Angre

.................

Angre was up before dawn. Exhaustion clung to his mind, but the thought of his brother still lost somewhere out in the woods kept circling in his mind. A hundred things could happen out there at the best of times, and, lately, something had been shaking the tentative peace. The Old Gods were stirring, monsters were seeping through the shadows, and the hooded figures were razing towns. It had been a miracle anyone had managed to escape at all. It was sheer luck that he and Joogre had been out on gathering duty when the raid struck. They’d seen the fires and heard the shouting and they did the only thing they could do. They fled.

For days they ran, barely ahead of the hooded figures and the monsters they employed. Together they ran and hid and snatched each other away from the brink of defeat until they’d been separated.

Angre was sure that was it for them. Driven apart and hunted. Too exhausted to even try to fight.

And maybe that’s where their story would have ended if he hadn’t been found.

He couldn’t believe it: the creature that stumbled upon them was fierce. They fought like a demon, effortlessly wielding Old Magic and shaking off utterly devastating blows. The fight was over nearly as quickly as it had begun and only the demon themselves was left in the carnage, glaring out into the underbrush.

Angre was sure his fate hadn’t changed. Only now it was a different creature that would claim his soul. And yet the creature didn’t move towards him. They just stood their ground, keeping watch, until the woods quieted and the feeling of being hunted abated.

Flinching as the other turned and looked at him, Andre almost missed the shift in the creature’s posture. They seemed to soften: it was something in their eyes. A near sympathetic look.

“Follow,” they said softly, turning and stalking back the way they’d come. And yep Angre was definitely doing that because 1.) he was still alive and 2.) there was absolutely something lurking in the underbrush creeping closer.

Angre had been surprised by the haven he’d been led to. A dozen or so others with similar stories greeted him, helped him find a tent, and made sure he found something to eat. He wasn’t sure if he’d cried or if it was a near miss.

The demon was their Leader; fiercely protective and just a little bit feral. But no one had seen that aggression turned towards the camp. It was entirely focused on the darkness threatening to bleed in from the woods. Angre believed them; there was a warmness around the camp; something inviting about the magic wrapped around their borders. Something impossible to fake and the sheer sense of home was overwhelming.

It also made his heartache even worse. He’d spoken to the others about the brother he feared was still lost and they’d urged him to seek out the Leader. To voice his concerns. The Leader is kind, they’d said, the Leader will help.

And so he’d begged- a plea wrapped up in desperate hope- that his brother (or what was left of him) would be found. He couldn’t meet the Leader’s gaze; there was no reason the Leader would listen. He and his brother were expendable in the grand scheme of things. Just more souls to be harvested.

The Leader nodded. “You followed,” they said, as if that was all the explanation Angre needed. And then they were gone.

Joogre had been found. And, even more miraculously, he’d been found alive.

And gosh darn it, Angre had maybe felt a squishy feeling or two when the Leader gave him a shy smile and asked if there was anything else they could do. It definitely made the Leader much more approachable. More caring. Less like the demon that he’d first encountered.

And gosh darn it was Angre starting to care.

In between the long hours of juggling nursing Joogre back to health and helping out on the farm, Angre was acutely aware of just how often the Leader was around, and how their schedule had changed. Normally Angre would catch glimpses of them flitting between the chapel and the cooking tent, caught up in their two main chores. Since Joogre had started to heal and was spending more time awake, Angre couldn’t help but notice how much time the Leader was spending around the healing tent.

It was strangely comforting, he thought, to imagine it wasn’t just a coincidence. For that’s what it had to be. A coincidence. The Leader was far too busy, too important, to be keeping watch over them. Right?

Angre had almost convinced himself that he was reading too much into nothing. And yet the Leader lingered. Sometimes unobtrusively, coincidentally, just-so-happened-to-be working nearby, and other times bringing by missed meals and asking after their health when they stayed inside.

It was almost… nice. The other members were certainly friendly, but there was something about having the Leader themselves over for a cup of tea and gossip that was just so… domestic. Joogre, at least, seemed to appreciate the company. When he was awake for it, of course. There was a lingering fever and an exhaustion that left him mostly asleep. Possibly a curse of some kind, they’d all agreed.

Angre didn’t mind, really. It was nice to be able to see his brother alive and well whenever the nightmares left him sleepless or the panic left him breathless. It was at the healer’s tent that he found himself; apparently he’d fallen asleep on one of the uncomfortable bed-side chairs.

Still groggy and unusually warm- apparently someone had been kind enough to drape a blanket over him- it had taken him a moment to realize they weren’t alone. There was another one of those awful chair pulled up on the other side of Joogre’s bed and… oh yep. That was definitely the Leader sitting there doing his not-sleeping-routine.

The Leader offered a little wave, an even smaller smile, when they noticed he was awake and that certainly shouldn’t have been as amusing as it was, Angre mused. The Leader shifted their attention to the stone bowl in their hands and added a few dried leaves. There was some sort of poultice in it. Something floral and citrusy and crisp and tinged with a bit of magic.

“How’s he doing?” The Leader murmured. With a pleased hum he dipped his fingers into the bowl and painted a few runes onto Joogre’s forehead.

With a small shrug, Angre smoothed the wrinkles out of the bedsheet. “He’s alive,” he muttered. And he was content with that. He really was. He shouldn’t ask for more.

“This should help,” they said, and magic was suddenly flooding the room. It was frightening. Exhilarating. Like falling out of a tree or being swept away by the riptide. Like standing too close to a fire and breathing in the smoke. Like being rescued by a demon.

The Leader glowed. Eyes burning the same color as fresh blood studied both their faces. It was almost too much to have that undivided attention. But, shared between the two of them, it was almost tolerable. There was a possessiveness in the Leader’s gaze that spoke of something darker- that whispered of the Entity stirring behind those eyes. A hunger unsatiated. A loneliness so encompassing it passed beyond comprehension. A yawning void barely contained. The Leader and demon attuned.

The magic bled away and it was just the three of them again. The Leader, hollow eyed and morose. Angre wide eyed and trembling in shock or awe he wasn’t sure. And, Joogre breathing easier, fever finally broken.

“I’m sorry,” the Leader said. With a shake of their head and a bitter laugh they pushed away.

And Angre moved.

They both froze, staring at the spot where Angre’s hand was clutching the Leader’s arm. It was the first time he’d reached out. It was the first time anyone had reached out. “Stay,” he breathed.

The Leader made a small, broken sound and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Angre bundled them close. They were bitterly cold even as he shifted the blanket around the two of them. He kept vigil as they rattled apart, and he breathed in the scent of earth and orange and a bitter cold so deep it had no name.