As the two rested at a campfire, Deus watched as the angel looked at him, and with just a nudge into her mind, he decided to answer her question.
"I come from a long line, of... aristocrats... with powers."
The angel scooted in intensely.
"Alright! Alright, I'll tell you." He said, as if the angel's curiosity forced him to tell the tell
Flashback Start
-
Heading from a hospital visit where he saw his two siblings, Tristán Solace Titan Vale, the young boy of Spanish and Indigenous American descent, sat bored in the limo and tapped the window as he stared out. It was the only way to ignore the tight, prince-like suit he wore.
Tap
Tap
Tap
He went to tap it a fourth time when he suddenly felt a piercing stare. Looking for the source, he met his mother's gaze and the stern look he had grown accustomed to; his hand froze midair, and he frowned.
"You seem like you're not in a good mood. Why is that?" she asked, as she always did.
Tristán tilted his head, reached for his headphones, then dropped his arms under another glare. He opened his mouth, annoyed.
"Whatever could you mean, dearest mother? I'm in a great mood! I had a date today with the most popular girl in school and plans with friends, but had to cancel both because Dad's suddenly in town, and now I have to attend one of those stupid dueling events I constantly hear about back home. Why would I be just brimming with joy?" He paused. "Of course I'm in a great mood."
Tristán waited for her response, expecting the cutting reply he knew was coming, and braced himself. He already knew this conversation would not go kindly, so his shoulders tightened and he stayed on guard.
"For a spirit binder, a born disciple of the spiritual arts, you sure care about those humans. Why Arthur ever suggested we enroll you in a private mortal school, I'll never understand; I should have just tutored you myself. Now it's not only causing you strife to realize you aren't like them, as you've been told your entire life, but that strife is also manifesting physically, which is a bad look for us. So I'll tell you this." She softened her gaze a little but kept it stern.
"When we go into this institute, you will be the model heir. I don't want to hear anything about missing Timmy from Chemistry or Jessica from Math. They don't matter to what you are, and never will." Faye, Tristán's mother, had an odd quality that let her say some of the harshest things in the most delicate of tones.
Tristán looked back out the window as his mother sighed, then continued. "Our Family, the Titans, has overseen the practice of spiritual dueling for the past four thousand years. You're expected to continue that tradition, and since your… constitution seems to be behaving now, it's better to introduce you to the world sooner rather than later. You'll be overseeing it one day, and when that day comes, you'll be thanking us for days like this."
Tristán nodded
'Yeah, yeah, whatever,' he thought to himself
Soon enough, the limo stopped, and Mormont, the driver who had brought them all the way here, stepped out and opened Faye's door. Tristán followed the lavender business-suit-wearing woman out of the limo, and the familiar weight of the outing settled on him. Soon, the three of them stood in front of a beautiful, museum-like building.
Tristán was confused, and the strange sight only deepened it. A battle arena inside a museum? The thought struck him as odd the moment he saw it, and he frowned harder at the contradiction.
"It's a glamour," Faye said without even making eye contact with her son; she had guessed he had a confused expression on his face.
'Oh, okay, that makes sense then'
Tristán had read about those; glamours were enchantments Spirit Arts users could use to trick the general public into not seeing what they didn't want them to see. Despite being human biologically, Spirit Arts users weren't vulnerable because their connection to the spirits changed their physiology a bit; at least, that was the reason according to what Tristán had read.
"Here, take these." His mom handed him his glasses. He blushed and took them, trying to hide how awkward it felt. "I don't need these anymore."
"In a couple of seconds, you're going to," she said with absolute certainty.
He decided to listen, nodded, and put on the old glasses he'd worn throughout junior high. The closer they got to the entrance, the more the museum shifted. When his mom opened the door, a great light suddenly shone on their bodies.
'Maybe she was right,' Tristán thought as the gleam still assaulted his eyes, though it was far more muffled than usual; moments like these made him a little grateful for his mom's expertise in handling his condition. 'If she didn't bring these, forget temporary blindness, I'd be headed to the hospital.' He winced, relieved when the light finally eased.
