What is a Man?

VIII Interim

Summary: A series of somewhat disconnected oneshots that explore the alternate universe life of Hans, formerly known as The White Star of ancient legends. Ancient White Star Hans, Dark!Hans AU.

VIII. Interim

The World Tree could tell who was approaching it. "Abomination," it greeted, wary but scornful. "Why are you here?"

The nomad smiled at the hostile tone. "I came here to ask two questions," he informed. "Don't worry about your guardian, I only knocked him out."

The World Tree's limbs scraped against each other. It put up a brave front, bolstered by its annoyance. "Why should I tell you? Why should I risk my branches for your sake?"

The expression on the nomad's face was innocent, but his grin was wide as a cavern. "Because I will not hesitate to burn you down if you refuse."

The World Tree was silent for a while. "Ask."

"What do I have to do to pass the trial for the shapeshifting power?"

"Be yourself," the tree curtly responded. It seemed almost relieved at one of the questions being something it already knew.

The nomad hummed. "Where is the ancient power of the thief who stole my powers from me?"

"I don't know." The World Tree hurriedly continued to explain, "He is...was, somewhere that my sight can not reach."

"A place forsaken by the gods, barred from their sight..." the nomad muttered to himself. He accepted this answer, as the tree could not know those things that passed beyond its sight.

The Forbidden Areas.

"Thank you for your help." The nomad gave a mock bow towards the tree and ignored the relief his words brought to the entity.

—

"James, go pick up some jam for breakfast."

He sighed and pushed open the back door. "Yes, mother," he replied. As he exited onto the street, he heard a shout from ahead of him.

"Hey, James!"

He rolled his eyes and ignored his friend. He darted through the carriages in the street and arrived on the other side of the street. He cut through the alleyway there, as it was the quickest way to the market. He stopped at the mouth of the alleway and stared.

"Give me your money."

A normal person would have backed up and felt their heart race in their chest, but he ran forward and showed no sign of hesitation, despite having never been in a fight before that he could remember. He slammed into the chest of the man wielding a knife. He tried to grab the knife handle, but only grabbed the blade; the knife slid into his palm and he gripped even tighter. He would not let go. His blood splattered onto the bricks, pooling into the finger imprints left by the workers.

The attacker stopped struggling with him and started running. There was no point in fighting a crazy boy.

He used his left hand to pick up the bloody knife and started after his attacker. He pushed himself to go faster, and ignored the blood still dripping from the deep cut in his palm. He tackled the man to the floor and-

He stopped and he remembered.

Afterall, he was not bleeding. No one had tried to steal from him. All of his friends were dead. He did not have a family, not anymore. His name was not James.

This was not real.

He assumed he remembered because he had passed the test. He wasn't exactly sure how, his thoughts were still muddled after remembering everything else, but he must have still been himself somehow.