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pathological-runaway · 1 month ago

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Would things have gone differently if they had been different? Would Alef still be around, would the Kingdom still be safe and sound? Would the two still be close if Daleth had been more pushy, or less pushy, or- They do not know what they should have done differently. And not knowing it is far, far worse than knowing could ever be. Daleth suddenly wants to be all by themself in their room, with no one to disturb them for a whole month or two. They could re-read all their favourite books, or sleep for days, or maybe reminisce about the old times and cry their eyes out. It would do them good. Resh makes a funny sound and speaks again. “No, you didn’t.” _____ Daleth finds the King, maskless and scarred, sitting near the Temple one morning. They talk, or at least try to.

you can read the fic here on ao3 or below the cut

Daleth finds themself watching the sun rise above the sand dunes, once again, while birds are chirping nearby and hundreds of tiny blue dots — teary-eyed forget-me-nots hiding their sorrow in the tall grass — are beginning to open their buds shyly, preparing to greet the new day.

The sight is serene, and there is a feeling of melancholy sitting heavy in the Elder’s chest. No matter how many times they have witnessed this scene, they still cannot shake off the guilt and regret that have been gnawing at them since they woke up from their centuries-long slumber. Perhaps for even longer than that. And yet, it is impossible for them not to admire the beauty of the half-dead landscape. It is fascinating how one can despise and admire the same thing sometimes.

Daleth’s steps are slow and soft as they walk, taking in the view from all the different angles they still have access to (trapped in their condition, they cannot move too far away from the cold stone walls of their prison).

It is while looking at the magnificent clouds, peach-coloured in the morning light, that they catch a glimpse of a figure sitting on the side of the hill. The stranger's right hand, scarred and bruised, lies on the bow of a broken boat, and their eyes, hidden beneath the long and messy hair, must be fixed on the landscape.

Daleth freezes in place for a moment. With their face covered, the stranger is barely recognisable, and yet, be it because of the pose, the improbability of meeting a child of light so aged-up, or some sort of hunch, the Elder knows almost immediately who it is.

They do not speak at first, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how to feel. There is something bubbling inside their chest, but they try to stifle it, afraid of what it may turn out to be.

Daleth does not know when they saw the person in front of them sitting so nonchalantly from this close last time. It must have been centuries ago.

They desperately want to break the silence, yet they have no idea how.

The wind ruffles the stranger’s hair, and the latter tucks a stray strand behind their pointy ear. Upon doing so, the figure reveals their face: scars from darkness corruption covering their cheeks, ghost-like skin, faded grey eyes.

The feeling in Daleth’s chest disappears completely, making space for rage that begins boiling in them that very same moment. Of course, they think, of course it is them.

How foolish they were for forgetting, even if for a split second, that it could not be Alef sitting there on the hill!

It is not young Alef, a child with a wild dream and good intentions, but Resh, the King, the Ruler, the person that abused nature and ignored people’s cries for help, the monster who killed light creatures without pity and brought about the end of the world. Corrupted by darkness and greed, little does the King have in common with the child Daleth once took under their wing, with the child they helped grow and become a better person. So little that the Elder prefers to think, sometimes, that Alef died. It would make a lot more sense than a sweet kid turning into a cruel tyrant. Alef would have never done such terrible things.

But Alef is no longer here.

How foolish they were for forgetting!

Daleth’s face must be distorted with fury because the figure, having noticed the change of expression, is now looking at the Elder with a smirk.

“Don’t make a fuss,” they say, and Daleth, despite their anger, can see that the arrogant smirk does not quite reach the visitor’s eyes. Perhaps, they unlearned how to control them, with all the time they spent first behind the mask, and then…

Where have they been since the Shattering? Trapped in the void like the Elders? Or maybe wandering in Eden, all by themself? Or, perhaps, guiding children of light to Orbit?

Daleth could analyse the information they have and evaluate all the possibilities, but they are not really in the mood for this. They are doing their best at stopping themself from screaming at the uninvited guest for what they have done to the world, for what they have done to the Elder, for what they have done to the little child Daleth loved like their own.

“You are not welcome here,” they say sternly and a lot more calmly than they would like to.

Resh frowns, as if mirroring the Elder, and turns to look at Isle again.

“I know.”

“Then go.”

Daleth’s gaze meets Resh’s once again, and there is something in the King’s expression. Something unknown in those eyes — the eyes which, the Elder realises with horror, are so painfully familiar. They brush this thought away immediately.

The monster with hands covered in blood cannot have eyes so similar to those of a purehearted child. They must not. It is but a trick of light.