Soon, those thoughts faded, replaced by something far grander. A stadium that made even the biggest basketball tournament feel ashamed of its size expanded before the blue suit-wearing blonde's eyes. Guided through his temporary spirit-energy-induced blindness, he found himself in a set of box seats next to a man anyone would immediately call one of the most handsome and charming they had ever met.
Tristán, however, never thought that; even without his vision, he knew that figure was someone else entirely, and the recognition settled in him at once, steady and certain.
"Hello, Father."
Though he didn't want to see him, as he was the reason all of the blonde's plans today had been canceled, Tristán would be lying if he said a wave of relief didn't wash over him as he saw the black-and-white-haired figure. The feeling softened his irritation for a moment, and he hated that.
"Arthur, can you absorb some of the spirit energy circling Tristán? It overloaded his vision." Faye said, hugging the tall man.
"The glamour?" Arthur surmised immediately.
"Yeah, I guess it was strong enough to go through his spirit blockers. Maybe he needs a new prescription."
"I see. I'll get them ordered soon."
He looked down at Tristán and smiled. "Still having a few problems, huh, little guy? It's okay, Dad's got you." He opened his tan palm in front of the blonde-haired boy, and a blue hue of his energy began to surround both his hand and the young boy's eyes.
It took only four seconds of that held concentration before Tristán regained his sight and could see his dad's full figure again, no longer dulled by his temporary blindness.
His dad wore a dark blue suit, the same style as Tristán's but a little more refined, with insignias representing the Titan family on the upper right sleeve and chest areas. This was another thing they had in common.
'Guess I'm just the perfect little heir today, huh,' Tristán thought, with sarcasm and resignation in equal measure as he looked back at his outfit and noticed it matched his father's perfectly.
With his vision back, Tristán watched his mom look at him, whisper something in his father's ear, then leave for what she called the 'ladies' room. Looking around, Tristán realized it was just the two of them in the room, with Mormont waiting at the entrance and the booth otherwise cleared out.
'We haven't been alone together like this since my birthday a couple of months ago,' Tristán thought, and it immediately soured his mood as he remembered a promise his dad had almost certainly broken. The memory left him tense, and his jaw tightened.
"I know I promised that I would be home more, and I did intend to," Arthur said as he moved closer to his son, as if he were reading his thoughts. "But the institute needed a new chairman with the death of the last of the Cardens, and I was the only person available to take the role. It was my duty as a member of the Titan aristocracy."
"Right." Tristán muttered, "Your duty."
"Yes, Tristán, my duty. Our duty. Our family is blessed with the privileges that come with being an overseer candidate; it's not fair to take those blessings and not fulfill the position that granted them when it's time to do so. The Titans enjoy our royal privilege, and we're expected to fulfill our civil duty when need be. So I can't say I'm sorry for breaking our promise when debts far older needed to be paid."
Tristán looked down. He hated talks like these with his dad because nothing Arthur said could be argued against. It wasn't like with Mom, who said the harsh truth; with Arthur, a discussion was about truth itself. Not harsh or blunt, just honest. The kind of conversation that weakened his sarcasm and left no room for it.
"Listen, I know you're angry with me. That's fine, that's fair. I'm just asking that, for today, you put that anger aside. Enjoy yourself; you haven't been to a duel in a long time."
Tristán tensed, already knowing where this was going, and frowned before his father finished.
"It'll be nice for you to experience one with more mature eyes finally. With your mom here and me too, alongside my healing spirit and your old spirit blockers, you'll be able to enjoy it just fine. It's about time you started attending these events again, but that doesn't mean you have to lament them. I promise they have their own fun; you need to embrace it, okay?"
"Yes, Father," Tristán responded almost instantly, in the automatic, heir-like fashion his mother had trained him to adopt. Hearing the more detached version of his son, the handsome man's face seemed to drop for just a moment, and in that moment there was a flicker of sadness that Tristán didn't notice.
