"The year I turned seven, my mother's situation had only gotten worse. It had been about three years since the incident at that point, and my father had all but given up on our family, as he had expended his resources and money to help her," Irun started again, still chewing on the bread. "The day before my birthday, and the same day my mother died, a man came to the door and took me away," he said, flinching at the thought.
"By all the gods, I'm so sorry, Irun," Athar said, putting a hand to his chest. Irun merely responded with a grunt. "Who was he?" Athar finally asked after a few moments' pause. "A synner. I don't remember his name now, it's been over ten years, but he pulled me away from the house, and stuck me in the back of a wagon for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I ended up on the doorstep of Codrean; the place that would be my home until just a few months ago," Irun said, his eyes downcast.
Is that… sadness? Athar thought, reading Irun's expression.
"What was life like there at Codrean? If you don't want to answer that, I completely understand," Athar said, holding his hands up to shoulder height with his palms facing outward. "It was… good," Irun said after a few moment's pause. "That's it? Just good?" Athar asked, cocking his head to the side.
"It's difficult to speak well about people you've betrayed," Irun said dejectedly. "But yes, I would dare say it was simply good. Again, I didn't really have what one might consider friends, but I had people that I knew wouldn't stab me in the back," he continued. "And then you turned around and did it right to them," Athar said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.
Irun scoffed. "You'd have done the same thing if you realized your potential was being nerfed into the ground," he said. "I don't think I would've chosen to be deformed by some dark power over people I could count on, even if I was never very close to them in the first place," Athar responded, putting a fingertip to his chin. "But hey, who am I to judge? I'm just a bastard who was cast away as a child, so what do I know, right?" he said, his self-deprecating tone heavily subdued with sarcasm.
What would you know? Irun thought.
"In any case, what were they like? Your old… uhm, acquaintances, I mean," Athar asked, trying not to use the word friend too lightly. Irun paused at this, considering and weighing his words carefully. "They were like brothers," he said almost painfully. Athar cocked his head. "Brothers? You betrayed your own family, so to speak?" he asked. "Sheesh, I thought my life was fucked, but you just took the whole concept of blood being thicker than water and lobbed it out the window into a burning pile of shit," Athar said, a heavy sigh fleeing his lungs as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
The fuck is he talking about? Irun thought, scrunching his features in an attempt to figure it out.
"Wait, have you not heard of that saying before?" Athar asked, finally reopening his eyes to stare at a confused Irun. "N-no? Should I have?" Irun answered, lifting an eyebrow. "The blood of the pact is thicker than the water of a mother's womb. Families fight all the time, the reasons thereof are often difficult to gauge. As the Masked One put it, you can much more easily become estranged by your own family members than someone you've chosen to have in your life, or so I'm told," Athar explained.
"I… I've never heard of that before," Irun said, digesting the new information provided to him. "How did the battle for Coltend turn out? You're missing an arm, replaced by a daemon's, so I'm assuming not well?" Athar asked. "Get to the point," Irun said, his irritation beginning to show at the mention of his missing arm. "Who did that to you?" Athar asked.
"Thoma Fayren. He's one of the synners of Codrean, and my old roommate alongside Edryd Baelis, and Batch. Heh, even years of knowing him, I never got Batch's last name," Irun answered, a tinge of nostalgia hinted in his voice.
He thinks kindly of them, even if he won't admit it to himself, Athar thought, reading the expression on Irun's face.
"How did he take your arm, might I ask?" Athar asked, staring at the daemonic and human arm fused together like a mangled scar. "He hit me with a spell of his own creation. A whip of pure mana that he caused to explode and wrench my arm off in the process," Irun replied.
Athar paused for a moment, imagining the scene and whistling critically. "Don't you think that if he really wanted to kill you, deep down, I mean, that he wouldn't have aimed for your head or torso?" he asked, genuinely wanting to hear the answer.
"I suppose he would have, but it doesn't matter now," Irun battered the question aside, not wanting to think about the implications laying just beneath the surface. "Blood - water," Athar gestured a scale with both of his hands and a mocking scowl on his face. "You're saying that he chose not to unalive me there?" Irun asked. Athar shrugged. "What the hell would I know? I'm just an abandoned bastard," he said in jest.
A few moments of silence allowed the words just spoken to sink in. "Hey, I have an idea," Athar said, breaking the momentary silence of the training hall. "And that is what, exactly?" Irun asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't we create a pact of our own, and you become my brother," Athar said, a wry smile growing on his face. "Blood - water," Irun said, understanding what his training partner meant.
"Fine, but I think we need to establish some sort of hierarchy," Irun said, scratching the side of his face, visibly lost in thought. "Hierarchy? Wait, how old are you?" Athar asked, moving in closer to observe Irun's features. "It's a little hard to tell with all of this going on," he said, gesturing to Irun's entirety. "I'm nineteen," Irun answered.
Athar giggled uncontrollably.
"Aha! I've always wanted a younger brother! Oh, this is great! I can't believe it, I'm actually going to be an older brother!" Athar said, raising his hands to his face. Irun, unwittingly blushing at this point, cracked a slight smile. "Ugh, just please don't think you can bully me and we'll be fine. I'm tired of being at the ass-end of jokes and other such bullshit," Irun said, succumbing to Athar's infectious laugh.
"I couldn't bully you if I tried," Athar said, clasping one hand on Irun's shoulder. "Don't we need a drink of some kind? For this momentous occasion to not go uncelebrated," Athar said, glancing around the training room. "All I have is this deathmold concoction, though," he continued, disdainfully eyeing the vial.
"I don't think the Masked One even drinks, does he? Have you ever drunk before?" he asked. "I've been here a few months, and have seen him all of maybe four times. How the fuck would I know that?" Irun asked, spreading his arms wide.
"True," Athar said, scrunching his face. "Well, I guess that can't be helped. Deathmold it is, then," he shrugged, removing the small cork from the vial. The soupy, gray water sloshed lazily around inside as he shook it gently. "Shivers. Pure shivers. Every time," Athar said, grossed out at the sight of the concoction shifting around. Irun pulled out a flask of his own, and undid the cork as well.
"To blood being thicker than water, and to bonds we choose to make. Let us not beguile, bely, or betray one another, brother," Athar said, holding the vial in the air. "To blood being thicker than water," Irun returned, clinking his vial to Athar's.
They both imbibed the contents therein as quickly as they could. "It helps if you don't breathe in immediately after," Athar said, his eyes squinting like he had just bitten into a rotten lemon. "Yeah," Irun replied, stifling a mild choke.
"Well, I'm glad to have at least some semblance of a family now," Athar said cheerfully. "Ready to get back to training, little brother?" he asked. "How much older are you, anyway? And yeah, I'm ready," Irun replied. "I'm twenty-two, or at least that's how old I think I am, anyway. Can't really confirm it. You know, just bastard things," Athar replied.
That's… actually fair, Irun thought.