is desperate just to not be hurt. He's down on his knees, apologizing constantly for any mistake he makes, and is jump and hyper vigilant to other's vocal and visual cues and emotions, and just wants to avoid Khenannat any chance he can get.

In his heart he wants nothing more than for his father to love him, but he dares not to get too close because he's been hurt before by hoping. However, over the course of the Story he becomes more confident, he's still terrified of Khenan, but not quite so much as before, and he soon begins to resent him.

Khenan on the other hand, when he finds out Wild ran away, he panics, and frantically joining up with the villains and scouring the continent for news, finding out his son has joined a rebel group, but seemingly a relatively benevolent one, he begins to reconsider his actions and his love for his son, and who Wild is, and as the realization of all that he's done comes crashing down on his head, he slips into a deep depression, all his grief and other suppressed emotions flooding back in and he becomes desperate to make up for what he's done.

He decides Wild would be better without him, and even though he's desperate to see him again, he needs to make sure the group is good enough to take care of him, and he begins to work behind the scenes helping the villains to gather Intel just to make sure Wild will be okay with his new family, willing to settle for never seeing him again or even Wild hating him as long as he's safe.

But what neither of them realize is that Wild doesn't need Hate to distance himself from Khenan. He needs closure. They both Do. They need to talk.

By the way, if you stuck around to read my whole yapping session, plaleade leave a comment, even just a single letter or a period would just let me know you read this. Feedback would be greater appreciated, but anything is good! <3

-

“This flower, sprouted in early spring, a certain number of petals. Pretty and fragile. They are beautiful, each and every one unique, and special in their own right. Some with ugly scars, and some seeming almost perfect. You like stories, yes?”

Mangrove nodded slowly, curious where the Satyr was going.

“Each flower is a story, every day they’ve spent growing, every petal, every scar, every root, every leaf. Flowers bloom, We want to nurture them so they keep their beauty. Here.” He held his hand toward the young god, palm up, the flower resting in the center. Mangrove looked down, stunned as he noticed the small scars across the Satyr’s fingers. “Study this flower. Memorize it. Each line. Count its petals.”

Mangrove raised an eyebrow, but did as told, staring at the flower until he felt he’d know its image in his mind forever. He glanced up.

“Done?”

“Yes.”

And with that, The Satyr clenched his fist, crushing the flower in one motion. Mangrove gasped in surprise at the sudden movement as Jakkon sprinkled the bits of the flower back into the grass. “There. Now, That flower is a mortal.”

Mangrove looked from the remains of the flower back up to the Satyr. “You… crushed it.”

“Exactly.”

“Wh-what was I supposed to learn from this? I’m… I was a god, I was forever, I… now It’s just like that? One motion and I’m gone? My life is nothing now? I’m just a moment on a finite line. I was… even if I was a mistake, a… a horrible thing that could hardly call itself a god, at least I had Influence! Power! Now I’m… I’m nothing. There's so much in this world, it overshadows me and makes me small, the world is so much bigger than I thought. There's too much. Is my life worthless?”

“No, there’s just more in it now.”

“What?”

“You’ve never had a finish line before. Make the most of what you have while you’re here. That’s why a life matters. Because one day it ends, and then you won’t be able to change anything anymore. That's why mortals try. Because we know if we don’t, our lives really will mean nothing at all.”

Mangrove huffed in annoyance, trying to swallow his tears. “Well what am I supposed to do with that?”

“There is value that comes with a life. Like that flower. It’s beautiful in the moment, but once it dies. It’s gone. Some say, ‘but there’ll be a thousand more just like it! Just pick another.’ But there won’t be. No flower will be exactly like that one. No flower will have it’s scars or its life or its memories. Nothing can replace it. Nothing. So you have to make yours memorable. Do something good with it. Don’t live to die, godling. Spread your roots. Do some good while you can.”

Guys, help. I need to organize my writing and planning better, should I use sticky notes, write out very long paragraphs and notes about my story's worldbuilding in color-coded pens?

Idk I'm really really bad at organizing

Would a list of my assets help?

Help

-

Fye howled as she pulled the knife from her shoulder, Wild slicing the ropes and pulling on Jakkon’s arm. “COME ON, JAKKON! WE HAVE TO GO!”

The Satyr managed to push himself to his feet, and Wild braced himself against Fye as she lunged for him with a shriek. Wild kicked her shin and smashed the poker into her ribs as the Satyr wobbled uneasily on his hooves, slowly processing the information. “You… came for’me?”

“HURRY! RUN NOW TALK LATER!” Wild shouted, fighting off Fye with kicks and repeated thrashing as she grabbed for his legs, but he glanced at Jakkon, who squinted at him and back at Fye, eyes glowing with a strange terror. He started toward, but his coordination failed and he stumbled. Wild cursed as he realized the Satyr likely would need help walking, let alone running. He kicked Fye, throwing some of the blue flowers in her face to buy them some time as he rushed to Jakkon’s side, throwing the older man’s arm around his shoulder and dragging him forward. “The others are outside! Rose is guarding the door, we just have to get to her!”

Jakkon’s eyes lit up at the mention of Rose, “Petals? Is… she’alright?”

“Yeah!” Wild pulled the Satyr forward, nervously glancing over his shoulder, scoffing a good natured laugh, “Finn and I had to take ten minutes just to convince her not to tear apart every stone in this town when she figured out you were missing. Hurry up! Come on!”

“Wh-what?” At that, Jakkon pitched forward, and Wild strained to catch him, cursing repeatedly. 

“Realms! Are you okay? Just how badly did she drug you?”

“Mm’not…” the Satyr huffed in indignance, making Wild laugh as all of a sudden, a shout echoed down the hallway, and Vines erupted from the walls and floor.

“SHIT! GO GO GO GO!” Wild shoved Jakkon forward, drawing his second dagger as Fye charged down the hall after them. “USE THE WALL! YOU KNOW, YOUR HABITS ARE REALLY INCONVENIENT SOMETIMES??”

Jakkon slumped sideways against the wall with a pained groan. But in a split second, the vines sprouted a wave of nightlilies, snaking around his face, at whichpoint, his desperate gaze met Wild, whose eyes widened, before his own rolled back and he crumpled to the floor. At that moment, Fye surged from the darkness. “YOU LITTLE RAT!”

I cannot see my path and I feel the monster shredding my heart

I go from lying

To crawling

One hand in front of the other, but through the tears I move

I have dirt in my mouth and a lake of blood lapping at my heels, the dark of ink flooding in my mind and a creature tearing out my heart

And yet I drag myself back to my weary feet, I pull my hair out of my eyes, and I face down the darkness ahead of me

I am already a ghost

You can't kill me

The hands try to help me along but they slip right through me, and I feel their help, I feel their gifts and I love them.

God offers a rope that I can't see

And I know I have to reach it on my own.

The hands can't help me

I have to do this on my own

But they remain to cheer me on

I will stumble and I will shatter and the claws will tear me apart

But every time

I will stitch back together, wipe away the tears, and rise for another go

They have me in a choke-hold

But I have all I need.

I will close my eyes and plunge into that dark

You have all your weapons and your words and your threats and your fear

But I am a Story

And I am not the only one

We thrive on darkness