Resh chuckles, their hand gripping the boat piece with force.

“It’s so unlike you,” they say, notes of suffocated emotion audible in their snarky voice, “to not leave a traveller into the Kingdom.”

Those little tricks won’t work on me, Daleth thinks, I do not care about your games.

“You are not welcome in the rest of the Kingdom, either.”

A shade of anger crosses the King’s features, but they quickly paint a sarcastic smile on their face. Still, the moment of truth does not escape the Elder’s eyes.

Seeing Resh’s façade crack, even if for a split second, makes Daleth feel satisfied. There is some kind of triumph in knowing your opponent is struggling as much as you do. Even more, perhaps.

“Is that so?” the guest raises an eyebrow, “I have been told that all children of light are to visit the seven realms and to give their light to the souls trapped in them.”

“You are no child of light,” Daleth retorts coldly.

Resh chuckles again, and the Elder wants them to shut up.

“Oh really? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the similarities.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.”

“Do stop pretending,” the Ruler is frowning again, “you know perfectly well that me and them, we belong to the same species. I see it in your face.”

Oh, the audacity!

“Do not think that you know me,” Daleth is close to snapping. So close.

As if sensing the tension in the air, birds fly away, like they usually do before a storm. The silence that remains is strained, but the Elder does not notice it, too focused on keeping the boiling rage trapped inside.

How dare this stranger, this monster claim they have ever known Daleth! How dare they show up on their doorstep like this, how dare they compare themself to children of light, those pure, beautiful kids, doomed by their terrible fate to suffer for the crimes of those who came before them! How dare they just sit there, as if they were at home, as if Isle had ever meant anything to them, as if they had spent their whole adolescence living here on the hill dotted with flowers from where the whole realm could be seen!

“Then don’t you think that you know me,” Resh replies quietly and picks a flower. After examining it for a couple of seconds, they squeeze and throw it away. “Because I am like them. I was.”

“You never were anywhere close to them.”

Daleth does not see the other’s reply coming.

“Alef was,” Resh says as if reading their mind. As if knowing how to pull at their heartstrings. As if knowing how much meaning this name holds for their interlocutor.

Daleth takes a deep breath to stop themself from screaming.

“Do not. Mention. Their. Name.”

“I can mention whoever I want!”

And these words are the Elder’s last straw.

“OUT!” they shout. And oh, how liberating it feels! “OUT! I DO NOT WANT YOU TO COME HERE EVER AGAIN!”

Resh stands up, shoulders hunched, and looks at the Elder like a predator cornered by another predator, too angry to negotiate, too proud to give up.

They do not move, and it makes Daleth even more furious.

“I SAID OUT!”

Not a single step does the King take back.

“Oh, so bringing up Alef is what finally makes you drop the act! How lovely!” their intonation is a mix of anger, masochistic joy and pain, coming through the cracks of their own façade.

“Stop this immediately! Don’t you ever-”

“Look who’s finally showing their true colours! I’d thought you’d turned into a piece of rock in your old age!”

“Watch your own behaviour!”

“And all because of Alef!”

“SHUT UP!” Daleth screams, and, for some time, the echo of this scream remains the only sound resonating in the empty realm.

In the silence that follows, the Elder hears Resh’s heavy breathing and their own.

“Don’t you look at me this way!” the King says with a shaky voice after a while and averts their gaze for a moment, “Like- Like you ever cared about them!.. Because I know you didn’t!”

The pained expression on their scarred face calms Daleth’s rage a little, and the Elder’s words are slightly quieter and colder when they speak.

“Is that what you think? Well, that only proves that you don’t know me at all. Because if you had spent even a minute around me at those times, you would know,” they stop for a moment and gulp. Resh is staring at them with hungry eyes, watching intently their tiniest moves, “you would know that I absolutely adored that kid.”

The triumph that Daleth expects to feel hearing the other inhale sharply is drowned out by the growing pain in the Elder’s own heart. Because they did love Alef. They really did. But now that Alef is gone, what does it say about their love? Was it ever enough?

They do not know what they should have done differently. And not knowing it is far, far worse than knowing could ever be.

Daleth suddenly wants to be all by themself in their room, with no one to disturb them for a whole month or two. They could re-read all their favourite books, or sleep for days, or maybe reminisce about the old times and cry their eyes out. It would do them good.

Resh makes a funny sound and speaks again.

“No, you didn’t.”

It seems like they are not even sure of what they are saying. Daleth tries to think of a snarky remark, but they feel too tired to escalate the discussion again.

