The Missing Stone

Fake

Cold.

So cold.

He shivers violently, remembering where he is. His teeth chatter as he sits up in the dark room, rubbing his arms. It's so dark he can't even see his own frosty breath.

Curses, was it always this cold?

"Welcome home, Second." Myson's voice echoes, almost as cold as the room. Maris shivers, curling in on himself.

"H-hi father," he stutters out, feeling the ache in his knees grow. "Mind t-telling me w-why it's so c-cold?"

"You've grown soft," Myson chides, and Maris barely sees the flash of his pale hand before it slaps him. He grunts, lying on his side now. "You know why you're here."

"B-Because," Maris starts, moving to try and make less of his body touch the freezing ground. "I-I am a f-failure."

"Correct," Myson sounds like he's circling around him. "Do you realize the consequences of what you've done? Thales will have our heads." Another slap. Maris stifles his whine of pain.

"At least," he pleads, "at least, not Bias. Not t-today, please." It's silent for a moment, and Maris can imagine Myson shaking his head.

"Where are your glasses?" He demands, pale cold fingers gripping Maris' face. "Fool! I told you to take care of those!"

"I-I forgot them. S-sorry."

"Hmph."

He doesn't strike him this time, and Maris takes Myson's mercy gratefully. "W-who, then?"

"Why darling~" Another voice sounds in the room, and Maris knows exactly who it is. He shuffles away, trembling. "You don't remember me~? A shame really. Should I help you then?" Her form comes into his vision, meaning she is way too close.

"N-nope. No th-thanks!" He almost squeaks when her hand cups his face, then trails down to his neck, then his shoulder. "Pittacus p-please! I can- I'll help you with the Viskam, just don't-"

"Ah, but I don't need any help~ You're the one that needs help remembering me~"

"I-I'm not telling you!" He blurts out, desperately clawing at her hands to get them off him. "You won't get anything out of me-" Her hand finds its way back to his neck. He swallows thickly, practically shaking now. "You'll never..." They squeeze, and his breath is cut off.

He can practically feel Pittacus' manic grin and Myson's disappointed gaze from somewhere in the room, watching him. Maris grabs at her hands, trying to pry them off his neck, but she only squeezes harder, and despite the fact that Maris can't see anything, he can feel his vision fading. His mouth parts, his face going numb...

"That's enough now," Myson interrupts, and Pittacus slowly loosens her hold. Maris immediately kneels over and coughs hard, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. Then the sound of a warp and the room isn't as cold anymore, but it's still just as dark. Myson moves in front of Maris, kneels, and watches.

Maris stares at him bitterly, at the pointed mask over his face. He thinks he can fool him, acting differently from the others. Myson may not be as vicious as they are, but it doesn't mean anything. Maris swallows as Myson grabs him by the shoulders, gently manipulating him into a hug.

"I'm sorry I did that," Myson whispers, tone soft. Maris doesn't return the embrace, feeling sick to his stomach at the display. "I won't make you do anything, and I will try to the best of my ability to protect you. It's all a facade, you know that, don't you?" He pulls back, holding him by the shoulders.

Yes, a facade. This gentle demeanor, the soft voice, all to coax Maris to lower his guard. "I really am sorry I lost the glasses..." Maris says with a forced smile, bowing his head.

They both know this act of appearance is unneeded; if Myson wanted to assert control over him, it would take less than a snap of the finger. But that still isn't enough, is it?

"It's fine," Myson says, toying with the end of Maris' braid. "Don't you think this is a little long now?" Maris chuckles heartlessly.

"I can just wear a disguise over it if it starts bothering me, but I don't want to cut it. It's all I've got from home, isn't it?" He almost laughs at the end. This place, his home. What a joke.

"It's messy, and inconvenient," Myson says, a little more harsher. "You should think of those boots of yours as a reminder of home." Maris grinds his teeth, keeping his silence, keeping up the illusion that Myson wants.

"How is he?" He asks suddenly.

Maris startles, flinching to get away but Myson holds him still. "I- who?"

"That boy you saved."

And Maris thought his father was merciful. He laughs darkly, stiff beneath Myson's hands. Bringing Glenn into this, the one thing that Maris so desperately wishes to avoid... Myson's hands tracing in a toxic gentleness down his spine, secretly relishing in Maris' despair.

"I don't know who you're talking about," he lies through his teeth. No matter his begging before with Pittacus; Myson knowing about Glenn is unacceptable, and Maris would do whatever it takes-

"Hmph." Myson's response is short. He pushes Maris off, standing up and backing away into the shadows. "If you are unwilling to tell me, then you should be willing to tell them." With the veiled threat, Myson disappears, leaving Maris shocked still over his knees.

Despite the absence of both of them, the air he breathes seems to become even colder and heavier, drowning him in harrowing fear.