Soon, though, the man's face was back to its charismatic self.
"With that out of the way, come hug Daddy. I missed you, my little prince. It's good to see you're getting bigger." The six-foot man hugged his 5'9 son and scooped him up as if he were still a child.
"Put me down, Father. I'm not a little kid anymore; this is embarrassing."
"You're still just a baby to me, and how could this be embarrassing? There isn't anyone here besides you and me."
"Mormont can hear all of this," Tristán retorted, more flustered than annoyed.
"I highly doubt Mormont is listening."
"Mormont, come here, please," Tristán said in a small tone, embarrassed enough to prove his point.
Suddenly, the six-foot-five man appeared in the room.
"Yes, Little Prince," he answered swiftly.
"See, he was listening; he's always listening."
"Hmm, I guess so, though I wonder."
"Hmm."
"If you didn't want him to see you being scooped up like a baby, why did you call him in here? Isn't that a little counterintuitive?"
Tristán's face reddened with embarrassment, and he quickly scrambled out of his laughing father's arms.
"Mormont, you saw nothing."
"Yes, Little Prince."
Tristán wiped his suit off and looked at his dad, who was still laughing. He hated to admit it, but his dad's energy was contagious, and soon enough, the teen boy joined him in the show of joy.
For a moment, he was reminded of how things used to be, back when he was little, and his dad had all the time in the world for him. The two used to play all types of games, like airplanes or guess the spirit. Something that had continued all the way until Tristán gained his condition on that fateful day.
All it took was the final part of that reminder to snap him out of his happiness.
Tristán's Narrator POV (FLASHBACK TO THAT FATEFUL DAY)
All Tristán could truly remember about that day was the rain.
From what Tristán was told, it was the battle royal for the Spirit Duelist Championship. Tristán had begged his parents to let him attend the entire week, and his father, who was shadowing on overseer duty, had managed to get the boy a front-row box seat all to himself.
The young blonde boy of Spanish and Indigenous descent was ecstatic. He was only around six years old, but he had been reading about spirit dueling his whole life and, as such, knew he was in for an amazing treat.
The Last Riddle, Vance Slight vs The White Priest, Tia Balens, vs The Gladiator, Angelus Webb. A triple duel, one of the first held in centuries at the mosaic, an arena that was enchanted to be covered in pure ice.
He watched as each team came in and set down their spirit circles, attaching them to the main circle their duel would be in with a bit of chalk. They called upon the spirits to help protect their totem and fight their opponents. Tristán sat as dutifully as you could expect from a six-year-old who had been waiting for something all day. He looked overhead as the maiden of the north came to bless the battle, and just as she did, the timer went down.
5
4
3
2
1
A burst of light shot across the arena as the spirit energies clashed, yet only the young boy seemed to see it.
As it clashed with his body, he began to spasm on the floor, missing the very duel he had begged to see. Instead, his eyes lifted to the glass ceiling and focused on the rain it kept out.
DROP
DROP
DROP
The rain tried its hardest to fight through the glass, but to no avail. The glass reflected the rain seamlessly and protected the young boy and everyone else in the crowd from getting wet.
"TRISTAN!" A figure darted over to the boy, whose eyes were stuck on the rain cloud and its descendants.
PUMP
PUMP
PUMP
BREATH
Though he didn't realize it at the time, his father had come to check on him during the mid-fight break, and it was then that he brought his son back to life and discovered something very important about him.
He possessed the trait their family held within their bloodline every couple of hundred years. The ability to see more, experience more, and feel more.
The Eyes Of The Primordial Spirit.
The match continued, but the overseer's shadow leaving in such haste sparked a rumor: his son, unimpressed, stormed out and swore he'd never come to another boorish event.
That, coupled with Tristán's subsequent enrollment in mortal school, created a rather haunting image around the young boy.
The prince who hated custom.