They sigh and pitch the bridge of their nose. They really do not want to be doing it.

“I did, actually,” they reply, calmly.

The Ruler’s eyes pierce into theirs, as if trying to uncover what lies behind them. Daleth cannot know if they are succeeding. What they can know, however, is that Resh’s own eyes betray far more than they would have liked them too. But also far more than Daleth is willing to decipher.

They stay in silence for a minute or so, and birds singing in the distance hint at the low risk of another storm breaking out soon. Smart creatures. Or, perhaps, stupid.

Little does Daleth care about birds at the moment.

“Where do you think Alef went?” their guest asks out of nowhere.

Daleth sighs again. They are so, so tired.

“Because you speak as if they were rotting somewhere in the sand dunes instead of standing in front of you, and I can’t-”

“You are not Alef,” the Elder states, and yet their words come out with too little coldness and too much longing for their own liking.

“Then who-”

“You are not Alef. Because Alef was a child, a very sweet one, while you don’t care about anything,” Daleth explains, surprised at how difficult it is to say this out loud, “you have done things so atrocious they make you the exact opposite of Alef. You are — you were — you are too far gone.”

Resh laughs again and for a moment, the grimace on their face almost looks genuine.

“Where d’you think Alef went?” they ask again.

And the answer is on tip on Daleth’s tongue when their lungs suddenly refuse to do their job and the lump in their throat makes whatever words they were going to say die out before leaving their lips.

They look at the person in front of them, dressed in rags, raw fear in their eyes, their whole face covered in marks left by darkness. They look at this stranger — this monster — this person for the first time in a long, long time. They look at them and they see what they have always been afraid of seeing, and they cannot lie to themself anymore, even if it is what they want the most.

Because, maskless and standing so close, Resh does look extremely similar to Alef. The resemblance is subtle, tiny details and hinted traits, but it is there. Has it always been?

Daleth wants to say something, anything, but nothing seems to come to their mind. Their lips tremble, and they cover them with their free hand and turn their head to look away.

They do not want to see that expression. They do not want to see pain on a familiar face. They do not want to see that familiar face itself. They do not want to see that, despite the drastic change, despite the lies Resh themself told everyone, despite the escapist narrative Daleth made up in their own head, despite the differences, despite the pain and the grief and the hatred, despite how much Daleth has always wanted to conserve Alef’s image untainted in their memory and how much they have always disagreed with everything about Resh, despite how much Daleth has rewritten about the past while sitting in the darkness of the void, despite what they want to be true and what they want to run away from, despite all this, Resh did not emerge overnight from nothingness.

There has, perhaps, always been some of them already present in Alef. In the child’s harsh moves, in the way they would sometimes fight birds that they did not get along with, in the way they would close off from time to time, in the way they used to lie and in the way they began drifting away long before Resh became their official name.

And Daleth, who has always claimed to be able to see right through people, kept refusing to acknowledge that part of the person they have always claimed to have loved.

Did they really love Alef, after all? Or was it an idealised version of their child they had created in their head, too happy to finally have a family and then too sad to have lost it to notice the perfect image in their head was never the person they had by their side?

Have they ever known them at all?

They wonder if things would have gone differently if they had learned to see the parts of Alef they hid. They wonder if they could have made Alef trust them more in some way, if they would have opened up to them and would have taken their words seriously.

But it is too late to ask these questions now, is it not?

A lonely tear runs down their cheek, and a moment later, they hear the same funny little sound Resh made a few minutes ago.

“Where do you think-” the Ruler starts.

“I heard your question the first two times.”

“Well,” they let out a nervous laugh, “you still haven’t answered.”

Daleth looks them in the eye again and frowns. The moment is shattered, and, even if part of them can see that Resh came from the child they have always cherished, it does not make Resh a better person.

They are still an arrogant fool with more blood on their hands than Daleth could ever forgive.

And it would be so much easier if they had nothing to do with Alef and, consequently, the Elder themself.

But, well, they are here on the hill now, mere steps from where they used to live. They have come to look for Daleth, whatever their reasons were, and they have managed to climb the steep slope. Or, perhaps, it were the birds that helped them up the hill — in which case, Daleth has no say in this. They must trust the creatures.

And if they do choose the easy way out right now, where will Resh go? What will they do?

The Isle Elder hates how difficult life is. They also hate that they still have not got used to it.

They sigh.

“That’s what you will have to tell me.”

The King appears caught off guard by this demand. But they do not waver for too long.

“They- they changed. Into me.”

“I’m afraid you will have to show it. I value actions far more than words.”

