[Can't Opt Out]

Arc F1.7 | Chapter 29: This Moment Will Haunt Me Forever (unless you’re in my arms)

Did Olivier have confidence in his decision to skid to a stop? To turn and face the women and see if it really were the little girl’s mothers giving chase?No, he had absolutely no confidence in his decision. Regardless, it was only a matter of time before the pair caught up, and even the panicking war-simulation function—and who knew a function could panic?—was suggesting he stop, turn, and see what came of his decision.

The alleyway he had turned down was wider than the one he had hidden Porsq within—more a side street, than an alleyway, even if it was far skinnier than similar roads in Baalphoria tended to be. Three, maybe four people could walk side by side down the alleyway. Already, the war-simulation function was spinning out combat strategies—it had also told him to stop at this specific spot, far enough from the alleyway’s exit that it was unlikely someone would be able to sneak up behind him, close enough that it wouldn’t take the kids long to run if he had to demand they run away.

In his arms, the girl continued to squirm, and while the women were still a little ways away, he took the chance to put her down—she’d begun to pull his hair, her hands slapping at him and Xavier.

The boy, as though afraid that he too would be set down, tightened his grip on Olivier’s neck.

“Shh…” Olivier sighed as the girl’s feet hit the ground.

Immediately, she was off—turning and running towards their chasers. Well… at the very least, she thought them to be her mothers. Olivier, of course, knew that some irregular deviations and skills, as well as techniques used by the clones, could alter another person’s appearance. Presumably, there were core abilities that could also do so.

Hopefully, these women really were the girl’s mothers.

Given the way the one woman sped up, dropping to her knees to pull the girl close, the woman either was one of her mothers or such a good actress that she could fake it. Olivier hoped it was the former—it would be very unfortunate to later realize he’d given the child up to people pretending to be her mothers.

Mostly, Olivier thought it unlikely to be anyone pretending for the simple fact that, had anyone wanted the children, choosing someone like Izurial might have made more sense—both children liked the silverstrain, whereas Olivier had the sense that Xavier didn’t like the women.

He didn’t like them either, his mind skipping over the various differences between the children, both cared for by these women, and yet, the more time he spent with the children, the easier it was to see how disparate the level of care they had received was. The girl was their biological child, yes, and not having any biological children himself, Olivier couldn’t say for certain that he wouldn’t prioritize their wellbeing over that of another child. Perhaps the women had felt bad about giving the girl enough food that she wasn’t nearby as skin and bones as Xavier or Porsq. Perhaps they’d had their reasons why they took the time to file down their daughter’s nails and comb her hair while leaving Xavier to have chipped nails, some of them bitten down to the quick, and hair so matted Olivier suspected it would need to be completely shaved.

Inside, Olivier knew he would never be capable of treating one child in his care so different from another—not without reason, not in such small and yet easily remedied ways.

As he rose, Olivier pressed his now free hand to Xavier’s head, pulling the boy closer—a silent promise that he would keep the child safe that would haunt Olivier for years because he hadn’t been able to, and while Xavier had never once held Olivier responsible for anything these women or the man they would so easily, heartlessly hand his small body over to did to him, it still weighed on him.

Later, he would think he should have run—the moment the girl was out of his arms, he should have run. Logically, he knew that doing so would have resulted in his death, the only thing keeping him safe from those women before the fact that their daughter was in his arms.

The moment he turned his back on them again, he would have been dead.

It didn’t matter.

All that would matter for years was the fact that he hadn’t trusted his gut in its belief that these women weren’t good people, some ache within him always lingering unless Xavier and the man he was slowly becoming were snuggled into him, safe. Those women didn’t care for Xavier and had so happily used him, just as those women Porsq had forced to leave their group would have used the children to secure their own freedom, had they been given the chance. They had held bad intentions within them—the selfish energy of people willing to do anything for their freedom, even sacrifice a child.

Olivier should have remembered that: people aren’t always good.

It was something he had spent most of his life believing: most people are inherently good people, if given the chance. For decades, Olivier would spend time and energy working to give people those chances, and yet, this moment lingered with him because the reality was, when people are pushed to desperation, they will do anything to keep themself and those they love safe.

It won’t matter who they hurt.

