Amet

Legend says there once was a Gaoler born from the Shade. They say he lived in turmoil, his soul split by two opposing forces; his intrinsic birthright to keep the Shade contained, and the agonizing pull to live as the Shade commanded. In this legend, it is never known which piece of his soul won out over the other.

Many say his birthright as a Gaoler overtook the incomplete pieces of Shade that tainted his being, that he won, and lived to be one of the few renowned Sentinels under the Icewarden. Others claim he was never able to control the corrupt part of his soul, that it ate away at him until it split him apart, that he died a lonely and terrible death without a single happy memory. The majority say that nothing of the sort ever existed. That no such thing could befell a creature, that it could never be possible.

They say that he is merely a legend.

What they say is a lie.

---

Amet's eyes rest upon the red horizon. The scarlet sun burns low in the sky, painting the battlefield with crimson light, as though it weren't already stained that same color.

In his chest, something swirls, yet he feels nothing. Blank, empty, hollow. A raspy laugh rumbles from within, but Amet remains stoic. His eyes betray no feeling, no light within.

Slowly, he wanders forth. The golden jewelry decorating his form twinkles softly with his movements, a magical sound that could never fit the horrible scene before him. Amet's features remain cold and unbroken.

He steps, one massive paw in front of the other, through muck and debris, past the fallen. Is his heart even beating? Is he alive?

Does he want to be?

Blood rises from the ground, pooling beneath him, staining the pale brown of his thick fur. It swallows him whole, drowns him, and he can't breathe, can't see-

Amet wakes up. Not with a start or a jolt, just with a patient blink.

Dreams, memories; does it matter which is which anymore?

The leaking Shade swirling around him gradually retreats, reigned in by his consciousness. In the distance upon a lush hill, the pale pink Gaoler watches him carefully.

He meets her gaze evenly, undisturbed. Something more swirls through her ruby red eyes, something not unlike the hateful gazes he's been given before. Amet feels nothing, and cares not for it.

Or, would he like to meet the burning rage in her features? Would he finally feel shame, or guilt, if only he could feel at all? Instead of any of that, he stares straight through her with sightless eyes that don't see her, with a heart that doesn't empathize with her strife.

She turns and stalks back into the verdant, blooming forest. The exchange had changed nothing.

Amet, cold, alone, and unfeeling, lies his head back upon his paws. He does not return to slumbering.

He wonders if hate feels hot like fire, or if it feels rough like jagged cliffs.

He wonders if dying would make him feel alive.

---

"Being a child is not a sin."

Young Amet sobs, the screaming and ruthless names thrown at him sending his mind into a spiraling disaster. The Shade's essence crawls along his skin and fur, darkens his eyes, creeps into his soul as he wails for help. The pain is unbearable, like ice and fire consuming his small figure. No one moves to help him or care for him. Instead, they've circled him like vultures, full of fear and anger as the Shade devours him.

He was suffering when they found him, freshly hatched and shivering from the cold touch of the Shade. He has no origin, no home and no history. This clan never wanted him, no one did, and no one will. Amet stares up at the clan with tear-filled eyes, as they say,

"Abomination!"

"Freak of Nature!"

"You're wrong! It must be destroyed!"

Wrong, wrong.. wrong. Of course everything is wrong. He didn't ask for this. What had he ever done wrong? Amet's body hurts. His head hurts, his heart hurts, and his soul weeps. Can't anyone help him?

One of the Elders stands before him, a barrier between the young Gaoler and the raging clan. The words Amet will never forget send the Clan into silence.

"Being a child is not a sin."

Amet's body is wracked with another shiver, weak and frail. Yet, the sincerity in the Elder's voice, the deepest truth of his words, Amet lowers his head to the ground and cries more.

"We don't want him." An unknown voice hisses. Amet has no energy to flinch.

And so, the Elder moves to grab Amet by the scruff, slinging the exhausted hatchling onto his back, and marches away from the clan for good.

"Choose to be good, Amet," The Elder murmurs to him as they travel. "No matter what. You are good."

Being a child is not a sin.

Amet is only a child when his chance at life is taken from him.

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