It feels strange, in a way, to hear them say it themself, a bad kind of strange, one that leaves a lingering bitter aftertaste in the air.

In the air that is way too hot now that the sun has risen, the high temperature making the whole conversation even more uncomfortable. Daleth realises that all the screaming and standing in place has made them tired and thirsty. Their back starts to disapprove of what has become of their morning walk.

“Do enter,” the Elder says, and their interlocutor’s eyes widen in surprise. The change of topic is, indeed, sudden, but Daleth is unwilling to continue this discussion with their body aching. It would not end well, and they do not feel particularly excited at the idea of accidentally undoing the little progress they have managed to make. “Not sure about you, but I could do with a cup of tea.”

“Huh,” the Elder hears Resh say immediately after turning towards the Temple entrance.

Daleth expects the sound to make them smile, but all it does is let unwanted sadness crawl inside their heart. Wrong time, the Elder thinks. Too late.

“Tea?” Resh asks trying to catch up with them, “I came here expecting you’d hit me with your staff or something.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

And the King laughs in a way that sounds both pained and genuine. And yet, their mirth does not last, dying out mere seconds afterwards.

The silence that is left is cold like the walls of the Temple, worn out and bleak and completely devoid of that homey feeling they once had. It is one of the reasons why Daleth goes for walks every morning: the loneliness of this place crushes them.

The other reason is that Daleth just likes the beauty of the sky at sunrise. Always has.

“Don’t think that I hate you less now,” the Elder says more to break the silence than to send a message. They deduce from how quiet their guest is that they know it perfectly well themself.

“Thank Megabird,” they chuckle humourlessly.

“Maybe I hate you even more.”

Resh’s voice is almost a whisper when they reply.

“Fair enough…”

Daleth does not have many varieties of tea, nowadays that tea parties at their place are no longer commonplace. But they do have some, in case a lonely child of light needs company and reassurance, or maybe simply a warm drink to recover their energy after a long journey.

The Elder puts the kettle on, trying their best not to let their eyes dwell on the cracked surfaces and the cobwebs in the corners. They meant to clear them away but kept forgetting.

When they turn back, they see Resh standing in the middle of the room.

“You could’ve got the cups,” Daleth reproaches and opens the cupboard themself.

“I-”

Daleth looks at them from the corner of their eye again while putting two cups on the counter. They are still standing where they were, somehow managing to look small, despite their height, in the crammed room. They look so out of place here, but also in harmony: their ragged and old (they look old now, Daleth notices with horror, with their face uncovered) look bearing some kind of resemblance to the grey, shaggy kitchen.

There is no continuation to Resh’s sentence, but the Elder guesses it anyway. It is quite easy.

They wish other things were this easy, too.

From the King’s expression they deduce that they guess it, too.

“What brings you here?” Daleth asks when the tea is ready, sitting down at the small table.

Resh eyes them with suspicion, an eyebrow raised, before copying the Elder and settling at the opposite side.

“Lovely conversation starter,” is what they say, “almost feels like you didn’t try to kick me out ten minutes ago.”

“It wasn’t ten minutes ago.”

“That wasn’t my point.”

Daleth wants to respond with more sarcasm, because if their interlocutor insists on being bitter and annoying, then Daleth can do the same.

But they choose not to. Force themself not to.

It’s not worth it, they tell themself.

“If you don’t want to answer, then don’t. But cut down on snarky remarks,” they frown, “I may consider kicking you out again unless you make an effort, too.”

Resh looks outraged and hurt. Part of Daleth is relieved they can at least see their emotions now. Another part of them is annoyed.

“Unless I make an effort? Do you- Can you even imagine-”

They quiet again.

“No, I can’t,” the Elder replies once it becomes clear that Resh is not going to continue, “because you aren’t telling me anything. Like always, for that matter.”

The King clenches their fist.

“Don’t start again,” they growl.

“I’m not starting anything,” Daleth’s voice trembles, either because of anger or of frustration.

Resh sighs and closes their eyes, reclining on their chair. Both their hands travel to their face to hide whatever expression they are so reluctant to show the Elder.

Daleth sips tea in silence, firm in their intention to make their interlocutor take the next step, even if it takes them a century to get there.

They will not resolve Resh’s problems all by themself. They may have been assigned to help and guide young Alef, but the person in front of them is an adult, one who has done a lot of things and who is — must be — responsible for them. The Isle Elder could agree to meet them in the middle, but they are not going any farther than that.

When Daleth’s cup is almost empty, the Ruler finally speaks.