It won’t matter that they could have tried to go another way.

Nothing will matter but securing themself and theirs the best chance they can get.

It wasn’t an always, but it was an often enough.

Once, Olivier wondered if his life would have been better without Emilia invading it, so many of those moments of having his faith in human kindness shaken intrinsically wrapped up with her. Of course, he knew that the situation in Lüshan would have happened with or without her—knew that without her aether marking him, these women might not have found him, but that without her, he might not have had even the baseline knowledge from Malcolm to be able to get himself this far.

Without Emilia, all of those people they managed to rescue that day might have died in that prison.

With Emilia, people still died, but people had lived as well.

Without Emilia, he might have died long before this moment—might have been unable to save a single person.

With Emilia, these women found him and Xavier was taken—stolen away as energy swept through him, burning and constricting, as the little boy begged him to let him go.

“It’ll be okay, Olivier’burat,” the little boy said, calling Olivier a name that his Censor was telling him wasn’t right—a slip of the boy’s childish tongue, perhaps. The women didn’t seem to think so, the one holding their daughter far off down the alleyway, laughing and teasing Xavier.

“You hear that, my little heart? The mongrel thinks he’s found himself a ‘burat. Stupid child. You have no one,” she laughed, and Olivier truly wondered how someone could be so cruel to a small child—how someone could happily spread that sort of hatred to their own child’s heart and framing of the world.

From what he had seen, Xavier and the little girl were friendly enough, although certainly not as close as Porsq and Xavier despite barely knowing one another, and in hindsight, that should have been a sign that the little girl’s mothers weren’t good people. Children don’t have to be friends, but for the only children within that place to be barely friends was strange. People sought out the smallest of light in the darkness, so they should have been friends.

They weren’t, and these women were why.

“Give me the mongrel,” the other woman said. She’d moved down the alleyway so fast—one moment metres away, the next, right there, her energy slamming into him. Now, she towered over Olivier—but how could she not when her core energy had been enough to bring him to his knees, breath pulled from his lungs while his Censor revolted. It wanted to be free—to strike out at this woman who would dare push energy into his meridians and hold him hostage. Her grasp on him was too complete, his Censor, already behaving so strangely and worn from everything that had happened, couldn’t do anything.

All he could do was hold Xavier a little closer, the woman pressing a knife into the skin of his neck, pressing, pressing, until it broke skin. Blood seeped out of the wound, tears out of his eyes because this was how it ended: either she would kill him to get the child, or she would take him and Olivier might as well be dead because how could he let this sweet little boy be taken by these women.

Better he die trying to keep the child safe.

Xavier’s dark eyes, glittering with tears, met Olivier’s, everything about the child a shade of brown. He would be adorable when he was clean, Olivier thought, with a little more meat on him, with hair that wasn’t caked and matted, with a less pained smile on his face.

“Let me go, Olivier’burat,” he whispered, and no, that term hadn’t been a mistake. The boy turned his eyes up to the woman. “I won’t cause problems, so, can you let Olivier’burat go?”

Behind them, the woman holding the little girl laughed again, spouting out more cruel words directed at Xavier’s use of ‘burat, which Olivier thought was meant for blood uncles? His Censor tried to supply context, but whether due to some internal mechanism telling it to not dedicate resources to that or its own overwhelm, it sputtered out.

“Only if he behaves and lets you go. Now.”

Olivier didn’t want to let the child go—Xavier belonged with him, and he should have been able to keep him safe. The boy’s hands pressed into his cheeks, soft and sweet, as he asked once more for Olivier to let him go.

“I don’t want to watch you die,” the child said, and that, more than anything, was what led Olivier to let him go. Xavier didn’t deserve to have Olivier’s blood splattered over him—not that Olivier was convinced the women wouldn’t kill him the moment they got the child anyways.

Hopefully, they’d at least take Xavier a little ways away, so the sweet boy wouldn’t find himself covered in Olivier’s blood—and on the off chance they let him live… well, at least he would known who Xavier had been taken by, and no matter what, at least Emilia might be able to find him—might be able to kill these women before they could spread their hatred and malice further.

With those thoughts swimming through his blurry mind, Olivier let the death grip he had managed to retain on Xavier drop slightly, flinching when the boy was yanked out of his arms.

