‘ we could have been happy . i know that , and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know . ’ [ Philip to Hunter ] / @voidfractured
❝ - You don't think that's all I wanted ? ❞
Hunter's voice cracks clean through. He's choking on the slurry of terror and indignation and hatred and love that comes up every time he thinks of his uncle. No - Belos. Uncle, Emperor, Phillip Whittebane - they are all simply the human that took this realm into his iron fist. Who turned Hunter into a monster. Wearing the skin of a dead man, a breathing corpse with no right to live and a wake of destruction and hurt behind him with every step.
He has to remind himself, because every time he doesn't memories come back: a little hazy from time passed, but always warm, always golden - if not from the sun, then from light bouncing off the gold fixtures of the castle. They're memories of a kind voice, a warm hand, a gentle correction, a sternness without anger or cruelty. All of them stand in stark contrast to the agony, the long missions, the injuries, the roaring of his uncle's curse, the lessons burned into him without mercy.
The jobs and missions that ruined lives. The crestfallen expressions on his friends faces, before he knew what friends were.
The constant reminder of his every failure.
❝ What's hard - ❞ Hunter's voice strangles; he needs the strength he summoned ejecting Belos from his body and mind. He needs the anger. ❝ What's hard is devoting your life to someone you love. Who you thought loved you. Who told you that all the pain was for your own good. And then it turns out to be a lie. ❞
Fundamentally, Hunter is still terrified to his galderstone core speaking to the Emperor - Belos, Phillip, Uncle - with anything but deference. He's still waiting every second for the backlash, the dismissal, the pain.
But he's stronger now. He has to be. Even shaking, hands gripping his staff for support, Hunter refuses to look away.
❝ I loved you. ❞ His voice is wet but firm. ❝ That's the hardest thing I know. ❞