“Do you- Do you think I’m not trying? Do you think it’s easy?” their voice is shaking slightly, too, and their hands are still covering their face, “To see… the world, to see Isle, to see… everything, to know it’s my fault that it’s the way it is?.. Do you think- Do you really think I don’t hate myself for it?..”

“Your self-hatred won’t bring anything — anyone — back,” Daleth responds sternly, “no amount of self-loathing can undo death and destruction. Trust me, I have learned it the hard way. And I need you to understand it, too.”

Resh looks at them between fingers, eyes shining brightly.

“I know,” the King chokes out, “I know.”

They break down crying the instant the last word leaves their lips.

Daleth remains sitting in their chair, unmoving, while the other sobs and writhes in agony.

A small part of Daleth, one that sees Alef in the adult ugly crying in front of them, urges them to provide comfort, to do something instead of just observing the scene. A bigger part of them, one that has seen majestic buildings rise and crumble with time, one that has witnessed parents and children die of hunger and diseases, one that has sent young children off to the scary and dangerous world they knew would destroy them — this part tells Daleth to wait.

And then there is the third part, and this third part wants to cry, too.

Daleth has always been patient. Well, not always. There have been exceptions, like there are exceptions to all rules, but, generally speaking, Daleth has mostly been good with killing time.

By the time they have finished their third cup and Resh’s has gone cold, the sobs stop completely. The King does not look up yet, their head resting on their crossed arms on the table, but they are sitting in silence now.

It makes Daleth feel both relieved and anxious. What do they say now?

The truth, probably. There is not much left to say besides the truth.

“I’m glad you understand it,” they tell Resh, quietly and calmly.

The other giggles and raises their eyes, puffy and red. They appear amused, despite the tears still drying on their face.

“What’s so funny?” there is no reproach in the Elder’s voice. Only a note of curiosity.

“I think I’ll never understand you,” they admit, smiling. It is the kind of smile that hints at exhaustion rather than happiness. The Elder wonders for a moment what is going on in their interlocutor’s head.

“I would not be against it if you tried.”

Before Resh opens their mouth to reply, Daleth stands up.

“Your tea must’ve gone cold.”

They are aware of the fact that the other could be about to say something important, but they do not want to hear it. Not now, at least. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. That is enough for today.

They will beat themself up over it later.

Resh stares at the steaming cup in front of them, and Daleth finds the face they are making funny, to a certain extent.

“Why?” their guest suddenly asks.

“Why what?”

“Ugh, don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“I really don’t,” Daleth argues, “I can’t know if you keep talking in riddles.”

The Ruler rolls their eyes and remains silent for a while but does elaborate in the end.

“Why are you giving me a second chance?”

It is a good question, and Daleth needs some time to formulate an answer that makes sense, to them at least.

“Because there’s not much else left to do for either of us if I don’t. Mind you, it doesn’t mean that I forgive for the mess you’ve made. I don’t think I ever will. But, at the end of the day, it is my job to let people continue their journeys. And it looks like yours is just starting.”

Resh smiles somewhat sheepishly. Alef would call what they have just said cheesy, but the King refrains from doing so.

“Last time you gave me a chance, it was a grave mistake,” and their smile disappears.

The Elder wishes they could just brush it off, but it is not the wise thing to do, is it?/p>

“I know.”

They do not plan to say anything after that, but an idea comes to their mind, and they decide to add:

“You could give me one, too, I suppose.”

Daleth does not know if it will work. Or if it will last.

But when they look across the table, they see Alef’s eyes shine as they sip their tea.

#sky children of the light #sky cotl #daleth #isle elder #king resh #sky cotl resh #prince alef #sky cotl alef #runaway writes #probably not one of my best fics #the combination of arguing and screaming weird motivations and complex relationships i haven't yet explored made it difficult to get right #i'll try to go back to this in the future and maybe rewrite it (?) apologies if the characterisation (and the pacing) is off #i'll try to explore this dynamic more and maybe figure out what to do with it #it was a nice learning experience though. this fic (and the weird ass complex relationship that daleth and resh have) pushed me out of my #comfort zone #and i'm grateful for that. i rarely write arguments (and emotional rollercoasters) so it was nice practice too #even if not enterely successful #i know fucked-up relationships are pretty popular when it comes to romance #but i think parent-child relationships have a lot of potential to turn out pretty weird too #especially if your child literally grows up to be a tyrant #anyways #thanks for reading! i really appreciate it. have a lovely day :>#also i'm very sorry for rambling in the tags my brain's been weird lately

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