Child secured, the woman turned away, making her way down the alleyway towards the other woman and their child, her energy a long trail of dark energy between them, holding him still. “Knock him out,” she told her wife—and at least they really were going to let him live and hadn’t just been lying to Xavier—before dropping Xavier and scooping her daughter out of the other woman’s arms.

The boy whimpered as he hit the ground, the woman cursing and telling him to shut up, to move, to stop being a baby as though he weren’t a scared child she had just dropped out of her arms. In her arms, her daughter cried—older and now with people who loved her, and the woman cooed.

Olivier wasn’t even sure what to think about them as the shadow of the other woman came to stand above him. They were so… comically villainous. Were people really this terrible? Were people really capable of this sort of cruelty? This sort of stupidity—because good little boy that Xavier was, cooperating with them so they’d keep him alive, they didn’t need to threaten him nor treat him so terrible.

Yet, they did. Bullies—these women were bullies, taking their anger and frustration out on a little boy, and if he had the chance, Olivier was going to kill them.

People like this—people capable of this sort of evil—didn’t deserve the mercy of second chances.

“You gonna behave, little mongrel?” the woman standing above Olivier asked, her fingers digging into his hair and pulling him higher. Still, her wife’s energy boiled through him, pressing at his meridians until everything burned and it felt like he was too full—like he was about to explode from all the energy vibrating within him.

“Yes,” Xavier called, distant and quiet and trembling, and how often must these women have called him that—little mongrel—for the boy to reply so readily?

Olivier hated it—hated these women, hated Fräthk for allowing these monsters to be crafted within their holding cells. Maybe they hadn’t known, though? Olivier would ask, if he ever met them, why they were treating their captives so horrifically. Sweetness called loyalty and kindness to it. Cruelty created monsters like this, but perhaps Fräthk wanted monsters. Certainly, Porsq had thought Hwris a monster of darkness, lingering at the edges of their awareness—a nightmare, waiting to crash upon them.

A surge of energy splattered through him, and while he had been able to keep himself from screaming before, this time, he thought he screamed. It was difficult to tell, the pain of the woman knocking him out—was she really only knocking him out?—so profound that his senses seemed to vanish.

It was… strange. There was both pain and nothingness—no sound or touch or taste or sight or smell. There should have been no pain; yet, pain was everything—the only thing to exist for a second, a millennium.

Only pain and Xavier’s voice, calling to him, “Olivier’burat.”

That image from earlier passed through his head once more, of Xavier tucked into a photo of himself and his cousins. There were only three kids at first, all of them close in age to Xavier—Gabrielle’s twins. Maybe a few months older—kids that age grow so fast, so slow—but Xavier was a little fatter, a little healthier.

Then, the image changed. It was the same—the same place, the same smiles, but not quite the same people.

People came and went, shifting and morphing over time. Sometimes, Porsq was there—a teenager who looked familiar but unplaceable as well. Another teenager. Another. Another. Another—that one was a clone, their eyes sticking on one of the other teenagers, so familiar looking and yet unplaceable, in a way that reminded him of the way the triplets looked at Emilia.

More children added themselves to the group as well, sometimes as babies—two silverstrains, decades apart and Olivier had no idea who they were supposed to belong to, no silverstrain parents to be seen. Two children, younger than Xavier but popping into the image at the age the boy was now, their eyes more dead than Xavier's had ever been.

More and more children shifted in and out—and that one wasn’t a child, but their energy was all child and they looked like Lan’za but not quite?

More and more children began adults, and the adults changed as well. Antoine went from never being with them, outsider of their cousin group as he’d always been. Then, he was there—smiling, happy. Then, boom, gone, but Olivier didn’t think he was dead? Something was wrong with this broth, though, in that last version of him—something dark surrounding him? Or something… lacking? As though the aether were refusing to brush against him?

That was… strange, but not because he was losing consciousness, his brain grasping on to hope—hope that Emilia’s mark could be used to find Xavier, and that between them, they could find him a home where he would be safe and loved.

Hope that next time, he would be strong enough to keep Xavier tucked to his chest, no one able to take him away.

Another chance—that was all he wanted: another chance to keep that little boy safe.